Afternoon Delight

I laughed as I saw the two of them, standing in the audience hall among the rest of the courtiers, shifting from foot to foot. They weren’t used to having to wait through these long formal receptions, but then, I wanted no delays this afternoon.

They were handsome, they and the friend beside me, my best friends, friends from the time of my childhood, before I ascended the throne to become Emperor of the Ottoman Empire. They were my finest advisors, and the only men I allowed to speak freely.

My thoughts drifted as the ambassador from Britain continued to drone on about his missing soldier. Evidently one of the embassy guard was missing and he wanted the help of my soldiers in canvassing the populace to discover the young mans whereabouts. I nodded my ascent and offered ten men to the disposal of the embassy for one week to search for the young soldier. I knew it was futile, but had to keep up appearances, the soldier was even now awaiting his fate in my garden.

As the next embassy stepped forward my thoughts turned toward the preparations I’d made earlier in the day. This was an anniversary of sorts, the day my friends and I had made a pact to stand by one another always. We were going to celebrate and we share a unique taste in what we consider entertainment. We differ only in subject matter. I had seen the soldier in the street during a midnight walk through the city. Realizing his fresh faced blond good looks made him perfect for Ahmet, I had him abducted that very night one week ago. Even now he was restrained and awaiting the afternoon. I thought of the young man, naked, restrained in an upright frame at one end of the small enclosed garden, sweat streaming down the naked hairy chest, blue eyes filled with dread, pleading and muttering in English, which I’d not bothered to learn. The man also had a leather belt around his waist, set low, and also restrained to the post further immobilizing him in an X position, but leaving his broad muscular back as a clear field. The man must be six feet tall, and his broad shoulders ensured a large space for the days work. I pondered the beautiful unblemished skin I’d caressed just that morning as he was bound into place. To keep it from burning I’d ordered awnings spread over each of the stations, so the sun would not do the work we intended to enjoy ourselves. Yes, Ahmet would make good use of him, as would my friends make use of each of their gifts.

The other two, Rashid and Hamoud both shared my taste in men. Dark, muscular and hirsute. Rashid had been combing the slave markets for weeks in preparation for this day and two weeks ago, had presented me with the perfect gifts for todays celebration. He paid for them out of his own pocket, but no matter, the money in those pockets was due to his employment in my bureaucracy. Also, knowing that he was bidding on my behalf, no one dared bid against him or inflate the price. He had in fact purchased these from a private source. It seems pirates had attacked a merchant ship from one of the Italian states, perhaps Venice. Who knows. While it carried very little cargo of use to me, the pirate captain, having made my acquaintance before, informed Rashid of the captured sailors on board the ship. Normally they simply set them adrift, leaving them to the mercy of the sea and their God, but three of them had caught his eye. They were indeed beautiful, and different enough to provide variety.

The one I’d chose for Rashid was lean, with a clear olive complexion. He was about twenty five or thirty years old and had a thick dark beard, so I was surprised when I had him stripped to find out that he had a sparse growth of chest hair sprouting among the cleft of his well formed chest and fanning out over his pectorals to his collar bone. His legs and arms were sparsely covered as well. He had a lean body and was the shortest of the three, perhaps five feet eight inches, with muscles that stood out like cables. He had grunted when he’d been suspended from a frame, ankes bound together, arms tied behind him at the wrist and elbow, then another rope looped around the elbows in a modificaton of the strappado, he’d been lifted into the air slowly, so as not to dislocate any joints, he would hang there until Rashid was ready for him.

It was hard to decide between the remaining two. I finally chose the older one for Hamoud. The man was huge, at least six and one half feet tall, thickly muscled with almost no body fat. He was covered with a pelt of rich dark wavy fur and was clean shaven. The play of his muscles under that thick hair when he moved was beautiful. His brown eyes showed hatred. I’d had him stretched face up on a modified rack, just tight enough to cause discomfort but not enough to cause real damage, that would spoil the gift. I’d been tempted to test him a bit when I saw his fur covered muscles bulging as he tested his bonds, but such is the care I have for my friend Hamoud that I reserved that pleasure for him. The worst criticism I could make of his form was that he had so much thick dark chest hair it ALMOST hid the shape of the slabs of his pectorals, perfectly formed as if he were a statue.

The final choice, the one I’d selfishly retained for my own use, was a youth of nineteen or twenty. He was an incredible beauty. He was about five feet ten inches tall with a very tight body. Nicely shaped muscles, as if he spent his time swimming laps around the ship in which he sailed. He had wonderful biceps and the definition in his body was beautiful. The sculpted chest striated when he struggled, and was covered with loose soft curls of dark hair which spread from his collar bone to just below the nipples and from shoulder to shoulder. His arms were covered with hair that slightly curled or waived, so that it stood away from the skin enough to make it truly visible in the light. The youth had a deep tan, fur covered legs and a thick dark waives of hair on his head. His back and shoulders were completely smooth when I examined them and I wondered if he had shaved them, but I could find no evidence of this. In fact, his back was so well muscled there was a valley down the middle that followed the trail where his trapezoids met the spine. Yes with this one I would take special care. I had his hands bound behind him, stripped naked as were all the victims, he was laid face up on a wide table that was actually a rack of my own design. His chest was thrust upward as he was lying on his bound arms, and his legs were attached to ropes which were attached to opposite sides of the bottom of the table. When the ratchet was turned, the legs were spread and then stretched, pulling my beauty to the bottom edge of the table, straining the tendons in his hip and groin area, and causing him to do a “split”, exposing both asshole and genitalia and causing extreme discomfort at the same time. I turned the ratchet myself as I crooned to him and fondled the soft curls which spread over the youths chest. Teasing him I followed the slight furry love trail down to his pubic bush and then tweaked his cock. He continued to babble and plead in what I think was Italian, but I paid no notice to anything other than the fear in his beautiful green eyes and the strain of his muscles trying to accomodate the stretching of his legs.

These were the four stations we would be using throughout the afternoon. For each station there was an awning, which I mentioned earlier. Also by each station I had placed a brazier and metal rods of varying sizes, whips, and weights. Each also had a table, with more specialized equipment tailored to the particular fetish or predilection of each of my friends.

Once I had these four in place for the afternoon celebration, I turned to the condemned man. He was short, but broad and muscular, with smooth satiny skin. A redhead, his skin was particularly fair, which lent itself perfectly to what I had in mind. He’d been whipped severely as part of his punishment but the wounds on his back had scabbed over. I motioned to the guards, part of my elite personal body guard who would be assisting this afternoon. They quickly released the mans bonds and pushed him up against the heavy wooden door of the garden. The man looked confused as they held his hands up above him and against the door but became hysterical when he saw the spikes in the hand of the guard approaching him. Laying one of the spikes against an outstretched wrist the guard quickly and methodically pounded it into the door with a mallet, doing the same with the other wrist as if he were simply hanging a picture. The man pleaded pitiably while being prepared, but with the pounding of the first spike and after the first sucking intake of breath, he had been heaving one long continual keening scream. I almost couldn’t tell when he stopped to take a breath and his head continually thrashed from side to side, as if in disbelief and so violently, it looked as if thought he could shake his head free of the body that was in so much pain. Spikes were also driven into the arm just above the elbow and at the bicep, pinning the man to the gate. The guard continued by securing the ankles flat and outstretched against the door by pounding spikes in between the Achilles tendon and the ankle bone and then continued to pound one each through the flesh of the mans thigh and the calf of each leg. At this point all he could do was scream and hyperventilate and thrash his head. He tried pounding it against the door behind him, but I think he realized he could not knock himself unconscious because this behavior soon stopped. Unless he simply became oblivious to anything but the pain.

I watched this tableau unfold with pleasure in the early morning light, then dipped a brush in a clear flammable mixture I’d used on many occasions. I began to delicately paint the heaving chest of the redhead in front of me, which was a challenge given the rate at which it was rising and falling and how the muscles were twitching. I even had to wipe some with a rag to keep the lines clean. When I was done with the chest I dipped my hand into the mixture and began to massage it into the pubic hair of the still struggling man. His eyes were clenched tight and his mouth continued in a yawning scream, I think he was completely oblivious to what I was doing. No matter, when the time came he would know and that would be soon enough. Dipping my hand into the mixture again I continued to liberally coat the pubic push and then the cock and balls. At that point one of my servants came to the door of the garden and knocked. I knew it was time for the morning audience, so I washed and wiped my hands free, gave final orders and then left, surrounded by four of my most trusted guards. I was pleased and hoped my friends would be too.

“Your Imperial Highness” I heard a voice whisper. It was Ahmet, who usually stood by my side during these formalities. I snapped out of my daydream of the mornings pre audience activities. The emissary in front of me had just made a request and I’d missed it. Truly irritated, I prided myself on more discipline than this, I said loudly, “I will give you my decision tomorrow, we are weary, the audience is ended.” Everyone in the room dropped to the floor in a low bow as I stood and swept from the room, knowing that my friends would soon be escorted through a side door to join me in a reception room before going to the garden. I gave orders swiftly as I had many times before and then dismissed most of the bureaucrats, with the exception of Ahmet. “Have them shown in” I said. And he went to fetch the other two. I mused on how valuable it was to have friends one could trust, especially since my mind tends to wander when dealing with more mundane duties such as this mornings reception.

Ahmet showed Rashid and Hamoud into the room and we embraced and shared some fruit and wine as we chatted about past conquests, and remembered our childhood together. We’d discovered our similar predilection for the beauty of men in torment during the wars for the empire. It had only increased our bond.

I smiled in anticipation, while Rashid new of the men he’d gifted me earlier, he had no idea what I had planned for the afternoon. After a few exclamations of impatience, I relented and informed my friends we were to spend the afternoon in the garden, knowing full well what this meant they cheered in anticipation. I should explain, usually we worked on condemned criminals when we wanted to experiment or entertain, the purchases and the kidnapping had been pure decadence on my part to assure that my friends actually had the type of men on whom they would most like to ply their craft. And spending afternoons in the garden were rare, so this was a dual treat for them.

I gave an order to one of the guards who ran ahead of us down the long corridor as we walked together deeper and deeper into the palace, past banquet halls and armories, lesser receptions rooms and large gardens with plants of every variety. Soon the corridor opened onto an expanse of grass that separated the special garden from the rest of the palace, though it was buried deep within the maze of corridors that made up the complex. On my order the heavy wooden door had been left open, and on that door still nailed securely, hung the redheaded condemned man. As we strode across the lawn toward the struggling form we could hear a low continual groan coming from the man. I raised my hand and a guard touched a burning brand to the mans chest, it erupted in flame and spelled out the word “WELCOME” in huge letters across the broad plates of muscles. The man shrieked once and then fell silent as his head again began to thrash. The flammable substance was long burning so the flames continued as the muscles of the mans chest danced beautifully, trying without success to escape the liquid branding iron. I knew that by this time of the day he would have tired from pain and loss of blood, so as incentive for his cries I had the guard touch the well soaked pubic push. It exploded in a rush of flame and the man screamed in pain and terror as his genitals and chest continued to burn while nailed to the door. My friends applauded and cheered and paused as we passed the condemned man, so completely sunk into his pain. We stepped into the garden and the door closed behind us, carrying the burning crucified man with it so that he was now inside rather than outside the garden, since he had been nailed to the inner part of the door. He soon fainted and I decided not to have him revived.

I looked at the faces of my friends and began to laugh. “Pasha” , they said, “You’ve outdone yourself!”. I was very pleased. Their eyes shone with pleasure as they looked around the garden at the four men restrained solely for their pleasure. “These are your gifts on this day my friends” I said. “Knowing your tastes, I have had various instruments made ready, you may use all or none, call for others or devise your own, I do not care. The only thing I ask is that you enjoy yourselves while you use your gifts! Do I need to tell you which was designated for each of you?” Without further conversation they each moved in exactly the directions I thought they would. Ahmet immediately walked over to the blond and began to stroke one of the outstretched arms, since they were pulled straight out from the shoulder rather than bound over head as usual. I wanted to provide him with a smooth pallet. He began looking over the instruments on the table next to his charge and fairly giggled with delight. “What shall the subject be?” He called to us.” Whatever you desire” I responded. “A portrait” called out Hamoud and Rashid at the same time as they were moving toward their respective gifts. As I thought, each chose the man I knew they would. Rashid moved toward the bearded man, suspended with elbows behind him. The man was grunting every few minutes so I could tell the position was causing him pain already. Rashid simply grinned like a kid in a candy store and lifted a weight from the table and looped it around the mans ankles. There was short sharp cry and he continued to grunt.

Hamoud moved toward the man on the rack. He began to run his hands through the pelt covering the muscles and smiled a slow sly smile as he felt the soft fur beneath his palm. He stopped and placed his hand in the jungle covering the mans heart, feeling the pounding in the studs chest, and realized the man was not yet in pain because the ratchet had not been turned tight enough yet. He called out a thank you for my courtesy, and then quickly made two more turns of the wheel, chuckling as the stretched form below him began to gasp.

I walked over to the youth bound on the leg spreading rack and smiled, he was beautiful. Truly beautiful. His sculpted chest pushed toward the sky while his weight rested on his bound wrists, his legs quivered with the pain caused by the stretching. I rested my hand on the wheel and his eyes widened and he immediately began to plead in whatever language was his native tongue. I pushed the wheel once and he cried out, then went silent, panting and groaning and shifting. I took very sharp needles and threaded them with gold thread, two of them, Leaning forward over my beauty I gently caressed the soft fleece of his young chest, letting it run through my fingers while I tweaked his nipples to make them hard. He continued to try to writhe and groan. I swiftly jabbed first one needle through the right tit, then the other through the left. He cried out in pain, then bit down. I could tell he was trying to resist me. Trying not to cry out when he realized that was what I would want. I quickly tied jeweled weights onto the thread and let each fall to his side, painfully pulling each nipple toward the outer chest area. I placed my hand in the middle of his chest and fondled him as I watched my friends go to work. Occasionally tugging on the exposed genitals while I tried to decide what to do, how much damage this early.

I turned my attention to my friends. Ahmet had already begun, he really has a once track mind. The tools I’d laid out for Ahmet’s specialty were pigmented acids and special knives, as well as some particularly thin iron rods, smoking in the brazier. He caressed the broad surface of the mans chest, running fingers through hair, testing the muscles, then walked behind him and exclaimed when he saw the back. I knew he’d be pleased. I’d left if unmarked. He moved to the table and picked up one of the glass rods, dipping it into the red pigment, he moved to his victim and caressed the mans chest hair, pulling it away and smoothing it from the nipples, leaving them exposed. The man had stopped battling and crying out, but you could see his cheek’s and temples dancing as he clenched his jaw muscles, preparing himself. I’m sure he had no idea what was on the end of the glass tube, but he was soon to find out. Ahmet, with the skill of the artist, gently let a couple of drops fall onto the mans left nipple. It immediately began to smoke and blister and the man sucked in his breath and began to struggle. I was amazed that he did not cry out, but simply grunted through clenched teeth as the acid continued to burn his nipple. Moving to the blue pigment Ahmet gave the right nipple the same treatment. Laughing at the mans attempt to stifle his expressions of pain. Ahmet studied the man for awhile, then wiped the nipple area clean. He motioned to the guards and with their help he had the bonds of the hairy blond tightened to the frame, he had it lifted from it’s supports and laid flat, face down, and locked into supports on a table,so the man was now suspended horizontally on the table, resting on it but not fully, his back making a broad smooth muscular surface. Ahmet began to work in earnest now. He pulled one of the more effective thin knives from the table and with the concentration of a master craftsman at work, he began to trace shallow cuts in the smooth creamy surface before him, wiping away the beads of blood as they appeared. The look on the soldiers face was priceless. He was now bound face down, arms outstretched, legs taut, while my friend traced intricate patterns into his back with a knife. I’m sure his pain was minor compared to what was to come, but his breathing was hard and his expression was one of puzzled fear as his head moved from side to side as he struggled to look over his shoulder.

I heard a sharp barking cry and turned to where Rashid was working. I patted my own beauty on the chest and then grabbed his balls and began to squeeze gently as I watched the scene before me. My beauty moaned softly, more in fear than in pain I think.

Rashid had left the man suspended but had tied more weights to his ankles, increasing the pressure on his arms. He also set one of the guards to work pumping the bellows in the brazier. Sweat dripped from the mans body, the sparse hair was pressed close to his skin and his beard was matted. The pain and fear in his eyes were an aphrodisiac. Rashid pulled one of the thicker iron bars from the brazier, it was glowing. He moved to his intended and showed the man the bar, holding it close enough to his face so that he could feel the heat, then he gently moved it to the mans feet and began to caress the soles of the pleading form. He immediately began to screech and dance in his bonds, sucking in his breath to plead and then screech again as the bar sizzled and smoked against the tender feet. Rashid laughed and stopped for a moment, watching the mans face and enjoying the struggle to raise his feet out of harms way, unable to do so because of the weights. Taking another bar from the brazier, Rashid stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, I knew he was savoring the moment. Then he pushed the bar into the tender flesh between the mans thigh and balls. The howl the man let out was a master piece, cut short with a delicious look of surprise when there was a loud crack. The struggling had finally dislocated the mans shoulders and he sunk further. Laughing, Rashid now removed the weights from the feet of the writhing screaming man and began to caress his body with the red hot irons, stopping only to replace a cooling iron with one more fresh. He truly knew his work. He would pull an iron from the fire, and choose a tender spot. I was amazed at his patience, because he left the genitalia for last. He would press the bar against new flesh, a nipple, or the soles of the feet. The belly or an armpit. The sizzling bar would do it’s work, causing the desired writhing and screaming, and as it burned and popped, Rashid would begin to roll it along the flesh, extending the use out of each rod and making sure it stayed in contact with virginal flesh. I found it amusing, but we’d had discussions about his quick use of victims before. It did not seem to matter to him and I now knew which of the four would be chosen to finish off the day. Leaving Rashid to his handiwork I now looked toward Hamoud.

Hamoud and I are the most closely aligned in our tastes. Both in specimen and in application. We both prefer virile hirsute men. I see no point in torturing women or children, it brings me no pleasure. Smooth skinned beauties are fine. And for Ahmet smooth skin is almost a requirement. Rashid doesn’t mind the look of his victims since he is going to treat them violently, immediately. But for Hamoud and I, the look of the victim and the finesse of the treatment are important. My friends and I had spent long hours debating the merits of each of our types. While Rashid and Ahmet want to be able to see the damage done, For Hamoud and I it is more the music provided by the screams, and the dance provided by the writhing body in torment. No matter that the body hair would hide some of the damage done, we preferred out men powerful, the subjugation of a virile form and then it’s slow painful enslavement and or destruction. That was our drug.

Hamoud was very pleased with what I had provided. I’d listened carefully during our last conversation and now he would have the opportunity to practice some of his latest ideas. I smiled indulgently. His large hairy muscular victim was sweating in fear and pain. He occasionally gave a soft cry, almost a sigh, when the sharp pains shot through his joints, but he too was trying to be stoic. Against the barking screeching cries of the continued treatment of Rashid’s hanging dancing victim, and the pleading and puzzlement of Ahmet’s, I watched Hamoud go to work on this masculine piece of art.

The man had been restrained on a rack, but there was a frame built over the rack making it look like a four poster bed, missing a cover. The frame was box like, with a cross beam in the center of the top section. There were pulleys at different widths along the sides and the cross beam. Hamoud was stroking the victims broad lawn like chest as he murmured to himself, I could tell he was trying to figure out where to start first. The victim was still struggling and trying to remain calm and stoic. Moving to the table Hamoud picked up one of the fish hooks lying there. I knew he would appreciate the poetry of a nautical theme used on captive sailor. Hamoud grabbed the mans thick hair and pulled his head back, stopping it’s side to side movement he leaned down and tasted the sweat on the mans neck. Moving his tongue further down he began to lick and nip one of the nipples ‘til it stood out from the lush growth which hid it. Pinching this in one hand Hamoud pushed the hook through the nipple and attached it to a line which he then pulled through one of the pulleys. The sharp intake of breath signaled the victims pain, but he made no other exhibit. I knew this would be an excellent show as the nipple stretched from the chest toward the overhead beam. (I began to finger the ass of my own beauty as my blood pressure began to rise, he struggled and moaned, but his pain was not increased, not yet.) Hamoud gave the same treatment to the other nipple and pulled the line taut. Then he grabbed a handful of hooks and began to caress the victims balls. The man groaned in anticipation and then his muscles began to tense. Hamoud caressed the balls and the flaccid cock before him, musing to himself he began to set the hooks. The mans hair covered thigh muscles began to jump and writhe but he made no other sign of the pain he was in. Setting four of the hooks Hamoud then threaded them and attached all four to the same pulley. He pulled the line tight, raising the mans balls toward the sky, then pulled tighter so they were stretched from his body and the cock fell back toward his legs. The man began to roll his head from side to side on his muscular neck. Sweat began to fall from his body in torrents, soaking the table beneath him, yet still he clenched his jaw and let no more than an occasional grunt or moan leave his lips. I knew this would not continue. Part of Hamoud’s particular art is the gradual increase to a crescendo of pain.

Moving to the table I saw the slow smile as he put on the gloves laid next to the container of water. Dipping in he pulled the severed tentacles out of the container and showed them to his victim. The mans eyes widened and he began to shake his head, the universal signal for “no” or perhaps for disbelief. The tentacles were from a particularly painful type of jellyfish. One of my own guard had stepped on one two years ago and had screamed at the welts which raised in his skin. Impressed by the reaction I’d had one caught for this day and the tentacles severed for use. In keeping with Hamoud’s nautical theme.

My friend lifted the tentacle and slowly began to drape it over the stretched balls of his struggling hirsute victim. Immediately the fur covered muscles began to jump and what had been grunting turned to raw full throated yells of pain. Increasing as the stingers imbedded into the tentacles began to release their burning venom. The man on the rack began to scream and cry out and writhe as the tentacles were draped and wrapped around his balls and cock, completely encasing them in fiery burning pain. I made note of the reactions and decided to keep some of these new tools on hand for future use. I wondered how they would feel worked into a whip. I turned my attention back to Hamoud and his victim. Hamoud had pulled up a chair and was now caressing the straining muscles of the fur covered thigh, ruffling the hair on the mans chest and thoroughly enjoying the straining bunching struggling of his virile toy. “I’m ready” called out Ahmet, breaking us from our reverie. Each of us looked toward where he’d been preparing the young British soldier. The man was panting in fear and looked up when Ahmet called out. His bright blue eyes registering fear, but no real pain yet. We each walked over and looked down at the mans back and murmured our praise and approval. I’m sure the soldier thought he was finished and would now be released from this outrage. His shock and surprise would be delicious. Traced in fine scratches and cuts on the mans back was a portrait, of the four of us. Standing next to each other, line drawings surrounded by intricate decoration. This was indeed going to be one of Ahmet’s masterpieces. The mans back was covered from shoulder to shoulder and neck to restrained waist with the intricate design. “Are you sure he will live through this?” I asked. “No matter” replied Ahmet. I will make sure the wounds are closed so that if he does not survive we can skin the piece from him and cure it, as we did with the Spaniard I used last time. (I chuckled, thinking of the works of art I had hanging in my private apartments.). We watched as Ahmet began to work.

He moved the brazier and the hot irons as well as the palette of pigmented acids closer to the body of the young man bound before us. “Wait just a moment” I said, and moved around to the young mans head. Reaching under him I placed my hand in the middle of his lightly furred chest and using the other, I gripped him by the hair and stared into his beautiful blue eyes. His masculine face was typically British, with a strong jaw and aquiline nose. His jaw had the trace of a beard shadow that I was sure would show stubble by this evening.

I nodded for Hamoud to begin as I looked into the face of the confused captive soldier. Ahmet began to go to work with the acid, choosing first one pigment, then another he followed the lines he’d traced in the bound prisoners back. I laughed, at the first touch of the acid the blond soldiers eyes had gone wide and his jaw gaped, he sucked in breath and I could feel his hairy chest expand in my hand. He then let out a scream and sucked in more air. Moving his head from side to side trying to escape my grip he began to struggle against his bonds. Ahmet simply whistled and continued to work on the struggling form. He would trace one line with blue, another with red, a third with green or a more exotic pigment, burning both the line and the color into the mans skin with the smoking sizzling acid. He would occasionally alternate the application of pigment with the use of one of the thin hot rods resting in the brazier, burning a scar along this particular line or that. Or using it for shading. The man writhed and screamed and jerked at his bonds but the only sign Ahmet showed of realizing this was the cock which tented his pant. “Gentlemen, I said, “The day grows warm, let us get comfortable. Soon we were each of us as naked as our victims, but not as exposed, as they had no choice over what was happening. The guards were already half dressed and were allowed to remove their pants as they moved into position to continue to hand over implements or tighten bonds loosened in the struggles.

We voiced our approval as Ahmet continued to work on his struggling canvas and each returned to our respective stations. I looked into the beautiful face of my struggling youth, his features twisted into a gorgeous mask of pain and confusion. I ruffled the hair on his chest, and ran my hand along one fleecy leg and then crammed three fingers into his exposed ass as I turned to watch the show, and continued to feel the struggling warmth gripping my fingers and listen to the startled cries of my toy.

Hamoud began to remove the tentacles from the balls of his now moaning victim. I knew the mans genitals must still be in immense pain, but he seemed to have accommodated that somehow and now only moaned and stared through pain glazed eyes. Hamoud checked the bonds and tightened the rack slightly, causing a cry and stir from the victim on the table. The man now moaned and occasionally gave out sharp cries as his muscles cramped against the rack, causing even more pain than they were trying to relieve. This coupled with the screams of Ahmet’s canvas lent a carnival atmosphere to the garden and the lovely cool weather we were enjoying. What a perfect afternoon. Leaving his charge to rest, Hamoud moved to watch Rashid, who, as always, had moved quickly.

The bearded toy was hanging limp in his bonds, moaning. His body was a mass of burns and welts from the use of the hot irons. His ankles were abraded where the weights had hung. He seemed to be already delirious. He groaned, he cried out, he twisted in his bonds, hanging by his dislocated upper limbs, occasionally he would let out a tearful plea in the language none of us could understand. My friends stood watching, talking between themselves in front of the suffering man, as I thrust four fingers into my bound beauty and thrilled at his renewed protests.

Rashid and Hamoud soon came to a decision. Calling two of the guards, they gave orders. Ahmet looked up from his work and decided to take a break. His canvas received no such break as the pain from the acid continued the work as well as the evil shading of the burns now covering parts of the writhing muscular back. With the three other victims moaning in the background my three friends watched as a large wheel was rolled next to the frame from which the lightly furred bearded victim hung. One of the guards untied the rope and lowered the strappado device until the toy hit the ground, his bound legs buckling underneath him. His bonds were untied and he began to cry out as the blood flowed back into his limbs. He was quickly spread eagled on the wheel, and secured. Left to allow the blood to flow back into his limbs so he could enjoy the full effect of what was planned for him in the next go round.

Rashid an Hamoud went with Ahmet and murmured approval over the bound struggling shrieking form. I would see the work when it was finished. The two of them then left Ahmet to continue his work and Rashid would watch Hamoud as he waited.

Hamoud returned to the bound form on the rack. His now swollen reddened genitalia were still stretched skyward as were the mans tortured nipples. Hamoud rested a hand on the hairy taut belly and gently played with the hair there as he surveyed the table next to him. He quickly took two metal bowl, each on a long handle, and placed them in the brazier to heat. While he waited, Rashid asked permission and then began his own handiwork. Shoving a wedge into the groaning forms mouth to keep him from biting down, he forced his cock deep into the mans throat. He waited a moment and then pulled out as the mans eyes bulged and his face turned red from his inability to breath. While Rashid treated the man to a face fuck, Hamoud began to pluck and pull at the cords stretching the mans nipples and balls. He continued to toy with the man until the containers began to glow. Hamoud gestured to Rashid and he backed off. Playfully patting the handsome face on the cheek, as if this were all a game.

Hamoud gloved his hands again and pulled one of the containers out of the brazier. It was filled with smoking bubbling oil. A clear olive oil I think, I’m a bit of a purist. Letting it cool so it would cause pain without burning out the nerve endings, he held it over the suspended balls and began to drizzle the smoking fluid on the exposed and already raw orbs. The man on the rack immediately began to scream and howl, jerking in his bonds. Within minutes we’d heard the crack of the dislocation of hips and shoulders. Both Hamoud and Rashid were laughing and joking at the frenzied reactions of the man’s now glaze eyed form jerking and writhing as Hamoud then moved to the nipples and gave them the same treatment. They stepped back and watched for almost half an hour as they man jerked an writhed from the pain in his displaced joints and the pierced and burned parts of his body. As the man began to settle into the low moan of painful exhaustion, they returned their attentions to Rashid’s, victim, now reviving on the wheel.

The man was lying flat on the ground, his raw body stretched, his limbs hanging over the rim to which he was attached. Hamoud stepped back to watch as Rashid picked up a large iron bar. The mans eyes widened in fear and again he started to cry out but his voice gave out from the strain of the early afternoon. Rashid brought the bar down swiftly on the mans arms, breaking each in two places, one on the upper and one on the lower. Then treating the legs in the same manner. Rendering them useless they then had the man released from his bonds and laughed as the form of the slave, bought for the purpose of entertainment, began to toss and flop on the ground, trying to use his now useless limbs to flee the pain. I chuckled, knowing what we would do next, but my friends walked over to join me. We all chatted over the background music of the screaming bearded cripple, the moaning virile racked toy and the howling of the soldier, still becoming a work of art.

We discussed the beauty of the bound youth and how best to use him. I mentioned that I intended to keep him around for quite awhile and use him sexually while I worked on other victims. When I tired of him or found a suitable replacement I would be sure and invite them to the final use of this beauty. The youth’s eyes were glazed over in horror, I knew he could not understand what we were saying, but he’d just witnessed the torture of two of his shipmates, and a third man he didn’t recognize. Not to mention the lifeless and burned form of the redhead still spiked to the garden door. “Still, Hamoud said, “Couldn’t we see him jump just a little for now?” he asked.

Certainly I obliged, and pulled a silk whip from the table. Designed to cause maximum pain with minimal damage, I began to softly strike the genitals of my beautiful new toy. The sweat matted chest began to jerk and striate as he felt the light pain in his balls. His face screwed up in a mask of dread. Soon I tired of this and began to strike harder, eliciting genuine cries of pain as he felt the burn of the whip on his balls and the pain in his joints as he struggled not to pull on his straining outstretched legs. I laughed when Hamoud said “May I?” “Of course” I replied in my most courtly voice. Rashid began to run his hands along the youths tight furry torso while I continued to whip his balls. Hamoud, greased up his free hand, doubled it into a fist and began to slowly punch into the young mans asshole. He began to scream and plead and jerk in his bonds, but it was to no avail. Hamoud continued until he was up to his wrist. I was mesmerized by the sight. “no further” I cautioned him. “if you cause him to bleed we will lose him, and I intend to make this one last months. There will be time for more severe treatment later.” Pulling back some my friend heeded my warning and began a slow fucking motion with his fist. The look of horror and disbelief on the yelling bound form struggling under our ministrations caused me to ejaculate, spewing white cream all over the darkly tanned skin, catching in his body hair. My two friends cheered and began to jack themselves as well, also spewing onto the bound form, Hamoud pulled out his hand and we smeared the ejaculate into the hairy torso of the beautiful young man as he began to sob. I wiped a tear from his cheek with my finger and while he watched, lifted that same finger to my lips and sucked on it as if I’d imbibed the greatest delicacy. He clenched his eyes shut and I gave him one soft slap to the side as we walked over to Ahmet.

Our artist friend was almost finished. On the back of the bound beautiful soldier was a masterpiece, the four of us standing next to each other, with intricate designs framing us, worked into brilliant, burnt - in colors and shading. A work of art in living leather. The soldier was obviously exhausted, but the art was worth it. We overcame our disappointment as we had intended to castrate him that day, but knew at this point he would not survive the shock. We would tend to him and then when the time was right, remove his balls and his cock with one or two sweeps of the knife. Ahmet began to wipe a healing salve over the back of the moaning panting form of the soldier. The man began to revive slightly as the thick salve covered the wounds of the painting. Suddenly he began to twitch and moan and cry out, struggling yet again in his bonds. Ahmet grinned and looked up at me. “What have you done to this?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “I took your healing salve and had a chemist mix in an agent that will cause his skin to itch tremendously while it heals.” My friends laughed and congratulated me on my ingenuity while they continued to work the salve into the mans skin. They quickly washed it from their hands as they began to feel the itch of their own skin, and became even more amused at what the young muscular blond before them must be feeling. Chuckling, Hamoud, who always was the most inventive, walked back to his station and picked up a glove. Walking back to the bound blonde young soldier, he coated his gloved fingers with the salve and massaged the cock and balls of the man before him and pushed one finger into the blond hair ringed asshole. The man began to moan and grunt and writhe. We left him bound and moved on.

Hamoud’s victim would be released from the rack to return to his apartments. Bound in whatever manner his joints would be reset and his masculine hirsute frame would be available for my friend to whip and rape to his hearts content. The agreement among the four of us was that any permanent damage done to victims used on this day, was to be witnessed by all four. That of course, did not preclude whipping, raping, beating from which one would recover, and all manner of other torments. Also, I knew my friends kept others, thieves, captured spies, slaves purchased for the purpose, to use their considerable skills and talents. Just as I had quite a stable myself. Ahmet’s young charge would have to be hidden away. It would not do for the British consulate to find out what had happened to their missing comrade. While I did not fear the British, I was not about to risk wasting precious resources in a war over an argument about what I do in my own kingdom. Besides, I enjoyed watching this one suffer. More abductions would be in order. We could always blame it on the waterfront whores and thieves. Bodies dumped near the wharf seldom rise in these shark infested waters. I couldn’t wait to see the back after it healed. And the young mans castration would provide a lovely future diversion. We would have to reunite these three survivors at that time. Perhaps my youth...... but no...... I was sure I would not have spent him to the point of snuffing out his beautiful light at that point.

And so our attention turned to Rashid’s victim, having exhausted himself the man had fainted from his broken limbs. I gave an order and each of the three who were to survive this day were released from their bonds and tied, gently, and propped upright. The soldier was still itching terribly so his hands were restrained to his sides. My youth still had his hands tied behind his back. Hamoud’s victim cried out as his joints were pushed back into place, but then he fainted. So the hooks were removed and his arms and legs were tied lightly together. The three men were placed where they could view their comrade if they were cognizant enough to do so.

A light picnic was set out with tables and chairs for the four of us. And the guards went to work. They quickly dug a post hole underneath the frame where the bearded victim had been subjected to the strappado, and then laid a large stake, perhaps ten feet tall next to it. Then they revived the bearded victim. The man moaned and rolled a bit, but when the guards grabbed his broken limbs he again cried out. Placing him on the ground, they looped a rope around his waist, tightened it and then threw it over the pulley and pulled it taut. The man was still lying on the ground in a delirium of pain, the rope stretching from his prone body over the pulley. It was tied in back so as not to obstruct our view. At my signal four guards gripped the mans limbs. Each holding one down, two others picked up the large stake with the blunted end and began to push it into the anus of the horrified man. His screams were incredible, a mixture of pain and fear and horror. His face was twisted in a mask of disbelief. I glanced from him to the soldier and youth, who were awake and witnessing the final moments, they were both staring in fear that this too would be their fate. I chuckled when I realized each would look back on this moment as a blessing for the bearded man by the time we had finished with them.

Sipping our wine and nibbling on fruit and cheese we watched while my guards expertly guided the pole into the mans intestines, noticing the moment when it evidently pierced something inside, as the man went white and screamed even louder, I hadn’t thought it possible. At this point, my guards performed what appeared to be a ballet. The men at the legs let go and helped the other two holding the stake to lift it upright while the men at the arms began to pull the rope. Working in unison they raised the stake and the victim so as not to cause fatal damage too early. They planted the stake in the hole and made it firm. And then they tied the rope off to a device of my own creation. It was a modified clock, and as the hours and minutes ticked away the victim, flopping with his useless broken limbs, would be slowly lowered onto the stake running into his entrails. We spent the waning hours of the afternoon discussing politics, the future use of the three surviving victims, and the differences of nationality among the men we’d tortured in the past, the body shape, the skin, what each lent itself too, as well as which nationalities tended to try to remain stoic and which cried out and carried on immediately. We were evenly split. Rashid and Ahmet felt there was a definite national correlation, Hamoud and I both felt it was simply individual. We continued like this as we watched the condemned man try to use his useless limbs to stop his inevitable slide down the stake. As we were doing so I mentioned a different technique I would like to try, perhaps on Hamoud’s victim when the time was right. Instead of breaking the limbs and suspending with rope, I suggested we leave the limbs intact, but generously grease the pole so that no matter how much he tried, the condemned would not be able to stop his fatal and painful downward slide. As the sun set and the clock ticked on, suddenly it rang out the hour, and the rope was released completely. The screaming man fell, the stake exiting through his chest near his throat. He remained struggling and rattling his blood soaked breath for another half an hour. When it was done the soldier was bound face down on a litter and sent to Ahmet’s apartments deep within the palace. Hamoud’s victim was carried to his home for the care I’d already described. Rashid just smiled as he cut off his dead victims balls for a souvenir, I knew he would probably return home and use his fist up the ass of the young Irish merchant he’d kidnapped and kept there, I wondered if he would finish him tonight by going too far. He always was one for excess.

As for my beauty, I gave orders that he be taken to my chambers and bound face down. I would rape him this night and then have him suspended in the room so that I could drift to sleep to the music of his sobbing and groaning, and wake to the look of fear and anticipation which I knew would adorn his face. Yes, all in all a perfect afternoon.