DRAY SLAVE
By Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Two
I didn't like having to crap communally! Well, in the barracks it's communal showers and shitters and everything, but even though they don't put doors on the cubicles, there are separating panels so you can't see the guy in the next stall when you're on the crapper, and it is a proper lavatory bowl that you can sit on. But here it wasn't like that at all - the young guy, Steve, and the older guy, Jon, and a couple of guards with their slave prods at the ready drove us to a place where there was a mesh grill on the floor, and we had to crouch down, two by two, side by side, and crap there, with all the other guys watching us. And if we said we didn't want to do it, they made us crouch down anyway and we were warned that we wouldn't have a chance later on. It was really gross - you could smell the sewers underneath the grill as you crouched there, and it was pretty cramped so my shoulders were rubbing against my buddy's as we strained away. It made me think we were more like animals than men, being made to do our business in such terrible circumstances, and not even given a proper bowl to do it in.
Still, after that we did get a shower to clean us up a bit, and that was good after spending so much time sweaty and dirty, although we weren't allowed to shave or clean our teeth or anything. One of the guys asked
if we were going to get our breakfast now, but one of the guards told him to shut up as "slaves get fed when their masters decided to feed them" and that we "shouldn't expect three meals a day as if we were free men" any longer. So that was that! My belly was rumbling with hunger as big fit men like me need a lot of fuel to keep going, but what could we all do when we were naked, and the guards held all the cards?
They herded us along and into some sort of big room, and there was a set of parallel horizontal bars there, just wide enough apart for a guy to get between them, and we were lined up and told to enter. On each side one bar was basically just under my armpit and I was told to have my arms outside, another was at waist level, and the third at mid-thigh. I stood there behind another guy, and there was someone behind me, and we kept a proper distance apart - until the guy behind me started to push forward. I had no alternative then but to move forward too, and the guy in front of me did the same when I gently nudged his back. But they were evidently pushing the last of us as far forward as he could go, as we all got closer and closer, until we were touching! Look, you get used to feeling another soldier against you when you're doing exercises in trench fighting and so on and you're all lying there close together, but you've got all your fatigues and stuff on then. Now we were totally bare-assed, remember, and I've never really felt another guy's skin against me like that - well, maybe when we've wrestled or something, but not all his skin in contact with all of mine right down my back and butt and thighs and everything, and with my chest pushing into the back of the guy in front of me!
I could feel the hairy chest of the guy behind me against my back and his pubes brushing against my butt, and I knew the guy in front of me must be feeling the same. It was so fucking humiliating, and we all broke out into a sweat as we stood there, and that made it worse as we were kind of slithering and sliding against each other, rather like you do when you've had a really energetic session in bed! Just thinking about that made my dick start to go hard, and I was terrified - I was so close to the guy in front of me that my dick was almost resting in his ass crack anyway, an now, as it stiffened, I knew he must be feeling it pushing at him! A moment later I knew I wasn't the only one in the same position, though, as I felt the dick of the guy behind me starting to push at my butt, and I kind of wriggled a bit to try and ease the problem for him - but that of course made my dick slide in the crack o f the guy in front.
All three of us gave a kind of nervous laugh and whispered apologies to each other - well, we all knew we weren't fags, didn't we, and we joked about it, even, saying that this would be what some guys dreamed about. But it's not all that funny, I can tell you, being held there between two of your buddies, with a dick pressing at your butt and with yours doing the same at another.
I saw then what these bar things were for - packed in closely like that, sandwiched between two other guys, you couldn't move. And so the guards could all relax as they didn't have to monitor us all so very, very closely. Instead, they could really concentrate on the guy they took from the front of the thing - watch him as he was "worked on", and then put him back into it at the rear so we all moved up. You know how line discipline has broken down a bit these days and people rush to get on buses and stuff when they pull in to a stop, well these bar things are the complete answer to that - it's just impossible to get out of line!
One of the guys in the waiting line started to shout out that they should release him, as he was a Southerner, just like them. The Jon guy came over, and our "buddy" said "Sir, I'm a Southerner, just like you, sir. My folks have a farm in Arkansas...."
"Well you shouldn't have been in the Northern army then, boy. You should have known better than to attack your own folk."
"I couldn't help it, sir.... A lot of guys in our town joined the forces ,as there wasn't anything else to do around there except farm. And we were based near Chicago when the war broke out...."
"You should have refused to fight. You should have known it was wrong to attack your fellow Southerners..."
"What could we do, sir? There were several guys like me in out unit! You can't disobey the orders of your officers, can you, sir? "
"Yes, you an. Especially when they tell you to attack your own folk. "
"Sir, please, just call my folks...."
"It's too late for that. You did a wrong thing, a very wrong thing, and now you're a slave and there's no going back."
I was second in line, and when the guards opened the front of the thing to take away number one, I was now pressed against a bar at the front - the air felt cool against my sweating skin. And paradoxically, now it was "free" and not constrained by a butt in front of it, my dick now just went limp, thank god! I saw the first guy being brought back and pushed into the back of the thing we were held in, and then it was my turn.
The guards, prods at the ready, led me across the yard and into what was clearly a blacksmith's shop: there was this huge guy there - with very muscular arms, wearing a leather apron thing from his chest down to his feet. He gestured at me to come forward to where he was standing by an anvil, and the guards barked at me to kneel.
There was a depression in the anvil and I was told to put my neck in it, and the big guy in the apron came and felt my neck, as if he was sizing it for something- which, it turned out, he was. He walked over to a heap of metal and rooted around in it a bit, and as he did I saw that underneath the apron he was totally naked, as his massive butt and thighs were clearly visible. He came back and slipped a heavy piece of metal under my neck as I knelt there, then pushed my neck down, got the biggest pair of pincer-things I've ever seen, with very long handles, put the open jaws around the metal, and started to squeeze the handles. I saw then why he was so muscular, as he strained to get the thing to close up, folding the metal around my neck as it did so.
"OK, boy, that's got you nice and snug in your collar", he said to me. "Now just kneel there whilst I get the rivet, to make sure that you can't undo it".
I knelt there - well, what else could I do - feeling the cold metal against my warm skin, as he went over to the forge. He used a wheel which powered a blower that caused sparks to fly up from the hearth as he fanned the flames to a white heat, and then put something into them, held at the end of a long pair of tongs. After a couple of minutes he came back over to me with the tongs holding a rivet, that was glowing cherry red from the hearth.
He flung a piece of wet sack across my shoulders - the unexpectedness of it made me cry out, and he said "Stay still, boy. The cloth is just to keep the sparks off you...."
There was an absolutely ear-shattering noise then for a couple of minutes as he put the red hot rivet through my collar, and hammered it flat with a big hammer, before throwing a cup of water over it to cool it down. The guard motioned to me to stand up then, and as I did so I felt for the first time the weight of my collar - a couple of pounds, I suppose. It pressed down on my shoulders, feeling cold, but it wasn't just the physical weight of it that was the problem: no, it was the oppressive thought that now this collar was going to press down on me for ever, that I was now no longer a free man, but was wearing a badge of servitude, something that would for ever mark me down as something different - this was truly the start of my road to enslavement. What was worse, though, was that as I stood there the big blacksmith guy simply reached out and yanked my dog-tags off from around my neck, and just tossed them into a bin of what looked like "scrap". I started to protest, but he whispered "Keep quiet, boy, or the guard will prod you!", and I saw that in his own way he was as helpless as I was: he might not want to collar other guys like me, but as a slave himself he had no choice.
"I see a lot of guys like you", he went on, looking nervously at the guard. "They still think of themselves as soldiers, until they get their collar. And when they lose their dog-tags, they start to really understand that they're no longer fighting men.
And it gets worse, but hang in there and don't do anything stupid - you can't fight the system!"
I wondered what he meant but had no time to ask as the guard came over to take me back to be put into the "holding line" and once more was pressed against the guy in front of me- who like me was now collared with a heavy iron collar - and now we waited, shuffling forward every now and then, as, in turn, all of us were taken and collared in the same way. I counted the nine of us, as we moved and halted, and it was pretty boring really, as we weren't allowed to talk or anything: if we went to speak, one of the guards came over and threatened us with the prod.
When we'd all been done, they started on the next process, but this was easier, I suppose: one by one we were pulled form the front of the "line", and then, closely watched by a guard to make sure we didn't move, we were sat on a stool that a slave brought in (well, it was obvious he was a slave, even though he didn't speak, as he was collared and naked!). This guy really knew what he was doing, just like the barbers at the base: he had electric clippers that he ran over my head again - I've always had a pretty standard marines crew cut and now this was reduced back to its "proper" height as it had got a bit long during the fighting. But as the two men in charge ,Steve and Joe, watched, I was told to raise my arms above my head, and the slave ran the clippers down and got rid of all my pit hair! Told to stand up, the slave knelt in front of me and I heard the snick, snick, snick of the clippers in action as he clipped away at my pubes! I hated it as the slave moved my dick from side to side, and my balls, as he worked: no guy had ever handled me down there before. And I could feel the cold steel of the implement against my sensitive skin down there, but what could I do? Nothing!
As I was pushed back towards the end of the line I reached down and found that they'd clipped away most of my pubes - I had a big, thick really manly patch - and what was left seemed to be shorter. Later that night, when we had other things to worry about as I'll tell you - we saw that they'd done the same to all of us: our dicks were now all so much more prominent as they emerged from just an inch or so of pubes, and the patch was itself only a couple of inches around and above our dicks.
We stood there then, and I heard Jon, the older guy in charge, that he and Steve, the younger one, should go off and get lunch as "the afternoon was upsetting". We hadn't had breakfast, remember, and one of us called out asking to be fed, only to be told to shut the fuck up by the guard as "We'd get fed when they were good and ready, and not before."
So we stood there, waiting, and waiting, and I began to realise what it was like to lose control over even the simplest parts of my life. They'd collared me and cut my body hair, and there was not one thing I could do about it. And now I couldn't even go off and get a snack, or a drink, or anything: I was totally under their control, and had lost any freedom of action. I couldn't even stop myself from pushing my dick up a buddy's butt crack, as they'd taken away even this part of my freedom to act by keeping us pressed naked, so humiliatingly close to each other.
When Jon and Steve came back from their lunch, Jon said something to Steve and he started to go down the line of us with a piece of apparatus that looked a bit like a garden spray: a tank on his back, and a hose and wand. When he got to me he offered a plastic nozzle towards my mouth, and he said, not unkindly, "Open up - it's just water..."
"Well, actually, I didn't want to drink."
I said this as I hadn't pissed since the morning - I don't want you to think I've got a weak bladder or anything, but I always think it's best not to take risks. Steve was about to move on, when the older guy, Jon, said to him "You're their master, Steve! They need to drink, if they're going to work hard. But more importantly, if you give them an order, they'd better obey you! Now, tell the slave to get his fucking mouth open, and if he disobeys, use your prod on him! The sooner these men learn that slaves obey masters' orders completely and immediately, the better it is for them."
"Open up, boy", Steve then said quietly to me, and I could see that he hadn't liked the "lesson" from the older guy, as he was blushing slightly as if with suppressed anger. Well, I decided that not drinking wasn't enough to make a fight over, especially a fight, I couldn't win, so I opened my mouth and Steve put the plastic nozzle in and my mouth started to fill wit h water, which I swallowed.
We all continued to stand there after that, but to my horror, I felt something warm against my butt, and a strange sensation in my legs. It took me a few moments before I realised what was happening - the guy behind me was pissing, and his piss was running down the inside of my thighs and all down my legs. I turned around as best I could, and started to shout at him telling him we has a fucking dirty cunt, doing that to me! He whined back that he couldn't help it, but all this bought the guard over and he stabbed at me with the prod: he must have had it on low as it made me scream and spasm a bit but not fall to the ground or anything, although it made me lose control of my already straining bladder. Now, to my horror, I was drenching the guy in front of my with my piss - and you know how it is: once you've started, you can't stop, can you?
I wish the utter humiliation of being pissed on, and pissing on another guy, was the worst thing that happened to us all that afternoon. But as we watched, slaves dragged in some sort of frame thing, that looked rather like a saw horse, but made of metal, with a lot of straps hanging from it. There was also a small brazier full of burning coals, and the first of us was taken from the front of our line, moved over to the saw horse thing and strapped down on his belly, and there was a lot of fussing around tightening the straps around his waist and on his thighs and so on, so he was utterly immobile.
At first we thought it couldn't be true: we watched in horror as an iron instrument was heated up in the burning coals, and then the man Jon went over and pressed the end of it against the guy's butt as he lay there helpless!
There was a terrible, scream from him a scream the like of which I've never heard before, and the smell of searing meat filled the room. We saw his body jerk reflexively and then thrash around helplessly ( the bindings seemed to be really secure). There was another smell then - the guy's bowels had let go, and there was shit crawling down his thighs as he was held there.
His ordeal wasn't over then, even: as the poor guy lay there, sobbing and moaning, the guards grabbed his right arm and strapped it down onto the front of the saw horse, right in front of his face. And we all began to shout and call them perverts and sadists as Jon picked up another of the instruments from the fire - smaller this time, and simply pushed it down on to the back of the hand of the helpless guy.
The slaves busied themselves then washing the guy's legs to get rid of the shit and sluicing some water over the floor to try to clean it, and then he was released, and he half staggered, and he was half dragged, to the back of our line.
So I knew what was going to happen to me, but knowing it didn't make it any better. I got to the front, and knew it was my turn next. And knew there was not one fucking thing I could do about it to stop myself being subjected to the agonies that I'd seen the others go through. I ran through a whole lot of mantras in my head to control my rising panic and remain calm. I tried to be brave as the guards marched me across to the horse, but when I got there my courage almost failed me as I saw the sweat all over it from the other guy, and smelled that dreadful smell of shit and charred mean hovering around. I felt the straps pulling tight around my waist and my chest, and then the individual ones around my thighs, and as I turned my head I saw that I was going to be branded by Steve, not Jon, as he was advancing towards me with the red hot iron from the flames.
Even though I was prepared for it, I was not prepared for it. When the iron touched my butt there was a fleeting instant when I didn't believe it. And then the pain struck. A pain, an agony, the like of which I have never known before. My whole body jerked and spasmed trying to get away from it, doing all the things that millions of years of evolution have taught us: if your body is being damaged, get away from the source. But strapped down helplessly, you can't. I heard screams, terrible, throat-tearing screams, and knew they must be my own. They do say that when you're in terrible pain it only lasts a short time before the brain turns it off. Well, I guess it depends on what you mean by "as short time", as time seemed to stretch out almost endlessly for me as the searing, throbbing sensation pulsed through every fibre of my body.
I was too weak to really resist the guard as he pulled my arm up to strap it down - and all I could do was lie there, whimpering, as a strap was fastened around my wrist and another at my elbow, and then three smaller ones to hold my thumb, two fingers, and the other two fingers, tightly down. It was worse to be able to see the hot iron approaching, I told myself to be brave, to be stoical, and that it would all be over soon, but it made no difference. I could see Steve looking a little worried as the pushed the iron down onto the back of my hand, but then my nose filled with the smell of my own skin charring and once more I let rip with one of those huge primitive screams of pain and outrage.
I suppose I was only aware that I'd shit myself when I felt the cold water sluicing over my butt and legs as the slaves cleaned me up, and then they undid me and "helped" me back into the line, where I stood, whimpering quietly, as the remainder of my buddies were done.
They did show us some compassion, though, as once we'd all been done, they took us out of the crush, one by one, and the slaves rubbed some sort of salve into the wounds on our butts and hands - it smelled vaguely "antiseptic, like hospitals, so I suppose they were worried about infection and stuff. But it must also have been analgesic as the really terrible stinging hurt dulled a bit, so that it was just an aching, background kind of throb.
I wondered at the time why they couldn't have given us a pain killer or something before searing our flesh, but I suppose the point is that they wanted us to remember it: well, if that was their objective, it certainly worked as I'll go to my grave remembering how the slave brand was marked absolutely indelibly into me.
It didn't matter that they didn't feed us then, as none of us could have eaten, I think, We were taken back to our overnight "cage", probably too feeble and weak to put up a fight even if we hadn't been closely guarded. And then when the door was banged shut, we almost did not have the energy to shuffle around and find a free space where we would not be touching each other. As we lay there on our bellies, I could see the horrible blisters and marks on my buddies' butts and knew my own must look the same - and, in any case, the back of my hand was pretty awful with a dark, dark red sore that was weeping fluid almost continuously.
As we lay there I heard one of my buddies muttering, as if to himself, "That's it. I really am a fucking slave now. I might have been able to get rid of this fucking collar one day, but now they've marked me permanently - there's no way brands like this can ever be removed. I'm a slave, and everyone can see it."
The next morning, after a very fitful night when most of us didn't sleep all that much, we were all not in a very good state. We were tired and exhausted, still in pain, and, of course, hungry as we hadn't been fed the day before at all..
Steve and Jon and a couple of guards were there, and they opened the cage door and told one of us to come out - as it so happened, it was me - and Steve said "Kneel, slave! "
I wondered what the fuck he meant, but the sight of the guard's prod was enough to make me do as he said, and I knelt there with the stone of the floor cold and uncomfortable on my knees. Look, you don't have much experience of this kind of thing, do you? I mean, you usually only kneel in church, if you go to church, and I don't. So you don't really know how to do it.
"Knees apart, feet together, boy!", Jon snapped. " And then straight back, with your butt resting on your heels. And hands behind your back, on top of your butt. That's what you do when you're told to kneel!"
I shuffled around a bit and did as he'd said, and Steve came up to me with another plastic spout, rather like the one he'd used the day before to give me water when in the waiting line. "Open wide!", he told me. "It's breakfast time!"
Numbed with exhaustion and the sheer shock of being naked and a slave, I suppose I was not my usual self, and just did as he was told. I felt Steve's hand on the back of my head as he held me there and he inserted the nozzle thing in my mouth, and then something spewed into my mouth, and almost straight down my throat! I almost gagged, but then it was over and the nozzle was pulled out of me, I was told to go back into the cage an the next guy was called out.
They'd fed three of us like this, when the fourth guy - who'd I got marked down as someone to watch out for, as he was the typical sort of big bully guy that every barracks seems to get inflicted with - you know the type, the one who's always right, who always seems to want to pick a fight, even with his buddies, to always have the last word. He knelt there, and when Steve told him to open his mouth - and he must have been aware of how it was done, from watching me and the others - he snarled "No fucking way! I'm not a goose, to be fattened", and reached out to take the thing out of Steve's hand.
Steve slapped him across the face. I thought it was pretty fucking stupid, as you don't mess with a bully like that unless you're really serious, do you? The guy leapt to his feet and lashed out at Jon who had gone to assist Steve, and it looked as if there might be a real fight, before the guy was felled by the simple expedient of the guard touching him with the slave prod.
They locked the other eight of us in our cage then as the guards summoned slaves, who in turn brought in one of the frame things we'd been bound to the previous day when we were being branded. As we watched, the big guy was dragged to his feet and securely strapped down, this time with his legs spread really wide apart and with straps around his ankles and thighs. They positioned him so that his ass was towards us, and Jon even supervised them doing this, as it seemed they wanted us to have a good view.
The slave was a big guy, as I've said, as those "bully" types so often are. And this size extended to his dick and his balls, which we could all see hanging there down between his outspread thighs. We watched as Jon came up to him holding something that looked like a pair of pliers with four jaws instead of two, then took a black rubber ring from his pocket, slipped it over the jaws, and pulled the handles to open it so that they stretched wide - it must have been strong rubber, as Jon seemed to need a lot of force to make it stretch. He knelt beside our guy, and put the open jaws of the pliers around the guy's nuts, and pulled at them to get his nuts right down through the stretched ring - the guy was shouting out and calling him a fucking pervert and telling him o leave his balls alone - and then let go of the handles, so that the ring slipped off the jaws and at once tightened around the root of the guy's nut sack!
His cursing at once turned into an agonising shriek, and then to shouting and pleading for the pain to stop. But Jon said something to Steve, and they and the guards just walked off.
All eight of us in the cage clustered around the gate, our own hurting bodies almost forgotten - as we watched the guy thrash around futilely trying to get free. We could see his big balls, now with the ring around their base - and the Southerner, the farm boy, said "Oh fuck! That's a rubber-ring pig castrator they've used on him. My pa uses them all the time on our hogs! The ring cuts off the blood supply to the nuts.... So they die! They're castrating him!"
The guy on the frame was screaming and shouting "No, please... No....", now, but we were all helpless to do anything about it, just as he was helpless to help himself. We had to stand there and watch as his balls turned at first read, and then a deathly pale colour.
I don't know how long it was before Steve and Jon and the guards came back, but it must have been at least two hours, I guess (you lose the ability to know time exactly when they've taken your watch off you and there's no clocks around). Jon came up to the gate and addressed us. "See this slave, and remember! He dared to hit out at a master, and he's lucky still to be alive. Normally, the penalty for striking a free man is death... But we've decided to be merciful. This slave is now a eunuch, and in a couple of weeks time, when the male hormones have flushed out of his system, he'll be much quieter, and sold on. He'll never do a 'proper' manly slave's job, as all of you will, but will end up as some 'toy' of a rich man or woman, perhaps .... Now, watch and learn: we treat our slaves well here, and with a master like Steve, you can have a good life. But one failure, one breaking of the proper rules like this, and we won't hesitate to castrate you, or execute you. Remember, slaves obey their masters and never, never, even think about using physical violence to them!"
They took us out of the cage then and made us walk past our doomed colleague and back into the "waiting line" thing from the day before. Needless to say, we were pretty subdued and didn't offer any resistance or even argue.
One by one we were taken out of the line and led back to the place with the blacksmith the day before. I was first this time, and was worried as hell about what they were going to do to me - still, I told myself as I marched along, it could hardly be as painful as branding me, could it?
The blacksmith was just wearing a flap of leather on a rope strung around his waist today, so I could see almost all of his magnificent body. He must have sensed I was shit scared, as he came close to me, so close that I could smell the scent of his sweat from where he'd been working, and whispered "Don't worry, boy! It doesn't hurt today - well, not physically, that is!"
This time, as the guard watched me closely, I had to lie on my back on the anvil. Fortunately my butt could overhang the end so that my brand was not pressing down on it, or I wouldn't have known how to bear the pain! The blacksmith had another big pair of pliers with him, and he told me to spread my legs wide and knelt down between them. I felt his hands on my dick and balls - it was as if he'd caught them between his thumb and fingers - and was tugging them away from my body. Fucking hell, I'd never had a man touch me down there, and I hated it. If I'd even thought I'd have had a chance to do something about it, I'd have got up and attacked them. But one of the things they teach you as a marine is to look at the odds, and if they're not in your favour, to conserve yourself in the hope of making a difference later. With me naked, a guard with a gun and a prod, and a huge muscled slave who didn't look as if he'd be on my side, I knew there was nothing at all I could do. So I just had to lie there and let this giant tug and pull at my dick and balls.
He stood up and went and fetched a small piece of metal, then he bent again, pulled at my dick and balls once more, and I felt something cold around the root of my dick. I saw him squeeze the pliers, and then he stood up, smiling. "All done, boy!", he said, smiling, and I scrambled to my feet.
They'd fixed a metal band around the root of my dick and balls, and the blacksmith had used the pliers things to squeeze it closed. It felt all heavy as I stood there, and my dick looked as if it was half erect as it was pushed up and out from my body, making it even more prominent than it had been before after my pubes had been trimmed. And it was almost lying on my top of my balls now, as instead of just hanging down low they were now sort of raised up and pressed close to my dick. I've never been ashamed of my body, and have never minded guys looking at me in the showers and so on, but now this was different: I was embarrassed by my nakedness, embarrassed at the thought of them seeing my dick thrust out and away from me like this, and kind of "decorated".
"It will fell funny for a bit", the blacksmith said casually. "But I'm pretty good at it. They make me do it tight enough so there's no way you can get it off and you're always on 'display' a bit. But I'm careful to do it not so tight that it cuts off the blood to your balls, or makes them hurt..."
"But why..."
"Hey, boy, you're going to be on display, and free men like to look at a man's dick! But seriously, it will be a help to you: you drays have a lot of running to do, and most guys aren't used to running without some sort of support - a jock, or briefs, or something. Once you get used to it you'll find that the ring provides that support for you now. Mind you, you'll 'show' a lot more - a young guy like you will find it even harder not to have erections, as the moment it starts, the blood has more of a problem to get back, so the erection stays up there good and hard."
At that moment the guard clearly got tired of us talking, and ordered me to follow him back to re-join the others. As we walked across the yard, I could feel my dick bobbing up and down and I felt so exposed. It was as if the whole balance of my body was altered - you know how it is, when you walk across the bedroom towards a woman with a hard erection: well, it was like that mostly, only all the time!
End Of Part Two