DRAY SLAVE
By Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
(Readers are reminded that this is "the other side of the coin", telling the story in "Steve's First Job" from the perspective one of the slaves, Dave, rather than from that of the master, Steve. They mostly recount the same incidents, but from a different point of view).
Part Six
I got used to working, actually. For a couple of weeks everything followed the same pattern: getting up, being fed and watered, crapping, jerking off, loading up, then going out on deliveries all over town, before coming back to the yard to be fed and watered and caged up for the night. Steve even seemed to have relaxed a bit, as once or twice he said it was a "free night", so we could jerk ourselves off (except for five and eight, who continued to behave shamefully by playing with each other in the cage).
Steve never let up on Sarge, though: he was kept muzzled the whole time, and was always tethered to the dray when we went out. So he couldn't join us in chatting to the other slaves when we stopped for lunch (although after his first whipping, we noticed he now always stood exactly where Steve had left him), and he was really cut off at night when we sat around in our cage shooting the breeze about the events of the day.
I suppose I understood what Steve was doing, really wearing Sarge down, and making him cut off from the rest of us to remove the "threat" to his leadership of us, but it was really tough on Sarge. It was dangerous, too - we were delivering one of those big fridge-freezers to an apartment complex and it was too big to fit in the elevator so we had to carry it up the stairs, and they're fucking heavy, as you may know. We're used to working together as a team of course, but a team needs a leader and without Sarge there's always two or three of us shouting and giving directions. Well, the fucking thing got stuck, an then, as we tried to get it free, it slipped and ran off down the staircase, trapping seven: the poor guy was lucky not to be seriously injured, as fortunately he managed to fling himself into a small angle on the stairs. But Steve was not pleased at all - mostly because he had to do a lot of paperwork for the insurance claim and because the customer was really upset, but also because, I think, he now had a certain pride in us and I like to think he was concerned about what might have happened to seven. Still, it was his fault, wasn't it? If he'd let Sarge take charge of the delivery, it wouldn't have happened.
We worked six full days a week, but, being in the South, Sunday was a "day of rest" - well, after we'd had a church service, that is. Every Sunday all of the slaves were lined up in the yard, and they got one of those stupid bible-thumping southern pastors in to stand there and tell us about god's love for all his creatures, even slaves. Frankly, even if you did believe in the ju-ju in the sky nonsense this would have been pretty sickening as he went on and on about "serving here on earth to get rewards in heaven". Fuck me, he should have tried running around naked and then see how much he'd think that some supposed rewards in a hypothetical after life were actually worth! We had to attend, though, as we had no choice as the company thought that the image of slaves being treated as "good Christians" enhanced their image and their business, and so we were herded out of our cages, lined up neatly, and then the guards and drivers stood around, their whips at the ready to slash at us if we failed to stand, or kneel, or whatever, as the service demanded. And we all had to shout "Amen" in unison, and sing all the hymns, too: all that crap about "Jesus wants me for a sunbeam" and the other muck that was considered suitable fodder for slaves. I particularly hated it when they gave us the so-called "holy communion" when we had to take this bit of wafer thing and some coloured water, and they said it was the body and blood of Jesus - I mean, who could even consider such a thing was likely? It was all so hypocritical, and it was particularly hard for Sarge as once the wafer thing was pushed through the hole in his muzzle, he couldn't swallow it. The pastor seemed to get really cross, thinking that Sarge was deliberately trying not to take the "holy sacrament", as he called it, and he ordered one of the guards across and told the man to give Sarge a couple of strokes of the cane across his shoulders as he knelt there. So much for "loving all god's creatures"!
It seemed that the drivers only came in on some sort of rota, and Steve was only there every third Sunday. After the service the "duty drivers" fed us and so on, and locked us back in the cages: it wasn't much, I know, but the chance not to have to run and pull for a whole half day seemed fucking marvellous! On I think it was the second of these Sundays when it was Steve's duty, though, he didn't herd us back into the cages with the other slaves, but left us standing in the yard whilst he went about his duties. He hadn't said anything, but we knew enough by now that when we were not doing something specific, we ought to stand there neatly, so we lined up in our two ranks of four as normal, clasped our hands behind our backs, and waited - well, enjoying the sunshine, actually, as it as a nice day, good "pulling" weather as we called it (it wasn't too hot, but there was just enough sun so that we didn't shiver with the cold. I've probably not mentioned that the early mornings down here can be quite cool, and often when we were waiting to be loaded we'd start to shiver a bit, as we hadn't exercised enough to begin to get warm).
When he came out from locking away and feeding the other slaves, we realised that he must be some rich man's son, as he went over towards where there was a slave in a small trap, and called it over to us. We heard him tell the pony that he was "off duty" for the rest of the day and that the man could rest up under the sheds, but that he was forbidden to go into the slave quarters as Steve did not want the slaves sticking their dicks through the bars and fucking him (most of the other groups of dray slaves were not forbidden to have sex in the way which we were). Steve then took out the slave's bit and stuff, slapped the guy on his rump, and the slave trotted off.
"Right, you slaves", Steve then told us. "I've decided that as it's a great day and you have been working exceptionally well, I'm going to give you a little treat. We're going to the park - a light jog there.... You'll all follow my trap, neatly, in twos, and I don't want any trouble: make sure you stay lined up, and in step, or else you'll be punished."
Well, it didn't at first sound like much of a treat! I mean, we spent all week running, and to have to jog to the park didn't sound like any kind of fun at all. But Steve then went on "But I need a slave to pull the trap......", and he looked at all of us, and then motioned for Sarge to step forward and get between the shafts.
I really did feel sorry for Sarge. I mean, it's fucking humiliating to be used as a draft animal as we were, but to be singled out and used as a pony was even worse, I reckon. At least we were all working together and we had our buddies around us, but as a pony you're just there, all by yourself, and you know that all you have to do is run as your owner commands, and there's none of the other skills we had, like handling heavy goods and so on. You really are just an animal substitute.
Still, it looked as if Steve was relenting a bit as he told Sarge to kneel down, and then we saw him taking out the muzzle. Sarge began to look pleased, and was licking his tongue around his lips, and working his jaws up and down in a way he hadn't been able to for weeks. But it was only a brief respite, as Steve took the bit that he'd taken out of his pony's mouth and offered it up to Sarge! Fuck me, talk about "out of the fireplace and into the fire" - not only was the bit covered in the pony's spit, but with a bit in I reckon you're even worse off than when you're muzzled - we could see the steel bar forcing the corner of Sarge's mouth back as Steve tightened the fastening behind his head, and with the reins fastened to it, he looked even more like an animal than ever. We could see Sarge tossing his head up and down, trying to get used to the thing, but then something even worse happened: Steve fastened a short leather strap from the protruding ends of the bit to the "D" ring on Sarge's collar, so that Sarge had his head bent down all the time. He also reached into the trap and got out what looked at first like a leather hood, but when he pulled it over Sarge's head we saw it was a couple of straps designed to hold leather side pieces by Sarge's eyes, so he was "blinkered" and unable to see from side to side. Finally Steve did the other thing that happens to ponies - he snapped cuffs shut over Sarge's wrists, so that Sarge was totally unable to move out from the shafts even if he wanted to. I know it's kind of the "fashionable" thing to do that to ponies, to make it look as if they're wild animals that have to be totally controlled like that, but there's no need, is there? I mean, with a chip inside us, and with our heavy collars on, there's no real possibility of escape, and most slaves would stay between the shafts if ordered to do so by their owners as they'd want to avoid a punishment whipping.
Still, Sarge was in there, and Steve gave us the order to line up behind the trap, and off we went. I guess it's kind of indicative of how much we'd become "real slaves" and how much Steve knew this, that all the way into town, all the time we were crossing the centre with all the lights and intersections, and then all along River Road, he never once looked back - he was just supremely confident that we were slaves, that he's ordered us to follow, and that therefore we were doing that. We all felt really bad about Sarge, though, as it was OK for us to jog all that way, and, indeed ,without the dray it was really easy. But Sarge had to pull Steve and the trap, and the road into town is mostly uphill - a long, slow rise, admittedly, but it always causes us some problems as we have to tackle it with a full dray, and now Sarge was having to do it when we were relatively free - and Steve was maintaining a fairly fast jog, so we could all imagine how Sarge must be toiling away, with the sweat flying off him and his heart pounding as his lungs gasped for air. What probably made it worse is that on the dray Steve gives us orders, like "Walk on", but now he was using Sarge jus as if he was a pony slave - ponies are driven only with the reins to steer them (which must have been especially hard for Sarge, with his vision so restricted by the blinkers), and with the whip to control the speed. Every time Steve cracked the whip to "encourage" Sarge to maintain his pace I think all of us winced at the thought of the stinging pain there would be in Sarge's butt or shoulders. Look, I don't want to make too much of this - I mean, a pony whip like that isn't designed to permanently injure so it doesn't break the skin or anything: no, it is deliberately thin and flexible, so that it really stings the moment it hits the flesh, but leaves no lasting marks.
As we entered the River Park there were lots of families about as it was such a nice day. The smell of barbecues made all our mouths water, and as we trotted past all eyes turned to watch us. Well, I suppose it was a bit unusual to have seven slaves like us trotting along without a trap or a dray, and Sarge probably looked a bit odd, too, as most ponies are younger and more slender than him. I ought to have been used to being naked in public by now, but we weren't used to seeing family groups like that, or of being quite the centre of so much attention, and it brought back all those old feelings of the humiliation at being treated like this.
Fortunately, though, Steve led us on through the park along the river bank for another half mile or so, leaving most of the families behind. He stopped then, and looped Sarge's reins around a litter bin to "hold" him there. He turned to us then and said we were free to do whatever we wanted - rest in the shade, as he was going to do, or play ball, or even swim in the river! The only condition was that we were to remain within sight and not stray too far.
It was fantastic at first - just to be "free", outdoors, with no dray or anything. And most of us kind of ran around a bit, and threw ourselves in the river, and generally fooled around. The sun got hotter and hotter, though, and most of us went to lie in the shade of the trees, and then I realised that Sarge was still tethered to the litter bin, right out in the blazing sun, and of course he was still standing as there wasn't enough slack in the reins to allow him to sit (even if Steve had said he could, as ponies are meant to remain standing at all times).
I went over and tried to talk to Sarge, but he couldn't speak as usual as the bit effectively held his tongue down. Then I ran back to the river and tried to carry him some water in my cupped hands, but that wasn't any good, either, as there was no was he could raise his head to even allow me to dribble it into his mouth as the strap holding his head down to his collar made that impossible. I stood there, wondering what to do, and even thought about going to throw myself down in front of Steve and to beg him to be merciful to Sarge, and I was taking the first hesitant steps over towards where he lay in the cool shade when he got to his feet and stretched, as if he'd been dozing, and came over.
"Fuck off, three", he told me, and I went off to join the others. I watched, though, and saw that Steve seemed to be saying quite a lot to Sarge, and, ultimately, to my great joy, Sarge knelt down and Steve took off the blinkers, and the bit! What was even more amazing was that Sarge then stood up and Steve undid the shackles holding him to the trap, and the next minute, Sarge jogged over to join us. We all gave a kind of cheer and slapped him on the back, and then, with a lot of laughing, picked him up and threw him into the river as he looked so hot - we all dived in after him, and then we swam and laughed and it was great to be all together again as a proper "unit". Sarge then insisted we all did a "team" thing, after that, though - we mostly wanted to rest in the shade, but he insisted we played an impromptu game of volley ball, using a tree branch as the "net". I suppose it is good for morale to all do something like that together, and it certainly uses all your muscles, some of which don't get a lot of exercise when you're working normally on a dray. And when he did let us stop, the cool of the shade, and just being able to lie there doing nothing, was fantastic. It was the best afternoon since I'd become a slave - and, actually, with all the other guys around me, it was up there somewhere with one of the best of my life at all.
I lay next to Sarge, and whispered "What did Steve say to you?" I reckoned he might tell me, in confidence, without the others hearing, but all he would say was that he and Steve now "understood" each other, and that he would be making sure that we all performed well on a day-to-day basis.
When it was time to go home Steve called us all together and said he needed a pony to pull him home. We all shuffled around a bit as none of us wanted to do it as we were all pretty tired, but Sarge at once stepped forward and said, almost proudly "Sir, I'm your pony, sir!".
Strangely, Steve didn't put the bit back on Sarge, or the blinkers, and didn't even shackle him to the shafts - instead, he called out "You know the way, two - a steady pace, but a gentle one, OK?", and off we went. The remaining families in the park looked even more closely at us as we jogged through - seeing Sarge's magnificent body pulling the trap without any of the normal pony "accruements" must have seemed almost as strange as the sight of the seven of us following obediently behind.
That night Steve made the whole day perfect - as he locked us into our cage, he said it was a "free evening", and so later on we were all able to jerk off and really sleep. I lay next to Sarge and asked him again what had gone on between him and Steve, but all he would say is something like "Well, I guess he's an officer, I'm a sergeant, and you're a marine. So I guess we all understand our place in the world better now."
Look, this is as good a time as ever to confess, I suppose. On those occasional "free nights" I'd taken to spending time with Jed. He wasn't much liked by some of the other guys as he was in a bit of a cleft stick: proclaiming that he was as southern boy hadn't prevented him from being enslaved, but knowing he came from Alabama, and was therefore a southerner, made them frustrated and he sometimes got blamed for the situation we were all in. It was unfair, of course, but you get those sorts of tensions in any group of guys, I suppose. It didn't affect me as I'm broad minded enough to see it wasn't Jed's fault, and that although he was a really tall, tough-looking guy, underneath it all he was a bit shy and lonely. He'd been brought up with a load of brothers and cousins and "kinfolk" somewhere in the hills, and he seemed to miss their companionship. So we'd kind of "buddied up", and one night, lying close together on the straw on a "free night", our dicks had brushed against each other purely accidentally. Jed didn't seem a bit embarrassed, and a few moments later he'd reached across and began to play with my dick!
Actually, of course, I was a bit more used to feeling another guy's hands on my dick now from the forced jerk-off sessions, but Jed seemed really skilled and I found it was a whole lot of fun to have him play with me like that, and he didn't seem at all fazed when I couldn't help myself, and shot my load all over his belly as we lay together. He seemed to be happy, and smiled as he whispered "Did you like that, Dave?".
When I smiled back and told him I did, he took my hand and put it on his dick - and when I'd wanked him a bit, he stopped me gently, put his face close to mine, and whispered "Let me show you how to do it properly, Dave! Perhaps us dumb old Alabama boys know a thing or two about pleasing another man that you don't...."
"Where did you learn all this, Jed?"
"Steve, haven't you got brothers, and cousins, and uncles?"
I shook my head almost in wonderment, thinking about all those guy in Jed's family jerking off together up in the hills, but I soon found he knew more, much more! Well, he kind of "instructed" me in the fine art of jerking off, and after a time we moved on to cock sucking, and, finally, to fucking. Well, I wasn't going to have his big dick up my ass, but he really wanted me to fuck him, so, one night, I had. And, as you'd expect, I found I liked it, and whenever we could, I now fucked Jed enthusiastically. We got a lot of stick off the other guys at first, especially after all the comments about five and eight, but with not much else to do at night, and especially most Sunday afternoons, all of us had basically "gone there". Frankly, I was amazed at how prejudiced I'd been about fags and stuff before - there's absolutely nothing wrong with fucking another guy, if you both want it, and I knew that if I was ever a free man again my life would be a whole lot different. How much better it would be to spend time with a few like-minded buddies, rather than to spend all that time and money trying to fuck a bitch!
Anyway, Sarge and I had never done anything as he'd been muzzled and couldn't really say what he liked. So that night I took his dick in my hand and started to wank him, and then bent down to blow him a bit. I was surprised when Sarge responded so readily, and it felt good to have his hand on my head pushing me down onto his dick, and to hear his gruff voice urging me to make even more effort to tease his dick! He pulled out after a time, though, and then we lay together, still both with aching erections.
"We'd have been thrown out of the service for this kind of stuff, Dave....."
"I know, Sarge! And I don't think I'd have minded. I'd rather have good sex than be good at marching, or fighting...."
We laughed, but he whispered "Dave, we can't do this, you know..."
"Why not?"
"You're forgetting Jed! You've been fucking him, and now you're going with me. What do you think he feels?"
"But you're great, Sarge, I've wanted to play with you for weeks...."
"...and you can't just ditch Jed like that, Dave. He's picked on enough by some of the other guys, and you're special to him."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm a sergeant, and I watch out for the men in my unit. I can see Jed looking at you and he likes you, Dave, and really looks up to you. You can't let him down...."
"But I want to be with you, Sarge...."
"And I like you, Dave. But it's one of the difficulties of being in command - you sometimes have to give up your personal pleasures for the greater good of the unit. Now, turn over, and give Jed that good fucking he's looking forward to...."
Well, what could I do? I felt a bit rejected, but, on the other hand, I could see what Sarge was going on about. Jed was a nice guy, and I did enjoy sliding my dick into his ass as he seemed to respond so well, gripping me tight as I fucked him, and moaning appreciatively every time I did the right thing.
Things seemed to be going really well with Sarge properly back with us, and for a few days after that weekend we were all working so well together that it was almost as if we were not slaves at all. There seemed to be some problem for Steve, though, as one morning when he came to fetch us from the cage he was kind of creeping along, as if his whole body was hurting, and his face was all bruised just as if he'd been in a fight. All day he didn't leap up and down from hi seat on the dray as he usually did, and mostly ordered us to deliver the smaller packages himself. When we were about to stop for lunch it was also a bit odd, as the first place we came to there was another dray from the company, and Steve would normally have gone there, but instead, after taking a close look at it, told us to carry on and we stopped somewhere else instead where there were no "friends".
A couple of days after that we were all lined up at the warehouse waiting to be loaded, when Steve appeared with a young slave - a very young slave, we all thought at first, as he was so thin and lanky and he had absolutely no hair on him at all (I know Steve had our pubes trimmed, but this lad was completely smooth all over, including his head, and that made his dick and balls look just like those of a kid).
We heard Steve ask the kid if he could read, and in spite of his youth he was pretty lippy in snapping back "Of course I can! I was even in college for almost a year". Well, as you might expect, Steve hit him with the tawse for being insolent like that, but it was clear it was just to remind the kid who was boss as Steve then gave him the loading manifest and told him he was in charge of always making sure that the right package was ready to unload at each stop we made - it can be a bit of a problem as the warehouse slaves normally load the packages in the right order for drop off, except when they're particularly bulky, when they have to be placed elsewhere on the dray. I've forgotten the number of times we've been held up making deliveries as the right package is "missing" and the whole dray has to be searched, and Steve told the kid to make sure this didn't happen: the kid needed to know where all these "specials" were all the time.
He was clambering about on the dray, and even though there didn't seem to be much on him most of us thought that we could do without the additional load, but Sarge told us to shut up and to quit bitching. As he pointed out, Steve had found this kid from somewhere, so it didn't matter what we thought about it one way or the other. We set off then, and, frankly, I could have done without that extra load on the uphill pull to the city, with an already-heavy dray. But as the day went on we began to see the point of it - at each stop the right packages were always to hand, and sometimes, even, the kid could be left to deliver them and get the signature, whilst we trotted off up the road. The consequence of this was that although we were sweating a bit by the time we got back to the depot, we were actually back about an hour early, which meant that we had more time to rest. Mind you, Sarge pointed out that this probably wouldn't last - he kind of expected that Steve would have more deliveries loaded, once he'd "proved" that having the kid along was a good idea.
To our surprise, once we'd been fed and were just sitting around shooting the breeze, Steve appeared outside our cage. Sarge of course shouted "Ten-Shut!" and we all got to our feet, but Steve just wanted to open the cage to push the young kid in. Steve then told Sarge that the kid was now part of our team, and that he hadn't been exercised enough and Steve wanted him to put on some muscle, and so Sarge should make sure he did a proper workout. Steve then watched for a few minutes as Sarge ordered us to clear a space in the middle, and then started to tell the kid about basic training exercises - you know the kind of thing:
push-ups, jumping jacks, running on the spot. Chad just told him to fuck off at first, which is a dangerous thing to do to Sarge - especially when Sarge had at lest six inches, and fifty pounds of pure muscle, on the kid! As we watched, Sarge grabbed the kid, knelt down on one knee, and pulled the kid over the other, and spanked his butt three times. Chad squealed as Sarge did this, and when Sarge pushed him off so he lay there in the straw in front of Sarge, at first he started to say "Fuck you....", but then he saw Sarge was laughing, as were we all, and I don't suppose he was actually hurt all that much.
Sarge bent over him and then said quietly "Listen, son, I've trained lots of eighteen year old recruits, and so don't try anything on me as I've seen it all before. Just do as I say and I won't need to spank you again - or perhaps I'll get one of the others to do it next time, as some of them like to take their hands to a nice young butt like yours.... Now.... Let's start again, with you giving me thirty push-ups...." We all sat around and watched, as it was kind of interesting to see the kid's lithe body doing all this sort of stuff. And I think it brought back memories to us of our own training at boot camp.
When Sarge said he thought the kid had done enough for that day he sat there surrounded by us, and it must have looked a bit odd: all us eight big, tough, strong, muscular slaves, in our late twenties and thirties, and this one skinny young guy still in his teens. Anyone might have thought we were a bunch of perverts who'd got together to do something to a young kid!
He told Sarge his name was Chad, and that he came from Philadelphia. He'd been at college, in his first year, when the war broke out, and he was so anti-slavery that he'd gone and volunteered for the army immediately. They'd sent him down south almost straight away, with only a few months training, as at that point it was thought the South would be a pushover and well-educated trainees like him could do all sorts of useful things like look after the inventory and stuff like that, without necessarily needing to fight. When things went wrong he'd been captured almost immediately, and, like all of us, enslaved. He wasn't yet nineteen, he said, and I know we all felt sorry that his life was effectively over before he'd really had a chance to really get to enjoy it.
The more he talked, the more we realised how lucky we were that we had been picked by Steve to be his dray slaves - poor Chad had just been taken as part of a "job lot" of eight random slaves, most of whom didn't have the power and strength to pull a dray properly. What made matters worse, he told us, was that his driver just wasn't interested in doing the job properly and took every opportunity to make money on the side from the slaves - he wasn't used to going naked, for example, as his driver made them wear shorts: he got an allowance for the company for dressing the slaves, so he just gave them any old torn and tattered things that came to hand, and they were never clean, as he spent the money the company gave him for laundry on drink. He then showed us the terrible scars and sores on the top of his shoulders where his collar had been rough and had constantly rubbed him, but the driver had never taken any interest and they just got worse and worse: Chad thought Steve was almost a saint, as the first thing he'd done was to personally get a file and smooth down the rough edges of Chad's collar, and had then rubbed ointment and antiseptic into the wounds.
It turns out that Chad was so thin and skinny as the slaves he was with just weren't up to it and so had a real problem pulling the dray, which meant that they tended to be the last ones back to the depot. His driver was then so keen to get to the pub across the road that he sometimes couldn't be bothered to fed them, and just locked them up without food at all. Of course that tended to make them even weaker, and so they took even longer to make the deliveries the next day, and so on. Chad reckoned there'd been some sort of trouble between his driver and Steve, and he seemed really glad that whatever it was, Steve had evidently "won" as he thought that he wouldn't have survived long otherwise in the other dray. "Look, guys", he told us, "I know it's not all that great being a slave, but you lot all look one hell of a lot better off than we were."
It was time for sleep then, and with another guy in our cage it was going to be an even tighter fit than usual. It was pretty disgusting, too, as Chad went to pee in the straw - that was another thing where his previous owner had neglected their training, as he told us they just pissed and crapped in the cage as they were never given enough time in the shitters!
He looked so out of place and alone that I think Sarge took pity on him and put out one arm and told the kid to lie next to him, and put his head on his arm. Then Sarge kind of spooned close to him, and they didn't take up so much space, and the kid looked kind of pleased to be with Sarge like that - well, they were still together when Steve woke us the next morning.
Chad wasn't used to public jerking off, though - he was next to Sarge, who began to stroke him when Steve gave the order, and he looked so embarrassed. I was on the other side of him, and I had to take his hand and put it on my dick as he didn't seem to understand what was to be done, and he really wasn't expert at it at all! Still, we all realised we had a new "champion" here, as under Sarge's expert strokes Chad was the first to shoot; and he shot further than any of us, too. Still, that's the kind of thing you expect from eighteen year olds, isn't it?
In the next couple of weeks Chad really got to be a proper member of our team - as we all expected, having him deliver the packages (especially when Steve now barely stopped the dray and Chad jumped off with the smaller ones, delivered them, and then sprinted to catch us up) meant that we got back in record time, and soon Steve took advantage of this to go back to the depot and set out again with a second set of stuff, which was actually bloody exhausting for us. But we had a certain pride in seeing we were doing a lot better than all the other drays, and all the exercise, coupled with proper feeding, soon put some muscle on Chad. He began to look like a proper young guy, with nice muscles and a corded belly, instead of the waif he had been. He was pretty good looking, too, with bright blue eyes and dark blond hair, and of course Steve let him grow his pubes again, and I think this made him feel more of a man, too, like the rest of us.
He was different, though - he was younger than we were, still a lot more lanky and thin, and of course he'd never done proper "battle training" or actually fought properly and killed anyone. So I suppose it was kind of inevitable that we treated him as some sort of "mascot" or "pet", and even though a lot of us were fucking each other now, none of us actually fucked Chad - well, I don't think he wanted to fuck, as he could probably still remember going with all those girls at high school and college, and I'm fairly sure that he'd never taken dick up the ass.
There was one way in which he differed from us, of course, and that was that he'd never been fucked by Steve or Jon, as we all had been originally. Personally I wasn't surprised, therefore, when Steve turned up one night, dragged the horse over in front of the bars, and came and unlocked the cage and called Chad out.
End Of Part Six