DUPED! by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 3
The guards left us then, and we stood at the bars of our cells just looking out, and trying to understand what had gone on. We all agreed that we'd really been deceived: how could we have been so naive as to be duped that eerily - all that talk of big money, an exciting new life, a new start: life isn't like that really, is it? Some of the guys thought it might be one huge con trick, and that after they'd made their movie, we'd be set free - rather like an elaborate version of one of those game shown on TV where they suddenly reveal that you're the subject of an elaborate practical joke. But I didn't believe it - what they'd done to us already left them wide-open to a lot of lawsuits from us, and there was no way that I would waive my rights if it was like that anyway: I wasn't going to appear on TV jerking off!
One of the others thought that we'd be rescued, but as we stood there talking about it, even he ultimately had to admit that the prospects of that were very low, as we'd all left quite suddenly but had made proper arrangements to pack and give up our places, and none of us had current girlfriends, or close relatives.... No, as far as I could see, we'd just vanished off the face of the earth as far as the authorities at home were concerned. And if no one made a fuss about our disappearance, no one was going to come looking. I remember seeing some article in the newspaper only a couple of weeks back about how a lot of single people just "walked out on their lives" as the writer put it, and there was no incentive at all for the overworked police to start investigating, even if someone did notice in the first instance. No, we seemed to be stuck in this place.
Actually, it was odd at first, standing there totally naked in a cell, but having a "normal" kind of conversation with the other blokes. But it was amazing how easily one got used to it - it was warm and very humid in there and it's not as if you felt cold or anything, and the "strangeness" of being without clothes soon wore off. Mind you, after a bit it got really boring - we'd all exchanged names, told each other a bit about our lives (not that there was all that much to say), went over our circumstances again and again (still not reaching any conclusion, and still having a lot of different views), and then there was nothing to do. All the other stuff blokes talk about like football, the TV, the latest movie, all seemed so remote and unreal that we just couldn't summon up the energy to discuss them. And none of us was going to talk about women - well, I mean, with your cock all naked in front of you, it's too risky, isn't it? Just like you don't talk about your girlfriend in the Club changing rooms!
I lay down on my "bunk" - made of plain wood without even a sheet or anything, and just lay there. I'm not used to lying down in the afternoon as I'd always got something to do, but as so often happens, once you just lie there and let your eyes close, I fell asleep.
When I woke up I was stiff - in two senses of the word: my body felt all kind of weary from being cramped up in the cage, and then from lying on the hard bunk; and my cock was rock hard as it so often is when you come out of sleep, isn't it?
You know how it is when you first wake up - you just lie there for a few moments as your brain gets into gear, and at first I thought I was back "home" and reached for my cock to do what I always do in the morning, have a good wank. But then of course "realisation" set in, and I remembered where I was, and all the things that had happened to me recently came flooding back. I let go of my cock as if it was red hot - there was absolutely no privacy in our barred cells, and I mean, you can't let other blokes see you wanking, can you? But when I looked around, I saw that the others were all asleep, as I had been, and so I began to stroke myself to get rid of my erection. Funny, isn't it - however worried you are, once you start to wank you forget it all and the only thing you can think about is the fantastic sensation in your cock as you slide your hands over it, and let your 'skin massage your cock head. I was really getting turned on, as usual, and could feel my balls tightening as they got ready to fire, when my happy mood of intense sexuality was broken as I remembered something: there was nothing to catch the cum!
I stopped stroking myself, but it was too late - I gasped out loud as a big load shot out of my dick and splattered all up my belly and chest. There was nothing I could do to stop it - I'd gone too far. All I could do was lie there for a couple of minutes, letting my breathing go back to normal and enjoying that wonderful feeling of "after sex" you have when you've shot your load. All the exertion had made me sweat even more than I had been before, though, and I knew my body was completely covered in a dense sheen of water, but above the man scent of my own sweat I was getting the characteristic smell of cum. Oh, fuck me, I thought - what was I going to do now? There wasn't anything in my cell to wipe it up with, and as I raised up my head and looked down my body, I could see the creamy white slicks lying there against my tanned skin.
Well, there was nothing else for it, was there - I ran my hand up my body, scooping up as much of the stuff as I could, then bought my hand up to my lips and licked them clean. I know some blokes think it's gross to eat their own cum, but I can't see anything wrong with it - it's not as if it tastes bad or anything, and it's perfectly natural, after all. I don't usually, as there's always some dirty clothes lying around in my room before it goes into the wash that can be used to clean myself, but if there isn't, well, I can't see what's wrong in doing as I then did, actually.
I reckon I was lucky to be the first bloke awake, because as the afternoon wore on and they all started to rouse themselves from their naps, I got quite a laugh to see how they reacted on finding themselves with a big hard-on in front of the rest of us. None of them wanked himself, and there was an awful lot of embarrassed shuffling around as they tried to conceal themselves from the rest of us by facing the rear wall of the cells, and so on.
Look, it was just boring after that. We had nothing to do, and nothing to say, and it was only after a few hours - well, it might have been only an hour, or a couple of hours: without any watches or a clock, it's really hard to tell how much time has passed - that something different happened: the door opened, and the guards came in. They were accompanied by the camera guy as usual, and this time there was a young bloke, too: he can only have been sixteen or so, judging by his slight build, as it was evident he was not fully mature in the sense that his muscles hadn't hardened and toughened as young blokes' do. He was brown as a berry - heavily tanned all over, and I do mean all over - like us, he was naked, but unlike us there were no white patches anywhere on him where a shirt had covered his body leaving white upper arms to contrast with dark forearms, or even where a swimming costume had concealed his cock and bum! No, he was a deep, even tan all over and I could tell from the way that his blond hair had been bleached almost white that this must have come from prolonged, continuous exposure to the sun - it wasn't because he was mixed race, or anything. But he was mature - you could tell that: he had a small patch of blond hair above his cock, and that was itself quite big in proportion to the rest of him: you know how it is: when you're a young kid your cock is small, then as you start to go into puberty it gets bigger so that it looks kind of "oversized" in relation to the rest of you as millions of years of human evolution get you ready for sex (except of course that now we're not supposed to have it until we're sixteen).
This was the first time this "slave" thing really struck home to me - after all, there's no way a young sixteen year old is going to parade around totally naked normally, is there? I mean, you're kind of sensitive at that age, and you don't want other blokes seeing you, do you? I can remember how it was for me - even though they were my mates, I went through a period of not really liking stripping off for the communal showers at school after games and gym. You grow out of it, of course, once you realise that you've got a nice body, better than most other blokes have, but just at that age you're very sensitive and vulnerable, and here was this kid parading around in front of us stark naked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
We soon found out why he was there, though: on the order of one of the guards he went over to the corner of the room and got some stuff out of a box, and came back and pushed a bar of something into our hands. We all just stood there looking at what he'd given us - it was as big as a big bar of chocolate, but was a dull, grey colour and felt slightly greasy in my hands.
"Eat", one of the guards snapped. "This is slave chow, and what you men will mostly be eating from now on."
One of the blokes just tossed his out of his cell, and it lay on the concrete floor in front of us. The young lad seemed terrified, rushed over and picked it up and tried to hand it back into the cell, but it s occupant refused it and just stood there, his arms folded in a gesture of defiance.
A guard went over to him and snapped "Eat, slave. Slaves need to keep up their strength and to have healthy bodies. Eat the chow."
"Fuck you!" , my companion snapped, but it was the only thing he had an opportunity to get out, as the guard pushed the prod thing through the bars, and the next moment there was a naked body writhing around on the floor of the cell.
The guard stood there dispassionately, waited for the bloke to struggle to his feet, then said again simply "Now, fucking slave, do as you're told! Slaves aren't allowed to refuse food; slaves do as they're told. You need to keep fit and healthy for the benefit of your owners, and if you're told to eat, you eat. Every scrap of it!"
He raised his voice, and called out to all of us "That goes for all of you - now, eat your chow, or be prepared to suffer the consequences..."
The camera man had been filming all of this, and the fact that they were prepared to use those prods on us as we stood there naked began to convince me that this was no movie making from which we were ever going to be allowed to escape. I mean, you might be able to get away with a bit of nudity, even in the USA, but to have a film of guys getting tortured and abused would be too much.
Look, I'm not a coward, but there's no point in having a fight you can't win, is there? I was naked, locked in this cell, and the guard could easily push a prod through to me, too. So I put the bar thing up to my mouth, bit a piece off, and started to chew on it.
It wasn't all that bad, actually - slightly greasy, as I've said. But generally bland - not really sweet, not salt, not anything, really. Rather like solid cum would be, I suppose! Or, rather, like some tofu muck one of my girlfriends had tried to feed me with one night, but much firmer: I really had to chew at it to break it up and swallow it. We all stood there chomping away, and at a nod from the guard, the young lad went over to a tap on the far wall and filled a can. He came along to each of our cells in turn, and we had to kneel down so that he could poke the spout of the can through the bars and give us a drink.
I hadn't realised how thirsty I was up until now, but as the warm, brackish water slipped down my throat, I was really grateful for it. Then, as I knelt there, it occurred to me how far along the way to being a slave I'd become: I was locked in a "cage", without a shred of anything to cover my nakedness. And I was being "watered", just as you'd "water" caged animals. I felt myself starting to sweat, a sweat of apprehension, as I began to realise for the first time how much in their power I already was: they'd already almost made me into something different from a free man, and I was now ever lower than a prisoner. I mean, in jail there are certain rules and rights, aren't there? They don't keep you naked, and feed you as if you were an animal!
We all knelt there, though, as the young lad made several trips up and down the row of cells, allowing us to really slake our thirst. Oh fuck, I thought again: if they decided not to feed us, or even give us any water, there was not a blind thing we could do about it. We were helpless in those cells, completely in their power. Supposed they decided to let us starve, to "amuse" their audience? But even as I thought this, another more pressing and urgent thought came to me: I needed to piss!
I wasn't the only one, either. The bloke at the end called out "Hey, I want to piss!"
The guard marched up to stand in front of him, and rapped "Boy, you may want to piss, but you do need to learn some manners! First, slaves don't 'want' anything: the only thing a slave does is obey his owner. And secondly, slaves, when they do speak, which isn't all that often, always speak respectfully.
They call their owner 'master', and all other free men 'sir'. Now, try again, boy!"
"I want to piss, sir!", was the reply, in a tone heavy with irony and which was almost mocking.
"Boy, you can maybe get away with it now, but if you were my slave and you ever adopted that tone with me, I'd have you taken down for a public whipping straight away: no owner wants an insolent slave, and defiance and disobedience and insolence often has to be whipped out of them. But we aren't allowed to whip you here - not properly, that is, with the bull whip: they want your bodies to look good up on the auction block. But I can use the slave control prod on you, remember.... So, boy, I suggest you try again showing some respect..."
"I want to piss, sir", was the response, this time in a low, even tone.
"You don't get it, do you? I told you slaves don't 'want'! They occasionally ask their betters if they can have something, but only when the need is urgent A slave has to learn to speak only when he's spoken to. I'll give you one last chance, and then I'll see if my lesson will be learned a bit better with some encouragement from the prod here...."
"Please, sir, may I piss, sir?"
This time the response seemed to please the guard, as he took a step away from the cell bars and looked at all of us. "You heard how this slave here has got the message about proper respect - well, that's the last lesson we'll be giving. The next one of you slaves who doesn't treat a free man properly will be prodded, do you understand?"
I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but somehow hearing myself constantly referred to as a "slave" was very unsettling, and I didn't want to feel that prod thing on my naked skin anyway. I knew I'd better play along, at least for the time being. As I was thinking this, though, the guard rapped out again "You slaves need to learn another lesson, too! When a free man asks you a question, you respond! Now, I asked you if you understood what I'd been saying..."
"Yes, sir", I chorused, along with the others.
"Right, then, do you all need to piss?"
"Yes, sir." It seemed to be getting easier!
"So listen up. There are no facilities for slaves to piss in these cells. If you need to piss, piss. The floors are concrete, and we wash you all out twice a day. So piss away!"
He stood there watching us, and we all looked at each other, wondering what to do. I had that very, very uncomfortable feeling in my bladder that told me I really did need to let go, but there was just no way I could do it standing there in a cell, watched by the other blokes, the guard and the young lad! There's some conditioning or something that stops you from pissing onto the floor inside a building, isn't there?
I mean, if there had been a urinal or something, there wouldn't have been a problem. But completely bare, just standing there and pissing onto the floor... Well!
As I thought this, it was as if my bladder was determined to make me change my mind, as the vague feeling of "uncomfortableness" changed to one that said "You need to let go, and let go now" - I guess you all know how it is. And then I heard the unmistakable sound of piss splashing on to concrete - it's not like a hose, or anything, I think, as it's so much more irregular. I glanced around and the guy in the cell next to me was just standing there, looking very embarrassed, for sure, but letting his big stream of piss just jet our on to the floor.
The messages from my bladder were uncontrollable now: I did the only thing I could - I turned away from the bars to face the back wall, and let go. I felt myself blushing as the smell of my piss wafted up to me, and then there was a new horror - the floor of the cell must have been sloping slightly, as the pool of piss on the floor was running back towards my bare feet! I tried to stop, but you all know how it is - once it's flowing, flowing full and strong, it's all but impossible to stop, isn't it? I felt the warm wetness around my feet, and in the small confines of the cell, there was nothing I could do about it. I remained standing there with my back to the bars, trying as best I could to shield myself from the others, as I squeezed the last drops of piss out along my urethra: us guys with foreskins need to be specially careful when we've finished pissing, as if there are even a few drops left it gets trapped under there and makes it smell really rancid. It's about the only thing I envy cut blokes for - mind you, they miss out on so much when they're wanking, so I guess it all evens up in the end.
Now I knew we were even more like animals, having to foul our cages. The guard had been watching us, and had a faint smile on his face. "Luckily for you, it's time for the evening cleanup", he remarked. "If I were you, I'd try to get into the habit of pissing - and especially crapping - only just before a cleanup is due!" He turned to the young lad, and ordered "You know what to do - fetch the hose."
The lad at once rapped out "Sir, yes, sir!", then went over and started to uncoil a hose from the far wall, that he attached to the same tap that he'd filled the water can from. Starting at the far end, he then proceeded to simply spray the hose over the entire contents of each cell, and us, the occupants! Look, I was glad to be able to clean the sweat (and the remains of the dried um) off my body, and it was good not to have the piss swilling around on the floor. But this wasn't the way that men ought to be treated: having to stand there naked, as they used a hose to simply was h us down. I'd seen an animal trainer in a circus once, washing down the cages with the horses in them, and this was just the same - all that was different was that he used a long-handled brush to spread the water over the animals' flanks and bodies, whereas we had to stand there under the spray and use our hands to get our bodies clean.
After it had been my "turn" to be hosed down, all I cold do was stand there and watch as the young lad did the next two men after me - he seemed to know what he was doing, as he had a methodical way of sweeping the hose from side to side so that every part of the cell's walls, bunk and floor were washed, before turning his attention to the occupant! And even then he must have been used to it, as he was careful not to spray the heavy jet directly onto our cocks, although when he made a gesture to us to turn around, out backs and bums got the full force of the water. He seemed to be enjoying the job, at least, and I suppose there are some advantages in doing that job totally naked, as he was : it didn't matter if the water splashed on
his lithe nude body . He really did work hard, though, and I wondered how it felt - his cock and balls were swinging away as he moved around, and that had to be uncomfortable - when ever I work, I need my cock and balls properly supported, not bouncing around like that. But I suppose you get used to it - I'd once spent a day at a beach with some blokes when I was at uni and as there was no one else around we'd played beach volleyball starkers. The next morning my balls really ached, as they'd been stretched and banged around against my thighs, but I suppose you get used to it if you do it all the time. Seeing how unconcerned the young lad was, and how he was so evenly brown all over, I guessed that he was always kept that way.
And all the time the ubiquitous camera man, always filming us, always watching for our reactions as we were put through these humiliations.. Although there was no physical movement of the lenses, I just imagined how he was using the electronic zoom to focus on my cock as the water splashed over it, and how everyone would see me running my hand down my ass crack to clean myself.
It took a long time for my body, and the cell, to dry:
it was really humid there, and so it took ages for the water to evaporate. The night fell swiftly - the sky outside the thin, high slits in the wall that provided our illumination turned black surprisingly quickly, and as there was no lighting inside the room with our cells in it, there wasn't anything else to do but go back to lie on the bunk and try to sleep. Not that it was easy - I wasn't all that tired now (or perhaps my body clock was still on London time, or something), and the bunk really was uncomfortable.
Although they'd said it was "five days until the auction", we were only kept in those cells for two. Two more days of absolutely nothing to do, uncomfortable sleeping, and the total tedium of it all only varied when the guard came in to feed us twice a day, and to supervise the young lad as he hosed us down. And yes, I did have to crap: and that was even worse than pissing in public. Not only is it totally humiliating to have to do things like that with other blokes watching, but it's really hard - I mean, I know natives and stuff just squat down in jungle and let go, but we're not used to that, are we? Without a lavatory to sit on, you have to kind of hunker down and just drop the turds as you squat there. I knew all the others must be watching me, and smelling my crap, but I suppose it was the same for them, too, as we all needed to do it sooner or later! And at least if you waited until just before the hosing out, at least the stuff was washed away quickly.
The only other thing in our routine was that each morning just after the hose down, the guard ordered us to stand close to the bars on the cage so that he could "touch up" the numbers on our bodies that had been marked there that first day. I hated this - it made me feel even less human, but there was nothing I could do about it. I began to realise that there was more to this slavery than just the idea of being made to work for other men without wages, which is what I'd kind of imagined it was when you read headlines like "slave labour" in factories in foreign countries. No, being a slave was more, much more: it was being totally out of control of your body and your life, having to do exactly as you were told, when you were told, and never being allowed to make any decisions. It was being naked, being caged, being hosed down like a dumb beast, without even a shred of cloth to over your most private parts. It was being made to piss and defecate in front of others, with no trace of "civilised" things like lavatories. It was being fed, fed when they chose, not when you were hungry, and fed on the utterly bland "slave chow". And possibly worst of all, it was being a number, rather than a person. I was being turned from a free man into some sort of subhuman, who was treated just as you would treat cattle or sheep on a farm.
On the third day, though, the guard stood there and said "Good news, or possibly bad news, for you slaves:
the medical results are back earlier than expected, so you'll be auctioned this afternoon.
He turned, went to the cell next to mine, and gestured for number four to come out. "You failed!", he told the guy. "They found the virus in your blood! You lied to the interview, didn't you? You must have known! Still, no matter - they can't sell you now: they like all the stock at the auctions to be certified 'disease free' - after all, no new owner wants to buy a slave and find out that the first time he fucks him he gets some disease."
He led the bloke out, and we never saw him again so I have no idea what became of him - perhaps he was lucky, and was returned to "real life" if he was no use as a slave. But then, how would the do that? How would they prevent him talking? And as I had that thought, I realised two dreadful things - firstly, I was never going to be "free" again, was I? There was no way they could send me back to London as they'd always be worried that I might go to the papers, or something. No, I was going to be a slave for the rest of my life. But the second realisation was in some ways worse: this idea that a man was going to buy me, and use me for sex!
It just hadn't occurred to me, I suppose. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that it was kind of inevitable. I mean, what's the ultimate degradation you can put a bloke through? After you've stripped him and caged him and made him work for you as a slave, what's left? It's obvious, isn't it: you use him for sex, against his will, and against his nature! The thought of some man fucking me, taking my virginity, making me do those kind of unspeakable things that you read about in the papers - it almost made me feel sick. And then I thought about who might buy me - what kind of person buys another man, buys him just as if he's a fancy new stereo, or a new car? I'd no real idea, but as I sat there thinking, it seemed to me that it would have to be someone rich - slaves like me would need constant supervision and guarding, to keep us from escaping. And perhaps it had to be someone so rich that he had nothing else left to spend his money on - I mean, what pleasure would there be in buying a Ferrari, or a fancy watch, or anything, if you had so much money that it made no difference to you? No, the only thing that would be worth buying would be something that no other men, no normal men, could ever afford - another bloke! It would be an outrageous act of defiance of the normal conventions to go and "buy" another human being, to own him, own him so utterly that whatever you wanted to do to him you could. Such a man would be a supreme egotist, convinced that all that mattered was what he wanted - that was probably how he'd have made his money in the first place. So what chance would there be for a slave owned by such a man to ever do anything he wanted for himself?
Even though these thought should have frightened me, they were also in some way vaguely exciting. In fact I felt my cock springing in to life as I contemplated the way in which such a powerful man would view me. What would he demand that I do for him? How would he treat me? The more I thought, the harder I got. Look, don't get me wrong: I'm not a submissive guy at all, in fact I usually make the running when there are things that have to be done. But the thought of someone having all that power, being able to control another man so completely, was turning me on even though it was me that I somehow knew was going to be controlled.
The four of us remaining were let out then - they had four guards too, with their prods, and we were taken and allowed to shower properly - a big communal shower like at the Club, with lots of hot water, shampoo, soap. God, it did feel good to be clean again, properly clean. And had it not been for the camera's eye peering at us all the time, I could almost have thought of myself as being back at work. Not that that mood lasted long - we weren't given a towel or anything, and had to all stand there to plane the water off our bodies, and then wait as the remainder evaporated, which took a long time in the oppressive humidity of the place. In fact I never got really "dry" - rather, the sheen of water left on my body after the shower was replaced by a sheen of sweat. And I started to sweat more, too, when the door opened and the guy in charge came in, looked at us, and said "Right! Now we've just got a few simple cosmetic things to do to all of you - you all want to look at your best for the auction, don't you?"
We all stood there, staring at him, and his mood changed abruptly. "I think you've forgotten the rules! That's VERY unwise of you, but I'll remind you one last time. When a free man speaks to you, you always reply, and reply politely and respectfully. Now, you do all want to look your best, don't you?"
There was a rather ragged chorus of "Yes, sir", as we could see that the guards had tensed, ready for action. He went on "Good. Now this is just the first stage of your preparation fore your new life, as we can't do a lot of the other stuff until after you've been bought. But we want the prospective buyers to have a good look at you, and for you all to look neat and tidy...."
He came up to me, and looked closely at my head. "The hair's short enough already. But razor his neck and his sideburns so they're crisp and sharp. And I think he looks rather mean and sexy with that growth of beard - so shave him, but don't shave him smooth, trim him down to about one day so he looks as if he's just got out of bed - that swarthy look should go well with his brown eyes, and it will be a real turn-on for some men to imagine that they could wake up next to that every morning!"
He was saying this to the young naked slave who'd fed us and hosed us down each day, and the lad was writing it onto a slip of paper as the man reeled off the instructions. But his tone changed as he said to me "Arms above your head!".
I didn't realise at first that he was speaking to me, and just stood there. "You've been warned!", he snapped at me, "Are you just fucking stupid, or are you some sort of pain pig who wants to be prodded?"
"Sorry, sir", I muttered, as I raised my arms above my head. His hand stroked over my pit, and I squirmed as I'm quite ticklish and, anyway, I'm not used to having myself felt like that.
"Trim this lightly", he said calmly, then, as I stood there, his hand ran over my pecs, and down over my belly. "Leave the thatch on his chest, and the treasure trail." He looked at me again and said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world "your new owner might decide to have you shaved all over, or even all this stuff depilated away permanently. But I think you look kind of rugged and masculine with all that, and that's the 'look' these days - buyers seem to want men who look like men, especially when their bodies are on the larger size, as yours is."
"Standard trim of the pubic hair", he intoned. "And shave the balls." He almost smiled at me as he said "We want the buyers to get a proper look at your tackle, don't we?"
He went behind me then, and I felt his hands sliding over my shoulders, then running down my back to rest on my bum. I couldn't help it - no one had ever felt me like this before, and I wriggled in embarrassment. "Easy, boy!", he said quietly, "I think I know what you're feeling - but there will be worse than this during the preview!". And he had obviously finished then as he said "Leave his back and shoulders - there's almost no hair there and what there is looks natural."
The young slave who had been writing all this down stood up, said "Sir, yes, sir", then reached up and hung the slip of paper around my neck as if it was a label on a parcel! He and the chief man moved off and did the same inspection of my three companions, and then we all stood there, labelled, wondering what was to happen next.
Funnily enough, I realised I'd stopped blushing. Could it be that I was getting used to being naked, becoming acclimatised to having my body seen as something that other people controlled, not me?
End Of Part 3