FOUR THE SAME by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part One
Usually my business keeps me tied to my desk in London, but just occasionally a client is of such importance to us that I need to travel to visit him. Such a client is Sheikh Rashid who places substantial business with us, and I sometimes think that almost all of the staggering oil wealth from his tiny kingdom passes through our hands. The Sheikh rarely, if ever, leaves his palace, and having been there it is perhaps not so surprising: every conceivable luxury is there, ultra high-speed links give him instantaneous access to his people around the globe, and what is not already there can be rushed to him, to satisfy any possible whim, within a very few hours.
One of the reasons why my bank is so successful is that we cater to the demands of our important rich clients. Nothing is too much trouble. And we are very conscious of their need for privacy, and of their customs. So when I visit Sheikh Rashid I am extraordinarily careful about not crossing my legs when sitting, about not using my left hand for anything (even though, like so many talented, creative people I am naturally strongly left-handed), and with agreeing to any suggestions from my host with enthusiasm.
After our business had been concluded there was the usual sumptuous banquet in my honour, attended by all the Sheikh's personal advisors, and the after dinner entertainment was a staggering display of gymnastics, to music, given by a troupe of fifteen lithe young men, all of whom performed totally naked for our pleasure. The Sheikh told me that they were all assorted Rumanians, Czechs and Poles who had not been quite good enough for their countries' Olympic teams, and who had therefore chosen to use their skills in these displays, so that they could, within a very short period of time, retire as wealthy men.
There is something very erotically exciting about the Slavic races, I always think, and these young men were almost classic examples of their types with their dark blond hair (not that you could see much of it as their head hair was all very short and their pubic hair had been neatly trimmed), blue eyes, and compact, muscular bodies. It was an entrancing sight, and, like the Sheikh and his other guests, I was literally on the edge of my seat with the erotic excitement of it all, as their sweaty bodies, glinting in the light from the crystal chandeliers, slid over each other.
The Sheikh clearly saw my interest, and offered to arrange for me to sleep with any of them who appealed to me particularly - all that was required was a further payment, he told me, and any of these men, who had already agreed to prostitute their bodies for public display, would gladly oblige in this further way - he even hinted that I would probably be the first man to slide his dick up the hard, muscular asses of many of the men, who did not mind appearing naked but who maintained that they were "straight". I turned down his offer, as I could see that there would be a potentially difficult situation about this payment - if he, as my host, paid, I would be under an obligation to him and would have to find some way of recompensing him in future: I felt certain that his would take the form of a "better deal" on some piece of business we were transacting, and, as a senior officer of the Bank, I would, in all conscience, find it difficult to agree. On the other hand, if I paid, he might feel slighted and, in any event, I would probably have difficulty in justifying such a payment to the auditors who examine the expenses of even the most senior people. I therefore laughingly declined his kind offer, offering as an explanation that as I had just had my sixtieth birthday I did not feel able to keep up with the kind of rigorous sexual athletics that going with such a young man would require.
"My dear friend", he said laughing at my evident discomfort, "I can understand you. Although you do appear to be in excellent condition for your age, perhaps it is the long flight that has tired you. Let me instead pick out for you a special companion for tonight, one of my own slaves: there is then no question of the man doing it only for money, and if he should displease you in any way, or tire you too much, we can have him flogged in the morning as we breakfast. I'm sure you will find the ministrations of a trained sex slave will help you sleep more easily, and, if you wish, you need do nothing as the slave can, if you desire, simply ride your member as you lie there admiring his body."
This seemed to be such an admirable resolution to a potentially otherwise difficult problem that I readily agreed, especially as it would not have been at all polite to scorn my host's kind offer of this exceptional form of hospitality - it was, I knew, rare for one of the Sheikh's renowned pleasure slaves to be offered to an "outsider".
Waiting for me in my room after I had made my "goodnights" to my host, was a slave with the most stunning body I have ever seen - he was about six foot two, heavily, but not overly, muscled, and his dark tanned skin simply glowed with health. He was smiling with his even white teeth from his handsome face as I entered the room, and at once fell to his knees and bowed his forehead to the floor at my feet. I just could not help but be excited by the sight of his backbone standing proud from his lean musculature, leading from his powerful neck down to disappear into his ass crack, from whence his wide, muscular buttocks started to flare to frame his lovely thighs and legs. Backbones that stand out from the flesh are always a particular pleasure for me somehow: of course a man with a good back but an indented trough can be exciting, too, if he's otherwise well muscled, but for me, the sight of the bones under the skin adds that little extra frisson of excitement when I am about to discover a new body. Almost the only thing to mar this perfection was that his body was shaved totally smooth - everywhere: his head, crotch and arms and legs were all as smooth as the palms of his hands, and even his eyebrows were none-existent.
Once I had told him to get up, he helped me undress and we indulged in a little foreplay - he was skilled at kissing, and at teasing my dick and nipples to get me totally aroused. And, dear reader, before you send me a flood of e-mails asking if I really was too tired to fuck this delicious morsel, the answer is of course no. I decided to take him in the missionary position, and it was a particular pleasure to look down at his face framed by his muscular legs, and to see the muscles in his six-pack belly ripple as I had my way with him. I must confess though that thirty minutes later I did lack the energy to again amuse myself with him, and although I was rampantly erect, I simply did not want to stir from lying down. I was in that state of happy contemplation of the world that only comes when one is truly satisfied: I had done substantial good business with the Sheikh, and had this enjoyable bout of sexual release with such a stunning piece of male flesh. Regrettably, I find that in London young men with strong, virile bodies seem to shy away from sex with men of my age, as they do not understand how years of experience, and a high intelligence, can enhance the encounter.
The man was skilled at pleasing his companion, however, and seeing my erection simply straddled my body and "rode" me to a second magnificent climax - he did all the work, and held his hands clasped behind his neck as his powerful thighs pushed his body up and down over me. I always like to see a man's musculature at work, and I had the double joy of watching his thighs stretching and contracting, and his belly muscles rippling, emphasised as they were by his upper body stance, as he worked away.
He would of course have continued indefinitely, but two orgasms before sleep is sufficient for me these days. I did however command him to sleep with me, as it is only rarely that I have an opportunity to wrap myself around a strong, virile young man all night long. Whether it was the journey, or the alcohol (although not drinking himself, my host never stinted his guests the fine champagne and classic wines that were served at his banquets), I woke at around three in the morning, and had that sensation of which no man ever tires - my dick was erect and nestling comfortably in the warm, moist crack between my companion's delightful buttocks.
He clearly had been well trained, as the moment I stirred he gently turned to face me and whispered "Master, shall we have sex again, to help you sleep?"
Why do men whisper, I wonder, at such times? We were alone, with no-one to hear, and we could have spoken normally. But I suppose a whisper helps reinforce that sense of intimacy that you have when you are together totally naked.
Delightful though the prospect was, I knew I had much business to transact the following day, and I needed to be on my mettle: I find that an overindulgence in sex, good though it is at the time, tends to take the sharp edge off me, and so I declined. Sleep would not come, however, and after tossing and turning in his strong arms for some minutes, he asked me if I would prefer to talk instead - clearly, this was a most superior slave, if he felt confident in being able to amuse his master's guests with conversation: like me, almost all the men he would come into contact with would, after all, be experienced men of the world, with high intellects and sharp intelligence.
Never the less we did start to talk, and naturally I was interested in his background as I could not imagine how such a beautiful man, with his perfect English and obvious personality, had ended up as a sex slave in the Sheikh's palace. His story, as he told it to me, is so extraordinary that I feel I can do no better than simply transcribe it as it was told to me.
THE SLAVE'S STORY
At first I couldn't figure out where I was, or why I was there. The last thing I remembered was going for a drink with this woman I'd met, then going back to her place. I remembered feeling faint, and now here I was - in some sort of cell. What the fuck had I done to get here?
I didn't get an explanation either when my cell door opened and three guards came in and told me to follow them. They had those words in English, but the rest of the time they spoke to themselves in some weird-sounding language They led me (forced me?) Along a series of corridors and stairways
We came into an enormous room - all marble floors and gold decorations, with rows of pillars down each side.
At the far end, surrounded by more of the guards, was a guy in what I always think of as 'traditional' Arab dress. Just in front of him were three other men, all, like me, in "normal" Western style dress - Jeans, slacks, and one in what looked like army fatigues. It didn't strike me at the time, but perhaps I should have noticed even then - all the three guys were like me, tall and well muscled. In a group of guys, my height usually makes me stand out a bit as I kind of get used to being a few inches taller than the rest. But these three guys were the same height as me, and as the guards pushed me close to them, we seemed to almost tower over them.
I started to shout, demanding to know why I was there, and for my trouble was clubbed in the back by one of the guards with the stock of his rifle, and I fell to the ground. The three guys came over and helped me to my feet, and we all stood there, looking at the guy at the front.
"You men have been brought here to my palace for my amusement and pleasure", he began.
All of us now started to shout and protest, and he snapped "Silence! Remain silent, unless you want my guards to beat you."
The guards standing around us looked threatening and half-advanced on us with their rifles, and we fell silent, standing there looking at the chief honcho.
"That's better. The first lesson you must learn as my slaves is to remain silent, unless you are asked a direct question. Slaves, like children in olden times, should be seen, and not heard, I believe."
The guy in the combat fatigues started to shout "Cut the crap! There's no such thing as a slave these days. What the fuck's going on....."
A signal from the chief honcho to the guards had its effect, however, and he was clubbed to the floor, where he lay groaning in agony.
"Let that be a lesson on to you. I will be obeyed, and you will obey. You will remain silent until you are commanded to speak. And, for the benefit of your colleagues, one of whom has started to learn that lesson, and has already felt the effects of my wrath, let me say that you are wrong: there assuredly is slavery. Here in my kingdom there always has been, ever since ancient times, and it is such an excellent institution that I see no reason to change it. There is no substitute for a ruler like me being able to command slaves to obey his every whim, and to order appropriate punishments for them if they fail. You will all learn that, some quickly, and some will take a little longer, but learn it you will, as my control is absolute and my punishments are swift and painful."
"You have been brought here for one purpose, and one purpose only", he continued. "That is to amuse me. I tire of the endless problems that running this kingdom causes me - the petty internal problems, the pressure from large, powerful nations to reform, the endless bickering about the US bases I allow on our territory and the constant negotiations about the price of our oil.... So I need a little relaxation. I have tired of 'playing' with my own slaves, even though I have several hundred of them working in my palaces and toiling on my estates and in my quarries and my mines, and I need a little more stimulation."
"My cousin, with whom I have always had a friendly rivalry since we were at boarding school together in England many years ago, recently acquired a pair of twins - identical twins. He was browsing one of those mildly pornographic websites that you Westerners are so fond of and saw pages and pages devoted to pictures of brothers and twins. He found the whole concept so exciting, and so exotic, that he ordered the 'taking' of a pair of identical twins - two Australians, I believe, and had them enslaved to serve in his pleasure rooms. I have to say they are very exotic - two identical men, and handsome ones, too. Having two men who grew up together in that intimacy only twins could share perform sex with you is so different - they know each others bodies ad minds so well that they can properly focus on mine."
"Of course I cannot allow him to triumph in this way, so I am going to go one better, or, rather, two better. You four men are going to become my slaves, identical slaves, perfectly matched."
The four of us captives looked at each other, and what he said seemed to be absolutely crazy: although, as I've told you, we were all the same height and general build, we were so dissimilar in almost every other way. I had dark black hair, wiry, whereas one of the guys was a redhead, another had longish blond hair, and the guy in military fatigues was a kind of brown. There was just no way we could be taken for identical twins, let alone quads! We all started to protest, kind of taking comfort in being together, I suppose, and the man in front snapped "Silence! I will not tell you again. The next man to make a noise, or a disturbance of any kind, will be taken out to my flogging frame and given twenty lashes."
I suppose that made us stop and think - he hadn't hesitated to have us clubbed to the ground, after all. We stood there, shifting our weight warily, trying to make some kind of sense of what was being said.
The chief went on "Of course now you all look dissimilar, but I have been assured by my agents that in all important respects you are alike. Important measurements, like the length of your inside leg, the size of your feet, and your underlying bone structure around your hips and chest, are all the same. Some of you are currently a little more muscular than the others, and some of you have, regrettably, got some incipient signs of a fat belly developing But a strenuous exercise program will fix all that, and as the underlying structure is the same, we will soon have the outer body the same, too."
"You may have noticed that you all look alike facially, too - although perhaps you have not. Your very different hair colours, and hair styles, again mask the underlying basic similarity, and I have plans to remedy things in this area, too. So you see, after a proper period of training, and some adjustments, I will have four identical slaves."
It was the guy in military fatigues who spoke up again. Perhaps he was used to being clubbed by rifles.
"You're fucking mad! You can't take four men like us away from our normal lives without someone noticing.... As soon as my unit notices I'm missing, they'll search... And I'm sure these other guys have got wives, mothers....."
"Ah, sergeant, as I believe you have, or, rather had, that rank in your army... How wrong you are. Your commanding officer will find a note from you saying that you are sickened by war and have deserted. In the circumstances, I believe it is not your army's policy to hunt down those who it considers to be cowardly deserters. And the rest of you - well, you'll know better than I. One of you has never settled into a stable relationship, one is recently divorced, acrimoniously, and his ex-wife will make no effort to trace him.... And as you were all taken from different places, at different times, I doubt if anyone will ever link yo together. No, you had better all accept that for the rest of your lives you are my slaves, and will live your lives here in my country, in my palaces and on my estates. At least, that is, until I tire of you, and then, who knows.... I may sell you to other owners here, and some of them might allow you to travel. But, for the time being, reconcile yourselves to life as a slave, here. The sooner you do, the easier it will be for all of you."
We all started to shout again, and this time we were shown no mercy. Within seconds we were all writhing on the floor, groaning from where the butts of rifles had brutally clubbed us.
"Right, slaves. Strip. I want to make a closer inspection of your bodies."
The four of us looked at each other, and we might, I suppose, have protested. But the surrounding guards looked so menacing that, reluctantly, we started to remove our clothing. Finally, we stood there, two in boxers, and two in briefs.
"I said 'strip'", the head man commanded. "I will not tell you slaves again that I will be obeyed, obeyed first time, obeyed completely, without argument. Now, we are all men together - what are you ashamed of? Remove those last vestiges of your garments, so that I can verify that the photographs I have already seen of all of you are accurate. It is perhaps indicative of the effort I have already put into this project that not only did my agents scour the world for four basically similar men, but they then had to get nude photographs of you - from prostitutes (yes, I'm sad to say, one of you pays for sex), at your sports club, and so on."
We still stood there, kind of looking at each other, and now the chief seemed to be really angry. "I will not tolerate this! What on earth is the problem you men are experiencing? As I said, we are all men together. And you are all used to being naked with other men, at your clubs, in the barracks.... But you forget, too, that you are now slaves. And, most importantly, a slave has no secrets from his master. You are my property, and if I wish to see you naked, so that I can inspect my property, then I will. There can be no shame in a slave submitting to his master's inspection, can there? Now, before I order you all out to the flogging frame, strip!"
We all looked at each other again, and the army guy kind of shrugged, and pushed his boxers down and stepped out of them. We all did the same then, and stood there on the cool marble floor. It felt really odd - I'm no prude, and I play a lot of sport, so I'm used to other guys seeing me naked. But normally they're naked, too, as we're changing before or after a game. But standing there in that huge, airy room, surrounded by guards who were all dressed, was really odd. And although I'd heard the words form my master, they somehow didn't seem to make sense - all this master, slave, inspection crap. Was it all an elaborate joke? Was some TV game show host about to burst in saying "smile for the cameras"?
But no. We all stood there, not really knowing what to do. I suppose your instinctive reaction is to try to cover your nakedness, isn't it? You want the comfort of your big hands cupping your dick and balls.
I'm sure I'd have done that if any of the others had, but, as it was, we all just stood there, feeling slightly foolish.
"Excellent", the chief, who I suppose I was now thinking of as "master", said. "Look at each other, and marvel at how similar you are. Once you have all been exercised, some of you have lost a little weight, some of you have put on a little more muscle.... You will be near clones. Of course, there is one thing that has to be fixed - only two of you are Americans, and so were circumcised at birth, whereas the other two still have their foreskins. But that's easily fixed, and, even if I did not want to make you clones of each other, it is anyway my policy for all slaves here to be 'skinned as I do not like the concept of a slave hiding his dick head form his master."
"Now, you may have many questions, but as I have told you, slaves do not question, Their only role is to obey. So now the guards will take you away, and your new life will begin. I have allowed my slave trainers six weeks to complete the task I have set for them, and when you are next back in this room I expect you all to be very, very different."
He made a kind of dismissive gesture with his hand, an the guards stated to herd us together, and towards the huge doors at the end. We went to pick up our clothes, but they pushed us on, so we were totally naked as we left the chamber and went along the numerous corridors and staircases of what must be an enormous building. We passed lots of people going about their business - servants carrying trays of food and piles of bed linen, men waving papers, others on mobile phones, gabbling away, but they hardly seemed to notice us. It was as if it was a perfectly normal, regular occurrence to have naked men going along the corridors of the place!
As we progressed through the place, the "scenery" gradually changed: the wide airy corridors, lined with marble, gradually became narrower and plastered, then these in turn became even more utilitarian as the walls seemed to become just building blocks, covered in a layer of paint. The lighting changed, too, from sumptuous crystal chandeliers through concealed spotlights to bare fluorescent tubes. At one point the corridor was barred by a sliding gate that completely filled it, and the guards stopped, pressed a button, and looked up at a video camera in the ceiling. There was a grinding sound, and the gate slid aside to allow us to enter, and as we walked on down the corridor we heard it sliding closed behind us: it was as if we were in some prison, and even if we had been thinking of making a run for freedom, naked though we were, our exit was now totally closed off.
I got used to being treated as if I was a dumb animal with no free will as my "training" progressed, but that first day, when they "encouraged" us into the showers with their rifle butts, it was a complete shock. Look, it wasn't the showers themselves - just a bare space, with nozzles in the ceiling - it's a bit like that, well, a bit more luxurious, I suppose, at my club, and there's no shame in standing there and soaping yourself in front of other guys, is there? But here, the moment the water turned on and we started to wash ourselves, there was shouting and screaming from the guards and one of them, with some English, commanded us to stop.
We all stood there, wondering what to do, as we had assumed that there would be no reason to be in the showers if we weren't to clean ourselves. But it soon became clear, as one of the guards had more English than the others, and he told us, in halting tones, that slaves were not allowed to touch their bodies in any way that might give them sexual satisfaction, and that this meant that a slave could not be trusted to wash his private parts in the shower, in case he started to get pleasure from it. All four of us looked at each other, as if we couldn't wash ourselves, how were we to get clean?
We son found out! Into the room came two young lads - I suppose they must have been sixteen or so, as they were clearly sexually mature, judging from the tufts of hair around their dicks - yes, they, like us, were stark naked! They didn't hesitate for a moment, and came over to us and started to soap us. I just didn't k now what to think - look, showering with a woman you're about to fuck or have just fucked is fun, isn't it? The feel of her hands sliding over your body is really almost as good as sex itself. But having another man touch me - I didn't know what to think as the lads' soapy hands slid over my pecs, then carried on to wash my abs. That must surely be it then, I thought.... They've finished... But no, they dropped to their knees, and their ministrations continued as their soapy fingers first started to caress my dick, and to slide down my ass crack! I'd have jerked away from the hand around my dick, but the lad behind me had his hand wedged by now in my crack, and so there was no escape. I snapped "Fuck off!" At them, and the guard at once responded "Silence, slave! Slaves do not speak until they're spoken to! Any more noise, and all four of them will be punished."
Fortunately, though, the problem kind of went away as the two lads slid their hands down , washing my thighs and then my lower legs, and then kind of tugging at me to get me to lift each foot in turn so that they could soap between my toes and do the soles of my feet. I suppose it didn't take more than a minute or so in total and then they moved on to perform their expert activities on another of my four companions. Actually, I think it was good that it was so quick: even though I felt physically sick at the thought of another man handling my dick, there was a stirring of life in it as the lad's strong fingers has caressed it. He had even 'skinned me back to clean under my 'skin - I mean, there's no way that anyone had ever done that to me before - I'd never even let a woman do that to me, as I think a guy's dick head and 'skin are really private and personal to him, don't you? It was the same with my asshole - I once had a girl friend who was very forward sexually, and as I'd started to fuck her one night sh'e'd tried to tickle me there, as she said it would be more sexually exciting for me. Personally, I didn't get it - I mean, your ass is where you crap from, isn't it? And you don't want people interfering with you down there, do you?
It did feel good to be clean again, though, and even though I was still naked I felt somehow better, and my confidence started to return. The guards turned the water off, and the four of us just stood there, kind of planing the water off our bodies with our hands, as you do before towelling yourself dry - but no towels were forthcoming. We all looked at each other as we stood drying in the air, but didn't speak - I suppose we'd all decided not to antagonise the guards until we understood better what was actually going on.
We might have started to ask them questions, though, if the two young lads had not reappeared, and selected one of my companions. They gestured to him to sit down on the tiled floor, then they stood over him and used a pair of batter-operated clippers to buzz of all the hair from his head! He was the one with the long, beautiful blond hair, and he started to protest as his locks began to fall down over his body - at once one of the guards came over, held his rifle by the stock and threatened to club him with the butt, so he shut up. After the hair was buzzed off, the two lads used a can of shaving foam and a razor to shave his head totally smooth, then he was made to stand up and raise his arms I the air, so they could clip away and then shave his pits. The other three of us just stood there in total shock as the two young lads then proceeded to shave his arms, his pubes, and his legs! We thought it must be over then, but finally he was made to bend over and spread his ass cheeks, so that they could shave down his crack, too. When they had finished with him he looked so completely different from the confident, handsome young guy of just a few minutes before - he was now just an object, a piece of raw flesh, some how much more boyish than he had been, and he seemed to lack personality.
It was my turn then, of course, and I knew there was nothing I could do, and somehow this feeling of utter helplessness in the face of the guards helped me to get through it - I mean, if anyone had tried to shave my head and my body completely in "real life", I'd have struck out at them or given them a good kicking. But al I could now do was just squat there as my head was shaved, then put up with the utter humiliation as their razors and clippers ran all over me - the feeling of utter helplessness as they lifted my dick up to shave underneath it, and then the casual way they stretched my balls to get all the hairs off them.
I just can't tell you about how awful it felt to have to stand there holding my ass crack open whilst a young lad shaved it!
Once all four of had been shaved totally clean, you could see how alike we were - our bodies were different colours as some of us were tanned and some not, and the tanned amongst us had different areas of white depending on whether we wore cut-offs or jeans in the sun, but otherwise the resemblance was startling. I've already told you that I had been surprised to see so many other tall guys in one place at one time, and now the other similarities in our bodies, once they were revealed, became very clear: we all had broad shoulders and well-developed pecs with dark aureoles and largish nips. We all had fairly slim waists, and from behind I suppose we all were that classic "triangular" shape on top. Our butts were much the same, too, flaring out from our waists to end in broad, muscular thighs.
You know how sometimes you get a good long look at another guy's dick in a changing room? You don't mean to look, but most men can't resist comparing themselves with others, can they? Well, I can't help making the comparison - but then, I've got nothing to be ashamed of in that department as I've never given anyone anything to complain about when it comes to the length or girth of a my dick. I guess if you're all small, like a tiny peanut, you probably don't want to even sneak a peek at other guys as it would make you ashamed, but that certainly wasn't me! Anyway, whenever I have seen other guys' dicks - and, believe me, I wasn't looking at them because I'm turned on my them - I've often thought that three are a few different categories. Mine, for example, is in the best category - long, thick and hanging down on top of a pair of big, low-hanging balls that swing loose underneath, the whole being well proportioned. But some guys have really tight, almost spherical ball sacs, and their dicks somehow seem to almost "float" on top of them, so the dick juts out all the time - although usually then the dick is really on the short side. And then, as I've said, there are guys with little tiny peanuts, some with long but obscenely thin dicks that look rather like a spear of asparagus, and so on. Well, I suppose it takes all types to make the world, but the surprising thing about us four was that we were all of the same type - long, think, big-balled , hanging loose: in fact the only difference between us was that two of us had 'skins, and two were cut.
I didn't like thinking about my companions' dicks like this, actually, but it's funny how these thoughts can go through your head at stressful times, isn't it? Evidently, though, we were "done" with whatever they intended to do to us, and now, naked as the day we were born, without even any hair to show that we were men, we were herded along a corridor and locked in a room - well, "cell" would probably describe it better:
bare walls and floor of concrete, a hole in the corner to crap into, and a bare fluorescent tube behind shatter-proof glass in the ceiling. The door was made of bars, so that anyone passing in the corridor could look in at us, and there was a heap of straw in the corner which they told us we could spread out all over the concrete, to sleep on. It was a tiny cell - as we soon found out when we did try to sleep as there was almost no way that we could avoid touching each other as we lay down.
We started to talk, to exchange experiences, that first night, but at once a guard appeared and told us that slaves remained silent if they wished to avoid punishment - there was a microphone in the ceiling, and any further noise from us would result in the offender receiving a caning. So we just lay there ,trying to avoid touching each other, and trying to sleep.
The next morning we all woke from our fitful sleep as a guard banged his cane on the cell bars, and got to our feet to stand there feeling acutely embarrassed at our morning hard-ons. Even though I'd seen other guys' dicks at the club before, I really hadn't ever seen another man erect, except in porn films before he starts to fuck one of the women performers, and even that doesn't prepare you for the reality, does it? Especially when, as here, the rigid dicks sticking out in front of us all kind of "got in the way" in the tiny cramped space and we just couldn't help them grazing against each others bodies!
That was the first time I was fed slave chow - I've had hundreds and hundreds of meals of it now, of course, but that first time it seemed really odd to be trying to crunch up that stuff that most closely resembled what I used to feed to the dog we had when I was a kid. And then they took me, and the other un-cut guy, out from the cell, forced us along the corridor into a room, strapped us to a table, and circumcised us!
End Of Part One