HARBOUR MASTER, Part 5
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
That walk across the Fair Ground to the start of the slave race was one of the oddest things I'd ever done - not only was I totally naked in a very public place, but I had this huge erection sticking out in front of me. Once I'd gone up, it didn't seem to want to come down. As I moved, the butt plug massaged my prostate and waves of sexual pleasure kept sweeping through me - no wonder I couldn't lose my hard-on.
Most guys only ever take a couple of steps when they're erect, to the bed, or to the john, but I had to walk a hundred yards or so, and you're just not used to having your dick bobbing up and down with every step, are you? And the crowds of men, women and children making their way home were all looking at me, and pointing at my erection. I was blushing bright red, but I almost didn't care - I wasn't doing this voluntarily, I wasn't some sort of exhibitionist: far from it - I'd been forced to do this, by the vile system of slavery that meant my life was at stake, and by the perverts who designed things like naked slave races!
When we got there, there were seven other slaves standing around, all totally naked, like me, and all sporting their erections. A huge crowd of men - at least two or three hundred - were milling around us, drinking and laughing, pointing at our bodies, and comparing us.
The PA started, and the announcer called for quiet.
"Right - let me remind everyone of the rules. On the 'off', the slaves must race eight times around the arena - that's just under a mile. They must stay outside the line, else they're disqualified. And any slave who loses his erection during the race is also out of it - he must stop, and get hard again, before continuing. As soon as he crosses the finishing line, the slave must fall to his knees and jerk off. It's the first slave to shoot that's the winner - not, I repeat, not, the first slave to cross the line. So this race is designed to demonstrate which is the best slave both for athleticism, and for sex! What could be better, gentlemen, than that - a slave with a good body who can race well, and who can also cum on command? So those of you who haven't already bought a ticket, get one now - you might win one of these pieces of prime slave flesh for an investment of only five bucks. And those of you who already have a ticket, get another - now you've seen the potential prize, and the way these slaves are so proud of their dicks that they've put them on special display for you, don't you want even more chances of owning one of them?"
It was true - we were really good examples of slaves - well, of course, I mean really good specimens of manhood. It was obvious that no slave had been entered who didn't have some chance of winning, and as I stood there, with pre-cum dripping out of the end of my dick, I tried to gauge my chances.
You know I'm tall, and I've got a strong, muscular body. My long legs with my powerful thigh and ass muscles can drive me along, but I'm not primarily "build for speed" - racers, if you look at the Olympics and stuff, are either small, light, "whippet" like guys, or big, lanky, long-legged "bean poles". You never see a big, strong guy win a race, unless it's one of the very short distance races, like the 100 metres, when those huge muscular blacks so often win. Anything over a half a mile or so, and it's lightness and stamina you need, not huge muscle power.
I could see at least one "bean pole", and a couple of "whippets" amongst the competitors - all nice enough guys, of course, and standing proudly erect, like me. So I was worried - but I had a couple of advantages: they were not racing for their lives, and they'd probably not been deprived of sex for as long as I had!
The shouting and cheering continued, and I guessed ticket sales were still going on. I didn't know how long I could hold an erection, but as I shifted nervously from foot to foot, my butt plug sent shock waves through me that certainly helped! Some of the other contestants were looking a bit worried, and were standing there jerking away at themselves. We were all herded into a small enclosure, and the rails of it were lined with men pointing at us and discussing our chances, just like race horses in the ring before a race! I think I'd long ago lost any sense of shame about my nudity, or my erection - I was so worried about losing and being sent to the organ banks that this far outweighed any other consideration. Never the less, I hated hearing all these men comparing my body, comparing my dick, and generally discussing which of us would win, just as if we were animals.
Then it went quieter, and the PA told us to line up.... Then a pistol shot, and we were off!
I've never run so hard in my life. My legs pounded away, and I told my lungs to stop complaining - they just had to go on pumping air into me, or they were dead meat, literally! Sweat was pouring off me, and I could feel droplets of it spraying in the wind as I raced on. The track was grass, but there were the odd stone and so on in it, and I didn't even worry about the random pains from my feet as they crashed down onto a sharp place occasionally. My dick was flying up and down in time to the long strides I was taking, and this hurt, too - but I just forgot it, and carried on as I had to: actually, having my dick start to ache made it easier to keep it erect, somehow. Another insistent pain was from my balls - they were swinging wildly too and fro, not even lightly restrained by my dick lying on top of them, and slapping into my thighs as I raced on. Little twinges kept coming to the front of my brain from them, but I just ignored it.
It's funny how I can remember all these individual sensations, but that's the way it was. One part of my mind was totally focussed on driving my body onward, further and further, and faster and faster. Nothing else mattered. I just had to win! And another part of my brain was sitting there watching and feeling, analysing all these little pains and sensations, then just pigeonholing them as there was nothing that could be done about them, no action that could alleviate them: I had to win, and all else had to be subsumed before that.
As we raced on, the haze of pain from all over me started to obscure everything else. The film of sweat pouring down past my eyes blurred my vision, and the crowd of shouting, raucous men lining the rails all merged into one amorphous mass.
One of the "whippets" stumbled and fell, and lay writhing on the ground, and I had to leap over him to avoid falling myself - he must have pulled a hamstring or something. I noticed the "bean pole" had stopped, and part of me observed that he was just standing there, jerking at his dick - I suppose he'd lost his erection, and had to try to get it again before he could run on. There were now only six of us in the race, and the remaining "whippet" and I were several yards ahead of the other four, who were just averagely athletic guys. The bastard increased the pace, and started to pull away from me. I was desperate - I knew that if he got too far ahead I'd lose the will to fight back and my life was over, so in desperation I lengthened my stride even more, and willed my muscles to power on, faster and faster. But the fucking whippet just went even faster - it was as if he had extra gears, and just shifted down in his gear box to accelerate away from me again! To make matters worse, one of the other guys seemed to be gaining on me, pulling away from the remaining three!
We'd done four laps now, and the strain was terrible. My heart and lungs felt as if they were bursting, and I wanted to stop. I wanted to stop more than anything else on this earth, except my continued life! So I just went on. I went through that thing I've always read about - the pain barrier - all of a sudden, I was just running. My legs were gliding smoothly underneath me, I could feel the wind against my cock as it led me onwards. I could see the ass of the whippet just in front of me, and, to my joy, the guy behind who had been gaining on me suddenly threw his arms into the air and collapsed onto the track behind me - one part of me hoped he hadn't had a heart attack or something, and another part of me said "Fucking thanks, God!".
It was apparent that it was only a race between me and the whippet now - the remaining three were so far behind they couldn't catch up. We raced on and on, and I was aware of someone shouting "last lap."
I saw a tape stretched out in front of me, and the whippet and I went over the line almost at the same instant. I fell to my knees, and not caring about the shame of jerking off in public, cupped my dick in my hand, pulled my foreskin back so my dick head was exposed, and jerked away. It only took a moment, or was it that time had stopped for me? The pain in my balls changed from the ache of being slapped constantly against my thighs to the exquisite one when a huge load of cum is being forced through them, and a great jet of white shot out from me, hitting the front row of spectators standing there cheering. All those things that normally happen to you as you jerk off had been bypassed - there was no anticipation, no thoughts of exquisite sex, no gentle starting of the movement of the fingers up your dick - none of that. I just grasped it, and stroked myself so hard that it was almost as if I was tearing the skin away from it. And there wasn't that sensation of your heart quickening and your breathing getting harder, either" my heart was already racing so hard, and my breathing was coming in such huge painful gasps, that I couldn't increase either.
Once I'd shot, I collapsed back on to the grass, and just lay there, holding my dick, with my chest heaving up and down. I could hear the cheering and shouting of the crowd, who were going wild, but I didn't really register it - it was as if they were miles away. I didn't care that my whole body was exposed to hem. I didn't care they'd all seen me do that thing that only my wife had ever seen me do before. I didn't care that I was a slave. All I knew was that I was the best - I had beaten eight other guys, some of them good runners, and I'd shot harder and faster than any of them. I knew there wasn't a man there that could have produced a load the size I had, and I knew they would all be looking at me, envious of my manhood.
I was pulled to my feet soon, though, and paraded around the rails by a guard. Hands came out and touched me all over, feeling my sweaty ass, clutching at my dick that was still slimed with my cum, and slapping my on my back. There were shouts of "Fucking well done. Jesus Christ, boy, what a load! Well done, fella", and all that other crap - they were congratulating me for being an athletic stud, and they didn't care that I was a slave. I was a man, a man who was bigger, stronger and better than them, and they all knew it.
My euphoria came to an end, though, when the PA broke into life again and they announced the prize draw. I was told to go up towards the microphone, and there was a huge barrel, with thousands of ticket stubs lying in it.
"Right, slave. As you're the prize, you can draw the ticket that will name your new owner. Lean in and stir the tickets round well."
As I leant over the edge of the barrel I was aware that the men standing around could see my ass exposed, but I no longer cared. And I knew that I ought to hate being a prize in a sweepstake - I was a man, after all, not a holiday in Vegas, or a fancy new car!
But, what the fuck? I was still alive!
"Right. Now, take that cum-soaked dick of yours and poke it into the barrel and pull out a ticket."
Oh no, how fucking humiliating! I went to pick a ticket out normally, with as much dignity as I could, ignoring the PA.
"Stop! You were commanded to pick the ticket by sticking it to your dick! I can see that whoever wins you is going to have a hard time beating some sense into you, so that you obey orders properly! Now, do as you were fucking told - get that dick of yours into the barrel, and pull a ticket out."
Now furious at the humiliation, and blushing at this new indignity, I put my hands on the rim of the barrel and raised my body up - I was am amazed that I still had the strength to do this! Then, with my thighs balanced on the opposite rim, I lowered my pelvis downwards, and let my dick brush over the surface of the tickets underneath me.
The drying cum on my dick head did "stick" a ticket, and I pulled myself upwards, then lowered myself to stand there, with the piece of paper stuck to the tip of my dick.
The man holding the mike came forward and casually plucked the ticket off me - there was a little tug at the sensitive skin of my dick head that made me start a little, but he either didn't notice, or didn't care.
"The winner is, gentleman, Mr Matt James, of Seatown. Come on up, Matt, and claim your prize!"
We waited, and then a big guy climbed slowly over the enclosure fence - he was about as tall as me, and as well muscled as I was. If he hadn't been much older - I guessed he was about 40 - he could have been an older brother. He seemed unhurried, and strolled across to where we were, and shook the hand of the compere. It was clear that he was used to being in charge of things, and wasn't going to be hurried just because two or three hundred sex-crazed men were watching him.
The compere went to say something, but my new owner - as I suppose that is what he was - just looked at me and said "Down on your knees."
I was so surprised, I did nothing.
"I said down on your knees, slave!", he snapped. "You're going to have to learn that you obey me when I give you an order. Now, get on your fucking knees, before I borrow a bullwhip from one of these cowboys our here and show you what a real whipping can do!"
I was shocked, but reacted almost automatically, and fell to my knees. The crowd cheered.
The compere went to say something else, but my master didn't seem interested.
"Now, slave, in front of all these men - show me that you accept me as your master in the usual way."
I didn't know what he meant.
"Right, you young fucker, I told you what would happen...."
"No, please, boss... I don't know what you mean. What's the 'usual way'?"
He looked down at me, as if to judge whether I was bullshitting him.
"OK, one more chance. You give me the kisses of submission and obedience. First, you kiss my dick."
"Boss.... How...?"
"Get my dick out - very gently - if you even make me wince, I'll thrash you later. Then kiss it."
He couldn't be serious, surely? Would he want his dick out in front of this huge audience of men? He wasn't a slave, after all, he didn't have to expose himself. But he seemed to be serious.
What else could I do? I reached up, and with trembling fingers undid the buttons on his jeans. I could tell by the size of his bulge that, like me, his dick would be to scale with the rest of him, and I nervously tried to reach in and find it.
"No, you fucking idiot! Do you want to hurt my dick, pawing t it like that? Lower my jeans, and then do it."
My hands were still shaking - was it the exertion I'd just been through, or the tension from this extraordinary act - but I undid his belt, and slid his jeans down. He didn't wear underwear, and as his huge, cut dick came into view, and his big, rounded ass was exposed, the crowd went wild again. I learned a lesson - a man, a real man, doesn't care about other men seeing him naked, provided he's got a great body and a big dick.
"Right, slave. Take my dick it gently in your hands, then kiss it. By worshipping it in front of all these men, you are confirming that you understand that I am your master, and you obey me in all things!"
Still trembling, I reached for his dick. This was the first time I'd ever held another man's vital organ, and I couldn't believe how warm it felt, and how soft, as it lay there in the palm of my hand. I froze.
"Kiss it, you young fucker. What's wrong with you? Don't you like a real man's dick?"
I leant forward, and pursed my lips, and touched them softly to his big dick head. AS I came close to it, far closer than I's ever been before to a man's dick, I smelt it's scent - that heady mixture of dried piss, sweat, and those special scents that only the dick had. I felt it twitch under my lips, and he started to get an erection. I pressed my lips to it for a few seconds, then I knelt backwards, and his dick leapt in to the air, accompanied by more cheering from the crowds.
"Now my ass."
"Boss?"
"Don't you speak English, you young fucker! You've submitted by kissing my dick, now show your total obedience by kissing my ass!"
He turned around, and the huge globes of his ass were towards my face. The crowd was going wild, but I could see I had no choice - I leaned forward, and pressed my lips first to one cheek, and then the other.
"No! You kiss my crack! I want to feel those lips of yours pressing into my crack - but as this is your first time, you can start at the top. Kiss my crack, starting at the base of my spine!"
I leaned forward again, and put my hands on his muscular hips to steady myself, then I pressed myself in to him, my nose going slightly down into the hairs coming up out of his crack - he was one of those guys with a little forest of hair just at the base of his spine, where his crack started, and they felt all tough and wiry on the bridge of my nose.
His male scent rose to meet me - that special smell in a man's crack, however much he showers. Pheromones, a faint whiff of shit, and his sweat - as my lips pressed onto his hot flesh, my dick went erect again.
I stayed there for a few moments, savouring this man who now owned me, and when the crowd saw my subservience and obedience to him, they roared and cheered even harder.
"OK, slave, on your feet! We've got work to do."
I got up, and my owner was pulling up his jeans, tucking his dick down into the fabric as only confident men do. The compere, the guard and the dealer and his young slave were all now gathered around, and there was a lot of discussion about title deeds, the money from the tickets, and so on. My owner finally snapped "Let's cut all this crap!".
Turning to the guard, he asked him if he was satisfied with the ticket money, and was told yes. So he just looked at all of them and said "So send me all the paperwork. I've got a long drive tonight, and there are things I've got to do to this slave whilst he still remembers his public display of subservience to me. Don't you guys have anything to do, too?"
He didn't wait for an answer, but simply strode off, snapping his fingers at me to indicate that I should follow him. As we made our way through the streams of men who were also leaving, lots of them congratulated him on how well he had handled me. The sorts of comments I heard all the time were "It's a pity all those young punks don't end up with masters like you - they need to be taught who's boss", and "Well done, fella - get those fucking slaves to understand who's the top, that's what I always say." As I looked back, I could see the dealer, the guard and the young slave also leaving, with the boy almost held under the arm of the guard. I wondered what the night was to hold in store for the two slaves amongst us!
He strode on, and never looked back. He was clearly confident that I was following him, and he didn't even feel the need to look.
He had a beat up old pick-up, that looked strangely out of place amongst the gleaming SUVs and BMWs that the rest of the followers of the slave races seemed to drive. It was so old that he hadn't even bothered to lock it, and as he opened the door he rummaged around inside and found a couple of things that he threw at me.
"Here - some shorts, and a sweat of mine. The shorts were left by my son on his last trip, and they'll probably be a bit tight on you - he's only 16, but he's well built. It's my sweatshirt, so it'll fit, but I've been wearing it the last few days so there's a bit of a rank smell of sweat - but it's my sweat, so don't worry.
I stood there, and pulled on the shorts - they were indeed tight, but, because of their cut, it didn't matter much - they were those old fashioned short running shorts, where the front and back are in two halves to allow free movement of the thighs. On me, they split almost up to the waistband, showing my big muscles off, but after the tiny loin cloth they felt completely modest! As I pulled on the sweat, I got the heady aroma of my master, that I'd scented as I kissed his ass - all male, all masculine.
"OK. Don't expect this all the time. I don't see any problem with having slaves naked, but it'll go cold tonight as we head to the coast, and I don't want you shivering all the time as it distracts me from my driving. Now, get in - and again, as it's night, you can ride up front with me - when we're working, I'll expect you to ride in the back with the tools and the other crap: it's not good for people to see a slave being treated like a free man.
I got in, and sat there, and he put the pick-up into gear and drove off.
"Right, slave. What's your name?"
"Steve, sir..."
"Right, Steve. Here are the rules. Remember them, as I'll beat the shit out of you if you break them."
"First, I'm 'Boss'. You call all other free men 'Sir', and me, 'Boss'. Second, you obey my orders, and you obey them exactly, when I give them, and exactly as I give them. You don't decide to modify them, or to change them, or to do them later. I decide what's going to happen, and how it's going to happen, and your only function as a slave is to obey. And third... No, there is no third. You call me 'Boss', and you obey. Is that clear?"
"Yes, boss."
"Good. You're a quick learner. Now, you're 24 years old, right, and a virgin."
"Yes, boss, 24. But not a virgin. I've got a wife and two kids...."
"Listen, slave, perhaps they didn't teach you anything at that slave dealership - yes, I know a bit about you, as I had a chat with a most interesting guard as you were racing. You're a slave now, and so you have no wife, no kids - all that sort of stuff is automatically dissolved when you're enslaved. Secondly, that ass of yours hasn't had a dick up it, so you're a virgin. You can forget all that stuff about fucking women - I don't intend to breed from you, so you'll never stick it up a cunt again. You've narrowly escaped the organ banks, as we both know, as you're not the fashionable type and no one else would buy you, but to me, you're a great asset - I could never afford a slave from the money I make, so winning you in the sweepstake was fantastic. But, as you effectively cost me only five bucks, I wouldn't mind losing you - if you're persistently disobedient and I get tired of beating the shit out of you to make you obey, I'll simply sell you to them anyway: the extra cash would always come in handy. Just remember that, and think on before you even consider annoying me."
"I'm the Harbour Master at Seatown. I own the pleasure oat concession, and I run a service for the rich owners who come out from the city and who keep their boats moored in the harbour. We don't have a marina as such, just a lot of moored boats. Do you swim?"
"Yes, boss."
"Do you REALLY swim - not just a couple of lengths of the pool.... Are you a real strong, swimmer?"
"Yes, boss. My dad always insisted I learned, and it was a sport I liked. I've got life saving diplomas, and...."
"Cut the crap. Are you sure you're a strong swimmer?"
"Yes, boss."
He pulled off the Interstate, and we went along a country road for a couple of miles, with him intermittently peering at a road atlas. Then we stopped, and we were on the shores of a small pleasure lake.
"OK, slave. Get out, and get naked."
I did as I was told, and stood there, shivering slightly as the night air had indeed turned cold. I kind of wrapped my arms around myself, and rubbed them up and down, to try and make myself warm. My owner rummaged around in the back of the pick up, and came back holding a number of lengths of chain.
As I stood there, he wrapped a couple of turns around my neck, then ran a length down and circled my waist twice. Using some pliers from the toolbox, he used a scrap of cable to bind the loose end of the chains together, so I had a kind of very heavy necklace around my neck, and a belt around my waist.
"OK, slave. I'm going to drive to the other side of the lake. Swim over to me."
I looked, and could just see the far shore in the moonlight. It looked a long way away, and with these chains on me.... I was scared.
"Please, boss... It's a long way... These chains...."
"Exactly. I need a strong swimmer, and you say you're a strong swimmer. So we may as well find out whether you're a truthful slave, and whether I can trust you in the future. There's no point in me transporting you back home if you can't perform, so I may as well find that out now as well. If you can't swim well, or if you've lied to me, I've not lost much, just a few bucks on that ticket. So get in the water, and swim! If you don't want to do that, I can just turn around and take you back to that dealership - they'll pay me several thousand for you, I know, as they'll be glad to turn some profit on you...."
He didn't say anything else, but turned and got into the pick-up, started the engine, and drove off. I could see his headlights making their way around the lake, and I just stood there, getting colder and colder. I thought I could do it - I really am a strong swimmer - but it's scary when you're weighed down with chain, you don't really know how far you've got to go, and you're nearly exhausted anyway. But standing there wasn't going to change anything, so I waded into the lake.
The water was cold! And as I moved in deeper and deeper, I had that horrible feeling you get when cold water rises up you - over your knees, then that shock as it touches your dick and your balls, then the tickling, horrible sensation as it rises over your waist and hits your navel. I pressed on, and it hit my nipples, causing them to erect. I should have just thrown myself in and got it over with, but I wanted to wade as far as possible to conserve my strength.
I had to start swimming soon, though - I went in up to my chin, and I didn't even start to float with all the chains holding me down. As I kicked away, I realised I was having to work really hard just to stay afloat - as I took each stroke, my neck was dragged down and my head went straight under water. And if I let up for even an instant, I started to sink straight down.
I could see the headlights on the far side of the lake, and struck out for them. I swam on and on, getting colder and colder, and I could feel my strength ebbing - I know I could have done it if I hadn't been so dammed fucking tired!
Soon I thought I was more than half way - there was no turning back now, as it was further back to the shore I'd come from than it was to press on. But my strokes were getting feebler and feebler, and my strength was rapidly fading. I stopped and tried to "tread water", to allow my limbs to recuperate a bit, but it just wasn't possible - my weighted body started to go straight down, feet first! Frantically, I kicked out, and thrust towards the surface - could I make it.... I was spluttering, with my lungs on fire as I finally burst through, but then I had to start swimming as I immediately started to go under again.
Over and over, the nightmare repeated itself - I ran out of energy, and started to sink, then I found a new reserve from somewhere, and started again. But the periods of progress were getting shorter and shorter, and the far shore didn't seem to begetting that much closer. I was getting resigned - at least they wouldn't have the satisfaction of making money from my organs - I'd die out here, in the open air (or, rather, in the depths of the lake!).
I guess there are hidden reserves in all of us, and somehow I carried on for what seemed like hours, but which was probably no more than 45 minute or so, but even that was not enough. I just couldn't carry on, and felt myself being dragged down to the bottom by the chains. I just was so dammed tired, I no longer cared, I just couldn't find any more strength to struggle on. A huge bubble of air escaped from my mouth, and I knew I was about to die.
Then my feet touched the bottom! My head was still about a foot down, but at least I must be near the shore. Where I got it from I don't know, but I found the will to kick out, and launched up towards the surface. My head broke through for an instant, and I snatched a lung full of air, then somehow, I carried on - sinking, kicking, snatching a breath, and all the time desperately struggling to make some sort of progress towards the shore. But it wasn't enough - my last kick failed to get me to the surface, and I knew I was done for. I desperately tried to hold on to my last remaining breath, but then, with my lungs screaming, I just had to breathe in the cold water of the lake and I knew my life was ebbing away. My last conscious thought was of the cruel system that had turned me from a 24 year old father into a dead slave.
End Of Part 5