Slave Revolt

THE SLAVE REVOLT

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Six

I had a terrible night. All the drays and I could do was to try to shuffle around a bit and rearrange ourselves - but the five of us lying stacked rather like logs of wood in the back of the pickup could not do all that much to make ourselves comfortable. And, inevitably, when we had to piss, we couldn't avoid doing it over each other. We were cold and miserable, and it was made worse by the occasional screams from young Rob that split the night air.

Until you've tried it, you've no idea how painful it can be to have your hands cuffed behind your back for a really long time. By the morning we were all in a lot of distress, and in addition to the cold, we were very thirsty. They didn't bother to give us any water or anything to eat, though, and after they'd broke camp after eating their own breakfast, we set off. If anything, the drays and me were in even more trouble now as the truck bounced along the country roads as we were thrown against each other constantly and could do nothing to stop it. I was worried sick about what had happened to Rob, as I'd rather hoped that after they'd finished with him they'd have thrown him in with the rest of us - but this didn't happen.

As the sun came up our torture continued - we were really thirsty now as the sun caused us to sweat, and we even got to the point of trying to lick the sweat off each other in a vain attempt to bring some relief to our parched and swollen lips and tongues.

Sometime during the morning we stopped unexpectedly and there was a lot of shouting and some gunfire, and eventually some more slaves, cuffed like us, were thrown in on top of us. We could do little to avoid the crushing weight of their bodies, but at least they provided some protection from the sun. Fortunately they were only "regular" coffle slaves, as if they'd been big heavy drays, I'm sure we would have suffocated as the weight would have stopped us from breathing. Like us, the poor guys were a bit bemused at having got caught up in the slave uprising, and they were fearful of what was going to happen next - they too had seen some of the executions, and they also told us that a mile or so back they'd started crucifying slaves, as "a fitting punishment for trying to escape". When they described the way the spikes were driven through the wrists and ankles of the men who were impaled on the crosses, they were shaking with fear as they felt certain that this was to be our fate, too.

I don't know how long we could have held out without any water or food, but fortunately shortly after the sun had reached its zenith we finally arrived at our destination - the rear gate of the pickup was dropped, and, one by one, we were hauled out just as if we were packages. I'd been near the top of the pile, and so was one of the first off, and as I looked around all I could see was utter desolation: the place had evidently been a small wood or coppice with an owner's mansion in it, but everything had been burned down. Now the whole site was bleak and bare and covered in soot and ash, and the only sign of human activity was that as far as the eye could see there was a fence of razor wire, all coiled up and about six feet high, enclosing the space and dividing it up into a number of sections. One of the guards snapped "put this whitey in the 'special' section, as he's probably one of the ringleaders and will need special interrogation. The niggas can just go in the general compound."

There were no gates in the razor wire - a plank was rested up against it and I was forced up it with the threat of a slave prod and had to jump off the end, into the compound. There were about fifty guys already in there, about half of them whiteys or Mexes, and the other half niggas. I looked around, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing: no shelter of any kind, no provision for latrines, no sign of any way of feeding or watering us. Most of the guys looked in a pretty bad state - thin and kind of ragged looking, and some were badly sunburned (I suppose I was fortunate in having worked a lot out of doors so my skin had adapted). On the other side of the wire we could see the second compound where I suppose the drays had been put, and this was much the same, except that there must have been four or five hundred niggas in there.

I soon found out how effective this method of keeping us was - it required almost no resources from the National Guard, as any thought of trying to cross the huge coils of razor wire was absolutely out of the question. They fed us by the simple expedient of hurling a few small sacks of slave chow over the wire in the morning - if we were unlucky these broke open and we had to forage for it in the ash and soot that covered everything, but forage we did, as we were so desperately hungry as there simply wasn't enough. We were "watered" by them pointing a hose pipe through the wire and we had to catch the water as best we could on the other side. There was absolutely no provision for cleaning us, or for latrines - we used one corner of the compound to shit in, and that was that.

Fights frequently broke out as there was really not enough food and the water hose was never run for long enough. It didn't affect me all that much as I was bigger and stronger than most of the others, but it distressed me to see the weaker men getting weaker and weaker because of the lack of food and water. I tried to organise a "fair" distribution, really I did, but it was useless - in these totally inhuman surroundings all sense of fair play and "justice" had evaporated, and although I tried to help some of the very weakest, it was a hopeless task.

We were naked savages, our bodies filthy, desperately fighting each other for survival, and it was utterly demeaning to have to eke out an existence like this. But I clung on, knowing that "economics" would at some point take over and they wouldn't want too many of us valuable slaves ending up as corpses. Some of the men couldn't take it, though, and I particularly remember one guy who, after an afternoon when the fierce sun burned down unmercilessly, and when he failed to get enough water before the hose was turned off, threw himself onto the razor wire in a completely hopeless attempt to escape. There was nothing we could do - his skin was cut to ribbons in an instant, and he lay there on the wire, bleeding to death in front of us.

They made no attempt to move the putrefying flesh in the next few days as evidently it was considered it served as a reminder to all of us that escape was impossible.

There was more sinister activity on the other side of the wire in the nigga compound, too: they had the same kind of fights and so on as we did as they too were desperate for food and water. But it was even worse for them - once a day one of those cranes you see everywhere on construction sites reached its boom over the wire with a guard sitting astride it holding a noose. He "lassoed" a nigga, hauled him up and over the wire, and this was repeated until there were twenty niggas outside the wire: we all watched as the were loaded into a cage on the back of a truck and were driven off. We heard the guards laughing one day as they said that "fishing for niggas was better than fishing for pike back home". They all agreed it was good sport, and were even discussing how they went about "selecting the catch" - some said they chose tall niggas, some went for young ones, and so on - it all seemed totally arbitrary. Only one guard seemed at all concerned, and said he didn't really like it when it was his turn to "fish" for the catch that day, as he knew the slaves were being taken off to be crucified in the nearby towns!

One of the Mexes hearing this asked me if I thought it was true, and I had to tell him I thought it probably was. "You see, they are going to start repopulating the plantations and demesnes with slaves soon, and they need to ensure that a slave revolt like this never breaks out again. I guess they think that if we see a whole lot of crucified slaves as they take us back to our owners, we'll think twice about ever trying to revolt again."

"But, Steve, you didn't revolt, I didn't revolt...."

"I know! We're just victims, really. But how's an owner to know which slaves would have been loyal to him, and which ones willingly joined in? This way, at least, we all learn that a revolt doesn't pay."

"Why do you think they're taking the niggas off for crucifixion, Steve, and leaving us alone?"

"Well whiteys and Mexes always fetched a much higher price at auction - perhaps they don't want to 'waste' too much capital and therefore only crucify the cheaper niggas."

"Oh come on, you can't be serious....."

"I am! Look, the whole slavery thing rests on economics, right? It's cheaper to own a slave and give him minimal food, just enough housing so he doesn't die of exposure, no clothes as he doesn't need them and they cost money, to coffle him so he doesn't need much guarding, and to whip and tawse him to get the most work out of him, than it is to employ a worker and have to give him enough money to feed, clothe and house himself and a family..... The USA was being eaten alive by all the cheap imports from foreign countries with low labour costs, until slavery came back - and now we're up there at the top again, beating the world as we have the lowest production costs of anywhere. That's what I mean by economics - and there's a whole lot of other savings, too: no prisons and fewer police, as the crime rate is right down, health care costs slashed as slaves don't live into old age, or, if they do, they don't get expensive life-prolonging treatments.... So, as I said, we're all assets, all slaves are, and clearly you take care of the most expensive assets more than you do of the cheap ones. I suppose we're lucky, really."

"What do you reckon is going to happen then, Steve?"

"Well, if we're lucky, we'll survive long enough for this orgy of revenge and punishment to pass and for wiser heads to point out that they need to get the country working again - and for that, they need slaves. They can't go on crucifying some, and letting some die of neglect, for long or the economy will never recover. Sooner or later, and I hope it's sooner, they'll start to look at our SINs and begin the process of returning us to our owners. What did you do, anyway, Pedro?"

"Oh, me? I was a gardener in a big house in the suburbs of Nashville. They caught me after I'd been working here illegally for two years, and made me a slave. It wasn't so different to the work I did before - I was an agricultural labourer in Mexico and I had my own little plot of land, too. I'd have been at home still if I hadn't made a fourth baby but you know how it is, Steve - my lovely Rosita was hard to resist when she wrapped her legs around me.... And although we did all the things the Church said and only did it when it was 'safe', the little ones kept on coming. So I had to cross the border to make money to feed them....."

Pedro stopped, and looked as if he was about to cry, and went on "I worry all the time about what has happened to my family, as when I was enslaved there was no more money...."

I didn't want to be unnecessarily critical, but I did think his problems were a bit of his own making. "If you wanted to have sex so much, why didn't your Rosita do something.... The pill...."

"It is a sin, Steve! The Church says so. And I could not abstain: I am a man, and my Rosita is a lovely woman, Steve...."

I shrugged, because it had never been a problem for me. I always assumed the women I fucked took some sort of precautions - I mean, you can't expect a guy, when he's in the heat of fucking, to think about things like that, can you?"

"So you were bought as a gardener, then?"

Pedro looked a bit bashful. "I am used to working the land, Steve. And my owner's gardens were easy as I had my own plot, as I told you. But I do not think he bought me for my skill on the land, Steve!"

Seeing me looking puzzled, he lowered his head as if he was ashamed of what he was saying, and in a quiet voice went on "No, Steve. My owner likes men of a certain type - men like me, virile, and slim, with a lot of body hair.... He would not like you, Steve, as you are too big and powerful. But me - as you can see, I am thin and wiry, and my owner said he liked to fuck an ass that's easy to get to, a hole that is not buried in big muscles.... He bought me so that he could use me for sex, Steve, and it was just a bonus that I could tend the grounds. And of course he liked

to see my skin deeply tanned, as us Mexes take a good colour in the sun....."

"So you were a sex slave, really?"

"Yes, Steve. He is a big, ugly man with a huge belly.

He used to play football when he was young, he says, but years of eating and drinking too much have made him fat. But when he lies on top of me he almost crushes the life out of me.... And his dick - well, Steve, it is big and thick, and he uses it unmercifully: he likes to hear me scream as he forces it in, as he will not let me use any lubricant.... Not even my own cum. It is not right, Steve...."

"Pedro, you're a slave. Your owner can do what he likes....."

"It is not right, Steve, for one man to force himself on another. I do not like feeling another man's body on me, or another man's dick inside me, Steve! I am a man, a man with children, and a wife....."

Pedro looked as if he was about to start crying as he said this, and I put my arm around him - he didn't seem to mind that, at least. "Pedro, I don't know if we will get out of this, but if we do, I suppose you will be returned to your owner. And you're going to have to learn to live with being a slave: it's true that as a man you should not have to be fucked by another man.... But as a slave, well, you do not have the choice, do you?"

"Were you fucked, Steve?"

"Only once, when my owner had bought me and he was kind of demonstrating that he had total control over my body. I think he preferred the younger, smaller guys who were waiters and such like at his place - I was almost a 'buddy', I suppose, as I was his personal trainer and had to make sure he worked as hard as he could.... When I'd been in control of him in the gym, I suppose it was hard for him to consider fucking me...."

"But you knew he was your owner...."

"Of course. Look....." I ran my finger over the big 'S' on my ass. "He had this done...."

"Me too", Pedro added. "And...." He lowered his voice again. "And he had me cut... You know... Had my foreskin removed. He said that he did not like his slaves concealing any part of themselves from him, and that he liked to see my cock head at all times.... It is not right, Steve... I did not have my sons circumcised, and yet my owner took this away from me...."

"Pedro, this doesn't help, you know. You have to stop thinking about what was 'right' when you were a free man. I had to learn that, too - it's different when you are a slave."

We could have gone on talking but at that moment the crane arrived to start picking that day's crop of slaves from the niggas' pen who were going to be taken away to be crucified. Pedro and I could only stand there and watch as the niggas ran away as best they could from the dangling noose as they knew that if they were lassoed they were as good as dead, and would have a horrible death, too. I cried out, but was utterly powerless to do anything about it, when I saw one of my friends the drays dangling in the air and being carried over the wire and thrust into the transport cage along with some other unfortunates.

I was really miserable that night. Somehow I think I'd imagined that "rescue" would come before any of the remaining drays were killed, and now all I could do was lie there in the open wondering where the poor guy was: I could only imagine the agony as they nailed a spike through his wrists and feet and then left him there. His weight would pull down on his arms, causing excruciating pain in his wrists, and then he'd start to suffocate as he couldn't get air in his lungs - so he'd push up on his feet, causing more agony.... And this terrible cycle would repeat until finally, totally exhausted, he'd die. I'd heard that very few slaves survived for more than a day on the cross, but the drays were such powerful guys that perhaps their agony would be very much longer than that.

Pedro was lying next to me and I could almost hear his teeth chattering as the clear night sky allowed the temperatures to drop. I moved over and put my arm around him and tried to spoon my body up against his, but he tried to push me away muttering "No, Steve, I do not have sex with men...."

"Listen, you idiot - I don't want to fuck you. I'm just trying to help you get warm....."

He stopped struggling then, and moved his body closer to mine, and I have to tell you that if I hadn't said I wasn't going to fuck him, I'd have been sorely tempted - his thin, bony ass felt somehow very enticing as it pressed against my belly, and I wondered if I could slip my dick between his thighs, as I did with Rob. But I suppose I felt sorry for him - a married man like that who'd lost everything: who knows what had happened to his wife and kids, without the money he was sending back? At least I hadn't got anyone like that to lose when I was enslaved. And being fucked all the time by some gross owner - well, once was enough for me, as I hated it - it must be awful for him. So I did my best to stifle my erection, and in the morning, when they threw food in, I fought off a couple of guys so I could gather more than usual and gave some of it to Pedro.

By a bitter irony the "rescue" started the next day - too late to save my friend, one of the drays, who must surely now be handing dead from his cross. All of us lined up against the wire to watch as a truck drove in, and under the supervision of the National Guard, six big niggas unloaded some sort of bench thing - a bit like the fucking horse on which I'd been restrained when my owner took my cherry - and a big gas-powered thing that looked a bit like a barbecue. By mid morning they'd made a kind of thin corridor with coils of the razor wire delineating the sides, and then they cut through the wire surrounding the niggas' compound and guards went in and started driving the niggas with whips along the "corridor". It was just wide enough for one nigga at a time, and soon they had about a hundred of them lined up "dick to crack" as we say, with the niggas pushed up tightly against each other.

Pedro and I stood there, wondering what was going to happen, but we soon found out: the six niggas who'd come with the apparatus grabbed a nigga from the front of the queue in the wire corridor, and expertly threw him down onto the horse frame and strapped him in: they were clearly used to handling men, as even though the nigga was a big, tough guy, he seemed completely powerless to resist them and they handled him just as if he was a toy. Before we could all cry out and scream in protest, one of the niggas reached between the guy's legs and a terrible, terrible scream rent the air: he'd used a giant pair of shears to cut off the guy's balls! The guy screamed again as a second nigga grabbed a red hot glowing tool off the barbecue thing and pushed it between his legs, presumably to cauterise the wound and stop the blood flowing.

Acting as a team again the six niggas efficiently released the guy who was now whimpering and sobbing, and manhandled him over to a truck with a big cage on the back, and threw him in. They then ran back to the line of waiting niggas - who could see what was about to happen to them - and grabbed the next man from the front of the line. He begged and pleaded with them to let him go, uselessly, of course, and then as he was strapped to the horse thing, his pleas changed to begging Jesus and Mary and assorted saints to help him - equally uselessly, of course. The noise was only stopped when the shears were thrust between his legs and did their work.

It was fantastically efficient! The six niggas worked as a team, and there was simply no avoiding them. The waiting niggas could not escape because of the razor wire, and I reckoned the whole castration process took no more than two minutes per nigga. By the time the sun was high in the sky the waiting line of a hundred or so niggas had all been dealt with, and the guards went back into the compound and drove another hundred out and into the "corridor".

It was impossible to avoid what was going on. The niggas waiting to be done were weeping and wailing and begging for salvation, and the air was rent almost continuously with the terrible, terrible screams of the guy who was actually being gelded at that moment. Pedro and I and most of the other whiteys and Mexes ended up by sitting there totally horrified, our hands pressed to our ears in a vain effort to drown out the terrible noise. It was the absolute inevitability of what was happening that was the worst thing - all the niggas in the compound could clearly see that sooner or later they too would be in the waiting line, and that then, as surely as night follows day, they too would suffer the agony of the cutting off of their balls, followed by the second onslaught of the red hot cauterisation. There was no escape - every single one of them knew that sooner or later his turn would come.

It took three days to empty the niggas' compound, and I knew that, somewhere in there, my three remaining dray buddies must have suffered that terrible fate - like most of us in the other enclosure, I could no longer bear to watch the process. And it was quiet now, as when the cage on the back of a truck was full of gelded slaves, they were driven away.

"At least they're not going to be crucified, Pedro", I told him. "If they were, they'd leave their balls on as a lot of the spectators would expect to see a slave's balls as he was dying - and they do say that you ejaculate as death approaches, and I don't suppose they want to spoil the spectacle!"

"But Steve... They are no longer men...."

"They were no longer men when they were enslaved, Pedro. But now they have lost their balls, too. I expect this is how they have decided that the slave revolt will end - they need the slaves to rebuild everything that was destroyed, and then to work in the fields and so on as before. But I suppose that the free men do not want to risk slaves going on the rampage again, and 'calming' them by gelding them seems like a good solution. And it sends a powerful message, too, to any slaves who were not caught up in it - as these slaves get sold, and move around the country, other slaves will see the scars from the gelding and will think twice about trying an insurrection."

"What do you think they're going to do to us, Steve?"

"I don't know, Pedro! They separated us out and we weren't candidates for crucifixion because we're worth more. I wonder if they think that our value would be destroyed if we were gelded... I mean, some of the guys here are studs, and a lot of them are sex partners for their owners.... A stud without balls isn't any use, is he? And I reckon most owners would prefer to play with a slave in bed who still had a nice sacful to get hold of...."

We found out the next day, though: when they formed a line of us whiteys and Mexes, there was a small variation: as you got to the front of the line, one of the slaves read your SIN, it was typed into some sort of radio device, which then signalled "yes" or "no"! A "yes" and you were seized and onto the gelding horse, and a "no" and you were frog-marched off to a cage on the back of a second truck.

As we stood there, the tension was almost unbearable. In some ways it was worse for us than for the niggas - they knew their fate, but for each of us it was different and we had to wait until we got to the front of the queue to find out if we were to be gelded or not. It was typical of their inhuman treatment of us - after all, how hard would it have been to look at our SINs as we entered the queue and only leave in it those who were to be gelded? Some of the guys were physically sick as the line shuffled forward, and a whole lot of them were unable to help pissing as the tension grew and grew. What made it worse was that it looked as if only about twenty percent of us were not gelded - Pedro was in front of me, and was whispering that he thought he'd be OK as his owner used him for sex. But I had to watch helplessly as the guy was thrown onto the horse and had his balls cut off - presumably his owner, if he wanted to carry on fucking him, would not find the absence of Pedro's balls any great handicap.

I never saw him again as it was my turn next, and I was one of the lucky ones who was simply taken over and caged in the other truck.

My troubles were not over yet, though: when the cage was full and we were driven off, we were wedged tightly up against one another. And just a they didn't bother to give us any food, or any water, so they didn't worry about our need to piss and crap. We just had to do it, pressed up against the other guys, just as if we were animals in some cattle transporter.

By the evening we were all pretty desperate - standing there on the swaying truck was tough and it was only because we were packed so closely that some of the weaker guys did not fall and get trampled under foot. Still, that evening a sergeant of the National Guard, seeing our plight, ordered that we be given water as "these are valuable slaves and I sure as fuck don't want the Captain complaining to me if they all die."

For the next week I was shunted back and forth across the country. Every now and then we'd stop in a parking lot in some town or other, the cage would be opened and we'd be "sorted", just as if we were parcels, and put onto different trucks to be taken off in different directions. It was remarkable how the reconstruction was progressing - we saw gangs of slaves clearing up, coffles at work planting the fields, and everywhere there seemed to be other trucks loaded down with timber and blocks and stuff to be used in new building..

I ended up in a cage - a small "transit" cage where I was unable to stand and had to crouch - being delivered to the back door of a warehouse somewhere. There was a white guy in charge and a couple of niggas to do the work, and I think he felt sorry for me as he told the niggas to hose me down and get some of the dirt off me. Then, later, he brought me a big bowl of slave chow that I wolfed down as I was so hungry, as feeding had not been a high priority in all the transits and sorting.

"Easy, boy!", he said, not unkindly. "Slow down, or you'll vomit it all up. You look as if you're half starved!"

"I am, sir", I said, in between mouthfuls.

"Yes... I guess so. They did some terrible things after the revolt: the stench in the air from the bodies of those poor crucified bastards. And all the gelding - I reckon you're lucky, being a whitey, and then having an owner who cared."

I nodded, and he went on "Still, you slaves will have learned a lesson, that it's not sensible to revolt against your masters."

"I didn't, sir! I was just caught up in it...."

"That's what they all say!"

"Well in my case it's true, sir. I even helped my owner's son to escape, when the nigga rebels swept through the place...."

He nodded, as if he didn't really believe me. Then he looked at me again and added "You look like a pretty decent sort of guy, though - give you some clothes, and you'd look like a free man. You still stink to high heaven, and I don't want that overnight as we'd have to fumigate the place tomorrow. So I reckon I can probably let you out to have a proper shower..... Would you like that?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Well I'll have my gun here. And any sign of trouble, and I'll shoot you. One slave more or less wont make all that much difference, given how many have been killed already. Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Even though the water was only luke warm I reckon that was the best shower I've ever had! I stood there for what felt like half an hour, letting the water run over me, and then scrubbing away at my skin to try to get all the ingrained dirt out - not wholly successfully, as when you haven't been able to clean yourself for weeks, the dirt works its way right into the pores of your skin and I knew it was going to take a long time before I was "squeaky clean" again. My hair came up OK, though, and it was odd to have it long again - I hadn't had long hair since I was at school, as in the marines I always had a buzz cut, and of course as slave I was kept close-cropped. It felt odd, too, after having smooth balls for so long to feel the hair growing over them again as I soaped and soaped myself, but I counted myself lucky that I still had balls, thinking about the drays, and of course Pedro.

The guy was really nice after the shower, too, as he didn't insist I went back into the cramped cage, but actually gave me a blanket to keep me warm, and let me sleep manacled to one of the big metal piers holding up the roof. It just goes to show there are still some decent folk in the world, I thought, some men who would treat a slave as if he was at least half human.

End Of Part Six