THE TABLES WERE TURNED
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
The Tables Were Turned, Part Six
They didn't even bother to give me a shred of clothing. Not one stitch. Down in the depths of the palace the guards almost threw me into a cage, and left me there, totally naked. And this wasn't a large "cell-like" cage as I had at the cottage - no, it was the sort of thing you carry animals around in, just a few feet on the cube, made of metal bars. I was all cramped up again as I'm a big guy, and my whole body was aching: my arse was so sore from the Arab's brutal fucking, and my bum, thighs and back were screaming with the hurt that the two men's brutal caning had done to me. I begged and pleaded with them for a drink of water, but none was forthcoming, and I was just left there, wondering what the fuck was going to happen to me. It soon got to the point where I needed desperately to piss, and I pointed at my cock and made pleading noises, but still the guards ignored me. Finally, when the pressure on my bladder was so acute that I could bear it no longer I had no choice but to let go, and a thin pool of my piss formed underneath my cage, only serving to add to my misery.
When they came for me the guards didn't seem to mind the piss - four of the big brutes just picked up the cage with me in it, and carried it out and dropped it onto the back of a flatbed truck along with a whole number of barrels and crates and packages. The truck set off, out through the gates of the building and along the crowded, narrow streets of the town that surrounded it. I looked out in despair at the wizened faces of all the people in the streets as we crawled along, and several of them stared back at me, some mothers even pointing out the cane marks on me to their children, as if in warning of what happens to people who misbehave. No one seemed surprised to see a big naked man caged like this, but I was fucking embarrassed by the whole thing, especially the women and kids looking at me like that.
We went through a sort of vague green area surrounding the town, then out into the desert proper, all rocks and scrub. The sun beat down on me, and I was glad that I spent a lot of time out of doors in Wales, or else I'd have burned terribly.
It was only about an hour in the truck, but the place we arrived at, some sort of farm complex in the desert, could have been a hundred years away in actual time. There seemed to be no machinery visible, only the truck I was on, but lots of carts and barrows were being pushed around by teams of naked men - all blacks, I noted. It looked verdant and green, too, after the desert that surrounded it, and I assumed (as later proved to be correct) that this was because of irrigation from the underground aquifers. Four of the big naked blacks were summoned to carry my cage into one of the many buildings that were arranged in a square around a central courtyard - a courtyard that, rather ominously, contained what seemed to be a gallows, and a set of stocks.
Inside was a bare room and they put down my cage and opened it up and literally tipped me out onto the floor. I lay there sprawled out for a moment or two as the men left and locked the door behind them, and then I noticed five other men in the room, cowering against the far wall. They were all dressed in tattered shorts and shirts, and were all barefoot, and were blacks ranging in age from, I'd say, twenty to thirty. "Where the fuck are we?", I asked, but they just jabbered something incomprehensible in reply. These must, I thought, be very poor blacks from some African country or other, as most of the ones you find elsewhere on the planet do at least have some few words of English!
We all sat there, and I noticed them looking at me - I suppose they'd never seen a nude white bloke before - until the door flew open and some of those big, tough-looking guards came in and barked orders at us which the blacks seemed to understand. We were led out and into another room that had shower heads on the wall, and on a command, the five blacks, looking even more terrified, were ordered to strip off, and all six of us made to wash - the soap stung the wounds on my bum, but it was good to actually get my body clean of all the sweat and cum. After we'd showered, all six of us stood there, totally naked, and finally a barber came in - well I say a barber: he was more like a cross between a barber and an expert at wielding a razor! His scissors flew, and in quick succession each of us was stripped completely of every trace of hair on us anywhere: all my head hair, my chest, pits, pubes, and even the hairs on my arms and legs! The blacks didn't look too bad, but without the hair on my head my dead-white scalp made me look ridiculous, and there was a real white patch around my pubes, too.
Worse was yet to come - two of the other five, and me, were herded off by the guards, and lined up. The bloke in front of me was done first and I heard him screaming, then I was pulled forward. There was a sort of frame that was waist high, and the guards pressed me against it. In an instant straps were pulled tight around my belly and my upper thighs, holding me utterly immobile. A man sitting a on a low stool in front of me had a scalpel, and before I realised what was happening he'd taken my cock in his hand,, teased back my 'skin, and run the scalpel along underneath to free the 'skin so it was loose all the way around! I screamed with the sudden, totally unexpected sharp pain - imagine, if you can, being cut with glass and then having salt rubbed into it simultaneously! But the thing wasn't over - almost without pausing a metal cylinder was forced over my cock head, causing me to moan and cry out as it abraded the cut skin underneath my cock, then my 'skin was stretched over it and pulled up - and a quick circular cut around, on the cylinder, lopped my 'skin off! He had a little pot of some sort of paste, and as I was shouting and crying with the pain and the anger, he wiped it all over the cut ends of my 'skin which were of course oozing blood - again, a knife-like pain, as I assumed it was a combination of an antiseptic and a styptic. The worse thing was that the frame held me immobile - I had been able to see the latter stages of what he was doing to me, but was utterly unable to jerk backwards to escape, or to do anything to stop him.
The man smiled up at me. "All his Highness's servants are circumcised", he said simply.. So that was that, then - I had no say in it at all. This man, who had been my customer, and I thought some vague sort of friend, could have this mutilation done to me and I was totally powerless to do anything about it. I thought of all those lads who had passed through my hands over the years - being young, they were mostly uncut, (as was Tim), and I wondered how many of them had ended up strapped here, having themselves mutilated like this.
Even now, years later, I can remember the pain of my branding. It turns out that all his Highness's servants carry a big "S" on their left buttock to denote their servile status, and a big Arabic character on their right breast, just above the tit, denoting the first letter of the royal household's name. All six of us therefore were, in turn, strapped to a frame and the red hot irons were pushed into our flesh. I knew what they were going to do to me, as I was the fourth in line, and I heard the first three screaming in sheer terror, and then pain. But there was not a fucking thing I could do about it. I decided to show them what a white bloke could do - to take it quietly - but as the iron seared into my skin I heard myself screaming totally uncontrollably. And of course knowing what it felt like when they did my bum, the anticipation as the iron approached my chest was even worse.
Afterwards all six of us were too shocked and worn out by our ordeal to do anything other than just lie there, utterly supine, in the corner of the locked room where they threw us. It was possibly the worst night of my life - the pain from my cock, the indescribably agony from my bum and chest, and, added to all that, the raging thirst I had, as they hadn't given any of us any water for hours.
The next morning there was one more "process" we had to go through: large iron collars were fitted around our necks, squeezed shut by four blacks wielding huge pliers-like devices, and then riveted closed with a hot iron rivet that passed through two holes on the side of the collar. As the rivet was hammered home, it was as if it was truly sounding the death knell of the life I had known. The collar must have weighed two or three pounds at least, and the sheer weight of it made me feel all unbalanced, and I realised why most of the men I had seen were inclined to stoop and walk around with bowed heads. And it rubbed on my collar bones as it had o be wide enough to allow my neck to expand as I worked, so, like all the other servants there, I had festering sores, and then deep scars.
We were on a farm! And, I found out, I was a labourer. Just that, no more, no less. They were not interested in the fact that I was an educated white bloke, whereas all the other labourers were, without exception, poor blacks who could neither read nor write. All they cared about was that I was another piece of human muscle, a machine that could be made to work from sunrise to sunset at a fast pace, with high accuracy. This was achieved quite simply: we were coffled together by a chain through our collars, so escape was impossible. Then, whatever task we were assigned to that day - digging the fields, crawling over them to pick out the stones by hand, planting the crops, weeding them, or picking them, we moved in a straight line across the field and any man who lagged because he worked too slowly was "encouraged" back into the line by the overseer, who wielded both a short whip, for maintaining progress, and a longer one, for lashing out at any sign of trouble whatsoever. I soon learned to respect the overseers and the whips, and knew that however arduous the task, however boring and repetitious was, I just had to stay focussed and get on with it. I came to realise that using men in this way they had almost the "perfect machine" - we had intelligence, so could be pointed at a task, and then allowed to get on with it. We used no oil, made no pollution, and our work rate and accuracy was known, and could be maintained at that very high level by judicious use of the whip. Our capital cost was almost nothing, and our running costs surprisingly low as we needed only a crude shed to be locked in at night, and very cheap food. Later I once asked if this is why we were kept totally naked, and was told it was part of the reason - buying any covering at all for us was a totally unnecessary expense as the climate was hot and dry; but, the bloke I asked admitted, the real reason is to differentiate the servants from the free men: once a man is stripped and kept naked, is collared and has the "S" mark burned into him, he "knows" he's a servant, and different from a free man, in a way that would otherwise be more difficult to comprehend
That first morning was horrific, though: I was taken out to the fields and added to the end of an existing coffle chain, by the simple expedient of unlocking the bloke on the end, threading the chain through my collar, and then locking the original end man back in place (it was considered a privilege to be at either end of the chain, as in the middle you really have to watch all the time to ensure you don't get tangled in it, and it's easier at the ends - so these position were reserved for the "Boss man" and his chief henchman). We were digging that morning, I seem to recall - small spades, which all had to be synchronised as we were so close together. We all had to put them down the same distance ahead of us, all push down on them with our feet simultaneously (something very painful for me, as my feet were not yet tough and hardened), and then all turn the sod over before repeating the process. I tried my best, but I'm a pretty independent sort of a bloke and I'm just not used to working in a rigid pattern like that, and I soon began to get the almost personal supervision of one of the overseers who gave my already battered bum and thighs special attention from his short whip. There was no stopping, either - a young bloke, who looked about fourteen, but was probably sixteen as all of us looked younger without any hair on us - walked up and down the line pushing a pipe in-between our lips and then "pumping" water into us using a bellows- like thing under his arm.
After about an hour I thought the water had gone right through me, I was so desperate to piss. So I shouted at the overseer and pointed at my cock (now very swollen at the end, and still hurting badly), and made kind of pissing gestures. He just laughed, and whipped me as I'd lost pace, but the "boss man" next to me had noticed and the next moment I saw the solution to my problem - as he worked, he just let fly with a big stream of his piss, seeming not to care that it splashed his legs when it hit the bare soil.
That was how it was - I particularly hated it when we were doing one of those jobs that required us to pass through the fields on our hands and knees, like weeding, or picking strawberries or asparagus. Then having to piss as you crawled along made me feel just like a dog, peeing from my cock as it hung down between my thighs.
We were not fed at lunchtime but were allowed a two-our break at the hottest part of the day, and most of us just sprawled in whatever shade we could find. You couldn't really get away from the other blokes, of course, as there was really very little slack on the coffle chain that joined us together, so you got used to having another body pressed against yours, or a head using your belly as a convenient pillow. That first week, though, a lot of the blokes pointed at my cock and laughed, and, as I got to know a few words of their language, I understood that they were laughing about me getting "the mark of the prophet", as our owners' religion required all men to be 'skinned. A lot of the blacks came from poor tribes deep in Africa and their 'skins were a matter of pride to them, and they resented it bitterly - well I did, too, as I now carried three very visible marks of one man's power and control over me.
That night I began to understand the way the "boss man" did things and the way the system was run here. As dusk fell we were taken back from the fields in our coffles, and were let off the chain and pushed into our "barn" for the night. Once all twenty were inside - as that was the standard capacity of a chain - they pushed in a container of what might otherwise be regarded as pig swill - all kinds of grains and vegetables and scraps of meat, swimming in some sort of vile oil, and all heavily spiced (to disguise the rotting flavour of most of the ingredients?) I later learned that although the farm grew all types of fresh produce, mostly for export to the rich countries of Europe, we never got any of it, only the "waste" - the bottom parts of asparagus stalks, for example, or the strawberries that were rotting, or under ripe, or which had insect damage.) I was lucky in one way, in that our "boss man" was a big tough guy who ruled the coffle with the force of his personality and the power of his fists. He insisted we all had a share of the swill (his own naturally being the biggest). On some coffles it was a a "free for all" when the food container arrived, and it was not unusual to see very, very thin labourers on some coffles - it was "negative feedback" of course, as the thinner they got, the less able they were to fight for food, and so the thinner they got. I wondered why the guards never intervened, but, on reflection, decided that it was easier to lose a few labourers through starvation than it was to try to "police" everything.
Still, as I say, I had a good boss man" and I was soon scooping up the disgusting mess in my hands and greedily gobbling it down, as were all the others in our coffle. I decided that I had to eat, had to keep up my strength if I was to survive this at all, and that therefore I had to eat all I could, however disgusting and loathsome it might be.
There was a real disadvantage to his "rule", though, as I discovered after we'd eaten: he and his chosen henchman had the right to take any of us for sex, whenever he wanted. And, being new, and being a white man, I was clearly in his sights for that first night.
He seemed to be a bit better educated than the rest, and after we'd eaten, he said two words that sent a chill through my bran: pointing to his cock, and my bum, they were, simply "Fuck. Now."
I pushed him away, but that was the worst thing I could do - he sprang at me, and I could smell his vile body as he forced me to the ground. I was a trained fighter, from the marines, and could probably have overcome him, but his two henchman piled in and there's just no way that one man has any hope of defeating three, all approximately his size and weight. This was not a fair man-to-man fight: his only objective was to subdue me, and to show me that he controlled things totally. I got pretty battered, to add to my other ills, and ended up lying on my back on the rough dirt floor of the place, with one of the henchman sitting astride my chest and pressing his knees in to my shoulders to immobilise them. His huge cock was right in my face, and like all the men there, he smelt stale and rancid (as I did, soon, as we were never allowed any water to wash as it was all used for irrigation out there in the desert. Once a week we were taken to a kind of cattle dip apparatus, filled with disinfectant, and marched through on our coffle chain: it got deeper and deeper as you went forward until you couldn't help floating, and there was an overseer there on the side who used a big thing, rather like those cones with a handle on used to snuff candles, to push our heads right under the liquid so that we were completely covered in disinfectant. That was all - we never washed away the dirt, but I suppose infection was kept at bay. They shaved us afterwards, too - very quickly and roughly, to keep us free of all body hair). The boss man knelt between my legs, his long, fat cock already rampantly erect, grabbed my ankles, and pressed them apart and forwards towards his mate. I knew my hole was totally exposed and tried to shout and complain, but the bloke squatting on me just laughed, and slapped my face, hard.
It was bad enough when I'd been raped by the Arab and then by Tim, but this was far, far worse: for one thing, as you probably know, in that position the cock can go in harder and deeper than it can when the bloke enters you from behind. And for another, there was the total humiliation: my "secret place" totally exposed to all the coffle members, who had clustered around to watch, some stroking their hard cocks as they did so: I was about to be raped again in my already very sore arse, but now with an audience watching!
He didn't waste time stretching or lubing me - his cock was just rammed home in a single stroke, hard and ruthlessly. I heard myself screaming, but it didn't deter him - rather, it seemed to spur him on as he went to work with a vigour, oblivious to the moans and cries I was making, and the way that I did my best to try to wriggle away from under him. It was no use, of course - it went on and on until he gave a great shout, and I knew his cum must have been pumped deep up inside me.
There was no respite then, though, as the bloke squatting on my chest leapt off and was replaced by the boss man, and now, if anything, my position was worse as the cock hanging in front of my face was dripping cum, sweat, and my ass juice! I felt the second bloke start to go to work on my arse, and I suppose it was better - I had screamed and shouted all I could and was almost exhausted, and at least there was a layer of cum to lubricate him now.
When he was finished, the boss man got up from me and called over some specially favoured bloke - I got to know that if you acted properly for the boss man he'd arrange little "treats" like this for you. This new bloke was allowed to straddle my chest as I lay there exhausted, and then he rocked forwards so his cock was at my lips. I just lay there, then tried to throw my legs up and dislodge him - an action that resulted in one of the henchmen kicking at my ribs, and another to throw himself down and sit on my thighs. The cock hovered there, and the boss man shouted at me "White man suck!"
Look, what was I supposed to do? There I was, corralled without hope of escape with nineteen big, strong young black guys. I was already hurting all over. I was pinned down and couldn't really fight. And, anyway, the taste of cum is not so terrible. I opened my lips and the cock was pushed in, and it's not all that bad, I suppose - all of us were 'skinned, so there was no "cheese" to worry about. And the bloke was content to let me nibble and suck at his cock, rather than actually try to fuck my throat - that came later in the week, with some other particular "friend" of the boss man - I was made to kneel in front of him, as he held my head and forced his cock deep into my throat. He revelled in the way it made me gag and choke, and was particularly pleased at the way I desperately fought him to try to breathe, before passing out. Still, the current bloke, after a time, pulled his cock out of my mouth and then began to wank himself, so that he could direct his stream of cum all over my face. Then, as all the men laughed, he used one of his dirty fingers to pursue blobs of cum around my face, guiding them down and into my mouth.
That whole first night was of course an exercise in power: the boss man needed to show me that he was in charge, and that even though I was a white man, I was new, and he was top dog on the block.
It's amazing, though - even though I was hurting all over, and utterly humiliated, and there was only bare earth to sleep on, I did sleep. They shook me awake in the morning, and in the dim light I could see all their morning hard-ons. We were fed, the same sort of swill we'd had the night before (it never varied, actually - only the ingredients changed slightly as the various crops came and went). Then, one by one, we went through the door, the boss man going first, to be added to the coffle chain. Only when we were all secured were we taken to an area of rough sand and allowed to piss and crap - it's horrible, chained there between two other blokes, squatting down and trying to drop your turd. And when we were done, you were expected to push the sand over your droppings with your bare feet, so that the sand insects would get to work and make the area reasonably "sweet" for the future. Only animals have to crap in the open air like that, without a shred of privacy. After that, of course, the day's work - digging, weeding, planting, picking, or whatever.
Time seemed to have stopped for me. Every day was identical, except for the particular form of manual drudgery we were doing. We had no books, no music, noting to read at all, nothing to see, and nothing to do except work. Even though I quickly gained a few words of their language, there was no point in even talking in the evenings - for one thing we were dog tired, and for another, there was nothing to talk about: nothing ever happened, except work. We jus ate, slept, toiled, and fucked - after the first week or so when the boss man had "given" my arse to everyone he owed a favour to, that kind of died away and like most of the blokes I just wanked as we lay in the barn. I had learned to do as the boss man said on those rare occasions when he took charge of something (perhaps to make me give up a particular morsel from the food in my hand to one of his favourites) - to do otherwise was to get an instant beating from his iron fists, or, in my case, as he recognised that I was a trained fighter, to be taken and pinioned that night by his henchmen, so I could be raped.
I was just some sort of human cog in the vast machine that was producing crops at very low cost for the market, and there seemed no hope for me. None of the guards seemed to pay any attention to us as individuals - we had no names, no numbers, nothing: why did we need them, when the whole coffle was required to work as an entity? Still, I thought I could survive: I was big and tough, and I knew I could take it.
About three weeks in, though, I learned another lesson about working in the coffle. I was lying there, just having wanked and about to go to sleep, when the young water boy came up to me. He looked at me, went and crouched between my legs as I lay sprawled there, and held my ankles. I looked at him, wondering what on earth was going on, and he said "Me, fuck!". I laughed out loud, as it looked as if he was trying to pick my ankles up so he could enter me. He seemed to be getting cross and shouting something in his language, and gradually the other blokes were starting to watch. The more he tried to lift my legs, the more I resisted, and of course it was easy as he was, as I said, probably only sixteen and not yet properly mature and strong (although he did have a nice, firm, lithe body). He got more and more angry as more and more of the other blokes started to laugh at what was going on, and finally I sat up, grabbed his arm, pulled him so that he was lying across my belly (his cock was rock solid as it pressed into me), and gave him a couple of slaps on his bum. "Me spank!", I told him.
They weren't enough to really hurt him, as I deliberately pulled my blows, just enough to humiliate him in front of the others. I thought I'd done pretty well, as the other blokes were, as I said, laughing. But their laughter seemed to die away suspiciously quickly. Still, I thought no more about it.
The next morning it was very hot, and we were picking stones form a newly dug field - that's a particularly vile job, as you have to crawl over it on your hands and knees, dragging a sack behind you. Every stone above a certain size has to be removed into the sack, and as the morning goes on, the sack gets heavier and heavier and more difficult to drag along. I was so glad when I saw the water boy coming, and watched with the saliva starting to fill my mouth as he gave the bloke on my left a good long drink as we worked away. But as he got to me, he simply walked past! I tried to grab his ankle, as I was so thirsty, and then called after him - a mistake, as the overseer heard and, of course, speaking or anything like that is totally forbidden in the fields. I got two hard lashes across my exposed back for that, and could feel the flies landing on the blood. When the boy came back I was even more desperate, and he ignored me again! By the midday break I felt I was about to die, as I could barely sweat as I was so dry and I knew my body temperature must be soaring.
As soon as we were in the shade, I tried to find the water boy - but I was, remember, coffled so could not move far, and he was careful to stay right away from me. The boss man saw the trouble I was in, and said something like "Upset water boy - bad!", and I got the message. He called the boy over though, and personally took the pipe from him, cradled my head in his big arms, and dribbled the life-giving fluid into me. I could see the lad scowling at me, and knew there would be problems in the afternoon - as indeed there were, as although he gave me a drink, he made sure it was the minimum possible. And on about the fourth pass as I was crawling along, he "accidentally" hit my balls as they swung between my thighs with the tip of his foot - my cry of outrage, and pain, earned me another two strokes of the overseer's big whip - this time across my bum.
Back in the barn that night I was furious - I was thirsty, hot, I had a blinding headache from water stress, and my back and bum were still hurting from the whippings. I looked around for the water boy, but the boss man held me back. "Spank water boy - bad", he intoned, and I suppose I got the message. Out in the fields, irrespective of his age and slight stature, the water boy had all the power: my strong powerful body, my education, all counted for nothing - on the coffle chain in the fields I was just another dumb servant, and he had ability to make me suffer, and perhaps even die.
The water boy came up then, as if he understood that the boss man would protect him. He looked at me, then took my cock in his hand, and even cupped my balls and began to play with them. "Me fuck?", he said solemnly, and tugged gently at my balls to lead me over to a quieter corner of the barn. I went to resist, but the boss man put his arm around my shoulder, and shook his head. He fingered his own cock, making it grow to its enormous size, and said, rather threateningly "Me fuck?" I got the message - either I had to let the kid fuck me, or I'd have to take the boss man deep inside me again, something that I hated because of the pain it caused as he was not a gentle lover.
Look, I'm not making excuses, but what would you have done? I chose what I took to be the lesser of the two evils, and allowed the water boy to change his grip so he was holding my cock, and then lead me away as if I was some sort of "prize". He knew what he wanted, too - he made me kneel in front of him, then placed his cock in my mouth so that I could tease and excite him to a really hard erection. Then he took me like a dog, kneeling there on all fours as he forced his cock into me, then fucked away with a vigour and abandon that was unusual in this place where most men were totally exhausted most of the time. And afterwards he led me by the cock again, around all the other blokes, allowing them to run their hands up the inside of my thighs so they could feel his cum leaking out of me and know that he had fucked me properly and that I was now "his".
The following day he did his job properly and as I toiled away he gave me water, but that night he again presented himself in front of me and wanted me to kneel in front of him. All the other blokes in our coffle were watching my humiliation, and at first I pushed him away. But the boss man, half laughing at my plight, reminded me "Water boy - bad", and I thought of the terrible plight I'd be in the next day if I refused him. So I got to my knees and reached for his cock to take it into his mouth - but he didn't want me to suck him to climax, and instead I got the bitter, acrid taste of his piss!
I pulled away in horror, and his piss spurted over my face and body, and he at once lashed out at me, slapping my face. I threw myself at him, knocking him to the floor, and had my fist raised to punch him when the boss man grabbed my arm and hauled me off. "Water boy - bad, Steve", he said in his pitiful English. Then, as I lay there, he straddled my chest, pinioning my shoulders to the floor with his knees, and waved his cock in my face. I lay there for a moment until he slapped me, hard, and I knew it was useless to resist. I opened my mouth to take his cock as I assumed he wanted me to suck him, but instead he began pissing into me - a huge, hot stream of man piss pouring out as if from a hose pipe. I spluttered and tried to turn away but he grabbed my chin and held me under his mighty shower, until he was done. And then he pushed his cock into my mouth so that I could lick the last few drops from him.
He got off me, then pointed at the water boy, who was still standing there. Now I'd tasted and swallowed a man's piss, there didn't seem to be any point in resisting, and I knelt there as the water boy once more used me as his lavatory. And then, as he had the previous day, he fucked me again. I suppose the boss man was doing what he thought was best - had I actually hit the water boy I'd be dead now as I'm sure the boy would have given me no fluid in the fields, and I guess the boss man was trying to protect me from my own rash actions.
The terrible thing about life on that coffle was the sameness of it all. The hard, unrelenting toil. Being treated just like an animal, chained to my fellows, fed swill, kept naked, and whipped at the slightest sign that I was not working in the required way, or working hard enough, or even for speaking. And added to that was the fact that at night I was nothing - I was a plaything for the boss man and his henchmen whenever they chose to use my arse or throat, and, perhaps worse of all, the young water boy, who could only have been sixteen, also used me as his choice of lavatory and fuck hole.
I had been big and strong, and used my body to give me power over other men, but here all that had gone as there were men bigger and stronger than me. I thought of myself as pretty clever, but Tim had outwitted me and got me here in the first place. And I could use neither my wits nor my strength to prevent the young water boy totally dominating and controlling me. I had thought when I first was coffled that I could survive it: I could use my inner strength to somehow keep going until "something" happened. But now, sometimes as I lay there at night, my mouth still tasting of piss and my arse aching, surrounded by the stinking bodies of the other coffle slaves, I couldn't help thinking of my plight, and then a tear would roll slowly and surely down my cheek. I was terrified that one of the other men might notice this, as then I would be a total nothing: there was no room for tenderness or pity in this dreadful place. I was, I knew, broken. I was no longer Steve who ran things, who made the running. I was just a piece of male flesh to be used for this dreadful, relentless toil; and for other men's enjoyment. I had no power to resist anything that was done to me.
End Of Part Six