THIS TIME AROUND EVERYTHING WAS REVERSED
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 2
The next morning Joe grinned as he said to me "Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life"
"Do you think it is for ever, Joe?"
"Look, Steve, let's be realistic. There's no way they can let us go free, is there? I mean, if we went back to the USA and told everyone what's going on, the government would come here and invade, or something, and rescue all the other guys. And I'd imagine that we're going to be here on this plantation, and not be sold on, as our owner has had his ownership mark put on us. Back in the USA all those years ago most slaves spent their lives on a single plantation, and it was only new stock that was sold at auction: once you'd got a good slave and had him trained to your ways, it was much more productive to keep him"
Joe kept close to me as the big double doors were unbolted and pulled apart. They used the same system then as they do now - the guards take men from the front and thread the coffle chain through the eyes on the neck collars, ten or twenty to a coffle, depending on what's to e done. So if you're with a buddy you try to get out together, and there's then only a small chance you'll end up in a different coffle that day.
So Joe and me were together, with the heavy chain hanging down between us from our collars, and I realised what a clever system it is: with the chain locked to the slave at each end, there's no way the ten or twenty of you can break apart. You have to move as a unit, and one guard or overseer can watch the entire coffle. Once chained like that we were fed - a bowl of the porridge stuff, with raisins and nuts again - and given water to drink, and then we were led off to the fields.
It felt really strange walking along in a line of chained men, my dick bobbing up and down, and it was pretty painful as my feet hadn't yet toughened up and every pebble and sharp little rock caused me to wince.
But you didn't dare break rank or slow down, as the other men in the coffle would bump in to you, and the overseer would soon sort that out by slashing at us with his tawse (if he thought it was a minor infraction), or his cane (if he wanted to get serious!).
Out there in Africa it's not generally realised that it can be cold in the early morning and I found myself shivering a bit, but as soon as the sun comes up, which it does very rapidly, you start to bake. That first morning our coffle was hoeing some crop or other, and I was given a long hoe, and the line of us started off across the seemingly interminable field. I soon got to hate the fucking plants I was hoeing around - they were spaced regularly (later I was to be on a planting detail, and I found out why they were so even!), and there was no variety at all. You had to work at the same pace as everyone else, and there was absolutely no allowance made for any stops or anything: if the coffle line did not advance across the field evenly and smoothly, we all soon felt the overseer's tawse or cane.
After about an hour I was desperate to piss, and wondered how you asked to be excused, but then the guy next to me showed me just how serious they were about "work" - as he hoed, he just pissed as he stood there, never faltering in the job he was doing, and when the need got too great, that's what I did, too, although I hated not being able to let go of the hoe and empty my dick afterwards. You not only had to work quickly and hard, but you had to do high quality work, too: the overseer would walk up and down looking for weeds that had been missed, or, even worse, for one of the fucking plants that had been accidentally cut: retribution was swift and sure then, with the cane slashing at the butt of the slave who was responsible.
I don't know how I lasted out until the midday break: they did at least allow us to stop for an hour when the sun was at its highest, and we all sprawled together under the shade of a big tree at the side of the field. The other guys didn't seem interested in what was going on in the outside world - I'd have expected them to ask us new arrivals about "real life", but when I got to be an "old hand" myself, I found it was the same for me. This was real life, this work and toil on the plantation, and the world that the new slaves came from seemed strange and unreal.
As we all lay there I soon realised another thing about working naked - not only were the other guys uninhibited about pissing, but they didn't worry about erections, either. All morning as my dick swung there as I hoed away I'd been worried sick that I'd spring a boner - I was only eighteen, after all, and before I was enslaved I'd been erect almost all the time! But somehow I'd managed to avoid it, probably because I was so worried about the sting of the tawse on me if I fucked up. But now, lying here in the shade, in that kind of affable companionship that guys who work together have, I noticed that several of them were boned up. I'd never seen anything like this before in real life - and it was only pictures of boned dicks that I'd sometimes viewed before on the Internet. But now here they were, just jutting up from the slaves, and they didn't seem at all concerned about it. Even as I looked, though, I realised that my dick was at last starting to exercise itself, and I tried to turn over to hide myself from the other guys. Joe saw me start to do it, and whispered "take it easy, Steve. It will be worse, if you crush it between your body and the ground. And moving like that, pulling on the coffle chain, is probably thought to be rude when the other guys are trying to rest. There's nothing wrong with a boner - it's perfectly natural, all guys do it, and I guess you're going to have to get used to throwing one publicly sooner or later, as I don't think they give us any clothes, ever: look at how evenly tanned the other slaves are!"
I nodded, and lay there resting, but I was still uneasy about being naked at all, let alone having everyone see my dick at full strength. I didn't have long to worry about it, though, as the overseer came to get us back to work, and we did the am fucking thing all afternoon - hoe, move on, hoe, move on.... I'd never been so bored in my life. Boring though it was, though, it was tiring, and by the time we came to go back to the slave barn I was utterly exhausted and could barely eat my big bowl of the porridge stuff - Joe had to stand there and make me spoon it down, reminding me I needed my strength. My hands were in a dreadful state, too - I had big blisters on them from the handle of the hoe, as I just wasn't used to using tools like that for long periods of time. I'd noticed them beginning to smart just after lunch, but there was no stopping the work and I just had to press on, with the pain getting worse and worse: we were just slaves, there to work, and if it was uncomfortable for us, that was no concern of the black guards.
I was terrified that these other slaves were going to try to assault me again, but Joe quietly led me over to a relatively secluded part of the barn and told me to lie near the wall, and then he lay down between me and the rest of the men. I was awake, unable to sleep, even though I was exhausted, as I just wasn't used to being with so many other men - I don't know if you've ever tried to sleep in a room full of other men, but the noise can be really loud: the little whiffles, snorts, snores, and other noises men make as they're sleeping is really loud when there are a lot of them. Joe saw I was still awake, and whispered "You know how to get off to sleep, don't you, Steve? It always works for me, and I know a lot of the other guys in the barracks did, too."
"No... What do you do?"
"Just jerk off. You're bound to fall asleep after that."
I was so embarrassed at even talking about jerking off to another guy, let alone doing it - I mean, how could I start to play with my dick when I was surrounded by other men? But Joe was insistent: "Look, Steve, if you're tired and exhausted tomorrow, you won't be able to work properly, and then they'll use the tawse on you. And the more you get tawsed or caned, the harder it is to work.... So you've got to do it, Steve."
Flushing with embarrassment I murmured "Thanks, for the advice, Joe.... But it's OK..."
"No it isn't Steve. Now, if you want me to look after you, you'd better take my advice..."
"Joe, I'm OK...."
The next moment Joe rolled over so that he was right next to me, and before I could even think about it, his big strong arm had snaked around to hold my body immobile against his - I'd never been this close to a guy before, let alone when we were both naked! Joe's hand ran down my belly, and grabbed hold of my dick, and started to jerk me off! "No, Joe, please...." I cried.
"Steve, it's for your own good"
"No, please, Joe, I'm not a fag..."
"And neither are marines, Steve. And we mostly did this with each other all the time. A guy gets bored with just lying in his bunk in the barracks all the time playing with himself, and so we all used to help each other out.... That's all there is to it - It's not 'fag' at all - big manly marines did it all the time. So stop being so fucking stupid...."
Well actually it did feel quite good - the heat of Joe's body pressed into mine, this hot breath all over my neck and shoulders, and the incredible sensation of another guy's hand on my dick all combined to make me cum almost immediately.
So what can I tell you about life as a white slave for a black master, toiling away under the sun on his plantation? If you've read any stuff about life on the plantations ion the South, then I guess it's much the same: we just worked! That's what we were there for, to provide hard muscle to grow the crops and do all the other things that were necessary to keep the place running. We got up when the guards opened the doors to the slave barn, we pissed and crapped in the communal areas and then were hosed down as they didn't want us stinking, we were fed - always the same thing, the porridge stuff with raisins and nuts in it - and then we went out to work in the fields.
You never quite get used to being coffled. Even though you soon get adroit at avoiding getting tangled in the chain, and you develop a kind of "sixth sense" to keep your feet away from it, you just can't avoid the feel of the thing sliding over your shoulders or your pecs as you work away - it's a constant reminder of the fact that your owner is treating you like a work beast, something that has to be shackled and controlled. And, as I've said, the overseers and guards were extremely assiduous in making sure that the work was non stop: you got to know how slowly you could go without incurring the tawse - which in itself was not so bad as it was designed only to sting, rather than to really hurt - it was more of a reminder of what would happen if you did not speed up. You had to be careful, though, to avoid the cane: so when hoeing you were very careful of the new plants, when picking the crop you made sure our patch was stripped bare, and so on. A slash of the cane across your bare butt was definitely not good.
The worse thing, of course, was the total lack of control over your own life, or the ability to make choices: everything was ordained by the routine, by the need to work, and by the guards and overseers. You couldn't choose what to wear (we were always naked), or what to eat (that porridge stuff), or what kind of work we wanted (you went where the coffle went). That's the difference between being free, and being a slave, I guess - your owner has total and utter control over you.
In all the science fiction stuff I used to read sometimes, slaves were always controlled by special means - transmitters influencing their brains, or more simply, collars that administered electric shocks if the slaves misbehaved; and going along with this were all sorts of ways of preventing the slaves escaping - microchips embedded in them with special sensors around their owner's demesnes, and stuff like that. But it's all rubbish - you just don't need all that technology. A heavy iron collar and a coffle chain effectively prevent slaves from escaping when they're working; and when they're locked into the slave barn, all totally naked, there's no way they can escape over night. And as for electric shocks and stuff to make them work - well, as I can attest, it's just not necessary: the tawse and the cane, and occasionally a kick on the shins from a guard's heavy boot, are all you need.
The most terrible thing about life as a coffle slave is the unvarying nature of your life - after work, back to the slave barn to shit, be hosed down, fed the porridge, and then be locked in for the entire night until the whole thing started all over again. We worked seven days a week, and other than the nature of the work - hoeing, planting, picking, and so on, nothing else ever changed. I soon found out that most of the slaves were pretty taciturn not so much because they were that way by nature, but because they had absolutely nothing to talk about - nothing ever happened, the routine was unvarying, and most of the guys found it too painful to think about "home" - of the USA, the places they had lived, their families, and all that stuff. It was as if we wanted to forget that we'd been men, with jobs, lives, possessions - otherwise the comparison between that and our totally naked state, treated like animals, was just too much to bear.
I know most guys in the USA think they're "straight", but the one way in which our lives were different now was the availability of other guys to have sex with. No more inhibitions, no more hiding behind a veneer of respectability, no clothes to hide the splendour of our bodies. The only recreation, the only leisure, the only escape form the life of unremitting toil was when you buddied up to another slave and experienced each others bodies. I've told you that on that first night some of the tougher slaves had tried to take me and force me into sex, and, indeed, it was well known that some of the slaves were "owned" by these guys, just for their pleasure. Perhaps it was because the "owners" and "owned" somehow mutually agreed to this state of affairs, I don't know. But the majority of the slaves just buddied up to whoever they liked that night, and did what they wanted - mostly just mutual jerking off, but with a fair amount of sucking and fucking thrown in.
Joe kind of "looked after me", in the sense that it became obvious that any man who tried to force me to have sex with him was in for a beating - and Joe was definitely "top dog" here as his hard marines body, and his training, made him a totally formidable opponent. So the others started to think of me as "Joe's boy", and steered well clear of me. Look, to tell you the truth I'm not sure that I liked it at first - Joe kind of wrapped himself around me as we slept that first night and said it's what marines did.
But later in the week, when our brands were no longer giving us such agony, he again turned me around to face him as we lay there and I could feel his fingers running down my belly, then teasing my pubes. I tried to stop it, as I had before, but somehow it was so exciting, and when Joe started to toy with my dick, and pushed my 'skin back and teased my piss slit with his thumb nail, I moaned with the excitement of it all. But I thought it was wrong, and decided to try to push him away.
Joe's head was right up by mine, and he whispered "What's wrong, Steve?"
"It's not right, Joe... I'm not a fag...."
"Neither am I, Steve!"
"But Joe... Please... Leave my dick alone...."
"Oh come on, Steve - it's only a bit of fun..." As he said this, Joe took my hand and pulled it down so I could feel his dick jutting solid and proud from his body. I'd never touched another man's dick before, and after the initial shock of what Joe had done, I thought it was quite good - that lovely velvety softness of the outer skin, the warmth of it, and yet, underneath, the rock-solid feeling of the shaft telling you that this is a man, a proud man, with a strong hard dick.
Joe started to stroke me, to jerk me off, and I did the same to him. His other hand went around my back to kind of hold me close to him, and he whispered "See, it's fun, isn't it?"
"Yes.... But they said at school in human biology that it was wrong, that only gay men did things like this, and that we'd all go to hell if we 'abused' other men's bodies..."
"Steve, shut the fuck up, will you, and focus on what you're doing? How can something like this be wrong? And let me put you right, buddy - it's not at all 'abusive' to do this to another guy. In the marines we all jerked each other off all the time, even the married guys when they were spending time in the barracks. It's what men who are real buddies do to each other."
I started to say something else, but Joe squeezed my dick hard and let my flange bump into his thumb, and I gasped with pleasure. And after that, of course, I didn't care - I just wanted Joe to be near me, to give me so much excitement and joy. And he was a good teacher, too - he didn't need tawses and whips to train me and make me work hard - I just wanted to make him happy, and gladly fell close to him each night so that we could jerk off together.
So this was my life - I had been a normal young eighteen year old horny guy, and now I was a naked slave. I could kind of appreciate how the blacks must have felt when they were torn up from their homes in Africa and shipped to the USA, and now I was experiencing it in reverse. White owner treated black slaves very much as a kind of "different species", and this is how we were to our owner and his black guards - a white man was just something different: he had two arms, two legs, a head, a dick, balls, but because his skin was white (actually, dark tan, from the sun), he wasn't "the same" as they were. No, not just that, not "the same" - he was inferior in all sorts of ways: for example, the guards were always joking about our dicks, and saying that you could always tell a white salve, even if it was pitch dark, as his dick just wasn't as big as a black man's It wasn't true, of course, as from what I could tell from seeing black guys at school, and now when I saw a guard taking a piss, I knew my dick was bigger than ninety percent of theirs. But then, a master needs a differentiation from his slaves, and having all slaves as "white" made it easy to tell who was one.
I was talking about this to Joe one night, and he agreed. "And it's the same thing with the nudity, Steve. They want to think we're animals, they want to think that we're just beasts to be made to work for them, and to reinforce this they keep us naked. After all, a horse, or some other kind of animal, doesn't wear clothes, so why should a white slave? If they gave us shorts and stuff, they'd be acknowledging that we were almost like they are, except for the colour of our skin. By making us display our bodies constantly, whilst claiming it's so that it's easy to punish us, it's really so that they can tell themselves that we're 'different'."
"Well perhaps they've got a point, Joe... You couldn't tawse a guy's back so easily if he had a shirt on, or cane his butt through shorts..."
"Well you could, Steve. You wouldn't see the stripes afterwards, of course. But even so - why do they make us work totally naked? It would be easy enough, surely, to give us some brief covering - something like a posing pouch to hold our dicks and balls, but keeping our butts bare."
"I guess you're right, Joe. At least we used to give the nigger slaves clothes, didn't we?"
"Yes, actually. Even the big bucks, like us, were never totally naked - they were given loincloths to hang down and cover their genitals. But you have to remember that at that time the human body was kept almost totally covered all the time, so a big black nigger slave with just a scrap of cloth hanging down to cover his dick was pretty shocking. Nowadays, when men on beaches just wear tiny swimmers and brief shorts, it's not quite the same. I guess that to make the same effect, to really differentiate us white slaves from the black masters, the only thing they've got left to do is to work us totally nude. They're saying to the world 'look at this man, that I own. He hasn't even got the ability to hide his most intimate and private parts form you, as I've decided he will be naked'."
Joe stopped, and I saw that slow smile break out over his face. "Still, Steve, if we weren't naked, this wouldn't be so much fun would it....?" His arms and legs wrapped around and tangled with mine, and his head bobbed down and gently bit one of my nips, and I laughed and tried to push him away, and one thing led to another and there were soon fountains of cum covering our bellies.
I'd been there about six months, I suppose - well, I'd seen one "cycle" of digging, planting, hoeing, picking and so on for some of the crops right the way through, and there in the tropics I guessed they'd do two crops a year, at least. It's hard to keep track of the time when you've got nothing to write with, nowhere to keep it even if you did, and when the length of the days and the amount of sunshine and stuff is always the same. I'd matured and hardened - when I arrived I was a really fit eighteen year old, but now the combination of the hard work and the natural processes at work in a guy's body at that time had turned me into a real man: My neck muscles were thick and corded, my biceps showed those agreeable bulges as I moved my arms, my pecs were firm and their musculature spread downwards to the hard ridges across my belly. My thighs were thick and lean and sinewy, and my calves like rods of iron. I was deeply tanned all over, and my thick black heir had bleached ends from the constant exposure to the sun. I was a picture of perfect manhood - well, if you can discount the sores on my shoulders from where my collar chafed, and the bruising on my butt, back and thighs caused by the occasional caning.
As usual I was coffled next to Joe and we were working away doing some really solid hard work - it was planting time, and it's really difficult to till and turn the hard-baked earth, so we were pretty exhausted, sweating like pigs, and our bodies were aching from the exertion. Our owner rode up, making one of his inspections of the place which he seemed to do from time to time - I'd noticed him ride past several times, and recognised him from when he'd bought us at the auction. He had on classic riding britches, a white riding shirt, and a hard hat, and his long riding boots glistened in the afternoon sun.
We'd long ago learned that we were required to keep working, whatever happened around us, so all of us in the coffle just kept hacking away at the hard ground, hating the way our muscles all jarred when the ends of our tilling tools hit it. There was shouting then, though, and the guard was ordering us to stop, and then he used the end of his cane to kind of "drive" me forwards towards my owner. All the other slaves had to follow, of course, but it was me he was interested in.
He exchanged some words with the guard, who used the tip of his cane to "toy" with my dick, then, when nothing happened, he leaned down and said in that perfect English I so remembered "Show me your penis, slave. Get erect, and 'skin back for me."
I knew better than to argue, of course. Or to dare to disobey - the guards' cane that was just touching my dick could soon be used to slash at my butt (or, even worse, the thighs, and in particular the front of the thighs - that was to be avoided at all costs). Now, after being nude for six months I didn't even feel a twinge of embarrassment as I started to stroke my dick - after all, I had erections as I was working, ten or fifteen a day, at least, as all healthy young guys do.
But even though I could easily erect my dick, I still found it really hard to 'skin back in front of another guy and show him my moist dick head. But I had no choice, and did so, standing there kind of holding my dick, not knowing what to do next.
My owner looked down at me from his horse, and said something to the guard, who got a magic marker from his kit on his belt and came and wrote a string of those funny letters across my back. Then the owner rode off, and the guard chased us all back to work, and of course we had to work that much faster to make up for the time lost. Strictly speaking we weren't allowed to talk as we worked, as they didn't like us being distracted, but when the guard was at the other end of the line I hissed to Joe "What the fuck was all that about? What does it say?"
"Search me if I know, Steve. It's all those funny local characters, which I can't read. But you've been marked down for something, for sure."
Well I found out what it was soon enough - after our usual shitting and hosing down and feeding, as we were being herded into the slave barn the guards pulled me out of line, together with four other guys who all had the same sort of markings on their backs - it didn't wash off in the quick hosing down which was all we usually got to get us reasonably clean. The five of us stood there as all our fellow slaves were marched in, and then the big locks were thrown to keep them secure overnight. We were led off towards the main house, and I could see the other guys wondering, as I was, what was going to happen to us - we daren't speak, of course, as the normal "field guards" had been replaced by the ones who now herding us along, and these looked to be even meaner and tougher than usual.
I'd read about enemas, as a kind of medical thing. But inside a small outbuilding just behind the main house a couple of slaves took each of us in turn, told us to bend over, then shoved a steel nozzle up our asses. I stood there, feeling my belly swell and fill, and then I was told to jump up and down on the spot for a bit, until the cramping pains inside me caused me to break out into a deep sweat (the jumping up and down was pretty trivial exercise for someone like me now). We were allowed to crouch down and sit it all out over one of the standard gratings, and the tiny chamber filled with that typical "slave" smell of shit and sweat, and he whole thing was repeated three more times until the slaves bowed to the guards and indicated they were satisfied. They scrubbed us clean then - and I mean scrubbed: they had hard sponges, and brooked no protest as they rubbed away at our bodies to get them literally "squeaky clean". We had to stand there then as they trimmed our hair once more (I think I forgot to tell you that all us slaves just had a regulation "slave crop", rather like marines have), then they actually polished our skin! Yes, they had some sort of oil, and used a soft cloth to rub it all over us so that we sort of shone and glowed in the light - not so easy on me, as I've got a lot of body hair.
It was odd going into the main house - I hadn't been in a "proper" building for over six months now, and so seeing the lights, the smooth walls, and feeling he marble floors under my bare feet was all strange. Whilst I'd been being cleaned, I'd worried that they were going to take me off to be sold, or to have some terrible thing done to me, but as we made our way through the vast place and the furnishings and fixtures gradually got more and more luxurious, this seemed to be less and less likely. We stopped outside a set of big double doors, the chief guard knocked politely, and went in. He emerged a couple of minutes later, and hen we were all made to put our hands behind our heads, and stand there as the guard used a thin leather string to bind our wrists to one of he eyes on our collars. I felt so defenceless and vulnerable, and being like that in these "normal" surroundings somehow emphasised how different I was as a naked white slave, compared to the black guards in their smart uniforms.
We were led in to the room then, and it was evidently some sort of formal dining room as there was a big table with a snowy white cloth on it, and the remains of a meal spread around. Five big blacks, including my owner, sat sprawled around the table, totally at ease, and toying wit h goblet of wine. The guards lined us up against a wall, and we all stood there as the five men carried on talking and laughing and finishing their wine, until my owner clapped his hands, and said something. Slaves rushed in and started clearing away the remains of the meal, and I was astonished at their appearance - they weren't all tanned like us field slaves, but were a pale milky white all over, If they' had any hair on them I'd have guessed that they had all been red-headed as it's those guys who have deadly white skin, isn't it, and they have to be careful to keep out of the sun? But it was impossible to verify this as they were all shaved totally bare of any hair at all, including their heads. I felt really sorry for these guys - I mean, it was bad enough having the blacks drive me to constant work, but at least I was allowed one last shred of dignity in that I was "natural". But these poor guys had been turned into something else - an elegant furnishing for the dining room, almost. How could men, even blacks, treat their fellows like this?
Our owner clapped his hands again and these same slaves - I suppose they were waiters or house servants of some kind - wheeled in a sturdy looking metal trolley with a wide flat top, and a further clap of the hands resulted in the door opening and more guards leading in a slave - but a female this time! I'd known there were female slaves, as there had been a cage full on them on the plane that had carried me into slavery, but I hadn't seen one before as they made no appearance in the fields. She was a young guy's wet dream - about twenty five, big, high breasts with dark fleshy nipples, a slim waist but nicely rounded belly, flaring hips, and a discrete patch of dark blond hair enticed the eye to look at her cunt. She was collared, as we were, and the guards led her to the trolley thing and made her lie down on it, securing her collar to a hook at the top so that she could not then get up. At the sight of her lying there, her legs spread and opened in a very sexual way, I and the four other slaves were all erect, and I couldn't help wondering if the guards, and the black masters, were the same way. Were we the same when looking at this amazing sexually exciting woman - did black dicks swell as our white ones were?
Look, I have to tell you that I'd had some experience with girls - at high school I'd dated a lot and had managed to get four different girlfriends to open their legs for me (although I was always worried that I'd knock one of them up, as I really had wanted to go off to college). But this woman was something else- it looked as if she'd been designed for sex, well, designed for it in the way that the men's magazines portray the ideal sex goddess, but not necessarily what you find at High School!
My owner got up and went over and "inspected" her - feeling her breasts, running his big black hand over her belly, and then starting to open her up and slide one of his fingers in. The girl had at first just lain there, but as my owner started to get seriously intimate, she began to cry and shout out that he was a dirty black rapist.... I felt certain that she'd be whipped for that, but instead my owner just laughed, then said something to one of the guards who proceeded to put a ball gag in her mouth and fasten it behind her head.
"You're wrong, slave!", my owner commented, almost laughing. "It's not black rapists you need worry about - but five white studs who are lined up here , ready to go. Look at them - all hard as hell, and most of them are leaking cum already...."
He turned to me and went on "You first, boy. You're the youngest, and I want to see how a well hung white stallion like you performs..."
I shook my head in disbelief - I mean, I was hard and it was sexually very exciting, but you can't fuck a woman you've never met, with four other slaves, a couple of guards, and five black masters watching, can you? Well of course the answer is "you can", especially when your owner simply takes hold of your dick, and drags you across the room to her. Two guards grabbed her legs and spread them outwards and upwards, and, as she ineffectually thrashed around and made muffled screams and shouts from behind the ball gag, he inserted me in her! Look, I'd done this before, and a guy just can't help getting a head of steam up when his dick is in range of a cunt, can he? Bit I desperately wanted my erection to falter so I didn't have to go ahead with this - but I was only eighteen, and your dick has a mind of its own then, doesn't it? My owner slapped my on the butt - his hands were very big and it was a stinging blow - and I kind of pushed forwards into her. I felt his hands grabbing my hips then and starting me off in and out.... Until of course the inevitable happened and I just couldn't help myself really getting in to it and fucking away like mad.
My climax came incredibly quickly and I threw back my had and shouted "Fuck ....yes....", and it was only then that I came back to reality as I heard my owner's companions laughing at this! Confused, I pulled out of her, and the guards indicated that I should re-join my fellow slaves, which I did, very conscious of the smell of sex wafting from me, and my detumescing dick glistening with her juices and my cum. I had to stand there then and watch as the other four slaves, in turn, were put to the girl and made to fuck her, and I have to say that I really don't understand why so many guys buy porn films of fucking - even when you're in the room, not even on a DVD, it just isn't that exciting to watch. I mean, sex is a participant sport, not a spectator one, isn't it?
My owner and his four guests then all drank more wine as we stood there, and they were evidently discussing our performance as they would point at one or other of us, jabber away, then talk some more. One of the guys was called over and they felt his balls, and then I was pushed towards the table, but not to have my balls felt - the guards pushed me belly down on to it, and almost roughly kicked my legs apart. I felt their hands on my butt, and they pulled me wide open, and I just knew that the five blacks were discussing my asshole, but for what, I couldn't imagine.
Eventually we were allowed to leave, and but outside the main house the other four were marched off back towards the salve barn, whilst I was pushed back into the washing place I'd been in earlier. The two slaves who'd ministered to me before came in, rubbing their eyes as if they'd just woken up, and watched by the guards they proceeded to shave my balls, trim my pubes, and then shave right up my ass crack! I'd never felt so humiliated and embarrassed before - I'd never had another man touch my balls (well, except for Joe, and that was different), and certainly he had never done anything to my ass! When they'd finished they were evidently prod of their work as they held a mirror for me to see myself, just like my barber used to: I had a big, wild straggly mass of dark black pubes before, but now it was just a small, discrete patch, cropped down to no more than half an inch long, and the effect of this was to make my dick look even bigger as it hung there, an effect heightened by the way it lay on top of my clean-shaven balls, which themselves seemed to be emphasised, too. But it was my ass that was the biggest shock - I usually had a little crop of wiry curls peeping out all down it, and they were gone. And as I walked, my butt cheeks seemed to slide over each other - I suppose you get used to the feeling of your ass hairs binding together, and you only notice it when they're gone.
The guards shouted at me, though, as I stood there looking at the "new me", and then marched me back to the big house, and back thorough it into the dining room. My owner was saying goodnight to the last of his guests, and, that done, he turned to me. In that strangely perfect English voice he said "Congratulations, boy. We voted you the best of the lot, and so you're my new stud. I'm going to start breeding slaves here, as the supply problem gets more difficult every week, and prices are going through the roof! It's a long term investment, I know, but breeding them here makes them effectively free: I'll have to feed the kids of course, but once they're five or six years old they can start to do useful work in the fields and gardens, and so the financial picture is very promising. We'll need to make sure you breed true, of course - it wasn't your technique we were particularly lacking, but your physique: I like nice long-legged slaves who are tall and well muscled, and I always think a slave's appearance is anyway enhanced by a big dick. So you'll do well."
I just stared at him, and he went on "In fact, boy, I found your appearance tonight so appealing I do wonder why you're a field slave at all - you really ought to be gracing some sex establishment. But I do need you as a stud, and so I'm not going to sell you to one of those places in the city where the poor civil servants and such like relieve themselves. No, I think I'll use you myself..... Bend over the table."
"NO, please, don't.... Please, sir...."
"Slaves stay silent", he said calmly, and gestured to the guard, who, as I was totally unable to stop him as my wrists were still tied to my collar, brought his punishment cane down hard on my butt, twice.
My owner laughed, and came over and turned me around so he could look at my butt. "Those stripes make this exceptional backside seem even more appealing, you know. What were you called when you were free, boy?"
"Steve, sir."
"Well, Steve, are you a virgin? Not at fucking, obviously. But has a man - or a slave - used your ass before?"
"NO!.... Sir."
"Well, Steve, I think you're in for an interesting experience. At the start of the century white men, especially young white men, used to fantasise about being used by big strong black men with huge dicks. Now you're about to have that fantasy made reality."
End Of Part Two