DUPED! by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 2
They made us stand there then as they got on with their preparations. Naked, and feeling chilled as the water evaporated from our bodies, we stood there almost huddled together - but, as you do, we were careful to avoid any of our skin touching each other. I mean, when you're with other blokes in the showers and so on you're careful about things like that, aren't you?
Other than one of the guards with a prod thing standing close by us, though, we were mostly left to ourselves as we stood together in a small group. We started talking - for some reason the whole atmosphere was conducive to talking in low voices, almost a whisper - and we all wondered what the fuck was going on. Like me, the other guys had been told that they were going to make a movie, and that they wanted "unknowns" with nice bodies to take part. I said that I though we'd all been duped, as this wasn't my idea of movie making! But one of the others pointed out that all the time we had been stripping and showering, the guys with the movie camera had been hovering around filming us.
"Fucking hell!", I told him, "We're not looking at the small details here! It's a question of perception and expectation. If you're offered a part in a movie, you kind of expect a lot of people around, directors, make-up artists, several cameras... And a proper studio. And you don't have to strip and be filmed naked... No, we've been duped. If you ask me, there's something more sinister going on."
The other guy was about to reply when the guard snapped "Shut the fuck up, you men! You're only allowed to speak when you're spoken to." He was waving the prod thing around as he said this, and, frankly, no one wanted to argue, so we stood there, silently. It's difficult, actually, just to stand there with a bunch of other guys when you can't speak and can't move. Even the stuff you'd usually do, like stick your hands in your pockets and adjust your clothes weren't on! And where do you put your hands, anyway? It seems stupid to hold them over your cock as all the others have already seen it by now. Clasping them behind your back draws attention to your bum, if you fold your arms your pecs and nips are emphasised - you can't realise how difficult it is just to do nothing when you're naked, until you've tried it.
If we had been able to speak, though, we'd all probably have been worrying about what the cages were for! There, against the far wall, were five things that looked like the animal cages you see at airports with dogs inside them, except that these were a bit bigger, and the mesh they were made of looked thick and very strong as the steel glinted under the lights.
The other guards were fussing around with a lot of strange kit, too - stuff that looked like water bottles, and so on.
We found out soon enough! One of the men standing around the cages came over to us, pointed at me, and said "You first!". I stepped forward, and as I did so he reached out and tugged at the thin gold chain I wore around my neck - it was a present from one of my girl friends, as she'd seen it in a jewellers and thought that having it around my neck with the little pendant on it dangling down as I fucked her would be kind of erotic. I'd never bother to take it off, even though we'd broken up, as I did think it was kind of sexy and quite liked the feel of it against my skin as I dressed and shaved, and the gold did set off the dark tone of my body and my lush black hair that goes right up my chest and neck. It wasn't all that thick, as gold is so expensive, but even so as he pulled at it, it hurt, until it snapped. He tossed it casually on the floor, and almost snarled at me "Didn't you hear us when we said totally naked earlier? You'd better learn, boy, that when you're told to do something, you do it properly, or else you'll be in big trouble!"
I though this was taking realism too far, and snapped back "Hey, that's mine, a present from my girl friend...."
"Shut the fuck up, too! That's something else you need to learn - you only speak when you're spoken to!"
He was waving his prod thing around menacingly now, and I didn't want even to think about experiencing what I'd seen the other guys go through, so I gritted my teeth and moved over towards the cages, as he was indicating. I mentally made a note to add it to the money I'd claim from them - I mean, they said I was being paid my normal salary, but this was above and beyond what anyone had a right to expect!
I could hardly believe this was happening to me at first. We stood by the side of one of the cages, the guy lifted the lid, and gestured. When I stood there looking dumb, he snapped "In you go! This is shipping crate, and you'll soon get used to it!"
Well what was I supposed to do? The prod was there, I was naked and there was no way I could overcome the guards in their uniforms and heavy boots - one kick of them against my bare legs or feet, and I'd be done for anyway. So I stepped over the edge, and as the man watched, sat down. It was rather like sitting in a bath tub - a small bath tub, like you get in cheap motels as it wasn't long enough. With my back against one end and my feet touching the other, my knees were bent up in front of me. They seemed to know what they were doing, though, as before I had time to react one of the other guards was bending down by the side of the cage and almost before I could think about it, my ankles were attached to the mesh with something soft and flexible, but strong enough to prevent me from moving them, and another piece was cinched around my waist holding me firmly against the back wall. They simply grabbed my arms and fastened them to the mesh on the sides - even though I'm really strong, you're at such a mechanical disadvantage sitting there like that and it's just not possible to prevent them doing it.
Look, there's something utterly terrifying about being totally helpless. It was bad enough being scared of the prod and having to do what they said, but at least I was relatively "free" and I suppose I knew there was just the vague possibility I could do something. But once I was lashed down into this cage, all hope was gone - they could do whatever they liked, and I was powerless, utterly powerless, to stop them. A sickening thought came to me - suppose they were making a movie, a snuff movie? I'd heard that these sold for really big money to sickos who wanted to see people killed - they could drop the cage with me in it into the sea or something, and I could do nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop myself from drowning. No, they wouldn't even need the sea - just something filled with water an inch higher than my nose! They could lower the cage in slowly and as the water rose up my body I'd be straining futilely to get free, until it covered my nose... Or they could just put duct tape over my mouth, and then hold my nose closed - how long before I suffocated? Or do one of those magician's acts where they stab swords through a cage holding the assistant, but this time for real - I couldn't move my body out of the way of a sword poked through the mesh, not even by an inch....
Oh, fuck me! This was it.... I began to panic, and I tried everything I could to break free, desperately pushing against all the ties holding me to the cage: one of the guys was approaching me with something evil looking, and it was headed for my face. They were going to choke me, or suffocate me. I started to scream and shout, and the man just laughed. "Easy, boy... We can do this the hard way, when I force this in to you, and you'll get hurt. Or you can be calm and sensible, and it will all be over in a jiffy...."
Look, it may sound silly, but he looked a sensible sort of guy. He didn't look like a killer (not that I know what a killer looks like, I suppose. After all, some pretty normal people can end up as guards in concentration camps and stuff, can't they?) But there was something about him that made me think he was just trying to do his job, so I tried to calm myself as he pushed something against my lips. I could smell the scent of his hands - antiseptic, like soap, as he said calmly "OK, boy, open up! I just need to get this into your mouth, then you can relax."
It was hard and tasteless, plastic, and it rested on my tongue and almost filled my mouth, but not enough to make me gag. I found I could close my teeth around it as there was evidently a ridge or bar of some kind that I could bite down on that was faintly yielding. The man bent over me and fastened a strap around the back of my head, then stood up. I pushed at the thing in my mouth, but it wouldn't come out, and the thing pressing my tongue down meant that I couldn't speak, only make kind of inarticulate gurgling noises.
"Comfortable?", he asked me. I shook my head, vigorously.
"Well not exactly comfortable, then - unless you're used to it, having a plastic penis in your mouth isn't a whole lot of fun! But are you about to choke? Does it pinch you anywhere? Is any skin or anything trapped?" I shook my head.
"Are you sure? You're going to be wearing this for a few hours as it's how you get water, and it keeps you quiet, too. Still, it looks OK, so I'll attach the water tube."
All I could do was sit there as he hung one of the bottles I'd seen earlier to the side of my cage, then run a thin plastic tube from it to the thing that was in my mouth. He adjusted a little valve somewhere, and said "OK, boy. Suck, and let's make sure it's working."
I sucked and got nothing, and looked at him, shaking my head. "Oh no, boy! Harder than that! This is training too, you know! Imagine it's a nice cock that you're chowing down on, and really suck it to get the juices flowing..."
Shaking my had almost in disbelief - well, I was straight, and I'd never even thought about sucking another bloke's cock, I sucked vigorously away and was rewarded by a mouthful of warm, slightly salt, water.
"Good", the man said, seeing my efforts had been rewarded as I swallowed. "Now don't drink it all at once! It's got to last you the best part of a day, and it's only so that you don't get totally dehydrated. And now we've done that, let's attend to the other end!"
He bend down, then knelt, and the next moment I felt his hands on my cock! I tried to struggle again, but the ties held me, and he poked his head in front of mine as he was now down at my level. "Don't worry, boy! I'm not going to hurt you. But you'll want to piss, and we don't want it making a mess all over the cage, do we? So I'm just going to slip a sleeve over your cock that's connected to a waste container. Nothing to worry about at all - lots of old men wear these if they're just a bit incontinent - a little bottle strapped to the thigh and a nice sleeve over the cock, and they can lead a normal life. So there's nothing to worry about..."
Oh yes there was! My cock was hanging down there, helpless, between my thighs that were bent upwards as I've told you. There was absolutely nothing I could do to prevent him reaching under me and grabbing hold of me, and my balls, if he wanted to. I felt completely vulnerable, and when you balls are exposed like that, it makes you want to shiver, I find. And I'd never had another bloke touch my cock before, either - well, I suppose the doctor did when I was a little lad and they were doing those inspections at the baby clinic, and at school. But never after that, and only with a doctor. The thought of another man touching me so intimately was disgusting. I mean, it's OK with your girlfriend, I suppose (but mine were usually not very good at taking the initiative, and mostly we just fucked), but another man, never! To make it worse, the moment I felt his warm fingers on me, and he gently teased my cock away from my balls, I felt myself getting an erection! No, this couldn't be: it was fucking disgusting having another man touch me at all, but to have him touch me when I was having an erection...
"Don't worry", he said softly, perhaps sensing my embarrassment. "It happens a lot! Young blokes like you just can't help getting a hard- on when someone touches their cock. There... All done..." I strained to look down, and could see him attaching another bottle to the bars of the cage, at the base. He stood up, gently pushed my head forward a bit, and closed the lid down, and I watched from my half-bent position as he closed a lock on it.
"Right, boy, that's you done! Now we're just going to put the sides on - it wouldn't do for any of those cargo handlers at the airport to see what was really in our case of novelty toys, would it? And remember, go easy on the water - it's got to last you several hours. Oh, and it's got a mild sedative in it, too, which is another reason for not drinking it all at once: it' really boring in that cage, and we don't want you getting overly anxious, or panicking, or anything."
I was utterly trapped now, I knew. I couldn't break out, they could do with me whatever they wanted. I was still terrified they were going to kill me, but somehow the bloke was reassuring - they wouldn't go to all this trouble about enabling me to piss, would they, if they were going to do that? All I could do though was watch, as the camera watched me, as they clipped solid plywood sides around the cage, and when the top one went on, I was in total darkness.
I tried to guess what was happening, but in pitch blackness and with the walls of the crate muffling sound, it was difficult. I waited and waited, probably whilst the other men were similarly crated as I had been, and then there was a lot of shoving and heaving and my crate was half-tipped to its side - I had to clutch at the bars with my hands, as well as having my wrists and arms held by the bindings. Then we must have been loaded onto a lorry, as there was a lot of bumping, then somehow I knew my crate was being raised up into the air. I sucked vigorously at the cock thing in my mouth as I was dry by now - inside the crate it was warm, and I was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and I don't remember what happened next as the mild sedative the bloke had talked about seemed to do its job and I drifted into a doze. But there's something unmistakable about being in a plane taking off - the acceleration, the slope as it climbs, and so I knew that we must be in the air.
There's no way of knowing how long a flight is when you're totally in the dark, with no means of telling the time, and when every time you have a sip of water it makes you drowsy and you doze! I knew time was passing, as I had to piss once or twice, but that was it. And I felt that characteristic "bump" as we landed, and there was then a lot more general bumping and movement that went on for some time. I was dozing when I came awake to hear scraping outside the crate, and the next moment one of the sides dropped away and light flooded in. I screwed up my eyes momentarily, and silently gave thanks for having survived the journey. Something was different, though - the smell of the air, the humidity, the heat? I began to sweat all over as my body tried to adjust, and a small, dark-skinned guy, very foreign looking, came and bent down and released my cock from its sheath and carried it and the bottle half full of my urine away. He came back and similarly released the cock thing in my mouth, carrying it away again together with the nearly empty water bottle. I champed my mouth up and down to get some movement back in my jaws - and it really did feel good to be able to move my tongue again.
"Hey, where the fuck am I?", I shouted to the little bloke. He just shrugged, and said something like "non comprendo", and walked off. There was nothing that I could do, still strapped in, so I just sat there and watched the other cases being opened to reveal the men who had been with me in London. And all the time there was a camera man recording it all, but a different one from the one in London: like the man who'd undone my gag and piss tube, he looked darker, and "foreign", and in spite of me shouting questions at him, he totally ignored it: it was as if he did this all the time, and he'd heard it all before, and couldn't even be bother even acknowledge that I was speaking.
There were big doors at the end of the space we were in, and they burst open and a squad - yes, that is what they were, a squad - of soldiers came in. Short-sleeved khaki shirts, khaki shorts, black military boots.... I could see rank badges on some of them, and they were all armed: handguns in holsters, but in their hands, something I recognised: the prod things! They looked tough, and mean, and I certainly wouldn't want to tackle any one of them, let alone all eight of them. They looked as if they were used to being obeyed, used to keeping order, used to having other men afraid of them, actually. They walked up and down looking at all of us as we still sat there, and were obviously making some sort of jokes between each other as they were laughing and doing all the things that a group of men who are easy and confident do: but I couldn't understand a word of it, as it was in some incomprehensible foreign language.
I was sweating even more now, and could feel it trickling down my skin, and the soldiers were hot, too - big wet patches under their armpits, and a very visible sheen on their foreheads and bare arms and legs. Wherever we were, it was hot and steamy, evidently! Even the camera man was sweating, but perhaps that's understandable, as he had that heavy camera to lug around.
We all just waited like that until another man came in: he was evidently in charge, as the guards all stopped their inspections of us and quietened down and went and stood in a rough line on one side of the room. He motioned to the camera man, who seemed relieved to be ale to put the camera down and stood there stretching and relaxing.
He took up a stance roughly in the centre of all of us, and said, in a heavily accented voice "Right. The camera's off for a moment, so we can break out of the movie. You've all survived the journey, but we are aiming for total realism, remember. In a few moments we'll start recording again, and you'll just behave naturally! But if anyone makes any reference to a camera man, or to a movie, or anything like that, punishment will be severe, and swift: I believe you have all been introduced to the cattle prod, and even if we have to risk losing continuity by taking time out to punish one or more of you, we will."
"What the fuck is the movie we're making?", one of my companions called out. "I've never read a book where guys are caged..."
"You have not been reading the right books, my friend!
But you are right, there is no book of the movie. There might be one afterwards, as that's about the only merchandising opportunity: T shirts and so on would be singularly inappropriate, as you will find out. No, this is a screenplay based on an erotic story by one of the world's foremost writers of gay male erotica, but someone of whom you will not have heard unless you have rather specialised tastes, and have subscribed to the right Internet interest groups!
Not that there's a screenplay, as such: you are going to be forced to live out the experiences described in this erotic story, and that is why we did not want actors."
"That's fucking rubbish!", another guy called out. "There's no point in making a movie like that. You could never show it. You're not allowed to show a bloke's cock in most cinemas, or on TV."
"And who said this movie was for public consumption? Mr and Mrs Joe Public simply lack the refinement and taste to appreciate erotica like this anyway. No, the patrons are a small, very rich group of men with proper sensibilities who have read and enjoyed the erotic stories I have described, and decided to commission the author of them to write an outline plot for a movie. That movie is being made now, and you are all the chief actors - you and several other men, who you will meet in due course. Not that you are actors - our emphasis is on total realism, which is why we just selected ordinary men, like you, to take part."
He paused for breath, wiped the sweat off his brown with a florid flourish of a silk handkerchief, and continued "The men who have paid - and paid highly - for this movie have decided they want more, much more, than the stories, excellent though they are, can provide. So instead of having to imagine for themselves how a man feels when he is put on the auction block to be sold, they will be able to see it:
the camera will capture the emotions that run through you as the bidding mounts and men with voracious sexual appetites bid for your bodies."
Before any of us could shout out that he was mad, he went on again "Of course this can only work if the experience is totally authentic. We didn't want actors to play the parts of the men who are being sold and so on, which is why you are all here. But the written word is so much more powerful than even the best visual images that we have a problem anyway in achieving authenticity - we do not want our rich, powerful patrons to be disappointed, and there's a real danger of that. So if you all thought that this was just a movie, however realistic, you wouldn't react totally 'naturally' whatever we did to you: somewhere inside you a little voice would be telling you that it would all be over soon, and you'd be back in London, dining out on the experience. You were all duped once in signing up to make a movie which is very different from the one I think you imagined. And perhaps now is the time to totally dispel that duplicity: listen carefully, as this is the last time you will hear this."
You could have heard a pin drop as we sat there listening. I could almost hear my heart thumping away. "Although this is a movie, although you are all being filmed as we process you, you are not actors, not even inexperienced ones. This experience is for real. You will never go back to London or wherever you come from, and when we sell you off at our auction, that is it: you are sold, sold as a slave to your new owner."
There were cries of "Fucking rubbish!", now, and the guy looked cross. "You men may not want to hear this", he snapped, "But it's in your own interests to understand it, and understand it well. You are deep in the depths of South America here..." There were some gasps of astonishment from us all, but he just ignored them. "I do not think that most men from developed countries truly appreciate the sheer size of the rain forest, and the remoteness of it from so-called 'civilisation'. There are no roads, no railways, and the only access is by private plane. Even a trip on the river to the nearest small town is more than two days, even assuming you have a boat, know the way, and can hack through the overhanging vegetation."
"In this vastness it is easy for the rich - and here we are talking about the super rich, men with wealth that is so great that it is never even mentioned in the newspapers, men whose wealth far, far exceeds that of American technology billionaires, and even Arab oil sheikhs, who cannot succeed in keeping their riches hidden - to build a paradise. They own millions of acres, pay billions in bribes each year, and for this they have their own kingdom, their own land, where their writ rules and there are no other laws. A group of these rich, powerful men have build themselves palaces surrounded by estates here in the depths of Amazonia, and those houses and estates are run by slaves. You, gentlemen, will join those slaves: when you are auctioned, it is for real. Your flesh is going to be sold to the highest bidder, and as his slave, you then have no choice about what happens to you. For the rest of your life you are merely the property of your owner, and he can do with you as he will, just as he could with a dog or a sheep or a cow that he bought. There is no law here save for the desire of your owner to amuse himself. No one will come to rescue you - not only does the world not know where you are, but the bribes I mentioned ensure complete seclusion and privacy here."
Most of us were shouting out now, expressing our total disbelief. He held up his hand in a gesture demanding silence. "This is the last time we will speak of this. We are striving for authenticity in our movie as you enact the scenes that our author has set out, and I ask you to remember that this is not life imitating art, or even art imitating life: this is life, life for you. This is real, the only reality you will ever in future know. You are not men any longer, not even actors: you are slaves, pieces of male flesh that belong to us at the moment, and who will shortly belong to new owners who will do with you as they wish. I know that you do not currently believe this, but you will soon learn: I only hope, for your sake, that you learn it quickly, and you learn it well. Life for a wilful, disobedient slave can be even harder than life for a slave who properly understands his place in this society. And some owners quickly lose patience with slaves who do not obey or who are disrespectful and insufficiently servile: even though you will probably never have the ability to breed, most of you do, I suspect, like having your testicles. Remember that the easiest way of 'calming' an obstreperous slave is considered to be gelding - this is easily done, with little risk of destroying the slave's total usefulness, and most owners consider it as an option: as easy as a dog owner considers castration for an animal who needs to be calmed. Remember this, and let it condition your behaviour."
There were some shouts and the beginnings of arguments from some of the guys, but the guards quickly forced us into silence by threats of their prod things. We were all told to stand there then, and, actually, I suppose it was a good idea after we'd been confined for so long in those crates. A white-coated guy came in and went along the line of us several times, collecting first blood, then piss (have you ever tried to stop pissing, once you've started?), and then, humiliatingly, a scrape of crap from our asses as we were ordered to bend over. All these samples went into individual little tubes and vials, and then, when we thought it was all over, he came back once more with five more little cup things.
"All slaves awaiting assessment are required to give a semen sample too", he said. "I will enjoy coming along the line and taking it from you, but experience shows that it is difficult and takes too long. You may each therefore take one of these cups and produce the sample for me yourselves."
We looked at each other, and we couldn't believe it at first. I mean, you don't jerk off in front of other blokes, do you? And, to make it worse, that fucking camera was there, now watching the expressions on our faces as we began to realise what we had to do.
Shifting from foot to foot in embarrassment, we all just stood there. White-coated guy said simply "Suit yourselves! I will get to enjoy the feel of your penises after all...."
Well, for me, the thought of having another guy jerking me off was even worse than the thought of doing it publicly myself, so I reached down and began to stroke myself into life. I saw some of the others starting to do it, too, and of course the fucking camera was everywhere, zooming in and out at us as we went at it. What sort of a fucking film was this going to be? There was no way they were ever going to be able to show it on TV, or in cinemas! But then, perhaps we were merely going to be "after dinner entertainment" for these super-rich guys, or perhaps they even had their own private cinema somewhere in this vast complex.
Look, if you're young and horny like me, it doesn't matter how embarrassed and humiliated you are: if you're stroking your dick, it reacts, doesn't it? I really have never had an erection with other blokes present - well, that's not true, of course: lots of times I've had erections with other blokes all around me, but it's slid down my trouser leg as I've had my clothes on! And when we were away skiing, I had erections as we were going to sleep at night with my mates in other beds in the room, but then it was covered by the bedclothes. No, what I mean is that I've never had an erection where other blokes could see it: they may have known I had one, like when we were skiing, but they couldn't see it, so there was no need to make an issue about it. But here there was absolutely no concealment of any kind: we were just five totally naked guys, having to jerk ourselves off, whether we liked it or not.
It's awful, I think. I've tried wanking in the shower, but I hated doing it standing up. When I start to cum my cock thrusts forward as if it's looking for a nice cunt to get inside, and that makes my knees bend the wrong way... So afterward, when I'm standing there recovering, I feel all kind of weak at the knees, and I hate it. So I usually do it lying in or on my bed, or sprawled in a chair.... But here there was no choice: I didn't think I could just sit down on the floor and do it, so I stood there. And it was fucking embarrassing, not just for me, but for all of us: some blokes just can't help grunting and moaning as they wank, and even I found myself making that funny sort of noise as the last hand stroke starts the balls pumping the cum up and out!
Afterwards ,when we were all standing there, breathing hard, as you do after a good wank, the white-coated guy came around and collected the little cups we'd been given, and used a magic marker to label each one with a single number, from one to five. Before I could stop him, he reached up and put a big three (I was in the middle) on my pecs - well, he tried to, but I'm really very hairy, and he had to keep rubbing the fucking thing up and down for quite a time until he was pleased with this handiwork. It was just the same when he did my bum, too - I could see the one and the two on the backside of the other guys, as they were quite smooth, but I've got a lot of body hair! I could see why he'd done it, of course - he wanted to know which samples came from which guy, but, all the same, I hated being marked like this: why couldn't he just have asked for my name, and put that on all the samples he'd collected? But it's not right, is it, to actually mark a man as if he's an object, rather than a living person? You mark your CDs in your CD collection, or the stuff you put in the deep freeze, not another person! But what was I supposed to do?
We all stood there then, feeling pretty foolish, I suppose, until the guards came and "escorted" us into the next room. This was bare concrete like the rest of the place, with simple fluorescent tubes lighting it, but down one side were what appeared to be those kind of prison cells you see in the old western movies - a row of bars between them, bars at the front with a barred door, and each one just containing a bunk bed. Each of us was in turn locked into one of these cells, and as we stood there looking out, wondering what the fuck was going to happen next, the man who had been in charge stood there and spoke again.
"That completes the first part of your processing", he informed us. "We now need to get your blood, urine, semen and stool samples analysed to make sure you're harbouring no infections, parasites, or anything else!
We want to have nice, clean, attested stock for sale at the auction, and so we'll keep you in isolation in these cells until we have run all the tests. We've got a little leeway, as the next auction isn't for five days."
"I won't ask if you have any questions", he added, smiling, "As I'm sure you have hundreds! But they're not relevant, so there's no point in asking them. Just remember that have something to look forward to - your auction in five days - when you can then enter your new life properly."
End of part 2