Slave Revolt

THE SLAVE REVOLT

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Two

My owner stood there looking at me, and sliced the air a couple more times with the thin, almost prehensile cane. I could tell that if it touched my bare ass, powered by him, it would be agony - after all, I was his personal trainer, and I did know something of the strength of his arm muscles. And I hated being looked at by him and his son, not because I'm ashamed of my body, as I've got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, but because I think that having a man and a kid look at your balls and your dick as they swing free between your spread legs is fucking humiliating.

I braced myself for the blow to come, and gritted my teeth in anticipation of the sting of the stroke. But instead my owner said to his son "Rob, I might be making a mistake here. I ought to punish Steve, as I said, but I want him to perform for guests next Saturday night, too - and it wouldn't look good, would it, to have his ass and the back of his thighs covered in bruises and scabs? It would look as if I wasn't able to control a slave."

Hearing this, I began to relax. It looked as if I was off the hook, at least for now. But then his son piped up. "On the contrary, dad! It would show the other men that you're perfectly able to control him. Some of them were probably here last night and saw his performance, and when they realise how much he's improved, they'll know that you're not afraid of using the cane for what it's intended: to remind uppity slaves of their proper place, and to ensure they work as hard as they possibly can."

Oh fuck me! Why didn't the kid just stay out of things that didn't concern him? "You're probably right, Rob", his father conceded. "But I really don't want to mess up the skin - part of the attraction of having a gymnastic display is to see the human body at its very best, and if it's all covered in scabs and bruises..... Well, it doesn't show well."

"But if you don't punish him he'll have no incentive to work this week and put in the hours to really polish his performance, will he?"

"You're right, son, But Steve is a decent kind of slave, and now he's had this warning..... That's right, isn't it, Steve? You will work this week....?"

"Dad, you shouldn't be asking a slave to work hard! That's what slaves are supposed to do, naturally..."

I should just have let it lie. But instead I said cut straight in and across the kid. "Yes, sir. Of course I will. I like to put on a good show. But if it was like last week and I couldn't practice, then...."

"See, dad? He's 'uppity' again! You've got to punish him."

"You're right, Rob. OK, Steve, brace yourself....."

"Hang on, dad - there is another way. I was reading about it in 'Modern Slave Owner' this week, in the readers' letters column. Someone else was asking what to do when a slave had to be punished but there was a need to avoid damaging the look if him."

"Oh starving, locking his dick in a chastity cage, making him stand nose and toe to a wall for hours, that sort of thing? I think we need to be a bit more 'physical' with a tough guy like Steve", my owner responded.

"Well there were a couple of other things...." Rob's voice lowered as if he was whispering to my owner then, and I could hear some discussion going on. Occasional phrases like "sounds very cruel" and "are you sure there's no permanent damage?" Came through, but I couldn't hear what they were speaking about. Then there was more of the "I'm not sure he deserves that..." Countered by "You've got to punish him, dad....", and finally they broke off.

My owner stood there looking at me as I lay there, whilst Rob rang the bell and when a slave appeared, sent him off to fetch some stuff - all I heard was the word "kitchen". Then Rob came and stood by my owner and said "I think he will have to be restrained, dad... I know he said he didn't need it when you were going to cane him, but this is different....."

"Over on your back, Steve!", my owner rapped, and I turned over and lay there. He squatted down beside the horse and gently fastened the wrist cuffs, followed by the ankle restraints, to hold me down.

"Better do a belly strap too, dad", Rob added. "He's likely to buck one hell of a lot, I reckon, and if his body isn't held down firmly he'll likely damage the skin on his wrists and ankles as he tries to get away from the shackles....."

My owner nodded, and the leather strap from underneath the horse's top was pulled out and buckled around my hips. "Cinch it tight, dad", Rob instructed him, and my owner gave another little tug on the belt, causing me to be pulled right down onto the leather. He ran his hand lightly over my belly as I lay there, letting his fingers play with the treasure trail across it, and teasing my navel with the tip of his little finger. I squirmed as he did this, as like a lot of guys I'm really sensitive in the navel!

"I'm sorry about this, Steve", he said then. "You've got a magnificent body, and it's only when I get to see it at very close quarters like this that I fully recognise just how good it is. And you generally work hard at it, I know. But my son is right: I can't allow things to go unpunished. So this will hurt - really hurt - but at least it won't damage you. It would be a real pity if such delightful muscles and such perfect skin were to be injured."

At that moment there was a knock on the door and the slave who had been sent to fetch something re-entered.

He was holding a silver salver, and I couldn't quite see what was on it.

Rob took the stuff off the tray and dismissed the slave, then he came and stood over me, looking down. "You'd better get used to being punished, boy", he said calmly. "When I own you I won't put up with some of the stuff my dad does. Now....."

He held the things he'd taken off the tray for me to see, and went on "Simple things - a garlic press.... And some real fiery hot chillies! I don't suppose you've ever cooked with chillies, being in the marines where all that sort of stuff is done for you. But I once made the mistake of slicing some chillies and letting the juice get on my fingers.... And then I rubbed my eyes.... Well, I reckon this little garlic press will squeeze some of the juice out of these chillies just as it does out of the garlic cloves, so there's no danger of me getting my fingers burned again.... But you won't be so lucky...."

He turned to his father and went on "I reckon I'll try it out first, to get him warmed up....."

As I watched, wondering what the hell he was going to do, he put one of the chillies into the little press, then approached me. "Right, boy... This is for starters....", he murmured. Then, to my utter amazement, he grabbed hold of my dick and deftly 'skinned me back. I could feel him squeezing my head, and the next minute I roared out with pain as a drop of fiery chilli juice evidently went down my piss slit. I carried on crying and moaning, and desperately tried to move my body somehow, to do anything to try to relieve the agony I was feeling. I was twitching my restrained arms and legs, and he had been right - it was I suppose fortunate that the belly strap was cinched so tight as otherwise I would certainly have broken the skin as my muscles spasmed and contorted in their efforts to break free.

"Interesting!", he said, just as if he was a scientist carrying out some experiment. "Just a couple of drops in the urethra! I wonder what it would be like on the exposed skin itself...."

The agony from my piss slit was now added to, as more drops of the liquid fell - he must have been "anointing" the really tender skin that was revealed after he'd 'skinned me back.

I was crying continually now, more a moan of total despair than the initial shouts of agony. I suppose there was something I could have done - I could have pissed to try to get the vile stuff out, or at least diluted. But when another guy is holding your dick, and when you're in a formal room, with carpets on the floor and all that sort of thing, you are really inhibited, aren't you? As much as I desperately wanted to, I couldn't make my bladder let go.

Rob looked at my twitching body for a few moments, and waited until my cries had subsided into the occasional sob. Then he turned to his dad and said "I reckon 'Modern Slave Owner' knew what they were on about, don't you, dad? He won't forget that for some time - and next time he'll really practice. Shall I do the next bit, that's really more serious - 'Modern Slave Owner' reckons there's no punishment too severe for a slave who's uppity."

"I don't know, Rob - as I said, Steve's basically a good guy. I think he's learned his lesson."

I began to relax slightly, but the fucking kid added "But it will be your fault if he turns into a 'rogue', dad. In the same article they stressed how important it was to stamp down hard on any signs of a slave being 'uppity' as soon as they appeared. If you don't, they said it only encourages them to go a little it further the next time, and a bit further still the time after that.... I reckon you'd be doing Steve a favour, actually, to punish him now - as you said, he's basically a good slave, and you don't want to ruin his life totally, do you? If you let him get away with it, sooner or later he'll go 'rogue' and then the SP will crucify him.... literally - the new laws specify crucifixion for slaves who rebel."

"I know, Rob. The Christians were outraged at first, I seem to remember." My owner sighed, and added "I suppose you're right. You'd better do some more." He looked at me and added "This is for your own good, Steve, as my son says."

Rob came an stood by my head, and went to hold my chin with his free hand. I turned my head violently to the left and then to the right, and there was no way he could hold me still - I am very strong, and he was just a kid, after all.

"Have it your own way!", he said quietly, and raised the head restraint from under the top, then, even though I struggled as much as I could, I was powerless to overcome the force of the clamps that began to press at the side of my head and hold me rigid - he had the mechanical advantage, turning the handle on the screw that was pulling them closed.

He stood over me again then and said calmly "I was just going to put a couple of drops of juice on your tongue and down your throat - but the way you resisted me then when I tried to hold your chin to get your mouth open shows me that the situation with you is getting out of control, is worse than I suspected. So now you're going to experience the worst....."

As I watched in horror, he used a thumb and finger to hold my left eyelid up and open. There was no way that I could stop him with my hands shackled and my head being crushed in the vice of the head restraint. Then as he brought his other hand up, holding the garlic press, I began to shout helplessly, and totally ineffectually, "No, no, no, please, no. no....." I watched the drop of red juice falling towards my eye, and my terrified pleading cut off as a great primeval scream of agony ripped through me. It was worse than anything I'd ever experienced. Like when you got shampoo in your eye as a kid, but a million times worse. My face contorted. Tears flooded out. Snot was pouring down my nose. I couldn't control my body.

All I could do was lie there and howl, like a terminally wounded animal.

It was almost beyond my comprehension that he could then be so unbelievably cruel as to force open my right eyelid, and repeat the treatment!

I don't know how long it was before my howls of utter anguish turned into simple sobbing, and then silence. And how long it was before I could stop futilely thrashing around as I desperately wanted to do something - anything - to relieve the pain in my eyes.

But eventually I was able to open them a crack, bringing a renewed bout of pain, and then a little more.... I lay there, my chest heaving from the exertions I'd been making, feeling my face all wet with the tears and snot that continued to flow out of my eyes and nose.

My owner stood over me then, and looked down, almost pityingly. "Well, Steve - there it is. I suppose it might have been kinder to actually thrash your ass with the cane - I've never seen a slave react to that as badly as you did to this. And I thought you were brave..... Still, let this be a lesson to you. Don't ever again dare fail to work to your maximum when I'm not here. And control your tendency to be uppity...."

I went to say "But, sir, it wasn't my fault....", and thought better of it and instead managed to control my still-spasming nose and throat and whisper "Yes, sir." Perhaps there is something in this idea that you can subdue a slave with 'uppity' thoughts by the application of pain.

"Good, Steve. Now I'm going up to change - I'll get the house slaves to set you free, then go and get cleaned up a bit and meet me outside in fifteen minutes as I think I need my morning exercise now."

Well it wasn't all that good an exercise, I'll say that: my dick still felt as if it was on fire, and I had difficulty in keeping my eyes open properly, and in breathing. But I did manage to make my owner do all that he seemed to expect, and then I was dismissed with the stern admonition from him that he was going up to New York, but that I was to be sure that I worked properly that week as he expected a perfect performance the next Saturday night when he was again entertaining.

Before I turned in for the night the head house slave told me that I would be on pool cleaning duty the following morning as the young slave on the gardening staff who did it normally was not available as he'd been shipped to the neighbouring demesne to stud for a couple of days - I wasn't surprised, as the guy was pretty good looking for a nigga: a tall, rangy body, and without those very pronounced thick lips or prominent nostrils that some owners find less than satisfactory. I've done the pool before, actually, and I know how to test the water, add the chemicals, and all that stuff. But the best part is that I knew that if I got up especially early, there'd be a chance to actually swim as no one else would be around: I love swimming, but I'm never allowed in the pool normally as "free folk" think that slaves pollute the water! I mean, it's stupid, isn't it? I was no more likely to piss in it than a free guy would be. And even if I did, and even if I was covered in sweat when I dived in, the "pollution" would be totally indiscernible as the volume of pool water was so very, very much larger than anything I could produce. Still, that's what free folk think, and there's nothing so irrational as prejudice, and so for most of the time the huge, gorgeous pool stood there glittering in the sun without one single user.

So there I was the next morning, really looking forward to my swim - but when I got to the pool, there, lying on one of the loungers, was the kid, Rob.

He didn't acknowledge me or even say "Hi", but lay there thumbing through a book as I went to the pool house to get out the testing kit and the chemicals and stuff. Suddenly, though, his voice rang out "Slave - are you on pool duty this morning?"

I turned and faced him, and said quietly "Yes, sir."

"Then what the fuck are you doing dressed like that?" I'd just got on a T and my normal slave shorts, and I looked surprised at his question.

"The nigga who normally does it is naked. And I thought it was understood that slaves on pool duty were always naked. So get out of that stuff."

He was right, of course. It's another one of those "traditional" things - I remembered how surprised I'd been in my former life on the base one day when they'd called in a pool company because the communal pool was over acid or over alkali, or something. The slaves got out of their van normally, but as soon as they entered the pool enclosure they stripped off totally.

I pulled my T up over my head and dropped my shorts and stood there for a moment, then as I went to continue, he rapped "Come over here!"

I stood by the side of his lounger and his hand snaked up and went to take old of my dick. I took a step backwards in surprise, and he snapped "You fucking slave You haven't learned, have you? Still uppity.... What's the problem? I'm your owner's son, and next year, I'll be your owner! Now, stand still, as I want to take a look closer look at that dick of yours."

Well, what was I supposed to do? He was right, I suppose. But I didn't want some kid - no, I didn't want anyone - handling my dick just because they thought they could! I mean, a man ought to be able to decide who gets to hold his dick, oughtn't he? I stood there, and tried to blank my mind to the indignity and humiliation I was about to experience.

His fingers were warm against my shaft, and, and just as he had he day before, he used his thumb to 'skin me back. "Nice head", he commented. "So many slaves have a dick head that's smaller than the shaft.... Pity it's hidden by that 'skin all the time. When you're mine you'll lose that - I think all slaves should be cut, as all the niggas on this place are, and I don't understand why dad has let you remain like that."

I just stood there, afraid that if I did say anything it would be so rude that he would order me to be punished instantly. He looked into my eyes, as if daring me to say something as his thumb continued to stroke my dick as it lay in the palm of his hand, and to my horror, I felt the inevitable happening - I mean, even if you don't want it, you can't stop getting an erection when your dick is being stimulated like that, can you? He continued to stare at me, and I continued to hold back and say nothing, as my dick grew and grew as it lay there in his hand. I saw a faint smile begin to play around his mouth, and finally he muttered "Yes, definitely you need 'skinning! Now I see your dick in all its glory, I think I'm going to have you totally naked and cinched when you work for me. I don't think we ought to deprive the world of seeing something as good as this."

He let go of me, and I stood there, blushing now at the thought of my dick still jutting out proudly in front of me, and the kid looking at it. "You know, slave - Steve's your name, isn't it?"

"Sir, yes, sir." I muttered.

"Well, Steve, on the horse last night I really liked the way your balls swung between your thighs. And now I can see them from the front, without that monster dick of yours obscuring the view, they're pretty impressive. I reckon that's why my dad lets you wear those slave shorts, isn't it?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Yes, I reckon it is. Dad's really too soft-hearted to manage slaves properly, and I expect he thinks that if you exercise hard, and do your gymnastics, you need support for those big globes of yours. But there's another way, you know, as you'll find out next year - a cinch ring helps support your dick (which will be hard most of the time then), but we can have a ball ring put around you as well, attached to it, that helps to stop them swinging too much. Yes, a figure-of-eight cinch and ball ring is what you need. And you don't wear a collar either, do you?"

"No, sir." Well, standing there totally stark naked, it was fucking obvious, wasn't it!

"Another mistake of my father's. All slaves should be collared - it's all very well you having that brand on your butt, but in proper clothes you could pass for a free man as you're not collared."

I still stood there, and he went on "Whilst I've got you here, I suppose I may as well take a proper look at the other bits of you I haven't seen properly yet. Bend over the table, and spread our legs."

"Sir?"

"You heard me, Steve. Do as you're fucking well told!

Bend over the table, and spread your legs. And pull your butt apart, whilst you're at it!"

"Sir...."

"Are you going to defy me? All I have to do is call my dad and tell him you're totally disobedient, and he'll have the overseers tie you down - and then I won't just get to see your ass properly.... Maybe I'll use some of those chilli drops on it..... That might be interesting: all the soft membranes up the ass....."

Well I knew he was right, and my owner wouldn't bother to ask why I'd been disobedient - that's the problem with being a slave: the owners never listen to, or aren't interested in, your side of the story. Look at the way that I hadn't been able to explain my poor performance because I'd been working the dray. So I shuffled over to the table, and lay across it - the metal was still cold from overnight, I remember, as the sun was not high enough to have warmed it up yet. I hope he didn't interpret the shiver that ran through me as fear! I reached back, and pulled my butt apart, feeling the faint breeze on my hole - you're very sensitive to things like that, aren't you, as normally your asshole doesn't get to feel anything like that.

He got up languidly off the lounger and took a couple of steps towards me. I felt a finger tracing the "S" on my butt, then he rested the palm of one hand on the small of my back - something those inspecting slaves do, I subsequently found out: even though a hand couldn't possibly restrain me from getting up, somehow it exerts "psychological" control over you, and makes you less likely to buck and protest; a lot of inspections involve a hand in the small of the back in the same way, before they grab your balls, as it tends to put pressure on you not to move backwards.

I stood there for a few seconds, but it felt like long, long minutes. Then one of his fingers started at the top of my crack (he rustled the faint crop of hairs I've got there at the base of my spine), and kind of trickled down.... until he actually touched my pucker itself. I couldn't help it, and involuntarily shuffled slightly.

"Easy, Steve...", he whispered. "What's the matter? Not used to a guy playing with your ass?"

"No, sir."

"So you were a virgin until my dad took your cherry?"

"Yes, sir."

"Interesting! And the other slaves on this place haven't used you since?"

"Sir, no, sir. I don't like sex with men, sir."

"Yes... I suppose you're big enough to scare the others off, if you're unwilling. And I expect my father has never tried it again, either! He only does the taking of the cherry thing as he thinks it's his duty to uphold traditions. If I had a slave like you as my personal trainer, things would be different, I can tell you - after I'd had a good workout of the rest of my body in one of your training sessions, I'd finish off by giving my dick a good exercise. But then, next year, you will be my trainer, won't you? So you've got something to look forward to, Steve...."

He paused for a moment, and I shuddered inwardly as I contemplated what being a slave to this guy would be like. Then he went on "On the other hand, I could just fuck you now... Why wait for something, when you can have it immediately?"

As he said this his finger, that had been just scraping the surface of my pucker, made a determined effort to get in. I clenched my muscles as hard as I could, but there's no real way you can stop a finger that's determined to gain entrance, is there?

He carried on pushing and prying for a few seconds, then said quietly "My, you are tight, aren't you? I reckon you told me the truth - my dad is the only one, isn't he?"

"Yes, sir...."

"Well much as I'd like to fuck you, Steve, I think I'm going to wait. I like my men to be nicely cleaned out and properly lubed and stretched before I fuck 'em.... It's all very well writers of stories saying that you can fuck a virgin - or near virgin - without proper preparation.... But, believe me, I've tried it with some of my buddies at school, and it's no fun - for either party! The last time I did my dick was rubbed raw. So I'll let you off this time, Steve.... But later in the week, who knows.... Perhaps I'll have the bath slaves prepare you properly...."

I felt his hands go off my body, and I took this as a signal that I could stand up. I stood there, my dick still half-hard, blushing with shame and embarrassment, and breathing hard.

"My, you are even more interesting when you're aroused, Steve!", he said, mockingly. "But you'd better get on and do the pool.... I want a swim before breakfast."

I worked away diligently, very conscious that he was watching my body closely as I moved around the pool, then, when I had finished, I put all the stuff back in the pool house and went to pick up my clothes.

"Do you swim, Steve?"

"Yes, sir, of course...."

"Are you any good?"

"All marines are taught to swim well, sir."

"Well I'm on the school swimming team, and I need to practice. Dad said I could use you as a trainer if I wanted to, so let's race...."

I went to pick up my shorts again, and he snapped "Stay naked", and then continued "OK, forty lengths. And if you're more than one behind at the end, I'll cane you, and never mind dad's exhibition next week - I want you to be a real challenge for me."

With that he ran and dived into the pool, and set off at a cracking pace down the length of it. I hastened to follow.

It was fantastic, actually - he was good, very good, but I had more strength I suppose, and so although it was difficult and it was a real race, I did manage to avoid a beating. And of course I really enjoyed the opportunity of swimming without worrying that someone might come past and see I was breaking the rules. And being naked was extra special - we sometimes had "soldiers only" nights at the base pool when I was in the marines, when families were excluded, and me and some of the other guys always enjoyed the feeling of the water flowing freely over our entire bodies, unencumbered by Speedos.

We stood there in the water at the end, our chests heaving, and he gave me a smile. "Pretty good, Steve.

That was a real work out. Be here tomorrow morning again."

"Yes, sir!", I replied enthusiastically, and giving him a big smile in return.

We hauled ourselves out on to the side, and we might have been an uncle and nephew or something sitting there, instead of free man and slave. I somehow felt so sad that my life was turning out to be such shit.

End Of Part Two