Slave Revolt

THE SLAVE REVOLT

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Four

Things didn't go all that well between Rob and me at the start of the next week. He seemed to be almost lying ready to pounce on me, waiting for me to make a mistake, or not to do something properly, so he could "leap in" and say he was going to punish me, or, at least, tell my owner to punish me the next weekend. I tried to avoid him as much as possible, but it wasn't that easy: I was, after all, supposed to be mainly in the gym and leisure complex - primarily to work out myself and keep fit and do my practice, but also in case any of the guards, or my owner's acquaintances, should want to come in and have a skilled person show them how to use the apparatus, or to help them devise an exercise regime. Knowing this, Rob would come in and ask a lot of questions, fool around a bit with some of the apparatus, and try to trick me into giving him inappropriate answers when he asked me if, for example, he thought his father exercised enough.

There was something odd going on, though, as when I was jogging around the demesne, it seemed as if there were fewer and fewer slaves actually around: not the ones in the coffles, of course, but the guys who tended the gardens, those who had semiskilled work in the workshops, and so on. By Wednesday Rob seemed to have given up taunting me and was spending a lot of time in the house, and I could see the TV flickering almost constantly: frankly, I decided he'd reverted to the normal stage for idle sixteen year olds, and had decided to spend all his days in idleness in front of mindless TV programmes.

That night, though, I was woken up from a deep sleep, at about three a.m., by the sound of gunfire, and screaming. I pulled on my shorts and T and went up from the basement to investigate, and it was apalling!

Someone had evidently let the field niggas out of their coffles as they were racing around the house destroying everything - tearing the curtains down, using their huge knives which they had to cut the sugar cane to slash at the furniture, and then, to my horror, I saw them butcher one of the guards! The poor guy had no chance: he stood there firing his gun at them, but a mob of niggas simply engulfed him and he screamed as the knives hacked at him. I ran on into the hall, and there, hanging from the railings around the upstairs landing, were two more guards who'd been hanged: you could tell from the way that their tongues were lolling out of their mouths and from the way that their hands had been tearing at the nooses around their necks that they'd slowly strangled to death - it hadn't been a "clean" hanging where the drop snaps the neck.

Looking out of the windows I saw more horrific scenes - the crops in the fields seem to have been set alight as there was a ghastly flickering glow stretching to the horizon, and the lawns in front of the house were covered with a motley collection of old cars and trucks, many of which had niggas leaning out of them brandishing and firing guns. I guess I was lucky I didn't get mown down myself in those first minutes when I came up from the slave quarters - some of these "foreign" niggas were about to attack me as a white man (and presumably therefore a guard, or an owner), when one of our house niggas called out that I was a slave, too, just like them, and that they should take a look at my collar, which proved it. I grabbed hold of one of them and asked what the fuck was going on, and he said that they were "freedom fighters" who'd come to liberate us from our slavery. They were driving across the South killing all the guards, overseers and owners, freeing the niggas from their coffles, and giving us back our liberty.

I ought to have been pleased, I suppose, but hearing the continuing screams of some of my owner's guards, most of whom were pretty decent guys, as they were hunted down and butchered, wasn't a nice thing at all.

Then suddenly it struck me - what about Rob?

I raced up the stairs, trying to ignore the stench from the bodies that were lying around, and flung open the door of my owner's private suite - it was in total chaos, with everything wrecked and destroyed. They'd even ripped out the bathtub and flung it out of one of the huge windows, and water was cascading out from the torn pipe work. The same situation seemed to exist in Rob's suite, and in there all his books and CDs and stuff were now strewn everywhere too, as clearly the mob had rampaged trough there. I began to get a sick feeling in my stomach as I assumed that they must have got Rob - well, I didn't like him, and I didn't like his attitude to me and the way he treated me, but no sixteen year old kid deserves to be hunted down like an animal in his own home and butchered, does he?

Not really knowing what to do I made my way back down stairs, and then on down to the slave quarters in the basement - the mob had been through there, but there wasn't a whole lot to loot and destroy, so it looked mostly the same as usual. I went on into the leisure suite, which was also mostly untouched, and sat down for a moment on a pile of gym mats as I tried to sort through in my mind what I ought to do. I now understood the conversation that Rob and his father had had last Sunday night when my owner wanted Rob to go back to New York, and I began to feel almost sorry for the poor kid - he was so headstrong that he hadn't taken his father's advice, and now he was probably lying dead somewhere - or worse: I wondered if some of the niggas might have taken him and crucified him, or strung him up somewhere and cut his balls off, or some of the other crazy things that angry men are capable of when law and order breaks down.

I suppose I was numb with shock at what was going on around me, and I just sat there for a few minutes, my head in my hands, trying to make sense of it all. Then I heard a faint whimpering sound coming from the big, heavy wooden horse that I used in some of my displays, and I got up and went over to investigate. As I pulled up the segments to peer inside, I saw Rob cowering on the floor - how he'd managed to lift the heavy top by himself, I don't know - but perhaps his desperation gave him additional strength.

"NO, please....." He began to shout.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"NO, please, Steve, don't....."

"Listen you young fuck, shut up! There are wild slaves all over the house, and if they come down here and find you, a white guy dressed like an owner, they'll butcher you."

He lay there trembling, and I wondered what to do. I had no time for Rob as you know, and although his father was a decent enough guy, he was my owner and I was his slave and he had done some terrible stuff to me: he had, after all, fucked me, and no one has the right to do that to another man against his will. But I guess my training started to come through: in the marines they drill into you that although you have to really fight when it's needed, you also have a responsibility to protect civilians, especially youngsters. I know it would have been easy to leave Rob to his fate, and even easier to simply reach down and snap his neck myself, but it just didn't seem right somehow. Instead, I found myself taking charge, and leaned down into the interior of the horse to grab his arm and haul him to his feet.

"Please, Steve, don't hurt me.... I'll get dad to release you....."

"Listen, you young fuck, you'll be lucky to get out of this alive. Now shut the fuck up, don't say anything - not anything - a s you don't even sound like a slave. And do exactly as I say: exactly, do you understand?"

He nodded agreement, and I told him to strip. "Why.....", he began.

Look, I had no time to argue. And I couldn't afford to have Rob not obey me absolutely, if we were to have any chance of escape. So I backhanded him, hard, across the face. The force of the blow, coming as unexpectedly as it did, knocked him off his feet and he lay sprawled on the floor, whimpering faintly.

"I said to shut the fuck up, and to strip!", I snapped. "Now, do it, or else I'll save myself, and leave you for the mob. Have you ever seen a crucifixion?"

Slowly he pulled himself together and stood in front of me. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, then pulled his T up and over his head. I stood there impassively, watching him. He looked at me pleadingly, but I made o gesture of support, and slowly and reluctantly he bent down to take off his sneakers, then undid the belt on his jeans and let them fall to the floor.

He looked at me questioningly, and I snapped "When I said 'strip', what the fuck do you think I meant? Get those fucking boxers off now - and then you'd better put your sneakers back as your feet aren't tough and there's a whole lot of broken glass and stuff around....."

He looked at me as if I couldn't be serious, and shook his head. I thought about slapping the other side of his face, but instead grabbed him by the biceps, swung him around, and before he could prevent me, I began to tan his ass with my other hand. As you know I'm really strong, and the sound of the slaps as the palm of my hand made contact with his butt retouched around the room. "Please....", he began to half shout, half sob. "Please, Steve, don't...."

I only gave him six slaps, then, still holding tight to his biceps, told him again "Listen, you young fuck, you're in dead trouble. Don't you know that? Your only hope of getting out of this alive is to rely on me. And I'm only going to be able to do anything if you obey me, and say nothing. Total obedience, and total silence, OK?"

He looked scared, worried, rebellious, and somehow vulnerable as he stood there in front of me. Then he nodded, and, as I watched, put his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down. I hadn't seen his dick before, but it was a good size - nicely in proportion to the rest of him, and it hung there in front of a set of what I thought must be quite low-hanging balls - although the forest of his pubic hair really obscured the view.

"Put your sneakers back, as I said", I snapped, "And move it! We haven't much time, I reckon: one or more of the house slaves are sure to tell them that you're somewhere around here...."

As he bent over to tie his laces I could see the red imprint of my hand clearly on the milky whiteness of his butt, and I realised that this would have to be attended to - his torso and back were nicely tanned, and the contrast between the darkness of the upper part of him and the whiteness underneath at once suggested that he was a free man, and not a slave. I mean, what owner would have a sixteen year old with a pleasing body like that and not have the slave running around naked?

"Follow me!", I snapped, and walked across the floor of the gym towards the service door, that gave onto the passage leading to some store rooms, and to a small slave preparation area - newly-bought niggas were treated down on the farm, of course, but new "house" slaves tended to be processed down here, and it was also where I trimmed myself and kept myself neat and tidy as my owner liked. At the door I looked back and saw him standing there uncertainly - he was looking wistfully at his clothes, as if still debating what he ought to do.

"This is your last chance!", I called out. "Run over here NOW, or once I'm through this door that will be it - you'll be on your own...."

He jogged towards me, his dick bobbing up and down and I gave a brief, small inward smile - I remembered how it was the first time I'd had to run stark naked, and how I'd hated having my dick and balls flopping around as I did so. He must be experiencing the very same thing, as of course he'd always have worn shorts, or a jock, or something, when he exercised at school and in the gym here.

We went into the preparation room and I got the electric clippers and turned them on - fortunately they were rechargeable, as the power had failed and we were in gloom as there was only one small, high-up window in this semi-basement room. As I held him and began to stripe the clippers over his head, so his long hair started to cascade over his shoulders, he whimpered "NO, please... My buddies will all laugh...."

"Listen, you dumb fuck: I don't think you understand just how serious this is. If those renegade slaves see a guy who they take to be a free man, they're going to butcher him. Your only hope of staying alive is to do exactly what I tell you, and to look as much like a slave as I can make you.... So that hair of yours has to go: have you ever seen a slave around the place with long hair, like yours? Look at mine...."

As I said this I ran my hand through the short stubble on my head that was all I was allowed (well, it was no hardship to me as in the marines I'd always had my hair buzzed short because of fighting and so on - you don't want your opponent grabbing your hair, do you?).

He shook his head dumbly, and as I finished, I changed my grip so I was now holding his biceps tightly again. I flicked the clippers on once more, and ran them down his belly to attack his pubes.

"No...", he whispered again, and now I did feel sorry for him: I remembered how utterly vulnerable and exposed I'd felt when my pubes were first trimmed off when I was enslaved. It's one of those defining moments, when you start to realise you're no longer free.

"Hold still! If you don't want to get hurt... These clippers are sharp, and your balls are soft....", I snapped. "We have to do this - slaves always have their pubes trimmed so that free men can get a good look at their dicks and their balls! I can hardly make you out through that forest you have! But don't worry - if we get out of this, it will re-grow."

I knelt in front of him, pushed his legs apart then grabbed his dick and balls so that I could run the clippers all over as best I could - it would have been better to trim the pubes mostly off and then shave the balls, I know, but there wasn't time for that.

Fortunately there was some of the sun cream and bronzer used for new slaves - it protects the skin whilst they're getting a tan from the sun, and at the same time it dyes the skin temporarily so that the salve can run around naked as quickly as possible without looking a freak. I slathered a lot of it onto my hands, and began to rub it in vigorously to his butt and thighs. He didn't like it much, but only protested when I told him to reach back and pull his butt apart so I could coat the inside of his ass crack - he'd obviously never had anyone else run their hands down there before, well, not since he was a tiny kid and had his ass wiped by his mom, I suppose.

I used more of the cream to do the front of this thighs and the bottom of his belly, and then reached out for his dick and balls. "NO, please.... I'm not a fag... Leave my dick alone....", he gasped.

"Don't be so fucking stupid - if I wanted to jerk you off, I could easily do so. This is just to get some colour on it..."

I stroked it into his skin, massaging his balls (and feeling them silky smooth now in my hands - there is something good about smooth balls, especially when they're covered in a layer of oil, I always think - since I've been a slave, it's one of the things I've enjoyed about my own body). As I massaged is dick he began to get an erection, and I looked up at him as I knelt there and grinned. "Ah, so even when there's danger to life, you're ready for sex...."

"No. No, honest, I'm not a fag...."

I grinned at him again. "It's not being a fag to go erect when another guy is stroking your dick! It's just the body's normal reaction to having a hand exciting you. Anyway, we're done....."

Well, not quite! Lying on the side was the box containing the variety of collars that had been sent "on approval", so he could fit mine earlier in the week. I flipped it open and tried several around his neck - none was ideal, as they were mostly too big, but they were quite thin and so although there might be some chafing, and it would be uncomfortable, it was unlikely that there would be permanent scarring. I pushed the best one I could find closed, and snapped the seal to let the superglue flow and lock it permanently into place.

Although there was a branding iron in one of the cupboards it was an electric one, and so with the power failure I couldn't brand his butt. I was worried about that as with a proper brand his authenticity as a slave would be so much better. But fortunately I remembered there was one of the old, temporary "markers" in the cupboard too - one of the guards had shown it to me and had told me how much fun it was in "the old days" when new slaves were marked as soon as they arrived. I don't know if you've ever seen one, but it's a bit like a hairbrush, except that where the bristles are there are just metal spikes arranged in a big "S". You use a small brush to rub all over the spikes with indelible ink, and then you slap the slave's butt sharply with the "hairbrush", so that the spikes mark out the "S" into his skin. Providing you hit hard, so the spikes penetrate deeply, you get what is in effect a semi-permanent tattoo that can be properly tattooed over later, or which the brand can sear into.

Rob watched me as I inked the brush, and I judged it best not to tell him what was about to happen. I sat down on a small chair, and called him over, and then, as he approached, I grabbed his arm and before he could react threw him over my knees so his butt was high in the air. Before he could protest or even struggle, as he was so surprised, I brought the "brush" down hard onto his left butt cheek.

He almost fell off my lap with the shock, and he squealed loud and hard - well, the unexpectedness of it was one thing, of course, but it must have hurt as well, as there were a couple of hundred of the small spikes that had been forced into the tender skin on his butt.

I stood up, and he was looking at me in amazement. I pointed at a big mirror by the door and said quietly "Now, take a look at yourself - a few minutes ago you looked like a free man, and now what do you look like?

Short hair, pubes mostly trimmed away, collared, tanned all over.... And take a look at your butt: once it's stopped bleeding, there'll be a big 'S' on it....."

I saw him looking at himself almost in astonishment as he viewed the transformation that had come over him. "It's a fine line between a free man and a slave...", I ventured. "Most people, taking a glance at you, will instantly say 'slave'. But you've got to act the part as well - no more giving orders: you're just a young slave boy, and slaves of your age don't take charge of anything, they just obey. And remember to walk with your head down, looking kind of humble.... And when you stop, assume 'slave rest': feet spread, hands clasped behind your back, head bowed... That way folks will see that you're acting like a slave, too."

He nodded, and I pulled off my T as I reckoned it would be safer to have my chest exposed as I looked more like a slave then, in my tiny shorts.

I turned to wall away and he muttered "Steve, please, some shorts...."

"I don't think so! Most young slaves like you go nude all the time: remember your pool boy?"

"Steve, please.... You can't expect me to go around naked...."

"Well you and your father expected me to go around naked.... Those shows for your guests. And you made me strip only the other day, at the pool...."

He looked so desperate though, that I relented: I remembered how embarrassed I'd been as a kid of his age when I'd had to change for the gym at school: it was only when I'd lived in the marine barracks for a couple of weeks that I really got used to having other guys see me naked all the time. So I threw him my T, and said "Wear this...."

He held it suspiciously for a moment - it was damp with my sweat - well, more than that: really wet under the pits, and with a big streak of sweat down the front, and across the shoulders.

He shook his head slowly, and I shrugged. "Look, that's all there is - wear it, and on you it will be long enough to be like a tunic. Or go naked. Suit yourself. But we need to be out of here."

Slowly and hesitantly he pulled it on and tugged futilely at the hem as if to try to make it longer - it covered his butt and his dick, but only just - as he moved around you could catch glimpses of his dick as the fabric moved. And I smiled to myself as I knew that young Rob was not going to be tempted to sit down at all!

We went out via the door at the end of the service passage, and heavy, choking black smoke was swirling around everywhere now from the fires in the fields, and I could see many of the farm buildings and barns were also on fire. They hadn't fired the mansion - yet - as hordes of niggas were rushing around in a frenzy, running in and out and grabbing anything portable, and smashing the rest. We just walked away, as they were so intent on their destructive rampage that they hardly noticed us.

I jogged off down one of the paths towards the fields that I used for exercise so regularly, and as we went past the pool Rob gasped - they'd found a couple of guards and tied rocks to their feet and had thrown them in, and now their lifeless bodies were floating under the water, heads upright, feet on the pool floor, like some exotic kind of pond weed. The water was stained brown around them, as I guessed their bowels had let go as they drowned. "Come on, kid - we can't help them", I told him, and we jogged on.

The fires were pretty terrible and the smoke was dense, and it was hard to see exactly where we were. But I realised we were going past the barn where the drays were housed, and I heard shouting - not the frenzied shouting of the renegades, but the terrified cries of men who were in fear of their lives.

The flame were about to engulf the building - if you've ever been in a forest fire, you'll know that the thing can suddenly "jump", and things looked pretty desperate. I pushed open the door, and a horrific sight caught my eyes: my buddies the drays were still chained in their stall. They were all standing up, heaving away at their chains, trying to get free. It was no use of course as the "tradition" that meant that drays were chained at night also meant that the shackling places were embedded firmly in the concrete floor! I rushed in to join them and added my own strength to theirs, but it was no use. I knew they were going to burn to death in a few moments when the fire leapt, and there was nothing I could do. I wondered whether to leave them - there was no hope for them, but at least I could survive, and maybe I could help Rob.... But where had the fucking kid gone? The smoke was almost choking now and we couldn't carry on heaving at the chains, when Rob staggered up: he'd gone into the office, and had the keys to the locks on the drays' manacles!

We tore at the locks, desperate to get them all free, and at the last moment managed to crawl out just as with a noise like thunder the fire leapt into the barn and engulfed it.

All eight of us jogged off now, and I was truly glad we had the drays with us - a big band of rebels were suddenly in front of us, brandishing their guns and knives. They would, I'm sure, have killed Rob and me just because we were "whiteys" and therefore looked a bit like the hated owners, had in not been for the drays who stood there shielding us. The rebels shouted and cursed in that particular argot that only nigga slaves use, and the drays were of course equally vehement in their response, threatening to tear the balls off any of the rebels who so much as touched us.

We ran on, and by midmorning were probably off our owner's holding. We collapsed on the banks of a stream, and all of us were really glad to be able to wash the stench of the fire off us: the drays and me plunged in completely uninhibitedly, but Rob stood there on the bank in my T, now stained with soot and dirt. "Come on, boy!", I snapped "Come and get clean... And wash that T! "

"No...", Rob began, and the drays all started to laugh. "Who is this slave, Steve?"

"He's new. Our owner only bought him last week, and he isn't used to acting like a slave yet..."

"Come on, boy", one of the drays roared now, half laughing. "We can see your dick anyway, you know, with you standing there on the bank and us down here...."

"No..." Rob started to say again, and now I got cross.

"Get down here in the water, boy! Are you too proud to be a slave, with your fellow slaves? Anyone would think you were still a free man....."

I saw Rob got the message, and reluctantly he stripped off his T, and dived into the stream in the middle of us. We were a bit like kids together, then: the drays were so relieved at having escaped the fire, and I was so grateful that we were, at least temporarily, free from the danger of the reel slaves, that we swam and splashed and joked and washed each other just as if we were a load of college freshmen on a spring break - and after a couple of minutes of standing there hesitantly, Rob joined in, too. Or, rather, a couple of the big drays grabbed him threw him in the air, and then stood there laughing as he splashed down into the water and came up spluttering and laughing: he threw himself on one of them and tried to wrestle the guy down and duck his head under the water: impossible, of course, given the power of the dray, but it caused us all to laugh.

All eight of us lay naked on the bank then, letting the sun dry us and warm our flesh, and one of the drays said to me "You know, Steve, this is the first time I've enjoyed myself for a long time: lying here in the sun, with my buddies around me...."

"You're always in the sun...."

"Yes, but not lying! We're always working." It occurred to that what he said was true - I did get some "free time" and my "work", keeping in perfect shape, was hardly "work" at all. But I remembered how exhausted I'd been when I'd been working as a dray, and knew that these slaves had it tough compared to me.

We couldn't stay there all day, though, as the pangs of hunger started to get to us. We got up, and Rob went to pull his T on until he saw that I was leaving my obscenely tiny shorts to be more like the drays, and we went to move off. One of the drays grabbed Rob and ran his big work-hardened black hand across Rob's butt. "What's this, then?" He demanded. "This isn't a proper brand...."

I saw a look of panic start to appear on Rob's face, so I said smoothly "Oh, it's because he's new, and sixteen.... He was bought as a sex slave, and the current 'fashion' is to have young guys like him smooth: when his owner fucks him, he likes to feel a nice smooth butt, and not the harshness of the brand. When he gets a bit older, and his 'virgin' charms have worn off, then they'll brand him properly."

"So are you a virgin, boy? Has your owner fucked you yet?" The dray demanded of Rob.

"Yes, I mean no... I mean...."

The drays started to laugh, and one said "Boy, you don't seem to know if your owner's dick has been up your ass or not! You'd remember it if it were mine...." He was holding his dick as he said this, and stroked it a couple of times to make it hard. We all stared at the massive organ, and began to laugh.

Rob was blushing violently, and stuttered "I mean that yes, I am a virgin, and no my owner didn't fuck me, sir....", he stammered.

The big dray, his black dick still jutting out unashamed and hard, put his hand around Rob's shoulder. "Hey, boy, I reckon its your lucky day, then! The first time you experience dick it will be a proper, big, nigga dick, not some asparagus thing that a whitey has..... I reckon you and me should get together...."

"No, please....", Rob stammered. I saw the dray start to squeeze Rob closer to him, and he said "What's the matter, slave boy? Too proud to go with a proper nigga? You whiteys are all the same - still think you're free men...."

"Hey!", I snapped "Leave the kid alone! He's mine, right? Any of you who want to dick him have to ask me, and I don't feel inclined to agree, not, at least, until I've finished with him myself! And mind what you say about whiteys - I don't take kindly to those references to asparagus!"

As I said this I stroked my own dick , which, given the tension we were under, sprang to attention. I was in fact a bit bigger - not much, admittedly, but in these things, when guys are comparing themselves to each other, even a bit counts. "See?", I demanded. "Who's got an asparagus dick now?"

The laughter diffused the tension (well, at least for the time being). And I began to worry that Rob's tender young ass might be a real problem for us with the drays - although they were nice guys, as I've told you, they led very constrained lives and really only had themselves to play with. The sight of a young guy like Rob, especially one who had not taken dick, must be a real temptation for them.

"If that T's dry, boy, I suggest you put it on", I called out to Rob. "Your skin's still a bit tender as you're not used to the sun, like us."

He looked at me a bit curiously, as I think he'd thought that by voluntarily agreeing to go naked he was in some was showing "solidarity" with us, but shrugged and dropped the thing over his head. Somehow seeing his belly straining as he did this, and having the opportunity to look at his body without him seeing us do it as the was temporarily covered by the fabric, was extremely erotic. I felt my own dick stiffen, and noticed that some of the other drays were now semi-erect, too.

End Of Part Four