THE SLAVE REVOLT
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Seven
It wasn't all that easy to sleep that night - the cement floor of the warehouse was very hard, even though the guy had given me a blanket. But at least my belly was full, and I was looking forward, I suppose, to being "home" soon, when things would have to be a lot better. Still, it was really nice of the guy to have at least treated me like a man, and not some sort of animal, which is the treatment I'd had so far, and although it's uncomfortable to sleep with your hands cuffed around a pillar, I knew that my ordeal was almost over.
In the morning the guy who ran the warehouse came in and looked at me as I lay there still wrapped in the blanket, then he reached down and pulled it away from me - I had a morning hard-on of course, and he stared at my dick , then told me to get to my feet. It's difficult, actually, with your hands cuffed around a pillar, so I had to get to my knees, then struggle to my feet. He stood there looking at me as I did this, then said quietly "Boy, I thought you were a reasonable guy. A lot of the niggas we get through here are just like animals, they can't keep their minds off sex. But you... a whitey.... I thought you might be different, and when we talked yesterday you were almost human. But you must have spent too long with niggas when you were running away, as I see you this morning, and you're just like the niggas - look at you, standing there with that dick jutting out from you: men don't expose themselves like that, and....."
"Sir, please ,sir, I didn't run away. And I can't help it..... I haven't got any clothes, so I have to expose my body...."
He grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face the pillar, and the next moment there was an excruciating pain in my butt - I heard the "swish" as something moved through the air, and then I had an agonising sensation, followed by a long, slow "burn" of follow on pain.
"Listen, boy - don't you argue with me! " he snapped. "Boys who argue with free men get punished. And I quite like the look of that butt of yours with a red stripe across it from my punishment cane. And more nonsense from you, and I'll hit you again. If I say you're a disgusting animal, showing off your erection to other men, then you are! I know you're naked as that's the way slaves in transit are kept, but there was no excuse for flaunting your erect dick at me - men do appear naked in front of other men very often: we all went to school ,and most of us go to the gym and use the changing rooms - but no man stands there in front of others and flaunts a big, rampant, erect dick, does he? Only a vile sex-obsessed slave would do that, just as an animal would...."
"Please, sir, I didn't mean any harm... You've misunderstood.... I'd only just woken up when you came in, and it's a morning hard-on, sir.... Lots of guys have them... It's natural, you can't help....."
I screamed as another stroke of his cane slashed across my butt.
"Stop making excuses, you filthy animal! You're a liar - if you weren't sexually aroused, it would have gone down by now. No, you like flaunting it in front of me...."
"Sir, no, sir! It won't go down as I need to piss, sir, I...."
Another scream, as his cane cut into me again, this time the pain was from the top of my thighs, as he'd slashed at me below my butt.
"You're an animal, boy! Just like the niggas. And we have a way of dealing with them, so they don't cause offence to decent folk when we make the final delivery."
As he said this, he moved closer to me so I could feel the rough cloth of his uniform against my bare skin, then his hand was on my butt, and moved on down and went to push itself between my thighs. Instinctively, I pushed my thighs close together - it's a reflex, I guess, as your body knows that hanging there are your balls, and it does everything it can to protect them.
He took a step back and slashed at my butt again, snapping "How dare you resist me!", then he kicked at my ankles and shins with his booted feet, forcing me to move them apart. I felt him brush against me again, and once more his hot, sweaty hand was probing between my thighs. I felt his fingers close around my sac, and he tugged at it experimentally, pushing my balls down to the bottom as he held the neck between his fingers.
"So these are what's causing you the problem, are they, boy? Well, most of the niggas we get through here have had that problem solved: a quick snip, and you have no more problems with erections..... But your owner has let you keep them. Still, we can fix your problems this morning......"
With one hand still gripping my balls through my thighs, be leaned right forward so that I could feel his breath on my bare back, reached around me, and gripped my dick with his other hand. He started to stroke me, and my already painful dick, as I was bursting to piss, send little tremors of sensation to my brain as it both wanted relief of some sort, but hated being gripped so roughly y this guy: he wasn't at all gentle, as you are with yourself, or with another guy you like - no, he was stroking his fingers up and down my shaft but gripping so tight that it really hurt when his hand hit the ridge around my dick head.
"Please, sir...", I moaned. "Please, sir, it's hurting...."
"And so it should be, boy! That's the only way an animal like you learns that he has to control himself when he's in the company of free men! So you don't like it, do you? See his this feels, then...."
As he said this he carried on jerking at my dick - and it really was "jerking" - but he let go of my balls for an instant, then slapped at them with his open palm. It wasn't just the sheer unexpectedness of it that caused me to cry out, but it hurt, really hurt, as only a blow to your balls can.
I was half gagging as I coughed and spluttered from this attack on my most sensitive parts, and perhaps it was a s well that I couldn't speak for a moment as he went on "Now, you fucking animal, I'm going to bring you off, and I don't want to hear any more out of you - you're an animal, just like all the niggas, and animals don't speak unless they're spoken to!"
He grabbed my balls again and began squeezing and massaging them, whilst all the time continuing to very roughly jerk at my dick. I just couldn't help it - I moved and writhed around as best I could in the circumstances, shuffling form foot to foot, and trying, utterly futilely, to get away from the man and his hands. But there was no chance - with my own hands cuffed around the pillar, and with his holding my dick and balls, I was utterly in his power.
Mercifully it couldn't go on for very long: I hadn't been able to jerk myself off the previous night as I was cuffed, and so I was ready to shoot. And in spite of the utter humiliation and pain I was suffering, nature took its course. I began to moan quietly as I could tell that my climax was approaching, and this seemed to cause him to redouble his efforts at squeezing and toying with my balls. His breath was coming in gasps against my back now, and I heard him say "I can tell those babies of yours are ready, boy..... Now....."
A veritable fountain of cum shot out from me - I couldn't see it, but you know how it is when you've been right on the edge and then you get relief? His hand continued to massage and play with my balls, and even though the hand he was jerking me off with must be covered in cum so he'd knew I'd shot, he carried on stroking me. I'm one of those guys whose dick is very, very sensitive once it's blown its load, and if I'm jerking myself off I always stop immediately the first spurt of cum rushes out. A lot of guys don't understand this, though, and want to carry on jerking you off, or sucking your dick, or they can't understand why you've suddenly stopped fucking them.... Well, if you're like me, you'll know why! That sensation of having your dick touched when it's so sensitive is both totally erotic and actually very, very painful: you want to shout out exuberantly because of the eroticism, but scream because of the pain.
I couldn't help it. I gave a great cry and gasped "Please, sir, please.... Let me go, sir.... It hurts....."
He just laughed, and carried on jerking me off even though my body was bucking and writhing as his torture continued. He only stopped when my dick, mercifully, lost its erection . But he finished up with another slap to my balls, that caused me to scream again.
He allowed me to turn around, and I stood facing him, naked and defenceless. My dick had subsided and there was just a drool of cum still trickling out of my piss slit. He looked at me, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. "See, boy! I thought you were a decent guy, but you're just an animal, like all the other slaves we have through here...."
I stood there, kind of ashamed and embarrassed - although why should I be? I didn't ask him to masturbate me like that, did I? It wasn't my fault I had a morning hard-on - I'm a man, after all! So why did I think it was all somehow my fault? Perhaps it was because I'd got him marked down in my mind as a nice ,decent guy, and now I'd found out he was as cruel and uncaring as most of the National Guard when they'd treated us as they did.
"Please, sir....", I began, trying to make him understand that in other circumstances I'd be just like him, a free man, a decent guy. And all I got was a cut across the front of my thighs from his cane! And if you've ever had the thin, springy "punishment" canes on your hide, you'll know it's painful on your butt, but absolute agony on the front of your thighs as there's not enough muscle to adsorb the blow and it strikes your bone.
"I told you to shut the fuck up, boy! I wad going to treat you a bit special, as a whitey, but now I can see I've got to be careful as you're just like the nigga animals.. I need to control you....."
As I stood there helplessly, my hands stiff manacled to the pillar, he bent down in front of me and pulled a long leather lace from a container on his belt. Grabbing hold of my balls again - my dick flopped onto this hand as he did this - he started to wrap the lace around my sac, pulling and squeezing my balls, and causing me to shuffle and move my feet as he did so, which caused him to snap at me that he'd cane me properly if I continued to resist him. Soon my balls were trapped at the bottom of my sac with a thick band of leather between them and the base of my cock, and he then moved on to pull my balls and dick away from my body, and wrap the remaining lace around and around so that I was effectively "cinched out" - my dick and my bound balls jutted out almost obscenely in front of me.
"Now, boy, you'd better be on your best behaviour", he told me. "See those balls of yours, all showing through the stretched skin of our sac? Well, imagine how easy it is for me to get at them now, as they're nice and prominent in front of you.... Would you like to feel how it is if I touch them with my cane?"
I could only imagine the agony this would entail, and I lowered my head, and in a low tone, that I hoped sounded suitably subservient, muttered "Sir, please, sir, I'll behave, sir... I'm a good slave, sir...."
He smiled. "All you slaves are the same! Once a free man shows you that he understands how to manage and control you, you lose all that 'uppityness'. Personally, I reckon they ought to geld you all when you're enslaved, and that way we wouldn't have had all this trouble we did. But even if that doesn't happen, owners ought to take control: even the most uppity slave soon learns to obey, when his owner shows him the behaviour he expects and backs it up with some proper reinforcement by way of a little practical demonstration of the punishment in store for him if he doesn't."
I felt like smashing the guy's smug face in, but this wasn't the time to show any sign of rebellion, was it?
So I just stood there, head down as if I were truly submissive, as he went on "Now, boy, I'm going to undo you from the pillar, but I reckon I need to keep you manacled. But, any signs of disobedience, and Ill beat your balls, is that understood?"
"Sir, yes, sir", I whispered.
"Good! I like to deliver slaves back to their owners in good condition, so you need to shower. Then I'll feed you."
It's not easy to really clean yourself in a shower when your hands are cuffed, You can't reach around behind and clean your ass, for example. But as I was standing there under the running water it seemed that some of the other "staff" at the place must have come on duty, as I was joined by a young nigga slave who began to soap my back, and didn't seem at all embarrassed to have to slide his soapy hands down in-between my butt cheeks. I snapped a t him to stop when he tried to slide a soapy finger up my ass, though, and I suppose I was wrong, as he was only doing his job. He grabbed at my cinched and distended balls sac and told me casually "Listen here, whitey - it's my job to clean saves properly before they get shipped off! And it's not just my finger that's going up your ass - so bend over and spread your legs, if you don't want me to hit these eggs of yours....."
I was powerless, I knew, so did as I was told. His finger then slid up my ass - he seemed to enjoy forcing his way past my sphincter - and then as I stood there, bent over, he began to massage around, telling me that "This is one tight ass, man! Doesn't your owner fuck you?"
"No!", I gasped, as his finger sent a flood of sensation thorough me. But then I found out the reason why - the finger was only to "loosen me up" so that he could take a tube handing on the wall of the shower and push it up inside me. I suppose I knew intellectually what was going on, but until you've actually experienced an enema the sheer physicality of it escapes you. I stood there watching as my bell y began to swell out as the water went in to me, and the nigga boy stood behind me and with one hand holding my balls to "control" me, he began to massage my belly with his other.
It was soon incredibly painful - I needed to crap, needed it in that way when you've got diarrhoea and it doesn't matter whether there's a rest room anywhere around - you've got to let it out! He pulled away from me, told me to squat down, and a big stream of dirty water rushed out from me, dark brown, with modules and flakes of shit in it. I could see that the force of it caused it to splash up from the tiles on the shower floor, so my ankles and calves were covered in it. It didn't seem to bother him, though, as the moment I'd finished - even before the pungent smell had dissipated - he told me to bend over again so that he could once more push the hose up inside me.
It took four flushes before he seemed happy that I was "clean" inside, and then he began once more to soap me all over, and finally washed me all over to get rid of it. I stood there, now feeling very clean indeed, but acutely conscious that this young nigga had had his hands all over me. He looked around to see if any of the free men in the warehouse were watching, then fell to his knees in front of me. To my utter astonishment his lips closed around my dick, and he began to lick and tease it with his tongue, all the time caressing my distended balls. I tried to move back, away from him, but he simply clutched my balls tighter.
"No!", I told him.
"Hey, whitey - keep still! It's part of the cleaning:
we send you out from here with your ass empty, and your balls drained."
"I've already been jerked off this morning! Let me alone, you young fucker...."
He stopped for a moment, and looked up at me. There was a smile on his face. "So I will have to work really hard to get you to cum! It's not often I get a nice, big fat whitey dick like this.... So I will enjoy making the most of it...."
All I can say about it is that, unlike the warehouse manager earlier, he was gentle! His soft lips caressed and teased my dick, and he knew a lot of "tricks", like wiggling his tongue in my piss slit, that drove me almost wild. And all the time he was doing this he carried on stroking and caressing my balls, occasionally breaking off to lick and kiss them. It was almost enjoyable until he put an arm around my butt and then began to wiggle his finger in again.
"No!", I said sharply, but he stopped sucking, looked up at me again and said "Hey, whitey, I know what I'm doing...."
I suppose he did, actually - once his finger was buried in me he massaged and probed until I was almost shouting out with the intense pleasure and excitement it caused me, and as his lips continued to feast on my dick, I began to shoot again even though it was so soon after I'd been jerked off. He stopped then, gave my dick a final lick, and stood up - he was running his tongue around his mouth, as if savouring my cum, and he smiled at me.
"You are good, for a whitey! Most niggas don't produce this much cum! Now, hold still, as I undo you...."
He was gentle as he bent down again and started to unwind the leather lace from around my dick and balls.. As the blood rushed in I felt washes of pleasure and a dull ache flood through me, but it was a relief to be "respectable" again - well, as "respectable" as you can be, when you're totally naked.
I didn't mind being cramped in the transit cage they shovelled me into then: it seemed I was on the last leg of the journey "home", and I was actually looking forward to seeing my owner again. Yes, I know it sounds odd, looking forward to seeing another man who had total and utter control over my life, but, after all, he'd been a decent-enough guy when I was working as his show slave and personal trainer. And compared to what I had experienced "living rough", hunted by rebels and then by the government troops, a return to normality was going to be good - even if that normality meant that I was still a slave. And then there was Rob - I'd looked after him because it was the right thing to do - I've told you how this residual effect of the stuff I learned in the Marines persisted. Nevertheless, surely Rob and my owner would not only be grateful to me for hat I'd done - I know a slave is supposedly not deserving of special rewards as it's his "duty" to serve his owner faithfully, but this was surely an exceptional circumstance.
So as soon as I began to recognise some features in the landscape, my mood lightened and lightened. And when we got onto the demesne itself - with which I was very familiar as I'd run over almost all of it when training with my owner - I was almost delirious with joy. Of course there were some changes - a lot of the beautiful shade trees that were much appreciated by the coffled niggas when they had their midday break seemed to have been cut down (to burn for fire wood?).
And there were changes in the outbuildings and so on - the barn, where I'd spend so many happy nights with the drays had been razed to the ground in the fire, and an ugly temporary building seemed to have replaced it. But the main house itself seemed intact and things looked much as normal - the lawns that swept up to it were neatly cut and manicured, and the only hint that things might have been very different were some damage to one of the wings, and a few streaks of charring from fires that had not yet been painted out on the white walls.
They delivered me to the slave entrance at the back, and now the differences became clearer: In the past the rear courtyard had several slaves hanging around, coming and going to and from their duties, or taking their breaks which were allowed by our owner. They were allowed to chat with each other at these times if it did not interfere with their duties. But now it was eerily empty, and a new feature had appeared - immediately outside the door there was a "hitching rail" - sturdy posts held a cross member from which hung manacles ready to be clipped around the wrists of any slaves who were there temporarily. Could it be that slaves were never allowed any freedom at all?
The guard who came out to sign for me was of course new - as I've told you, most of the guards employed at the time of the revolt had been butchered. I don't think he would have got a job before as my owner liked smart, well-turned out guys who were doing this as a professional job: this guy looked kind of slovenly and none too bright, and I suppose he had got the job because all the deaths would have meant that there were new employment opportunities for the previously unemployable.
He hardly glanced at me as he tried to read the delivery paperwork, but after some laboured exchanges with the driver of the truck, agreed that everything was in order and I could be unloaded. I stood there for a moment stretching my cramped limbs and enjoying the feel of the morning sun on my body, but he slashed out at me with a tawse, causing me to jump a bit as it was so unexpected (the former guards only used physical chastisement when a slave had disobeyed some rule, or was seen not to be working as hard as he could). "Stand properly, you fucking slave", he snarled. "Slaves here show respect for free men, and they stand at 'slave rest' when they're not doing anything else. Now, spread your legs, clasp your hands behind you, and bow your head!"
I went to do as he said, even though I thought it was a it over the top, and there was another painful slash of the tawse across my bare chest. "...and slaves here are properly respectful to guards: when you're given an order, you acknowledge it in the proper way. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir", I muttered, and yelped as the tawse was now slashed even more viciously across my belly.
"Try that again, boy!", he commanded.
"Sir, yes, sir!" I rapped back, remembering how it had been in the Marines.
"Good, boy! We'll soon have you broken to the standards of discipline we expect here. Now, follow me."
He slashed at me again as I did not instantly respond "Sir, yes, sir!", and then, pretty pissed off by this treatment as I had kind of expected my owner would have greeted me as he was so grateful for the help I'd given in saving Rob, I obeyed.
Everything looked much the same down in the slave quarters. We went along the corridor past my little cubicle, and it was still there - the narrow bunk, and the small cupboard where I was allowed to keep my few clothes, and I got a momentary pang of longing just to be allowed to go in there and lie down, and close my eyes in the hope that when I opened them, everything would be as before. But life isn't like that, is it? That's only for stories in kids' books, and there was something about the atmosphere at the place that shrieked that it certainly wasn't going to be "the same as before". And then I noticed the shackles that were draped around the foot of the bed - evidently slaves were not secured at night, and not allowed to roam between their cubicles looking for a little excitement. Taken with the sight of the "hitching post" outside the rear entrance, I began to wonder how much things had changed.
The guard led me on into the "preparation" area, where I'd last been when I'd made Rob look as much like a slave as possible. The nice young guys who used to work in there had been replaced - I wondered if they'd been killed in the revolt and had met their fate strung out on a cross, or what. Two new slaves, who did not know me, seemed in fear of the guard as they told me to get under the shower, and then, as you might expect, I had to lie on one of the preparation tables as they shaved my balls and ass crack, trimmed my pubes neatly, and finally shaved my face and cut my hair back to its regulation slave crop. All the time they did this they were totally silent, which was unusual as the slaves in the preparation room used to be kind of friendly and joked and laughed with you as they worked on your intimate parts. I realised why, when, as I said "Thanks", and one of them instinctively replied "No problem", the guard lashed out at both of us with his tawse, striking our butts this time as he snapped "You fucking slaves are to keep silent unless you're responding to a free man! You know the rules - silence, or be punished! Too much talking and you might be plotting another revolt! Do you understand?"
"Sir, yes, sir", the young nigga replied, clearly scared of the guard, and as he raised his hand with the tawse towards me, I too rapped out "Sir, yes, sir". I hated doing it, having to perform for the benefit of this oaf, but I felt certain that soon I'd be a favoured, trusted slave again, as soon as my owner realised I was there.
The niggas gave me a pair of standard slave shorts, and it felt really odd pulling them on for the first time in such a long time - the rub of the fabric against my dick almost made me get an erection there and then! I also got a slave T, and this did make my nips erect as the cotton slid over them, and then the guard snapped "Follow me, boy!".
"Sir, yes, sir", I acknowledged almost reflexively as it was a bit like being back in the Marines, and then I followed him up the rear stairs that I was so familiar with as it was the usual route for us slaves to take through the house - I only used the main staircase when I was accompanying my owner.
When we came out into the wide corridor that was to one side of the entrance hall, I at once noticed a change, though: all the old, graceful "Colonial" furniture, a lot of it genuine antiques, had gone and had been replaced with modern pieces in "high-tech" style. The graceful couches and spindle-backed chairs, and the carved lamp tables glowing with years of polishing of their mahogany, had all gone, and in their place were stark, "linear" leather couches and modern up-lighters in stainless steel. I wondered why my owner had gone for such a radical change in style, and then it occurred to me that the previous stuff would have been burned or smashed or simply looted at the time of the invasion by the rebels, and presumably there was now a terrible scarcity of this stuff all across the country. Although the modern stuff had that stark simplicity that shrieked "expensive", I supposed it was still very, very much less costly than replacing antiques now.
The guard led me to the door of my owner's favourite room - his den and study and TV room combined, where I had often gone before and after our work-out sessions - and told me to face the wall, and assume slave rest.
I hated it, as it's so demeaning to have to stand there looking at the blank wall, but I wasn't in any mood to get beaten again so I meekly said "Sir, yes, sir", and did as he ordered. My owner was a considerate guy, I knew, and only sent for me when he was ready to see me, and although I'd sometimes had to wait a couple of minutes in this very damned corridor as he finished a phone call or something, I knew I'd soon be with him. But as the time went on and I was totally bored with looking at the wall, and as my neck muscles were beginning to ache from having to keep my head bowed and motionless, I began to wonder if there hadn't been some mistake - had my owner been called away and had simply forgotten he'd asked to see me?
I wondered if I should say something to the guard, but already I suppose I was learning - just obey, and say nothing! I could feel a small trickle of sweat run down my back under my T as the boredom and the tension built, and I could see out of the corner of my eye that the guard now sat sprawled on one of the uncomfortable-looking leather couches. The time ticked slowly on, and if I hadn't had to stand there rigidly like that I could easily have drifted into a doze - the guard had, and I don't expect that he was as exhausted as I was, not having spent his last few days caged and transported, as I had been.
Finally, as I was almost swaying from the fatigue of holding the position and from the terrible boredom, the guard's communicator beeped. He came awake with a great start from the unexpectedness of it, listened for a couple of seconds, then snapped at me "Right, boy, you're going in to see your owner. Remember the rules, though: respect, obey, and no speaking unless you're spoken to! I've got the tawse here, and I know you boys can be specially uppity when you get back to your rightful place, so I'll keep my slave prod at the ready, too."
He opened the door and commanded me to enter, and the room was so different from what I remembered: the old comfortable couches, the bookshelves, the fireplace with the old fire-irons, my owner's big mahogany work table - all had gone to be replaced by sleek, futuristic pieces. And my toes, used to curling into the luxurious pile of the wool carpet on the floor, now felt the cool of the marble which had replaced it.
My owner was sitting behind a glass and steel desk, looking at his e-mail, and instead of getting up as he would have done in the past, and as I was expecting now as he'd obviously be so glad to see me, he almost glared at me "So, you're back!", he intoned coldly. "Strip, so I can examine you."
This was so unexpected that I hesitated, and the tawse cut across my butt - still so painful in spite of my shorts that I gave an involuntary yelp. "Do as you're commanded, boy!", the guard snarled and without thinking, I replied "Sir, yes, sir!". It was so odd, though - why was my owner not pleased to see me, and why was he treating me in this way?
The guard and my owner continued to stare at me for a few seconds, and I realised that there was something dreadfully wrong - I wasn't the hero, returning to a grateful owner after helping his son survive: no, clearly there was something else, and I needed to explain."
"Sir, .....", I began, looking at my owner. But my words were cut off as I fell to the floor, screaming and writhing as the guard's prod touched my bare thigh. I lay there twitching and gasping for breath and as I struggled to regain my composure, the guard kicked at me quite casually, as if it was the accepted thing to do to a slave! In the past my owner had never tolerated gratuitous cruelty and violence towards his slaves, but now he seemed to be perfectly uninvolved as he sat there working, and was prepared to leave the guard to do as he pleased.
Eventually I managed to struggle to my feet, and the tawse fell across me several times now as the guard intoned "You were told to strip, boy! Now, do as you are told!"
Look, I'm not shy or anything - I was after all used to appearing naked in front of my owner and his guests, and with a body like mine I'd got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of anyway. But it was strange, standing there in front of my owner and the guard in that stark, bare room, and having to remove the shorts and T that I had so recently only acquired again.
My owner stared at me, then snapped "Turn around and let me see your back!". I did as I was told, wondering what the hell was going on. Then I was ordered to face him again and he looked so angry, not pleased, as he should have been.
"You're ruined!", he told me. "You had a flawless body that was a credit to me and very pleasing to my guests. And now you have scars and blemishes all over you. You are useless as a display slave, and I cannot of course trust you in close proximity to me as a personal trainer. So I will assign you to other work - hard, exhausting work, that should take away any lingering desire you might have to escape again."
"Sir, please, sir, I didn't....." My sentence was cut short as I screamed as the tawse struck my naked butt hard, very hard.
"Silence!", the guard shouted. "Speak only when spoken to, you fucking slave!"
"As I was saying", my owner continued in the same low voice, that I thought was perhaps tinged with disappointment. "I will assign you to hard, repetitive physical labour that should leave you exhausted and unable to consider running away again. I am very disappointed in you, Steve, as I thought that you, of all my slaves, would have not succumbed to the siren call of the rebels, and run away!"
"Sir, I didn't...." The tawse cut across me again, and I shut up.
"Don't deny it, Steve! You were captured five hundred miles from here! I want to hear not one more word from you, or I will take more extreme measures - I left you ungelded as I have some other plans for you, but I could easily change my mind. And perhaps I should anyway simply sell you on...."
What the fuck was going on? Surely Rob had told him about our escape? But my owner was continuing "Slaves are extremely expensive nowadays, and I lost three of the team of drays in the turmoil. We have a need for their services even more now, as the reconstruction and repair continues - I had been wondering what to do as a lot of my money is tied up in the restoration of the estate, but the solution is clear: you will join the drays. A team of four of you doing the work of six should keep you suitably engaged."
I went to say something, but my owner stilled the action of the guard, who was about to hit me again, with a small gesture. "As ever, you are defiant, Steve! When you were a proper obedient slave, before all this began, I always thought you were keeping yourself well under control. But all this rebellion has tainted you: you need to learn again that I own you totally, and control you absolutely."
Before I could do or say anything, he turned to the guard and said "Take him to the punishment room. I will be with you presently. Make sure he is secured to a horse as I will be reminding him that an owner can use a slave sexually. And the bonds need to be very, very tight as now he is no longer a display slave, we can decorate his body a little more."
End Of Part Seven