THE SLAVE REVOLT
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Eight
I wanted to shout and scream at my owner that it was so fucking unfair! I'd risked my life trying to save his son, and now he was acting almost as if I'd been part of the rebellion itself. But before I could do or day anything, the guard pushed at me to go out from my owner's work room, and I saw the glint of the unsheathed tip of a prod in his hand and knew I had to obey.
"Oh", my owner added. "As well as securing him properly, you'd better gag him. He isn't going to like what's going to happen to him, and I don't want to be distressed by having to listen to his screams."
The guard led me down the stairs into the basement and along the passageways, and finally opened a room I'd not been in before - it used to be the wine cellar or something, which was always kept securely locked. I suppose that after all the looting there was no more wine, so now, with its heavy, solid walls, it made an ideal punishment room.
It was pretty grim inside - a bare stone floor, plain brick walls, and, standing ominously in the middle, one of the typical punishment "horses" - a really heavy duty model, as if they were expecting slaves on it to put up fierce resistance. The guard gestured at it and I lay on the leather top felling it cold and clammy against my bare skin. Then he fussed around securing me to it - a strap around my waist and another around my chest, and then he pulled my left hand down and secured it to the left front leg. Strangely, though, my right hand was secured by a set of special straps to the body of the horse just in front of my head - there was a tight leather piece that he cinched tight around my wrist, and then five small individua ones that held my thumb and fingers. Finally he moved around behind me and pulled down my shorts, so that he could kick at my ankles to get me to spread my legs and shackle them to the rear legs of the horse.
He stood there idly then, saying nothing, until he remembered my owner's last instructions and went and got a ball gag off the fitting on the wall - there was a big black wooden board festooned with gags, thumbscrews, canes, tawses, whips, nipple clamps, butt plugs, and stuff whose usage I couldn't even guess at - a silhouette of each item was painted in white I noticed as the ball gag was removed, so that it was easy to replace items that had been in use.
I kept my mouth resolutely closed as he "offered" the gag to me, but it was no use: he went over to the board, selected a thin cane, came back and slashed at my butt a couple of times. I got the message! My butt was wincing and stinging and I knew I didn't want to endure any more of it, so I meekly opened my mouth and allowed him to force the ball in - his fingers, I remember, smelled and tasted of nicotine, but then, I suppose a lot of rednecks like him still smoked. He fastened the strap around my head so there was no possibility of expelling the ball, and slapped me on the butt appreciatively. "Your owner's a lucky man, boy! There you are, all trussed up and waiting for him. I bet your ass is a really good fuck - I'd like to force my dick down between those muscles of yours.... He lets us fuck any of the niggas on the place, and I wonder if he'll let us fuck you after he's finished with you... A man needs a tight ass for his dick sometimes...."
There was nothing I could do or say, of course, and I had to lie there and endure the indignity of the guard continuing to run his hands almost appreciatively over my butt, then prise the cheeks apart and begin to scratch at my asshole! I tried to wriggle and squirm, but the straps holding me down made it completely futile.
"My, my!", he said. "You are sensitive, aren't you? And this asshole is so tight - don't you let the other slaves up here, boy?"
I don't know what he might have done had not at that moment my owner walked in. "Ah, Steve", he said, coming around to look at me as I lay there helplessly.
"You never really accepted slavery, did you? I always thought, when we were working out together, that you were kind of 'tolerating' me - doing a job as a free man might, rather than serving me totally and completely as a slave should. I was prepared to put up with it to some extent as you were a good personal trainer, and you may recall that I only once exerted my rights over you, on the day you were first brought here. I often thought about using you more frequently as you have such a thrilling body and superb ass, but I did not want to upset the status quo unnecessarily - I was perhaps overly concerned that if you knew you were my fuck toy as well as my trainer, you might not perform as well."
He paused for a moment and now rested his hand on my bare shoulder as I lay there, and went on "I was wrong, of course: it simply does not pay to treat slaves reasonably. All those times when I could have been enjoying your body fully after a hard training session, all wasted! After all, if you had objected to being used in a way that a slave with a body like yours ought to expect, I could have probably beaten you into total submission anyway."
"So I suppose it's partially my fault that you joined the rebels and tried to escape. A properly submissive slave, totally loyal to his owner, would not have done that, Steve. And now, I think, it's too late: once a slave has the taste of freedom, it's almost impossible to be certain that it has been totally eradicated, however much he is beaten. So we cannot go back to our old ways, Steve - no more of those companionable training sessions - I could never be sure that you would not use that powerful body of yours against me. So in future you're going to have to work as a physical slave here on the estate, doing purely manual labour: at least then I will get some use out of my investment in your body, as it has, as I remarked earlier, been spoiled for pure 'display' purposes."
His hand was caressing my body now, running up and down my spine, occasionally lingering on my butt. It was as if he needed to touch me to assert his sense of ownership as he carried on with his soliloquy. I tried to move, to show him that he was wrong, but all that happened was that the straps dug painfully into my flesh.
"So, Steve, we will probably not meet again as companions - I may see you as I move around the estate, but that closeness we had has gone. So I am going to take the opportunity to give myself that which I for so long denied: when I asserted my rights over you when you first came here I particularly enjoyed your tight, virgin asshole nestling so beguilingly down between those wondrously muscular buttocks of yours. So now I am going to enjoy it again as a kind of farewell."
He turned to the guard and said "You can go. The slave is perfectly safe and I will summon you when I am done here."
The redneck gave a smirk as if he was in some sort of free man conspiracy with my owner, and left.
I'd seen my owner naked hundreds of times, of course, as we showered after our workouts, and so he was totally unembarrassed to be stripping his clothes off in front of me - there was a big difference, this time, though: as his immaculately ironed snowy-white cotton boxer shorts slid down over his hips, his dick sprang up full and rock hard. After my first time, I had never seen him erect again as it's not the sort of thing you do with another guy in the showers, is it? But now I saw it again and remembered how slim and somehow elegant it was as it stood out proudly from his thatch of pubic hair (which, like that on his head, and chest, was a kind of pepper-and-salt grey, white and black).
He stood there stroking his dick casually, looking down at me. "So, Steve, I think you need to be reminded very forcibly about who is in charge around here, and of your proper place in the scheme of things. The last time I fucked you it was part of the normal induction process for slaves here and I suppose the handlers had properly lubed and stretched you. This time is rather exceptional, isn't it? And I think that as a change, I'd rather like to feel the tender membranes of your anal passage gripping my dick without all that sliminess: it will just be you and me, Steve, man to man, skin to skin. Your ass, my dick, in totally intimate contact. I'm afraid it's going to be rather unpleasant for you, but you can try to scream as much as you like as I know from experience that the ball gag is very effective."
He moved towards my rear then, his dick bobbing and waving in time with his steps, and he stopped briefly to move one of the wheels that controlled the height of the horse - I was lowered slightly. "I think this is going to be a long, hard, fuck, Steve", he told me rather unnecessarily, "So I may as well get these adjustments right as I like my dick to go in at a good angle without a lot of bending of my knees...."
Then it started. I felt his hands pull my butt apart and he kneaded my muscles a bit as he did so in evident enjoyment of the feeling of being able to do this to a strong, powerful man. Then as he gripped them tight, I felt the tip of his dick moving up and down my crack as he raised and lowered himself slightly: he was gasping in evident pleasure as he did this, and of course I knew just how amazingly good a guy's ass feels to the tip of your dick, so I ought not to have been surprised.
He tried to push his dick in to me then, but did not succeed - my ass was extremely tight, and with no lubrication of any kind there was no way that his dick could bludgeon its way in. My owner grunted with the exertion of trying to force his way in, and I could guess what was happening: his dick would be bending in the middle, and, personally, I don't like that when it happens to mine when I'm trying to fuck, so I suppose he didn't like it either.
He pulled back, looked around ,saw the cane that the guard had used on me lying there, and picked it up. It slashed down on to the back of my thighs as I lay there helpless. I would have screamed if I could, but as it was my only reaction was to jerk my body as much as possible as the sharp, stinging pain shot through me. "Stop resisting me, you miserable slave!" My owner almost screamed.
Well, what did he expect? I mean, trying to rape a guy, with no lube or anything? And it's not as if I was deliberately resisting him: I suppose that intellectually I knew what was about to happen was absolutely inevitable, and I had little choice but to let it happen. But something deeper in my brain, something long buried, was saying "No! One man does not have the right to do this to another", and it was this part of me that was holding my sphincter rigidly closed.
He tried hitting me a few more times - all to no avail as when he next tried to force his way in I could feel the hot head of his dick nudging at me again , totally without success. Finally, it looked as if he was going to give up. He muttered "Right, Steve! You don't want to co-operate... Well, we'll see!"
As I watched helplessly he walked over to the wall with its fearsome array of implements and pulled down a stainless steel thing. His dick was still rigidly erect as he walked back to me and I could see it bobbing up and down still in time to his movements. "Right, Steve! Let's use a little applied science, shall we?", he asked rhetorically.
The touch of the steel was like ice against my asshole. I suppose it was thinner than his dick, and certainly wasn't inclined to bend in the middle. So it was easy for him to force it in past my protesting muscles. "Job half done", he told me. "No let's open you up a bit - the handles on this allow me to exert a lot of force, so I'd advise you to play along."
I grunted, totally unable to respond properly to him, and he went on "I think we'll find that this little device, usually used on women when a gynaecologist needs to see up inside her, can also overcome the strongest man.... Now....."
If I could have I would have shouted out at the sheer indignity and the accompanying terrible wave of very, very unpleasant sensation that went through me as the jaws of the speculum opened under his pressure, forcing my asshole to expand. He stopped for a few moments, and was almost laughing as he told me "Half way there, Steve. Way big enough for a dick, but I'm going to make you a bit bigger anyway, so that you'll be a nice smooth fuck for me even when you relax back. And, I suppose, to remind you that a slave who resists his owner can expect nothing but pain and discomfort."
I would have shouted again if I could as he pushed on the handles again and my asshole was forced to stretch and stretch to accommodate the opening jaws of the hateful thing. It was worse than anything I'd ever experienced before: worse, far worse, than dropping the biggest turd after a week of constipation; worse than taking a big fat dick. The pressure and the accompanying discomfort and pain we so totally unrelenting, and there wasn't a blind thing I could do about it. It just went on and on as he continued to squeeze the handles, and there was not even the smallest movement of my body that I could make to resist him and his hateful device.
He finished finally, though, and the awful sensation of having my body violated began to diminish as the jaws closed, and he pulled it out and tossed it on to the floor. "Now, Steve - what I've been waiting for... for a long time....", he told me, unnecessarily.
I felt his body against mine as he almost lay along my back, and then the head of his dick again nudging at my ass - it hurt, as my ass was now so sensitive following its brutal stretching a few moments before. I couldn't resist him, though, as my muscles just did not have the power to do so, and he gave a cry of satisfaction as his whole dick slid into me: I could feel his wiry pubes pressed right up against that sensitive place between your balls and your hole.
"There, Steve! How does that feel? Skewered on your owner's dick, even though you hate it! This is the way that all weak men ultimately end up, Steve: overcome by more powerful ones. You think you're so big and tough because of your physical power, but that's not what counts: as you can feel now, I control you absolutely and utterly. Power is all about who has it, Steve, not about mere strong muscle.
Let this be a lesson to you, Steve: a slave has no free will, and ought to do this willingly. And if he does not, then he will be forced. How many more times will I need to open you up, Steve, before you understand that resistance to my desires is futile? Your only duty is to obey me, and to obey me willingly. I ought not to have to have you gagged or tied down like this: a true slave, one who understands exactly what servitude means, would be happy to accept his owner's dick as a sign of his total commitment to pleasing his owner. But not you, eh, Steve? Proud Steve, who didn't mind fucking the drays - yes, I know what you were up to when you went over to the stables - but who is unwilling to accept his owner's dick himself!"
With that, he began to fuck me, and fuck me vigorously! No gentle sliding in and out whilst caressing my skin or nibbling my ears or gently biting my shoulders - no, this was a hard, businesslike fuck.
His dick plunged in and out of me, and the only variation was that occasionally he came right out so that he could better slam back the entire way, his body making a great "slap" against my skin as he did so. It seemed to go on, and on, and frankly it hurt: you probably know how it is - the membranes of your ass get sore from the friction, and you want to cry out in time with the pistoning of your partner. I couldn't do this, of course, couldn't beg him to slow down, or to be more gentle - I just had to lie there and take it. And you all know that most guys never actually cum inside the asshole - it doesn't seem to matter how much you fuck, sooner or late you need to pull out, jerk yourself off for a few vital seconds until you shoot, and then plunge back in whilst the other guy's ass hole is wet with the cum you've pumped: somehow that feeling as you use your dick to force your cum up into him is very special. But my owner ddi not do this - no, his thrusting went on and on, and on and on, for what seemed like hours: he was evidently prolonging the fuck as much as he could. Finally he gave a cry, and stopped, his sweating body falling forwards onto me in triumph.
He lay there panting and sweating, his body almost wrapped around mine as if to further exert his sense of ownership of me. Then, after several minutes, he pulled himself out of me and came and stood by my head.
"There, Steve! To think, I denied myself the pleasure of your ass for so long, because I thought we had some sort of special relationship as trainer and trained. I will never make that mistake again. And perhaps now that I have found out how truly delightful your ass is, I may use it again."
My face, which was still contorted from the agony I had experienced, grimaced as he said this. It was almost involuntary, as if my brain did not want me to "censor" it and needed to make my true feelings about being raped known to him. My owner saw the look, and it seemed to drive him wild.
"You fucking slave! I thought you were at least intelligent enough to realise that what I said will be the law for you in future! But no, you still defy me:
I can of course always have you dragged in here an strapped down, and there is indeed something special about taking a man like you in that way, when he is powerless to resist. But I would have preferred your unwilling co-operation, if I can call it that: when I summoned you to my bed I would have liked you to behave submitted to me so that I could enjoy your body, even if inside you were loathing it. But I can see that that will never happen - I will never be ale to trust you to allow me full and complete access to every part of you, as is my right. So I do not think I will fuck you again, Steve - but you need something to remind you of the fact that I own you, that you are in fact mine totally...."
Still naked, he walked over to the wall of instruments once more and fiddled about for a few moments, before coming back to me. "Whilst the branding iron heats up, I think a little more punishment is called for....."
The thin punishment cane rained down on me. If I could have screamed, I could have. It was all over my shoulders and back, my butt, my thighs, and even my calves. On and on, slashing away at me mercilessly. Each stroke had that biting initial pain that seared through me - especially in places like my calves which do not usually get beaten - to be replaced just before the next blow by the dull, relentless ache of flailed skin. To my horror I saw flecks of blood starting to cover my owner's body as he raised the cane again and again to me, and I knew that these could only be from me, splattered by the sheer violence of his attack.
Finally, he stopped, and stood there panting from his exertions. He waved the cane in front of my eyes, then skimmed his fingers along it to cause the blood adhering to it to drip off the end. "There, Steve. A real beating for you. And as I will never use you for display purposes again, I did not have to be concerned for tearing your skin. It hurts more, doesn't it, when the skin is broken? Well, perhaps you don't know the answer to that yet, but believe me, in the next few days every time you move your body a lot, the scars will break and you will get a fresh wave of pain to remind you of what lies in wait for slaves who do not properly understand their subservient role."
I think he could see the evident distress on my face as he continued "So you see, Steve, physical power does matter, but a man like me can have such power over you even though you are larger , tougher, and used to using your body aggressively. And now I am going to give you a further demonstration of that - you were branded when you were enslaved, but I want you to have a constant reminder of my ownership of you."
He walked over to the wall and came back holding the branding iron - the end was almost white hot, and he was smiling as he held it near my face. "Yes, Steve. You're going to get a new mark, one that will be constantly visible to you - the one on your butt, after all, is generally only seen by others."
I could feel the heat of it right next to me, and I was sweating - and not just from the heat! I remembered how the last time: I had screamed and shouted as I'd felt my skin melt and smelled the acrid fumes of my own flesh as it turned to charcoal.
"Yes, Steve. You see how I have your hand nicely strapped down - well, I'm going to give you the mark of a slave on the back of your hand - every time you pick something up, every time you move your hand, you'll see the brand and will be reminded that you are just my property, Steve."
With that, slowly and deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world (as I suppose he did), he positioned the iron above my immobile hand and then pushed down, perfectly deliberately.
In spite of the straps holding me down my body did its very best to break free, and I knew that a lot more wounds from the hard edges of the leather would be added to those caused by the cane. I was desperately trying to shout and scream, but all that came out was totally inarticulate gurgling . My nose filled with the acrid smell of my seared flesh, and it stung my eyes. To make the whole thing worse, unlike last time, I could see what was happening to my flesh as my hand was strapped just in front of my eyes! I saw the flesh erupting as the iron pressed down; I could see the blisters and the charred edges of the crater the iron was digging. Branding the flesh of a slave you own has to be one of the most inhumane things you can do.
It seemed to be going on for ever, but I suppose it was only a few seconds - but somehow time stood still.
And then it was over - I lay there, my body somehow "flattened" by what had happened, and the room was silent - except for the sound of running water. I lay there, and then to my horror realised the sound was the sound of my piss, hosing out of my dick: I'd lost control of my bladder as the iron went into me.
I was engulfed in, totally overwhelmed by, the agony from my hand. It was much, much worse than when my butt had been branded, as I suppose that there was a relatively big "cushion" of muscle there, unlike now.
I could hardly think, as all my intellect was focussed on the terrible hurt that had been done to me.
My owner stood there dressing, and watching me. "You are just like an animal, aren't you, Steve? Not only are you branded like an animal, but you act like one: you've pissed all over the floor, just as an animal would. And it's all your own fault, Steve: I always treated you well as a slave, and you chose to throw all that away by joining the slave revolt! Well, it will not happen again - you will be constantly chained up and worked hard from now on. And consider yourself lucky that I am allowing you to keep your testicles - at least for the time being. A whole lot of escaped slaves were returned here gelded, and I decided to have some of the others done once I had seen how the gelded ones were more calm and less likely to indulge in sedition and revolt in future. I ought to have the same thing done to you, but I have decided that adding some whitey genes to my slave pool might not be a bad thing, and so I will be using you to stud occasionally. But let me warn you, and I will not say this again: any further signs of disobedience or revolt, and the gelding shears will do their work."
Finishing his dressing, he strode over to the door, opened it, and called the guard in. "I saw you admiring the body of this slave", he told the man. "I have finished with him, and his ass is nicely stretched: if you would like to enjoy him, be my guest...."
I saw the guards' eyes light up in anticipation, and knew that a further humiliating rape was about to happen. But as he came over towards me, he hesitated.
"Thank you, sir", he muttered, not really looking at my owner. "Thank you, sir, but I'd rather not...."
"I always thought you guards enjoyed using the slaves....."
"Sometimes, sir."
"And I thought this one would be a particularly good specimen: a deep butt, with a tight hole waiting down there...."
The man looked so uncomfortable as he shuffled from foot to foot. "The truth is, sir.... Well, it's very generous of you and all that... And ordinarily, a big stud like that would be pretty exciting.... But not today, sir.... The blood, the gore.... I don't want to get it all over me...."
"Strip off, man! You're not ashamed of your body, are you?"
"No, sir! But I don't fancy that horrible mess all over my belly and thighs, either, sir. I mean, I can hardly fuck him without touching him, and all that raw flesh.... All the blood.... I'd rather not, sir."
My owner sounded rather angry as he snapped "Well, suit yourself. Anyway, take this slave over and put him with the drays. But go via the blacksmith - he needs a proper collar, and manacles."
Wit that he stalked out, and the guard came over and stared at me. When he'd brought me in I'd thought he'd been totally unsympathetic: one of those typical southern rednecks who despised slaves and didn't care what happened to them. Now, he gave a low whistle, and said to me "Hey, boy, you must really have pissed your owner off! I've never seen a beating that did that to a slave before! I'd better do something about it....."
He went over to the wall and rummaged around amongst the instruments and stuff lying there, then came back.
"This is going to hurt, boy - but it's the best thing...." He muttered.
My whole world exploded again as he sprinkled handfuls of some sort of white powder all along my back and down my thighs. It was somehow icily sharp, stinging, and totally different in character from what I'd experienced so far - a whole new experience in agony. It was as if small, very sharp knives were constantly stabbing into me.
"Easy, boy", he said, as if he now felt really sorry for me. "It's alum... The stuff they use in those old-time shaving pencils to stop the blood. It hurts like hell, I know, but only for a time: it helps to staunch the blood."
He started to undo the straps holding me down, then, and slowly, very slowly, I dragged myself to my feet - whole new rivers of pain went through me as I did so, as my tortured skin stretched and expanded as I moved.
I held my hand up to my eyes, and saw the terrible blisters and the charred skin there, and I could have cried.
The guard saw me looking, and I think he, too, was appalled. "Well, boy, you must really have pissed him off!", he told me. "There's been a lot of change around here recently, indeed, over the whole country, since the slave revolt. A lot of owners have decided that slaves need to be more tightly controlled than they were before.... I'd be very, very careful if I were you: I can see you've got a good set of balls, and it would be a pity if hey ended up on the floor of the gelder's yard."
I couldn't reply, as I was still gagged. He finally noticed this and ordered me to kneel so that he could undo the strap holding the ball in place. It was a whole series of fresh pains as I did this, and I winced and flinched as I struggled to get down. How hard would it have been, after all, for him to simply reach up and undo the strap? But perhaps that's how guards always deal with slaves these days, and he enjoyed seeing my big body down in front of him.
Once the strap was out and he ball out of my mouth, I knelt there running my tongue over my lips, which were parched. I could taste the salt all over myself, from where my sweat and tears had coursed down my face.
"You know, boy, you look pretty good down there", the guard told me. "If I don't have to look at your back and your butt, you're still quite a good-looking piece of slave flesh! Your owner said I cold fuck you, so I don't suppose he'd care if I used your mouth instead of your ass...."
I watched in horror as his hands reached down and undid the zip on his khaki uniform pants. Then, casually, as if he did this every day, he reached in and pulled his dick out - an uncut dick, that, even as it emerged, started to stiffen.
"Here, boy, go down on this....", he said, putting one hand behind my head in a gesture of control: I could of course have broken away, but it was agony to move, as I've told you. And, in any case, what was the point? I'd be hunted down and hauled back, and then presumably gelded.
He waved his dick around a bit, then slapped me across my cheeks and nose with it, and as I looked up I could see mim smiling faintly as he did this, as if he enjoyed "controlling" me like that. "Come on, boy! Open wide.....", he muttered, and I knew I had no choice: I parted my lips, and allowed him to push the tip of his dick in.
It was vile! Look, I've got no real objection to sucking a guy's dick - after all, it's only skin, isn't it? And when you're enjoying fucking another guy you kiss and lick a whole lot of his skin. But as the guard's dick went in to my mouth his 'skin started to peel back, and, like a lot of uncut guys, he evidently wasn't too particular about keeping himself properly clean. The dreadful rank, stale taste of his unwashed dick head and the small particles of "cheese"
filled my mouth. It made me start to choke and gag, even though only the head was really in my mouth and it had by no means touched the back of my throat, which is what usually sets that reflex off.
The guard mistook this action for a reluctance on my part to do as I was told. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so that I was staring up at him. "Listen, you fucking slave, just do a good job on my dick - or it will be up your ass! I can always lay you down on your back and fuck you like that: have you thought what that would feel like, having all that shredded flesh taking your weight? Now, give me a proper blow job, or else...."
Well you can endure anything, can't you? And, anyway, once his dick was drenched in my spit most of the vile taste disappeared. I knelt there, obediently bobbing my mouth up and down on his dick and occasionally stopping to lick it with my tongue, and he seemed pleased. He helped, too, sometimes drawing right out and then stroking himself a few times to increase his erection and bring him closer to him climax. And, of course, like a lot of men, he chose to spray his cum all over my face, rather than point his dick away at the critical moment or even just fill my mouth with it. He stood there then, a smile on his face, as he stroked a finger across my lips and cheeks, pushing and guiding the gobs of his cum into my mouth. I suppose it's more of a turn-on to do that, actually: it does demonstrate who's in charge, doesn't it?
I struggled to my feet as he zipped himself up, and, not unkindly, he said "Look, boy, I don't want any trouble - and I don't suppose you do, either. Simply do as I say and walk sensibly and calmly, and we'll get on fine. I don't want to have to hit you with the prod, or the cane, as I think you've gone through enough already today!"
Well, I had to think he was right about that! And what would be the point of resisting physically anyway at this point? There was nowhere I could go, nothing I could do, was there? So I nodded, then, keeping my head vaguely bowed to show him that I was submissive, I headed for the door.
End Of Part Eight