Date: Fri, 3 Oct 2003 07:12:57 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Slave's Life, Part 3

A SLAVE'S LIFE, Part 3

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


They marched me off through the building - their boots
made clicking noises on the smooth thermoplastic tiles
of the corridor, in contrast from the "slap, slap" of
my bare feet.  We went up a flight of stairs, and the
decor changed at the top - marble on the walls and on
the floors, and expensive, discreet lighting.

We stopped out side a set of doors, and the guard
knocked and waited until told to come in.

The room was huge - about thirty feet to a side, with
big windows looking out on to the lush greenery of the
estate.  Its only furniture was a sleek modern desk,
behind which sat the Arab that I'd seen whisked away
in a limo when the plane landed.  The guards marched
me over to stand in front of the desk, then waited.

The Arab was doing something on his PC, and never
looked up.  He carried on working as if we weren't
there, and was obviously finishing something.  We all
stood and waited, until, after some minutes, he looked
at us.

The guard spoke.  "Sir, this is the new slave, the one
you ordered from London, to go in to the heavy work
unit."

The Arab looked at me, and asked, in a quiet voice
"Ah, from London.  You're a rugby player, aren't you?"

"Yes...."

"Slave!", the guard at once snapped "Remember your
fucking manners!  When your owner asks you a question,
how do you respond?"   As he spoke he was fingering
his "tickler", and looked as if he wanted to use it on
me.

"Sir, yes, Sir!"

The Arab looked at me, and remarked "Overseers and
guards are 'sir'.  I own you.  I am your master.  You
refer yo me as 'master'.  Do you understand?"

"Master, yes, master..."

"Good ! A quick learner.  Now, I saw you when you took
part in the rugby sevens - I was the guest of honour,
as my bank was sponsoring the tournament, or
something.  I remember that it was your backside that
interested me - there was just something about the way
you bent down and started to take part in the
rucks.... Turn around, and bend down as if you were
doing that."

I hesitated for a moment, and saw the guard still
fingering his "tickler", so I turned my back to the
Arab, and bent from the waist, then bent my knees
slightly.  I knew that my ass would be terribly
exposed through the thin satin material of the shorts,
and as they were so brief, I knew my ass crack would
be emerging from the waist.

"Excellent!  Just as I remember.  You may stand up,
slave boy, and face me again."

I did as the Arab had said, and stood there.

"What's the slave's name?", the Arab asked one of the
guards.  He took hold of my shoulder, brushed his
thumb up to remove drops of dried blood from my new
tattoo, and snapped

"The slave has been named Jon, Boss."

It seemed so odd to be referred to as a slave, and
have a man tell another man what my name was - they
didn't ask me.  It was do dehumanising.  I felt as if
I'd lost an important part of myself.

"Now, slave Jon, I want to inspect all of my purchase.
 And I can't do that whilst you're wearing those
clothes.  Take them off."

"Master, please...."

"Silence!  Don't you know that slaves do as they are
ordered?  Now, strip naked, so that I can examine you.
 I could have had you brought her already nude, but I
prefer to have new slaves disrobe in front of me.  It
helps them come to realise that they are no longer in
control of their bodies and their destinies - in
future, I decide what, if anything, you will wear.
Now, get out of those clothes, so that I can inspect
you."

I stood there and wondered whether to defy him.  But
what would be the point?  The guards all had their
"ticklers", I was trapped here in the middle of the
desert, unable to leave the estate... Sooner or later
I knew I would have to do this.  And I'd nothing to be
ashamed of, after all - I had a young, fit body, and I
knew from looking at my mates at the club that I was
"well hung".

Slowly I took off the small singlet, and the Arab
nodded appreciatively as my upper body was fully
exposed.  Then with a kind of shrug, as if to say
"what the hell?", I pushed my thumbs under the
waistband of the tiny shorts and let them fall to the
floor.

"Excellent!", the Arab told me "I commissioned your
capture as I had been excited by the sight of your
backside in your rugby shorts - it was a gamble, I
know, as men who exercise can get good, muscular asses
but still not have the equipment to match.  But you
are just about perfect..."

"See", he said to the guards "On many men such a huge
cock would look out of place, and almost deformed.
But on a tall, muscular man like this, a big cock is
perfect."

"Now, slave Jon, I want to see your cock head.  Just
'skin back for me so I can see it at rest, then  erect
yourself as I want to see the whole of that glorious
shaft reaching for the sky...."

This was too much!  Well, even at the club, where
we're all used to seeing each other naked, and we ever
bath together in the communal bath after matches, you
don't show your mates your cock head, do you?  I had
to make a stand somewhere, show them I was still a
man.

"Fuck you!  No, I won't"

The Arab said something in rapid Arabic to the guards,
and one of them went out.  The rest of us stood there
in silence, and waited, and waited.  I don't rally
know how long it was, as without a watch there's no
accurate way of knowing, is there?  But the guard
finally came back wheeling a strange looking trolley.


He stopped near the desk, and there was a little
"click" as the wheels were braked.  I looked closer
and saw it was rather like a sawhorse, except that the
top bar was a little wider, and covered in padded
black leather.  There were a number of attachments on
each leg.

"Four", the Arab said simply to the guards.

"Right, slave - get over there, and lie on the
punishment horse, on your face", the chief guard
snapped.  I would have told him to fuck off, too,
except that all the guards were now fingering their
"ticklers", and almost looked as if they were hoping
something was going to happen.

So I went and lay on the leather  top, which felt cold
against my chest.  It was shorter than my body, and I
was told to lie so that my head hung over one end, and
I could feel the other end of it just around my navel.

The guards knew what they were doing - almost as soon
as I was there they'd cuffed my wrists using the arm
holders attached to the front legs, and then they
lifted each of my legs in turn so that I as kneeling
on small platforms attached to each of the back legs.
Leather straps secured my legs to these platforms,
then they cranked something which moved the platforms
upwards and towards the front, so that I was forced to
bend my legs further and I knew my ass was going up
into the air.

"Sir, is the punishment just to the slave's ass, or
the thighs as well?"

"Just the ass, as it's his first real punishment - it
will make him realise that we're serious.  Hitting the
thighs can come later - for now, real punishment of
that magnificent ass will be sufficient."

I lay there completely immobile and wondered what was
going to happen/  It was so humiliating anyway, as
with my legs spread by the "horse" under me and my ass
high in the air, I knew that my ass hole must be
exposed to these men's sight.  No one had ever looked
at me like that before - well, except the occasional
doctor, of course, but that's different, isn't it?
You don't go around exposing your asshole to other men
at all - if you drop the soap in the showers at the
club you kind of bob down to pick it up, and you don't
bend over in front of other guys.

There was a "swish" noise, and my world exploded into
pain.  I tried to turn around and saw that one of the
guards was standing there holding a long, light cane!
He'd hit me with it, on my bare bum!  I couldn't
believe it - men of my age don't get caned, and
especially not by other men.  Wasn't there some
international thing about forbidding cruel and unusual
punishments? They'd even given up caning kids at
school years ago.  And this hurt - it was as if
boiling water had been poured over me.  Even though it
was one stroke, it hurt and hurt - the smarting,
stinging pain was going on and on.

It wasn't just the pain, either, although that was a
problem - it was the growing realisation that these
men would use physical violence against me. I'd
already been slapped, and you know that this was a
complete shock to me;  but now this was far, far worse
- it was calculated, deliberate and premeditated
violence of one man against another, to make a man
submit totally to the will of another.

The Arab, my owner, came and stood by my head and
ruffled his fingers through my hair. I felt sick to
have another man do this to me, as it's one of those
things you normally let your girlfriend do, isn't it?


"That's stroke one, slave.  I have, as you heard,
ordered only four for you as this is your first
offence.  But I recommend you file the pain from each
one away in your memory, so the next time you are
tempted to defy me you will know what waits in store
for you. Unlike some masters, I do not order
punishment like this just for my amusement, to enjoy
seeing strong, young bodies suffer.  But I do not
hesitate to order it at the slightest sign of
disobedience, or when a slave fails in his duties in
any way.  So remember it well, as if you do not curb
your unruly behaviour you will experience it many
times more."

"Now, if I can give you a piece of advice", he went
on, "Do not be stoical about it and try to prevent
yourself from screaming.  You will find it easier to
take the pain if you allow the tension in your body to
dissipate by crying aloud as each blow strikes.
There's no shame in it - we are all men here, so you
are not showing a weakens in front of women.  And we
all know that the punishment hurts, as it is designed
to do.  So let your body's natural mechanism take
over, and as the cane next hits you expel all the
pent-up air in your lungs with a mighty shout to show
that you acknowledge the hurt being done to you."

He nodded to the guards, and there was the dreadful
swishing noise again and the explosion of sharp pain
in my ass.  After the Arab's little lecture I had been
determined not to make a sound - I didn't want him to
have the satisfaction of knowing that I listened to
his advice.  But it was hard, and a great "grunt" came
out from me, as I tried to stifle the natural shout
that I would have done at this violation of my body.

The Arab ruffled my hair again, almost proprietarily,
and looked at me.  He nodded again, the third "swish",
and the third burst of agony for me.  This time I
couldn't help it.  In spite of all my efforts to
remain totally silent, I gave a great shout of
anguish, both at the physical hurt that I was
experiencing and at the horror of what was happening
to me.  I lay there, gasping, and trying to recover my
breath.  I knew that I had broken out in sweat all
over, as I could feel little rivulets of it trickling
across my body, and the room had seemed to go cooler
as it evaporated off my hot body.

"Only one more to go, slave boy", the Arab almost
crooned.  "And this final one will be the one you will
most remember.  The last stroke Is always laid to
cross the others.  If you thought the pain front
striking virgin flesh is bad, when the last stroke
cuts across the places where you are already
suffering, it is doubled and redoubled.  Take this
experience deep within you, and learn from it that you
do not disobey your master."

He nodded, the cane swished through the air, and he
was right!  I've never experienced anything like it -
the hot, stinging violence of the stroke caused all my
nerves to go on fire, and I tried desperately to jerk
my body, to move it, to do anything to try to being
some relief to my tortured ass - but of course I was
strapped down rigidly, and there was no relief
possible.  I really did scream this time - not a
shout, but a scream, deep down from within me.  And I
carried on screaming and shouting as the pain
continued to burn at me.  I only stopped when I
realised it was getting no worse, and that the Arab
and the guards were all looking at me almost as if
they were amused!  I determined not to let the fuckers
see that they had triumphed, and my brain almost
commanded my body to stop, to calm itself.  My heart
was racing, though, and I was sucking in great gasps
of air to my lungs.

The Arab moved slightly, and rested his hand on my
naked bum.  This would have been bad enough at the
best of times, as I would have been totally humiliated
at the thought of a man who claimed he owned me
touching me in this way.   But now his skin felt cool
against the fiery heat where my ass had been hit, and
as he stroked it gently backwards and forwards I hated
it even more - it was as if he was savouring the hurt
he had caused me

He said something in Arabic to the guards, and they
came and released me.  In a very undignified way I
struggled to my feet, and stood there.  I desperately
wanted to massage my bum, to try to stop the shooting
pains that were coursing through it, but made myself
stand still, to avoid giving them the satisfaction of
knowing they had had such a terrible effect on me.

"Now, Jon, before that interruption, you were going to
display the cock head - so 'skin back for me."

Something inside me wanted to say no, to tell him that
I was a man, not a slave, and that men do not do that
in front of other men.  But a calmer voice told me
that this was futile - they held all the cards.  There
were four guards, and probably more on call.  They
could force me down on to the punishment horse again.
They could beat me until my body was destroyed.  Or
they could simply tie me down anyway and examine me in
what ever way they wished.  I decided I would try to
conserve my strength, and wait until there seemed to
be some chance of really winning before taking them
on.

I reached down and cradled my cock in the palm of my
hand, then used my thumb to tease back my 'skin.  I
felt myself blushing all over as I did this, standing
there totally naked in front of the five men.  I'd
never felt so alone, so small and insignificant, as I
exposed myself to their leering eyes.

My moist, pink cock head lay there as it had so many
times before, but never like this.  The Arab peered at
it, and said quietly, as if he was certain he would be
obeyed "Good, slave.  Although I routinely have my
slaves 'skinned, I think I will keep yours for a month
or so and reassess the situation later.  It makes a
pleasant change to see a head so wonderfully moist
when it comes out - and your 'skin is not unsightly as
it does not droop over the end of your cock when at
rest.  Now, I wish to see you erect.  Make your
manhood firm and hard for me, so that I can see the
full perfection of your cock when it is ready for
action."

Again, something inside me was shrieking "No, no, men
don't do this.  You're not a fag, displaying your
erection to other men.  Only your girlfriend should
experience this sight....". And the other voice was
saying again "You can't win now.  Wait until later.
You have erections all the time.  Just forget these
men are here, and allow nature to take its course."

But nature wouldn't take its course - I simply
couldn't get an erection by thinking about it.  I
started to stroke my cock, teasing it into life.  I
closed my eyes to blot out the room and the sight of
the other men watching me, and thought about the last
woman I had had in bed, and how my cock had slipped
into her silky cunt....  The nerves in my hand told me
it was working as my cock stirred into life, and soon
my it was sticking rampantly into the air.

"Excellent, slave!  I particularly like the way you
have a most pronounced flange around the head, causing
such a sharp differentiation from the shaft.  And,
even though your cock is so much above average in
size, its erection is so hard and firm that it is
thrusting well above the horizontal - not all men can
manage that!"

My blushes went deeper and deeper, and I felt that my
face must almost be scarlet.   Having my erection
commented on as if it was some sort of exhibit in a
show was even worse than having to expose myself to
these men in the first instance.  What was next, I
wondered?

"Before I tell you about arrangements for your life,
slave, I think I would like to see more of your cock
in action.  Stroke it so that I may watch it produce
semen."

This was too much!  Wanking in front of another guy,
and shooting a load.  Absolutely I was not going to do
this!

"No... Master... No.  I am not going to do this.  I
don't wank myself in front...."

"SILENCE, slave, unless you want a further, more
extreme, beating.  I think you have forgotten that you
are a lave, and I am your owner.  Slaves obey their
owner's every command, or the punishment will be swift
and severe.  However as this is your first day as a
slave, I will be lenient and allow you to reconsider
your previous ill-advised position."

"Consider this", he went on. "In your former life you
may not have revealed your cock head to other men by
'skinning back your foreskin, you might not have shown
other men your erect cock, and you might not have
stimulated your cock to the point at which you shoot
your semen.  But all this is now changed - it is not
your 'skin any longer, or your cock, or your semen:
it is mine.  I am your owner.  I have bought you from
your captors, and I own every part of you - your
'skin, your cock head, your cock itself, your
balls..... And if I wish to inspect MY cock head, and
have MY cock produce a sample of MY semen, then I
will. A slave no longer owns his body, he no longer
has control of what it is used for, or how it is used.
 Your owner now has this control, and can make you do
these things.  I can, if  I choose, cause the most
terrible damage to 'my' body until the wilful, unruly
brain that controls it realises that it must conform,
must obey, must utterly supplicate itself to the
commands of its owner."

"Now, slave, I will give you another chance.  Produce
me a sample of semen, or take the consequences."

Oh, fuck me, what was I going to do?  I didn't doubt
that he would carry out his threat to do me severe
damage - a man like the Arab, having made that threat
in front of the guards, could never back down, could
he?  I didn't want to get hurt - it wasn't the pain
that was the problem, but the thought that my body
might be terribly damaged.  And I wanted out from
here, I wanted to get back to a "normal" life.  And to
do that I needed to preserve the integrity of my body
- I didn't want to end up as a disfigured, ugly
cripple or anything.

I felt my body almost slump as my posture drooped with
the shame and embarrassment, and my head hung low so
that I did not have to have eye contact with the five
men watching me.  I slid my hand along my cock and
back, enjoying, in spite of the circumstances, the
little frissons of excitement as my thumb and
forefinger banged into the flange of my cock head.  My
already stiff cock reacted, and I felt that weakness
behind my knees that you get when you try to wank
standing up - somehow you always want to thrust your
hips forward, and that puts that peculiar little
sensation at the knew joints.  I beat away, trying to
think sexy thoughts, and attempting to put the
"audience" out of my mind - Jesus fucking Christ, how
could porn stars do it with audiences of hundreds
watching them?

But there's a point where your brain drops out, isn't
there, and those older mechanisms that drive the body
take control. As I continued to beat at myself and my
cock went harder and harder, my fingers started to
slide more and more easily as pre-cum leaked out of me
and got spread on my fingers and my shaft.  Now I was
beating hard and fast, deliberately cupping my thumb
and forefinger tightly together, so that fantastic
sensations ran through me as my meaty flange was
buffeted by them on each stroke.  And then it was all
over - I felt my balls contract, and the hot sensation
as a huge measure of cum shot along my dick and rocket
across the room to lie gleaming wetly on the floor.
Involuntarily I let out a couple of deep grunts as I
shot - those noises that again come from somewhere
deep inside you, produced by a more primitive
mechanism than your "civilised" brain.

I'm usually very sensitive as soon as I shoot, and I
just have to stop wanking myself or else the sensation
that runs through me is just so unpleasant - or do I
mean painful - or do I mean intensely exciting and
pleasurable?  I don't know.... Anyway, I always stop
wanking as soon as I shoot, and the "After shocks"
then occur naturally.  There were four of them, and I
was acutely aware that, to the watching men, I must
seem to be really enjoying this:  my pelvis was thrust
forward, my eyes were closed, I was covered with a
light sheen of sweat, and my breathing was all ragged
and deep.

Gradually my body's reactions calmed, and my cock
started to become flaccid.  Now I had another problem
- a big slime of my cum was hanging from my cock head,
not wanting to let go.  What was I going to do about
it?  No tissue, no boxers to wipe it off with... Oh,
fuck me, they were all looking at it.

"Excellent, slave.  A most satisfactory specimen.
High volume, and extreme pressure of expulsion.  You
will be a fitting addition to my other slaves when I
choose to show off your masculinity and sexuality to
my guests.  Now, clean that slick from your cock, and
listen carefully to what I am going to tell you about
your life as my slave here on my estate."

Clean it with what?  What should I do?  The Arab - my
owner, I suppose - looked as if he was waiting for me.

"Please, master, please..."

"You may speak, slave."

"Please, master, please... How shall I clean myself? I
have no tissue, no...."

"Stupid slave!  Simply pretend it's a dribble of snot
falling from your nose, and wipe it away with your
fingers!"

Well, apart from the fact that I didn't routinely blow
my nose with my fingers anyway, I'd never really dealt
with my cum like this - I guess I'm quite a fastidious
bloke, and I always kept a box of tissues by the die
of my bed, or used my boxer shorts, or something.
Still, either  I had to do as he'd said, or stand
there and let the stuff drip off naturally.  Doing
something about it seemed like the least worst option.

I kind of "scissored" the drool of cum between my
fingers, and shook them, so that it fell to the floor.
 My fingers, already slimy from my leaking pre-cum,
were now even more sticky.  I rubbed them against each
other, trying to make it go away.

"In future, slave, do not spill your seed on to my
floors!", my owner said. "It is the rule here that
slaves catch their seed in their palms and dispose of
it by licking it from there and swallowing it.."

"No, master, no... I couldn't...."

"SALVE!  Have you learned nothing yet?  You will obey,
or you will be punished.  There's nothing wrong with
eating human seed, as it's a perfectly natural,
perfectly wholesome substance.  I allowed your
ejaculate to shoot across the floor on this occasion
as I wished to examine the force of your expulsion of
it.  But in future, if you are masturbating yourself,
you will always catch your seed and dispose of it
neatly by eating it.  If you are masturbating another
slave, you will listen attentively to the orders from
the guard or overseer - sometimes you will catch it in
your mouth and dispose of it directly, and sometimes
the masturbated slave will catch it himself and
dispose of it.  Is that understood?"

Was it understood?  Well, the words made sense!  They
were English words, in proper sentences.  But
"understood"?  Surely I was never going to have to
masturbate another man, and then.... Swallow his cum!
No, I couldn't do it.  Surely there was something
wrong.  I must have misunderstood.

"No, master, no..."

"Are you defying me?"

"No, master, no... It's just that I didn't understand.
 I thought you said that when I masturbated another
slave...."

"I did.  In general, you will in future never
masturbate yourself.  I like the slaves on my estate
to be happy and to work properly with their fellows.
You will live with a work group of fellow slaves, and
in order to ensure that you all bond together and to
encourage good comradeship, all the slaves in such a
group are forbidden to masturbate themselves.  When
you require sexual relief, it is to be provided by one
of your fellow slaves.  And, similarly, when one of
your fellows needs masturbating, you, or one of his
other fellow slaves, must do it.   I have found that
over the years the need to wank - as you call it -
together like that is an invaluable aid in encouraging
proper group working: slaves who wank each other find
it much easier to form part of a real group to tackle
all the assignments that you will be given here on the
estate."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing!  It sounded
like modern management gobbledegook carried to
ridiculous lengths.  Sure, at the office they were
always going on about work groups and bonding, but
having blokes wank each other to encourage it - it
sounded insane.

"Master, please, master... I don't go with other men.
I've got a girl friend... I hardly ever masturbate
myself now, and certainly I don't do it to other
men..."

The Arab just laughed.   "Look, Jon, you still have
not adjusted, have you?  You are saying things like 'I
have a girl friend...  I do not do it to other
men....'.  You need to understand that all  that was
in your old life, your life as a free man, when you
had choices to make and you made those choices.  Since
I contracted to have you taken and enslaved, all that
is gone.  You no longer have choices.  You no longer
make decisions. You no longer have a girl friend.  You
will have sex with other men, as I say that you will."

"I am being generous", he went on, "In taking the time
to explain all this to you as I like my slaves to
settle in quickly.  I do not want to have to punish
you endlessly, each time making it more and more
severe - it's a waste of the time of my guards, and
there's the risk of causing permanent damage to what
is a very expensive asset.  So understand this:  you
are now a slave, and you do as I command.  I have
decided that I have groups of male slaves working
together, and that the slaves in these groups will
work closely and harmoniously.  To do this, they need
to bond together as men, and this is done in several
ways.  Firstly, the group is treated as a whole when
it comes to punishments:  if one member of the group
transgresses my rules, or fails to obey an order from
a guard, the whole group is punished.  You have
experienced a light caning already - we find that
slaves do not wish to inflict that on their fellows
(or, at least, their fellows are so displeased at a
slave who does, that they ensure he behaves in
future!)".

Secondly, slaves in a group have no secrets from each
other:  you work naked, you live together naked, and
there is absolutely no privacy.  Every movement of
your body is totally visible to your fellow slaves.
You work with them, eat with them, defecate with them,
sleep with them.  There are no doors, no screens,
nothing:  your naked body and the naked bodies of your
fellows always visible, always together.  And thirdly,
you do the most intimate things that men can do
together with your fellows:  you masturbate them and
they masturbate you, as a minimum.  That's the only
way you can get sexual relief, and after a few days,
when your cock is constantly erect and your balls ache
from the stored semen, you will have to find a fellow
slave to masturbate you."

"That is the only rule  I make for my slaves.  But, of
course, many of you choose to take sex further:
Within your work group you may decide to have any
other form of sex that you like - I do not mind if you
suck the other slaves to bring them to climax, or if
you fuck them, or they fuck you.  It makes it much
easier, of course, if you do all mutually enjoy the
pleasures of the male body like this, as when the
group is called on to perform a display for the
amusement and entertainment of my guests, it's so much
more 'natural' if the slaves are used to each others
bodies than if they just do it occasionally.  So you
are wrong to say 'I do not go with men...'  What you
mean is "I used not to do it with men, but I now do
that which my fellow slaves want'."

"No, please master, no.... You can't mean this..."

"Oh yes, slave.  This is your life from now on.  I
have around a hundred slaves on this estate divided
into seven work groups, each of which specialises in a
particular task - tilling the fields, pumping the
water, in use as carriage and draft animals, and so
on.  You are destined for a group of eight slaves
whose function is to do hard, manual labour- the type
of random, occasional work that arises on a large
estate for which there is no specialised group of
slaves.  So when new ditches need to be dug, walls are
to be built, or trees are to be cut down, you and your
fellows do it. And, of course, at other times you may
help out specialised groups when there is a sudden
surge in demand - helping the field slaves get in the
harvest, or adding additional power to the pumps for
irrigation at planting time, for example."

"But you have a dual role, actually.  Of course the
work needs to be done, and, in doing it, you maintain
and enhance that superb body that I now own.  But you
are also here to provide pleasure to me and my guests
- it gratifies me to see strong, virile men bent to my
will, toiling away at hard physical tasks, tasks that,
in your effete Western world, would be done my
machines.  You will did ditches manually, whereas in
your former country a mechanical digger would be used.
 When you assist with the water pumping, you will step
the treadmill for twelve hours, as we like to watch
men sweat away at this task rather that simply turn on
an electric pump.  What more splendid sight is there
than to see glorious, handsome, healthy men working
away at completely futile activities because they are
slaves, and their owner has decreed that they are to
waste their lives in idle toil?"

"A slave on this estate is rather like an animal - an
expensive, superior animal perhaps, but an animal
never the less.  You do not have original thoughts.
You do not read books, or watch TV.  You do not wear
clothes.  You decide nothing.  Instead, we feed you,
house you in suitable conditions that are adequate for
the healthy living of naked animals, and make you work
at hard, physical tasks, just as a draft animal would.
 Think of yourself as a heavy work horse on a farm at
the end of the nineteenth century:  a superb physical
specimen, naked of course as animals are not clothed,
housed in a stable, well fed, and well treated
provided it continued to work hard.  Keep that
analogue in your mind, and you will  find your life as
a salve much easier."

"Of course it's much easier for an owner to have
slaves to work for him than mere animals, as we know
you have the power of language and you can understand
orders.  All we have to do is ensure you obey those
orders - you do not require the long, slow,
painstaking training that an animal would.  We can
command, and you will obey.  And if you do not, we
know it is because you are wilful and disobedient,
rather than that you have misunderstood.  So
punishment can be swift, and sure."

"Now, let me tell you what is going to happen to you
next."  I noticed he gave me no opportunity to reply,
or comment.  And I was so amazed at what I'd heard,
that I could hardly frame coherent questions anyway.
It all sounded so bizarre, and yet so logical, that I
thought it was quite like one of those TV shows where
they fool the people - I kept expecting a presenter to
pop out saying "Surprise...".  But then even the TV
shows you see from Japan don't get men wanking
themselves, do they?

He continued "You will be caged tonight as I do not
like introducing you into a team until you have worked
with them all day.  That will give the weals on your
ass time to go down - although all your fellow slaves
will have experienced caning when they arrive, as none
of you truly believe in your new situation until it is
brought home to you in this very tangible way.
Tomorrow morning you will get the proper slave trim,
we will give you sun block until your body is properly
tanned all over and can stand the sun, and then you
will spend the day working with your new crew.
Tomorrow night, you will be taken back with them to
the slave quarters for the night, and that's how you
will spend every other day for the rest of your life."

I wanted to say so much, to ask so much, but he
snapped

"Guards!  Enough!  Take this away and cage him
tonight.  Ensure he is fed."


End Of Part 3