Date: Wed, 8 Mar 2006 03:01:36 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dray Slave, Part 2

DRAY SLAVE

By Pete Brown.   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Two

I didn't like having to crap communally!  Well, in the
barracks it's communal showers and shitters and
everything, but even though they don't put  doors on
the cubicles, there are separating panels so you can't
see the guy in the next stall when you're on the
crapper, and it is a proper lavatory bowl that you can
sit on.  But here it wasn't like that at all - the
young guy, Steve, and the older guy, Jon, and a couple
of guards with their slave prods at the ready drove us
to a place where there was a mesh grill on the floor,
and we had to crouch down, two by two, side by side,
and crap there, with all the other guys watching us.
And if we said we didn't want to do it, they made us
crouch down anyway and we were warned that we wouldn't
have a chance later on.    It was really gross - you
could smell the sewers underneath the grill as you
crouched there, and it was pretty cramped so my
shoulders were rubbing against my buddy's as we
strained away.  It made me  think we were more like
animals than men, being made to do our business in
such terrible circumstances, and not even given a
proper bowl to do it in.

Still, after that we did get a shower to clean us up a
bit, and that was good after spending so much time
sweaty and dirty, although we weren't allowed to shave
or clean our teeth or anything.  One of the guys asked
 if we were going to get our breakfast now, but one of
the guards told him to shut up as "slaves get fed when
their masters decided to feed them" and that we
"shouldn't expect three meals a day as if we were free
men" any longer.  So that was that!  My belly was
rumbling with hunger as big fit men like me need a lot
of fuel to keep going, but what could we all do when
we were naked, and the guards held all the cards?

They herded us along and into some sort of big room,
and there was a set of parallel horizontal bars there,
just wide enough apart for a guy to get between them,
and we were lined up and told to enter.  On each side
one bar was basically just under my armpit and I was
told to have my arms outside, another was at waist
level, and the third at mid-thigh.  I stood there
behind another guy, and there was someone behind me,
and we kept a proper distance apart - until the guy
behind me started to push forward.   I had no
alternative then but to move forward too, and the guy
in front of  me did the same when I gently nudged his
back.  But they were evidently pushing the last of us
as far forward as he could go, as we all got closer
and closer, until we were touching!   Look, you get
used to feeling another soldier against you when
you're doing exercises in trench fighting and  so on
and you're all lying there close together, but you've
got all your fatigues and stuff on then.  Now we were
totally bare-assed, remember, and I've never really
felt another guy's skin against me like that - well,
maybe when we've wrestled or something, but not all
his skin in contact with all of mine right down my
back and butt and thighs and everything, and with my
chest pushing into the back of the guy in front of me!
 I could feel the hairy chest of the guy behind me
against my back and his pubes brushing against my
butt, and I knew the guy in front of me must be
feeling the same.  It was so fucking humiliating, and
we all broke out into a sweat as we stood there, and
that made it worse as we were kind of slithering and
sliding against each other, rather like you do when
you've had a really energetic session in bed!  Just
thinking about that made my dick start to go hard, and
I was terrified - I was so close to the guy in front
of me that my dick was almost resting in his ass crack
anyway, an now, as it stiffened, I knew he must be
feeling it pushing at him!  A moment later I knew I
wasn't the only one in the same position, though, as I
felt the dick of the guy behind me starting to push at
my butt, and I kind of wriggled a bit to try and ease
the problem for him - but that of course made my dick
slide in the crack o f the guy in front.

All three of us gave a kind of nervous laugh and
whispered apologies to each other -  well, we all knew
we weren't fags, didn't we, and we joked about it,
even, saying that this would be what some guys dreamed
about.  But it's not all that funny,  I can tell you,
being held there between two of your buddies, with a
dick pressing at your butt and with yours doing the
same at another.

I saw then what these bar things were for - packed in
closely like that, sandwiched between two other guys,
you couldn't move.  And so the guards could all relax
as they didn't have to monitor us all so very, very
closely.  Instead, they could really concentrate on
the guy they took from the front of the thing - watch
him as he was "worked on", and then put him back into
it at the rear so we all moved up.  You know how line
discipline has broken down a bit these days and people
rush to get on buses and stuff when they pull in to a
stop, well these bar things are the complete answer to
that - it's just impossible to get out of line!

One of the guys in the waiting line started  to shout
out that they should release him, as  he was  a
Southerner, just like them.  The Jon guy came over,
and our "buddy" said "Sir, I'm a Southerner, just like
you, sir.  My folks have a farm in Arkansas...."

"Well you shouldn't have been in the Northern army
then, boy.  You should have known better than to
attack your own folk."

"I couldn't help it, sir.... A lot of guys in our town
joined the forces ,as there wasn't anything else to do
around there except farm.  And we were  based near
Chicago when the war broke out...."

"You should have refused to fight.  You should have
known it was wrong to attack your fellow
Southerners..."

"What could we do, sir?  There were several guys like
me in out unit!  You can't disobey the orders of your
officers, can you, sir? "

"Yes, you an.  Especially when they tell you to attack
your own folk. "

"Sir, please,  just call my folks...."

"It's too late for that.  You did a wrong thing, a
very wrong thing, and now you're a slave and there's
no going back."

I was second in line, and when the guards opened the
front of the thing to take away number one, I was now
pressed against a bar at the front - the air felt cool
against my sweating skin. And paradoxically, now it
was "free" and not constrained by a butt in front of
it, my dick now just went limp, thank god!   I saw the
first guy being brought back and pushed into the back
of the thing we were held in, and then it was my turn.
 The guards, prods at the ready, led me across the
yard and into what was clearly a blacksmith's shop:
there was this huge guy there - with very muscular
arms, wearing a leather apron thing from his chest
down to his feet.    He gestured at me to come forward
to where he was standing by an anvil, and the guards
barked at me to kneel.

There was a depression in the anvil and I was told to
put my neck in it, and the big guy in the apron came
and felt my neck, as if he was sizing it for
something- which, it turned out, he was.    He walked
over to a heap of metal and rooted around in it a bit,
and as he did I saw that underneath the apron he was
totally naked, as his massive butt and thighs were
clearly visible.  He came back and slipped a heavy
piece of metal under my neck as I knelt there, then
pushed my neck down, got the biggest pair of
pincer-things I've ever seen, with very long handles,
put the open jaws around the metal, and started to
squeeze the handles.  I saw then why he was so
muscular, as he strained to get the thing to close up,
folding the metal around my neck as it did so.

"OK, boy, that's got you nice and snug in your
collar", he said to me.  "Now just kneel there whilst
I get the rivet, to make sure that you can't undo it".
 I knelt there - well, what else could I do -  feeling
the cold metal against my warm skin, as he went over
to the forge.  He used a wheel which powered a blower
that caused sparks to fly up from the hearth as he
fanned the flames to a white heat, and then put
something into them, held at the end of a long pair of
tongs.  After a couple of minutes he came back over to
me with the tongs holding a rivet, that was glowing
cherry red from the hearth.

He flung a piece of wet sack across my shoulders - the
unexpectedness of it made me cry out, and he said
"Stay still, boy.  The cloth is just to keep the
sparks off you...."

There was an absolutely ear-shattering noise then for
a couple of minutes as he put the red hot rivet
through my collar, and hammered it flat with a big
hammer, before throwing a cup of water over it to cool
it down.    The guard motioned to me to stand up then,
and as I did so I felt for the first time the weight
of my collar - a couple of pounds, I suppose.  It
pressed down on my shoulders, feeling cold, but it
wasn't just the physical weight of it that was the
problem:  no, it was the oppressive thought that now
this collar was going to press down on me for ever,
that I was now no longer a free man, but was wearing a
badge of servitude, something that would for ever mark
me down as something different - this was truly the
start of my road to enslavement.  What was worse,
though, was that as I stood there the big blacksmith
guy simply reached out and yanked my dog-tags off from
around my neck, and just tossed them into a bin of
what looked like "scrap".   I started to protest, but
he whispered "Keep quiet, boy, or the guard will prod
you!", and I saw that in his own way he was as
helpless as I was:  he might not want to collar other
guys like me, but as a slave himself he had no choice.
 "I see a lot of guys like you", he went on, looking
nervously at the guard.  "They still think of
themselves as soldiers, until they get their collar.
And when they lose their dog-tags, they start to
really understand that they're no longer fighting men.
 And it gets worse, but hang in there and don't do
anything stupid - you can't fight the system!"

I wondered what he meant but had no time to ask as the
guard came over to take me back to be put into the
"holding line" and once more was pressed against the
guy in front of me- who like me was now collared with
a heavy iron collar - and now we waited, shuffling
forward every now and then, as, in turn, all of us
were taken and collared in the same way.  I counted
the nine of us, as we moved and halted, and it was
pretty boring really, as we weren't allowed to talk or
anything:  if we went to speak, one of the guards came
over and threatened us with the prod.

When we'd all been done, they started on the next
process, but this was easier, I suppose:  one by one
we were pulled form the front of the "line", and then,
closely watched by a guard to make sure we didn't
move, we were sat on a stool that a slave brought in
(well, it was obvious he was a slave, even though he
didn't speak, as he was collared and naked!).  This
guy really knew what he was doing, just like the
barbers at the base:  he had electric clippers that he
ran over my head again - I've always had a pretty
standard marines crew cut and now this was reduced
back to its  "proper" height as it had got a bit long
during the fighting.  But as the two men in charge
,Steve and Joe, watched, I was told to raise my arms
above my head, and the slave ran the clippers down and
got rid of all my pit hair!  Told to stand up, the
slave knelt in front of me and I heard the snick,
snick, snick of the clippers in action as he clipped
away at my pubes!  I hated it as the slave moved my
dick from side to side, and my balls, as he worked:
no guy had ever handled me down there before. And I
could feel the cold steel of the implement against my
sensitive skin down there, but what could I do?
Nothing!

As I was pushed back towards the end of the line I
reached down and found that they'd clipped away most
of my pubes - I had a big, thick really manly patch -
and what was left seemed to be shorter.  Later that
night, when we had other things to worry about as I'll
tell you - we saw that they'd done the same to all of
us:  our dicks were now all so much more prominent as
they emerged from just an inch or so of pubes, and the
patch was itself  only a couple of inches around and
above our dicks.

We stood there then, and I heard Jon, the older guy in
charge, that he and Steve, the younger one, should go
off and get lunch as "the afternoon was upsetting".
We hadn't had breakfast, remember, and one of us
called out asking to be fed, only to be told to shut
the fuck up by the guard as "We'd get fed when they
were good and ready, and not before."

So we stood there, waiting, and waiting, and I began
to realise what it was like to lose control over even
the simplest parts of my life.  They'd collared me and
cut my body hair, and there was not one thing I could
do about it.  And now I couldn't even go off and get a
snack, or a drink, or anything:  I was totally under
their control, and had lost any freedom of action.  I
couldn't even stop myself from pushing my dick up a
buddy's butt crack, as they'd taken away even this
part of my freedom to act by keeping us pressed naked,
so humiliatingly close to each other.

When Jon and Steve came back from their lunch, Jon
said something to Steve and he started to go down the
line of us with a piece of apparatus that looked a bit
like a garden spray:  a tank on his back, and a hose
and wand.  When he got to me he offered a plastic
nozzle towards my mouth, and he said, not unkindly,
"Open up - it's just water..."

"Well, actually, I didn't want to drink."

I said this as I hadn't pissed since the morning - I
don't want you to think I've got a weak bladder or
anything, but I always think it's best not to take
risks.  Steve was about to move on, when the older
guy, Jon, said to him "You're their master, Steve!
They need to drink, if they're going to work hard.
But more importantly, if you give them an order,
they'd better obey you!  Now, tell the slave to get
his fucking mouth open, and if he disobeys, use your
prod on him!  The sooner these men learn that slaves
obey masters' orders completely and immediately, the
better it is for them."

"Open up, boy", Steve then said quietly to me, and I
could see that he hadn't liked the "lesson" from the
older guy, as he was blushing slightly as if with
suppressed anger.  Well, I decided that not drinking
wasn't enough to make a fight over, especially a
fight, I couldn't win, so I opened my mouth and Steve
put the plastic nozzle in and my mouth started to fill
wit h water, which I swallowed.

We all continued to stand there after that, but to my
horror,  I felt something warm against my butt, and a
strange sensation in my legs.  It took me a few
moments before I realised what was happening - the guy
behind me was pissing, and his piss was running down
the inside of my thighs and all down my legs.  I
turned around as best  I could, and started to shout
at him telling him we has a fucking dirty cunt, doing
that to me!  He whined back that he couldn't help it,
but all this bought the guard over and he stabbed at
me with the prod:  he must have had it on low as it
made me scream and spasm a bit but not fall to the
ground or anything, although it made me lose control
of my already straining bladder.  Now, to my horror, I
was drenching the guy in front of my with my piss -
and you know how it is:  once you've started,  you
can't stop, can you?

I wish the utter humiliation of being pissed on, and
pissing on another guy, was the worst thing that
happened to us all that afternoon.  But as we watched,
slaves dragged in some sort of frame thing, that
looked rather like a saw horse, but made of metal,
with a lot of straps hanging from it.  There was also
a small brazier full of burning coals, and the first
of us was taken from the front of our line, moved over
to the saw horse thing and strapped down on his belly,
and there was a lot of fussing around tightening the
straps around his waist and on his thighs and so on,
so he was utterly immobile.

At first we thought it couldn't be true:  we watched
in horror as an iron instrument was heated up in the
burning coals, and then the man Jon went over and
pressed the end of it against the guy's butt as he lay
there helpless!

There was a terrible, scream from him a scream the
like of which I've never heard before, and the smell
of searing meat filled the room.  We saw his body jerk
reflexively and then thrash around helplessly ( the
bindings seemed to be really secure).  There was
another smell then - the guy's bowels had let go, and
there was shit crawling down his thighs as he was held
there.

His ordeal wasn't over then, even:  as the poor guy
lay there, sobbing and moaning, the guards grabbed his
right arm and strapped it down onto the front of the
saw horse, right in front of his face.  And we all
began to shout and call them perverts and  sadists as
Jon picked up another of the instruments from the fire
- smaller this time, and simply pushed it  down on to
the back of the hand of the helpless guy.

The slaves busied themselves then washing the guy's
legs to get rid of the shit and sluicing some water
over the floor to try to clean it, and then he was
released, and he half staggered,  and he  was half
dragged, to the back of our line.

So I knew what was going to happen to me, but knowing
it didn't make it any better.  I got to the front, and
knew it was my turn next.  And knew there was not one
fucking thing I could do about it to stop myself being
subjected to the agonies that I'd seen the others go
through. I ran through a whole lot of mantras in my
head to control my rising panic and remain calm. I
tried to be brave as  the guards marched me across to
the horse, but when I got there my courage almost
failed me as I saw the sweat all over it from the
other guy, and smelled that dreadful smell  of  shit
and charred mean hovering around.  I felt the straps
pulling tight around my waist and my chest, and then
the individual ones around my thighs, and as I turned
my head I saw that I was going to be branded by Steve,
not Jon, as he was advancing towards me with the red
hot iron from the flames.

Even though I was prepared for it, I was not prepared
for it.  When the iron touched my butt there was a
fleeting instant when I didn't believe it.  And then
the pain struck.  A pain, an agony, the like of which
I have never known before.  My whole body jerked and
spasmed trying to get away from it, doing all the
things that millions  of years of evolution have
taught us:  if your body is being damaged, get away
from the source.  But strapped down helplessly, you
can't.   I heard screams, terrible, throat-tearing
screams, and knew they must be my own.    They do say
that when you're in terrible pain it only lasts a
short time before the brain turns it off.  Well, I
guess it depends on what you mean by "as short time",
as time seemed to stretch out almost endlessly for me
as the searing, throbbing sensation pulsed through
every fibre of my body.

I was too weak to really resist the guard as he pulled
my arm up to strap it down - and all I could do was
lie there, whimpering, as a strap was fastened around
my wrist  and another at my elbow, and then three
smaller ones to hold my thumb, two fingers, and the
other two fingers, tightly down.  It was worse to be
able to see the hot iron approaching,  I told myself
to be brave, to be stoical, and that it would all be
over soon, but it made no difference.  I could see
Steve looking a little worried as the pushed the iron
down onto the back of my hand, but then my nose filled
with the smell of my own skin charring and once more I
let rip with one of those huge primitive screams of
pain and outrage.

I suppose I was only aware that I'd shit myself when I
felt the cold water sluicing over my butt and legs as
the slaves cleaned me up, and   then they undid me and
"helped" me back into the line, where I stood,
whimpering quietly, as the remainder of my buddies
were done.


They did show us some compassion, though, as once we'd
all been done, they took us out of the crush, one by
one, and the slaves rubbed some sort of salve into the
wounds on our butts and hands - it smelled vaguely
"antiseptic, like hospitals, so I suppose they were
worried about infection and stuff.  But it must also
have been analgesic as the really terrible stinging
hurt dulled a bit, so that it was just an aching,
background kind of throb.

I wondered at the time why they couldn't have given us
a pain killer or something before searing our flesh,
but I suppose the point is that they wanted us to
remember it:  well, if that was their objective, it
certainly worked as  I'll go to my grave remembering
how the slave brand was marked absolutely indelibly
into me.

It didn't matter that they didn't feed us then, as
none of us could have eaten, I think,  We  were taken
back to our overnight "cage", probably too feeble and
weak to put up a fight even if we hadn't been closely
guarded.  And then when the door was banged shut, we
almost did not have the energy to shuffle around and
find a free space where we would not be touching each
other.  As we lay there on our bellies, I could see
the horrible blisters and marks on my buddies' butts
and knew my own must look the same - and, in any case,
the back of my hand was pretty awful with a dark, dark
red sore that was weeping fluid almost continuously.

As we lay there I heard one of my buddies muttering,
as if to himself, "That's it.  I really am a fucking
slave now.  I might have been able to get rid of this
fucking collar one day, but now they've marked me
permanently - there's no way brands like this can ever
be removed.  I'm a slave, and everyone can see it."

The next morning, after a very fitful night when most
of us didn't sleep all that much, we were all not in a
very good state.  We were tired and exhausted, still
in pain, and, of course, hungry as we hadn't been fed
the day before at all..

Steve and Jon and a couple of guards were there, and
they opened the cage door and told one of us to come
out - as it so happened, it was me - and Steve said
"Kneel, slave! "

I wondered what the fuck he meant, but the sight of
the guard's prod was enough to make me do as he said,
and I knelt there with the stone of the floor cold and
uncomfortable on my knees.  Look, you don't have much
experience of this kind of thing, do you?  I mean, you
usually only kneel in church, if you go to church, and
I don't.  So you don't really know how to do it.

"Knees apart, feet together, boy!", Jon snapped. " And
then straight back, with your butt resting on your
heels.  And hands behind your back, on top of your
butt.  That's what you do when you're told to kneel!"

I shuffled around a bit and did as he'd said, and
Steve came up to me with another plastic spout, rather
like the one he'd used the day before to give me water
when in the waiting line.  "Open wide!", he told me.
"It's breakfast time!"

Numbed with exhaustion and the sheer shock of being
naked and a slave, I suppose I was not my usual self,
and just did as he was told.  I felt Steve's hand on
the back of my head as he held me there and he
inserted the nozzle thing in my mouth, and then
something spewed into my mouth, and almost straight
down my throat!  I almost gagged, but then it was over
and the nozzle was pulled out of me, I was told to go
back into the cage an the next guy was called out.

They'd fed three of us like this, when the fourth guy
- who'd I got marked down as someone to watch out for,
as he was the typical sort of big bully guy that every
barracks seems to get inflicted with - you know the
type, the one who's always right, who always seems to
want to pick a fight, even with his buddies, to always
have the last word.  He knelt there, and when Steve
told him to open his mouth - and he must have been
aware of how it was done, from watching me and the
others - he snarled "No fucking way!  I'm not a goose,
to be fattened", and reached out to take the thing out
of Steve's hand.

Steve slapped him across the face.  I thought it was
pretty fucking stupid, as you don't mess with a bully
like that unless you're really serious, do you?  The
guy leapt to his feet and lashed out at Jon who had
gone to assist Steve, and it looked as if there might
be a real fight, before the guy was felled by the
simple expedient of the guard touching him with the
slave prod.

They locked the other eight of us in our cage then as
the guards summoned slaves, who in turn brought in one
of the frame things we'd been bound to the previous
day when we were being branded.    As we watched, the
big guy was dragged to his feet and securely strapped
down, this time with his legs spread really wide apart
and with straps around his ankles and thighs.  They
positioned him so that his ass was towards us, and Jon
even supervised them doing this, as it seemed they
wanted us to have a good view.

The slave was a big guy, as I've said, as those
"bully" types so often are.  And this size extended to
his dick and his balls, which we could all see hanging
there down between his outspread thighs.  We watched
as Jon came up to him holding  something that looked
like a pair of pliers with four jaws instead of two,
then took a black rubber ring from his pocket, slipped
it over the jaws, and pulled the handles to open it so
that they stretched wide - it must have been strong
rubber, as Jon seemed to need a lot of force to make
it stretch.  He knelt beside our guy, and put the open
jaws of the pliers around the guy's nuts, and pulled
at them to get his nuts right down through the
stretched ring - the guy was shouting out and calling
him a fucking pervert and telling him o leave his
balls alone - and then let go of the handles, so that
the ring slipped off the jaws and at once tightened
around the root of the guy's nut sack!

His cursing at once turned into an agonising shriek,
and then to shouting and pleading for the pain to
stop.  But Jon said something to Steve, and they and
the guards just walked off.

All eight of us in the cage clustered around the gate,
our own hurting bodies almost forgotten - as we
watched the guy thrash around futilely trying to get
free.  We could see his big balls, now with the ring
around their base - and the Southerner, the farm boy,
said "Oh fuck!  That's a rubber-ring pig castrator
they've used on him.  My pa uses them all the time on
our hogs! The ring cuts off the blood supply to the
nuts.... So they die!  They're castrating him!"

The guy on the frame was screaming and shouting "No,
please... No....", now, but we were all helpless to do
anything about it, just as he was helpless to help
himself.  We had to stand there and watch as his balls
turned at first read, and then a deathly pale colour.

I don't know how long it was before Steve and Jon and
the guards came back, but it must have been at least
two hours, I guess (you lose the ability to know time
exactly when they've taken your watch off you and
there's no clocks around).  Jon came up to the gate
and addressed us. "See this slave, and remember!  He
dared to hit out at a master, and he's lucky still to
be alive.  Normally, the penalty for striking a free
man is death... But we've decided to be merciful.
This slave is now a eunuch, and in a couple of weeks
time, when the male hormones have flushed out of his
system, he'll be much quieter, and sold on.  He'll
never do a 'proper' manly slave's job, as all of you
will, but will end up as some 'toy' of a rich man or
woman, perhaps .... Now, watch and learn:  we treat
our slaves well here, and with a master like Steve,
you can have a good life.  But one failure, one
breaking of the proper rules like this, and we won't
hesitate to castrate you, or execute you.  Remember,
slaves obey their masters and never, never, even think
about using physical violence to them!"


They took us out of the cage then and made us walk
past our doomed colleague and back into the "waiting
line" thing from the day before.  Needless to say, we
were pretty subdued and didn't offer any resistance or
even argue.

One by one we were taken out of the line and led back
to the place with the blacksmith the day before.  I
was first this time, and was worried as hell about
what they were going to do to me - still, I told
myself as I marched along, it could hardly be as
painful as branding me, could it?

The blacksmith was just wearing a flap of leather on a
rope strung around his waist today, so I could see
almost all of his magnificent body.  He must have
sensed I was shit scared, as he came close to me, so
close that I could smell the scent of his sweat from
where he'd been working, and whispered "Don't worry,
boy!  It doesn't hurt today - well, not physically,
that is!"

This time, as the guard watched me closely, I had to
lie on my back on the anvil.  Fortunately my butt
could overhang the end so that my brand was not
pressing down on it, or I wouldn't have known how  to
bear the pain!  The blacksmith had another big pair of
pliers with him, and he told me to spread my legs wide
and knelt down between them.  I felt his hands on my
dick and balls - it was as if he'd caught them between
his thumb and fingers - and was tugging them away from
my body.  Fucking hell, I'd never had a man touch me
down there, and I hated it.  If I'd even thought I'd
have had a chance to do something about it, I'd have
got up and attacked them.  But one of the things they
teach you as a marine is to look at the odds, and if
they're not in your favour, to conserve yourself in
the hope of making a difference later.  With me naked,
a guard with a gun and a prod, and a huge muscled
slave who didn't look as if he'd be on my side, I knew
there was nothing at all  I could do.  So I just had
to lie there and let this giant tug and pull at my
dick and balls.

He stood up and went and fetched a small piece of
metal, then he bent again, pulled at my dick and balls
once more, and I felt something cold around the root
of my dick.  I saw him squeeze the pliers, and then he
stood up, smiling.  "All done, boy!", he said,
smiling, and I scrambled to my feet.

They'd fixed a metal band around the root of my dick
and balls, and the blacksmith had used the pliers
things to squeeze it closed.  It felt all heavy as I
stood there, and my dick looked as if it was half
erect as it was pushed up and out from my body, making
it even more prominent than it had been before after
my pubes had been trimmed.  And it was almost lying on
my top of my balls now, as instead of just hanging
down low they were now sort of raised up and pressed
close to my dick.  I've never been ashamed of my body,
and have never minded guys looking at me in the
showers and so on, but now this was different:  I was
embarrassed by my nakedness, embarrassed at the
thought of them seeing my dick thrust out and away
from me like this, and kind of "decorated".

"It will fell funny for a bit", the blacksmith said
casually. "But I'm pretty good at it.  They make me do
it tight enough so there's no way you can get it off
and you're always on 'display' a bit.  But I'm careful
to do it not so tight that it cuts off the blood to
your balls, or makes them hurt..."

"But why..."

"Hey, boy, you're going to be on display, and free men
like to look at a man's dick!  But seriously, it will
be a help to you:  you drays have a lot of running to
do, and most guys aren't used to running without some
sort of support - a jock, or briefs, or something.
Once you get used to it you'll find that the ring
provides that support for you now.  Mind you, you'll
'show' a lot more - a young guy like you will find it
even harder not to have erections, as the moment it
starts, the blood has more of a problem to get back,
so the erection stays up there good and hard."

At that moment the guard clearly got tired of us
talking, and ordered me to follow him back to re-join
the others.  As we walked across the yard, I could
feel my dick bobbing up and down and I felt so
exposed.  It was as if the whole balance of my body
was altered - you know how it is, when you walk across
the bedroom towards a woman with a hard erection:
well, it was like that mostly, only all the time!


End Of Part Two