Date: Sat, 24 Jun 2006 22:33:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dray Slave, Part Five

DRAY SLAVE

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

Part Five

There was a change the next day.  Instead of being
herded down onto the exercise machines, Steve took us
off to one of the big sheds used to house the drays
themselves and there in front of us was a huge crate -
it was all covered in shipping labels and stuff, and
he began to give us orders to use a wrecking bar to
open it.... Well, we milled around a bit, and he
screamed at us to be fucking careful as the crate had
our dray inside it and he didn't want the paint work
damaged.  Once we got the big crate open, though, we
say it wasn't as much a dray as a "build your own dray
kit" as there were at least a hundred parts, and bags
of bolts and all kinds of stuff like that.

Steve started to give orders to us to unpack it
properly, to check that everything was there, and so
on, but it's hard when there's eight of you swarming
around and it really was utter confusion.  Then Sarge
shouted at us and got it organised properly - well, he
was used to getting all the guys working together,
wasn't he, as that's what sergeants do!  And it did
need organising properly, as whilst there were a lot
of small bits, like the parts that made up the
driver's seat, there were some really heavy ones, too,
like the big metal axles.  I reckon that having eight
naked guys working without proper supervision would
have resulted in some of us getting hurt, so it was
just a well that Sarge took control, although Steve
seemed a bit pissed off.

It made a nice change, actually, to be working as part
of a proper team again, and although there were some
problems with the instructions (that seemed to have
been written in Spanish or something and then badly
translated into English) and we had a couple of "false
starts" that meant that we had to undo some bits and
start again, we soon had the thing assembled.  Mind
you, it was hard work because this was a substantial
thing as I suppose it needed to be strong enough to
take the weight of all the stuff we'd be carrying, and
by the time we'd finished we were all sweating.
Actually, it did feel a bit odd to be doing "work",
rather than exercise, naked and having my dick and
balls swinging around - you don't usually think about
things like that, do you?  Like when you need to help
out a  buddy pull or lift some heavy bit of the thing,
and then you realise that your naked skin is right in
contact with his.  We were still "soldiers", though,
and took a pride in our work and when we were nearly
finished Sarge even went and asked Steve if we could
use the hose, and some rags, to properly clean and
polish the thing so it really looked spick and span.

We were standing around then wondering what was going
to happen next, and Steve told us to line up and
kneel.   He came down the line of us putting muzzles
in us!  It was fucking awful - these were the
"working" muzzles designed so that you can still
breathe properly when you're labouring, so there's a
big ring thing with grooves in it, and you have to
open your mouth as wide as you can so that the ring
goes over your top and bottom teeth - you can relax
your jaws a bit then to "bite down" into the groove,
but it's still awful to have your mouth wedged open
like that.  What adds to it too is the plate thing
that's at right angles to the ring, that forces your
tongue down - once the muzzle is in you can't speak at
all, and you can't get the fucking thing out as there
are metal pieces attached to it that pass around your
head and are locked into place.    They'd stripped me,
inked me, collared me, and generally made me feel like
a slave, but this was some kind of new station on the
road to Calvary - once you take away a man's ability
to communicate, you really are  turning him from being
a human being into a mere animal.  I think we all felt
totally humbled as we realised we were silenced like
that, and I could see that some of the guys were
really wild-eyed as they probed at the muzzles with
their tongues and desperately tried to force them out
- totally futile, of course.

There was a bit of a change from routine them as Steve
ordered us off to the shitter, and even though we
didn't want to use it, he insisted we all crouch there
and try to drop one - thinking about it, it's amazing
how "regular" we'd all got, but I suppose if you're
fed exactly the same type of food at the same time
every day, your body does adjust as none of us had any
problems normally with only crapping in the morning
and evening.  Still, it was good to have a piss, and
Steve led us back outside and ordered us to take up
the pushing handles.

This was the first time any of us had actually been
"between the shafts" - well, not between shafts,
actually, not like when a pony pulls a pony trap.  No,
this was a big dray, and the pole stretching forward
from the front axles had "pushing bars" at right
angles to it.  Steve lined us up in sequence of our
numbers, so, starting at the far left, was one, then
Sarge, then the pulling pole, then me, and Jed.  And
on the pushing bar behind us were five, six, seven and
eight.  We all stood there, and I know the other guys
were doing what I was - feeling the smooth wood of the
bar under my hands as I stood there, and beginning to
know that  I really was now just a draft animal who
was going to use his body in an almost mindless job.
I mean, I'd been to school, I could read, write,
reason, and think, but none of this was necessary:
all they wanted me for was my body, and the power of
my muscles so that I could be used just like a beast,
a dumb animal.    The final indignity came when Steve
then came along with a chain which he looped through
the "D" rings on our collars, before padlocking it to
another one of the dray - we couldn't now actually
move away from the thing, even if we wanted to:  it
was as if, at least symbolically, we were now "part of
the machine" that had been put together to serve him.

We all stood there, probably all feeling a bit like I
did, and I could tell by the way that the other guys
were "in motion" - shuffling their feet, tossing their
heads, running their hands around the pushing bars -
that we were all thinking about what we'd become:
some kind of naked animals, rather than men.  Then I
heard for the first time the "swish" sound of the
whip, a sound that was to become all too familiar in
time to come.  Steve had got up on to the driver's
seat and was cracking it around kind of experimentally
above our heads - I don't suppose it was to get us
used to the noise, more that he felt the need to
practice!

We'd watched other drays around the depot as we'd been
on our way to and from exercise and stuff like that,
and so we knew that the drivers all used a small,
standard, set of commands.  But it was odd to hear
Steve shout "Walk on!" And realise that it was us now
under orders, and we slowly and hesitantly bent our
backs to get the thing moving, and pulled it across
the yard towards the big gates.

As the swung open we all hesitated - we just couldn't
help it.  I mean, we'd kind of got used to being
totally naked except for our collars around the depot,
and we weren't the only guys like that there.  But as
we saw the "outside world", that place from which we'd
been excluded for some weeks, it was all different:
guys don't parade around the streets naked, do they?
Of course the answer is "no", they don't - but slaves
are a different matter, and I think that the
realisation that we were about to go out there totally
naked brought home to us all just how much our lives
had changed.  It wasn't even as if we could cover
ourselves with our hands, as we had to keep them on
the pushing bars. So we were totally exposed, and
there was absolutely nothing we could do about it.

The depot is on a fairly busy road, and Steve told us
to "Whoa!" at the gates, a s we waited for a break in
the traffic:  it was almost surrealistic to see this
"normal" life out there, with guys on motorbikes,
cars, and some trucks all whizzing by.  We began to
realise, of course, that pulling this dray thing was
not as easy as you might think - although it's not
particularly hard work when it's empty, it's not all
that manoeuvrable as the total length, once you've
added in the length of the pulling pole and so on,
makes it more difficult than you imagine.  And even if
you're used to sprinting across the road if you're
looking for a gap in the traffic and you're by
yourself, when there are seven of you, all chained to
a big, long dray, it takes a special kind of effort.

Steve kept us at a kind of fast walking pace once we
were out onto the road, and it did feel strange, very
strange, at first.  Although the soles of my feet had
hardened during the weeks on the exercise machines, it
hadn't prepared me for the way the concrete and tarmac
under me now was actually hot;  and you probably also
don't think about the way that the road surface isn't
actually smooth:  there's lots of small pebbles and
stones and things like that which give you a surprise
as you tread down on them until you get used to it.
And, of course, some bastards have thrown beer bottles
and stuff like that out of their cars, and you have to
keep an eye out for shards of broken glass as they can
cut through even the toughest feet.

We'd only gone a few hundred yards when Steve called
out "Trot!" and we speeded up a bit - well, we were
holding up the traffic, I suppose, as the cars and
stuff kept coming past us and they seemed to all be
vaguely annoyed, the way they would accelerate past
and then cut in front of us very tightly.  I don't
think drivers really ever give enough consideration to
other road users!  We also had to get used to thinking
about stuff like traffic lights, too - in  a car, it's
easy enough to accelerate a bit, or to start to slow
down, as you see the lights ahead change.  But you
can't do that in a dray - for one thing, you don't
have the range of speed available to you, and for
another, all eight of you have to do it in a sort of
co-ordinated way:  it's not up to any one of you, and
you have to listen for Steve's shouted orders to
"Slow...." or "Trot on...." (the latter accompanied by
the swish of the whip in the air above our heads, to
indicate we should accelerate).  I reckon we'd kind of
got the hang of it by the time we'd done the several
sets of lights leading towards the city centre,
although as we drew closer and closer to the office
towers of downtown, I began to get really nervous:  I
could remember how full the sidewalks and things
always were at lunchtime as all the workers streamed
out to get their lunches and to shop, and I hated the
idea of them all waiting to cross as we went past, and
of them therefore seeing my naked body and my cock and
balls jogging up and down as we trotted along.

We were better off than some slaves must be, though,
having all been in the military:  we were used to
marching in step, and so we all "naturally" fell into
a rhythm, and it does make it easier if you're
surrounded by other guys if you are all doing the same
things.  It wasn't too bad in the city centre when we
did get there, though, as it must have been just after
the lunch break, and we were "lucky" with the lights,
and as Steve kept us trotting at a fair pace, we were
soon through it - although, like the rest of my
buddies, I was actually covered by a sheen of sweat.

Steve kept giving us orders to go "Next left" and
stuff like that as we had to be co-ordinated and we
couldn't make those kind of decisions for ourselves,
could we?  And it wasn't all that hard, as we're
pretty much used to obeying orders with our
background, and we soon found ourselves leaving the
downtown area and going along River Road.  That's
pretty much of a fast throughway, and the traffic
there is a lot more fierce and it goes a lot faster -
it's really horrible having those big long-distance
trucks sweeping past you, and other stuff cutting in
front of you all the time.

River Road's a divided highway for the first mile or
so, so we had to keep going and Steve even ordered us
to speed up a bit because of the other traffic, so we
were really glad when we saw the signs for Piney Hills
Road, and Steve indicated we were going to take it.
Our joy at being off River Road soon changed, though,
as Piney Hills Road really is quite steep - or,
rather, it's a series of hills and valleys.  If you
think about it, running on the level is quite hard
work (especially if you're pulling  a dray!), but
going uphill makes it at least four times as hard.
When I'd gone out road running to keep fit in the
service, it was always a welcome relief to get to a
downhill bit, but in a dray even that's more difficult
than you can imagine, as instead of pushing against
the pole, you now have to hold on to it tightly to
stop the dray running away under its own power!  We
found out later that some of the difficulties we
experienced were because of Steve's inexperience:  the
dray actually has brakes on the rear wheels and the
driver has a big handle up by his seat, and good
drivers apply the brake gently as you get to a
downhill stretch to make it easier for the slaves.
It's a finely judged thing, of course, as you want to
use the momentum to help you a bit up the next hill,
and I suppose Steve wasn't used to thinking about
things like that yet.

Piney Hills Road is actually quite narrow, and a bit
bendy, and Steve wanted us to keep up a good pace to
avoid annoying other road users.  We were all sweating
a lot, therefore, but there didn't seem to be anywhere
to stop, and I began to doubt that we ever could as we
actually needed a really long lay-by to be able to
accommodate the entire dray and us.  It was quite a
relief therefore when we saw these signs saying "Piney
Hills Country Club", and Steve gave the order for us
to slow, stop in the centre of the highway, and then
to pull across the carriageway and turn in to the car
park.

It was one of those really swanky places, for the
rich!  Everything was neat and the lawns were
manicured, and Steve kept giving us orders to go
right, and left, as we followed the signs saying
"deliveries only" until we eventually reached a large,
flat area when finally we were told to "Whoa!", and
rest.  We all kind of slumped then, leaning on the
pulling poles as we really were tired having run
several miles, I reckon.  Sweat was pouring off all of
us, but at least we were able to breathe deeply as the
fucking muzzle things did at least keep our mouths
open.  Steve let us recover for a bit and gradually my
pounding heart slowed down, and I even began to feel
cold as my sweat evaporated.  He got down off the
driving seat and told us to "Wait", and went across to
the club buildings.  I reckon he was going for a piss,
or something, and I realised that that's what I needed
to do, too.  I made some kind of inarticulate gurgling
sounds at Sarge, pointing at my dick, and he nodded,
so I reckoned he was in the same state.  Then, as I
watched, he just let a stream fly onto the ground as
he stood there - not much, and not a big heavy flow
like you usually do, but enough to "make yourself
comfortable", if you know what I mean.  I did the same
too, then, seeing Sarge's example, and do did the
other guys.   Sarge was smart, then, though - he
gestured and mumbled, and we moved the dray a few feet
away from where we'd all pissed, so there wasn't the
wet spots on the ground in front of us:  just in time,
too,  I think, as Steve came out of the buildings, and
I reckon he'd have been pretty cross if he'd seen us
pissing in such an exclusive place.

Even though we were tired, Steve told us that this was
 good place to practice manoeuvring and turning, and
he got a few small rocks and stuff, and some odd
branches off the bushes at the side, and laid out a
patch of the yard.  We then had to go forward, and try
to reverse the dray in-between the stones and
branches, and it was surprisingly hard:  well, those
of you who have ever towed a trailer behind your car
will know the problem, as it's sort of
counterintuitive:  to make the trailer turn left, you
have to push to the right - well, not quite like that,
but you know what I mean!  Still, after about an hour
I reckon we'd got it pretty much sorted, Steve seemed
to be really pleased as we were able to reverse the
dray to narrower and narrower spaces, and got it right
"first time every time".

He actually allowed us to rest for a bit, then - it
was a real relief to be able to sit down, even though
the tarmac was not all that nice on my bare ass, as
Steve went back into the clubhouse.  If I'd thought
about it I'd have been surprised that they let him in,
as it was such an exclusive looking place and Steve
was in his uniform of shorts and a polo, with stout
boots on.  Still, he seemed to be a pretty rich guy,
judging from the differences we'd seen between him and
Jon, so perhaps his folks were members or something.

Whilst we were sitting there, there was a bit of a
commotion, and we head sounds of chattering and
laughter, and a group of young guys - very young guys
- came past.  I reckon they were all between sixteen
and eighteen, and they were all slaves as, like us,
they were naked.  Well, almost naked, as they had some
sort of chain "waistcoats" on them - chains over each
shoulder were fastened at the front just below their
ribs, and at the back there was some sort of big metal
plate.  They were all totally hairless, though - they
must have been shaved - and their young dicks and
balls exposed like that made them look younger than
they probably were.  But what really made them stand
out, and what made me feel really sorry for them, was
that their inking consisted of broad stripes that ran
down their arms and legs (including right down onto
their hands, to cover their middle fingers) and it
went from ankles to armpits, so that whether they were
standing with their arms at their sides or not, they
were in some kind of "uniform".  That night, when we
were talking about it, Sarge reckoned that the metal
chains and the plates on their back were to hold golf
bags, and that the stripes were Piney Hills Country
Club's idea of a "uniform".  We all began to wonder
then what happened to these kids as they grew up - I
mean, none of them looked a lot older than eighteen,
and although they could soon re-grow their pubes and
stuff and become "normal", what would happen to them
next?  Who'd want to buy a slave with those big
tattooed stripes on them?  Sarge just shrugged, but
Jed reckoned they'd just be sold off as field hands,
as it didn't really matter what slaves looked like who
were way out in the country, picking the crops or
whatever.

Steve gave us the order to get to our feet, and I then
had to "dust" my butt to get the dust off it from the
tarmac - it did feel odd to see all eight of us
slapping at ourselves and trying to make ourselves
look more "respectable" as the dust had turned into
kind of weak mud from our sweat.  We might as well not
have bothered, though, as just as we were leaving, the
skies, which had been kind of leaden all afternoon,
started to shed the first few drops of rain.  It got
steadily harder, and it was really unpleasant:  I
mean, it's bad enough when you get rained on when
you've got clothes on and it's only your head and face
that gets wet, but when you're totally naked the rain
is dreadful:  for one thing, it hurts!  You don't
think about it normally, but big heavy drops of rain
hitting your bare skin actually hurt.  And for
another, it really chills you and makes you cold -
well, it's like standing under a cold shower, isn't
it?    Steve gave the order to speed up and I'm not
sure whether that made it better or worse as although
I could see that we'd be out in the rain for less
time, it also meant that we were having to run into it
at a greater speed.

The fucking traffic all snarled up because of the rain
once we got close to downtown, and there was not a
blind thing we could do about it.  We had to stand
there, mostly stationary, or crawling forward a few
feet at a time, with the rain hitting us and making us
cold, and I really felt envious of all the free folk
in their cars and trucks as they sat there, the
windshield wipers swishing away:  you could just tell
they had the air conditioners on, keeping them dry and
comfortable as they sat there listening to the local
radio stations.  It made me see again how different
we'd become from "men" - we really were more like
animals, especially with those muzzles in and with our
necks chained to the dray.  It seemed a s if the free
folk weren't even interested in us, either - I mean,
if I'd seen eight well-muscled guys pulling a dray
through the streets stark naked, I think I'd have
taken a good, close look at them even though I'm not
turned on by guys' bodies.  But the free folk, neatly
cocooned in their private worlds inside their cars,
hardly seemed to give us a second glance.

We were all glad to be back in the yard eventually,
and after he'd unchained us from the dray (which, with
our newly-found skill we'd parked in one of the sheds
without any problem, getting it neatly in place first
time!), Steve told us we could go off and shower.  It
felt so good to have the hot water all over us as we
were almost shivering by then, and afterwards, when we
knelt so that he could feed us, he even gave us one of
the "slave treats", popping it into our mouths rather
as if it was a communion wafer.

Back in the cage (early, so we had a good long break
to look forward to), Sarge muttered and made as much
noise as he could, and Steve came back to the bars.
Sarge gestured at the muzzle, and Steve nodded, told
Sarge to kneel, and then undid the catch at the back
with  a small special tool and Sarge was able to take
the muzzle out.

"Sir, you can't be planning to keep us like this over
night.", he began.  "It's bad enough being
gagged and chained to the dray during the day... But
keeping us gagged all the time, sir.... It's treating
us like animals!.  It's inhuman".

Steve looked at him and said quietly, as we listened
intently,  "Two, you just don't get it, do you? You
are animals - slaves. You have no need to speak
normally, and so why shouldn't you be gagged? It saves
me the worry that you might have some unseemly
outburst like this, and upset the customers. It
doesn't interfere with me feeding and watering you as
the feeder and water tubes go through the hole in the
middle, and so where's the problem?"

"Sir, please don't treat us like this. We are men,
just like you, sir, and we like to talk to each other
at night...."

Steve seemed to get cross then, and snapped "You are
NOT men, two. You are slaves. And I have decided that
my slaves are going to be silent, and so for a few
days at least I'm going to keep you gagged - I may
decide that you're all calm enough at some point to be
allowed to go
ungagged, but that's my decision. However it does
occur to me that you were good today in supervising
the other slaves to assemble the dray, and it was
useful to be able to speak. So although I'm going to
keep the other slaves muzzled, you may leave yours off
so that you
can continue in that role."

Sarge just stood there for a moment, and then calmly
and quietly, in a show of defiance, opened his mouth
and put the muzzle back in, turning his head to
indicate that Steve should lock it in place once more.


Steve went to pick up the waterer as we hadn't been
watered yet, and as he did so some of the other guys
slapped Sarge on the back and muttered at him
encouragingly - well, I guess it was good to have him
show this solidarity with us, as I'm not sure that I
could have done that, and once the muzzle was out of
my mouth I'd have wanted to keep it that way.  But
perhaps that's what distinguishes "leaders" like Sarge
from us ordinary grunts.

Steve had evidently seen all this, though, as when we
were kneeling so he could put the spout of the waterer
in through the muzzles, he deliberately left Sarge
out.  When he'd finished, he come back and stood in
front of Sarge, then got some sort of thin leather
leash out of his pocket, wrapped it around Sarge's
neck, and pulled hard on it so that Sarge's head was
jammed between the bars of the cage.  Steve tied it
around the bars so that Sarge was held there, unable
to move, and looked down at him.

"So, two, you want to keep your muzzle in, do you?",
he almost sneered.  We all stood there watching,
almost in horror, as Steve then unzipped his jeans and
got his dick out.  "Yes, two", he went on.  "The
muzzle makes this really easy....."

He pointed his dick into Sarge's mouth, and then, as
we watched, we realised he was going to piss!  Sarge
began to struggle, but it was no use as the leather
had him held firmly to the bars. But he started to
blow so that Steve's piss splattered out of his mouth.
 Steve reached down and simply gripped Sarge's nose,
and we realised that he then had to drink down
Steve's piss as  otherwise he couldn't breathe!

The two men carried on, and we saw a thin stream of
piss trickle out of Sarge's mouth as he couldn't
swallow fast enough to keep up with Steve, and it went
on and on, until finally Steve had finished.  He
pulled his dick out, then shook it lightly to free the
last few drops of piss from his urethra, making it
splash over Sarge's face.  Then he calmly wiped the
end of his dick over Sarge's upper lip, right under
Sarge's nose, tucked his dick neatly back into his
jeans,  undid the leather thong holding Sarge to the
bars, and walked out.

We all clustered around Sarge to try to give him some
support, but it wasn't easy as none of us could speak
with the vile muzzles in, so we had to kind of hug him
and pat him encouragingly.  And then we all moved
around to find a space to sleep, and tried to forget
the terrible thing we'd just seen - mind you, having
realised how much we were now in Steve's power made it
difficult.  I mean, I used to be a free man, used to
making my own decisions, and now here I was, caged
naked with my buddies, not able to speak, and knowing
that whenever he wanted to my owner could even piss
into my mouth.  It didn't help that my cock was rock
hard, and I knew that I mustn't touch it in case the
CCTV saw it.  A lot of the guys must have been having
similar thoughts, as there was a lot of shuffling
around, as some of them had the theory that if you lay
on your belly you could try and rub your dick on the
straw and the concrete, and get yourself off that way.
 I had tried it, but it just didn't work for me - I
need to feel a hand, or a mouth, on my dick if I'm
going to cum without fucking.

The next morning, though, Steve had us line up and
gave the order for us to jerk each other off as he'd
now done several times.  It's funny, really, but after
that first time when it seemed totally disgusting, it
was now becoming almost "normal", and we'd almost got
to the point of taking bets on who could shoot the
furthest into the corridor - the only thing that was
stopping us was that we had nothing to bet with as we
were now totally without possessions of any kind.
After that, when he'd taken us to the shitters, Steve
told us to be especially careful to empty ourselves as
we were going out on our first "run" that day and
there would be no opportunity for crapping later,
except to do it in the gutter, and he thought that
that didn't look good, so any of us who had to go like
that would also get punished later.  And because we
were going to be under the hot sun all day, he also
had the sun cream that we'd had before, and insisted
that we slather ourselves in it - well, I suppose he
was concerned that we didn't get burned, but perhaps
he just liked to see our bodies gleaming and
glistening from the oil:  it did make us look a whole
lot better, if you can imagine such a thing!

Steve was really pissed off, though, when we got to
the dray because when we'd got back the previous night
he'd uncoupled us from the tethering chain and had let
us go off to get a hot shower as we were so cold from
the rain, and the consequence of this was that the
dray was all covered in mud still, and had lost its
initial "gloss".  It was a mistake he never repeated,
as in future the last thing we always had to do every
night was to clean and polish the dray, no matter how
tired and exhausted we were when we got back.

It didn't take all eight of us that long to get the
thing looking good, but by the time we'd done it we
were at the back of the line of drays waiting to be
loaded up with goods from the warehouse, and you could
tell that Steve was frustrated as he was pacing up and
down, muttering and cursing under his breath.  He kept
glaring at us, but it was hardly our fault, was it?
Still, we did have some time to spare, and he finally
came over and addressed us all.

"I've decided it's not necessary to keep you all
muzzled", he told us.  "We'll set off today without
them, except for two, who wanted to be muzzled as we
saw last night.  I'll take the muzzles with me,
though, and if there's any sign of you chattering or
talking amongst yourselves, they'll be straight back
in.  Is that clear?"

Well we could hardly say "Sir, yes, sir", could we,
but we did our best.  And he took the hated things
out, except for Sarge, who just stood there looking
defiantly at him.

He then told us that he didn't intend to tether us to
the dray, either, but that we were expressly forbidden
to move away from the pushing poles without his
permission.  "Again, this is an experiment", he told
us.  "If any of you disobey, you'll all be permanently
tied to it.  As it is, I'll let some of you help with
the deliveries, carrying the parcels and stuff into
the customers' houses - but again, I warn you:  I
expect all of you to be on your very best behaviour at
all times.  I won't hesitate to cane any of you who
are impolite in any way whatsoever."

Mind you, he rather pointedly tethered Sarge to the
dray, and it was so fucking unfair.  I mean, Sarge was
our natural leader, and was probably at least a
concerned as Steve was to make sure we all did the
right thing, as he didn't want "his men" punished or
anything.  I expect it was some sort of "power" thing,
though - an organisation can't have two leaders, can
it?  And so I suppose Steve was trying to make it
perfectly clear that he was in charge, and that Sarge
was really a slave, like the rest of us.

We were loaded up then, and as we set out towards the
gates, we realised how much harder it was to pull the
loaded dray than an empty one.  Funnily enough, after
our experience the day before it didn't seem nearly so
bad to be pulling the thing totally naked - it's
surprising how quickly you adapt, isn't it, to things
like that?  And it turned out that Steve's exercises,
and the session we'd had the previous day, meant that
we were a pretty good team:  because we stopped from
time to time to make deliveries, we had a chance to
recover so our bodies could cope with the work;  and
when we called at companies on industrial estates, we
were able to manoeuvre the dray into their loading
bays as if we'd been doing it for years!  I know it
sounds funny to say so, but we were actually taking a
pride in our work.

We even got a break at lunchtime - there was a sort of
cheap restaurant at which several of our drays seemed
to congregate, and Steve pulled us in and told us we
could go and join the other slaves under the shade of
the trees whilst he had his lunch.  It was really good
to get out of the sun and to actually sit down, and
interesting to chat to some of the other slaves as we
didn't get much of a chance to do that at the depot.
Poor Sarge, though, couldn't join us as he was
tethered to the dray, and I did go back over to try to
talk to him, but it wasn't possible, really, because
of his muzzle, and he waved me away.

When Steve came out of the restaurant he went over to
the dray, and he seemed be saying something to Sarge,
who, naturally enough, had sat down on the pulling
pole to take the weight off his feet.    We could see
Steve shouting, and then the next minute he'd taken
the carriage whip and was really laying into Sarge
with it!  I went to rush over to stop him, but the
slaves from another team grabbed me and held me back.
"Don't interfere when a master is doing something like
that", one of them said, "Unless you want to get
whipped too!  That slave must have done something to
really piss off the master, and, as you'd expect, he's
being punished for it.  So don't interfere, and let
them get on with it.  You'll soon get to learn that
when a master has vented his anger on one slave that's
usually enough, and it goes easier on the rest of you
then that day."

When Steve called for us to go over, though, we could
see that he'd really laid into Sarge, as Sarge's back
and butt were really striped from the whip, and he had
that hurt, but defiant, look in his eyes so we knew
that he must be in pain, but was determined not to
show it.  "Let that be a lesson to all of you", Steve
told us.  "Two here sat down without permission - I
left him standing against the pulling pole, ad that's
the way I expect to see a slave when  I get back.
And, to make it worse, he didn't stand even when I
approached:  a slave never sits in the presence of a
free man.  I want all of you to take a look at two's
back and butt tonight as a lesson of what will happen
to you if you do not behave properly."

I reckon we did learn a lesson, actually, as later
that day there was a big hold up at some place or
other as we delivered something and had to wait for it
to be unpacked as we needed to ship the "old" one back
in the same crate.  None of us dared to sit down, even
though our legs were aching, and Steve seemed pleased
when he came back out at last.

That night Sarge lay there in our cage, on his belly
as his back was so painful, and we did our best for
him to try to make him comfortable.  But there's not a
lot you can do, is there, when you're totally naked
and locked in with no access at all to any kind of
medicine, or even to water?  I think it showed us
again just how powerless we were, and how totally
reliant we were on Steve to even live.

End Of Part Five