Date: Sun, 25 Dec 2005 00:35:54 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Everything Was Reversed, Part 2

THIS TIME AROUND EVERYTHING WAS REVERSED

By Pete Brown        petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


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

Part 2

The next morning  Joe grinned as he said to me
"Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life"

"Do you think it is for ever, Joe?"

"Look, Steve, let's be realistic.  There's no way they
can let us go free, is there?  I mean, if we went back
to the USA and told everyone what's going on, the
government would come here and invade, or something,
and rescue all the other guys.  And I'd imagine that
we're going to be here on this plantation, and not be
sold on, as our owner has had his ownership mark put
on us.  Back in the USA all those years ago most
slaves spent their lives on a single plantation, and
it was only new stock that was sold at auction:  once
you'd got a good slave and had him trained to your
ways, it was much more productive to keep him"

Joe kept close to me as the big double doors were
unbolted and pulled apart.  They used the same system
then as they do now - the guards take men from the
front and thread the coffle chain through the eyes on
the neck collars, ten or twenty to a coffle, depending
on what's to e done.  So if you're with a buddy you
try to get out together, and there's then only a small
chance you'll end up in a different coffle that day.

So Joe and me were together, with the heavy chain
hanging down between us from our collars, and I
realised what a clever system it is:  with the chain
locked to the slave at each end, there's no way the
ten or twenty of you can break apart.  You have to
move as a unit, and one guard or overseer can watch
the entire coffle.  Once chained like that we were fed
- a bowl of the porridge stuff, with raisins and nuts
again - and given water to drink, and then we were led
off to the fields.

It felt really strange walking along in a line of
chained men, my dick bobbing up and down, and it was
pretty painful as my feet hadn't yet toughened up and
every pebble and sharp little rock caused me to wince.
 But you didn't dare break rank or slow down, as the
other men in the coffle would bump in to you, and the
overseer would soon sort that out by slashing at us
with his tawse (if he thought it was a minor
infraction), or his cane (if he wanted to get
serious!).

Out there in Africa it's not generally realised that
it can be cold in the early morning and I found myself
shivering a bit, but as soon as the sun comes up,
which it does very rapidly, you start to bake.  That
first morning our coffle was hoeing some crop or
other, and I was given a long hoe, and the line of us
started off across the seemingly interminable field.
I soon got to hate the fucking plants I was hoeing
around - they were spaced regularly (later I was to be
on a planting detail, and I found out why they were so
even!), and there was no variety at all.   You had to
work at the same pace as everyone else, and there was
absolutely no allowance made for any stops or
anything:  if  the coffle line did not advance across
the field evenly and smoothly, we all soon felt the
overseer's tawse or cane.

After about an hour I was desperate to piss, and
wondered how you asked to be excused, but then the guy
next to me showed me just how serious they were about
"work" - as he hoed, he just pissed as he stood there,
never faltering in the job he was doing, and when the
need got too great, that's what I did, too, although I
hated not being able to let go of the hoe and empty my
dick afterwards.  You not only had to work quickly and
hard, but you had to do high quality work, too:  the
overseer would walk up and down looking for weeds that
had been missed, or, even worse, for one of the
fucking plants that had been accidentally cut:
retribution was swift and sure then, with the cane
slashing at the butt of the slave who was responsible.

I don't know how I lasted out until the midday break:
they did at least allow us to stop for an hour when
the sun was at its highest, and we all sprawled
together under the shade of a big tree at the side of
the field.  The other guys didn't seem interested in
what was going on in the outside world - I'd have
expected them to ask us new arrivals about "real
life", but when I got to be an "old hand" myself, I
found it was the same for me.  This was real life,
this work and toil on the plantation, and the world
that the new slaves came from seemed strange and
unreal.

As we all lay there I soon realised another thing
about working naked - not only were the other guys
uninhibited about pissing, but they didn't worry about
erections, either.  All morning as my dick swung there
as I hoed away I'd been worried sick that I'd spring a
boner - I was only eighteen, after all, and before I
was enslaved I'd been erect almost all the time!  But
somehow I'd managed to avoid it, probably because I
was so worried about the sting of the tawse on me if I
fucked up.  But now, lying here in the shade, in that
kind of affable companionship that guys who work
together have, I noticed that several of them were
boned up.  I'd never seen anything like this before in
real life - and it was only pictures of boned dicks
that I'd sometimes viewed before on the Internet.  But
now here they were, just jutting up from the slaves,
and they didn't seem at all concerned about it.  Even
as I looked, though, I realised that my dick was at
last starting to exercise itself, and I tried to turn
over to hide myself from the other guys.  Joe saw me
start to do it, and whispered "take it easy, Steve.
It will be worse, if you crush it between your body
and the ground.  And moving like that, pulling on the
coffle chain, is probably thought to be rude when the
other guys are trying to rest.  There's nothing wrong
with a boner - it's perfectly natural, all guys do it,
and I guess you're going to have to get used to
throwing one publicly sooner or later, as I don't
think they give us any clothes, ever:   look at how
evenly tanned the other slaves are!"

I nodded, and lay there resting, but I was still
uneasy about being naked at all, let alone having
everyone see my dick at full strength.  I didn't have
long to worry about it, though, as the overseer came
to get us back to work, and we did the am fucking
thing all afternoon - hoe, move on, hoe, move on....
I'd never been so bored in my life.  Boring though it
was, though, it was tiring, and by the time we came to
go back to the slave barn I was utterly exhausted and
could barely eat my big bowl of the porridge stuff -
Joe had to stand there and make me spoon it down,
reminding me I needed my strength.  My hands were in a
dreadful state, too - I had big blisters on them from
the handle of the hoe, as I just wasn't used to using
tools like that for long periods of time.  I'd noticed
them beginning to smart just after lunch, but there
was no stopping the work and I just had to press on,
with the pain getting worse and worse:  we were just
slaves, there to work, and if it was uncomfortable for
us, that was no concern of the black guards.

I was terrified that these other slaves were going to
try to assault me again, but Joe quietly led me over
to a relatively secluded part of the barn and told me
to lie near the wall, and then he lay down between me
and the rest of the men.  I was awake, unable to
sleep, even though I was exhausted, as I just wasn't
used to being with so many other men - I don't know if
you've ever tried to sleep in a room full of other
men, but the noise can be really loud:  the little
whiffles, snorts, snores, and other noises men make as
they're sleeping is really loud when there are a lot
of them.  Joe saw I was still awake, and whispered
"You know how to get off to sleep, don't you,  Steve?
It always works for me, and I know a lot of the other
guys in the barracks did, too."

"No... What do you do?"

"Just jerk off.  You're bound to fall asleep after
that."

I was so embarrassed at even talking about jerking off
to another guy, let alone doing it - I mean, how could
I start to play with my dick when I was surrounded by
other men?  But Joe was insistent:  "Look, Steve, if
you're tired and exhausted tomorrow, you won't be able
to work properly, and then they'll use the tawse on
you.  And the more you get tawsed or caned, the harder
it is to work.... So you've got to do it, Steve."

Flushing with embarrassment I murmured "Thanks, for
the advice, Joe.... But it's OK..."

"No it isn't Steve.  Now, if you want me to look after
you, you'd better take my advice..."

"Joe, I'm OK...."

The next moment Joe rolled over so that he was right
next to me, and before I could even think about it,
his big strong arm had snaked around to hold my body
immobile against his - I'd never been this close to a
guy before, let alone when we were both naked!  Joe's
hand ran down my belly, and grabbed hold of my dick,
and started to jerk me off!  "No, Joe, please...." I
cried.

"Steve, it's for your own good"

"No, please, Joe, I'm not a fag..."

"And neither are marines, Steve.  And we mostly did
this with each other all the time.  A guy gets bored
with just lying in his bunk in the barracks all the
time playing with himself, and so we all used to help
each other out.... That's all there is to it - It's
not 'fag' at all - big manly marines did it all the
time.  So stop being so fucking stupid...."

Well actually it did feel quite good - the heat of
Joe's body pressed into mine, this hot breath all over
my neck and shoulders, and the incredible sensation of
another guy's hand on my dick all combined to make me
cum almost immediately.

So what can I tell you about life as a white slave for
a black master, toiling away under the sun on his
plantation?  If you've read any stuff about life on
the plantations ion the South, then I guess it's much
the same:  we just worked!  That's what we were there
for, to provide hard muscle to grow the crops and do
all the other things that were necessary to keep the
place running.   We got up when the guards opened the
doors to the slave barn, we pissed and crapped in the
communal areas and then were hosed down as they didn't
want us stinking, we were fed - always the same thing,
the porridge stuff with raisins and nuts in it - and
then we went out to work in the fields.

You never quite get used to being coffled.  Even
though you soon get adroit at avoiding getting tangled
in the chain, and you develop a kind of "sixth sense"
to keep your feet away from it, you just can't avoid
the feel of the thing sliding over your shoulders or
your pecs as you work away -  it's a constant reminder
of the fact that your owner is treating you like a
work beast, something that has to be shackled and
controlled.   And, as I've said, the overseers and
guards were extremely assiduous in making sure that
the work was non stop:  you got to know how slowly you
could go without incurring the tawse - which in itself
was not so bad as it was designed only to sting,
rather than to really hurt - it was more of a reminder
of what would happen if you did not speed up.  You had
to be careful, though, to avoid the cane:  so when
hoeing you were very careful of the new plants, when
picking the crop you made sure our patch was stripped
bare, and so on.  A slash of the cane across your bare
butt was definitely not good.

The worse thing, of course, was the total lack of
control over your own life, or the ability to make
choices:  everything was ordained by the routine, by
the need to work, and by the guards and overseers.
You couldn't choose what to wear (we were always
naked), or what to eat (that porridge stuff), or what
kind of work we wanted (you went where the coffle
went).  That's the difference between being free, and
being a slave, I guess - your owner has total and
utter control over you.

In all the science fiction stuff I used to read
sometimes, slaves were always controlled by special
means - transmitters influencing their brains, or more
simply, collars that administered electric shocks if
the slaves misbehaved;  and going along with this were
all sorts of ways of preventing the slaves escaping -
microchips embedded in them with special sensors
around their owner's demesnes, and stuff like that.
But it's all rubbish - you just don't need all that
technology.  A heavy iron collar and a coffle chain
effectively prevent slaves from escaping when they're
working;  and when they're locked into the slave barn,
all totally naked, there's no way they can escape over
night.  And as for electric shocks and stuff to make
them work - well, as I can attest, it's just not
necessary:  the tawse and the cane, and occasionally a
kick on the shins from a guard's heavy boot, are all
you need.

The most terrible thing about life as a coffle slave
is the unvarying nature of your life - after work,
back to the slave barn to shit, be hosed down, fed the
porridge, and then be locked in for the entire night
until the whole thing started all over again.  We
worked seven days a week, and other than the nature of
the work - hoeing, planting, picking, and so on,
nothing else ever changed.  I soon found out that most
of the slaves were pretty taciturn not so much because
they were that way by nature, but because they had
absolutely nothing to talk about - nothing ever
happened, the routine was unvarying, and most of the
guys found it too painful to think about "home" - of
the USA, the places they had lived, their families,
and all that stuff.  It was as if we wanted to forget
that we'd been men, with jobs, lives, possessions -
otherwise the comparison between that and our totally
naked state, treated like animals, was just too much
to bear.

I know most guys in the USA think they're "straight",
but the one way in which our lives were different now
was the availability of other guys to have sex with.
No more inhibitions, no more hiding behind a veneer of
respectability, no clothes to hide the splendour of
our bodies.  The only recreation, the only leisure,
the only escape form the life of unremitting toil was
when you buddied up to another slave and experienced
each others bodies.  I've told you that on that first
night some of the tougher slaves had tried to take me
and force me into sex, and, indeed, it was well known
that some of the slaves were "owned" by these guys,
just for their pleasure.  Perhaps it was because the
"owners" and "owned" somehow mutually agreed to this
state of affairs, I don't know.  But the majority of
the slaves just buddied up to whoever they liked that
night, and did what they wanted - mostly just mutual
jerking off, but with a fair amount of sucking and
fucking thrown in.

Joe kind of "looked after me", in the sense that it
became obvious that any man who tried to force me to
have sex with him was in for a beating - and Joe was
definitely "top dog" here as his hard marines body,
and his training, made him a totally formidable
opponent.  So the others started to think of me as
"Joe's boy", and steered well clear of me.  Look, to
tell you the truth I'm not sure that I liked it at
first - Joe kind of wrapped himself around me as we
slept that first night and said it's what marines did.
 But later in the week, when our brands were no longer
giving us such agony, he again turned me around to
face him as we lay there and I could feel his fingers
running down my belly, then teasing my pubes.  I tried
to stop it, as I had before, but somehow it was so
exciting, and when Joe started to toy with my dick,
and pushed my 'skin back and teased my piss slit with
his thumb nail, I moaned with the excitement of it
all.  But I thought it was wrong, and decided to try
to push him away.

Joe's head was right up by mine, and he whispered
"What's wrong, Steve?"

"It's not right, Joe... I'm not a fag...."

"Neither am I, Steve!"

"But Joe... Please... Leave my dick alone...."

"Oh come on, Steve - it's only a bit of fun..."  As he
said this, Joe took my hand and pulled it down so I
could feel his dick jutting solid and proud from his
body.  I'd never touched another man's dick before,
and after the initial shock of what Joe had done, I
thought it was quite good - that lovely velvety
softness of the outer skin, the warmth of it, and yet,
underneath, the rock-solid feeling of the shaft
telling you that this is a man, a proud man, with a
strong hard dick.

Joe started to stroke me, to jerk me off, and I did
the same to him.  His other hand went around my back
to kind of hold me close to him, and he whispered
"See, it's fun, isn't it?"

"Yes.... But they said at school in human  biology
that it was wrong, that only gay men did things like
this, and that we'd all go to hell if we 'abused'
other men's bodies..."

"Steve, shut the fuck up, will you, and focus on what
you're doing?   How can something like this be wrong?
And let me put you right, buddy - it's not at all
'abusive' to do this to another guy.  In the marines
we all jerked each other off all the time, even the
married guys when they were spending time in the
barracks.  It's what men who are real buddies do to
each other."

I started to say something else, but Joe squeezed my
dick hard and let my flange bump into his thumb, and I
gasped with pleasure.  And after that, of  course, I
didn't care -  I just wanted Joe to be near me, to
give me so much excitement and joy.  And he was a good
teacher, too - he didn't need tawses and whips to
train me and make me work hard - I just wanted to make
him happy, and gladly fell close to him each night so
that we could jerk off together.

So this was my life - I had been a normal young
eighteen year old horny guy, and now I was a naked
slave.  I could kind of appreciate how the blacks must
have felt when they were torn up from their homes in
Africa and shipped to the USA, and now  I was
experiencing it in reverse.  White owner treated black
slaves very much as a kind of "different species", and
this is how we were to our owner and his black guards
- a white man was just something different:  he had
two arms, two legs, a head, a dick, balls, but because
his skin was white (actually, dark tan, from the sun),
he wasn't  "the same" as they were.  No, not just
that, not "the same" - he was inferior in all sorts of
ways:  for example, the guards were always joking
about our dicks, and saying that you could always tell
a white salve, even if it was pitch dark, as his dick
just wasn't as big as a black man's  It wasn't true,
of course, as from what I could tell from seeing black
guys at school, and now when I saw a guard taking a
piss, I knew my dick was bigger than ninety percent of
theirs.  But then, a master needs a differentiation
from his slaves, and having all slaves as "white" made
it easy to tell who was one.

I was talking about this to Joe one night, and he
agreed.  "And it's the same thing with the nudity,
Steve.  They want to think we're animals, they want to
think that we're just beasts to be made to work for
them, and to reinforce this they keep us naked.  After
all, a horse, or some other kind of animal, doesn't
wear clothes, so why should a white slave?  If they
gave us shorts and stuff, they'd be acknowledging that
we were almost like they are, except for the colour of
our skin.  By making us display our bodies constantly,
whilst claiming it's so that it's easy to punish us,
it's really so that they can tell themselves that
we're 'different'."

"Well perhaps they've got a point, Joe... You couldn't
tawse a guy's back so easily if he had a shirt on, or
cane his butt through shorts..."

"Well you could, Steve.  You wouldn't see the stripes
afterwards, of course.  But even so - why do they make
us work totally naked?  It would be easy enough,
surely, to give us some brief covering - something
like a posing pouch to hold our dicks and balls, but
keeping our butts bare."

"I guess you're right, Joe.  At least we used to give
the nigger slaves clothes, didn't we?"

"Yes, actually.  Even the big bucks, like us, were
never totally naked - they were given loincloths to
hang down and cover their genitals.   But you have to
remember that at that time the human body was kept
almost totally covered all the time, so a big black
nigger slave with just a scrap of cloth hanging down
to cover his dick was pretty shocking.  Nowadays, when
men on beaches just wear tiny swimmers and brief
shorts, it's not quite the same.  I guess that to make
the same effect, to really differentiate us white
slaves from the black masters, the only thing they've
got left to do is to work us totally nude.  They're
saying to the world 'look at this man, that I own.  He
hasn't even got the ability to hide his most intimate
and private parts form you, as I've decided he will be
naked'."

Joe stopped, and I saw that slow smile break out over
his face.  "Still, Steve, if we weren't naked, this
wouldn't be so much fun would it....?"  His arms and
legs wrapped around and tangled with mine, and his
head bobbed down and gently bit one of my nips, and I
laughed and tried to push him away, and one thing led
to another and there were soon fountains of cum
covering our bellies.

I'd been there about six months, I suppose - well, I'd
seen one "cycle" of digging, planting, hoeing, picking
and so on for some of the crops right the way through,
and there in the tropics I guessed they'd do two crops
a year, at least.  It's hard to keep track of the time
when you've got nothing to write with, nowhere to keep
it even if you did, and when the length of the days
and the amount of sunshine and stuff is always the
same.  I'd matured and hardened - when I arrived I was
a really fit eighteen year old, but now the
combination of the hard work and the natural processes
at work in a guy's body at that time had turned me
into a real man:  My neck muscles were thick and
corded, my biceps showed those agreeable bulges as I
moved my arms, my pecs were firm and  their
musculature spread downwards to the hard ridges across
my belly.  My thighs were thick and lean and sinewy,
and my calves like rods of iron.  I was deeply tanned
all over, and my thick black heir had bleached ends
from the constant exposure to the sun.  I was a
picture of perfect manhood  - well, if you can
discount the sores on my shoulders from where my
collar chafed, and the bruising on my butt, back and
thighs  caused by the occasional caning.

As usual I was coffled next to Joe and we were working
away doing some really solid hard work - it was
planting time, and it's really difficult to till and
turn the hard-baked earth, so we were pretty
exhausted, sweating like pigs, and our bodies were
aching from the exertion.  Our owner rode up, making
one of his inspections of the place which he seemed to
do from time to time -  I'd noticed him ride past
several times, and recognised him from when he'd
bought us at the auction.  He had on classic riding
britches, a white riding shirt, and a hard hat, and
his long riding boots glistened in the afternoon sun.
  We'd long ago learned that we were required to keep
working, whatever happened around us, so all of us in
the coffle just kept hacking away at the hard ground,
hating the way our muscles all jarred when the ends of
our tilling tools hit it.  There was shouting then,
though, and the guard was ordering us to stop, and
then he used the end of his cane to kind of "drive" me
forwards towards my owner.  All the other slaves had
to follow, of course, but it was me he was interested
in.

He exchanged some words with the guard, who used the
tip of his cane to "toy" with my dick, then, when
nothing happened, he leaned down and said in that
perfect English  I so remembered "Show me your penis,
slave.  Get erect, and 'skin back for me."

I knew better than to argue, of course.  Or to dare to
disobey - the guards' cane that was just touching my
dick could soon be used to slash at my butt (or, even
worse, the thighs, and in particular the front of the
thighs - that was to be avoided at all costs).  Now,
after being nude for six months I didn't even feel a
twinge of embarrassment as I started to stroke my dick
- after all, I had erections as I was working, ten or
fifteen a day, at least, as all healthy young guys do.
 But even though I could easily erect my dick, I still
found it really hard to 'skin back in front of another
guy and show him my moist dick head.  But I had no
choice, and did so, standing there kind of holding my
dick, not knowing what to do next.

My owner looked down at me from his horse, and said
something to the guard, who got a  magic marker from
his kit on his belt and came and wrote a string of
those funny letters across my back.    Then the owner
rode off, and the guard chased us all back to work,
and of course we had to work that much faster to make
up for the time lost.  Strictly speaking we weren't
allowed to talk as we worked, as they didn't like us
being distracted, but when the guard was at the other
end of the line I hissed to Joe "What the fuck was all
that about?  What does it say?"

"Search me if I know, Steve.  It's all those funny
local characters, which I can't read.  But you've been
marked down for something, for sure."

Well I found out what it was soon enough - after our
usual shitting and hosing down and feeding, as we were
being herded into the slave barn the guards pulled me
out of line, together with four other guys who all had
the same sort of markings on their backs - it didn't
wash off in the quick hosing down which was all we
usually got to get us reasonably clean.  The five of
us stood there as all our fellow slaves were marched
in, and then the big locks were thrown to keep them
secure overnight.  We were led off towards the main
house, and I could see the other guys wondering, as I
was, what was going to happen to us - we daren't
speak, of course, as the normal "field guards" had
been replaced by the ones who now herding us along,
and these looked to be even meaner and tougher than
usual.

I'd read about enemas, as a kind of medical thing.
But inside a small outbuilding just behind the main
house a couple of slaves took each of us in turn, told
us to bend over, then shoved a steel nozzle up our
asses.  I stood there, feeling my belly swell and
fill, and then I was told to jump up and down on the
spot for a bit, until the cramping pains inside me
caused me to break out into a deep sweat (the jumping
up and down was pretty trivial exercise for someone
like me now).  We were allowed to crouch down and sit
it all out over one of the standard gratings, and the
tiny chamber filled with that typical "slave" smell of
shit and sweat, and he whole thing was repeated three
more times until the slaves bowed to the guards and
indicated they were satisfied. They scrubbed us clean
then - and I mean scrubbed:   they had hard sponges,
and brooked no protest as they rubbed away at our
bodies to get them literally "squeaky clean".  We had
to stand there then as they trimmed our hair once more
(I think I forgot to tell you that all us slaves just
had a regulation "slave crop", rather like marines
have), then they actually polished our skin!  Yes,
they had some sort of oil, and used a soft cloth to
rub it all over us so that we sort of shone and glowed
in the light - not so easy on me, as I've got a lot of
body hair.

It was odd going  into the main house - I hadn't been
in a "proper" building for over six months now, and so
seeing the lights, the smooth walls, and feeling he
marble floors under my bare feet was all strange.
Whilst I'd been being cleaned, I'd worried that they
were going to take me off to be sold, or to have some
terrible thing done to me, but as we made our way
through the vast place and the furnishings and
fixtures gradually got more and more luxurious, this
seemed to be less and less likely.  We stopped outside
a set of big double doors, the chief guard knocked
politely, and went in.  He emerged a couple of minutes
later, and hen we were all made to put our hands
behind our heads, and stand there as the guard used a
thin leather string to bind our wrists to one of he
eyes on our collars.  I felt so defenceless and
vulnerable, and being like that in these "normal"
surroundings somehow emphasised how different I was as
a naked white slave, compared to the black guards in
their smart uniforms.

We were led in to the room then, and it was evidently
some sort of formal dining room as there was a big
table with a snowy white cloth on it, and the remains
of a meal spread around.  Five big blacks, including
my owner, sat sprawled around the table, totally at
ease, and toying wit h goblet of wine.  The guards
lined us up against a wall, and we all stood there as
the five men carried on talking and laughing and
finishing their wine, until my owner clapped his
hands, and said something.  Slaves rushed in and
started clearing away the remains of the meal, and I
was astonished at their appearance - they weren't all
tanned like us field slaves, but were a pale milky
white all over,  If they' had any hair on them I'd
have guessed that they had all been red-headed as it's
those guys who have deadly white skin, isn't it, and
they have to be careful to keep out of the sun?  But
it was impossible to verify this as they were all
shaved totally bare of any hair at all, including
their heads.  I felt really sorry for these guys - I
mean, it was bad enough having the blacks drive me to
constant work, but at least I was allowed one last
shred of dignity in that I was "natural".  But these
poor guys had been turned into something else - an
elegant furnishing for the dining room, almost.  How
could men, even blacks, treat their fellows like this?


Our owner clapped his hands again and these same
slaves - I suppose they were waiters or house servants
of some kind - wheeled in a sturdy looking metal
trolley with a wide flat top, and a further clap of
the hands resulted in the door opening and more guards
leading in a slave - but a female this time!  I'd
known there were female slaves, as there had been a
cage full on them on the plane that had carried me
into slavery, but I hadn't seen one before as they
made no appearance in the fields.  She was a young
guy's wet dream  - about twenty five, big, high
breasts with dark fleshy nipples, a slim waist but
nicely rounded belly, flaring  hips, and a discrete
patch of dark blond hair enticed the eye to look at
her cunt.  She was collared, as we were, and the
guards led her to the trolley thing and made her lie
down on it, securing her collar to  a hook at the top
so that she could not then get up.  At the sight of
her lying there, her legs spread and opened in a very
sexual way, I and the four other slaves were all
erect, and I couldn't help wondering if the guards,
and the black masters, were the same way.  Were we the
same when looking at this amazing sexually exciting
woman - did black dicks swell as our white ones were?

Look, I have to tell you that I'd had some experience
with girls - at high school I'd dated a lot and had
managed to get four different girlfriends to open
their legs for me (although I was always worried that
I'd knock one of them up, as I really had wanted to go
off to college).  But this woman was something else-
it looked as if she'd been designed for sex, well,
designed for it in the way that the men's magazines
portray the ideal sex goddess, but not necessarily
what you find at High School!

My owner got up and went over and "inspected" her -
feeling her breasts, running his big black hand over
her belly, and then starting to open her up and slide
one of his fingers in. The girl had at first just lain
there, but as my owner started to get seriously
intimate, she began to cry and shout out that he was a
dirty black rapist....  I felt certain that she'd be
whipped for that, but instead my owner just laughed,
then said something to one of the guards who proceeded
to put a ball gag in her mouth and fasten it behind
her head.

"You're wrong, slave!", my owner commented, almost
laughing.  "It's not black rapists you need worry
about - but five white studs who are lined up here ,
ready to go.  Look at them - all hard as hell, and
most of them are leaking cum already...."

He turned to me and went on "You first, boy.  You're
the youngest, and I want to see how a well  hung white
stallion like you performs..."

I shook my head in disbelief - I mean, I was hard and
it was sexually very exciting, but you can't fuck a
woman you've never met, with four other slaves, a
couple of guards, and five black masters watching, can
you?  Well of course the answer is "you can",
especially when your owner simply takes hold of your
dick, and drags you across the room to her.  Two
guards grabbed her legs and spread them outwards and
upwards, and, as she ineffectually thrashed around and
made muffled screams and shouts from behind the ball
gag, he inserted me in her!  Look, I'd done this
before, and a guy just can't help getting a head of
steam up when his dick is in range of a cunt, can he?
Bit I desperately wanted my erection to falter so I
didn't have to go ahead with this - but  I was only
eighteen, and your dick has a mind of its own then,
doesn't it?  My owner slapped my on the butt - his
hands were very big and it was a stinging blow - and I
kind of pushed forwards into her.  I felt his hands
grabbing my hips then and starting me off in and
out.... Until of course the inevitable happened and I
just couldn't help myself really getting in to it and
fucking away like mad.

My climax came incredibly quickly and I threw back my
had and shouted "Fuck ....yes....", and it was only
then that I came back to reality as I heard my owner's
companions laughing at this!  Confused, I pulled out
of her, and the guards indicated that I should re-join
my fellow slaves, which I did, very conscious of the
smell of sex wafting from me, and my detumescing dick
glistening with her juices and my cum.  I had to stand
there then and watch as the other four slaves, in
turn, were put to the girl and made to fuck her, and I
have to say that I really don't understand why so many
guys buy porn films of fucking - even when you're in
the room, not even on a DVD, it just isn't that
exciting to watch.  I mean, sex is a participant
sport, not a spectator one, isn't it?

My owner and his four guests then all drank more wine
as we stood there, and they were evidently discussing
our performance as they would point at one or other of
us, jabber away, then talk some more.  One of the guys
was called over and they felt his balls, and then I
was pushed towards the table, but not to have my balls
felt - the guards pushed me belly down on to it, and
almost roughly kicked my legs apart.  I felt their
hands on my butt, and they pulled me wide open, and I
just knew that the five blacks were discussing my
asshole, but for what, I couldn't imagine.

Eventually we were allowed to leave, and  but outside
the main house the other four were marched off back
towards the salve barn, whilst I was pushed back into
the washing place I'd been in earlier.  The two slaves
who'd ministered to me before came in, rubbing their
eyes as if they'd just woken up, and watched by the
guards they proceeded to shave my balls, trim my
pubes, and then shave right up my ass crack!  I'd
never felt so humiliated and embarrassed before - I'd
never had another man touch my balls (well, except for
Joe, and that was different), and certainly he had
never done anything to my ass!  When they'd finished
they were evidently prod of their work as they held a
mirror for me to see myself, just like my barber used
to:  I had a big, wild straggly mass of dark black
pubes before, but now it was just a small, discrete
patch, cropped down to no more than half an inch long,
and the effect of this was to make my dick look even
bigger as it hung there, an effect heightened by the
way it lay on top of my clean-shaven balls, which
themselves seemed to be emphasised, too.  But it was
my ass that was the biggest shock - I usually had a
little crop of wiry curls peeping out all down it, and
they were gone.  And as I walked, my butt cheeks
seemed to slide over each other -  I suppose you get
used to the feeling of your ass hairs binding
together, and you only notice it when they're gone.

The guards shouted at me, though, as I stood there
looking at the "new me", and then marched me back to
the big house, and back thorough it into the dining
room.  My owner was saying goodnight to the last of
his guests, and, that done, he turned to me.  In that
strangely perfect English voice he said
"Congratulations, boy.  We voted you the best of the
lot, and so you're my new stud.  I'm going to start
breeding slaves here, as the supply problem gets more
difficult every week, and prices are going through the
roof!  It's a long term investment, I know, but
breeding them here makes them effectively free:  I'll
have to feed the kids of course, but once they're five
or six years old they can start to do useful work in
the fields and gardens, and so the financial picture
is very promising.  We'll need to make sure you breed
true, of course - it wasn't your technique we were
particularly lacking, but your physique:  I like nice
long-legged slaves who are tall and well muscled, and
I always think a slave's appearance is anyway enhanced
by a big dick.  So you'll do well."

I just stared at him, and he went on "In fact, boy, I
found your appearance tonight so appealing I do wonder
why you're a field slave at all - you really ought to
be gracing some sex establishment.  But I do need you
as a stud, and so I'm not going to sell you to one of
those places in the city where the poor civil servants
and such like relieve themselves.  No, I think I'll
use you myself.....  Bend over the table."

"NO, please, don't.... Please, sir...."

"Slaves stay silent", he said calmly, and gestured to
the guard, who,  as I was totally unable to stop him
as my wrists were still tied to my collar, brought his
punishment cane down hard on my butt, twice.

My owner laughed, and came over and turned me around
so he could look at my butt.  "Those stripes make this
exceptional backside seem even more appealing, you
know.  What were you called when you were free, boy?"

"Steve, sir."

"Well, Steve, are you a virgin?  Not at fucking,
obviously.  But has a man - or a slave - used your ass
before?"

"NO!.... Sir."

"Well, Steve, I think you're in for an interesting
experience.  At the start of the century white men,
especially young white men, used to fantasise about
being used by big strong black men with huge dicks.
Now you're about to have that fantasy made reality."

End Of Part Two