Date: Sat, 10 Mar 2007 23:02:40 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Revolt, Part Seven

THE SLAVE REVOLT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Seven

It wasn't all that easy to sleep that night - the
cement floor of the warehouse was very hard, even
though the guy had given me a blanket.   But at least
my belly was full, and I was looking forward, I
suppose, to being "home" soon, when things would have
to be a lot better.  Still, it was really nice of the
guy to have at least treated me like a man, and not
some sort of animal, which is the treatment I'd had so
far, and although it's uncomfortable to sleep with
your hands cuffed around a pillar, I knew that my
ordeal was almost over.

In the morning the guy who ran the warehouse came in
and looked at me as I lay there still wrapped in the
blanket, then he reached down and pulled it away from
me - I had a morning hard-on of course, and he stared
at my dick , then told me to get to my feet.  It's
difficult, actually, with your hands cuffed around a
pillar, so I had to get to my knees, then struggle to
my feet.  He stood there looking at me as I did this,
then said quietly "Boy, I thought you were a
reasonable guy.  A lot of the niggas we get through
here are just like animals, they can't keep their
minds off sex.  But you... a whitey.... I thought you
might be different, and when we talked yesterday you
were almost human.  But you must have spent too long
with niggas when you were running away, as I see you
this morning, and you're just like the niggas - look
at you, standing there with that dick jutting out from
you:  men don't expose themselves like that, and....."

"Sir, please ,sir, I didn't run away.  And I can't
help  it..... I haven't got any clothes, so I have to
expose my body...."

He grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face
the pillar, and the next moment there was an
excruciating pain in my butt - I heard the "swish" as
something moved through the air, and then I had an
agonising sensation, followed by a long, slow "burn"
of follow on pain.

"Listen, boy - don't you argue with me! " he snapped.
"Boys who argue with free men get punished.  And I
quite like the look of that butt of yours with a red
stripe across it from my punishment cane.  And more
nonsense from you, and I'll hit you again.  If I say
you're a disgusting animal, showing off your erection
to other men, then you are!  I know you're naked as
that's the way slaves in transit are kept, but there
was no excuse for flaunting your erect dick at me -
men do appear naked in front of other men very often:
we all went to school ,and most of us go to the gym
and use the changing rooms - but no man stands there
in front of others and flaunts a big, rampant, erect
dick, does he?  Only a vile sex-obsessed slave would
do that, just as an animal would...."

"Please, sir, I didn't mean any harm... You've
misunderstood.... I'd only just woken up when you came
in, and it's a morning hard-on, sir.... Lots of guys
have them... It's natural, you can't help....."

I screamed as another stroke of his cane slashed
across my butt.

"Stop making excuses, you filthy animal!  You're a
liar - if you weren't sexually aroused, it would have
gone down by now.  No, you like flaunting it in front
of me...."

"Sir, no, sir!  It won't go down as I need to piss,
sir, I...."

Another scream, as his cane cut into me again, this
time the pain was from the top of my thighs, as he'd
slashed at me below my butt.

"You're an animal, boy!  Just like the niggas.  And we
have a way of dealing with them, so they don't cause
offence to decent folk when we make the final
delivery."

As he said this, he moved closer to me so I could feel
the rough cloth of his uniform against my bare skin,
then his hand was on my butt, and moved on down and
went to push itself between my thighs.  Instinctively,
I pushed my thighs close together - it's a reflex, I
guess, as your body knows that hanging there are your
balls, and it does everything it can to protect them.

He took a step back and slashed at my butt again,
snapping "How dare you resist me!", then he kicked at
my ankles and shins with his booted feet, forcing me
to move them apart.  I felt him brush against me
again, and once more his hot, sweaty hand was probing
between my thighs.  I felt his fingers close around my
sac, and he tugged at it experimentally, pushing  my
balls down to the bottom as he held  the neck between
his fingers.

"So these are what's causing you the problem, are
they, boy?  Well, most of the niggas we get through
here have had that problem solved:  a quick snip, and
you have no more problems with erections..... But your
owner has let you keep them.  Still, we can fix your
problems this morning......"

With one hand still gripping my balls through my
thighs, be leaned right forward so that I could feel
his breath on my bare back,  reached around me, and
gripped my dick with his other hand.  He started to
stroke me, and my already painful dick, as I was
bursting to piss, send little tremors of sensation to
my brain as it both wanted relief of some sort, but
hated being gripped so roughly y this guy:  he wasn't
at all gentle, as you are with yourself, or with
another guy you like - no, he was stroking his fingers
up and down my shaft but gripping so tight that it
really hurt when his hand  hit the ridge around my
dick head.

"Please, sir...", I moaned.  "Please, sir, it's
hurting...."

"And so it should be, boy!  That's the only way an
animal like you learns that he has to control himself
when he's in the company of free men!  So you don't
like it, do you?  See his this feels, then...."

As he said this he carried on jerking at my dick - and
it really was "jerking" - but he let go of my balls
for an instant, then slapped at them with his open
palm.  It  wasn't just the sheer unexpectedness of it
that caused me to cry out, but it hurt, really hurt,
as only a blow to your balls can.

I was half gagging as I coughed and spluttered from
this attack on my most sensitive parts, and perhaps it
was a s well that I couldn't speak for a moment as he
went on "Now, you fucking animal, I'm going to bring
you off, and I don't want to hear any more out of you
- you're an animal, just like all the niggas, and
animals don't speak unless they're spoken to!"

He grabbed my balls again and began squeezing and
massaging them, whilst all the time continuing to very
roughly jerk at my dick.  I just couldn't help it - I
moved and writhed around as best I could in the
circumstances, shuffling form foot to foot, and
trying, utterly futilely, to get away from the man and
his hands.  But there was no chance - with my own
hands cuffed around the pillar, and with his holding
my dick and balls, I was utterly in his power.

Mercifully it couldn't go on for very long:  I hadn't
been able to jerk myself off the previous night as I
was cuffed, and so I was ready to shoot.  And in spite
of the utter humiliation and pain I was suffering,
nature took its course.  I began to moan quietly as I
could tell that my climax was approaching, and this
seemed to cause him to redouble his efforts at
squeezing and toying with my balls.  His breath was
coming in gasps against my back now, and I heard him
say "I can tell those babies of yours are ready,
boy..... Now....."

A veritable fountain of cum shot out from me - I
couldn't see it, but you know how it is when you've
been right on the edge and then you get relief?    His
hand continued to massage and play with my balls, and
even though the hand he was jerking me off with must
be covered in cum so he'd knew I'd shot, he carried on
stroking me.  I'm one of those guys whose dick is
very, very sensitive once it's blown its load, and if
I'm jerking myself off I always stop immediately the
first spurt of cum rushes out.  A lot of guys don't
understand this, though, and want to carry on jerking
you off, or sucking your dick, or they can't
understand why you've suddenly stopped fucking
them.... Well, if you're like me, you'll know why!
That sensation of having your dick touched when it's
so sensitive is both totally erotic and actually very,
very painful:  you want to shout out exuberantly
because of the eroticism, but scream because of the
pain.

I couldn't help it.  I gave a great cry and gasped
"Please, sir, please.... Let me go, sir.... It
hurts....."

He just laughed, and carried on jerking me off even
though my body was bucking and writhing as his torture
continued.  He only stopped when my dick, mercifully,
lost its erection .  But he finished up with another
slap to my balls, that caused me to scream again.

He allowed me to turn around, and I stood facing him,
naked and defenceless.  My dick had subsided and there
was just a drool of cum still trickling out of my piss
slit.  He looked at me, a  smirk of satisfaction on
his face.  "See, boy!  I thought you were a decent
guy, but you're just an animal, like all the other
slaves we have through here...."

I stood there, kind of ashamed and embarrassed -
although why should I be?  I didn't ask him to
masturbate me like that, did I?  It wasn't my fault I
had a morning hard-on - I'm a man, after all!  So why
did I think it was all somehow my fault?  Perhaps it
was because I'd got him marked down in my mind as a
nice ,decent guy, and now I'd found out he was as
cruel and uncaring as most of the National Guard when
they'd treated us as they did.

"Please, sir....", I began, trying to make him
understand that in other circumstances I'd be just
like him, a free man, a decent guy.  And all I got was
a cut across the front of my thighs from his cane!
And if you've ever had the thin, springy "punishment"
canes on your hide, you'll know it's painful on your
butt, but absolute agony on the front of your thighs
as there's not enough muscle to adsorb the blow and it
strikes your bone.

"I told you to shut the fuck up, boy!  I wad going to
treat you a bit special, as a whitey, but now I can
see I've got to be careful as you're just like the
nigga animals..  I need to control you....."

As I stood there helplessly, my hands stiff manacled
to the pillar, he bent down in front of me and pulled
a long leather lace from a container on his belt.
Grabbing hold of my balls again - my dick flopped onto
this hand as he did this -  he started to wrap the
lace around my sac, pulling and squeezing my balls,
and causing me to shuffle and move my feet as he did
so, which caused him to snap at me that he'd cane me
properly if I continued to resist him.  Soon my balls
were trapped at the bottom of my sac with a thick band
of leather between them and the base of my cock, and
he then moved on to pull my balls and dick away from
my body, and wrap the remaining lace around and around
so that I was effectively "cinched out" - my dick and
my bound balls jutted out almost obscenely in front of
me.

"Now, boy, you'd better be on your best behaviour", he
told me.  "See those balls of yours, all showing
through the stretched skin of our sac?  Well, imagine
how easy it is for me to get at them now, as they're
nice and prominent in front of you.... Would you like
to feel how it is if I touch them with my cane?"

I could only imagine the agony this would entail, and
I lowered my head, and in a low tone, that I hoped
sounded suitably subservient, muttered "Sir, please,
sir, I'll behave, sir... I'm a good slave, sir...."

He smiled.  "All you slaves are the same!  Once a free
man shows you that he understands how to manage and
control you, you lose all that 'uppityness'.
Personally, I reckon they ought to geld you all when
you're enslaved, and that way we wouldn't have had all
this trouble we did.  But even if that doesn't happen,
owners ought to take control:  even the most uppity
slave soon learns to obey, when his owner shows him
the behaviour he expects and backs it up with some
proper reinforcement by way of a little practical
demonstration of the punishment in store for him if he
doesn't."

I felt like smashing the guy's smug face in, but this
wasn't the time to show any sign of rebellion, was it?
 So I just stood there, head down as if I were truly
submissive, as he went on "Now, boy, I'm going to undo
you from the pillar, but I reckon I need to keep you
manacled.  But, any signs of disobedience, and Ill
beat your balls, is that understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir", I whispered.

"Good!  I like to deliver slaves back to their owners
in good condition, so you need to shower.  Then I'll
feed you."

It's not easy to really clean yourself in a shower
when your hands are cuffed,  You can't reach around
behind and clean your ass, for example.  But as I was
standing there under the running water it seemed that
some of the other "staff" at the place must have come
on duty, as I was joined  by a young nigga slave who
began to soap my back, and didn't seem at all
embarrassed to have to slide his soapy hands down
in-between my butt cheeks.  I snapped a t him to stop
when he tried to slide a soapy finger up my ass,
though, and I suppose I was wrong, as he was only
doing his job.  He grabbed at my cinched and distended
balls sac and told me casually "Listen here, whitey -
it's my job to clean saves properly before they get
shipped off!  And it's not just my finger that's going
up your ass - so bend over and spread your legs, if
you don't want me to hit these eggs of yours....."

I was powerless, I knew, so did as I was told.  His
finger then slid up my ass - he seemed to enjoy
forcing his way past my sphincter  - and then as I
stood there, bent over, he began to massage around,
telling me that "This is one tight ass, man!  Doesn't
your owner fuck you?"

"No!", I gasped, as his finger sent a flood of
sensation thorough me.  But then I found out the
reason why - the finger was only to "loosen me up" so
that he could take a tube handing on the wall of the
shower and push it up inside me.  I suppose I knew
intellectually what was going on, but until you've
actually experienced an enema the sheer physicality of
it escapes you.  I stood there watching as my bell y
began to swell out as the water went in to me, and the
nigga boy stood behind me and with one hand holding my
balls to "control" me, he began to massage my belly
with his other.

It was soon incredibly painful - I needed to crap,
needed it in that way when you've got diarrhoea and it
doesn't matter whether there's a  rest room anywhere
around - you've got to let it out!  He pulled away
from me, told me to squat down, and a big stream of
dirty water rushed out from me, dark brown, with
modules and flakes of shit in it.  I could see that
the force of it caused it to splash up from the tiles
on the shower floor, so my ankles and calves were
covered in it.  It didn't seem to bother him, though,
as the moment I'd finished - even before the pungent
smell had dissipated - he told me to bend over again
so that he could once more push the hose up inside me.

It took four flushes before he seemed happy that I was
"clean" inside, and then he began once more to soap me
all over, and finally washed me all over to get rid of
it.  I stood there, now feeling very clean indeed, but
acutely conscious that this young nigga had had his
hands all over me.  He looked around to see if any of
the free men in the warehouse were watching, then fell
to his knees in front of me.  To my utter astonishment
his lips closed around my dick, and he began to lick
and tease it with his tongue, all the time caressing
my distended balls.  I tried to move back, away from
him, but he simply clutched my balls tighter.

"No!", I told him.

"Hey, whitey - keep still!  It's part of the cleaning:
 we send you out from here with your ass empty, and
your balls drained."

"I've already been jerked off this morning!  Let me
alone, you young fucker...."

He stopped for a moment, and looked up at me.  There
was a smile on his face.  "So I will have to work
really hard to get you to cum!  It's not often  I get
a nice, big fat whitey dick like this.... So I will
enjoy making the most of it...."

All I can say about it is that, unlike the warehouse
manager earlier, he was gentle!  His soft lips
caressed and teased my dick, and he knew a lot of
"tricks", like wiggling his tongue in my piss slit,
that drove me almost wild.  And all the time he was
doing this he carried on stroking and caressing my
balls, occasionally breaking off to lick and kiss
them.  It was almost enjoyable until he put an arm
around my butt and then began to wiggle his finger in
again.

"No!", I said sharply, but he stopped sucking, looked
up at me again and said "Hey, whitey, I know what I'm
doing...."

I suppose he did, actually - once his finger was
buried in me he massaged and probed until I was almost
shouting out with the intense pleasure and excitement
it caused me, and as his lips continued to feast on my
dick, I began to shoot again even though it was so
soon after I'd been jerked off.  He stopped then, gave
my dick a final lick, and stood up - he was running
his tongue around his mouth, as if savouring my cum,
and he smiled at me.

"You are good, for a whitey!  Most niggas don't
produce this much cum!  Now, hold still, as I undo
you...."

He was gentle as he bent down again and started to
unwind the leather lace from around my dick and
balls..  As the blood rushed in I felt washes of
pleasure and a dull ache flood through me, but it was
a relief to be "respectable" again - well, as
"respectable" as you can be, when you're totally
naked.

I didn't mind being cramped in the transit cage they
shovelled me into then:  it seemed I was on the last
leg of the journey "home", and  I was actually looking
forward to seeing my owner again.  Yes, I know it
sounds odd, looking forward to seeing another man who
had total and utter control over my life, but, after
all, he'd been a decent-enough guy when I was working
as his show slave and personal trainer. And compared
to what I had experienced "living rough", hunted by
rebels and then by the government troops, a return to
normality was going to be good - even if that
normality meant that I was still a slave.  And then
there was Rob - I'd looked after him because it was
the right thing to do - I've told you how this
residual effect of the stuff I learned in the Marines
persisted.  Nevertheless, surely Rob and my owner
would not only be grateful to me for hat I'd done - I
know a slave is supposedly not deserving of special
rewards as it's his "duty" to serve his owner
faithfully, but this was surely an exceptional
circumstance.

So as soon as I began to recognise some features in
the landscape, my mood lightened and lightened.   And
when we got onto the demesne itself - with which I was
very familiar as I'd run over almost all of it when
training with my owner - I was almost delirious with
joy.  Of course there were some changes - a lot of the
beautiful shade trees that were much appreciated by
the coffled niggas when they had their midday break
seemed to have been cut down (to burn for fire wood?).
 And there were changes in the outbuildings and so on
- the barn, where I'd spend so many happy nights with
the drays had been razed to the ground in the fire,
and an ugly temporary building seemed to have replaced
it.  But the main house itself seemed intact and
things looked much as normal - the lawns that swept up
to it were neatly cut and manicured, and the only hint
that things might have been very different were some
damage to one of the wings, and a few streaks of
charring from fires that had not yet been painted out
on the white walls.

They delivered me to the slave entrance at the back,
and now the differences became clearer:  In the past
the rear courtyard had several slaves hanging around,
coming and going to and from their duties, or taking
their breaks which were allowed by our owner.  They
were allowed to chat with each other at these times if
it did not interfere with their duties.  But now it
was eerily empty, and a new feature had appeared -
immediately outside the door there was a "hitching
rail" - sturdy posts held a cross member from which
hung manacles ready to be clipped around the wrists of
any slaves who were there temporarily.  Could it be
that slaves were never allowed any freedom at all?

The guard who came out to sign for me was of course
new - as I've told you, most of the guards employed at
the time of the revolt had been butchered.  I don't
think he would have got a job before as my owner liked
smart, well-turned out guys who were doing this as a
professional job:  this guy looked kind of slovenly
and none too bright, and I suppose he had got the job
because all the deaths would have meant that there
were new employment opportunities for the previously
unemployable.

He hardly glanced at me as he tried to read the
delivery paperwork, but after some laboured exchanges
with the driver of the truck, agreed that everything
was in order and I could be unloaded.  I stood there
for a moment  stretching my cramped limbs and enjoying
the feel of the morning sun on my body, but he slashed
out at me with a tawse, causing me to jump a bit as it
was so unexpected (the former guards only used
physical chastisement when a slave had disobeyed some
rule, or was seen not to be working as hard as he
could).  "Stand properly, you fucking slave", he
snarled.  "Slaves here show respect for free men, and
they stand at 'slave rest' when they're not doing
anything else.  Now, spread your legs, clasp your
hands behind you, and bow your head!"

I went to do as he said, even though I thought it was
a it over the top, and there was another painful slash
of the tawse across my bare chest.  "...and slaves
here are properly respectful to guards:  when you're
given an order, you acknowledge it in the proper way.
Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir", I muttered, and yelped as the tawse was
now slashed even more viciously across my belly.

"Try that again, boy!", he commanded.

"Sir, yes, sir!" I rapped back, remembering how it had
been in the Marines.

"Good, boy!  We'll soon have you broken to the
standards of discipline we expect here.  Now, follow
me."

He slashed at me again as I did not instantly respond
"Sir, yes, sir!", and then, pretty pissed off by this
treatment as I had kind of expected my owner would
have greeted me as he was so grateful for the help I'd
given in saving Rob, I obeyed.

Everything looked much the same down in the slave
quarters.  We went along the corridor past my little
cubicle, and it was  still there - the narrow bunk,
and the small cupboard where I was allowed to keep my
few clothes, and I got a momentary pang of longing
just to be allowed to go in there and lie down, and
close my eyes in the hope that when I opened them,
everything would be as before.  But life isn't like
that, is it?  That's only for stories in kids' books,
and there was something about the atmosphere at the
place that shrieked that it certainly wasn't going to
be "the same as before".  And then I noticed the
shackles that were draped around the foot of the bed -
evidently slaves were not secured at night, and not
allowed to roam between  their cubicles looking for a
little excitement.  Taken with the sight of the
"hitching post" outside the rear entrance, I began to
wonder how much things had changed.

The guard led me on into the "preparation" area, where
I'd last been when I'd made Rob look as much like a
slave as possible.  The nice young guys who used to
work in there had been replaced - I wondered if they'd
been killed in the revolt and had met their fate
strung out on a cross, or what.  Two new slaves, who
did not know me, seemed in fear of the guard as they
told me to get under the shower, and then, as you
might expect, I had to lie on one of the preparation
tables as they shaved my balls and ass crack,  trimmed
my pubes neatly, and finally shaved my face and cut my
hair back to its regulation slave crop.  All the time
they did this they were totally silent, which was
unusual as the slaves in the preparation room used to
be kind of friendly and joked and laughed with you as
they worked on your intimate parts.  I realised why,
when, as I said "Thanks", and one of them
instinctively replied "No problem", the guard lashed
out at both of us with his tawse, striking our butts
this time as he snapped "You fucking slaves are to
keep silent unless you're responding to a free man!
You know the rules - silence, or be punished!  Too
much talking and you might be plotting another revolt!
Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir", the young nigga replied, clearly
scared of the guard, and as he raised his hand with
the tawse towards me, I too rapped out "Sir, yes,
sir".  I hated doing it, having to perform for the
benefit of this oaf, but I felt certain that soon I'd
be a favoured, trusted slave again, as soon as my
owner realised I was there.

The niggas gave me a pair of standard slave shorts,
and it felt really odd pulling them on for the first
time in such a long time - the rub of the fabric
against my dick almost made me get an erection there
and then!  I also got a slave T, and this did make my
nips erect as the cotton slid over them, and then the
guard snapped "Follow me, boy!".

"Sir, yes, sir", I acknowledged almost reflexively as
it was a bit like being back in the Marines, and then
I followed him up the rear stairs that I was so
familiar with as it was the usual route for us slaves
to take through the house - I only used the main
staircase when I was accompanying my owner.

When we came out into the wide corridor that was to
one side of the entrance hall, I at once noticed a
change, though:  all the old, graceful "Colonial"
furniture, a lot of it genuine antiques, had gone and
had been replaced with modern pieces in "high-tech"
style.  The graceful couches and spindle-backed
chairs, and the carved lamp tables glowing with years
of polishing of their mahogany, had all gone, and in
their place were stark, "linear" leather couches and
modern up-lighters in stainless steel.  I wondered why
my owner had gone for such a radical change in style,
and then it occurred to me that the previous stuff
would have been burned or smashed or simply looted at
the time of the invasion by the rebels, and presumably
there was now a terrible scarcity of this stuff all
across the country.  Although the modern stuff had
that stark simplicity that shrieked "expensive",  I
supposed it was still very, very much less costly than
replacing antiques now.

The guard led me to the door of my owner's favourite
room - his den and study and TV room combined, where I
had often gone before and after our work-out sessions
- and told me to face the wall, and assume slave rest.
 I hated it, as it's so demeaning to have to stand
there looking at the blank wall, but I wasn't in any
mood to get beaten again so I meekly said "Sir, yes,
sir", and did as he ordered.  My owner was a
considerate guy, I knew, and only sent for me when he
was ready to see me, and although I'd sometimes had to
wait a couple of minutes in this very damned corridor
as he finished a phone call or something, I knew I'd
soon be with him.  But as the time went on and I was
totally bored with looking at the wall, and as my neck
muscles were beginning to ache from having to keep my
head bowed and motionless, I began to wonder if there
hadn't been some mistake - had my owner been called
away and had simply forgotten he'd asked to see me?

I wondered if I should say something to the guard, but
already I suppose I was learning - just obey, and say
nothing!  I could feel a small trickle of sweat run
down my back under my T as the boredom and the tension
built, and I could see out of the corner of my eye
that the guard now sat sprawled on one of the
uncomfortable-looking leather couches.  The time
ticked slowly on, and if I hadn't had to stand there
rigidly like that I could easily have drifted into a
doze - the guard had, and I don't expect that he was
as exhausted as I was, not having spent his last few
days caged and transported, as I had been.

Finally, as I was almost swaying from the fatigue of
holding the position and from the terrible boredom,
the guard's communicator beeped.  He came awake with a
great start from the unexpectedness of it, listened
for a couple of seconds, then snapped at me "Right,
boy, you're going in to see your owner.   Remember the
rules, though:  respect, obey, and no speaking unless
you're spoken to!  I've got the tawse here, and I know
you boys can be specially uppity when you get back to
your rightful place, so I'll keep my slave prod at the
ready, too."

He opened the door and commanded me to enter, and the
room was so different from what I remembered:  the old
comfortable couches, the bookshelves, the fireplace
with the old fire-irons, my owner's big mahogany work
table - all had gone to be replaced by sleek,
futuristic pieces.  And my toes, used to curling into
the luxurious pile of the wool carpet on the floor,
now felt the cool of the marble which had replaced it.


My owner was sitting behind a glass and steel desk,
looking at his e-mail, and instead of getting up as he
would have done in the past, and as I was expecting
now as he'd obviously be so glad to see me, he almost
glared at me  "So, you're back!", he intoned coldly.
"Strip, so I can examine you."

This was so unexpected that I hesitated, and the tawse
cut across my butt - still so painful in spite of my
shorts that I gave an involuntary yelp.  "Do as you're
commanded, boy!", the guard snarled and without
thinking, I replied "Sir, yes, sir!".  It was so odd,
though - why was my owner not pleased to see me, and
why was he treating me in this way?

The guard and my owner continued to stare at me for a
few seconds, and I realised that there was something
dreadfully wrong - I wasn't the hero, returning to a
grateful owner after helping his son survive:  no,
clearly there was something else, and I needed to
explain."

"Sir, .....", I began, looking at my owner. But my
words were cut off as I fell to the floor, screaming
and writhing as the guard's prod touched my bare
thigh.  I lay there twitching and gasping for breath
and as I struggled to regain my composure, the guard
kicked at me quite casually, as if it was the accepted
thing to do to a slave!  In the past my owner had
never tolerated gratuitous cruelty and violence
towards his slaves, but now he seemed to be perfectly
uninvolved as he sat there working, and was prepared
to leave the guard to do as he pleased.

Eventually I managed to struggle to my feet, and the
tawse fell across me several times now as the guard
intoned "You were  told to strip, boy!  Now, do as you
are told!"

Look, I'm not shy or anything - I was after all used
to appearing naked in front of my owner and his
guests, and with a body  like mine I'd got absolutely
nothing to be ashamed of anyway.  But it was strange,
standing there in front of my owner and the guard in
that stark, bare room, and having to remove the shorts
and T that I had so recently only acquired again.

My owner stared at me, then snapped "Turn around and
let me see your back!".  I did as I was told,
wondering what the hell was going on.  Then I was
ordered to face him again and he looked so angry, not
pleased, as he should have been.

"You're ruined!", he told me.  "You had a flawless
body that was a credit to me and very pleasing to my
guests.  And now you have scars and blemishes all over
you.  You are useless as a display slave, and I cannot
of course trust you in close proximity to me as a
personal trainer.  So I will assign you to other work
- hard, exhausting work, that should take away any
lingering desire you might have to escape again."

"Sir, please, sir, I didn't....."   My sentence was
cut short as I screamed as the tawse struck my naked
butt hard, very hard.

"Silence!", the guard shouted.  "Speak only when
spoken to, you fucking slave!"

"As I was saying", my owner continued in the same low
voice, that I thought was perhaps tinged with
disappointment.  "I will assign you to hard,
repetitive physical labour that should leave you
exhausted and unable to consider running away again.
I am very disappointed in you, Steve, as I thought
that you, of all my slaves, would have not succumbed
to the siren call of the rebels, and run away!"

"Sir, I didn't...."   The tawse cut across me again,
and I shut up.

"Don't deny it, Steve!  You were captured five hundred
miles from here!  I want to hear not one more word
from you, or I will take more extreme measures - I
left you ungelded as I have some other plans for you,
but I could easily change my mind.  And perhaps I
should anyway simply sell you on...."

What the fuck was going on?  Surely Rob had told him
about our escape?  But my owner was continuing "Slaves
are extremely expensive nowadays, and I lost three of
the team of drays in the turmoil.  We have a need for
their services even more now, as the reconstruction
and repair continues - I had been wondering what to do
as a lot of my money is tied up in the restoration of
the estate, but the solution is clear:  you will join
the drays.  A team of four of you doing the work of
six should keep you suitably engaged."

I went to say something, but my owner stilled the
action of the guard, who was about to hit me again,
with a small gesture.  "As ever, you are defiant,
Steve!  When you were a proper obedient slave, before
all this began, I always thought you were keeping
yourself well under control.  But all this rebellion
has tainted you:  you need to learn again that I own
you totally, and control you absolutely."

Before I could do or say anything, he turned to the
guard and said "Take him to the punishment room.  I
will be with you presently.  Make sure he is secured
to a horse as I will be reminding him that an owner
can use a slave sexually.  And the bonds need to be
very, very tight as now he is no longer a display
slave, we can decorate his body a little more."

End Of Part Seven