Date: Thu, 31 Aug 2006 09:24:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Tables Were Turned, Part Six

THE TABLES WERE TURNED

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

The Tables Were Turned, Part  Six

They didn't even bother to give me a shred of
clothing.  Not one stitch.  Down in the depths of the
palace the guards almost threw me into a cage, and
left me there, totally naked.  And this wasn't a large
"cell-like" cage as I had at the cottage - no, it was
the sort of thing you carry animals around in, just a
few feet on the cube, made of metal bars.  I was all
cramped up again as I'm a big guy, and my whole body
was aching:  my arse was so sore from the Arab's
brutal fucking, and my bum, thighs and back were
screaming with the hurt that the two men's brutal
caning had done to me.  I begged and pleaded with them
for a drink of water, but none was forthcoming, and I
was just left there, wondering what the fuck was going
to happen to me.  It soon got to the point where I
needed desperately to piss, and I pointed at my cock
and made pleading noises, but still the guards ignored
me.  Finally, when the pressure on my bladder was so
acute that I could bear it no longer I had no choice
but to let go, and a thin pool of my piss formed
underneath my cage, only serving to add to my misery.

When they came for me the guards didn't seem to mind
the piss - four of the big brutes just picked up the
cage with me in it, and carried it out and dropped it
onto the back of a flatbed truck along with a whole
number of barrels and crates and packages.  The truck
set off, out through the gates of the building and
along the crowded, narrow streets of the town that
surrounded it. I looked out in despair at the wizened
faces of all the people in the streets as we crawled
along, and several of them stared back at me, some
mothers even pointing out the cane marks on me to
their children, as if in warning of what happens to
people who misbehave. No one seemed surprised to see a
big naked man caged like this, but I was fucking
embarrassed by the whole thing, especially the women
and kids looking at me like that.

We went through a sort of vague green area surrounding
the town, then out into the desert proper, all rocks
and scrub.  The sun beat down on me, and  I was glad
that I spent a lot of time out of doors in Wales, or
else I'd have burned terribly.

It was only about an hour in the truck, but the place
we arrived at, some sort of farm complex in the
desert, could have been a hundred years away in actual
time.  There seemed to be no machinery visible, only
the truck I was on, but lots of carts and barrows were
being pushed around by teams of naked men - all
blacks, I noted.  It looked verdant and green, too,
after the desert that surrounded it, and I assumed (as
later proved to be correct) that this was because of
irrigation from the underground aquifers.  Four of the
big naked blacks were summoned to carry my cage into
one of the many buildings that were arranged in a
square around a central courtyard - a courtyard that,
rather ominously, contained what seemed to be a
gallows, and a set of stocks.

Inside was a bare room and they put down my cage and
opened it up and literally tipped me out onto the
floor.  I lay there sprawled out for a moment or two
as the men left and locked the door behind them, and
then I noticed five other men in the room, cowering
against the far wall.  They were all dressed in
tattered shorts and shirts, and were all barefoot, and
were blacks ranging in age from, I'd say, twenty to
thirty.  "Where the fuck are we?", I asked, but they
just jabbered something incomprehensible in reply.
These must, I thought, be very poor blacks from some
African country or other, as most of the ones you find
elsewhere on the planet do at least have some few
words of English!

We all sat there, and I noticed them looking at me - I
suppose they'd never seen a nude white bloke before -
until the door flew open and some of those big,
tough-looking guards came in and barked orders at us
which the blacks seemed to understand.    We were led
out and into another room that had shower heads on the
wall, and on a command, the five blacks, looking even
more terrified, were ordered to strip off, and all six
of us made to wash - the soap stung the wounds on my
bum, but it was good to actually get my body clean of
all the sweat and cum.  After we'd showered, all six
of us stood there, totally naked, and finally a barber
came in - well I say a barber:  he was more like a
cross between a barber and an expert at wielding a
razor!  His scissors flew, and in quick succession
each of us was stripped completely of every trace of
hair on us anywhere:  all my head hair, my chest,
pits, pubes, and even the hairs on my arms and legs!
The blacks didn't look too bad, but without the hair
on my head my dead-white scalp made me look
ridiculous, and there was a real white patch around my
pubes, too.

Worse was yet to come - two of the other five, and me,
were herded off by the guards, and lined up.  The
bloke in front of me was done first and I heard him
screaming, then I was pulled forward.  There was a
sort of frame that was waist high, and the guards
pressed me against it.  In an instant straps were
pulled tight around my belly and my upper thighs,
holding me utterly immobile.  A man sitting a on a low
stool in front of me had a  scalpel, and before I
realised what was happening he'd taken my cock in his
hand,, teased back my 'skin, and run the scalpel along
underneath to free the 'skin so it was loose all the
way around!  I screamed with  the sudden, totally
unexpected sharp pain - imagine, if you can, being cut
with glass and then having salt rubbed into it
simultaneously!  But the thing wasn't over - almost
without pausing a metal cylinder was forced over my
cock head, causing me to moan and cry out as it
abraded the cut skin underneath my cock, then my 'skin
was stretched over it and pulled up - and a quick
circular cut around, on the cylinder, lopped my 'skin
off!  He had a little pot of some sort of paste, and
as I was shouting and crying with the pain and the
anger, he wiped it all over the cut ends of my 'skin
which were of course oozing blood - again, a
knife-like pain, as I assumed it was a combination of
an antiseptic and a styptic.  The worse thing was that
the frame held me immobile - I had been able to see
the latter stages of what he was doing to me, but was
utterly unable to jerk backwards to escape, or to do
anything to stop him.

The man smiled up at me.  "All his Highness's servants
are circumcised", he said simply..  So that was that,
then - I had no say in it at all.  This man, who had
been my customer, and I thought some vague sort of
friend, could have this mutilation done to me and I
was totally powerless to do anything about it.  I
thought of all those lads who had passed through my
hands over the years - being young, they were mostly
uncut, (as was Tim), and I wondered how many of them
had ended up strapped here, having themselves
mutilated like this.

Even now, years later, I can remember the pain of my
branding.  It turns out that all  his Highness's
servants carry a big "S" on their left buttock to
denote their servile status, and a big Arabic
character on their right breast, just above the tit,
denoting the first letter of the royal household's
name.  All six of us therefore were, in turn, strapped
to a frame and the red hot irons were pushed into our
flesh.  I knew what they were going to do to me, as I
was the fourth in line, and I heard the first three
screaming in sheer terror, and then pain.  But there
was not a fucking thing I could do about it.  I
decided to show them what a white bloke could do - to
take it quietly - but as the iron seared into my skin
I heard myself  screaming totally uncontrollably.  And
of course knowing what it felt like when they did my
bum, the anticipation as the iron approached my chest
was even worse.

Afterwards all six of us were too shocked and worn out
by our ordeal to do anything other than just lie
there, utterly supine, in the corner of the locked
room where they threw us.  It was possibly the worst
night of my life - the pain from my cock, the
indescribably agony from my bum and chest, and, added
to all that, the raging thirst I had, as they hadn't
given any of us any water for hours.

The next morning there was one more "process" we had
to go through:  large iron collars were fitted around
our necks, squeezed shut by four blacks wielding huge
pliers-like devices, and then riveted closed with a
hot iron rivet that passed through two holes on the
side of the collar.  As the rivet was hammered home,
it was as if it was truly sounding the death knell of
the life I had known.   The collar must have weighed
two or three pounds at least, and the sheer weight of
it made me feel all unbalanced, and I realised why
most of the men I had seen were inclined to stoop and
walk around with bowed heads.  And it rubbed on my
collar bones as it had o be wide enough to allow my
neck to expand as I worked, so, like all the other
servants there, I had festering sores, and then deep
scars.

We were on a farm!  And, I found out, I was a
labourer.  Just that, no more, no less.  They were not
interested in the fact that I was an educated white
bloke, whereas all the other labourers were, without
exception, poor blacks who could neither read nor
write.  All they cared about was that I was another
piece of human muscle, a machine that could be made to
work from sunrise to sunset at a fast pace, with high
accuracy.  This was achieved quite simply:  we were
coffled together by a chain through our collars, so
escape was impossible.  Then, whatever task we were
assigned to that day - digging the fields, crawling
over them to pick out the stones by hand, planting the
crops, weeding them, or picking them, we moved in a
straight line across the field and any man who lagged
because he worked too slowly was "encouraged" back
into the line by the overseer, who wielded both a
short whip, for maintaining progress, and a longer
one, for lashing out at any sign of trouble
whatsoever.  I soon learned to respect the overseers
and the whips, and knew that however arduous the task,
however boring and repetitious was, I just had to stay
focussed and get on with it.  I came to realise that
using men in this way they had almost the "perfect
machine" - we had intelligence, so could be pointed at
a task, and then allowed to get on with it.  We used
no oil, made no pollution, and our work rate and
accuracy was known, and could be maintained at that
very high level by judicious use of the whip.  Our
capital cost was almost nothing, and our running costs
surprisingly low as we needed only a crude shed to be
locked in at night, and very cheap food.   Later I
once asked if this is why we were kept totally  naked,
and was told it was part of the reason - buying any
covering at all for us was a totally unnecessary
expense as the climate was hot and dry; but, the bloke
I asked admitted, the real reason is to differentiate
the servants from the free men:  once a man is
stripped and kept naked, is collared and has the "S"
mark burned into him, he "knows" he's a servant, and
different from a free man, in a way that would
otherwise be more difficult to comprehend

That first morning was horrific, though:  I was taken
out to the fields and added to the end of an existing
coffle chain, by the simple expedient of unlocking the
bloke on the end, threading the chain through my
collar, and then locking the original end man back in
place (it was considered a privilege to be at either
end of the chain, as in the middle you really have to
watch all the time to ensure you don't get tangled in
it, and it's easier at the ends - so these position
were reserved for the "Boss man" and his chief
henchman).   We were digging that morning, I seem to
recall - small spades, which all had to be
synchronised as we were so close together.  We all had
to put them down the same distance ahead of us, all
push down on them with our feet simultaneously
(something very painful for me, as my feet were not
yet tough and hardened), and then all turn the sod
over before repeating the process.  I tried my best,
but I'm a pretty independent sort of a bloke and I'm
just not used to working in a rigid pattern like that,
and I soon began to get the almost personal
supervision of one of the overseers who gave my
already battered bum and thighs special attention from
his short whip.  There was no stopping, either - a
young bloke, who looked about fourteen, but was
probably sixteen as all of us looked younger without
any hair on us - walked  up and down the line pushing
a pipe in-between our lips and then "pumping" water
into us using a bellows- like thing under his arm.

After about an hour I thought the water had gone right
through me, I was so desperate to piss.  So I shouted
at the overseer and pointed at my cock (now very
swollen at the  end, and still hurting badly), and
made kind of pissing gestures.  He just laughed, and
whipped me as I'd lost pace, but the "boss man" next
to me had noticed and the next moment I saw the
solution to my problem - as he worked, he just let fly
with a big stream of his piss, seeming not to care
that it splashed his legs when it hit the bare soil.
 That was how it was - I particularly hated it when we
were doing one of those jobs that required us to pass
through the fields on our hands and knees, like
weeding, or picking strawberries or asparagus.    Then
having to piss as you crawled along made me feel just
like a dog, peeing from my cock as it hung down
between my thighs.

We were not fed at lunchtime but were allowed a
two-our break at the hottest part of the day, and most
of us just sprawled in whatever shade we could find.
You couldn't really get away from the other blokes, of
course, as there was really very little slack on the
coffle chain that joined us together, so you got used
to having another body pressed against yours,  or a
head using your belly as a convenient pillow.  That
first week, though, a lot of the blokes pointed at my
cock and laughed, and, as I got to know a few words of
their language, I understood that they were laughing
about me getting "the mark of the prophet", as our
owners' religion required all men to be 'skinned.  A
lot of the blacks came from poor tribes deep in Africa
and their 'skins were a matter of pride to them, and
they resented it bitterly - well I did, too, as I now
carried three very visible marks of one man's power
and control over me.

That night I began to understand the way the "boss
man" did things and the way the system was run here.
As dusk fell we were taken back from the fields in our
coffles, and were let off the chain and pushed into
our "barn" for the night.  Once all twenty were inside
- as that was the standard capacity of a chain - they
pushed in a container of what might otherwise be
regarded as pig swill - all kinds of grains and
vegetables and scraps of meat, swimming in some sort
of vile oil, and all heavily spiced (to disguise the
rotting flavour of most of the ingredients?)  I later
learned that although the farm grew all types of fresh
produce, mostly for export to the rich countries of
Europe, we never got any of it, only the "waste" - the
bottom parts of asparagus stalks, for example, or the
strawberries that were rotting, or under ripe, or
which had insect damage.)  I was lucky in one way, in
that our "boss man" was a big tough guy who ruled the
coffle with the force of his personality and the power
of his fists.  He insisted we all had a share of the
swill (his own naturally being the biggest).  On some
coffles it was a a "free for all" when the food
container arrived, and it was not unusual to see very,
very thin labourers on some coffles - it was "negative
feedback" of course, as the thinner they got, the less
able they were to fight for food, and so the thinner
they got.  I wondered why the guards never intervened,
but, on reflection, decided that it was easier to lose
a few labourers through starvation than it was to try
to "police" everything.

Still, as I say, I had a good boss man" and I was soon
scooping up the disgusting mess in my hands and
greedily gobbling it down, as were all the others in
our coffle.  I decided that I had to eat, had to keep
up my strength if I was to survive this at all, and
that therefore I had to eat all I could, however
disgusting and loathsome it might be.

There was a real disadvantage to his "rule", though,
as I discovered after we'd eaten:  he and his chosen
henchman had the right to take any of us for sex,
whenever he wanted.  And, being new, and being a white
man, I was clearly in his sights for that first night.
 He seemed to be a bit better educated than the rest,
and after we'd eaten, he said two words that sent a
chill through my bran:  pointing to his cock, and my
bum, they were, simply "Fuck. Now."

I pushed him away, but that was the worst thing I
could do - he sprang at me, and I could smell his vile
body as he forced me to the ground.  I  was a trained
fighter, from the marines, and could probably have
overcome him, but his two henchman piled in and
there's just no way that one man has any hope of
defeating three, all approximately his size and
weight.  This was not a fair man-to-man fight:  his
only objective was to subdue me, and to show me that
he controlled things totally.  I got pretty battered,
to add to my other ills, and ended up lying on my back
on the rough dirt floor of the place, with one of the
henchman sitting astride my chest and pressing his
knees in to my shoulders to immobilise them.  His huge
cock was right in my face, and like all the men there,
he smelt stale and rancid (as I did, soon, as we were
never allowed any water to wash as it was all used for
irrigation out there in the desert.    Once a week we
were taken to a kind of cattle dip apparatus, filled
with disinfectant, and marched through on our coffle
chain:  it got deeper and deeper as you went forward
until you couldn't help floating, and there was an
overseer there on the side who used a big thing,
rather like those cones with a handle on used to snuff
candles, to push our heads right under the liquid so
that we were completely covered in disinfectant.  That
was all - we never washed away the dirt, but I suppose
infection was kept at bay.  They shaved us afterwards,
too - very quickly and roughly, to keep us free of all
body hair).  The boss man knelt between my legs, his
long, fat cock already rampantly erect, grabbed my
ankles, and pressed them apart and forwards towards
his mate. I knew my hole was totally exposed and tried
to shout and complain, but the bloke squatting on me
just laughed, and slapped my face, hard.

It was bad enough when I'd been raped by the Arab and
then by Tim, but this was far, far worse:  for one
thing, as you probably know, in that position  the
cock can go in harder and deeper than it can when the
bloke enters you from behind.  And for another, there
was the total humiliation:  my "secret place" totally
exposed to all the coffle members, who had clustered
around to watch, some stroking their hard cocks as
they did so:  I was about to be raped again in my
already very sore arse, but now with an audience
watching!

He didn't waste time stretching or lubing me - his
cock was just rammed home in a single stroke, hard and
ruthlessly.  I heard myself screaming, but it didn't
deter him - rather, it seemed to spur him on as he
went to work with a vigour, oblivious to the moans and
cries  I was making, and the way that I did my best to
try to wriggle away from under him.  It was no use, of
course - it went on and on until he gave a great
shout, and I knew his cum must have been pumped deep
up inside me.

There was no respite then, though, as the bloke
squatting on my chest leapt off and was replaced by
the boss man, and now, if anything, my position was
worse as the cock hanging in front of my face was
dripping cum, sweat, and my ass juice!  I felt the
second bloke start to go to work on my arse, and I
suppose it was better - I had screamed and shouted all
I could and was almost exhausted, and at least there
was a layer of cum to lubricate him now.

When he was finished, the boss man got up from me and
called over  some specially favoured bloke - I got to
know that if you acted properly for the boss man he'd
arrange little "treats" like this for you.  This new
bloke was allowed to straddle my chest as I lay there
exhausted, and then he rocked forwards so his cock was
at my lips.  I just lay there, then tried to throw my
legs up and dislodge him - an action that resulted in
one of the henchmen kicking at my ribs, and another to
throw himself down and sit on my thighs.   The cock
hovered there, and the boss man shouted at me "White
man suck!"

Look, what was I supposed to do?  There I was,
corralled without hope of escape with nineteen big,
strong young black guys.  I was already hurting all
over. I was pinned down and couldn't really fight.
And, anyway, the taste of cum is not so terrible.  I
opened my lips and the cock was pushed in, and it's
not all that bad, I suppose - all of us were 'skinned,
so there was no "cheese" to worry about.  And the
bloke was content to let me nibble and suck at his
cock, rather than actually try to fuck my throat -
that came later in the week, with some other
particular "friend" of the boss man - I was made to
kneel in front of him, as he held my head and forced
his cock deep into my throat.  He revelled in the way
it made me gag and choke, and was particularly pleased
at the way I desperately fought him to try to breathe,
before passing out.   Still, the current bloke, after
a time, pulled his cock out of my mouth and then began
to wank himself, so that he could direct his stream of
cum all over my face.  Then, as all the men laughed,
he used one of his dirty fingers to pursue blobs of
cum around my face, guiding them down and into my
mouth.

That whole first night was of course an exercise in
power:  the boss man needed to show me that he was in
charge, and that even though I was a white man, I was
new, and he was top dog on the block.

It's amazing, though - even though  I was hurting all
over, and utterly humiliated, and there was only bare
earth to sleep on, I did sleep.  They shook me awake
in the morning, and  in the dim light I could see all
their morning hard-ons.   We were fed, the same sort
of swill we'd had the night before (it never varied,
actually - only the ingredients changed slightly as
the various crops came and went).  Then, one by one,
we went through the door, the boss man going first, to
be added to the coffle chain.  Only when we were all
secured were we taken to an area of rough sand and
allowed to piss and crap - it's horrible, chained
there between two other blokes, squatting down and
trying to drop your turd.  And when we were done, you
were expected to push the sand over your droppings
with your bare feet, so that the sand insects would
get to work and make the area reasonably "sweet" for
the future.   Only animals have to crap in the open
air like that, without a shred of privacy.  After
that, of course, the day's work - digging, weeding,
planting, picking, or whatever.

Time seemed to have stopped for me.  Every day was
identical, except for the particular form of manual
drudgery we were doing.  We had no books, no music,
noting to read at all, nothing to see, and nothing to
do except work.  Even though I quickly gained a few
words of their language, there was no point in even
talking in the evenings - for one thing we were dog
tired, and for another, there was nothing to talk
about:  nothing ever happened, except work.  We jus
ate, slept, toiled, and fucked - after the first week
or so when the boss man had "given" my arse to
everyone he owed a favour to, that kind of died away
and like most of the blokes I just wanked as we lay in
the barn.  I had learned to do as the boss man said on
those rare occasions when he took charge of something
(perhaps to make me give up a particular morsel from
the food in my hand to one of his favourites) - to do
otherwise was to get an instant beating from his iron
fists, or, in my case, as he recognised that I was a
trained fighter, to be taken and pinioned that night
by his henchmen, so I could be raped.

I was just some sort of human cog in the vast machine
that was producing crops at very low cost for the
market, and there seemed no hope for me.  None of the
guards seemed to pay any attention to us as
individuals - we had no names, no numbers, nothing:
why did we need them, when the whole coffle was
required to work as an entity?  Still, I thought I
could survive: I was big and tough, and I knew I could
take it.

About three weeks in, though, I learned another lesson
about working in the coffle.  I was lying there, just
having wanked and about to go to sleep, when the young
water boy came up to me.  He looked at me, went and
crouched between my legs as I lay sprawled there, and
held my ankles.  I looked at him, wondering what on
earth was going on, and he said "Me, fuck!".  I
laughed out loud, as it looked as if he was trying to
pick my ankles up so he could enter me.  He seemed to
be getting cross and shouting something in his
language, and gradually the other blokes were starting
to watch.  The more he tried to lift my legs, the more
I resisted, and of course it was easy as he was, as I
said, probably only sixteen and not yet properly
mature and strong (although he did have a nice, firm,
lithe body).   He got more and more angry as more and
more of the other blokes started to laugh at what was
going on, and finally I sat up, grabbed his arm,
pulled him so that he was lying across my belly (his
cock was rock solid as it pressed into me), and gave
him a couple of slaps on his bum.  "Me spank!", I told
him.

They weren't enough to really hurt him, as I
deliberately pulled my blows, just enough to humiliate
him in front of the others.  I thought I'd done pretty
well, as the other blokes were, as I said, laughing.
But their laughter seemed to die away suspiciously
quickly.  Still, I thought no more about it.

The next morning it was very hot, and we were picking
stones form a newly dug field - that's a particularly
vile job, as you have to crawl over it on your hands
and knees, dragging a sack behind you.  Every stone
above a certain size has to be removed into the sack,
and as the morning goes on, the sack gets heavier and
heavier and more difficult to drag along.  I was so
glad when I saw the water boy coming, and watched with
the saliva starting to fill my mouth as he gave the
bloke on my left a good long drink as we worked away.
But as he got to me, he simply walked past!  I tried
to grab his ankle, as I was so thirsty, and then
called after him - a mistake, as the overseer heard
and, of course, speaking or anything like that is
totally forbidden in the fields.  I got two hard
lashes across my exposed back for that, and could feel
the flies landing on the blood.  When the boy came
back I was even more desperate, and he ignored me
again!    By the midday break I felt I was about to
die, as I could barely sweat as I was so dry and I
knew my body temperature must be soaring.

As soon as we were in the shade, I tried to find the
water boy - but I was, remember, coffled so could not
move far, and he was careful to stay right away from
me.  The boss man saw the trouble I was in, and said
something like "Upset water boy - bad!", and I got the
message.  He called the boy over though, and
personally took the pipe from him, cradled my head in
his big arms, and dribbled the life-giving fluid into
me.  I could see the lad scowling at me, and knew
there would be problems in the afternoon - as indeed
there were, as although he gave me a drink, he made
sure it was the minimum possible.  And on about the
fourth pass as I was crawling along, he "accidentally"
hit my balls as they swung between my thighs with the
tip of his foot - my cry of outrage, and pain,  earned
me another two strokes of the overseer's big whip -
this time across my bum.

Back in the barn that night I was furious - I was
thirsty, hot, I had a blinding headache from water
stress, and my back and bum were still hurting from
the whippings.  I looked around for the water boy, but
the boss man held me back.  "Spank water boy - bad",
he intoned, and I suppose I got the message.  Out in
the fields, irrespective of his age and slight
stature, the water boy had all the power:  my strong
powerful body, my education, all counted for nothing -
on the coffle chain in the fields I was just another
dumb servant, and he had ability to make me suffer,
and perhaps even die.

The water boy came up then, as if he understood that
the boss man would protect him.  He looked at me, then
took my cock in his hand, and even cupped my balls and
began to play with them.  "Me fuck?", he said
solemnly, and tugged gently at my balls to lead me
over to a quieter corner of the barn.  I went to
resist, but the boss man put his arm around my
shoulder, and shook his head.  He fingered his own
cock, making it grow to its enormous size, and said,
rather threateningly "Me fuck?"    I got the message -
either I had to let the kid fuck me, or I'd have to
take the boss man deep inside me again, something that
I hated because of the pain it caused as he was not a
gentle lover.

Look, I'm not making excuses, but what would you have
done?  I chose what I took to be the lesser of the two
evils, and allowed the water boy to change his grip so
he was holding my cock, and then lead me away as if I
was some sort of "prize".    He knew what he wanted,
too - he made me kneel in front of him, then placed
his cock in my mouth so that I could tease and excite
him to a really hard erection.  Then he took me like a
dog, kneeling there on all fours as he forced his cock
into me, then fucked away with a vigour and abandon
that was unusual in this place where most men were
totally exhausted most of the time.   And afterwards
he led me by the cock again, around all the other
blokes, allowing them to run their hands up the inside
of my thighs so they could feel his cum leaking out of
me and know that he had fucked me properly and that I
was now "his".

The following day he did his job properly and as I
toiled away he gave me water, but that night he again
presented himself in front of me and wanted me to
kneel in front of him.  All the other blokes in our
coffle were watching my humiliation, and at first I
pushed him away.  But the boss man, half laughing at
my plight, reminded me "Water boy - bad", and I
thought of the terrible plight I'd be in the next day
if I refused him.   So I got to my knees and reached
for his cock to take it into his mouth - but he didn't
want me to suck him to climax, and instead I got the
bitter, acrid taste of his piss!

I pulled away in horror, and his piss spurted over my
face and body, and he at once lashed out at me,
slapping my face.  I threw myself at him, knocking him
to the floor, and had my fist raised to punch him when
the boss man grabbed my arm and hauled me off.  "Water
boy - bad, Steve", he said in his pitiful English.
Then, as I lay there, he straddled my chest, pinioning
my shoulders to the floor with his knees, and waved
his cock in my face.  I lay there for a moment until
he slapped me, hard, and I knew it was useless to
resist.  I opened my mouth to take his cock as I
assumed he wanted me to suck him, but instead he began
pissing into me - a huge, hot stream of man piss
pouring out as if from a hose pipe.  I spluttered and
tried to turn away but he grabbed my chin and held me
under his mighty shower, until he was done.  And then
he pushed his cock into my mouth so that I could lick
the last  few drops from him.

He got off me, then pointed at the water boy, who was
still standing there.  Now I'd tasted and swallowed a
man's piss, there didn't seem to be any point in
resisting, and I knelt there as the water boy once
more used me as his lavatory.  And then, as he had the
previous day, he fucked me again.  I suppose the boss
man was doing what he thought was best - had I
actually hit the water boy I'd be dead now as I'm sure
the boy would have given me no fluid in the fields,
and I guess the boss man was trying to protect me from
my own rash actions.

The terrible thing about life on that coffle was the
sameness of it all. The hard, unrelenting toil.  Being
treated just like an animal, chained to my fellows,
fed swill, kept naked, and whipped at the slightest
sign that I was not working in the required way, or
working hard enough, or even for speaking.  And added
to that was the fact that at night I was nothing - I
was a plaything for the boss man and his henchmen
whenever they chose to use my arse or throat, and,
perhaps worse of all, the young water boy, who could
only have been sixteen, also used me as his choice of
lavatory and fuck hole.

I had been big and strong, and used my body to give me
power over other men, but here all that had gone as
there were men bigger and stronger than me.  I thought
of myself as pretty clever, but Tim had outwitted me
and got me here in the first place.  And I could use
neither my wits nor my strength to prevent the young
water boy totally dominating and controlling me.   I
had thought when I first was coffled that I could
survive it:  I could use my inner strength to somehow
keep going until "something" happened.   But now,
sometimes as I lay there at night, my mouth still
tasting of piss and my arse aching, surrounded by the
stinking bodies of the other coffle slaves, I couldn't
help thinking of my plight, and then a tear would roll
slowly and surely down my cheek.  I was terrified that
one of the other men might notice this, as then I
would be a total nothing:  there was no room for
tenderness or pity in this dreadful place.  I was, I
knew, broken.  I was no longer Steve who ran things,
who made the running. I was just a piece of male flesh
to be used for this dreadful, relentless toil; and for
other men's enjoyment.  I had no power to resist
anything that was done to me.

End Of Part Six