Date: Tue, 27 Jun 2006 21:21:36 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dray Slave, Part Six

DRAY SLAVE

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

(Readers are reminded that this is "the other side of
the coin", telling the story in "Steve's First Job"
from the perspective one of the slaves, Dave, rather
than from that of the master, Steve.  They mostly
recount the same incidents, but from a different point
of view).

Part Six

I got used to working, actually. For a couple of weeks
everything followed the same pattern:  getting up,
being fed and watered, crapping, jerking off, loading
up, then going out on deliveries all over town, before
coming back to the yard to be fed and watered and
caged up for the night.  Steve even seemed to have
relaxed a bit, as once or twice he said it was a "free
night", so we could jerk ourselves off (except for
five and eight, who continued to behave shamefully by
playing with each other in the cage).

Steve never let up on Sarge, though:  he was kept
muzzled the whole time, and was always tethered to the
dray when we went out.  So he couldn't join us in
chatting to the other slaves when we stopped for lunch
(although after his first whipping, we noticed he now
always stood exactly where Steve had left him), and he
was really cut off at night when we sat around in our
cage shooting the breeze about the events of the day.
  I suppose I understood what Steve was doing, really
wearing Sarge down, and making him cut off from the
rest of us to remove the "threat" to his leadership of
us, but it was really tough on Sarge.  It was
dangerous, too - we were delivering one of those big
fridge-freezers to an apartment complex and it was too
big to fit in the elevator so we had to carry it up
the stairs, and they're fucking heavy, as you may
know.  We're used to working together as a team of
course, but a team needs a leader and without Sarge
there's always two or three of us shouting and giving
directions.  Well, the fucking thing got stuck, an
then, as we tried to get it free, it slipped and ran
off down the staircase, trapping seven:  the poor guy
was lucky not to be seriously injured, as fortunately
he managed to fling himself into a small angle on the
stairs.  But Steve was not pleased at all - mostly
because he had to do a lot of paperwork for the
insurance claim and because the customer was really
upset, but also because, I think, he now had a certain
pride in us and I like to think he was concerned about
what might have happened to seven.  Still, it was his
fault, wasn't it?  If he'd let Sarge take charge of
the delivery, it wouldn't have happened.

We worked six full days a week, but, being in the
South, Sunday was a "day of rest" - well, after we'd
had a church service, that is.  Every Sunday all of
the slaves were lined up in the yard, and they got one
of those stupid bible-thumping southern pastors in to
stand there and tell us about god's love for all his
creatures, even slaves.  Frankly, even if you did
believe in the ju-ju in the sky nonsense this would
have been pretty sickening as he went on and on about
"serving here on earth to get rewards in heaven".
Fuck me, he should have tried running around naked and
then see how much he'd think that some supposed
rewards in a hypothetical after life were actually
worth!    We had to attend, though, as we had no
choice as the company thought that the image of slaves
being treated as "good Christians" enhanced their
image and their business, and so we were herded out of
our cages, lined up neatly, and then the guards and
drivers stood around, their whips at the ready to
slash at us if we failed to stand, or kneel, or
whatever, as the service demanded.  And we all had to
shout "Amen" in unison, and sing all the hymns, too:
all that crap about "Jesus wants me for a sunbeam" and
the other muck that was considered suitable fodder for
slaves.    I particularly hated it when they gave us
the so-called "holy communion" when we had to take
this bit of wafer thing and some coloured water, and
they said it was the body and blood of Jesus - I mean,
who could even consider such a thing was likely?  It
was all so hypocritical, and it was particularly hard
for Sarge as once the wafer thing was pushed through
the hole in his muzzle, he couldn't swallow it.  The
pastor seemed to get really cross, thinking that Sarge
was deliberately trying not to take the "holy
sacrament", as he called it, and he ordered one of the
guards across and told the man to give Sarge a couple
of strokes of the cane across his shoulders as he
knelt there.  So much for "loving all god's
creatures"!

It seemed that the drivers only came in on some sort
of rota, and Steve was only there every third Sunday.
After the service the "duty drivers" fed us and so on,
and locked us back in the cages:  it wasn't much, I
know, but the chance not to have to run and pull for a
whole half day seemed fucking marvellous!    On  I
think it was the second of these Sundays when it was
Steve's duty, though, he didn't herd us back into the
cages with the other slaves, but left us standing in
the yard whilst he went about his duties.  He hadn't
said anything, but we knew enough by now that when we
were not doing something specific, we ought to stand
there neatly, so we lined up in our two ranks of four
as normal, clasped our hands behind our backs, and
waited - well, enjoying the sunshine, actually, as it
as a nice day, good "pulling" weather as we called it
(it wasn't too hot, but there was just enough sun so
that we didn't shiver with the cold. I've probably not
mentioned that the early mornings down here can be
quite cool, and often when we were waiting to be
loaded we'd start to shiver a bit, as we hadn't
exercised enough to begin to get warm).

When he came out from locking away and feeding the
other slaves, we realised that he must be some rich
man's son, as he went over towards  where there was a
slave in a small trap, and called it over to us.   We
heard him tell the pony that he was "off duty" for the
rest of the day and that the man could rest up under
the sheds, but that he was forbidden to go into the
slave quarters as Steve did not want the slaves
sticking their dicks through the bars and fucking him
(most of the other groups of dray slaves were not
forbidden to have sex in the way which we were).
Steve then took out the slave's bit and stuff, slapped
the guy on his rump, and the slave trotted off.

"Right, you slaves", Steve then told us.  "I've
decided that as it's a great day and you have been
working exceptionally well, I'm going to give you a
little treat.  We're going to the park - a light jog
there.... You'll all follow my trap, neatly, in twos,
and I don't want any trouble:  make sure you stay
lined up, and in step, or else you'll be punished."

Well, it didn't at first sound like much of a treat!
I mean, we spent all week running, and to have to jog
to the park didn't sound like any kind of fun at all.
But Steve then went on "But I need a slave to pull the
trap......", and he looked at all of us, and then
motioned for Sarge to step forward and get between the
shafts.

I really did feel sorry for Sarge.  I mean, it's
fucking humiliating to be used as a draft animal as we
were, but to be singled out and used as a pony was
even worse, I reckon.  At least we were all working
together and we had our buddies around us, but as a
pony you're just there, all by yourself, and you know
that all you have to do is run as your owner commands,
and there's none of the other skills we had, like
handling heavy goods and so on.  You really are just
an animal substitute.

Still, it looked as if Steve was relenting a bit as he
told Sarge to kneel down, and then we saw him taking
out the muzzle.  Sarge began to look pleased, and was
licking his tongue around his lips, and working his
jaws up and down in a way he hadn't been able to for
weeks.  But it was only a brief respite, as Steve took
the bit that he'd taken out of his pony's mouth and
offered it up to Sarge!  Fuck me, talk about "out of
the fireplace and into the fire" - not only was the
bit covered in the pony's spit, but with a bit in I
reckon you're even worse off than when you're muzzled
- we could see the steel bar forcing the corner of
Sarge's mouth back as Steve tightened the fastening
behind his head, and with the reins fastened to it, he
looked even more like an animal than ever.  We could
see Sarge tossing his head up and down, trying to get
used to the thing,  but then something even worse
happened:  Steve fastened a short leather strap from
the protruding ends of the bit to the "D" ring on
Sarge's collar, so that Sarge had his head bent down
all the time.  He also reached into the trap and got
out what looked at first like a leather hood, but when
he pulled it over Sarge's head we saw it was a couple
of straps designed to hold leather side pieces by
Sarge's eyes, so he was "blinkered" and unable to see
from side to side.  Finally Steve did the other thing
that happens to ponies - he snapped cuffs shut over
Sarge's wrists, so that Sarge was totally unable to
move out from the shafts even if he wanted to.  I know
it's kind of the "fashionable" thing to do that to
ponies, to make it look as if they're wild animals
that have to be totally controlled like that, but
there's no need, is there?  I mean, with a chip inside
us, and with our heavy collars on, there's no real
possibility of escape, and most slaves would stay
between the shafts if ordered to do so by their owners
as they'd want to avoid a punishment whipping.

Still, Sarge was in there, and Steve gave us the order
to line up behind the trap, and off we went. I guess
it's kind of indicative of how much we'd become "real
slaves" and how much Steve knew this,  that all the
way into town, all the time we were crossing the
centre with all the lights and intersections, and then
all along River Road, he never once looked back - he
was just supremely confident that we were slaves, that
he's ordered us to follow, and that therefore we were
doing that.   We all felt really bad about Sarge,
though, as it was OK for us to jog all that way, and,
indeed ,without the dray it was really easy.  But
Sarge had to pull Steve and the trap, and the road
into town is mostly uphill -  a long, slow rise,
admittedly, but it always causes us some problems as
we have to tackle it with a full dray, and now Sarge
was having to do it when we were relatively free - and
Steve was maintaining a fairly fast jog, so we could
all imagine how Sarge must be toiling away, with the
sweat flying off him and his heart pounding as his
lungs gasped for air.    What probably made it worse
is that on the dray Steve gives us orders, like "Walk
on", but now he was using Sarge jus as if he was a
pony slave - ponies  are driven only with the reins to
steer them (which must have been especially hard for
Sarge, with his vision so restricted by the blinkers),
and with the whip to control the speed.  Every time
Steve cracked the whip to "encourage" Sarge to
maintain his pace I think all of us winced at the
thought of the stinging pain there would be in Sarge's
butt or shoulders.  Look, I don't want to make too
much of this -  I mean, a pony whip like that isn't
designed to permanently injure so it doesn't break the
skin or anything:  no, it is deliberately thin and
flexible, so that it really stings the moment it hits
the flesh, but leaves no lasting marks.

As we entered the River Park there were lots of
families about as it was such a nice day.  The smell
of barbecues made all our mouths water, and as we
trotted past all eyes turned to watch us.  Well, I
suppose it was a bit unusual to have seven slaves like
us trotting along without a trap or a dray, and Sarge
probably looked a bit odd, too, as most ponies are
younger and more slender than him.  I ought to have
been used to being naked in public by now, but we
weren't used to seeing family groups like that, or of
being quite the centre of so much attention, and it
brought back all those old feelings of the humiliation
at being treated like this.

Fortunately, though, Steve led us on through the park
along the river bank for another half mile or so,
leaving most of the families behind.  He stopped then,
and looped Sarge's reins around a litter bin to "hold"
him there.  He turned to us then and said we were free
to do whatever we wanted - rest in the shade, as he
was going to do, or play ball, or even swim in the
river!  The only condition was that we were to remain
within sight and not stray too far.

It was fantastic at first - just to be "free",
outdoors, with no dray or anything.  And most of us
kind of ran around a bit, and threw ourselves in the
river, and generally fooled around.  The sun got
hotter and hotter, though, and most of us went to lie
in the shade of the trees, and then I realised that
Sarge was still tethered to the litter bin, right out
in the blazing sun, and of course he was still
standing as there wasn't enough slack in the reins to
allow him to sit (even if Steve had said he could, as
ponies are meant to remain standing at all times).

I went over and tried to talk to Sarge, but he
couldn't speak as usual as the bit effectively held
his tongue down.  Then I ran back to the river and
tried to carry him some water in my cupped hands, but
that wasn't any good, either, as there was no was he
could raise his head to even allow me to dribble it
into his mouth as the strap holding his head down to
his collar made that impossible.  I stood there,
wondering what to do, and even thought about going to
throw myself down in front of Steve and to beg him to
be merciful to Sarge, and I was taking the first
hesitant steps over towards where he lay in the cool
shade when he got to his feet and stretched, as if
he'd been dozing, and came over.

"Fuck off, three", he told me, and I went off to join
the others.   I watched, though, and saw that Steve
seemed to be saying quite a lot to Sarge, and,
ultimately, to my great joy, Sarge knelt down and
Steve took off the blinkers, and the bit!  What was
even more amazing was that Sarge then stood up and
Steve undid the shackles holding him to the trap, and
the next minute, Sarge jogged over to join us.  We all
gave a kind of cheer and slapped him on the back, and
then, with a lot of laughing, picked him up and threw
him into the river as he looked so hot - we all dived
in after him, and then we swam and laughed and it was
great to be all together again as a proper "unit".
Sarge then insisted we all did a "team" thing, after
that, though - we mostly wanted to rest in the shade,
but he insisted we played an impromptu game of volley
ball, using a tree branch as the "net".  I suppose it
is good for morale to all do something like that
together, and it certainly uses all your muscles, some
of which don't get a lot of exercise when you're
working normally on a dray.  And when he did let us
stop, the cool of the shade, and just being able to
lie there doing nothing, was fantastic.  It was the
best afternoon since I'd become a slave - and,
actually, with all the other guys around me, it was up
there somewhere with one of the best of my life at
all.

I lay next to Sarge, and whispered "What did Steve say
to you?"  I reckoned he might tell me, in confidence,
without the others hearing, but all he would say was
that he and Steve now "understood" each other, and
that he would be making sure that we all performed
well on a day-to-day basis.

When it was time to go home Steve called us all
together and said he needed a pony to pull him home.
We all shuffled around a bit as none of us wanted to
do it as we were all pretty tired, but Sarge at once
stepped forward and said, almost proudly "Sir, I'm
your pony, sir!".

Strangely, Steve didn't put the bit back on Sarge, or
the blinkers, and didn't even shackle him to the
shafts - instead, he called out "You know the way, two
- a steady pace, but a gentle one, OK?", and off we
went.   The remaining families in the park looked even
more closely at us as we jogged through - seeing
Sarge's magnificent body pulling the trap without any
of the normal pony "accruements" must have seemed
almost as strange as the sight of the seven of us
following obediently behind.

That night Steve made the whole day perfect - as he
locked us into our cage, he said it was a "free
evening", and so later on we were all able to jerk off
and really sleep.  I lay next to Sarge and asked him
again what had gone on between him and Steve, but all
he would say is something like "Well, I guess he's an
officer, I'm a sergeant, and you're a marine.  So I
guess we all understand our place in the world better
now."

Look, this is as good a time as ever to confess, I
suppose.  On those occasional "free nights" I'd taken
to spending time with Jed.  He wasn't much liked by
some of the other guys as he was in a bit of a cleft
stick:  proclaiming that he was as southern boy hadn't
prevented him from being  enslaved, but knowing he
came from Alabama, and was therefore a southerner,
made them frustrated and he sometimes got blamed for
the situation we were all in.  It was unfair, of
course, but you get those sorts of tensions in any
group of guys, I suppose.    It didn't affect me as
I'm broad minded enough to see it wasn't Jed's fault,
and that although he was a really tall, tough-looking
guy, underneath it all he was a bit shy and lonely.
He'd been brought up with a load of brothers and
cousins and "kinfolk" somewhere in the hills, and he
seemed to miss their companionship.  So we'd kind of
"buddied up", and one night, lying close together on
the straw on a "free night", our dicks had brushed
against each other purely accidentally.  Jed didn't
seem a bit embarrassed, and a few moments later he'd
reached across and began to play with my dick!

Actually, of course, I was a bit more used to feeling
another guy's hands on my dick now from the forced
jerk-off sessions, but Jed seemed really skilled and I
found it was a whole lot of fun to have him play with
me like that, and he didn't seem at all fazed when I
couldn't help myself, and shot my load all over his
belly as we lay together.  He seemed to be happy, and
smiled as he whispered "Did you like that, Dave?".

When I smiled back and told him I did, he took my hand
and put it on his dick - and when I'd wanked him a
bit, he stopped me gently, put his face close to mine,
and whispered "Let me show you how to do it properly,
Dave!  Perhaps us dumb old Alabama boys know a thing
or two about pleasing another man that you don't...."

"Where did you learn all this, Jed?"

"Steve, haven't you got brothers, and cousins, and
uncles?"

I shook my head almost in wonderment, thinking about
all those guy in Jed's family jerking off together up
in the hills, but I soon found he knew more, much
more!  Well, he kind of "instructed" me in the fine
art of jerking off, and after a time we moved on to
cock sucking, and, finally, to fucking.   Well, I
wasn't going to have his big dick up my ass, but he
really wanted me to fuck him, so, one night, I had.
And, as you'd expect, I found I liked it, and whenever
we could, I now fucked Jed enthusiastically.  We got a
lot of stick off the other guys at first, especially
after all the comments about five and eight, but with
not much else to do at night, and especially most
Sunday afternoons, all of us had basically "gone
there".  Frankly, I was amazed at how prejudiced I'd
been about fags and stuff before - there's absolutely
nothing wrong with fucking another guy, if you both
want it, and I knew that if I was ever a free man
again my life would be a whole lot different.  How
much better it would be to spend time with a few
like-minded buddies, rather than to spend all that
time and money trying to fuck a bitch!

Anyway, Sarge and I had never done anything as he'd
been muzzled and couldn't really say what he liked.
So that night I took his dick in my hand and started
to wank him, and then bent down to blow him a bit.  I
was surprised when Sarge responded so readily, and it
felt good to have his hand on my head pushing me down
onto his dick, and to hear his gruff voice urging me
to make even more effort to tease his dick!  He pulled
out after a time, though, and then we lay together,
still both with aching erections.

"We'd have been thrown out of the service for this
kind of stuff, Dave....."

"I know, Sarge!  And I don't think I'd have minded.
I'd rather have good sex than be good at marching, or
fighting...."

We laughed, but he whispered "Dave, we can't do this,
you know..."

"Why not?"

"You're forgetting Jed!  You've been fucking him, and
now you're going with me.  What do you think he
feels?"

"But you're great, Sarge, I've wanted to play with you
for weeks...."

"...and you can't just ditch Jed like that, Dave.
He's picked on enough by some of the other guys, and
you're special to him."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm a sergeant, and I watch out for the men
in my unit.  I can see Jed looking at you and he likes
you, Dave, and really looks up to you.  You can't let
him down...."

"But I want to be with you, Sarge...."

"And I like you, Dave.  But it's one of the
difficulties of being in command - you sometimes have
to give up your personal pleasures for the greater
good of the unit.  Now, turn over, and give Jed that
good fucking he's looking forward to...."

Well, what could I do?  I felt a bit rejected, but, on
the other hand, I could see what Sarge was going on
about.  Jed was a nice guy, and I did enjoy sliding my
dick into his ass as he seemed to respond so well,
gripping me tight as I fucked him, and moaning
appreciatively every time I did the right thing.

Things seemed to be going really well with Sarge
properly back with us, and for a few days after that
weekend we were all working so well together that it
was almost as if we were not slaves at all.   There
seemed to be some problem for Steve, though, as one
morning when he came to fetch us from the cage he was
kind of creeping along, as if his whole body was
hurting, and his face was all bruised just as if he'd
been in a fight.  All day he didn't leap up and down
from hi seat on the dray as he usually did, and mostly
ordered us to deliver the smaller packages himself.
When we were about to stop for lunch it was also a bit
odd, as the first place we came to there was another
dray from the company, and Steve would normally have
gone there, but instead, after taking a close look at
it, told us to carry on and we stopped somewhere else
instead where there were no "friends".

A couple of days after that we were all lined up at
the warehouse waiting to be loaded, when Steve
appeared with a young slave - a very young slave, we
all thought at first, as he was so thin and lanky and
he had absolutely no hair on him at all (I know Steve
had our pubes trimmed, but this lad was completely
smooth all over, including his head, and that made his
dick and balls look just like those of a kid).

We heard Steve ask the kid if he could read, and in
spite of his youth he was pretty lippy in snapping
back "Of course I can!  I was even in college for
almost a year".  Well, as you might expect, Steve hit
him with the tawse for being insolent like that, but
it was clear it was just to remind the kid who was
boss as Steve then gave him the loading manifest and
told him he was in charge of always making sure that
the right package was ready to unload at each stop we
made - it can be a bit of a problem as the warehouse
slaves normally load the packages in the right order
for drop off, except when they're particularly bulky,
when they have to be placed elsewhere on the dray.
I've forgotten the number of times we've been held up
making deliveries as the right package is "missing"
and the whole dray has to be searched, and Steve told
the kid to make sure this didn't happen:  the kid
needed to know where all these "specials" were all the
time.

He was clambering about on the dray, and even though
there didn't seem to be much on him most of us thought
that we could do without the additional load, but
Sarge told us to shut up and to quit bitching.  As he
pointed out, Steve had found this kid from somewhere,
so it didn't matter what we thought about it one way
or the other.  We set off then, and, frankly, I could
have done without that extra load on the uphill pull
to the city, with an already-heavy dray.  But as the
day went on we began to see the point of it - at each
stop the right packages were always to hand, and
sometimes, even, the kid could be left to deliver them
and get the signature, whilst we trotted off up the
road.  The consequence of this was that although we
were sweating a bit by the time we got back to the
depot, we were actually back about an hour early,
which meant that we had more time to rest.  Mind you,
Sarge pointed out that this probably wouldn't last -
he kind of expected that Steve would have more
deliveries loaded, once he'd "proved" that having the
kid along was a good idea.

To our surprise, once we'd been fed and were just
sitting around shooting the breeze, Steve appeared
outside our cage.  Sarge of course shouted "Ten-Shut!"
and we all got to our feet, but Steve just wanted to
open the cage to push the young kid in.  Steve then
told Sarge that the kid was now part of our team, and
that he hadn't been exercised enough and Steve wanted
him to put on some muscle, and so Sarge should make
sure he did a proper workout.  Steve then watched for
a few minutes as Sarge ordered us to clear a space in
the middle, and then started to tell the kid about
basic training exercises - you know the kind of thing:
 push-ups, jumping jacks, running on the spot.  Chad
just told him to fuck off at first, which is a
dangerous thing to do to Sarge - especially when Sarge
had at lest six inches, and fifty pounds of pure
muscle, on the kid!  As we watched, Sarge grabbed the
kid, knelt down on one knee, and pulled the kid over
the other, and spanked his butt three times.  Chad
squealed as Sarge did this, and when Sarge pushed him
off so he lay there in the straw in front of Sarge, at
first he started to say "Fuck you....", but then he
saw Sarge was laughing, as were we all, and I don't
suppose he was actually hurt all that much.

Sarge bent over him and then said quietly "Listen,
son, I've trained lots of eighteen year old recruits,
and so don't try anything on me as I've seen it all
before.  Just do as I say and I won't need to spank
you again - or perhaps I'll get one of the others to
do it next time, as some of them like to take their
hands to a nice young butt like yours.... Now....
Let's start again, with you giving me thirty
push-ups...."  We all sat around and watched, as it
was kind of interesting to see the kid's lithe body
doing all this sort of stuff.  And I think it brought
back memories to us of our own training at boot camp.

When Sarge said he thought the kid had done enough for
that day he sat there surrounded by us, and it must
have looked a bit odd:  all us eight big, tough,
strong, muscular slaves, in our late twenties and
thirties, and this one skinny young guy still in his
teens.  Anyone might have thought we were a bunch of
perverts who'd got together to do something to a young
kid!

He told Sarge his name was Chad, and that he came from
Philadelphia.  He'd been at college, in his first
year, when the war broke out, and he was so
anti-slavery that he'd gone and volunteered for the
army immediately.  They'd sent him down south almost
straight away, with only a few months training, as at
that point it was thought the South would be a
pushover and well-educated trainees like him could do
all sorts of useful things like look after the
inventory and stuff like that, without necessarily
needing to fight.  When things went wrong he'd been
captured almost immediately, and, like all of us,
enslaved.  He wasn't yet nineteen, he said, and I know
we all felt sorry that his life was effectively over
before he'd really had a chance to really get to enjoy
it.

The more he talked, the more we realised how lucky we
were that we had been picked by Steve to be his dray
slaves - poor Chad had just been taken as part of a
"job lot" of eight random slaves, most of whom didn't
have the power and strength to pull a dray properly.
What made matters worse, he told us, was that his
driver just wasn't interested in doing the job
properly and took every opportunity to make money on
the side from the slaves - he wasn't used to going
naked, for example, as his driver made them wear
shorts:  he got an allowance for the company for
dressing the slaves, so he just gave them any old torn
and tattered things that came to hand, and they were
never clean, as he spent the money the company gave
him for laundry on drink.  He then showed us the
terrible scars and sores on the top of his shoulders
where his collar had been rough and had constantly
rubbed him, but the driver had never taken any
interest and they just got worse and worse:  Chad
thought Steve was almost a saint, as the first thing
he'd done was to personally get a file and smooth down
the rough edges of Chad's collar, and had then rubbed
ointment and antiseptic into the wounds.

It turns out that Chad was so thin and skinny as the
slaves he was with just weren't up to it and so had a
real problem pulling the dray, which meant that they
tended to be the last ones back to the depot.  His
driver was then so keen to get to the pub across the
road that he sometimes couldn't be bothered to fed
them, and just locked them up without food at all.  Of
course that tended to make them even weaker, and so
they took even longer to make the deliveries the next
day, and so on.   Chad reckoned there'd been some sort
of trouble between his driver and Steve, and he seemed
really glad that whatever it was, Steve had evidently
"won" as he thought that he wouldn't have survived
long otherwise in the other dray.  "Look, guys", he
told us, "I know it's not all that great being a
slave, but you lot all look one hell of a lot better
off than we were."

It was time for sleep then, and with another guy in
our cage it was going to be an even tighter fit than
usual.  It was pretty disgusting, too, as Chad went to
pee in the straw - that was another thing where his
previous owner had neglected their training, as he
told us they just pissed and crapped in the cage as
they were never given enough time in the shitters!

He looked so out of place and alone that I think Sarge
took pity on him and put out one arm and told the kid
to lie next to him, and put his head on his arm.  Then
Sarge kind of spooned close to him, and they didn't
take up so much space, and the kid looked kind of
pleased to be with Sarge like that - well, they were
still together when Steve woke us the next morning.

Chad wasn't used to public jerking off, though - he
was next to Sarge, who began to stroke him when Steve
gave the order, and he looked so embarrassed.  I was
on the other side of him, and I had to take his hand
and put it on my dick as he didn't seem to understand
what was to be done, and he really wasn't expert at it
at all!  Still, we all realised we had a new
"champion" here, as under Sarge's expert strokes Chad
was the first to shoot;  and he shot further than any
of us, too.  Still, that's the kind of thing you
expect from eighteen year olds, isn't it?

In the next couple of weeks Chad really got to be a
proper member of our team - as we all expected, having
him deliver the packages (especially when Steve now
barely stopped the dray and Chad jumped off with the
smaller ones, delivered them, and then sprinted to
catch us up) meant that we got back in record time,
and soon Steve took advantage of this to go back to
the depot and set out again with a second set of
stuff, which was actually bloody exhausting for us.
But we had a certain pride in seeing we were doing a
lot better than all the other drays, and all the
exercise, coupled with proper feeding, soon put some
muscle on Chad.  He began to look like a proper young
guy, with nice muscles and a corded belly, instead of
the waif he had been.  He was pretty good looking,
too, with bright blue eyes and dark blond hair, and of
course Steve let him grow his pubes again, and I think
this made him feel more of a man, too, like the rest
of us.

He was different, though - he was younger than we
were, still a lot more lanky and thin, and of course
he'd never done proper "battle training" or actually
fought properly and killed anyone.  So I suppose it
was kind of inevitable that we treated him as some
sort of "mascot" or "pet", and even though a lot of us
were fucking each other now, none of us actually
fucked Chad - well, I don't think he wanted to fuck,
as he could probably still remember going with all
those girls at high school and college, and I'm fairly
sure that he'd never taken dick up the ass.

There was one way in which he differed from us, of
course, and that was that he'd never been fucked by
Steve or Jon, as we all had been originally.
Personally  I wasn't surprised, therefore, when Steve
turned up one night, dragged the horse over in front
of the bars, and came and unlocked the cage and called
Chad out.

End Of Part Six