Date: Tue, 8 Feb 2005 21:34:49 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Enslaved, Part 6

ENSLAVED, By Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part 6

They kept me crawling over those fucking strawberry
fields for another three days! Each night Blackie
massaged my body back to life, turned down offers of
ass from some of the house boys, and put up with just
having me play with his dick - I wouldn't suck him or
fuck him, and he was not allowed to fuck me for fear
of Straughan's wrath.

We talked and talked, and all the time I got worried
that my cover story might slip and that he would get
angry and violent: I had to invent little
embellishments, describing what it was like to be in
the same bed as a mother and her daughter, for
example.

He kept trying to find out what I'd got against proper
sex - and in particular why I wouldn't fuck him. He
seemed to really want me inside him, as he kept
telling me that he always had to "top" the house boys,
and he wanted a change. But I kept refusing him,
saying that I'd better save myself in case my owner
wanted me to have sex with women (and the more I
thought about it, the more I knew that my uncle would
want that - he'd jump at my offer to marry
Marie-Louise now, I just knew it.... But of course I
couldn't tell Blackie that!).

On the fourth day instead of taking me to the fields,
Straughan took me to an area near the peach juice
bottling plant - those of our peaches that were not
absolutely top class were juiced and the juice, too,
fetched premium prices. Our advertising slogan was
"None of the earth's precious resources have been
squandered in making this juice for your enjoyment -
guaranteed free of mechanical inputs". We could do
this as all the labour in bottling, packaging, crating
and shipping the juice was done by the plantation
slaves - the peaches were brought to the plant in
carts hauled by the cart slaves, then bottled and
packed by a team of slaves before the cart slaves took
the heavy crates of finished produce to town, and the
railhead.

I'd never paid much attention to this process, as
Straughan saw to it, but I felt better as we
approached the plant as nothing could be such hard
work as crawling along those fucking rows of
strawberries! Standing there filling bottles, or
packing cases, must be easy.  Probably it would have
been - but that was not the task Straughan had in mind
for me!

The peach crusher was driven by slave power so that we
could live up to our advertised promise, and a large
capstan with two poles for the slaves to press against
was mounted on top of the machinery. Straughan led me
up to one of the poles, then neatly cuffed my wrists
to it.  I stood there in the hot sun for a few
minutes, and to my astonishment Straughan came back
and cuffed Blackie to the other pole. Straughan
commanded us to start pushing, and I found I really
had to lean all my weight into the pole, and strain my
things and butt muscles to get it to start moving.
Around and around we went - not particularly fast, but
always meeting strong resistance from the grinding
wheels underneath us as they crushed the peach flesh.
I could see the juice pouring out of a spout into
cans, which were carried off into the bottling plant
by the slaves, and on the other side of the apparatus
sweating slaves shovelled the peaches into a hopper
after the cart had delivered them.

We needed to keep up a certain pace in order to
maintain the necessary quantity of peach juice so that
the bottling and packaging slaves would remain fully
occupied, and this was achieved quite simply: a slave
stood on top of the capstan with a light cart whip -
the kind I'd often used my self to "encourage" Blackie
to run when he seemed to be tiring - and if we slowed
down, it's stinging lash smacked into our shoulders,
or our butts. It wasn't enough to cause bleeding, but
the need to avoid this torture, which was like being
stung by a lot of wasps, kept us toiling away.  Again,
we were allowed no respite - the slaves in the packing
plant worked non-stop, so we had to, too, in order to
keep the crusher working.

The smell of crushed peaches rising up to us was
nauseous in the hot sun, and the sweetness of the pulp
and juice attracted great swarms of insects which
buzzed around us and kept landing and biting. We
didn't even get fresh, cool water to drink:
occasionally the slave with the whip would leap down,
scoop some of the peach juice up in his hands, and
hold them to our faces as we ran so we could suck and
lick it up - allowing a whole lot to trickle down our
sweating bodies, of course, which caused the flies to
throw themselves into a fury of pleasure as they
landed all over us.

The first time he "watered" us like this, the slave
whispered "I'm sorry about the whip - but it's my job.
I have to keep you working, and have to keep the
output up - Straughan has told me that if there's even
the slightest delay in the bottling plant then he'll
schedule me for a whipping, but with a bull whip, not
this tiny thing.... I've got to keep you two guys up
to the mark, haven't I?"

I wondered if all those bleeding heart liberals
worrying about "squandering the earth's resources"
really knew how much misery could have been avoided by
a small electric motor!  That night when we were back
in the stables Blackie was in a fury. As soon as the
bit was taken out of his mouth (they'd made him wear
it all day, even though he wasn't pulling a rickshaw),
he started muttering and cursing Straughan. As we
stood under the showers, at last able to wash away the
sweat and peach juice, and soothe our backs and butts
which were inflamed and stinging from the whip, he
went on and on about what he'd like to do to
Straughan. Fortunately there were no guards around,
only the young lad who was the kind of "stable boy" -
he attended to the tack of the real horses, then fed
us ponies and generally kept our stalls clean.

I tried to calm Blackie when we were in our stall, but
it was no good. "I'm a trained pony, Steve!", he kept
saying, "Not some fucking common worker! Straughan's
got no right to use a valuable, trained slave like me
for grunt work like this - he could easily have got
two of those big buck niggas from one of the field
gangs...."

"I though you said that slaves had no choice, Blackie
- that's what you're always telling me when we talk
about fucking.... If your owner wants you to do
something, you have to do it..."

I thought Blackie was going to hit me for a moment.
Gritting his teeth he just stopped, but almost hissed
"It's OK for you - you're probably going to be a field
hand anyway! But I'm a pony, I've got a status here
that everyone knows, and now Straughan has totally
humiliated me by making me work away like this on
stuff that's work for niggas!"

Just at that moment, one of the waiter slaves - one of
the cheekier ones, as I remember, came in and said
"Hey, pony boy, are you still able to fuck?"

Now this was not a good thing to say! Blackie always
expected a certain deference from the house boys who
came to our stall. He was, after all, the "top", and
they were supposed to be begging for the use of his
dick. He like to be called Blackie, or even Mr Blackie
by some of the very young lads, and this use of "pony
boy" smacked of insolence. And I suppose he also took
from the use of "still able" the idea that the waiter
now thought he was in some sort of different status -
something which had of course been worrying him: he
kept saying there wasn't enough work for the two
stallions and him to pull the rickshaw and the
carriages, and now Straughan had used him as a common
worker!

"Ill show you....", he snapped, and the next moment
he'd almost thrown the waiter to the straw face down,
put one arm under the guy's belly to haul his ass up
into the air , and without any preparation or anything
started to fuck him.

I'd seen Blackie in action before, but this was
something else: he gave the lad no mercy, no time to
recover between his powerful thrusts. The lad squealed
and screamed as Blackie ruthlessly reamed him, and I
saw a look of grim determination on Blackie's face
that I'd never seen before.

Fortunately for the poor waiter, Blackie's pent-up
need for fucking meant that after only a very short
time he was throwing his body back for one last
gigantic thrust, and giving that scream of triumph
that some guys do when their balls empty.  He pulled
out, leaving the lad gasping and sobbing on the straw,
looked down at him with disdain and muttered "Yes, I
am still capable of fucking, house-boy."

He saw me looking at him in shock and horror, and his
anger was such that he even turned on me. "So what's
the matter with you, Steve?"

I should just have ignored it until he was calmer, but
as you sometimes do when a guy is spoiling for a
fight, I nevertheless unwisely said "Hey, Blackie,
cool it.... That wasn't very nice, what you did to
that lad...."

"And what do you know about it, Steve? You've never
fucked ass, so how can you tell me what's nice and
what isn't? You're always telling me you don't fuck
ass, and I think you think there's something wrong
with me when I do! It's about time you stopped being
so fucking high and mighty, and learned what it's
really like...."

He advanced on me, and before I could stop him, he
grabbed my left arm and twisted it cruelly up behind
my back, so I let out shriek of pain. "Hold still,
Steve, I don't want to hurt you..." He snarled, and
his other hand came around and started to jerk at my
dick violently.

I could feel his own dick, slimed with his cum and the
lad's ass juices, pressed hard into my butt.  I
couldn't help it - I went erect, and as soon as
Blackie felt this he pushed us down onto our knees
between the legs of the young lad, who was still lying
there. Blackie's hand let go of my dick, and he again
hauled the guy's ass into the air, then he kind of
guided me, using the pressure on my arm to direct me,
so that my dick was positioned at the lad's ass.

His face was pressed against my shoulders and neck,
and he hissed into my ear "Now you're going to see
what fucking's like, Steve.... Get your dick in
there..."

" NO!"

"Fucking do as I tell you, Steve... I'm in charge
here...." As he said this, his hips slammed forward so
that his dick lodged in my butt crack, and my dickhead
slipped into the lad's hole. He gave a shout of
surprise and pain, but it can't have been that bad as
Blackie's cum was still trickling out of it, and he
must have been well lubed and stretched.

Nothing quite prepares you for that first time your
dick meets the warmth of a nice ass, does it? And when
it's already slimed with another guy's cum, the
sensation is particularly intense. However I still
pulled backward in shock, my dick sliding out, and
Blackie responded by pushing me forward again. We did
this two or three times until I suddenly realised what
was happening - my dick was telling me that it had
never experienced anything like this before - the hot,
slippery tightness of the young guy's ass. I began to
get turned on like I'd never been before, and I think
I surprised myself as I began to do that thing that
all men do naturally - it's programmed into us -
thrust vigorously in and out as I fucked him.

Blackie must have felt this change in my action, as he
released the pressure on my arm, and the moment I had
two hands free I reached forward and gripped the young
slave's slim hips so that I could fuck him even harder
without pushing his body away from mine! I was
surprised, but it seemed so natural. He was squealing
and complaining as I fucked away, and this only added
to my excitement and the sense that I was doing what a
man really needed to do. All too soon I felt my balls
contract, and, just as I'd seen Blackie do, my head
automatically went back and my whole body arched, as
if I needed to get he last millimetre of my dick into
the lad before my fountain of cum erupted into him.

I fell forward, almost covering his slim young body
with my tougher, more developed one, and just lay
there felling that exquisite sensation of my heart
pounding and my lungs gasping as my dick remained
buried in the slave's warm ass. Finally, and rather
sheepishly, I suppose, I pulled myself out of him and
stood up, then bent down to help the young guy off the
floor.

As I said, I don't think he should have had all that
much to complain about - he'd taken Blackie's dick,
and mine was the same size and he was well lubed by
Blackie's cum. But he stood there, looking really
angry. Before he could say anything, though, Blackie
glared at him and, in a tone that brooked no argument,
said "Back to the house, boy, we've finished with you.
Tell the others there are two guys here now who can
give them a hard pounding, whether they're ponies or
not. That's right, isn't it, Steve?"

"Sure is, Blackie", I added in the same tone, as I
high-fived Blackie to show my total agreement.

The young slave looked as if he was going to say
something, but Blackie gave him a sharp slap on the
butt, and he finally walked out. Blackie and I stood
there, still both sweating, with our dicks covered in
cum and stuff.... I ought to have been mortified, I
ought to have been ashamed, I ought to have been
disgusted: I mean, standing there like that so
blatantly having had sex with a guy, and with my dick
still detumesing. I'd never have imagined that I could
have got in such a state - but, you know what? - I
didn't give a shit! I'd been so exhilarated as I
fucked the slave that all thoughts of it being "wrong"
or anything had gone completely out of my head.

Blackie was grinning at me. "So, Steve... I think you
liked that, didn't you? Don't try to deny it - you can
always tell when a guy really likes fucking! You're
like me, Steve, one of nature's 'tops' - you want to
be doing the fucking, in control, using the guy you're
with as the thing that's giving pleasure to your dick.
I could tell, once you got started - you went
naturally into the rhythm, and then you lost all sense
of what was going on around you, you were so focussed
on what that guy's ass was doing to your dick and your
balls!"

"You forced me, Blackie, I didn't want...."

"Yes, but what now, Steve? I may have forced you to
get into that young slave, but what are you going to
do now? Sex is a bit like a drug, isn't it - real sex,
that is, proper sex between guys? Provided you don't
start it, you never know what you're missing, and you
don't care; but one really good shot of it, and you're
hooked - totally and completely hooked: especially if
you like giving dick, as you and me both do, I think.
You're a slave to sex now, Steve, as well as being a
slave here on the plantation. There's no going back,
no cure, you can only go on: you need more and more of
it, you'll find - there will never be enough asses in
the world for you...."

"No, Blackie. I'm going to get out of being a slave,
I'm going to have a normal life, I'm going to find one
person to share it with, someone I love..."

"So?"

"...so there won't be all that fucking of guys."

"Oh yes there will, Steve! I used to be like you,
thinking I was going to be married and love someone
for life. And I'd kind of like that again - but like a
lot of married guys who really do love their wives, or
their partners if they're with another guy, that
wouldn't stop me having sex with other men, too. It's
different, Steve - love and sex. You can love someone,
but that shouldn't stop you having sex with a lot of
others - how else would you stop getting bored?"

"That's not right..."

"Well, only time will tell! But I think you're hooked
on fucking men, Steve. Now you've tried it, you want
more, don't you?"

Still rather reluctantly, I nodded, and Blackie's face
lit up. He put his arms around me, and I responded
automatically by putting mine around him, then he
started to kiss me passionately, and tease my nips
with his mouth and lips in the intervals between. I
couldn't believe how good it was to have him like
this, our naked cum-slimed bodies sliding over each
other, and soon we were wrapped in each other's bodies
totally, rolling around on the hay in the ecstasy of
our enjoyment of our maleness.  The sheer sexual
excitement of all of this was making me hard again,
even though it can't have been more than an hour or so
since I fucked the slave, Blackie almost drove me to
madness as he played with my dick, fondled my balls,
and scratched at my hole with his little finger. I
found myself responding, doing the same things to him
as he was doing to me, and we were giggling and
guffawing with each other as you do when you're having
real, total fun.

But then Blackie stopped, pulled me close to him, put
his face right against mine, and said "Oh, Steve...
There's nothing for it now, is there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't fuck you, as you've still got that 'not
to be fucked' thing on from Straughan, and I don't
want to risk it. But you could fuck me...."

"No, Blackie..."

"Steve, you don't know what you've been offered...
You've been given the chance - the rarer opportunity -
to experience the ass of the plantation's biggest
stud. I want you, Steve, I want you to fuck me.... I
want us to go on having this time together now, and
that's all that's left to do.... I wouldn't offer this
to anyone but you, Steve..."

Blackie's tone was so hesitant, he sounded so unsure
of himself, as if he was scared I might refuse. It was
so unlike the normal, confident Blackie who was always
in charge.  "Blackie, I'm honoured, no, overwhelmed...
But you don't take dick, you told me, and I don't
really know what I'm doing..."

"But you're special, Steve. I've never felt like this
about another guy before - they've just been men to
fuck. But I want you, I really do. And don't worry
about not knowing what to do.... Don't you think I
know a thing or two about that, having seen it from
the top, so to speak.... Come on, Steve, please...."

Oh shit, I thought. This was getting worse and worse.
As if having sex with my pony wasn't already bad
enough, he was falling in love with me. I knew I was
embarking on something I shouldn't, something that
could well turn out to be a disaster, but at the same
time I realised I did want Blackie. I wanted to be
close to him closer to him than I'd ever been to
anyone before. And the only way to do this was to
possess him, to take him, to have him completely under
my control, in a way that he'd never been when he was
pulling my rickshaw.

I kissed him, then, as I'd seen him do when he hadn't
just force fucked the slave, I started to play with
his dick, carrying on until he splashed his load
across my belly and into my shortened pubes. It was
then easy to scoop it onto my fingers, and as I
continued to kiss him I pulled his legs up a bit to
give me access, then started to lube his hole with
first one finger, then two, and finally, with Blackie
now giving almost continuous moans of delight, with
three.  Once I'd started this, I realised I didn't
want to stop, not at all. My dick was solid again, and
as I stroked some of Blackie's cum onto it, it was
almost painful.

"OK, Blackie", I murmured, "On your knees...."

"Please, Steve, fuck me on my back... I want to watch
you...."

"What?"

"Fucking guys from the rear's fine, Steve, I do it all
the time. It's quick, and it's easy. But when you
really want to know a guy, you need to see his face...
Here, let me show you...."

Blackie rolled onto his back, then put his legs up and
grasped his ankles. I could see his hole glistening
with the cum I'd massaged in, glinting under the dim
lights, and shuffled over so that I was kneeling in
front of it. And then, as they, say, dear reader, I
fucked him!  It was the most amazing thing I'd ever
done. I was watching the emotions playing over
Blackie's face as my dick nosed its way into him, and
I knew that he was doing the same as my own face
showed the complete joy I was experiencing as I slid
in and out of him. It was as if I was possessed - I
knew exactly what to do, varying the length and power
of my strokes as I saw the effect it had on Blackie;
could it be that fucking like this is programmed into
our brains by millions of years of evolution?

I wanted it to go on for ever and ever, but however
much I tried slowing down, only doing short, gentle
strokes, every trick I could think of to stop
stimulating my dick, the effect of Blackie's ass was
just totally overpowering: in all too short a time I
pumped my cum deep into him, then collapsed forward
onto him.  His strong legs wrapped themselves around
my body as we lay there, both out of breath, both
panting, both sweat covered, and both laughing with
that incredible infectious type of laughter that only
comes when you're totally, completely, utterly happy.
When we'd calmed down a bit, I pulled myself out of
him, but we still lay there clasped together, not
wanting to break apart. The heady smell of our cum and
sweat was everywhere, and it was as if all the nerves
of my body were on fire as they transmitted the ideas
of Blackie's body pressing against mine all over.

He whispered, in that way you do after really great
sex, even if no one else is listening "See, Steve... I
told you... You're a natural. Now, tell me, was that
great, or was it great?"

"Its' the best thing that's ever happened to me...."

"As I said. Now, we'd better get some sleep... I still
can't fuck you, but we've got hours yet before
tomorrow.... And I want you again, Steve...."

Well, there's no need to recount endless details of
the utterly unbelievably great sex we had that night.
We were still used on the peach crusher all the
following day, but as we were cleaning ourselves
afterwards, all Blackie's anger had gone - he only
wanted to get into our stall, so we could start to
make out!

We were passionately kissing and stroking each other
prior to our fucking, when there was a discrete cough.
Two of the house boys stood there, watching us. I
immediately felt ashamed - I don't know why: it seemed
to be perfectly natural to be doing what I was doing
to Blackie, but perhaps I wasn't yet used to the idea
of doing it with an audience.

"Please, Blackie, and, uh.. Steve.... Will you fuck
us?"

Blackie pushed himself away from me, and sat up
looking at the lads. The one who had spoken went on
"We both want dick, Blackie, and we heard there was
another slave here who could do it, too... Steve,
isn't it? So we both came along, and were hoping that
the two of you would give it to us...."

Blackie slapped me on the back, a hearty, resounding
slap on my bare skin, looked at the two lads, and said
to me "Which one do you want then?"

"Blackie, I don't... I thought we were going to...."

"Hey, Steve you can't turn down an opportunity like
this - two presentable young guys with cute asses,
just begging for it... Come on.... Let's have a
competition. Let's see who can cum first, or perhaps
that had better be who can cum last, as that would be
more of a challenge if you're still as horny as you
were last night..."

I never knew the name of that slave who was he first
one after Blackie I fucked willingly. As I've said,
the house boys were a bit interchangeable, and they
never really said. It was really exciting to be
fucking alongside Blackie, and I surreptitiously
watched as "the master" did all the things he usually
did to give himself the most pleasure, then emulated
them. When they were gone, Blackie and I lay together
and as we kissed and caressed, he just winked one eye
mischievously, and whispered "See, I told you, Steve,
it's like a drug! You're hooked, aren't you?"

The next day as we were still being whipped to
extraordinary lengths to keep us churning out the
fucking peach juice, it didn't seem to matter as much.
I'm sure the poor slave was hitting us as often or as
hard to keep us achieving his quota, but my mind was
so focussed on erotic possibilities that I could
almost shrug it off. What would Blackie and I do that
night? Could be get more of the young lads as a
"starter", before we got onto the main course....?

I could hardly wait for the day to end, and even
though I was completely exhausted, I had almost a
spring in my step as, my arm around Blackie's shoulder
(I was no longer at all concerned about showing him
affection in public now).  We went into the shower and
I started to wash Blackie, revelling in the feel of
his body, but the stable lad told me to go over to the
main house, as the master was going to see me that
evening and there were special slaves there who always
cleaned you properly before such an interview.

My spirits leapt! At last I was going to see my uncle,
I'd apologise, of course, grovel, if I had to... And
them I'd be free again. I'd be back in my old suite,
and I resolved that the first thing I'd do was to have
them send up Blackie, so I could fuck him in my own
bed. It was going to be great - having his body
surrounded by the starched, cool linen sheets, rather
than the scratchy straw!

Of course there'd no longer be the prohibition on him
fucking me, but I did like fucking him, and I thought
that I'd simply tell him that I had decided that
that's what I would continue to do, and that my ass
was always going to be off limits: he was a slave, and
I would be a free man, after all.

I should have been used to being handled by other guys
by now, but the way that the two slaves who
specialised in "preparing" a slave for the master
operated was totally humiliating. Still, I thought, as
they bent me over and gave me enemas until the water
ran clean, at least this would be the last time. And
who would have thought that my uncle evidently fucked
the new slaves - we were going to have a lot to talk
about in future, I thought - a kind of shared
interest. He'd always been rather reticent on the
subject of sex, and I'd always assumed he was celibate
and did not totally approve of me fucking the slave
girls - now I knew that he evidently did fuck all the
slaves, and I liked doing that, too, we could compare
notes!

After I'd been flushed out inside, they then did a
really thorough job of making me look "presentable" -
my hair was cut again, my pubes trimmed, my face
shaved until it was silky smooth, as were my balls and
ass crack. They cut my nails (an interesting
experience - somehow having another guy do that to you
is strangely intimate), cleaned the lint out of my
navel, and then finally pointed to a deep bat h of
very hot water. "In there, Steve", the said. "It's the
only way to get all the dirt and sweat out of your
pores...."

They kept me in it for almost an hour, laughing as
they kept pouring buckets of freshly hot steaming
water all over me, making me shout, until I was
finally allowed to get out. Once all the "crinkles"
had gone from my skin, I felt totally, amazingly,
wonderfully "squeaky clean". It was almost as if I had
been given a re-birth: my new life as a free man was
about to begin, and this time I truly would be free -
all those stupid inhibitions I had had about sex, real
sex, would be a thing of the past, and with all slaves
on the estate at my beck and call, I could be free to
enjoy myself as I chose.

End Of Part 6