Date: Thu, 17 Jul 2003 03:26:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Story: Harbour Master 5

HARBOUR MASTER, Part 5

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

That walk across the Fair Ground to the start of the
slave race was one of the oddest things I'd ever done
- not only was I totally naked in a very public place,
but I had this huge erection sticking out in front of
me.  Once I'd gone up, it didn't seem to want to come
down.  As I moved, the butt plug massaged my prostate
and waves of sexual pleasure kept sweeping through me
- no wonder I couldn't lose my hard-on.

Most guys only ever take a couple of steps when
they're erect, to the bed, or to the john, but I had
to walk a hundred yards or so, and you're just not
used to having your dick bobbing up and down with
every step, are you?  And the crowds of men, women and
children making their way home were all looking at me,
and pointing at my erection.  I was blushing bright
red, but I almost didn't care - I wasn't doing this
voluntarily, I wasn't some sort of exhibitionist: far
from it - I'd been forced to do this, by the vile
system of slavery that meant my life was at stake, and
by the perverts who designed things like naked slave
races!

When we got there, there were seven other slaves
standing around, all totally naked, like me, and all
sporting their erections.  A huge crowd of men - at
least two or three hundred - were milling around us,
drinking and laughing, pointing at our bodies, and
comparing us.

The PA started, and the announcer called for quiet.

"Right - let me remind everyone of the rules.  On the
'off', the slaves must race eight times around the
arena - that's just under a mile.  They must stay
outside the line, else they're disqualified.  And any
slave who loses his erection during the race is also
out of it - he must stop, and get hard again, before
continuing. As soon as he crosses the finishing line,
the slave must fall to his knees and jerk off. It's
the first slave to shoot that's the winner - not, I
repeat, not, the first slave to cross the line. So
this race is designed to demonstrate which is the best
slave both for athleticism, and for sex!  What could
be better, gentlemen, than that - a slave with a good
body who can race well, and who can also cum on
command?   So those of you who haven't already bought
a ticket, get one now - you might win one of these
pieces of prime slave flesh for an investment of only
five bucks.  And those of you who already have a
ticket, get another - now you've seen the potential
prize, and the way these slaves are so proud of their
dicks that they've put them on special display for
you, don't you want even more chances of owning one of
them?"

It was true - we were really good examples of slaves -
well, of course, I mean really good specimens of
manhood.  It was obvious that no slave had been
entered who didn't have some chance of winning, and as
I stood there, with pre-cum dripping out of the end of
my dick, I tried to gauge my chances.

You know I'm tall, and I've got a strong, muscular
body.  My long legs with my powerful thigh and ass
muscles can drive me along, but I'm not primarily
"build for speed" - racers, if you look at the
Olympics and stuff, are either small, light, "whippet"
like guys, or big, lanky, long-legged "bean poles".
You never see a big, strong guy win a race, unless
it's one of the very short distance races, like the
100 metres, when those huge muscular blacks so often
win.  Anything over a half a mile or so, and it's
lightness and stamina you need, not huge muscle power.
 I could see at least one "bean pole", and a couple of
"whippets" amongst the competitors - all nice enough
guys, of course, and standing proudly erect, like me.
So I was worried - but I had a couple of advantages:
they were not racing for their lives, and they'd
probably not been deprived of sex for as long as I
had!

The shouting and cheering continued, and I guessed
ticket sales were still going on.  I didn't know how
long I could hold an erection, but as I shifted
nervously from foot to foot, my butt plug sent shock
waves through me that certainly helped!  Some of the
other contestants were looking a bit worried, and were
standing there jerking away at themselves.  We were
all herded into a small enclosure, and the rails of it
were lined with men pointing at us and discussing our
chances, just like race horses in the ring before a
race!  I think I'd long ago lost any sense of shame
about my nudity, or my erection - I was so worried
about losing and being sent to the organ banks that
this far outweighed any other consideration. Never the
less, I hated hearing all these men comparing my body,
comparing my dick, and generally discussing which of
us would win, just as if we were animals.

Then it went quieter, and the PA told us to line
up.... Then a pistol shot, and we were off!

I've never run so hard in my life.  My legs pounded
away, and I told my lungs to stop complaining - they
just had to go on pumping air into me, or they were
dead meat, literally!  Sweat was pouring off me, and I
could feel droplets of it spraying in the wind as I
raced on.  The track was grass, but there were the odd
stone and so on in it, and I didn't even worry about
the random pains from my feet as they crashed down
onto a sharp place occasionally.  My dick was flying
up and down in time to the long strides I was taking,
and this hurt, too - but I just forgot it, and carried
on as I had to: actually, having my dick start to ache
made it easier to keep it erect, somehow.  Another
insistent pain was from my balls - they were swinging
wildly too and fro, not even lightly restrained by my
dick lying on top of them, and slapping into my thighs
as I raced on.  Little twinges kept coming to the
front of my brain from them, but I just ignored it.

It's funny how I can remember all these individual
sensations, but that's the way it was.  One part of my
mind was totally focussed on driving my body onward,
further and further, and faster and faster.  Nothing
else mattered.  I just had to win!  And another part
of my brain was sitting there watching and feeling,
analysing all these little pains and sensations, then
just pigeonholing them as there was nothing that could
be done about them, no action that could alleviate
them:  I had to win, and all else had to be subsumed
before that.

As we raced on, the haze of pain from all over me
started to obscure everything else.  The film of sweat
pouring down past my eyes blurred my vision, and the
crowd of shouting, raucous men lining the rails  all
merged into one amorphous mass.

One of the "whippets" stumbled and fell, and lay
writhing on the ground, and I had to leap over him to
avoid falling myself - he must have pulled a hamstring
or something.  I noticed the "bean pole" had stopped,
and part of me observed that he was just standing
there, jerking at his dick - I suppose he'd lost his
erection, and had to try to get it again before he
could run on.  There were now only six of us in the
race, and the remaining "whippet" and I were several
yards ahead of the other four, who were just averagely
athletic guys.  The bastard increased the pace, and
started to pull away from me.  I was desperate - I
knew that if he got too far ahead I'd lose the will to
fight back and my life was over, so in desperation I
lengthened my stride even more, and willed my muscles
to power on, faster and faster.  But the fucking
whippet just went even faster - it was as if he had
extra gears, and just shifted down in his gear box to
accelerate away from me again!  To make matters worse,
one of the other guys seemed to be gaining on me,
pulling away from the remaining three!

We'd done four laps now, and the strain was terrible.
My heart and lungs felt as if they were bursting, and
I wanted to stop.  I wanted to stop more than anything
else on this earth, except my continued life!  So I
just went on.  I went through that thing I've always
read about - the pain barrier - all of a sudden, I was
just running.  My legs were gliding smoothly
underneath me, I could feel the wind against my cock
as it led me onwards.  I could see the ass of the
whippet just in front of me, and, to my joy, the guy
behind who had been gaining on me suddenly threw his
arms into the air and collapsed onto the track behind
me - one part of me hoped he hadn't had a heart attack
or something, and another part of me said "Fucking
thanks, God!".

It was apparent that it was only a race between me and
the whippet now - the remaining three were so far
behind they couldn't catch up.  We raced on and on,
and I was aware of someone shouting "last lap."

I saw a tape stretched out in front of me, and the
whippet and I went over the line almost at the same
instant.  I fell to my knees, and not caring about the
shame of jerking off in public, cupped my dick in my
hand, pulled my foreskin back so my dick head was
exposed, and jerked away.  It only took a moment, or
was it that time had stopped for me?  The pain in my
balls changed from the ache of being slapped
constantly against my thighs to the exquisite one when
a huge load of cum is being forced through them, and a
great jet of white shot out from me, hitting the front
row of spectators standing there cheering.  All those
things that normally happen to you as you jerk off had
been bypassed - there was no anticipation, no thoughts
of exquisite sex, no gentle starting of the movement
of the fingers up your dick - none of that.  I just
grasped it, and stroked myself so hard that it was
almost as if I was tearing the skin away from it.  And
there wasn't that sensation of your heart quickening
and your breathing getting harder, either"  my heart
was already racing so hard, and my breathing was
coming in such huge painful gasps, that I couldn't
increase either.

Once I'd shot, I collapsed back on to the grass, and
just lay there, holding my dick, with my chest heaving
up and down.  I could hear the cheering and shouting
of the crowd, who were going wild, but I didn't really
register it - it was as if they were miles away.  I
didn't care that my whole body was exposed to hem.  I
didn't care they'd all seen me do that thing that only
my wife had ever seen me do before.  I didn't care
that I was a slave.  All I knew was that I was the
best - I had beaten eight other guys, some of them
good runners, and I'd shot harder and faster than any
of them.  I knew there wasn't a man there that could
have produced a load the size I had, and I knew they
would all be looking at me, envious of my manhood.

I was pulled to my feet soon, though, and paraded
around the rails by a guard.   Hands came out and
touched me all over, feeling my sweaty ass, clutching
at my dick that was still slimed with my cum, and
slapping my on my back.  There were shouts of "Fucking
well done.  Jesus Christ, boy, what a load!  Well
done, fella", and all that other crap - they were
congratulating me for being an athletic stud, and they
didn't care that I was a slave.  I was a man, a man
who was bigger, stronger and better than them, and
they all knew it.

My euphoria came to an end, though, when the PA broke
into life again and they announced the prize draw.  I
was told to go up towards the microphone, and there
was a huge barrel, with thousands of ticket stubs
lying in it.

"Right, slave.  As you're the prize, you can draw the
ticket that will name your new owner.  Lean in and
stir the tickets round well."

As I leant over the edge of the barrel I was aware
that the men standing around could see my ass exposed,
but I no longer cared.  And I knew that I ought to
hate being a prize in a sweepstake - I was a man,
after all, not a holiday in Vegas, or a fancy new car!
 But, what the fuck?  I was still alive!

"Right.  Now, take that cum-soaked dick of yours and
poke it into the barrel and pull out a ticket."

Oh no, how fucking humiliating!  I went to pick a
ticket out normally, with as much dignity as I could,
ignoring the PA.

"Stop!  You were commanded to pick the ticket by
sticking it to your dick!  I can see that whoever wins
you is going to have a hard time beating some sense
into you, so that you obey orders properly!  Now, do
as you were fucking told - get that dick of yours into
the barrel, and pull a ticket out."

Now furious at the humiliation, and blushing at this
new indignity, I put my hands on the rim of the barrel
and raised my body up - I was am amazed that I still
had the strength to do this!  Then, with my thighs
balanced on the opposite rim, I lowered my pelvis
downwards, and let my dick brush over the surface of
the tickets underneath me.

The drying cum on my dick head did "stick" a ticket,
and I pulled myself upwards, then lowered myself to
stand there, with the piece of paper stuck to the tip
of my dick.

The man holding the mike came forward and casually
plucked the ticket off me - there was a little tug at
the sensitive skin of my dick head that made me start
a little, but he either didn't notice, or didn't care.

"The winner is, gentleman, Mr Matt James, of Seatown.
Come on up, Matt, and claim your prize!"

We waited, and then a big guy climbed slowly over the
enclosure fence - he was about as tall as me, and as
well muscled as I was.  If he hadn't been much older -
I guessed he was about 40 - he could have been an
older brother.  He seemed unhurried, and strolled
across to where we were, and shook the hand of the
compere. It was clear that he was used to being in
charge of things, and wasn't going to be hurried just
because two or three hundred sex-crazed men were
watching him.

The compere went to say something, but my new owner -
as I suppose that is what he was  - just looked at me
and said "Down on your knees."

I was so surprised, I did nothing.

"I said down on your knees, slave!", he snapped.
"You're going to have to learn that you obey me when I
give you an order.  Now, get on your fucking knees,
before I borrow a bullwhip from one of these cowboys
our here and show you what a real whipping can do!"

I was shocked, but reacted almost automatically, and
fell to my knees.  The crowd cheered.

The compere went to say something else, but my master
didn't seem interested.

"Now, slave, in front of all these men - show me that
you accept me as your master in the usual way."

I didn't know what he meant.

"Right, you young fucker, I told you what would
happen...."

"No, please, boss... I don't know what you mean.
What's the 'usual way'?"

He looked down at me, as if to judge whether  I was
bullshitting him.

"OK, one more chance.  You give me the kisses of
submission and obedience.  First, you kiss my dick."

"Boss.... How...?"

"Get my dick out - very gently - if you even make me
wince, I'll thrash you later.  Then kiss it."

He couldn't be serious, surely?  Would he want his
dick out in front of this huge audience of men?  He
wasn't a slave, after all, he didn't have to expose
himself.  But he seemed to be serious.

What else could I do?  I reached up, and with
trembling fingers undid the buttons on his jeans.
I could tell by the size of his bulge that, like me,
his dick would be to scale with the rest of him, and I
nervously tried to reach in and find it.

"No, you fucking idiot! Do you want to hurt my dick,
pawing t it like that?  Lower my jeans, and then do
it."

My hands were still shaking - was it the exertion I'd
just been through, or the tension from this
extraordinary act - but I undid his belt, and slid his
jeans down.  He didn't wear underwear, and as his
huge, cut dick came into view, and his big, rounded
ass was exposed, the crowd went wild again.  I learned
a lesson - a man, a real man, doesn't care about other
men seeing him naked, provided he's got a great body
and a big dick.

"Right, slave.  Take my dick it gently in your hands,
then kiss it. By worshipping it in front of all these
men, you are confirming that you understand that I am
your master, and you obey me in all things!"

Still trembling, I reached for his dick.  This was the
first time I'd ever held another man's vital organ,
and I couldn't believe how warm it felt, and how soft,
as it lay there in the palm of my hand.  I froze.

"Kiss it, you young fucker.   What's wrong with you?
Don't you like a real man's dick?"

I leant forward, and pursed my lips, and touched them
softly to his big dick head.  AS I came close to it,
far closer than I's ever been before to a man's dick,
I smelt it's scent - that heady mixture of dried piss,
sweat, and those special scents that only the dick
had.  I felt it twitch under my lips, and he started
to get an erection. I pressed my lips to it for a few
seconds, then   I knelt backwards, and his dick leapt
in to the air, accompanied by more cheering from the
crowds.

"Now my ass."

"Boss?"

"Don't you speak English, you young fucker!  You've
submitted by kissing my dick, now show your total
obedience by kissing my ass!"

He turned around, and the huge globes of his ass were
towards my face.  The crowd was going wild, but I
could see I had no choice - I leaned forward, and
pressed my lips first to one cheek, and then the
other.

"No!  You kiss my crack!   I want to feel those lips
of yours pressing into my crack - but as this is your
first time, you can start at the top.  Kiss my crack,
starting at the base of my spine!"

I leaned forward again, and put my hands on his
muscular hips to steady myself,  then I pressed myself
in to him, my nose going slightly down into the hairs
coming up out of his crack - he was one of those guys
with a little forest of hair just at the base of his
spine, where his crack started, and they felt all
tough and wiry on the bridge of my nose.

His male scent rose to meet me - that special smell in
a man's crack, however much he showers.  Pheromones, a
faint whiff of shit, and his sweat - as my lips
pressed onto his hot flesh, my dick went erect again.


I stayed there for a few moments, savouring this man
who now owned me, and when the crowd saw my
subservience and obedience to him, they roared and
cheered even harder.

"OK, slave, on your feet!  We've got work to do."

I got up, and my owner was pulling up his jeans,
tucking his dick down into the fabric as only
confident men do.  The compere, the guard and the
dealer and his young slave were all now gathered
around, and there was a lot of discussion about title
deeds, the money from the tickets, and so on.  My
owner finally snapped "Let's cut all this crap!".

Turning to the guard, he asked him if he was satisfied
with the ticket money, and was told yes.  So he just
looked at all of them and said "So send me all the
paperwork.  I've got a long drive tonight, and there
are things I've got to do to this slave whilst he
still remembers his public display of subservience to
me.  Don't you guys have anything to do, too?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but simply strode off,
snapping his fingers at me to indicate that I should
follow him.  As we made our way through the streams of
men who were also leaving, lots of them congratulated
him on how well he had handled me.  The sorts of
comments I heard all the time were "It's a pity all
those young punks don't end up with masters like you -
they need to be taught who's boss", and "Well done,
fella - get those fucking slaves to understand who's
the top, that's what I always say."  As I looked back,
I could see the dealer, the guard and the young slave
also leaving, with the boy almost held under the arm
of the guard.  I wondered what the night was to hold
in store for the two slaves amongst us!

He strode on, and never looked back.  He was clearly
confident that I was following him, and he didn't even
feel the need to look.

He had a beat up old pick-up, that looked strangely
out of place amongst the gleaming SUVs and BMWs that
the rest of the followers of the slave races seemed to
drive. It was so old that he hadn't even bothered to
lock it, and as he opened the door he rummaged around
inside and found a couple of things that he threw at
me.

"Here - some shorts, and a sweat of mine.  The shorts
were left by my son on his last trip, and they'll
probably be a bit tight on you - he's only 16, but
he's well built.  It's my sweatshirt, so it'll fit,
but I've been wearing it the last few days so there's
a bit of a rank smell of sweat - but it's my sweat, so
don't worry.

I stood there, and pulled on the shorts - they were
indeed tight, but, because of their cut, it didn't
matter much - they were those old fashioned short
running shorts, where the front and back are in two
halves to allow free movement of the thighs.   On me,
they split almost up to the waistband, showing my big
muscles off, but after the tiny loin cloth they felt
completely modest!  As I pulled on the sweat, I got
the heady aroma of my master, that I'd scented as I
kissed his ass - all male, all masculine.

"OK. Don't expect this all the time.  I don't see any
problem with having slaves naked, but it'll go cold
tonight as we head to the coast, and I don't want you
shivering all the time as it distracts me from my
driving.   Now, get in - and again, as it's night, you
can ride up front with me - when we're working, I'll
expect you to ride in the back with the tools and the
other crap:  it's not good for people to see a slave
being treated like a free man.

I got in, and sat there, and he put the pick-up into
gear and drove off.

"Right, slave.  What's your name?"

"Steve, sir..."

"Right, Steve.  Here are the rules.  Remember them, as
I'll beat the shit out of you if you break them."

"First, I'm 'Boss'.  You call all other free men
'Sir', and me, 'Boss'.  Second, you obey my orders,
and you obey them exactly, when I give them, and
exactly as I give them.  You don't decide to modify
them, or to change them, or to do them later.  I
decide what's going to happen, and how it's going to
happen, and your only function as a slave is to obey.
And third... No, there is no third.  You call me
'Boss', and you obey.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, boss."

"Good.  You're a quick learner.  Now, you're 24 years
old, right, and a virgin."

"Yes, boss, 24. But not a virgin. I've got a wife and
two kids...."

"Listen, slave, perhaps they didn't teach you anything
at that slave dealership - yes, I know a bit about
you, as I had a chat with a most interesting guard as
you were racing.  You're a slave now, and so you have
no wife, no kids - all that sort of stuff is
automatically dissolved when you're enslaved.
Secondly, that ass of yours hasn't had a dick up it,
so you're a virgin.  You can forget all that stuff
about fucking women - I don't intend to breed from
you, so you'll never stick it up a cunt again.  You've
narrowly escaped the organ banks, as we both know, as
you're not the fashionable type and no one else would
buy you, but to me, you're a great asset - I could
never afford a slave from the money I make, so winning
you in the sweepstake was fantastic.  But, as you
effectively cost me only five bucks, I wouldn't mind
losing you - if you're persistently disobedient and I
get tired of beating the shit out of you to make you
obey, I'll simply sell you to them anyway:  the extra
cash would always come in handy.  Just remember that,
and think on before you even consider annoying me."

"I'm the Harbour Master at Seatown.  I own the
pleasure oat concession, and I run a service for the
rich owners who come out from the city and who keep
their boats moored in the harbour.  We don't have a
marina as such, just a lot of moored boats.  Do you
swim?"

"Yes, boss."

"Do you REALLY swim - not just a couple of lengths of
the pool.... Are you a real strong, swimmer?"

"Yes, boss.  My dad always insisted I learned, and it
was a sport I liked.  I've got life saving diplomas,
and...."

"Cut the crap.  Are you sure you're a strong swimmer?"

"Yes, boss."

He pulled off the Interstate, and we went along a
country road for a couple of miles, with him
intermittently peering at a road atlas.  Then we
stopped, and we were on the shores of a small pleasure
lake.

"OK, slave.  Get out, and get naked."

I did as I was told, and stood there, shivering
slightly as the night air had indeed turned cold.  I
kind of wrapped my arms around myself, and rubbed them
up and down, to try and make myself warm.  My owner
rummaged around in the back of the pick up, and came
back holding a number of lengths of chain.

As I stood there, he wrapped a couple of turns around
my neck, then ran a length down and circled my waist
twice.  Using some pliers from the toolbox, he used a
scrap of cable to bind the loose end of the chains
together, so I had a kind of very heavy necklace
around my neck, and a belt around my waist.

"OK, slave.  I'm going to drive to the other side of
the lake.  Swim over to me."

I looked, and could just see the far shore in the
moonlight.  It looked a long way away, and with these
chains on me....  I was scared.

"Please, boss... It's a long way... These chains...."

"Exactly.  I need a strong swimmer, and you say you're
a strong swimmer.  So we may as well find out whether
you're a truthful slave, and whether I can trust you
in the future.  There's no point in me transporting
you back home if you can't perform, so I may as well
find that out now as well.  If you can't swim well, or
if you've lied to me, I've not lost much, just a few
bucks on that ticket. So get in the water, and swim!
If you don't want to do that, I can just turn around
and take you back to that dealership - they'll pay me
several thousand for you, I know, as they'll be glad
to turn some profit on you...."

He didn't say anything else, but turned and got into
the pick-up, started the engine, and drove off.  I
could see his headlights making their way around the
lake, and I just stood there, getting colder and
colder.  I thought I could do it - I really am a
strong swimmer - but it's scary when you're weighed
down with chain, you don't really know how far you've
got to go, and you're nearly exhausted anyway.  But
standing there wasn't going to change anything, so I
waded into the lake.

The water was cold!  And as I moved in deeper and
deeper, I had that horrible feeling you get when cold
water rises up you - over your knees, then that shock
as it touches your dick and your balls, then the
tickling, horrible sensation as it rises over your
waist and hits your navel.  I pressed on, and it hit
my nipples, causing them to erect.  I should have just
thrown myself in and got it over with, but I wanted to
wade as far as possible to conserve my strength.

I had to start swimming soon, though - I went in up to
my chin, and I didn't even start to float with all the
chains holding me down.  As I kicked away, I realised
I was having to work really hard just to stay afloat -
as I took each stroke, my neck was dragged down and my
head went straight under water.  And if I let up for
even an instant, I started to sink straight down.

I could see the headlights on the far side of the
lake, and struck out for them.  I swam on and on,
getting colder and colder, and I could feel my
strength ebbing - I know I could have done it if I
hadn't been so dammed fucking tired!

Soon I thought I was more than half way - there was no
turning back now, as it was further back to the shore
I'd come from than it was to press on.  But my strokes
were getting feebler and feebler, and my strength was
rapidly fading.  I stopped and tried to "tread water",
to allow my limbs to recuperate a bit, but it just
wasn't possible - my weighted body started to go
straight down, feet first!  Frantically, I kicked out,
and  thrust towards the surface - could I make it....
I was spluttering, with my lungs on fire as I finally
burst through, but then I had to start swimming as I
immediately started to go under again.

Over and over, the nightmare repeated itself - I ran
out of energy, and started to sink, then I found a new
reserve from somewhere, and started again.  But the
periods of progress were getting shorter and shorter,
and the far shore didn't seem to begetting that much
closer.  I was getting resigned - at least they
wouldn't have the satisfaction of making money from my
organs - I'd die out here, in the open air (or,
rather, in the depths of the lake!).

I guess there are hidden reserves in all of us, and
somehow I carried on for what seemed like hours, but
which was probably no more than 45 minute or so, but
even that was not enough.  I just couldn't carry on,
and felt myself being dragged down to the bottom by
the chains.  I just was so dammed tired, I no longer
cared, I just couldn't find any more strength to
struggle on. A huge bubble of air escaped from my
mouth, and I knew I was about to die.

Then my feet touched the bottom!  My head was still
about a foot down, but at least I must be near the
shore.  Where I got it from I don't know, but I found
the will to kick out, and launched up towards the
surface.  My head broke through for an instant, and I
snatched a lung full of air, then somehow, I carried
on - sinking, kicking, snatching a breath, and all the
time desperately struggling to make some sort of
progress towards the shore.  But it wasn't enough - my
last kick failed to get me to the surface, and I knew
I was done for.  I desperately tried to hold on to my
last remaining breath, but then, with my lungs
screaming, I just had to breathe in the cold water of
the lake and I knew my life was ebbing away.  My last
conscious thought was of the cruel system that had
turned me from a 24 year old father into a dead slave.


End Of Part 5