Date: Tue, 6 Mar 2007 12:54:52 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Revolt, Part Six

THE SLAVE REVOLT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Six

I had a terrible night.  All  the drays and I could do
was to try to shuffle around a bit and rearrange
ourselves - but the five of us lying stacked rather
like logs of wood in the back of the pickup could not
do all that much to make ourselves comfortable.  And,
inevitably, when we had to piss, we couldn't avoid
doing it over each other.  We were cold and miserable,
and it was made worse by the occasional screams from
young Rob that split the night air.

Until you've tried it, you've no idea how painful it
can be to have your hands cuffed behind your back for
a really long time.  By the morning we were all in a
lot of distress, and in addition to the cold, we were
very thirsty.  They didn't bother to give us any water
or anything to eat, though, and after they'd broke
camp after eating their own breakfast, we set off.  If
anything, the drays and me were in even more trouble
now as the truck bounced along the country roads as we
were thrown against each other constantly and could do
nothing to stop it.  I was worried sick about what had
happened to Rob, as I'd rather hoped that after they'd
finished with him they'd have thrown him in with the
rest of us - but this didn't happen.

As the sun came up our torture continued - we were
really thirsty now as the sun caused us to sweat, and
we even got to the point of trying to lick the sweat
off each other in  a vain attempt to bring some relief
to our parched and swollen lips and tongues.

Sometime during the morning we stopped unexpectedly
and there was a lot of shouting and some gunfire, and
eventually some more slaves, cuffed like us, were
thrown in on top of us.  We could do little to avoid
the crushing weight of their bodies, but at least they
provided some protection from the sun.  Fortunately
they were only "regular" coffle slaves, as if they'd
been big heavy drays, I'm sure we would have
suffocated as the weight would have stopped us from
breathing.  Like us, the poor guys were a bit bemused
at having got caught up in the slave uprising, and
they were fearful of what was going to happen next -
they too had seen some of the executions, and they
also told us that a mile or so back they'd started
crucifying slaves, as "a fitting punishment for trying
to escape".   When they described the way the spikes
were driven through the wrists and ankles of the men
who were impaled on the crosses, they were shaking
with fear as they felt certain that this was to be our
fate, too.

I don't know how long we could have held out without
any water or food, but fortunately shortly after the
sun had reached its zenith we finally arrived at our
destination - the rear gate of the pickup was dropped,
and, one by one, we were hauled out just as if we were
packages.  I'd been near the top of the pile, and so
was one of the first off, and as I looked around all I
could see was utter desolation:  the place had
evidently been a small wood or coppice with an owner's
mansion in it, but everything had been burned down.
Now the whole site was bleak and bare and covered in
soot and ash, and the only sign of human activity was
that as far as the eye could see there was a fence of
razor wire, all coiled up and about six feet high,
enclosing the space and dividing it up into a number
of sections.  One of the guards snapped "put this
whitey in the 'special' section, as he's probably one
of the ringleaders and will need special
interrogation.  The niggas can just go in the general
compound."

There were no gates in the razor wire - a plank was
rested up against it and I was forced up it with the
threat of a slave prod and had to jump off the end,
into the compound.  There were about fifty guys
already in there, about half of them whiteys or Mexes,
and the other half niggas. I looked around, and there
was nothing, absolutely nothing:  no shelter of any
kind, no provision for latrines, no sign of any way of
feeding or watering us.  Most of the guys looked in a
pretty bad state - thin and kind of ragged looking,
and some were badly sunburned (I suppose I was
fortunate in having worked a lot out of doors so my
skin had adapted).  On the other side of the wire we
could see the second compound where I suppose the
drays had been put, and this was much the same, except
that there must have been four or five hundred niggas
in there.

I soon found out how effective this method of keeping
us was - it required almost no resources from the
National Guard, as any thought of trying to cross the
huge coils of razor wire was absolutely out of the
question.  They fed us by the simple expedient of
hurling a few small sacks of slave chow over the wire
in the morning - if we were unlucky these broke open
and we had to forage for it in the ash and soot that
covered everything, but forage we did, as we were so
desperately hungry as there simply wasn't enough.  We
were "watered" by them pointing a hose pipe through
the wire and we had to catch the water as best we
could on the other side.  There was absolutely no
provision for cleaning us, or for latrines - we used
one corner of the compound to shit in, and that was
that.

Fights frequently broke out as there was really not
enough food and the water hose was never run for long
enough.  It didn't affect me all that much as I was
bigger and stronger than most of the others, but it
distressed me to see the weaker men getting weaker and
weaker because of the lack of food and water.  I tried
to organise a "fair" distribution, really I did, but
it was useless - in these totally inhuman surroundings
all sense of fair play and "justice" had evaporated,
and although I tried to help some of the very weakest,
it was a hopeless task.

We were naked savages, our bodies filthy, desperately
fighting each other for survival, and it was utterly
demeaning to have to eke out an existence like this.
But I clung on, knowing that "economics" would at some
point take over and they wouldn't want too many of us
valuable slaves ending up as corpses.  Some of the men
couldn't take it, though, and I particularly remember
one guy who, after an afternoon when the fierce sun
burned down unmercilessly, and when he failed to get
enough water before the hose was turned off, threw
himself onto the razor wire in a completely hopeless
attempt to escape.  There was nothing we could do -
his skin was cut to ribbons in an instant, and he lay
there on the wire, bleeding to death in front of us.

They made no attempt to move the putrefying flesh in
the next few days as evidently it was considered it
served as a reminder to all of us that escape was
impossible.

There was more sinister activity on the other side of
the wire in the nigga compound, too:  they had the
same kind of fights and so on as we did as they too
were desperate for food and water.  But it was even
worse for them - once a day one of those cranes you
see everywhere on construction sites reached its boom
over the wire with a guard sitting astride it holding
a noose.  He "lassoed" a nigga, hauled him up and over
the wire, and this was repeated until there were
twenty niggas outside the wire:  we all watched as the
were loaded into a cage on the back of a truck and
were driven off.  We heard the guards laughing one day
as they said that "fishing for niggas was better than
fishing for pike back home".  They all agreed it was
good sport, and were even discussing how they went
about "selecting the catch" - some said they chose
tall niggas, some went for young ones, and so on - it
all seemed totally arbitrary.  Only one guard seemed
at all concerned, and said he didn't really like it
when it was his turn to "fish" for the catch that day,
as he knew the slaves were being taken off to be
crucified in the nearby towns!

One of the Mexes hearing this asked me if I thought it
was true, and I had to tell him I thought it probably
was.  "You see, they are going to start repopulating
the plantations and demesnes with slaves soon, and
they need to ensure that a slave revolt like this
never breaks out again.  I guess they think that if we
see a whole lot of crucified slaves as they take us
back to our owners, we'll think twice about ever
trying to revolt again."

"But, Steve, you didn't revolt, I didn't revolt...."

"I know!  We're just victims, really.  But how's an
owner to know which slaves would have been loyal to
him, and which ones willingly joined in?  This way, at
least, we all learn that a revolt doesn't pay."

"Why do you think they're taking the niggas off for
crucifixion, Steve, and leaving us alone?"

"Well whiteys and Mexes always fetched a much higher
price at auction - perhaps they don't want to 'waste'
too much capital and therefore only crucify the
cheaper niggas."

"Oh come on, you can't be serious....."

"I am!  Look, the whole slavery thing rests on
economics, right?  It's cheaper to own a slave and
give him minimal food, just enough housing so he
doesn't die of exposure, no clothes as he doesn't need
them and they cost money, to coffle him so he doesn't
need much guarding, and to whip and tawse him to get
the most work out of him, than it is to employ a
worker and have to give him enough money to feed,
clothe and house himself and a family.....  The USA
was being eaten alive by all the cheap imports from
foreign countries with low labour costs, until slavery
came back - and now we're up there at the top again,
beating the world as we have the lowest production
costs of anywhere.  That's what I mean by economics -
and there's a whole lot of other savings, too:  no
prisons and fewer police, as the crime rate is right
down, health care costs slashed as slaves don't live
into old age, or, if they do, they don't get expensive
life-prolonging treatments....  So, as I said, we're
all assets, all slaves are, and clearly you take care
of the most expensive assets more than you do of the
cheap ones.  I suppose we're lucky, really."

"What do you reckon is going to happen then, Steve?"

"Well, if we're lucky, we'll survive long enough for
this orgy of revenge and punishment to pass and for
wiser heads to point out that they need to get the
country working again - and for that, they need
slaves.  They can't go on crucifying some, and letting
some die of neglect, for long or the economy will
never recover.  Sooner or later, and I hope it's
sooner, they'll start to look at our SINs and begin
the process of returning us to our owners.  What did
you do, anyway, Pedro?"

"Oh, me?  I was a gardener in a big house in the
suburbs of Nashville.  They caught me after I'd been
working here illegally for two years, and made me a
slave.  It wasn't so different to the work I did
before - I was an agricultural labourer in Mexico and
I had my own little plot of land, too.  I'd have been
at home still if I hadn't made a fourth baby but you
know how it is, Steve - my lovely Rosita was hard to
resist when she wrapped her legs around me.... And
although we did all the things the Church said and
only did it when it was 'safe', the little ones kept
on coming.  So I had to cross the border to make money
to feed them....."

Pedro stopped, and looked as if he was about to cry,
and went on "I worry all the time about what has
happened to my family, as when I was enslaved  there
was no more money...."

I didn't want to be unnecessarily critical, but I did
think his problems were a bit of his own making.  "If
you wanted to have sex so much, why didn't your Rosita
do something.... The pill...."

"It is a sin, Steve!  The Church says so.  And I could
not abstain: I am a man, and my Rosita is a lovely
woman, Steve...."

I shrugged, because it had never been a problem for
me.  I always assumed the women I fucked took some
sort of precautions - I mean, you can't expect a guy,
when he's in the heat of fucking, to think about
things like that, can you?"

"So you were bought as a gardener, then?"

Pedro looked a bit bashful.  "I am used to working the
land, Steve.  And my owner's gardens were easy as I
had my own plot, as I told you.  But I do not think he
bought me for my skill on the land, Steve!"

Seeing me looking puzzled, he lowered his head as if
he was ashamed of what he was saying, and in a quiet
voice went on "No, Steve.  My owner likes men of a
certain type - men like me, virile, and slim, with a
lot of body hair.... He would not like you, Steve, as
you are too big and powerful.   But me - as you can
see, I am thin and wiry, and my owner said he liked to
fuck an ass that's easy to get to, a hole that is not
buried in big muscles....  He bought me so that he
could use me for sex, Steve, and it was just a bonus
that I could tend the grounds.  And of course he liked
 to see my skin deeply tanned, as us Mexes take a good
colour in the sun....."

"So you were a sex slave, really?"

"Yes, Steve.  He is a big, ugly man with a huge belly.
 He used to play football when he was young, he says,
but years of eating and drinking too much have made
him fat.  But when he lies on top of me he almost
crushes the life out of me.... And his dick - well,
Steve, it is big and thick, and he uses it
unmercifully:  he likes to hear me scream as he forces
it in, as he will not let me use any lubricant.... Not
even my own cum.  It is not right, Steve...."

"Pedro, you're a slave.  Your owner can do what he
likes....."

"It is not right, Steve, for one man to force himself
on another.  I do not like feeling another man's body
on me, or another man's dick inside me, Steve!  I am a
man, a man with children, and a wife....."

Pedro looked as if he was about to start crying as he
said this, and I put my arm around him - he didn't
seem to mind that, at least.  "Pedro, I don't know if
we will get out of this, but if we do, I suppose you
will be returned to your owner.  And you're going to
have to learn to live with being a slave:  it's true
that as a man you should not have to be fucked by
another man.... But as a slave, well, you do not have
the choice, do you?"

"Were you fucked, Steve?"

"Only once, when my owner had bought me and he was
kind of demonstrating that he had total control over
my body.  I think he preferred the younger, smaller
guys who were waiters and such like at his place - I
was almost a 'buddy',  I suppose, as I was his
personal trainer and had to make sure he worked as
hard as he could.... When I'd been in control of him
in the gym, I suppose it was hard for him to consider
fucking me...."

"But you knew he was your owner...."

"Of course.  Look....."  I ran my finger over the big
'S' on my ass.  "He had this done...."

"Me too", Pedro added.  "And...."  He lowered his
voice again. "And he had me cut... You know... Had my
foreskin removed.  He said that he did not like his
slaves concealing any part of themselves from him, and
that he liked to see my cock head at all times....  It
is not right, Steve... I did not have my sons
circumcised, and yet my owner took this away from
me...."

"Pedro, this doesn't help, you know.  You have to stop
thinking about what was 'right' when you were a free
man.  I had to learn that, too - it's different when
you are a slave."

We could have gone on talking but at that moment the
crane arrived to start picking that day's crop of
slaves from the niggas' pen who were going to be taken
away to be crucified.  Pedro and  I could only stand
there and watch as the niggas ran away as best they
could from the dangling noose as they knew that if
they were lassoed they were as good as dead, and would
have a horrible death, too.    I cried out, but was
utterly powerless to do anything about it, when I saw
one of my friends the drays dangling in the air and
being carried over the wire and thrust into the
transport cage along with some other unfortunates.

I was really miserable that night.  Somehow I think
I'd imagined that "rescue" would come before any of
the remaining drays were killed, and now all I could
do was lie there in the open wondering where the poor
guy was:  I could only imagine the agony as they
nailed a spike through his wrists and feet and then
left him there.  His weight would pull down on his
arms, causing excruciating pain in his wrists, and
then he'd start to suffocate as he couldn't get air in
his lungs - so he'd push up on his feet, causing more
agony.... And this terrible cycle would repeat until
finally, totally exhausted, he'd die.  I'd heard that
very few slaves survived for more than a day on the
cross, but the drays were such powerful guys that
perhaps their agony would be very much longer than
that.

Pedro was lying next to me and I could almost hear his
teeth chattering as the clear night sky allowed the
temperatures to drop.  I moved over and put my arm
around him and tried to spoon my body up against his,
but he tried to push me away muttering "No, Steve, I
do not have sex with men...."

"Listen, you idiot - I don't want to fuck you.  I'm
just trying to help you get warm....."

He stopped struggling then, and moved his body closer
to mine, and I have to tell you that if I hadn't said
I wasn't going to fuck him, I'd have been sorely
tempted - his thin, bony ass felt somehow very
enticing as it pressed against my belly, and I
wondered if I could slip my dick between his thighs,
as I did with Rob.  But I suppose I felt sorry for him
- a married man like that who'd lost everything:  who
knows what had happened to his wife and kids, without
the money he was sending back?  At least I hadn't got
anyone like that to lose when  I was enslaved.  And
being fucked all the time by some gross owner - well,
once was enough for me, as I hated it - it must be
awful for him.  So I did my best to stifle my
erection, and in the morning, when they threw food in,
I fought off a couple of guys so I could gather more
than usual and gave some of it to Pedro.

By a bitter irony the "rescue" started the next day -
too late to save my friend, one of the drays, who must
surely now be handing dead from his cross.  All of us
lined up against the wire to watch as a truck drove
in, and under the supervision of the National Guard,
six big niggas unloaded some sort of bench thing - a
bit like the fucking horse on which I'd been
restrained when my owner took my cherry - and a big
gas-powered thing that looked a bit like a barbecue.
By mid morning they'd made a kind of thin corridor
with coils of the razor wire delineating the sides,
and then they cut through the wire surrounding the
niggas' compound and guards went in and started
driving the niggas with whips along the "corridor".
It was just wide enough for one nigga at a time, and
soon they had about a hundred of them lined up "dick
to crack" as we say, with the niggas pushed up tightly
against each other.

Pedro and I stood there, wondering what was going to
happen, but we soon found out:  the six niggas who'd
come with the apparatus grabbed a nigga from the front
of the queue in the wire corridor, and expertly threw
him down onto the horse frame and strapped him in:
they were clearly used to handling men, as even though
the nigga was a big, tough guy, he seemed completely
powerless to resist them and they handled him just as
if he was a toy.  Before we could all cry out and
scream in protest, one of the niggas reached between
the guy's legs and a terrible, terrible scream rent
the air:  he'd used a giant pair of shears to cut off
the guy's balls!  The guy screamed again as a second
nigga grabbed a red hot glowing tool off the barbecue
thing and pushed it between his legs, presumably to
cauterise the wound and stop the blood flowing.

Acting as a team again the six niggas efficiently
released the guy who was now whimpering and sobbing,
and manhandled him over to a truck with a big cage on
the back, and threw him in.  They then ran back to the
line of waiting niggas - who could see what was about
to happen to them - and grabbed the next man from the
front of the line.  He begged and pleaded with them to
let him go, uselessly, of course, and then as he was
strapped to the horse thing, his pleas changed to
begging Jesus and Mary and assorted saints to help him
- equally uselessly, of course.  The noise was only
stopped when the shears were thrust between his legs
and did their work.

It was fantastically efficient!  The six niggas worked
as a team, and there was simply no avoiding them.  The
waiting niggas could not escape because of the razor
wire, and I reckoned the whole castration process took
no more than two minutes per nigga.  By the time the
sun was high in the sky the waiting line of a hundred
or so niggas had all been dealt with, and the guards
went back into the compound and drove another hundred
out and into the "corridor".

It was impossible to avoid what was going on.  The
niggas waiting to be done were weeping and wailing and
begging for salvation, and the air was rent almost
continuously with the terrible, terrible screams of
the guy who was actually being gelded at that moment.
Pedro and I and most of the other whiteys and Mexes
ended up by sitting there totally horrified, our hands
pressed to our ears in a vain effort to drown out the
terrible noise.   It was the absolute inevitability of
what was happening that was the worst thing - all the
niggas in the compound could clearly see that sooner
or later they too would be in the waiting line, and
that then, as surely as night follows day, they too
would suffer the agony of the cutting off of their
balls, followed by the second onslaught of the red hot
cauterisation.  There was no escape - every single one
of them knew that sooner or later his turn would come.

It took three days to empty the niggas' compound, and
I knew that, somewhere in there, my three remaining
dray buddies must have suffered that terrible fate -
like most of us in the other enclosure, I could no
longer bear to watch the process.  And it was quiet
now, as when the cage on the back of a truck was full
of gelded slaves, they were driven away.

"At least they're not going to be crucified, Pedro", I
told him.  "If they were, they'd leave their balls on
as a lot of the spectators would expect to see a
slave's balls as he was dying - and they do say that
you ejaculate as death approaches, and I don't suppose
they want to spoil the spectacle!"

"But Steve... They are no longer men...."

"They were no longer men when they were enslaved,
Pedro.  But now they have lost their balls, too.  I
expect this is how they have decided that the slave
revolt will end - they need the slaves to rebuild
everything that was destroyed, and then to work in the
fields and so on as before.  But I suppose that the
free men do not want to risk slaves going on the
rampage again, and 'calming' them by gelding them
seems like a good solution.  And it sends a powerful
message, too, to any slaves who were not caught up in
it - as these slaves get sold, and move around the
country, other slaves will see the scars from the
gelding and will think twice about trying an
insurrection."

"What do you think they're going to do to us, Steve?"

"I don't know, Pedro!  They separated us out and we
weren't candidates for crucifixion because we're worth
more.  I wonder if they think that our value would be
destroyed if we were gelded...  I mean, some of the
guys here are studs, and a lot of them are sex
partners for their owners.... A stud without balls
isn't any use, is he?  And I reckon most owners would
prefer to play with a slave in bed who still had a
nice sacful to get hold of...."

We found out the next day, though:  when they formed a
line of us whiteys and Mexes, there was a small
variation:  as you got to the front of the line, one
of the slaves read your SIN, it was typed into some
sort of radio device, which then signalled "yes" or
"no"!  A "yes" and you were seized and onto the
gelding horse, and a "no" and you were frog-marched
off to a cage on the back of a second truck.

As we stood there, the tension was almost unbearable.
In some ways it was worse for us than for the niggas -
they knew their fate, but for each of us it was
different and we had to wait until we got to the front
of the queue to find out if we were to be gelded or
not.  It was typical of their inhuman treatment of us
- after all, how hard would it have been to look at
our SINs as we entered the queue and only leave in it
those who were to be gelded?  Some of the guys were
physically sick as the line shuffled forward, and a
whole lot of them were unable to help pissing as the
tension grew and grew.  What made it worse was that it
looked as if only about twenty percent of us were not
gelded - Pedro was in front of me, and was whispering
that he thought he'd be OK as his owner used him for
sex.  But I had to watch helplessly as the guy was
thrown onto the horse and had his balls cut off -
presumably his owner, if he wanted to carry on fucking
him, would not find the absence of Pedro's balls any
great handicap.

I never saw him again as it was my turn next, and I
was one of the lucky ones who was simply taken over
and caged in the other truck.

My troubles were not over yet, though:  when the cage
was full and we were driven off, we were wedged
tightly up against one another.  And just a they
didn't bother to give us any food, or any water, so
they didn't worry about our need to piss and crap.  We
just had to do it, pressed up against the other guys,
just as if we were animals in some cattle transporter.
 By the evening  we were all pretty desperate -
standing there on the swaying truck was tough and it
was only because we were packed so closely that some
of the weaker guys did not fall and get trampled under
foot.  Still, that evening a sergeant of the National
Guard, seeing our plight, ordered that we be given
water as "these are valuable slaves and I sure as fuck
don't want the Captain complaining to me if they all
die."

For the next week  I was shunted back and forth across
the country. Every now and then we'd stop in a parking
lot in some town or other,  the cage would be opened
and we'd be "sorted", just as if we were parcels, and
put onto different trucks to be taken off in different
directions.
It was remarkable how the reconstruction was
progressing - we saw gangs of slaves clearing up,
coffles at work planting the fields, and everywhere
there seemed to be other trucks loaded down with
timber and blocks and stuff to be used in new
building..

I ended up in a cage - a small "transit" cage where I
was unable to stand and had to crouch - being
delivered to the back door of a warehouse somewhere.
There was a white guy in charge and a couple of niggas
to do the work, and I think he felt sorry for me as he
told the niggas to hose me down and get some of the
dirt off me.  Then, later, he brought me a big bowl of
slave chow that I wolfed down as I was so hungry, as
feeding had not been a high priority in all the
transits and sorting.

"Easy, boy!", he said, not unkindly.  "Slow down, or
you'll vomit it all up.  You look as if you're half
starved!"

"I am, sir", I said, in between mouthfuls.

"Yes... I guess so.  They did some terrible things
after the revolt:  the stench in the air from the
bodies of those poor crucified bastards.  And all the
gelding - I reckon you're lucky, being a whitey, and
then having an owner who cared."

I nodded, and he went on "Still, you slaves will have
learned a lesson, that it's not sensible to revolt
against your masters."

"I didn't, sir!  I was just caught up in it...."

"That's what they all say!"

"Well in my case it's true, sir.  I even helped my
owner's son to escape, when the nigga rebels swept
through the place...."

He nodded, as if he didn't really believe me.  Then he
looked at me again and added "You look like a pretty
decent sort of guy, though - give you some clothes,
and you'd look like a free man.  You still stink to
high heaven, and I don't want that overnight as we'd
have to fumigate the place tomorrow.  So I reckon I
can probably let you out to have a proper shower.....
Would you like that?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Well I'll have my gun here.  And any sign of trouble,
and I'll shoot you.  One slave more or less wont make
all that much difference, given how many have been
killed already.  Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Even though the water was only luke warm I reckon that
was the best shower I've ever had!  I stood there for
what felt like half an hour, letting the water run
over me, and then scrubbing away at my skin to try to
get all the ingrained dirt out - not wholly
successfully, as when you haven't been able to clean
yourself for weeks, the dirt works its way right into
the pores of your skin and I knew it was going to take
a long time before I was "squeaky clean" again.  My
hair came up OK, though, and it was odd to have it
long again - I hadn't had long hair since I was at
school, as in the marines I always had a buzz cut, and
of course as slave I was kept close-cropped.  It felt
odd, too, after having smooth balls for so long to
feel the hair growing over them again as I soaped and
soaped myself, but I counted myself lucky that I still
had balls, thinking about the drays, and of course
Pedro.

The guy was really nice after the shower, too, as he
didn't insist I went back into the cramped cage, but
actually gave me a blanket to keep me warm, and let me
sleep manacled to one of the big metal piers holding
up the roof.  It just goes to show there are still
some decent folk in the world, I thought, some men who
would treat a slave as if he was at least half human.

End Of Part Six