Date: Wed, 14 Mar 2007 03:27:26 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Revolt, Part Eight

THE SLAVE REVOLT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Eight


I wanted to shout and scream at my owner that it was
so fucking unfair!   I'd risked my life trying to save
his son, and now he was acting almost as if I'd been
part of the rebellion itself.  But before I could do
or day anything, the guard pushed at me to go out from
my owner's work room, and I saw the glint of the
unsheathed tip of a prod in his hand and knew I had to
obey.

"Oh", my owner added.   "As well as securing him
properly, you'd better gag him.  He isn't going to
like what's going to happen to him, and I don't want
to be distressed by having to listen to his screams."

The guard led me down the stairs into the basement and
along the passageways, and finally opened a room I'd
not been in before - it used to be the wine cellar or
something, which was always kept securely locked.  I
suppose that after all the looting there was no more
wine, so now, with its heavy, solid walls, it made an
ideal punishment room.

It was pretty grim inside - a bare stone floor, plain
brick walls, and, standing ominously in the middle,
one of the typical punishment "horses" -  a really
heavy duty model, as if they were expecting slaves on
it to put up fierce resistance.  The guard gestured at
it and I lay on the leather top felling it cold and
clammy against my bare skin.  Then he fussed around
securing me to it -  a strap around my waist and
another around my chest, and then he pulled my left
hand down and secured it to the left front leg.
Strangely, though, my right hand was secured by a set
of special straps to the body of the horse just in
front of my head - there was a tight leather piece
that he cinched tight around my wrist, and then five
small individua ones that held my thumb and fingers.
Finally he moved around behind me and pulled down my
shorts, so that he could kick at my ankles to get me
to spread my legs and shackle them to the rear legs of
the horse.

He stood there idly then, saying nothing, until he
remembered my owner's last instructions and went and
got a ball gag off the fitting on the wall - there was
a big black wooden board festooned with gags,
thumbscrews, canes, tawses, whips, nipple clamps, butt
plugs, and stuff whose usage I couldn't even guess at
- a silhouette of each item was painted in white I
noticed as the ball gag was removed, so that it was
easy to replace items that had been in use.

I kept my mouth resolutely closed as he "offered" the
gag to me, but it was no use:  he went over to the
board, selected a thin cane, came back and slashed at
my butt a couple of times.  I got the message!  My
butt was wincing and stinging and I knew I didn't want
to endure any more of it, so I meekly opened my mouth
and allowed him to force the ball in - his fingers, I
remember, smelled and tasted of nicotine, but then, I
suppose a lot of rednecks like him still smoked.  He
fastened the strap around my head so there was no
possibility of expelling the ball, and slapped me on
the butt appreciatively.  "Your owner's a lucky man,
boy!  There you are, all trussed up and waiting for
him.  I bet your ass is a really good fuck  - I'd like
to force my dick down between those muscles of
yours....  He lets us fuck any of the niggas on the
place, and I wonder if he'll let us fuck you after
he's finished with you...  A man needs a tight ass for
his dick sometimes...."

There was nothing  I could do or say, of course, and I
had to lie there and endure the indignity of the guard
continuing to run his hands almost appreciatively over
my butt, then prise the cheeks apart and begin to
scratch at my asshole!  I tried to wriggle and squirm,
but the straps holding me down made it completely
futile.

"My, my!", he said.  "You are sensitive, aren't you?
And this asshole is so tight - don't you let the other
slaves up here, boy?"

I don't know what he might have done had not at that
moment my owner walked in.  "Ah, Steve", he said,
coming around to look at me as I lay there helplessly.
 "You never really accepted slavery, did you?  I
always thought, when we were working out together,
that you were kind of 'tolerating' me - doing a job as
a free man might, rather than serving me totally and
completely as a slave should.  I was prepared to put
up with it to some extent as you were a good personal
trainer, and you may recall that I only once exerted
my rights over you, on the day you were first brought
here.  I often thought about using you more frequently
as you have such a thrilling body and superb ass, but
I did not want to upset the status quo unnecessarily -
I was perhaps overly concerned that if you knew you
were my fuck toy as well as my trainer, you might not
perform as well."

He paused for a moment and now rested his hand on my
bare shoulder as I lay there, and went on "I was
wrong, of course:  it simply does not pay to treat
slaves reasonably.  All those times when  I could have
been enjoying your body fully after a hard training
session, all wasted!  After all, if you had objected
to being used in a way that a slave with a body like
yours ought to expect, I could have probably beaten
you into total submission anyway."

"So I suppose it's partially my fault that you joined
the rebels and tried to escape.  A properly submissive
slave, totally loyal to his owner, would not have done
that, Steve.  And now, I think, it's too late:  once a
slave has the taste of freedom, it's almost impossible
to be certain that it has been totally eradicated,
however much he is beaten.  So we cannot go back to
our old ways, Steve - no more of those companionable
training sessions - I could never be sure that you
would not use that powerful body of yours against me.
So in future you're going to have to work as a
physical slave here on the estate, doing purely manual
labour:  at least then I will get some use out of my
investment in your body, as it has, as I remarked
earlier, been spoiled for pure 'display' purposes."

His hand was caressing my body now, running up and
down my spine, occasionally lingering on my butt.  It
was as if he needed to touch me to assert his sense of
ownership as he carried on with his soliloquy.  I
tried to move, to show him that he was wrong, but all
that happened was that the straps dug painfully into
my flesh.

"So, Steve, we will probably not meet again as
companions - I may see you as I move around the
estate, but that closeness we had has gone.  So I am
going to take the opportunity to give myself that
which I for so long denied:  when I asserted my rights
over you when you first came here I  particularly
enjoyed your tight, virgin asshole nestling so
beguilingly down between those wondrously muscular
buttocks of yours.  So now I am going to enjoy it
again as a kind of farewell."

He turned to the guard and said "You can go.  The
slave is perfectly safe and I will summon you when I
am done here."

The redneck gave a smirk as if he was in some sort of
free man conspiracy with my owner, and left.

I'd seen my owner naked hundreds of times, of course,
as we showered after our workouts, and so he was
totally unembarrassed to be stripping his clothes off
in front of me - there was a big difference, this
time, though:  as his immaculately ironed snowy-white
cotton boxer shorts slid down over his hips, his dick
sprang up full and rock hard.  After my first time, I
had never seen him erect again as it's not the sort of
thing you do with another guy in the showers, is it?
But now  I saw it again and remembered how slim and
somehow elegant it was as it stood out proudly from
his thatch of pubic hair (which, like that on his
head, and chest, was a kind of pepper-and-salt grey,
white and black).

He stood there stroking his dick casually, looking
down at me.  "So, Steve, I think you need to be
reminded very forcibly about who is in charge around
here, and of your proper place in the scheme of
things.  The last time I fucked you it was part of the
normal induction process for slaves here and I suppose
the handlers had properly lubed and stretched you.
This time is rather exceptional, isn't it?  And I
think that as a change, I'd rather like to feel the
tender membranes of your anal passage gripping my dick
without all that sliminess:  it will just be you and
me, Steve, man to man, skin to skin.  Your ass, my
dick, in totally intimate contact.  I'm afraid it's
going to be rather unpleasant for you, but you can try
to scream as much as you like as I know from
experience that the ball gag is very effective."

He moved towards my rear then, his dick bobbing and
waving in time with his steps, and he stopped briefly
to move one of the wheels that controlled the height
of the horse - I was lowered slightly.  "I think this
is going to be a long, hard, fuck, Steve", he told me
rather unnecessarily, "So I may as well get these
adjustments right as I like my dick to go in at a good
angle without a lot of bending of my knees...."

Then it started.  I felt his hands pull my butt apart
and he kneaded my muscles a bit as he did so in
evident enjoyment of the feeling of being able to do
this to a strong, powerful man.  Then as he gripped
them tight, I felt the tip of his dick moving up and
down my crack as he raised and lowered himself
slightly:  he was gasping in evident pleasure as he
did this, and of course I knew just how amazingly good
a guy's ass feels to the tip of your dick, so I ought
not to have been surprised.

He tried to push his dick in to me then, but did not
succeed - my ass was extremely tight, and with no
lubrication of any kind there was no way that his dick
could bludgeon its way in.  My owner grunted with the
exertion of trying to force his way in, and I could
guess what was happening:  his dick would be bending
in the middle, and, personally, I don't like that when
it happens to mine when I'm trying to fuck, so I
suppose he didn't like it either.

He pulled back, looked around ,saw the cane that the
guard had used on me lying there, and picked it up. It
slashed down on to the back of my thighs as I lay
there helpless.  I would have screamed if I could, but
as it was my only reaction was to jerk my body as much
as possible as the sharp, stinging pain shot through
me.  "Stop resisting me, you miserable slave!" My
owner almost screamed.

Well, what did he expect?  I mean, trying to rape a
guy, with no lube or anything?  And it's not as if I
was deliberately resisting him:  I suppose that
intellectually I knew what was about to happen was
absolutely inevitable, and I had little choice but to
let it happen.  But something deeper in my brain,
something long buried, was saying "No! One man does
not have the right to do this to another", and it was
this part of me that was holding my sphincter rigidly
closed.

He tried hitting me a few more times - all to no avail
as when he next tried to force his way in I could feel
the hot head of his dick nudging at me again , totally
without success.  Finally, it looked as if he was
going to give up.  He muttered "Right, Steve!  You
don't want to co-operate... Well, we'll see!"

As I watched helplessly he walked over to the wall
with its fearsome array of implements and pulled down
a stainless steel thing.  His dick was still rigidly
erect as he walked back to me and  I could see it
bobbing up and down still in time to his movements.
"Right, Steve!  Let's use a little applied science,
shall we?", he asked rhetorically.

The touch of the steel was like ice against my
asshole.  I suppose it was thinner than his dick, and
certainly wasn't inclined to bend in the middle.  So
it was easy for him to force it in past my protesting
muscles.  "Job half done", he told me.  "No let's open
you up a bit - the handles on this allow me to exert a
lot of force, so I'd advise you to play along."

I grunted, totally unable to respond properly to him,
and he went on "I think we'll find that this little
device, usually used on women when a gynaecologist
needs to see up inside her, can also overcome the
strongest man.... Now....."

If  I could have I would have shouted out at the sheer
indignity and the accompanying terrible wave of very,
very unpleasant sensation that went through me as the
jaws of the speculum opened under his pressure,
forcing my asshole to expand.  He stopped for a few
moments, and was almost  laughing as he told me "Half
way there, Steve.  Way big enough for a dick, but I'm
going to make you a bit bigger anyway, so that you'll
be a nice smooth fuck for me even when you relax back.
And, I suppose, to remind you that a slave who resists
his owner can expect nothing but pain and discomfort."

I would have shouted again if I could as he pushed on
the handles again and my asshole was forced to stretch
and stretch to accommodate the opening jaws of the
hateful thing.  It was worse than anything I'd ever
experienced before:  worse, far worse, than dropping
the biggest turd after a week of constipation;  worse
than taking a big fat dick.  The pressure and the
accompanying discomfort and pain we so totally
unrelenting, and there wasn't a blind thing I could do
about it.  It just went on and on as he continued to
squeeze the handles, and there was not even the
smallest movement of my body that I could make to
resist him and his hateful device.

He finished finally, though, and the awful sensation
of having my body violated began to diminish as the
jaws closed, and he pulled it out and tossed it on to
the floor.  "Now, Steve - what I've been waiting
for...  for a long time....", he told me,
unnecessarily.

I felt his body against mine as he almost lay along my
back, and then the head of his dick again nudging at
my ass - it hurt, as my ass was now so sensitive
following its brutal stretching a few moments before.
I couldn't resist him, though, as my muscles just did
not have the power to do so, and he gave a cry of
satisfaction as his whole dick slid into me:   I could
feel his wiry pubes pressed right up against that
sensitive place between your balls and your hole.

"There, Steve!  How does that feel?  Skewered on your
owner's dick, even though you hate it!  This is the
way that all weak men ultimately end up, Steve:
overcome by more powerful ones.  You think you're so
big and tough because of your physical power, but
that's not what counts:  as you can feel now, I
control you absolutely and utterly.  Power is all
about who has it, Steve, not about mere strong muscle.
 Let this be a lesson to you, Steve:  a slave has no
free will, and ought to do this willingly.  And if he
does not, then he will be forced.  How many more times
will I need to open you up, Steve, before you
understand that resistance to my desires is futile?
Your only duty is to obey me, and to obey me
willingly.  I ought not to have to have you gagged or
tied down like this:  a true slave, one who
understands exactly what servitude  means, would  be
happy to accept his owner's dick as a sign of his
total commitment to pleasing his owner.  But not you,
eh, Steve?  Proud Steve, who didn't mind fucking the
drays - yes, I know what you were up to when you went
over to the stables - but who is unwilling to accept
his owner's dick himself!"

With that, he began to fuck me, and fuck me
vigorously!  No gentle sliding in and out whilst
caressing my skin or nibbling my ears or gently biting
my shoulders - no, this was a hard, businesslike fuck.
 His dick plunged in and out of me, and the only
variation was that occasionally he came right out so
that he could better slam back the entire way, his
body making a great "slap" against my skin as he did
so.  It seemed to go on, and on, and frankly it hurt:
you probably know how it is -  the  membranes of your
ass get sore from the friction, and you want to cry
out in time with the pistoning of your partner.   I
couldn't do this, of course, couldn't beg him to slow
down, or to be more gentle - I just had to lie there
and take it.  And you all know that most guys never
actually cum inside the  asshole - it doesn't seem to
matter how much you fuck, sooner or late you need to
pull out, jerk yourself off for a  few vital seconds
until you shoot, and then plunge back in whilst the
other guy's ass hole is wet with the cum you've
pumped:  somehow that feeling as  you use your dick to
force your cum up into him is very special.  But my
owner ddi not do this - no, his thrusting went on and
on, and on and on, for what seemed like hours:  he was
evidently prolonging the fuck as much as he could.
Finally he gave a cry, and stopped, his sweating body
falling forwards onto me in triumph.

He lay there panting and sweating, his body almost
wrapped around mine as if to further exert his sense
of ownership of me.  Then, after several minutes, he
pulled himself out of me and came and stood by my
head.

"There, Steve!  To think, I denied myself the pleasure
of your ass for so long, because I thought we had some
sort of special relationship as trainer and trained.
I will never make that mistake again.  And perhaps now
that I have found out how truly delightful your ass
is, I may use it again."

My face, which was still contorted from the agony I
had experienced, grimaced as he said this.  It was
almost involuntary, as if my brain did not want me to
"censor" it and needed to make my true feelings about
being raped known to him.  My owner saw the look, and
it seemed to drive him wild.

"You fucking slave!  I thought you were at least
intelligent enough to realise that what I said will be
the law for you in future!  But no, you still defy me:
 I can of course always have you dragged in here an
strapped down, and there is indeed something special
about taking a man like you in that way, when he is
powerless to resist.  But I would have preferred your
unwilling co-operation, if I can call it that:  when I
summoned you to my bed I would have liked you to
behave submitted to me so that  I could enjoy your
body, even if inside you were loathing it.  But I can
see that that will never happen - I will never be ale
to trust you to allow me full and complete access to
every part of you, as is my right.  So I do not think
I will fuck you again, Steve - but you need something
to remind you of the fact that I own you, that you are
in fact mine totally...."


Still naked, he walked over to the wall of instruments
once more and fiddled about for a few moments, before
coming back to me.  "Whilst the branding iron heats
up, I think a little more punishment is called
for....."

The thin punishment cane rained down on me.  If I
could have screamed, I could have.  It was all over my
shoulders and back, my butt, my thighs, and even my
calves.  On and on, slashing away at me mercilessly.
Each stroke had that biting initial pain that seared
through me - especially in places like my calves which
do not usually get beaten - to be replaced just before
the next blow by the dull, relentless ache of flailed
skin.  To my horror I saw flecks of blood starting to
cover my owner's body as he raised the cane again and
again to me, and I knew that these could only be from
me, splattered by the sheer violence of his attack.

Finally, he stopped, and stood there panting from his
exertions.  He waved the cane in front of my eyes,
then skimmed his fingers along it to cause the blood
adhering to it to drip off the end.  "There, Steve.  A
real beating for you.  And as I will never use you for
display purposes again, I did not have to be concerned
for tearing your skin.  It hurts more, doesn't it,
when the skin is broken?  Well, perhaps you don't know
the answer to that yet, but believe me, in the next
few days every time you move your body a lot, the
scars will break and you will get a fresh wave of pain
to remind you of what lies in wait for slaves who do
not properly understand their subservient role."

I think he could see the evident distress on my face
as he continued "So you see, Steve, physical power
does matter, but a man like me can have such power
over you even though you are larger , tougher, and
used to using your body aggressively.  And now I am
going to give you a further demonstration of that -
you were branded when you were enslaved, but I want
you to have a constant reminder of my ownership of
you."

He walked over to the wall and came back holding the
branding iron - the end was almost white hot, and he
was smiling as he held it near my face.  "Yes, Steve.
You're going to get a new mark, one that will be
constantly visible to you - the one on your butt,
after all, is generally only seen by others."

I could feel the heat of it right next to me, and I
was sweating - and not just from the heat!  I
remembered how the last time: I had screamed and
shouted as I'd felt my skin melt and smelled the acrid
fumes of my own flesh as it turned to charcoal.

"Yes, Steve.  You see how I have your hand nicely
strapped down - well, I'm going to give you the mark
of a slave on the back of your hand - every time you
pick something up, every time you move your hand,
you'll see the brand and will be reminded that you are
just my property, Steve."

With that, slowly and deliberately, as if he had all
the time in the world (as I suppose he did), he
positioned the iron above my immobile hand and then
pushed down, perfectly deliberately.

In spite of  the straps holding me down my body did
its very best to break free, and I knew that a lot
more wounds from the hard edges of the leather would
be added to those caused by the cane.  I was
desperately trying to shout and scream, but all that
came out was totally inarticulate gurgling .  My nose
filled with the acrid smell of my seared flesh, and it
stung my eyes.  To make the whole thing worse, unlike
last time,  I could see what was happening to my flesh
as my hand was strapped just in front of my eyes!  I
saw the flesh erupting as the iron pressed down;   I
could see the blisters and the charred edges of the
crater the iron was digging.  Branding the flesh of a
slave you own has to be one of the most inhumane
things you can do.

It seemed to be going on for ever, but I suppose it
was only a few seconds - but somehow time stood still.
 And then it was over - I lay there, my body somehow
"flattened" by what had happened, and the room was
silent - except for the sound of running water.  I lay
there, and then to my horror realised the sound was
the sound of my piss, hosing out of my dick:  I'd lost
control of my bladder as the iron went into me.

I was engulfed in, totally overwhelmed by, the agony
from my hand.  It was much, much worse than when my
butt had been branded, as I suppose that there was a
relatively big "cushion" of muscle there, unlike now.
 I could hardly think, as all my intellect was
focussed on the terrible hurt that had been done to
me.

My owner stood there dressing, and watching me.  "You
are just like an animal, aren't you, Steve?  Not only
are you branded like an animal, but you act like one:
you've pissed all over the floor, just as an animal
would.   And it's all your own fault, Steve:  I always
treated you well as a slave, and you chose to throw
all that away by joining the slave revolt!  Well, it
will not happen again - you will be constantly chained
up and worked hard from now on.  And consider yourself
lucky that I am allowing you to keep your testicles -
at least for the time being.  A whole lot of escaped
slaves were returned here gelded, and I decided to
have some of the others done once I had seen how the
gelded ones were more calm and less likely to indulge
in sedition and revolt in future.  I ought to have the
same thing done to you, but I have decided that adding
some whitey genes to my slave pool might not be a bad
thing, and so I will be using you to stud
occasionally.  But let me warn you, and I will not say
this again:  any further signs of disobedience or
revolt, and the gelding shears will do their work."

Finishing his dressing, he strode over to the door,
opened it, and called the guard in.  "I saw you
admiring the body of this slave", he told the man.  "I
have finished with him, and his ass is nicely
stretched:  if you would like to enjoy him, be my
guest...."

I saw the guards' eyes light up in anticipation, and
knew that a further humiliating rape was about to
happen.  But as he came over towards me, he hesitated.
 "Thank you, sir", he muttered, not really looking at
my owner.  "Thank you, sir, but I'd rather not...."

"I always thought you guards enjoyed using the
slaves....."

"Sometimes, sir."

"And I thought this one would be a particularly good
specimen:  a deep butt, with a tight hole waiting down
there...."

The man looked so uncomfortable as he shuffled from
foot to foot.  "The truth is, sir.... Well, it's very
generous of you and all that... And ordinarily, a big
stud like that would be pretty exciting.... But not
today, sir.... The blood, the gore.... I don't want to
get it all over me...."

"Strip off, man!  You're not ashamed of your body, are
you?"

"No, sir!  But I don't fancy that horrible mess all
over my belly and thighs, either, sir.  I mean, I can
hardly fuck him without touching him, and all that raw
flesh.... All the blood....  I'd rather not, sir."


My owner sounded rather angry as he snapped "Well,
suit yourself.  Anyway, take this slave over and put
him with the drays.  But go via the blacksmith - he
needs a proper collar, and manacles."

Wit that he stalked out, and the guard came over and
stared at me.  When he'd brought me in I'd thought
he'd been totally unsympathetic:  one of those typical
southern rednecks who despised slaves and didn't care
what happened to them.  Now, he gave a low whistle,
and said to me "Hey, boy, you must really have pissed
your owner off!  I've never seen a beating  that did
that to a slave before!  I'd better do something about
it....."

He went over to the wall and rummaged around amongst
the instruments and stuff lying there, then came back.
 "This is going to hurt, boy - but it's the best
thing...." He muttered.

My whole world exploded again as he sprinkled handfuls
of some sort of white powder all along my back and
down my thighs.  It was somehow icily sharp, stinging,
and totally different in character from what I'd
experienced so far - a whole new experience in agony.
It was as if small, very sharp knives were constantly
stabbing into me.

"Easy, boy", he said, as if he now felt really sorry
for me.  "It's alum... The stuff they use in those
old-time shaving pencils to stop the blood.  It hurts
like hell, I know, but only for a time:  it helps to
staunch the blood."

He started to undo the straps holding me down, then,
and slowly, very slowly, I dragged myself to my feet -
whole new rivers of pain went through me as I did so,
as my tortured skin stretched and expanded as I moved.
 I held my hand up to my eyes, and saw the terrible
blisters and the charred skin there, and I could have
cried.

The guard saw me looking, and I think he, too, was
appalled.  "Well, boy, you must really have pissed him
off!", he told me.  "There's been a lot of change
around here recently, indeed, over the whole country,
since the slave revolt.  A lot of owners have decided
that slaves need to be more tightly controlled than
they were before.... I'd be very, very careful if I
were you:   I can see you've got a good set of balls,
and it would be a pity if hey ended up on the floor of
the gelder's yard."

I couldn't reply, as I was still gagged.  He finally
noticed this and ordered me to kneel so that he could
undo the strap holding the ball in place.  It was a
whole series of fresh pains as I did this, and I
winced and flinched as I struggled to get down.  How
hard would it have been, after all, for him to simply
reach up and undo the strap?  But perhaps that's how
guards always deal with slaves these days, and he
enjoyed seeing my big body down in front of him.

Once the strap was out and he ball out of my mouth, I
knelt there running my tongue over my lips, which were
parched.  I could taste the salt all over myself, from
where my sweat and tears had coursed down my face.

"You know, boy, you look pretty good down there", the
guard told me.  "If I don't have to look at your back
and your butt, you're still quite a good-looking piece
of slave flesh!  Your owner said I cold fuck you, so I
don't suppose he'd care if I used your mouth instead
of your ass...."

I watched in horror as his hands reached down and
undid the zip on his khaki uniform pants.  Then,
casually, as if he did this every day, he reached in
and pulled his dick out - an uncut dick, that, even as
it emerged, started to stiffen.

"Here, boy, go down on this....", he said, putting one
hand behind my head in a gesture of control:  I could
of course have broken away, but it was agony to move,
as I've told you.  And, in any case, what was the
point?  I'd be hunted down and hauled back, and then
presumably gelded.

He waved his dick around a bit, then slapped me across
my cheeks and nose with it, and as I looked up I could
see mim smiling faintly as he did this, as if he
enjoyed "controlling" me like that.  "Come on, boy!
Open wide.....", he muttered, and I knew I had no
choice:  I parted my lips, and allowed him to push the
tip of his dick in.

It was vile!  Look, I've got no real objection to
sucking a guy's dick - after all, it's only skin,
isn't it?  And when you're enjoying fucking another
guy you kiss and lick a whole lot of his skin.  But as
the guard's dick went in to my mouth his 'skin started
to peel back, and, like a lot of uncut guys, he
evidently wasn't too particular about keeping himself
properly clean.  The dreadful rank, stale taste of his
unwashed dick head and the small particles of "cheese"
 filled my mouth. It made me start to choke and gag,
even though only the head was really in my mouth and
it had by no means touched the back of my throat,
which is what usually sets that reflex off.

The guard mistook this action for a reluctance on my
part to do as I was told.  He grabbed my hair and
pulled my head back so that I was staring up at him.
"Listen, you fucking slave, just do a good job on my
dick - or it will be up your ass!  I can always lay
you down on your back and fuck you like that:  have
you thought what that would feel like, having all that
shredded flesh taking your weight?  Now, give me a
proper blow job, or else...."

Well you can endure anything, can't you?  And, anyway,
once his dick was drenched in my spit most of the vile
taste disappeared.  I knelt there, obediently bobbing
my mouth up and down on his dick and occasionally
stopping to lick it with my tongue, and he seemed
pleased.  He helped, too, sometimes drawing right out
and then stroking himself a few times to increase his
erection and bring him closer to him climax.  And, of
course, like a lot of men, he chose to spray his cum
all over my face, rather than point his dick away at
the critical moment or even just fill my mouth with
it.  He stood there then, a smile on his face, as he
stroked a finger across my lips and cheeks, pushing
and guiding the gobs of his cum into my mouth.  I
suppose it's more of a turn-on to do that, actually:
it does demonstrate who's in charge, doesn't it?

I struggled to my feet as he zipped himself up, and,
not unkindly, he said "Look, boy, I don't want any
trouble - and I don't suppose you do, either.  Simply
do as  I say and walk sensibly and calmly, and we'll
get on fine.  I don't want to have to hit you with the
prod, or the cane, as I think you've gone through
enough already today!"

Well, I had to think he was right about that!  And
what would be the point of resisting physically anyway
at this point?  There was nowhere I could go, nothing
I could do, was there?  So I nodded, then, keeping my
head vaguely bowed to show him that I was submissive,
I headed for the door.

End Of Part Eight