Date: Fri, 3 Oct 2003 07:12:57 -0700 (PDT) From: Pete Brown Subject: A Slave's Life, Part 3 A SLAVE'S LIFE, Part 3 By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories They marched me off through the building - their boots made clicking noises on the smooth thermoplastic tiles of the corridor, in contrast from the "slap, slap" of my bare feet. We went up a flight of stairs, and the decor changed at the top - marble on the walls and on the floors, and expensive, discreet lighting. We stopped out side a set of doors, and the guard knocked and waited until told to come in. The room was huge - about thirty feet to a side, with big windows looking out on to the lush greenery of the estate. Its only furniture was a sleek modern desk, behind which sat the Arab that I'd seen whisked away in a limo when the plane landed. The guards marched me over to stand in front of the desk, then waited. The Arab was doing something on his PC, and never looked up. He carried on working as if we weren't there, and was obviously finishing something. We all stood and waited, until, after some minutes, he looked at us. The guard spoke. "Sir, this is the new slave, the one you ordered from London, to go in to the heavy work unit." The Arab looked at me, and asked, in a quiet voice "Ah, from London. You're a rugby player, aren't you?" "Yes...." "Slave!", the guard at once snapped "Remember your fucking manners! When your owner asks you a question, how do you respond?" As he spoke he was fingering his "tickler", and looked as if he wanted to use it on me. "Sir, yes, Sir!" The Arab looked at me, and remarked "Overseers and guards are 'sir'. I own you. I am your master. You refer yo me as 'master'. Do you understand?" "Master, yes, master..." "Good ! A quick learner. Now, I saw you when you took part in the rugby sevens - I was the guest of honour, as my bank was sponsoring the tournament, or something. I remember that it was your backside that interested me - there was just something about the way you bent down and started to take part in the rucks.... Turn around, and bend down as if you were doing that." I hesitated for a moment, and saw the guard still fingering his "tickler", so I turned my back to the Arab, and bent from the waist, then bent my knees slightly. I knew that my ass would be terribly exposed through the thin satin material of the shorts, and as they were so brief, I knew my ass crack would be emerging from the waist. "Excellent! Just as I remember. You may stand up, slave boy, and face me again." I did as the Arab had said, and stood there. "What's the slave's name?", the Arab asked one of the guards. He took hold of my shoulder, brushed his thumb up to remove drops of dried blood from my new tattoo, and snapped "The slave has been named Jon, Boss." It seemed so odd to be referred to as a slave, and have a man tell another man what my name was - they didn't ask me. It was do dehumanising. I felt as if I'd lost an important part of myself. "Now, slave Jon, I want to inspect all of my purchase. And I can't do that whilst you're wearing those clothes. Take them off." "Master, please...." "Silence! Don't you know that slaves do as they are ordered? Now, strip naked, so that I can examine you. I could have had you brought her already nude, but I prefer to have new slaves disrobe in front of me. It helps them come to realise that they are no longer in control of their bodies and their destinies - in future, I decide what, if anything, you will wear. Now, get out of those clothes, so that I can inspect you." I stood there and wondered whether to defy him. But what would be the point? The guards all had their "ticklers", I was trapped here in the middle of the desert, unable to leave the estate... Sooner or later I knew I would have to do this. And I'd nothing to be ashamed of, after all - I had a young, fit body, and I knew from looking at my mates at the club that I was "well hung". Slowly I took off the small singlet, and the Arab nodded appreciatively as my upper body was fully exposed. Then with a kind of shrug, as if to say "what the hell?", I pushed my thumbs under the waistband of the tiny shorts and let them fall to the floor. "Excellent!", the Arab told me "I commissioned your capture as I had been excited by the sight of your backside in your rugby shorts - it was a gamble, I know, as men who exercise can get good, muscular asses but still not have the equipment to match. But you are just about perfect..." "See", he said to the guards "On many men such a huge cock would look out of place, and almost deformed. But on a tall, muscular man like this, a big cock is perfect." "Now, slave Jon, I want to see your cock head. Just 'skin back for me so I can see it at rest, then erect yourself as I want to see the whole of that glorious shaft reaching for the sky...." This was too much! Well, even at the club, where we're all used to seeing each other naked, and we ever bath together in the communal bath after matches, you don't show your mates your cock head, do you? I had to make a stand somewhere, show them I was still a man. "Fuck you! No, I won't" The Arab said something in rapid Arabic to the guards, and one of them went out. The rest of us stood there in silence, and waited, and waited. I don't rally know how long it was, as without a watch there's no accurate way of knowing, is there? But the guard finally came back wheeling a strange looking trolley. He stopped near the desk, and there was a little "click" as the wheels were braked. I looked closer and saw it was rather like a sawhorse, except that the top bar was a little wider, and covered in padded black leather. There were a number of attachments on each leg. "Four", the Arab said simply to the guards. "Right, slave - get over there, and lie on the punishment horse, on your face", the chief guard snapped. I would have told him to fuck off, too, except that all the guards were now fingering their "ticklers", and almost looked as if they were hoping something was going to happen. So I went and lay on the leather top, which felt cold against my chest. It was shorter than my body, and I was told to lie so that my head hung over one end, and I could feel the other end of it just around my navel. The guards knew what they were doing - almost as soon as I was there they'd cuffed my wrists using the arm holders attached to the front legs, and then they lifted each of my legs in turn so that I as kneeling on small platforms attached to each of the back legs. Leather straps secured my legs to these platforms, then they cranked something which moved the platforms upwards and towards the front, so that I was forced to bend my legs further and I knew my ass was going up into the air. "Sir, is the punishment just to the slave's ass, or the thighs as well?" "Just the ass, as it's his first real punishment - it will make him realise that we're serious. Hitting the thighs can come later - for now, real punishment of that magnificent ass will be sufficient." I lay there completely immobile and wondered what was going to happen/ It was so humiliating anyway, as with my legs spread by the "horse" under me and my ass high in the air, I knew that my ass hole must be exposed to these men's sight. No one had ever looked at me like that before - well, except the occasional doctor, of course, but that's different, isn't it? You don't go around exposing your asshole to other men at all - if you drop the soap in the showers at the club you kind of bob down to pick it up, and you don't bend over in front of other guys. There was a "swish" noise, and my world exploded into pain. I tried to turn around and saw that one of the guards was standing there holding a long, light cane! He'd hit me with it, on my bare bum! I couldn't believe it - men of my age don't get caned, and especially not by other men. Wasn't there some international thing about forbidding cruel and unusual punishments? They'd even given up caning kids at school years ago. And this hurt - it was as if boiling water had been poured over me. Even though it was one stroke, it hurt and hurt - the smarting, stinging pain was going on and on. It wasn't just the pain, either, although that was a problem - it was the growing realisation that these men would use physical violence against me. I'd already been slapped, and you know that this was a complete shock to me; but now this was far, far worse - it was calculated, deliberate and premeditated violence of one man against another, to make a man submit totally to the will of another. The Arab, my owner, came and stood by my head and ruffled his fingers through my hair. I felt sick to have another man do this to me, as it's one of those things you normally let your girlfriend do, isn't it? "That's stroke one, slave. I have, as you heard, ordered only four for you as this is your first offence. But I recommend you file the pain from each one away in your memory, so the next time you are tempted to defy me you will know what waits in store for you. Unlike some masters, I do not order punishment like this just for my amusement, to enjoy seeing strong, young bodies suffer. But I do not hesitate to order it at the slightest sign of disobedience, or when a slave fails in his duties in any way. So remember it well, as if you do not curb your unruly behaviour you will experience it many times more." "Now, if I can give you a piece of advice", he went on, "Do not be stoical about it and try to prevent yourself from screaming. You will find it easier to take the pain if you allow the tension in your body to dissipate by crying aloud as each blow strikes. There's no shame in it - we are all men here, so you are not showing a weakens in front of women. And we all know that the punishment hurts, as it is designed to do. So let your body's natural mechanism take over, and as the cane next hits you expel all the pent-up air in your lungs with a mighty shout to show that you acknowledge the hurt being done to you." He nodded to the guards, and there was the dreadful swishing noise again and the explosion of sharp pain in my ass. After the Arab's little lecture I had been determined not to make a sound - I didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that I listened to his advice. But it was hard, and a great "grunt" came out from me, as I tried to stifle the natural shout that I would have done at this violation of my body. The Arab ruffled my hair again, almost proprietarily, and looked at me. He nodded again, the third "swish", and the third burst of agony for me. This time I couldn't help it. In spite of all my efforts to remain totally silent, I gave a great shout of anguish, both at the physical hurt that I was experiencing and at the horror of what was happening to me. I lay there, gasping, and trying to recover my breath. I knew that I had broken out in sweat all over, as I could feel little rivulets of it trickling across my body, and the room had seemed to go cooler as it evaporated off my hot body. "Only one more to go, slave boy", the Arab almost crooned. "And this final one will be the one you will most remember. The last stroke Is always laid to cross the others. If you thought the pain front striking virgin flesh is bad, when the last stroke cuts across the places where you are already suffering, it is doubled and redoubled. Take this experience deep within you, and learn from it that you do not disobey your master." He nodded, the cane swished through the air, and he was right! I've never experienced anything like it - the hot, stinging violence of the stroke caused all my nerves to go on fire, and I tried desperately to jerk my body, to move it, to do anything to try to being some relief to my tortured ass - but of course I was strapped down rigidly, and there was no relief possible. I really did scream this time - not a shout, but a scream, deep down from within me. And I carried on screaming and shouting as the pain continued to burn at me. I only stopped when I realised it was getting no worse, and that the Arab and the guards were all looking at me almost as if they were amused! I determined not to let the fuckers see that they had triumphed, and my brain almost commanded my body to stop, to calm itself. My heart was racing, though, and I was sucking in great gasps of air to my lungs. The Arab moved slightly, and rested his hand on my naked bum. This would have been bad enough at the best of times, as I would have been totally humiliated at the thought of a man who claimed he owned me touching me in this way. But now his skin felt cool against the fiery heat where my ass had been hit, and as he stroked it gently backwards and forwards I hated it even more - it was as if he was savouring the hurt he had caused me He said something in Arabic to the guards, and they came and released me. In a very undignified way I struggled to my feet, and stood there. I desperately wanted to massage my bum, to try to stop the shooting pains that were coursing through it, but made myself stand still, to avoid giving them the satisfaction of knowing they had had such a terrible effect on me. "Now, Jon, before that interruption, you were going to display the cock head - so 'skin back for me." Something inside me wanted to say no, to tell him that I was a man, not a slave, and that men do not do that in front of other men. But a calmer voice told me that this was futile - they held all the cards. There were four guards, and probably more on call. They could force me down on to the punishment horse again. They could beat me until my body was destroyed. Or they could simply tie me down anyway and examine me in what ever way they wished. I decided I would try to conserve my strength, and wait until there seemed to be some chance of really winning before taking them on. I reached down and cradled my cock in the palm of my hand, then used my thumb to tease back my 'skin. I felt myself blushing all over as I did this, standing there totally naked in front of the five men. I'd never felt so alone, so small and insignificant, as I exposed myself to their leering eyes. My moist, pink cock head lay there as it had so many times before, but never like this. The Arab peered at it, and said quietly, as if he was certain he would be obeyed "Good, slave. Although I routinely have my slaves 'skinned, I think I will keep yours for a month or so and reassess the situation later. It makes a pleasant change to see a head so wonderfully moist when it comes out - and your 'skin is not unsightly as it does not droop over the end of your cock when at rest. Now, I wish to see you erect. Make your manhood firm and hard for me, so that I can see the full perfection of your cock when it is ready for action." Again, something inside me was shrieking "No, no, men don't do this. You're not a fag, displaying your erection to other men. Only your girlfriend should experience this sight....". And the other voice was saying again "You can't win now. Wait until later. You have erections all the time. Just forget these men are here, and allow nature to take its course." But nature wouldn't take its course - I simply couldn't get an erection by thinking about it. I started to stroke my cock, teasing it into life. I closed my eyes to blot out the room and the sight of the other men watching me, and thought about the last woman I had had in bed, and how my cock had slipped into her silky cunt.... The nerves in my hand told me it was working as my cock stirred into life, and soon my it was sticking rampantly into the air. "Excellent, slave! I particularly like the way you have a most pronounced flange around the head, causing such a sharp differentiation from the shaft. And, even though your cock is so much above average in size, its erection is so hard and firm that it is thrusting well above the horizontal - not all men can manage that!" My blushes went deeper and deeper, and I felt that my face must almost be scarlet. Having my erection commented on as if it was some sort of exhibit in a show was even worse than having to expose myself to these men in the first instance. What was next, I wondered? "Before I tell you about arrangements for your life, slave, I think I would like to see more of your cock in action. Stroke it so that I may watch it produce semen." This was too much! Wanking in front of another guy, and shooting a load. Absolutely I was not going to do this! "No... Master... No. I am not going to do this. I don't wank myself in front...." "SILENCE, slave, unless you want a further, more extreme, beating. I think you have forgotten that you are a lave, and I am your owner. Slaves obey their owner's every command, or the punishment will be swift and severe. However as this is your first day as a slave, I will be lenient and allow you to reconsider your previous ill-advised position." "Consider this", he went on. "In your former life you may not have revealed your cock head to other men by 'skinning back your foreskin, you might not have shown other men your erect cock, and you might not have stimulated your cock to the point at which you shoot your semen. But all this is now changed - it is not your 'skin any longer, or your cock, or your semen: it is mine. I am your owner. I have bought you from your captors, and I own every part of you - your 'skin, your cock head, your cock itself, your balls..... And if I wish to inspect MY cock head, and have MY cock produce a sample of MY semen, then I will. A slave no longer owns his body, he no longer has control of what it is used for, or how it is used. Your owner now has this control, and can make you do these things. I can, if I choose, cause the most terrible damage to 'my' body until the wilful, unruly brain that controls it realises that it must conform, must obey, must utterly supplicate itself to the commands of its owner." "Now, slave, I will give you another chance. Produce me a sample of semen, or take the consequences." Oh, fuck me, what was I going to do? I didn't doubt that he would carry out his threat to do me severe damage - a man like the Arab, having made that threat in front of the guards, could never back down, could he? I didn't want to get hurt - it wasn't the pain that was the problem, but the thought that my body might be terribly damaged. And I wanted out from here, I wanted to get back to a "normal" life. And to do that I needed to preserve the integrity of my body - I didn't want to end up as a disfigured, ugly cripple or anything. I felt my body almost slump as my posture drooped with the shame and embarrassment, and my head hung low so that I did not have to have eye contact with the five men watching me. I slid my hand along my cock and back, enjoying, in spite of the circumstances, the little frissons of excitement as my thumb and forefinger banged into the flange of my cock head. My already stiff cock reacted, and I felt that weakness behind my knees that you get when you try to wank standing up - somehow you always want to thrust your hips forward, and that puts that peculiar little sensation at the knew joints. I beat away, trying to think sexy thoughts, and attempting to put the "audience" out of my mind - Jesus fucking Christ, how could porn stars do it with audiences of hundreds watching them? But there's a point where your brain drops out, isn't there, and those older mechanisms that drive the body take control. As I continued to beat at myself and my cock went harder and harder, my fingers started to slide more and more easily as pre-cum leaked out of me and got spread on my fingers and my shaft. Now I was beating hard and fast, deliberately cupping my thumb and forefinger tightly together, so that fantastic sensations ran through me as my meaty flange was buffeted by them on each stroke. And then it was all over - I felt my balls contract, and the hot sensation as a huge measure of cum shot along my dick and rocket across the room to lie gleaming wetly on the floor. Involuntarily I let out a couple of deep grunts as I shot - those noises that again come from somewhere deep inside you, produced by a more primitive mechanism than your "civilised" brain. I'm usually very sensitive as soon as I shoot, and I just have to stop wanking myself or else the sensation that runs through me is just so unpleasant - or do I mean painful - or do I mean intensely exciting and pleasurable? I don't know.... Anyway, I always stop wanking as soon as I shoot, and the "After shocks" then occur naturally. There were four of them, and I was acutely aware that, to the watching men, I must seem to be really enjoying this: my pelvis was thrust forward, my eyes were closed, I was covered with a light sheen of sweat, and my breathing was all ragged and deep. Gradually my body's reactions calmed, and my cock started to become flaccid. Now I had another problem - a big slime of my cum was hanging from my cock head, not wanting to let go. What was I going to do about it? No tissue, no boxers to wipe it off with... Oh, fuck me, they were all looking at it. "Excellent, slave. A most satisfactory specimen. High volume, and extreme pressure of expulsion. You will be a fitting addition to my other slaves when I choose to show off your masculinity and sexuality to my guests. Now, clean that slick from your cock, and listen carefully to what I am going to tell you about your life as my slave here on my estate." Clean it with what? What should I do? The Arab - my owner, I suppose - looked as if he was waiting for me. "Please, master, please..." "You may speak, slave." "Please, master, please... How shall I clean myself? I have no tissue, no...." "Stupid slave! Simply pretend it's a dribble of snot falling from your nose, and wipe it away with your fingers!" Well, apart from the fact that I didn't routinely blow my nose with my fingers anyway, I'd never really dealt with my cum like this - I guess I'm quite a fastidious bloke, and I always kept a box of tissues by the die of my bed, or used my boxer shorts, or something. Still, either I had to do as he'd said, or stand there and let the stuff drip off naturally. Doing something about it seemed like the least worst option. I kind of "scissored" the drool of cum between my fingers, and shook them, so that it fell to the floor. My fingers, already slimy from my leaking pre-cum, were now even more sticky. I rubbed them against each other, trying to make it go away. "In future, slave, do not spill your seed on to my floors!", my owner said. "It is the rule here that slaves catch their seed in their palms and dispose of it by licking it from there and swallowing it.." "No, master, no... I couldn't...." "SALVE! Have you learned nothing yet? You will obey, or you will be punished. There's nothing wrong with eating human seed, as it's a perfectly natural, perfectly wholesome substance. I allowed your ejaculate to shoot across the floor on this occasion as I wished to examine the force of your expulsion of it. But in future, if you are masturbating yourself, you will always catch your seed and dispose of it neatly by eating it. If you are masturbating another slave, you will listen attentively to the orders from the guard or overseer - sometimes you will catch it in your mouth and dispose of it directly, and sometimes the masturbated slave will catch it himself and dispose of it. Is that understood?" Was it understood? Well, the words made sense! They were English words, in proper sentences. But "understood"? Surely I was never going to have to masturbate another man, and then.... Swallow his cum! No, I couldn't do it. Surely there was something wrong. I must have misunderstood. "No, master, no..." "Are you defying me?" "No, master, no... It's just that I didn't understand. I thought you said that when I masturbated another slave...." "I did. In general, you will in future never masturbate yourself. I like the slaves on my estate to be happy and to work properly with their fellows. You will live with a work group of fellow slaves, and in order to ensure that you all bond together and to encourage good comradeship, all the slaves in such a group are forbidden to masturbate themselves. When you require sexual relief, it is to be provided by one of your fellow slaves. And, similarly, when one of your fellows needs masturbating, you, or one of his other fellow slaves, must do it. I have found that over the years the need to wank - as you call it - together like that is an invaluable aid in encouraging proper group working: slaves who wank each other find it much easier to form part of a real group to tackle all the assignments that you will be given here on the estate." I could hardly believe what I was hearing! It sounded like modern management gobbledegook carried to ridiculous lengths. Sure, at the office they were always going on about work groups and bonding, but having blokes wank each other to encourage it - it sounded insane. "Master, please, master... I don't go with other men. I've got a girl friend... I hardly ever masturbate myself now, and certainly I don't do it to other men..." The Arab just laughed. "Look, Jon, you still have not adjusted, have you? You are saying things like 'I have a girl friend... I do not do it to other men....'. You need to understand that all that was in your old life, your life as a free man, when you had choices to make and you made those choices. Since I contracted to have you taken and enslaved, all that is gone. You no longer have choices. You no longer make decisions. You no longer have a girl friend. You will have sex with other men, as I say that you will." "I am being generous", he went on, "In taking the time to explain all this to you as I like my slaves to settle in quickly. I do not want to have to punish you endlessly, each time making it more and more severe - it's a waste of the time of my guards, and there's the risk of causing permanent damage to what is a very expensive asset. So understand this: you are now a slave, and you do as I command. I have decided that I have groups of male slaves working together, and that the slaves in these groups will work closely and harmoniously. To do this, they need to bond together as men, and this is done in several ways. Firstly, the group is treated as a whole when it comes to punishments: if one member of the group transgresses my rules, or fails to obey an order from a guard, the whole group is punished. You have experienced a light caning already - we find that slaves do not wish to inflict that on their fellows (or, at least, their fellows are so displeased at a slave who does, that they ensure he behaves in future!)". Secondly, slaves in a group have no secrets from each other: you work naked, you live together naked, and there is absolutely no privacy. Every movement of your body is totally visible to your fellow slaves. You work with them, eat with them, defecate with them, sleep with them. There are no doors, no screens, nothing: your naked body and the naked bodies of your fellows always visible, always together. And thirdly, you do the most intimate things that men can do together with your fellows: you masturbate them and they masturbate you, as a minimum. That's the only way you can get sexual relief, and after a few days, when your cock is constantly erect and your balls ache from the stored semen, you will have to find a fellow slave to masturbate you." "That is the only rule I make for my slaves. But, of course, many of you choose to take sex further: Within your work group you may decide to have any other form of sex that you like - I do not mind if you suck the other slaves to bring them to climax, or if you fuck them, or they fuck you. It makes it much easier, of course, if you do all mutually enjoy the pleasures of the male body like this, as when the group is called on to perform a display for the amusement and entertainment of my guests, it's so much more 'natural' if the slaves are used to each others bodies than if they just do it occasionally. So you are wrong to say 'I do not go with men...' What you mean is "I used not to do it with men, but I now do that which my fellow slaves want'." "No, please master, no.... You can't mean this..." "Oh yes, slave. This is your life from now on. I have around a hundred slaves on this estate divided into seven work groups, each of which specialises in a particular task - tilling the fields, pumping the water, in use as carriage and draft animals, and so on. You are destined for a group of eight slaves whose function is to do hard, manual labour- the type of random, occasional work that arises on a large estate for which there is no specialised group of slaves. So when new ditches need to be dug, walls are to be built, or trees are to be cut down, you and your fellows do it. And, of course, at other times you may help out specialised groups when there is a sudden surge in demand - helping the field slaves get in the harvest, or adding additional power to the pumps for irrigation at planting time, for example." "But you have a dual role, actually. Of course the work needs to be done, and, in doing it, you maintain and enhance that superb body that I now own. But you are also here to provide pleasure to me and my guests - it gratifies me to see strong, virile men bent to my will, toiling away at hard physical tasks, tasks that, in your effete Western world, would be done my machines. You will did ditches manually, whereas in your former country a mechanical digger would be used. When you assist with the water pumping, you will step the treadmill for twelve hours, as we like to watch men sweat away at this task rather that simply turn on an electric pump. What more splendid sight is there than to see glorious, handsome, healthy men working away at completely futile activities because they are slaves, and their owner has decreed that they are to waste their lives in idle toil?" "A slave on this estate is rather like an animal - an expensive, superior animal perhaps, but an animal never the less. You do not have original thoughts. You do not read books, or watch TV. You do not wear clothes. You decide nothing. Instead, we feed you, house you in suitable conditions that are adequate for the healthy living of naked animals, and make you work at hard, physical tasks, just as a draft animal would. Think of yourself as a heavy work horse on a farm at the end of the nineteenth century: a superb physical specimen, naked of course as animals are not clothed, housed in a stable, well fed, and well treated provided it continued to work hard. Keep that analogue in your mind, and you will find your life as a salve much easier." "Of course it's much easier for an owner to have slaves to work for him than mere animals, as we know you have the power of language and you can understand orders. All we have to do is ensure you obey those orders - you do not require the long, slow, painstaking training that an animal would. We can command, and you will obey. And if you do not, we know it is because you are wilful and disobedient, rather than that you have misunderstood. So punishment can be swift, and sure." "Now, let me tell you what is going to happen to you next." I noticed he gave me no opportunity to reply, or comment. And I was so amazed at what I'd heard, that I could hardly frame coherent questions anyway. It all sounded so bizarre, and yet so logical, that I thought it was quite like one of those TV shows where they fool the people - I kept expecting a presenter to pop out saying "Surprise...". But then even the TV shows you see from Japan don't get men wanking themselves, do they? He continued "You will be caged tonight as I do not like introducing you into a team until you have worked with them all day. That will give the weals on your ass time to go down - although all your fellow slaves will have experienced caning when they arrive, as none of you truly believe in your new situation until it is brought home to you in this very tangible way. Tomorrow morning you will get the proper slave trim, we will give you sun block until your body is properly tanned all over and can stand the sun, and then you will spend the day working with your new crew. Tomorrow night, you will be taken back with them to the slave quarters for the night, and that's how you will spend every other day for the rest of your life." I wanted to say so much, to ask so much, but he snapped "Guards! Enough! Take this away and cage him tonight. Ensure he is fed." End Of Part 3