A story written by Pete Brown. (Part 10 of 21). Click here to see all the published chapters of the story.
Jomo and I went back into the common room, and most of the other guys had left, either to work out, or to lie on one of the beds and doze. We weren’t allowed TV or anything, as the prevailing view on slave management was that slaves needed be focussed on their work, and on pleasing their owners: watching TV made them potentially lazy, or to start to focus on other things. And, of course, the presence of foreign programs from non-slave countries, where the policies of the USA were held up to ridicule, gave some slaves hope that one day their lot would change. Some of this stuff beamed into the USA caused huge offence, as these places were often piss-poor and nothing like as rich and sophisticated as we were, and yet they dared to criticise us and called us uncivilised – Congress was always talking about outlawing such subversive foreign material.
Jomo and I went and got our ration of slave chow from the machine, then sat next to each other at the table – my ass was really sore now, and I had to lower myself very carefully on to the bench!
“So, Steve, how long have you got, and what did you do?”
“I’ve just started ten years. And I didn’t do anything… It was all a mistake…”
“We all think that, Steve! It’s been the story of the prisoner ever since there were courts and trials and such…”
“Well, in my case, it’s true! But my lawyer said it was hopeless to fight it, and I’d better just buckle down and do my ten years of servitude, as I’d still only be thirty eight when I was free again. They didn’t tell me about the ‘skinning, ringing and tattooing…”
“Yes, most of the indentured servants have a problem going back into society. Jobs are hard enough to come by these days, wither the stigma of having been a slave. It makes you think it’s all a trick.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Steve, if you’re released you soon get through the thousand a year that your owner has had to put into that special account for you. Then, assuming you had no assets when you started and that’s all you’ve got, you soon burn your way through it – new clothes, a place to stay, food, bus fares to job interviews… Before you know where you are, you’re broke. And then, of course….”
He stopped, and so I asked “…and then what?” “Surely you know there’s no social security for freed indentured servants? That’s one of the changes they made to the law when the whole thing was brought in. So you have to beg, or sell your body for sex – not that that’s much of a problem for us! But sooner or later, you’re really destitute… And then the only way out is another period of servitude! They call it ‘voluntary’, of course, but it’s all the same. I think you know all about ‘voluntary’ agreements once you’re indentured? I bet that doctor did the same thing about your dick as he does about all the others?”
“You mean you have to agree to a period of servitude again?”
“No, you don’t have to. But if you’re in Chicago or somewhere, broke, hungry, and it’s the middle of winter, what else do you do? Freeze to death on the streets?”
“And what then?”
“At the end of that period, you’ve got the same choices, basically…. So once a guy has been enslaved, even if the sentence is only ten years, like yours, lucky guy, then unless you’re exceptionally lucky, you’re in for life.”
I must confess I was shocked by all of this. I’d thought that I’d go back to my old life, pick up where I left off, meet my old buddies again, get a job…. I was expecting to get a lower salary and have to work my way up again, but it couldn’t be all that difficult, surely. But if Jomo was right, and I suspected that he was, then I was effectively a slave for life, except for very brief patches of “remission” whilst I burned up the money that had been saved for me. And I guess I could see the kind of problems looming – would an employer want me, a convicted con who’d been a slave for ten years, and whose knowledge was ten years out of date, or would he prefer a bright young guy fresh with new knowledge, straight from college?
“Is that what’s going to happen to you, Jomo?”
“I guess so, Steve. I got fifteen years, the day after my sixteenth birthday. I’m twenty eight now, been slaving for twelve years, so in three years time I’ll have a little break, then I’ll be a slave again.”
“Hey, man, what did you do on your birthday, to get that sentence?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all!”
“Aw, come on, they can’t enslave anyone, not even a nigga, for doing nothing.”
“Well, I suppose I was breaking the law, strictly speaking, but I’d been doing the same thing for a long time…. I mean, I had been banging my girlfriend from school for at least a couple of years, since we were both fourteen, I suppose. But they waited until I was sixteen before they dragged me to court, as they can’t enslave you until you’re sixteen, and I don’t suppose anyone really cares about a horny teenager fucking away – but they do need slaves. So on the day after my birthday they just knocked at the door just as I was about to leave for school, threw me in the back of the police cruiser, and drove me to the town courthouse. Mind you, I guess they might have been watching me all the time, knowing what I was doing was against the law, and they waited deliberately, so they could enslave me – they always need fresh slaves, after all, and strong young guys are getting harder to find these days.”
“I was in court at ten, when it started, and sentenced five minutes later – it was a pretty open and shut case, as I didn’t deny it – well, it hadn’t occurred to me that it was much of a problem, as she didn’t object – far from it: she couldn’t get enough of my dick! Fifteen fucking years of Indentured Service, just like that. They stripped me, there and then – a lot of folk go to those early morning court sessions, you know, as they like to look at the bodies of the newly enslaved. And five minutes later I was in the cells underneath, stark naked and on my knees, sucking the dicks of the guards – it was one of their “perks” they said, as they fucked my mouth – to be able to get first use of guys like me who hadn’t taken dick before.”
“Out town had a contract with the local big farmer, and so I wasn’t even auctioned. Later that morning the farm truck came and just took me away – still buck naked, they just took me out, and chained me in the back of the pickup. It was lunchtime as we went past my school, and I saw all my classmates staring at me as we stopped at the lights by the gates. I saw my girlfriend start to cry as we drove away, as she knew she wasn’t going to get my dick again.”
“I was just a labourer on the farm, and so there was nothing special to be done to me. As soon as I arrived they collared me and then took me out to the fields and fastened me into a coffle with nineteen others, and that was my life for the next seven years!”
“You mean seven years on the farm, Jomo?”
“Yes, but not only seven years on the farm – seven years chained in that fucking coffle! All twenty of us, day and night. We were never let off it, as they said it was impossible for twenty naked guys chained together to escape. We went out in the morning to the fields and worked all day – it was a fruit farm, and there was always lots to do: mostly with the strawberries. We hoed them, weeded them, on our hands and knees, picked them, took out the old plants, put in new stock…. There was always something to do, as in the heat we got four or five crops a year. They said it was the easiest and cheapest way to grow fruit – you didn’t need any fancy equipment as a coffle of twenty naked guys could do it all with much less expense.”
“They didn’t treat us badly – well, they hardly treated us any way at all, just considered us to be like animals. We never got any clothes or anything, we were fed slave chow of course, and one guard could supervise us all easily – he just walked along, up and down the coffle, using the tawse on any of us who he thought were slacking: it was easy to see ,as if you didn’t work hard enough you fell behind the others, and the line was no longer straight! It was always the same – seven days a week, always chained together, day and night. The only time there was any variation was when one of the guy’s period of servitude was up and he was released from the coffle…. Or, of course, when a new guy like me was added.”
“It was really tough at first – it’s backbreaking work. But in the first week I got introduced to proper sex by my coffle-mates. I mean, when we were in the slave stables at night there wasn’t anything else to do but fuck each other, was there? And there was no escaping it, as we were all chained together. They all used my virgin sixteen year old ass, and it wasn’t until I had been there about a year and had put on a bit of muscle that I was able to overpower one of them and fuck him.”
“Did they really keep you chained up, naked, all the time? Surely they gave you proper work wear…?”
“Don’t be so fucking naive, Steve! Even a pair of shorts costs something to buy, then there’s the laundry costs and so on. They were only interested in producing their fruit at the lowest price, and the cheap way of keeping farm slaves is to have them naked. The human hide is a good all-weather covering, after all, and as when it gets dirty in the fields, it’s pretty easy to clean it… And we got a lot of rain there in the wet months, and wet shorts would chafe you, but your skin’s fine, once you’ve got used to the incessant feel of the raindrops on your skin. We were never allowed to stop work just because it was raining or anything. And, of course, being totally naked, it was easier for the guard to tawse our butts. And yes, we were never unchained from the coffle – as I said, it made it really easy to control us, and they didn’t need a lot of guards.”
“So how did you get here?”
“It turns out I was there for seven years – not that I knew that at the time, as every day was absolutely the same, and we had no TV or anything. They didn’t even stop the work at Thanksgiving or anything – it was considered to be better for slaves to lead an ordered life, with everything the same, so that they always knew what was going on. We knew the seasons changed, of course, as in summer we were cooked by the heat (and the flies!), and in winter we had to work that bit harder to keep warm, and it was also the rainy season, but I really lost track of how many winters and summers. Still, one day a travelling slave dealer came by and inspected us all: I’d put on a lot of muscle by then, with the unrelenting hard work and because I guess I’d matured, gone from being just a boy, and turned into a real man. The dealer liked what he saw – I’ve got a big dick and am well hung, as you know – so he made the farmer an offer, and that was that: they just released my collar form the coffle chain, he led me over to his truck and chained me in, and we drove off. No goodbyes, no nothing – well, I had no possessions or anything to leave behind anyway.”
“It was real scary at first as I’d spent all that time on the farm, with a never-changing routine. And so as we drove along I had to get used to seeing different things, and different people, again. It turns out that the dealer was buying ‘on commission’ for a guy who wanted a well-hung nigga for his personal pleasure, and of course I was well versed in sex by then. Mind you, I didn’t much like to have to go back to being fucked, as on the coffle, as I got stronger, I’d mostly fucked the others.”
“I needn’t have worried, though. The guy who bought me was some kind of fancy executive in a big company, with a big house, a wife, two kids… It turned out that for his recreation he liked to be fucked by a nigga! I had a room in the basement, that opened directly from the garden. When he’d finished all his long distance calls at night, had dinner, and so on, he’d come down there and I had to fuck him – well, actually I had to order him to strip, then order him to kneel down and worship my big black dick. I’d slap him around a bit – not so much so that he got bruised or anything, so his wife would know, and then I’d fuck him.”
“The first time it happened I was scared that it was some sort of ploy to really get me into trouble – I mean, a slave fucking his owner! And a nigga fucking a white man! But I gradually came to realise that this was the guy’s way of turning off: he spent his whole life ordering things around at the office and running this big business, and so for fun he liked to be ordered around and controlled – it was such a change from ‘real’ life for him to be down there in the basement, with me totally in charge. The rest of the time, of course, he was my owner, and a pretty hard master, too: my job was to keep all the grounds neat, the lawns cut, the pool clean, all that sort of stuff – it was a real big place, and on the weekends he’d inspect it all, and if there was as much as a blade of grass out of place, he’d beat me. He seemed to like punishing me, hard, for small failures in my work, as if that somehow made up for the humiliation he suffered at night. Even if his wife and daughters were there, he’d make me strip, bend over a garden bench or something, and then cane my ass.”
I guess I’d still be there today, but he was promoted to be some sort of Vice President of his company, based in Europe, and they don’t allow slaves to be imported there, or perhaps they don’t allow slaves at all – I don’t really know. So he sold me – but it turns out that when he was away on business he occasionally used to come here, and he talked to them and got a good price for me as I was such a big guy, who knew all about fucking. And I’ve been here ever since.”
“So you’ve only got three more years to do, Jomo. What then?”
“Well, I guess I’ll end up as a slave again, as I’m not educated, or trained for any proper work. There’s not much opportunity for guys like me these days, as slaves now do all the grunt work. So when I’ve spent my savings, I’ll be on social security, and then if I still haven’t found work within six months, the bureau will apply for me to have another period of indentured service…”
“No, Steve, that’s the reality of it. You may be OK, with a college degree and everything, but for a guy like me, there’s no chance. And, actually, you may find it hard – with all the manufacturing gone to China, all the high-tech stuff going to India, there’s a lot of college guys chasing very few jobs. Why would anyone employ an ex-slave, when he could have an ‘honest’ guy – a lot of employers think that all ex-slaves must have committed a crime, you know.”
As he said this, Jomo turned away slightly, and looked kind of embarrassed. “Sorry, Steve – I forgot. You were enslaved for a crime, weren’t you? Not like me…”
“No, Jomo, I didn’t do anything….”
“Hey, Steve, if we’re going to be friends, no bullshit, OK? I know all you cons always say you’re innocent.”
All of a sudden I felt so tired and depressed. It all struck home at me – I’d been arrested and tried for something I didn’t do, enslaved, ringed, tattooed, ‘skinned, fucked…. And now other guys wouldn’t believe it wasn’t my own fault for doing wrong in the first place. The awful realisation was starting to dawn that I might be a slave for the rest of my life – what Jomo had said about jobs and stuff was right, I knew. I’d been if favour of clearing the dropouts and social security claimants off the streets, and making them indentured servants had seemed like a good thing to do to keep the taxes of “decent guys” down – but now it looked as if I was going to be one of those guys once my sentence was finished, I began to see how unfair the system could be.
Jomo had been watching me, and I guess he saw me kind of slump. “Hey, Steve, man…. I didn’t mean to call you a con….”
“It’s OK… I’ll tell you all about it one day. But I’ve just gone so fucking tired…”
I got up from the table, and the weariness that had come over me almost made me stumble. All I wanted to do was go to sleep, in a proper bed, not some sort of cage…. There were all the beds, but which was mine? So I asked Jomo.
“Whichever one is free, Steve. We don’t have allocated beds. You just choose one that’s empty…. Or….”, and a big grin spread across his face as he said this…. “One that’s already occupied, but where you fancy the guy.”
“But what about the sheets and stuff?”
“Look, Steve, I can tell you haven’t been a slave for very long! You don’t get to sleep in your own sheets, or clean sheets, now. Just take pot luck on whatever is on the bed you choose. Most of us shower before we turn in, so they’re usually OK – except for the hard patches, of course.”
“Steve, where have you been all your life? You know, the hard patches where your cum dries! We’re all adults here, so we’ve all got juices flowing; and even if you like eating your own cum, some of it always spills onto the sheets. Just ignore the hard patches. Now, shall we bunk together tonight? I know you won’t want me to fuck you as you’re probably sore, but you can fuck me again if you like – my nigga ass just loves white dick….”
“You mean we’re allowed to fuck each other…?”
“Yes, of course, if we’re not working. The management likes us all to keep in good form, and you know how it is with your tackle – ‘use it or lose it’, as the saying goes: the more you fuck, the more you need to fuck every day, and they want you always ready for a client, if you’re selected.”
“No, but thanks. I’d dog tired…..”
I didn’t want to upset Jomo so I didn’t say that I really didn’t want to fuck him, or be fucked by him… Or anyone, for that matter. I looked around a bit desperately, found an empty bed and, praying that the sheets would be reasonably clean, got in. Then there was a problem, of course – I mean, we all get erections as we start thinking about sleeping, don’t we? And as I lay there I was incredibly uncomfortable as my shorts were so amazingly tight, so I wriggled around a bit and pushed them down so they were around my knees, and my dick did at least then feel comfortable as it was free.
Every one of us has probably shared sleeping quarters with another guy at some time – brothers, cousins, sleep-overs when we were at school, or on a vacation or sports tour… And so I guess we all know the problem I now had. I was lying there with several other guys sleeping around me, and I desperately wanted to jerk myself off. I don’t care how careful you are, there’s always some of that characteristic noise though, isn’t there? When I’d been on a sports tour with some of my buddies I’d lain awake for hours, waiting for them to start snoring so that I knew they were asleep before I could jerk off, and I guess I needed to do the same thing here – after all, we all know we jerk off, but we usually don’t like other guys to know we’re actually doing it, do we? But in this case I needn’t have bothered – two guys in a bed three down from mine were making so much noise as they fucked that any faint slapping noises from my hand on my dick would never have been heard!
I couldn’t believe they could be so casual about it – with all us other guys around they were moaning and throwing themselves around just as if they were in some totally private place. They evidently didn’t care at all. So I lay there and jerked away at my dick, and as I shot, I was so fucking tired I just stopped worrying about the mess I was making on the sheets – I had indeed felt some of those little hard patches we all get on our sheets as my body had slid in, and I suppose I thought that if it was OK for other guys to do this in the communal beds, then it would be OK for me too.
I didn’t sleep well that night, though – guys kept coming in throughout the night (as they finished work with their clients, I suppose). And then there were all the normal noises that a group of guys bunking make together – the snoring, little whiffles, farts, and the occasional cries that you make in your sleep when you’re dreaming… And all that was in addition to several loud bouts of fucking that went on. As usually happens, though, I fell into a deep sleep just before it was time to get up, and I woke as someone slapped my naked ass – hard!
Coming awake suddenly like that you’re completely disoriented, and I sat bolt upright, wondering where the fuck I was – until I suddenly remembered, as I saw the other beds, some with guys still in them, like me, now waking. The big black guy, Jomo, was standing over me, and he’d evidently stripped the sheet off me as I was naked, my shorts bunched around my ankles, and my dick stiff with its morning hard-on.
“Come on, Steve – early morning exercises! Or shall I slap your ass again to get you properly awake?”
I went to cover myself, feeling my erection sticking out like that, but what was the point? I mean, Jomo had seen me like that before, and as I watched the other guys starting to shuffle down the room, most of them had their dicks swinging hard in front of themselves, too. I knew I was going to have to adapt, and get used to this new way of thinking about my body, especially my dick, and about sex.
Some guys seem to spring awake, don’t they? They’re “early birds”, but me, and most of the other slaves there, were more “night owls” as given the choice we’d have slept in. So as we stood there in the showers rubbing the sleep from our eyes, conversation was really subdued and was mostly just grunts of greeting and short enquiries bout last night’s clients. The four lavatory bowls were in almost constant use as guys emptied their bowels, but it seemed that if you just wanted to piss, it was perfectly OK to do that in the showers – I got that pungent whiff of piss and hot water, turned around, and saw the guy next to me standing there perfectly unconcerned, pissing away as he soaped his arms. I mean, the stuff was splashing off the tiled floor and drops were landing on me! I was going to call him a dirty fucker, as you would if anyone did that in the showers normally, but the other guys around me seemed unconcerned and it was lucky I didn’t say anything, I suppose – I didn’t want to be thought of as unsophisticated, or to be seen not to know what was the right way to behave.
The rest of that day fell into the pattern that was to be the same for the next couple of years – an hour of hard exercise, stop to eat my breakfast of slave chow, another hour of exercise, then any work needed to maintain the body – haircut, nail clipping, time on the sun-bed as slave bodies were considered better if tanned, a visit to the doctor, or whatever. Then lunch, followed by more exercise if my “quota” hadn’t been filled, then another shower, and the obligatory late afternoon enema and lubing, ready for any assignments there might be with clients.
I didn’t have clients in that first month, so the late afternoon and evening were my own. I soon found out that the regime was very liberal there – if you weren’t “on duty” waiting for clients or with clients, and had fulfilled your exercise quota, your time was your own. There wasn’t actually much to do as no TV or books or anything was allowed, but you could sit around talking to the other guys, or sleep, or fuck if you wanted to (provided you were not on duty that night ,when you were expected to save yourself). I soon discovered that there were no restrictions on you leaving Slaves For Your Pleasure providing it was your “free” time, and I love to run, so I’d just go down the ten flights of steps to the street, then run for an hour or so through the city parks and running trails.
The first day I did it I nearly gave up in embarrassment – most of the other guys you see in the parks in the city centre are young businessmen keeping themselves in shape in their lunch breaks, and they have that typical clean-cut “corporate” look, and wear expensive kit. And there I was – obscenely tight brief shorts, my dick outlined and my pubic hair spilling over the waist band, and with just a tiny running vest which I was allowed if going outside the building – so short it didn’t meet the top of my shorts, and so thin and cut away that the tattoos on my chest and back were visible. They could all see my collar, of course, and my ankle and wrist cuffs flashed in the sunlight as I ran. I’d see guys coming in the other direction and as they got closer they’d turn away in embarrassment, and I’d hear remarks like “Fucking slaves – out here in the park. You’d think their owners would keep them under proper control! And look at that one, with that disgusting nose ring – it’s an affront to decent folk to have to look at things like that!”
Of course if I was on a narrow trail I was expected to give way to any free men coming the other way, running off the trail as they approached and only rejoining it when they’d gone. Slaves always give way to free men in corridors, on footpaths and trails and in places like that.
The first time I went out was almost the last, I was so ashamed of my appearance and the remarks I got, but I soon realised that I needed do it, to be out and about in the “real” world, away from the artificial lighting and air-conditioning, and the other slaves who were, like me, sexual playthings.
That first month, though, I wasn’t expected to go with clients. As I’ve told you, I had a list of all the slaves and I was expected to tick off when I’d jerked off with them, sucked them, and fucked them, and when they’d done the same thing to me. After my initial experiences I just didn’t know where to start – and so I did nothing: for two days I just worked out, ran, chatted to the other guys, and slept. On the third day, as I was sitting there after “dinner”, one of the slaves I was talking to, a nice well-proportioned blond guy called Ray, said causally “So shall we fuck, Steve? They’re still waiting for my tests, so I’m not working tonight…”
“Yes – I had a client last night, so they took blood and a dick swab this morning, and until the test results come back, I can’t go with another client so I’m free tonight…. So shall we fuck? I’m allowed to go with other slaves, provided I know which ones, in case the tests are bad and they need to test the other slave, too.”
“What’s it all about?”
“Oh come on, Steve! Our clients want to have good, clean, safe, fun. So they guarantee to them that we’re clean – disease-free. That’s why they test us after every client, and why this place is so expensive – you really only get to fuck with one client every two days, not four a night as you might if you were a regular rent boy.”
“I thought they said that condoms stopped all that…”
“Well who want s to fuck in a condom? It’s like showering in a raincoat! And all that tearing open of packets and stuff – it destroys all the spontaneity. No, all our clients like riding us bareback, and so they take all these precautions.”
“But what if the tests fail?”
“Tough on us! Most of the clients are respectable married men, so there’s not much risk. But if you catch something form one of them, it’s a problem for Master Jed and Master Brett as they then can’t use us, and so they have to sell us, usually at a loss. But don’t worry about it – it hardly ever happens – and once you’ve fucked bareback, you’re never going to want to wear a condom!”
I sat there thinking about this, and Ray went on “So shall we fuck? You needn’t worry about catching anything from me – my client last night was a regular, someone I’ve been with lots of times before.”
“Hey, no, Ray, thanks for the offer….”
“Steve, when I came here first, I had a real problem. I had to fuck my around all the other guys, and I didn’t like to… So I ran out of time, and Master Jed had me whipped. You’re not being stupid, are you? It’s going to happen, you know, so why make it difficult for yourself? This is your third day, isn’t it? How many of the guys have you been with, how many ticks have you got on your sheet?”
“I’m doing OK…”, I said, very quietly, and kind of looking away as I avoided his gaze.
“Steve, you’re not, are you? What’s the problem – don’t you like sex?”
“Yes, of course I do… I’m a man – all men like sex!”
“No, Steve, I mean proper sex – sex with another guy. You didn’t do that before you came here, did you? And Master Brett was the first guy you’d ever had, when he took your cherry?”
“Yes.” I felt a flush of embarrassment sweeping over me, colouring my shoulders and face. I just wasn’t used to talking about sex like this.
“So you don’t really know what to do, do you? Come on, let me show you… You don’t want to get that hide of yours torn to shreds by Master Jed’s whip at the end of the month….” As he said this he put out his hand, to take mine, and pull me gently to my feet, to lead me over to a spare bed.
Pete Brown – the interview with the author
Pleasure Slave (all chapters)
Overview Pete Brown stories
Kinky Art by Theo Blaze