A story written by Pete Brown (Part 3 of 16). (Here you can find all the parts of this story. | Illustration by Theo Blaze)


The three of us had been in the cage for some time, and gradually the other cages in the row were being emptied as guards came and took away their naked occupants.

Finally, our turn must have come, because the cage door was unlocked and we were shepherded out, along a set of corridors, and out on to what was obviously a loading bay. There were a number of light trucks drawn up, and drivers in regular delivery driver uniforms standing around. It just looked like a parcels depot back home, but the only merchandise being moved here was slaves – as well as us standing there, there were some blacks, and a couple of women – I guess they must have been at different auctions held later in the day, as the one I had been sold at was exclusively for white men.

The dispatcher came up, holding a clipboard, and looked at the numbers that were still showing on our asses. He consulted his list, and told a guard to take us to one of the small trucks standing towards the end of bay. “Make sure they ease themselves first “, he told the guard, “as they’ve got a long journey”. I was glad at least that our supposition had been correct – evidently Hans, Mike and I were all going to the same place.

The guard pushed us along, and stopped by a hole cut in to the floor of the bay. “Piss and crap now”, he said. I went to piss in to the hole standing up, but the guard pushed me down. “Even if you only want to piss, you crouch over that hole. We don’t like slaves with poor aim getting the floor wet”. I squatted there, and really didn’t believe I could crap in public – as well as Mike and Hans and the other naked male and female slaves on the loading bay, there were of course all the drivers and guards watching. It wasn’t so bad having the other naked slaves there, but the sight of the normal, every day workers in their western-style work uniforms just standing around and shooting the breeze with each other caused me to cramp up. But nature took its course, and in spite of myself I felt a huge turd drop in to the hole, and a stream of piss splash down after it.

Mike and Hans were then made to squat over the hole in turn, and finally we were once again all three standing there waiting to see what would happen next. One of the drivers came over and asked the dispatcher if we had cleaned up. “I’ve got a long journey, and if the slaves don’t clean themselves properly after crapping, it makes the truck smell”, he said. There had been no toilet tissue offered to us after our performance at the hole, but the dispatcher now went off and came back with some sheets of tissue and we were told to clean up. Somehow standing there wiping my ass in public was even worse than crapping in front of other people, and I realised how low I had become. None of the people on the bay seemed to think it unusual to see three guys bending over and cleaning their asses, and I guessed that this must be normal for slaves. Indeed, no one even seemed to be noticing us, as they went about their every day business.

We were then led over to the light truck at the end of the bay, and the driver and dispatcher fussed over paperwork on the clipboard. I had often had UPS deliver things to my college dorm, and I recognised exactly what was happening – the driver and dispatcher were completing transfer forms, so that the merchandise could be accounted for through the system. The only difference was that this time the merchandise included me; I was no more than an expensive parcel to these guys.

Inside the truck there were two rails at chest height running parallel to the length of the truck, and about 1 metre apart. Hans was pushed in between the rails, and his arms were pulled over the rails, then stretched out to the sides of the truck, where they were manacled in to cuffs on little sliding rails mounted on to the truck walls. I was next, and Mike came in behind me.

We stood there for a couple of minutes, and I could see that in front of Hans there were already some guys similarly shackled – obviously they had been loaded earlier, or had come from elsewhere. I suppose this truck specialised in slave transport, and picked up slaves from a number of destinations.

Finally, behind Mike two more slaves were loaded and manacled – twisting around, I recognised a couple of the Slavic types who didn’t speak English, who had been in the cage with us and auctioned on the same day.

Suddenly we were all pushed forward – I heard shouting behind, and saw the guards with their stun guns urging the Slavs forward. We all shuffled along the truck, until Hans was almost touching the guys who were already in there. But we couldn’t stop – the pressure from behind continued, and Mike nudged me forward and I had to push Hans into the slaves who had already been waiting in there patiently. The pressure continued, and now I was firmly sandwiched between Hans and Mike; their warm bodies were in close contact with mine, Mike’s cock was pushing at my ass cheeks, and mine was firmly lodged in Hans’s crack.

I heard the driver say “That’s enough. They need to be firmly together so they don’t get damaged in transit as the truck goes over the highway and around corners. The rails were a big innovation to stop them swaying in to the walls all the time, but I find you still need them packed up lengthways, too, in case I have to brake suddenly.” And with that, the doors at the back were swung shut, and we were in darkness.

Moments later the truck started off – I realised that the motor had been running all the time, as there was air conditioning inside; without it, we would have been in a terrible state as with the blazing Arabian sun even a white truck would have been like a furnace inside. I suppose this was another of their “innovations” to keep the stock in good condition.

We lurched along, bouncing up and down slightly and swaying from side to side. The rails under our arms did indeed prevent us from getting thrown around too much, and when the truck braked we couldn’t get thrown forwards as we were already packed tightly in that direction. But there was a problem – Hans, Mike and I were still all lightly oiled from the auction display, and the motion of the truck caused us to constantly rub against one another. Even though I had got a bit used to body contact with other guys in the last few days, nothing had prepared me for this – the most constant, intimate rubbing of our whole bodies together. In spite of the air conditioning, I broke out in a sweat, and this increased the sensation as our slick bodies glided over each other.

My prick went into a wild erection, pushing into Hans’s ass cheeks in front of me, and the hairless crack was hot and very wet. I could feel Mike’s erection in turn trying to thrust up my ass, and I started to cry: I couldn’t say whether this was from shame, humiliation, or sheer frustration – it was probably a mix of all these, and showed the state I had fallen in to.

Hans turned his head around as best he could and said in his South African accent “Hey, Steve, man, don’t worry. None of us wants to be here like this. None of us is gay. I know from the service though that when you get guys close together you can easily find yourself against your mate’s erection. Isn’t that right, Mike?”

“Yes “, Mike answered from behind me. “But when we have been out in the bush on patrol and pressed close waiting for the rebels to appear, we usually had our erections covered by a jockstrap and combat trousers! This is a bit different.”

In spite of our misery, we managed to laugh a bit at this, and the journey went on. Not only was the feeling of Hans body in front of me a totally new sensation, but I after a little while I started to smell him as well. Although we had been showered and cleaned before the sale earlier in the day, the constant sweating we had all been doing had caused our skins now to have a strange, musky man odour.

And as I bumped and grinded into Hans in time with the rhythm of the truck, there was a strange, heady mixture of sweat, body odour, and the faint ammonia whiff of pre-cum being pumped up into my nose from where my cock was still firmly wedged between his ass cheeks. This made my erection even worse, and I whispered to Hans that I was sorry. “Don’t worry, man”, he reassured me, “You should feel what I’m doing to the guy in front of me”.

After what seemed an age, the truck stopped and the doors opened. The two Slavs behind Mike were offloaded, and we could hear the driver discussing the paperwork with someone out side the truck. I was right – this was a straight delivery service, and he was working a route, delivering each set of merchandise in turn. No one else was loaded in, so I guessed we would be the next delivery.

Finally, the doors opened again, and Mike, Hans and I were unmanacled and told to get out. We stood under a blazing desert sun, on sand that was almost too hot for our naked feet to bear, in front of a long, low white building. All around we could see other buildings that were set on fresh, green grass, in a park-like setting. After days of seeing only the inside of buildings, it all looked very beautiful. We stretched our aching arms, and Hans and Mike did a couple of squats to get their legs working properly.

We were signed for by a guy in his mid thirties who was wearing denim cut-offs, and nothing else. He was deeply tanned, quite muscular, and had a thick thatch of curly black hair on his chest and stomach. One of the now-familiar stun guns was cradled loosely in one hand. “Welcome to the ranch”, he said. “I’m one of the Overseers, and you’ll be seeing a lot of me if you get assigned to field work. I don’t know what the master has in mind for you, but he’s due back here in a couple of days and I guess he will decide then. That will just give us time to get you properly processed and trimmed, and through testing and quarantine.”.

I don’t know whether it was the relief from being in the open again, or the cumulative shock of everything that had happened to us, but none of us seemed able to say a word. And when he gestured for us to move off in the direction of the door in front of us, we all meekly obeyed.


Inside the building we went into a room, and there was an Arab sitting there in western dress. He said “I am the Sheikh’s slave master, and have complete power over all the slaves on his estates. And by ‘complete’, I mean ‘complete’. I say whether you are fed, what jobs you do, whether we breed from you, or whether we sell you on. I’m going to take a little of my time to tell you about your future life – listen carefully, because I will say it only once. You will find that paying attention now will save you much needless fretting and worry in the future, as I am going to map out the rest of your life for you.”

“The Sheikh has bought you men because he likes to revitalise his slave herd with wild stock from time to time. Understand that as a slave you have absolutely no rights, only a duty to work hard at whatever tasks your master assigns you. You are very fortunate to have been bought by the Sheikh, because he is a good master. The only form of punishment allowed here is the whip, and he will not allow the overseers to use mutilation even for very bad or persistent offenders. His fellow owners think he’s too soft, because he does not practice body modification on his slaves – even if your permanent job is to work a treadmill to pump water in to the fields, he allows you to keep your arms even though they are not necessary for the work. And he does not have you blinded, even if you are chained in one place every day and have no need to be able to see.”

“I can see that you are all in your twenties, and in good physical shape. You will be pleased to know that you can expect a long life here, as we take proper care of your diet, and our veterinarian is always on hand to treat any diseases that develop. In fact you can expect to be in much better physical shape when you’re 45 than you would be in the West. Our slave diet is specially formulated to give you the energy you need without containing any sugar to rot your teeth, or any fats to give you heart attacks. Each day we look at the energy you have used working, and give you just enough of the slave feed that you need. So you’ll never put on an ounce of fat, and will remain lean for the whole of your life. Initially you’ll get extra rations because we’ll be building up your muscles to the standard we require for your particular work, but it will soon taper off to the normal daily replacement amount. When you get your ration of slave feed each evening, it is therefore particularly important that you eat it all – either we are building you up, or we are replacing the energy you used. Either way, failure to eat the entire allocated ration upsets our plans for you and we will whip you.”

“Although I am speaking to you in English, you will be taught a set of basic Arabic phrases to control your work and your life. All the overseers and guards only use this basic language, and any failure to obey their commands is punishable by whipping. As you will see later, you will have no need to learn to speak this language, just to jump to obey commands in it.”

“Any physical violence, however slight, to an overseer is punishable by death. Any attempt to leave the grounds of the Sheikh’s estate here is punishable in only one way – by death. Wherever you go, we’ll track you down and bring you back here for execution. This is not usually a problem, because the estate is out in the middle of the desert and without access to a vehicle you would certainly die of exposure and thirst before you reached the next settlement. As an added precaution, however, we have you electronically tagged like any other valuable property. We will implant a microchip in you, which can be tracked by satellite. If you go missing from the estate, we can then very quickly locate where you have gone, and bring you back for execution.”

“The Sheikh will almost certainly choose to breed from you. As I said, he likes to invigorate his herd with wild slaves. I can see that he has chosen you two South Africans because you have the stocky, muscular build that we need in our heavy workers. And I suppose he likes the blond because he wants to lighten the colour of some of the darker blood lines resulting from interbreeding with blacks to increase the musculature. However understand that breeding is only permitted according to the Sheikh’s stud plans. We take a blood sample when you arrive, so we have your DNA on file. Every baby born to one of the brood mares is DNA typed, and if it is discovered that you have fathered any child outside the proper stud programme, the punishment is castration.”

“Sex with other male slaves is not allowed either. Generally you will be too exhausted at the end of each day to want to fuck each other, but even if you’re tempted to, don’t do it. The Sheikh likes the assholes of his slaves to be kept just for the pleasure of any of his guests who are turned on by the sight of your body. So periodically we swab all the assholes in a barracks, and check them for traces of semen left here by illicit slave to slave fucking. We can use our DNA register to find out who has been fucking who, and the penalty for both slaves is castration. It is important to keep your balls in good working order, because of the possible use in the breeding programme, so every night on your return to barracks you will milk yourselves before entering the shower.”

“All male slaves on the estate live and work entirely naked. You will never wear clothes again. This may seem harsh, given the strong sun and high daytime temperatures, but look at it from our point of view. You would not work any harder in clothes. Providing clothes would be an extra expense, and there would be additional costs associated with washing them and so on. Without clothes, you are constantly reminded of your servile status, and it’s easy for you to know who to obey – anyone clothed must be a master, even if like the overseer here the master chooses only to wear very minimal clothing. When you are working at job that is continuous, there is no need to keep stopping for breaks to piss – without clothes you can simply do it whilst working. Keeping you naked also makes it easier to see your ownership marks. And lastly, of course, there is a great deal of aesthetic delight in seeing a muscular, tanned slave straining his muscles at his allotted work.”

“Finally, let me give you one last word of advice: forget your past life completely. You are now naked slaves, working for the Sheikh. Your days will be filled with hard work, it will be boring and repetitive, and you will be exhausted every night. There will be no colour or excitement in your life at all, and every day will be very much like the last. So do not have any expectations or hopes – just work away like the draft animals that you have become. If you do that, you will survive, and will not be whipped often. You can expect at least 25 years of slavery here on the Sheikh’s estate, and when we judge that you are finally worn out, or your bodies are no longer giving us pleasure, we will have you painlessly terminated. On the other hand, if you keep hoping for ‘rescue’, or if you have notions that you are a ‘free man’ and try to disobey orders, you will be constantly frustrated and unhappy. The overseers will detect that you do not have the right attitude, and you will attract punishment. The more punishment you have, the more resentful you will get, until one day you will snap and attempt to escape, or strike an overseer. And then you will be painfully executed.”

“Now we are going to process you into the Sheikh’s service. You will notice that I have not asked you if you have any questions. Slaves do not ask questions!”.

And so saying, the slave master gestured to the overseer who had been standing there listening, and he marched us out through a door leading further into the complex.