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Enslaved (6)

They kept me crawling over those fucking strawberry fields for another three days! Each night Blackie massaged my body back to life, turned down offers of ass from some of the house boys, and put up with just having me play with his dick – I wouldn’t suck him or fuck him, and he was not allowed to fuck me for fear of Straughan’s wrath. 

We talked and talked, and all the time I got worried that my cover story might slip and that he would get angry and violent: I had to invent little embellishments, describing what it was like to be in the same bed as a mother and her daughter, for example. 

He kept trying to find out what I’d got against proper sex – and in particular why I wouldn’t fuck him. He seemed to really want me inside him, as he kept telling me that he always had to “top” the house boys, and he wanted a change. But I kept refusing him, saying that I’d better save myself in case my owner wanted me to have sex with women (and the more I thought about it, the more I knew that my uncle would want that – he’d jump at my offer to marry Marie-Louise now, I just knew it…. But of course I couldn’t tell Blackie that!). 

On the fourth day instead of taking me to the fields, Straughan took me to an area near the peach juice bottling plant – those of our peaches that were not absolutely top class were juiced and the juice, too, fetched premium prices. Our advertising slogan was “None of the earth’s precious resources have been squandered in making this juice for your enjoyment – guaranteed free of mechanical inputs”. We could do this as all the labour in bottling, packaging, crating and shipping the juice was done by the plantation slaves – the peaches were brought to the plant in carts hauled by the cart slaves, then bottled and packed by a team of slaves before the cart slaves took the heavy crates of finished produce to town, and the railhead. 

I’d never paid much attention to this process, as Straughan saw to it, but I felt better as we approached the plant as nothing could be such hard work as crawling along those fucking rows of strawberries! Standing there filling bottles, or packing cases, must be easy.  Probably it would have been – but that was not the task Straughan had in mind for me! 

The peach crusher was driven by slave power so that we could live up to our advertised promise, and a large capstan with two poles for the slaves to press against was mounted on top of the machinery. Straughan led me up to one of the poles, then neatly cuffed my wrists to it.  I stood there in the hot sun for a few minutes, and to my astonishment Straughan came back and cuffed Blackie to the other pole. Straughan commanded us to start pushing, and I found I really had to lean all my weight into the pole, and strain my things and butt muscles to get it to start moving. Around and around we went – not particularly fast, but always meeting strong resistance from the grinding wheels underneath us as they crushed the peach flesh. I could see the juice pouring out of a spout into cans, which were carried off into the bottling plant by the slaves, and on the other side of the apparatus sweating slaves shovelled the peaches into a hopper after the cart had delivered them. 

We needed to keep up a certain pace in order to maintain the necessary quantity of peach juice so that the bottling and packaging slaves would remain fully occupied, and this was achieved quite simply: a slave stood on top of the capstan with a light cart whip – the kind I’d often used my self to “encourage” Blackie to run when he seemed to be tiring – and if we slowed down, it’s stinging lash smacked into our shoulders, or our butts. It wasn’t enough to cause bleeding, but the need to avoid this torture, which was like being stung by a lot of wasps, kept us toiling away.  Again, we were allowed no respite – the slaves in the packing plant worked non-stop, so we had to, too, in order to keep the crusher working. 

The smell of crushed peaches rising up to us was nauseous in the hot sun, and the sweetness of the pulp and juice attracted great swarms of insects which buzzed around us and kept landing and biting. We didn’t even get fresh, cool water to drink: occasionally the slave with the whip would leap down, scoop some of the peach juice up in his hands, and hold them to our faces as we ran so we could suck and lick it up – allowing a whole lot to trickle down our sweating bodies, of course, which caused the flies to throw themselves into a fury of pleasure as they landed all over us. 

The first time he “watered” us like this, the slave whispered “I’m sorry about the whip – but it’s my job. I have to keep you working, and have to keep the output up – Straughan has told me that if there’s even the slightest delay in the bottling plant then he’ll schedule me for a whipping, but with a bull whip, not this tiny thing…. I’ve got to keep you two guys up to the mark, haven’t I?” 

I wondered if all those bleeding heart liberals worrying about “squandering the earth’s resources” really knew how much misery could have been avoided by a small electric motor!  That night when we were back in the stables Blackie was in a fury. As soon as the bit was taken out of his mouth (they’d made him wear it all day, even though he wasn’t pulling a rickshaw), he started muttering and cursing Straughan. As we stood under the showers, at last able to wash away the sweat and peach juice, and soothe our backs and butts which were inflamed and stinging from the whip, he went on and on about what he’d like to do to Straughan. Fortunately there were no guards around, only the young lad who was the kind of “stable boy” – he attended to the tack of the real horses, then fed us ponies and generally kept our stalls clean. 

I tried to calm Blackie when we were in our stall, but it was no good. “I’m a trained pony, Steve!”, he kept saying, “Not some fucking common worker! Straughan’s got no right to use a valuable, trained slave like me for grunt work like this – he could easily have got two of those big buck niggas from one of the field gangs….” 

“I though you said that slaves had no choice, Blackie – that’s what you’re always telling me when we talk about fucking…. If your owner wants you to do something, you have to do it…” 

I thought Blackie was going to hit me for a moment. Gritting his teeth he just stopped, but almost hissed “It’s OK for you – you’re probably going to be a field hand anyway! But I’m a pony, I’ve got a status here that everyone knows, and now Straughan has totally humiliated me by making me work away like this on stuff that’s work for niggas!” 

Just at that moment, one of the waiter slaves – one of the cheekier ones, as I remember, came in and said “Hey, pony boy, are you still able to fuck?” 

Now this was not a good thing to say! Blackie always expected a certain deference from the house boys who came to our stall. He was, after all, the “top”, and they were supposed to be begging for the use of his dick. He like to be called Blackie, or even Mr Blackie by some of the very young lads, and this use of “pony boy” smacked of insolence. And I suppose he also took from the use of “still able” the idea that the waiter now thought he was in some sort of different status – something which had of course been worrying him: he kept saying there wasn’t enough work for the two stallions and him to pull the rickshaw and the carriages, and now Straughan had used him as a common worker! 

“Ill show you….”, he snapped, and the next moment he’d almost thrown the waiter to the straw face down, put one arm under the guy’s belly to haul his ass up into the air , and without any preparation or anything started to fuck him. 

I’d seen Blackie in action before, but this was something else: he gave the lad no mercy, no time to recover between his powerful thrusts. The lad squealed and screamed as Blackie ruthlessly reamed him, and I saw a look of grim determination on Blackie’s face that I’d never seen before. 

Fortunately for the poor waiter, Blackie’s pent-up need for fucking meant that after only a very short time he was throwing his body back for one last gigantic thrust, and giving that scream of triumph that some guys do when their balls empty.  He pulled out, leaving the lad gasping and sobbing on the straw, looked down at him with disdain and muttered “Yes, I am still capable of fucking, house-boy.” 

He saw me looking at him in shock and horror, and his anger was such that he even turned on me. “So what’s the matter with you, Steve?” 

I should just have ignored it until he was calmer, but as you sometimes do when a guy is spoiling for a fight, I nevertheless unwisely said “Hey, Blackie, cool it…. That wasn’t very nice, what you did to that lad….” 

“And what do you know about it, Steve? You’ve never fucked ass, so how can you tell me what’s nice and what isn’t? You’re always telling me you don’t fuck ass, and I think you think there’s something wrong with me when I do! It’s about time you stopped being so fucking high and mighty, and learned what it’s really like….” 

He advanced on me, and before I could stop him, he grabbed my left arm and twisted it cruelly up behind my back, so I let out shriek of pain. “Hold still, Steve, I don’t want to hurt you…” He snarled, and his other hand came around and started to jerk at my dick violently. 

I could feel his own dick, slimed with his cum and the lad’s ass juices, pressed hard into my butt.  I couldn’t help it – I went erect, and as soon as Blackie felt this he pushed us down onto our knees between the legs of the young lad, who was still lying there. Blackie’s hand let go of my dick, and he again hauled the guy’s ass into the air, then he kind of guided me, using the pressure on my arm to direct me, so that my dick was positioned at the lad’s ass. 

His face was pressed against my shoulders and neck, and he hissed into my ear “Now you’re going to see what fucking’s like, Steve…. Get your dick in there…” 

” NO!” 

“Fucking do as I tell you, Steve… I’m in charge here….” As he said this, his hips slammed forward so that his dick lodged in my butt crack, and my dickhead slipped into the lad’s hole. He gave a shout of surprise and pain, but it can’t have been that bad as Blackie’s cum was still trickling out of it, and he must have been well lubed and stretched. 

Nothing quite prepares you for that first time your dick meets the warmth of a nice ass, does it? And when it’s already slimed with another guy’s cum, the sensation is particularly intense. However I still pulled backward in shock, my dick sliding out, and Blackie responded by pushing me forward again. We did this two or three times until I suddenly realised what was happening – my dick was telling me that it had never experienced anything like this before – the hot, slippery tightness of the young guy’s ass. I began to get turned on like I’d never been before, and I think I surprised myself as I began to do that thing that all men do naturally – it’s programmed into us – thrust vigorously in and out as I fucked him. 

Blackie must have felt this change in my action, as he released the pressure on my arm, and the moment I had two hands free I reached forward and gripped the young slave’s slim hips so that I could fuck him even harder without pushing his body away from mine! I was surprised, but it seemed so natural. He was squealing and complaining as I fucked away, and this only added to my excitement and the sense that I was doing what a man really needed to do. All too soon I felt my balls contract, and, just as I’d seen Blackie do, my head automatically went back and my whole body arched, as if I needed to get he last millimetre of my dick into the lad before my fountain of cum erupted into him. 

I fell forward, almost covering his slim young body with my tougher, more developed one, and just lay there felling that exquisite sensation of my heart pounding and my lungs gasping as my dick remained buried in the slave’s warm ass. Finally, and rather sheepishly, I suppose, I pulled myself out of him and stood up, then bent down to help the young guy off the floor. 

As I said, I don’t think he should have had all that much to complain about – he’d taken Blackie’s dick, and mine was the same size and he was well lubed by Blackie’s cum. But he stood there, looking really angry. Before he could say anything, though, Blackie glared at him and, in a tone that brooked no argument, said “Back to the house, boy, we’ve finished with you. Tell the others there are two guys here now who can give them a hard pounding, whether they’re ponies or not. That’s right, isn’t it, Steve?” 

“Sure is, Blackie”, I added in the same tone, as I high-fived Blackie to show my total agreement. 

The young slave looked as if he was going to say something, but Blackie gave him a sharp slap on the butt, and he finally walked out. Blackie and I stood there, still both sweating, with our dicks covered in cum and stuff…. I ought to have been mortified, I ought to have been ashamed, I ought to have been disgusted: I mean, standing there like that so blatantly having had sex with a guy, and with my dick still detumesing. I’d never have imagined that I could have got in such a state – but, you know what? – I didn’t give a shit! I’d been so exhilarated as I fucked the slave that all thoughts of it being “wrong” or anything had gone completely out of my head. 

Blackie was grinning at me. “So, Steve… I think you liked that, didn’t you? Don’t try to deny it – you can always tell when a guy really likes fucking! You’re like me, Steve, one of nature’s ‘tops’ – you want to be doing the fucking, in control, using the guy you’re with as the thing that’s giving pleasure to your dick. I could tell, once you got started – you went naturally into the rhythm, and then you lost all sense of what was going on around you, you were so focussed on what that guy’s ass was doing to your dick and your balls!” 

“You forced me, Blackie, I didn’t want….” 

“Yes, but what now, Steve? I may have forced you to get into that young slave, but what are you going to do now? Sex is a bit like a drug, isn’t it – real sex, that is, proper sex between guys? Provided you don’t start it, you never know what you’re missing, and you don’t care; but one really good shot of it, and you’re hooked – totally and completely hooked: especially if you like giving dick, as you and me both do, I think. You’re a slave to sex now, Steve, as well as being a slave here on the plantation. There’s no going back, no cure, you can only go on: you need more and more of it, you’ll find – there will never be enough asses in the world for you….” 

“No, Blackie. I’m going to get out of being a slave, I’m going to have a normal life, I’m going to find one person to share it with, someone I love…” 


“…so there won’t be all that fucking of guys.” 

“Oh yes there will, Steve! I used to be like you, thinking I was going to be married and love someone for life. And I’d kind of like that again – but like a lot of married guys who really do love their wives, or their partners if they’re with another guy, that wouldn’t stop me having sex with other men, too. It’s different, Steve – love and sex. You can love someone, but that shouldn’t stop you having sex with a lot of others – how else would you stop getting bored?” 

“That’s not right…” 

“Well, only time will tell! But I think you’re hooked on fucking men, Steve. Now you’ve tried it, you want more, don’t you?” 

Still rather reluctantly, I nodded, and Blackie’s face lit up. He put his arms around me, and I responded automatically by putting mine around him, then he started to kiss me passionately, and tease my nips with his mouth and lips in the intervals between. I couldn’t believe how good it was to have him like this, our naked cum-slimed bodies sliding over each other, and soon we were wrapped in each other’s bodies totally, rolling around on the hay in the ecstasy of our enjoyment of our maleness.  The sheer sexual excitement of all of this was making me hard again, even though it can’t have been more than an hour or so since I fucked the slave, Blackie almost drove me to madness as he played with my dick, fondled my balls, and scratched at my hole with his little finger. I found myself responding, doing the same things to him as he was doing to me, and we were giggling and guffawing with each other as you do when you’re having real, total fun. 

But then Blackie stopped, pulled me close to him, put his face right against mine, and said “Oh, Steve… There’s nothing for it now, is there?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, I can’t fuck you, as you’ve still got that ‘not to be fucked’ thing on from Straughan, and I don’t want to risk it. But you could fuck me….” 

“No, Blackie…” 

“Steve, you don’t know what you’ve been offered… You’ve been given the chance – the rarer opportunity – to experience the ass of the plantation’s biggest stud. I want you, Steve, I want you to fuck me…. I want us to go on having this time together now, and that’s all that’s left to do…. I wouldn’t offer this to anyone but you, Steve…” 

Blackie’s tone was so hesitant, he sounded so unsure of himself, as if he was scared I might refuse. It was so unlike the normal, confident Blackie who was always in charge.  “Blackie, I’m honoured, no, overwhelmed… But you don’t take dick, you told me, and I don’t really know what I’m doing…” 

“But you’re special, Steve. I’ve never felt like this about another guy before – they’ve just been men to fuck. But I want you, I really do. And don’t worry about not knowing what to do…. Don’t you think I know a thing or two about that, having seen it from the top, so to speak…. Come on, Steve, please….”  Oh shit, I thought. This was getting worse and worse. As if having sex with my pony wasn’t already bad enough, he was falling in love with me. I knew I was embarking on something I shouldn’t, something that could well turn out to be a disaster, but at the same time I realised I did want Blackie. I wanted to be close to him closer to him than I’d ever been to anyone before. And the only way to do this was to possess him, to take him, to have him completely under my control, in a way that he’d never been when he was pulling my rickshaw. 

I kissed him, then, as I’d seen him do when he hadn’t just force fucked the slave, I started to play with his dick, carrying on until he splashed his load across my belly and into my shortened pubes. It was then easy to scoop it onto my fingers, and as I continued to kiss him I pulled his legs up a bit to give me access, then started to lube his hole with first one finger, then two, and finally, with Blackie now giving almost continuous moans of delight, with three.  Once I’d started this, I realised I didn’t want to stop, not at all. My dick was solid again, and as I stroked some of Blackie’s cum onto it, it was almost painful. 

“OK, Blackie”, I murmured, “On your knees….” 

“Please, Steve, fuck me on my back… I want to watch you….” 


“Fucking guys from the rear’s fine, Steve, I do it all the time. It’s quick, and it’s easy. But when you really want to know a guy, you need to see his face… Here, let me show you….” 

Blackie rolled onto his back, then put his legs up and grasped his ankles. I could see his hole glistening with the cum I’d massaged in, glinting under the dim lights, and shuffled over so that I was kneeling in front of it. And then, as they, say, dear reader, I fucked him!  It was the most amazing thing I’d ever done. I was watching the emotions playing over Blackie’s face as my dick nosed its way into him, and I knew that he was doing the same as my own face showed the complete joy I was experiencing as I slid in and out of him. It was as if I was possessed – I knew exactly what to do, varying the length and power of my strokes as I saw the effect it had on Blackie; could it be that fucking like this is programmed into our brains by millions of years of evolution? 

I wanted it to go on for ever and ever, but however much I tried slowing down, only doing short, gentle strokes, every trick I could think of to stop stimulating my dick, the effect of Blackie’s ass was just totally overpowering: in all too short a time I pumped my cum deep into him, then collapsed forward onto him.  His strong legs wrapped themselves around my body as we lay there, both out of breath, both panting, both sweat covered, and both laughing with that incredible infectious type of laughter that only comes when you’re totally, completely, utterly happy. When we’d calmed down a bit, I pulled myself out of him, but we still lay there clasped together, not wanting to break apart. The heady smell of our cum and sweat was everywhere, and it was as if all the nerves of my body were on fire as they transmitted the ideas of Blackie’s body pressing against mine all over. 

He whispered, in that way you do after really great sex, even if no one else is listening “See, Steve… I told you… You’re a natural. Now, tell me, was that great, or was it great?” 

“Its’ the best thing that’s ever happened to me….” 

“As I said. Now, we’d better get some sleep… I still can’t fuck you, but we’ve got hours yet before tomorrow…. And I want you again, Steve….” 

Well, there’s no need to recount endless details of the utterly unbelievably great sex we had that night. We were still used on the peach crusher all the following day, but as we were cleaning ourselves afterwards, all Blackie’s anger had gone – he only wanted to get into our stall, so we could start to make out! 

We were passionately kissing and stroking each other prior to our fucking, when there was a discrete cough. Two of the house boys stood there, watching us. I immediately felt ashamed – I don’t know why: it seemed to be perfectly natural to be doing what I was doing to Blackie, but perhaps I wasn’t yet used to the idea of doing it with an audience. 

“Please, Blackie, and, uh.. Steve…. Will you fuck us?” 

Blackie pushed himself away from me, and sat up looking at the lads. The one who had spoken went on “We both want dick, Blackie, and we heard there was another slave here who could do it, too… Steve, isn’t it? So we both came along, and were hoping that the two of you would give it to us….” 

Blackie slapped me on the back, a hearty, resounding slap on my bare skin, looked at the two lads, and said to me “Which one do you want then?”  “Blackie, I don’t… I thought we were going to….” 

“Hey, Steve you can’t turn down an opportunity like this – two presentable young guys with cute asses, just begging for it… Come on…. Let’s have a competition. Let’s see who can cum first, or perhaps that had better be who can cum last, as that would be more of a challenge if you’re still as horny as you were last night…” 

I never knew the name of that slave who was he first one after Blackie I fucked willingly. As I’ve said, the house boys were a bit interchangeable, and they never really said. It was really exciting to be fucking alongside Blackie, and I surreptitiously watched as “the master” did all the things he usually did to give himself the most pleasure, then emulated them. When they were gone, Blackie and I lay together and as we kissed and caressed, he just winked one eye mischievously, and whispered “See, I told you, Steve, it’s like a drug! You’re hooked, aren’t you?” 

The next day as we were still being whipped to extraordinary lengths to keep us churning out the fucking peach juice, it didn’t seem to matter as much. I’m sure the poor slave was hitting us as often or as hard to keep us achieving his quota, but my mind was so focussed on erotic possibilities that I could almost shrug it off. What would Blackie and I do that night? Could be get more of the young lads as a “starter”, before we got onto the main course….? 

I could hardly wait for the day to end, and even though I was completely exhausted, I had almost a spring in my step as, my arm around Blackie’s shoulder (I was no longer at all concerned about showing him affection in public now).  We went into the shower and I started to wash Blackie, revelling in the feel of his body, but the stable lad told me to go over to the main house, as the master was going to see me that evening and there were special slaves there who always cleaned you properly before such an interview. 

My spirits leapt! At last I was going to see my uncle, I’d apologise, of course, grovel, if I had to… And them I’d be free again. I’d be back in my old suite, and I resolved that the first thing I’d do was to have them send up Blackie, so I could fuck him in my own bed. It was going to be great – having his body surrounded by the starched, cool linen sheets, rather than the scratchy straw! 

Of course there’d no longer be the prohibition on him fucking me, but I did like fucking him, and I thought that I’d simply tell him that I had decided that that’s what I would continue to do, and that my ass was always going to be off limits: he was a slave, and I would be a free man, after all. 

I should have been used to being handled by other guys by now, but the way that the two slaves who specialised in “preparing” a slave for the master operated was totally humiliating. Still, I thought, as they bent me over and gave me enemas until the water ran clean, at least this would be the last time. And who would have thought that my uncle evidently fucked the new slaves – we were going to have a lot to talk about in future, I thought – a kind of shared interest. He’d always been rather reticent on the subject of sex, and I’d always assumed he was celibate and did not totally approve of me fucking the slave girls – now I knew that he evidently did fuck all the slaves, and I liked doing that, too, we could compare notes! 

After I’d been flushed out inside, they then did a really thorough job of making me look “presentable” – my hair was cut again, my pubes trimmed, my face shaved until it was silky smooth, as were my balls and ass crack. They cut my nails (an interesting experience – somehow having another guy do that to you is strangely intimate), cleaned the lint out of my navel, and then finally pointed to a deep bat h of very hot water. “In there, Steve”, the said. “It’s the only way to get all the dirt and sweat out of your pores….” 

They kept me in it for almost an hour, laughing as they kept pouring buckets of freshly hot steaming water all over me, making me shout, until I was finally allowed to get out. Once all the “crinkles” had gone from my skin, I felt totally, amazingly, wonderfully “squeaky clean”. It was almost as if I had been given a re-birth: my new life as a free man was about to begin, and this time I truly would be free – all those stupid inhibitions I had had about sex, real sex, would be a thing of the past, and with all slaves on the estate at my beck and call, I could be free to enjoy myself as I chose.   

To be continued …

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