THE ARKANSAS PROGRAMME - Part 4
By Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)
Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
ON THE ROAD GANG
We drove on and after about 30 miles turned off the highway and
went through a gate marked "State Of Arkansas Department Of
Transportation - Highways Depot 3". The pickup stopped outside
what was clearly an administration building, flying the state
flag, and the driver got out and told us to follow inside.
It wasn't a big building, and there was just an outer office
with a couple of secretaries sitting at PCs. They chatted with
the driver, ignoring us totally, and the driver told us to site
down and wait as the depot manager was busy. We went to sit on
the chairs in the reception area, and the driver snapped at us
"Not there! Those are for proper folk. You slaves sit along the
wall there, on the floor. Put your hands behind your heads, and
draw your legs up so you don't get in these ladies' way!".
He pointed to a short stretch of wall, and we went over and sat
down. The thermoplastic tiles were at first cold to my ass, and
the cheap plaster on the wall was rough on my naked back. When I
drew my knees up to my chin, as I had been told, I was very
conscious of my cock and sac hanging down from between my
thighs. There wasn't much room, and I was sandwiched in close
contact with Dave and Mitch. Our elbows overlapped we were so
close together, and Mitch's wiry arm hair was scratchy on the
smooth flesh on the inside of my elbow. How different their
bodies felt as they touched mine - Dave still had a slight layer
of fat that made his skin feel quite smooth, but Mitch was all
taught muscle, and I could clearly feel his rib bones sticking
into mine as we sat there.
We waited for about 15 minutes like this, and then there was a
buzz from one of the secretary's phones, and she listened then
looked up and told the guard we could go in.
The manager's office wasn't big, and we stood there in front of
his desk with our cocks almost touching the edge of it. He
looked at us for a few seconds, then said "Welcome to the roads
depot, boys. You're here to work."
"This has turned out to be a good part of The Arkansas Programme
for both the state generally and its roads - the folk in
Washington pay the State to run the whole Programme, and we also
get the services of a lot of young, strong guys like you for
almost nothing to work on our rural roads. This is a very poor,
isolated part of the state and we have hundreds of miles of
rural roads that are almost nothing more than dirt tracks. They
used to be in a terrible condition a the State could never
afford to do anything about them, but now they're steadily
improving - we have a works programme that is gradually covering
the whole area, putting them back into the condition they were
in in the 1940s before the huge rise in motor traffic really
started to break them up."
"You'll be working in a road gang on a stretch of road, and
that's just like the old chain gangs we used to have here years
ago, in my daddy's time, with a few differences! You have
probably seen old movies with gangs of prisoners working on the
roads, and that's what you'll be doing, with a few important
differences: First, of course, in the movies the prisoners are
all chained together. How barbaric that was! In these
enlightened times you won't of course be chained, as we know you
can't run off. It's worth noting that we join all the control
units for a gang together electronically, so that if one of you
is punished by using your chip, the whole gang gets to feel it.
There's a powerful incentive for you men to make sure your
fellows behave themselves."
"Secondly, in the old movies they're always wearing funny suits
with horizontal stripes on them. You of course will be naked.
Your brands, tattoos and rings are sufficient marking that you
are slaves on the Programme, without the need for you to wear
funny clothes! However the State is of course very concerned
about your heath and safety, and under the State's code for
health and safety in the workplace, we do need to make sure you
have suitable protective clothing. So you will always wear
heavy work boots, to prevent things dropping on your feet and
crushing your toes. And if you do anything like rock breaking,
you will wear protective goggles for your eyes."
"And thirdly, of course, in the movies the guards just stand
there cradling rifles in case of escape, and doing not much
else! We only have one guard per gang, and he doesn't have a
rifle as you're not going to run off. But he is responsible for
the active management of the gang, and for ensuring that he
reaches his targets of so many yards of road repaired each week
- he is on an incentive scheme, with 60% of his weekly money
dependent on him reaching his targets, so you can be sure he
will work you hard to make certain that he makes it. Without
that 60% of his salary, his little ones might go hungry, and at
the very least his old woman will nag him!"
"To help him help you support him in making his targets, he is
of course allowed to use his 'tickler' on individual slaves in
the gang who aren't pulling their weight. But on a minute by
minute basis, we think that's a bit extreme. So he is allowed
to use a lash, and most of you will feel it across your backs
and on your asses at least three or four times a day if you're
not really going hard at your work - those targets we set are
pretty agressive!"
"In general, we only have you here for three months as when you
go back to the auction hall at the end of that time you'll be
snapped up by another master. We like to think that in that
short time we really add value to you - because the more value
we add, the better we do for the State, which is allowed to keep
all the auction fees. "
"You're all multi-coloured now, with different shades of tan on
your legs, arms, and chests, and with those big white areas
around your cocks and asses. I can see that most of you wore
the fashionable long shorts, and a lot of buyers find long,
white thighs very aesthetically unsatisfying. But after three
months in the open air every day, you'll be the same rich dark
tan all over. Even if the sun doesn't shine, there's always
enough UV coming through the clouds to get and keep an outdoor
worker well tanned. That in itself will raise your auction
price."
"But the biggest change will be in your musculature. This is
three months of really hard, unrelenting manual labour, from
sunrise to sunset. I can see one of you " (he pointed at me)
"has muscles he has got from manual work, and you probably won't
fair too badly. You " (pointing at Jim) "have got well
developed muscles, but I can see from their general shape that
you got them pounding those machines in a gym. You'll discover
that the muscles you get from working are very different -
you'll have flatter pecs, more muscular thighs, and parts that
are difficult to exercise fully in the gym, like your forearms,
will get properly toned."
Looking at Mitch he said "I guess you're the marine, from seeing
that USMC tattoo on your arm. You probably think you're very
fit, and indeed the Marine's training is excellent for turning
out what it wants - fighting machines, with quite a lot of
endurance for running over the battlefield and so on. But we
will give you a properly developed body all over - for example
currently the development of your arms doesn't quite match the
rest of your body. You'll find it's like being back at boot
camp all the time here - do you remember how it was when you
first went into the service, and how they spent time toughening
you up? Well, it's like that all the time here."
"But the one that will have the most problems is the young one
at the end there", he said looking at Dave. "Like so many young
guys these days your body is simply not used to punishing hard
work. Even though I suppose you used to be into sport at High
School, you just have not got the sort of development that
you'll need in the rest of your time on the Programme as a
slave. But we will fix that."
"You'll then have a good future as a slave - in the sex shops
the clients go wild for guys with the sort of build you'll have
- you're about 5'9", and they like guys who are a bit shorter
than these tall ones here, and you'll have hard, well-defined
muscles all over. You've got a nice fat cock, and it sits on
top of your balls well. I think that when we have finished
getting your muscles into shape your contract will sell really
well to a sex shop operator. And the guys there have quite
cushy lives - once they have got used to the over weight,
middle-aged customers ramming their cocks up their asses, that
is!"
"The gangs are just coming in for the night now, so you can go
off and join them. Sleep well - you're going to have a tiring
day tomorrow!".
And with that, he waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal and
the guard shepherded us out into the outer office, then along a
corridor and out the back of the building. Across a paved yard
there was a long, low wooden shed with a tar-paper roof, and he
led us in there.
Immediately inside there was another guard and he was opening
the now familiar red-topped tins of slave food, and we were
given bowls of it. I didn't really want to eat it, because I
knew that he red-topped food had the mild sleeping draught in
it, and I wanted to stay awake and talk to the other guys on the
gang. But I was so hungry, and the smell was so delicious, that
I was soon wolfing it down, as were Jim, Mitch and Dave.
As we were finishing, the rest of the gang started to come in,
and they too set into the food. They were grimy - it looked as
if dust from the roads had stuck to their sweating bodies, then,
as they sweated some more, it had formed little rivulets and
trickled down their bodies and legs. I thought that we would
all go to the showers so that they could wash off the day's
dirt, but as we finished eating we simply went through a door
into the next part of the hut and this contained only the
standard-issue bunks, two high, in a row at right angles to one
wall, and a small tiled area in the floor with a hole at its
centre - I guessed this must be the place where we were expected
to crap and piss if we needed to during the night.
The gang were obviously exhausted, and they didn't seem to want
to talk at all. And I too was starting to feel very tired, but
I knew this was only the effects of the drug kicking in. There
didn't seem to be any particular allocation of bunks, so, like
the rest of them were doing, I simply went to one of them and
lay down.
In spite of being very drowsy from the drug, I didn't go to
sleep immediately though. The experiences I had been through
that day kept going through my mind - the way I had simply been
handled, as if I were no more than an animal, by the potential
bidders at the auction. And seeing Jim being masturbated in
front of the crowd of buyers, and then having his cum discussed
by them. In spite of the slight discomfort caused by my cock
bar, I was erect as I thought about it all.
I tossed and turned in the bunk, unable to sleep. Normally I
would have jerked myself off, as I usually went to sleep after
that, but how could I do that, lying totally naked in the middle
of 30 other naked guys? Admittedly, they all seemed to be
asleep as I was surrounded by the gentle sounds of snoring,
heavy breathing, and the occasional low fart. But supposing
some of them were, like me, still awake and only trying to get
to sleep? And, anyway, what would I do with the cum? - at home
I used to use an old T-shirt to catch it and mop any little
spills off my stomach and thighs, until it was fairly stiff with
the dried residue. Then I would toss it in the wash, and could
use it again. I never liked that litter of paper tissues that
you see around some guys' rooms after they have forgotten to
throw it into the toilet bowl after they have jerked off - a
T-shirt or old boxers always seemed to me a better solution.
You don't get those little bits of loose paper sticking to your
cockhead, if the tissue disintegrates because you've had a
particularly big, wet load. But here I didn't even have a
tissue. What did the guys do, I wondered?
But I didn't have to think about this for long, as I did
eventually fall into a deep sleep, in spite of myself.
I had strangely erotic dreams, where I thought I had a huge
cock, about 18" long and four inches thick jutting out in front
of me. Nothing I could do would make it detumesce and lie
quietly in front of my two tennis-ball sized balls. I had to go
through a series of rooms with this obscenely large prick
straight out in front as if leading the way, and all the other
people in the rooms, who were fully dressed, stopped and pointed
and stared. I knew it wasn't real, and I had that sense that it
was a dream, because although it was me, it wasn't my prick that
had been scaled up to gigantic proportions- this one was not
circumcised, and, of course, my cock head was always discretely
covered by my foreskin with only the piss slit peeping out at
the end.
I woke up with a start, still with the dream in my mind, and
realised that the dream had been trying to give me a message - I
was massively erect, and I guess my balls knew they needed
relief because I was in the middle of a big involuntary
ejaculation. Just as I swam up to consciousness, a big load of
jism leapt out of my cock all across the mattress. As I came
to, I tried to prevent it staining the mattress too badly by
scooping up most of the semen, but the watery accompaniment of
the pre-cum had already made the mattress wet and I knew there
would be an embarrassing stain there.
But what should I do now anyway, with my hand full of sticky
semen? I guessed I could get up and go over to the piss hole in
the floor, but there was no toilet tissue there or any way of
washing my hands. The obvious solution - simply to lick my
hands clean and swallow my semen - didn't occur to me as I had
never swallowed my own, or any other guy's semen, before. So I
dispersed the stuff as best I could by rubbing my hands on the
inside of each thigh, then in my chest hair. The ammoniacal
smell of the warm semen filled my nostrils, and I thought that
he guy lying on the bunk on top of me would surely smell it too
and know what I had been doing, but, mercifully, he still seemed
to be sleeping.
But I saw the light of dawn creeping in, and a moment later a
guard came along the rows of bunks telling us to all get up and
get out. The guys staggered out of the bunks, doing the sort of
things guys everywhere do when they wake from a deep sleep -
rubbing their eyes, scratching their asses, yawning, and, of
course, feeling their morning erections which all of them had.
I thought that we would go off to the showers as we had not been
given one the previous evening, and it would be an opportunity
to get the dried cum off my body, but it was not so. We went
into a shower room, with about four holes in the tiled floor,
and we were allowed to piss and crap, but no water came out of
the shower heads. Seeing me crouching rather inexpertly over
the hole as I really needed a crap, the slave at the hole next
to me showed me how to do it properly - you put your feet just
in front of the hole, then squat down so that your ass cheeks
are almost touching the ground, and you grasp your arms around
your knees so you can hold the position easily. This way your
ass cheeks are pulled away from your anus by the position you
have adopted, and so the turds can drop out unobstructed. As
the slave pointed out, there was no bathroom tissue given to
slaves, so it was really important that your turds don't make a
mess of your ass.
We were given breakfast from the tins of slave food, using the
stainless steel bowls in turn and each of us being required to
lick the bowl completely clean before the next slave's meal was
put into it. Then we went out into the yard between the bunk
house and the admin building, and simply stood there.
Autumn was coming on, and it was actually quite cold standing
there. I began to shiver, and wished that I could hug my arms
around myself to try to keep warm - but all the other slaves had
immediately stood with their legs apart and their hands clasped
behind their heads, so I had done the same thing. The guards
were only dressed in trousers and shirts, so I guessed it wasn't
really cold - but with all your body area exposed to the
elements, even a small drop in temperature can soon be
uncomfortable.
A guard came along the line of us, checking each of our numbers
on a list he held on a little clip-board, and as we were
obviously all there, he then gave the order for us to leave the
yard and we climbed up into the back of an open-topped truck.
Thirty guys in one truck is quite a lot, and we were pushed
quite close together. I wasn't used to being so close to other
naked guys, but no one else seemed to mind as we were thrown
aainst each other as the truck rumbled along the minor county
roads. It was easiest, I found, to do what everyone else did
and link my arms around the guys on either side of me to help us
all keep our balance. And, as an added bonus, the warmth of
their bodies pressed to mine helped me to feel warmer - if it
was cold-ish standing in the yard, it was worse as the truck
dragged us through the open air. Several of the guys started to
get erections, of course, as a lot of men are susceptible to
"travel stickness" and find any form of moving vehicle causes
them to have even more than the usual 20 erections a day.
It was about 30 minutes in the truck to the work site for the
day, and when we arrived we all jumped down from the back of the
truck. A guard was already there, and he started to order us to
get started. Mitch, Dave, Jim and I were kept to one side as we
were knew, and didn't know what to do yet. But the rest formed
up into pairs, and got started.
Basically the work was hard and repetitive, and I guess hadn't
changed much over all the time that chain gangs had been used in
the penal system. Two slaves stood facing each other, each with
a sledge hammer, and tok turns in raising their hammers and
bringing them crashing down on to the rock or rocks in-between
the pair. It needed some degree of synchronisation, so that the
timing of one guy's upswing didn't interfere with the downswing
of the other, but that was it. Every now and then, one pair had
a little break from this tedium and was allowed to use a wheeled
trug to carry more stones to the other slaves, from a large heap
that a truck had delivered earlier. The guard walked up and
down the line of slaves, making sure that everyone kept at it
and pounding at the same, quite fast, pace. He had a lash,
consisting of about eight short leather straps on the end of a
two-foot handle, and if any slaves were not performing properly
he would lash them with this across their asses, or backs. I
was told later that this form of lash was used, rather than a
conventional single-stranded whip, as it was possible to inflict
more pain without breaking the skin. The rules allowed for
slaves to be punished for not working properly, but there was to
be no injury to them that might require hospitalisation.
When all the other slaves were working, the guard came and
collected us four. Mitch was paired with Dave, and I was paired
with Jim, and we started.
Within about ten minutes I saw what the manager of the depot had
told us yesterday was true - it was hard! Very hard! Normally,
when you swing a sledge hammer on a project at home in the yard,
you only do it for five or six strokes, then you stop and take a
breath. Now we had to do it over and over and over again, with
no break.
As the hammer crashed into the rock on the downstroke, there was
a dreadful jarring in the arms. And we were reuired to raise it
fully above our heads on the upstroke, and not "slack" by only
raising it to shoulder height. Within about 10 minutes, there
was another problem - I had tough hands from my manual job, but
I started to feel the hickory shaft of the sledge hammer
starting to chafe. Even when I gripped it tight, I couldn't
stop it sliding slightly, and this started to cause blisters.
After an hour, the blisters had burst, and my hands were raw. I
could see Jim was in the same piteous state, but we couldn't
stop - at any sign of a break in our rhythym, the lash would
fall across our backs. Although I couldn't see them properly as
I needed to keep my eyes focussed on what we were doing, out of
the corner of my eye I could see that Mitch and Dave were in
even more trouble - Mitch could do it, but Dave had obviously
had problems and as well as being lashed he had been given a
dose of "the tickler" by the guard to encourage his young body
to try harder. He was sitting sobbing on the ground, with the
guard standing over him about to give him another burst of "the
tickler", whilst Mitch carried on alone.
The guard went to "tickle" Dave again, but Mitch stopped in mid
swing and pushed his body in front of Dave just as the guard
struck. Mitch took the full force of "the tickle", and fell to
the ground. But before the guard could do anything else, with
an obvious enormous effort he pulled himself to his feet then
leaned down and extended one of his bleeding hands to help Dave
up to his feet. All of us slaves had stopped to see this sight,
and it was a wonderfully tender moment to see the big muscular
naked marine trying to help the younger, softer man. I guess
that is what the "esprit de corps" in something like the marines
is all about - you always try to help your buddies, at whatever
cost to yourself.
I was very worried that the guard might take his control box and
give us all a shock via our microchips, but I think he must have
realised that he was working us too hard for the first day,
because he satisfied himself with merely letting Mitch and Dave
start again, and shouting at the rest of us to get going again,
too. For the rest of that morning I could hear Mitch shouting
encouragement at Dave, forcing him to continue even when it was
clear that he was past exhaustion, by the sheer power of Mitch's
will. And he said something to the guard, because thereafter
Dave was never lashed - Mitch simply stood there and took the
lashes for both of them because they were not keeping up the
same pace as the rest of us.
After about two hours we were allowed a break, and most of us
simply sank down onto the ground to ease our aching legs.
Some of the guys squatted down, with their asses close to the
ground and their arms wrapped around their legs as I had seen at
he crap hole in the barracks, and crapped there by the side of
the road - where else was there to go, after all? It was not of
course necessary to stop to piss, as if you needed to piss
whilst working away, you simply did, without stopping or
breaking your rhythm.
You might think that pounding away with a sledge hammer is work
for the arms and back muscles, but if it's done with real
vigour, all the thigh, calf and ass muscles are used, too. One
of the experienced slaves sitting next to us and seeing our
bloody hands said "Soak them in your piss. Piss is mildly
antiseptic, and acid. It will sting a bit, but you won't get
infections that way, and it will help them get tougher faster".
I was a bit dubious, but Dave was in such dire straights that we
needed to do anything we could to help him. I saw Mitch piss on
his own hands, then rub them together, and then encouraged Dave
to do so. Jim and I supported them by directing streams of our
own piss onto our hands, too, and saying how much better we
felt. The slave was right - it did sting a bit, but, strangely,
it did feel a bit better also.
All too soon the brief respite was over, and we did another
gruelling two-hour shift, before being allowed to stop again. I
thought it must be time for lunch then, but I was told by
another slave that we weren't fed at all during the day - we had
our morning feed, and then one again in the evening when we got
back.
I don't know how I got through the afternoon, and I was used to
manual labour. It must have been infinitely harder for Dave,
and Mitch was subjected to an almost continuous round of lashing
as he had said he would take all the punishment for the pair.
But evening did come, and we all climbed back up into the open
back of the truck, and set off back to the road depot.
The journey back was much like the journey out, as we needed to
hold on to each other to stop falling over as the truck swayed
around, but Dave was so far gone that Mitch had his arms around
the poor guy to hold him upright. Dave was slumped against
Mitch, with his head lolling on Mitch's pec, and Mitch's arms
under Dave's armpits. Jim and I in turn had to help Mitch to
stand up by holding him tight, and we all stood there, a little
isolated mass of misery amongst the other slaves. My cock was
pressed against Mitch's thigh, but I had long since forgotten
any inhibitions I had once had about touching another man's
body, and my only concern was to help my comrades.
When we arrived back at the road depot, I now understood why the
other slaves had not been very communicative to us new guys the
previous day - as we climbed wearily down off the truck we were
just so plain exhausted that we didn't want to speak. We
managed to eat down the slave dinner from the red-topped tins,
and went into the bunk room.
I just wanted to collapse, I was so tired, but first I stood and
helped Mitch make sure Dave bathed his hands in piss again - he
really did need to get them toughened as quickly as he could. I
found a bunk, and saw that I needn't have worried the previous
night about my cum staining the mattress - the mattress on this
one was stained, too, and so I guessed that involuntary
ejaculations must be fairly common because jacking off with our
cock rods in was not all that easy.
The following morning we went through the same ritual of
shitting, eating, and climbing into the truck. I asked one of
the others if we were ever going to be allowed to have a shower,
as my body was really dirty and my skin felt all itchy with it.
He explained that we were only allowed to shower once a week,
and I'd need to wait for the right day. They thought that
keeping us dirty further degraded us, so we would learn to
become "proper" slaves more quickly.
We had another tortuous day working on the road, and poor Mitch
again took most of the lashings that Dave attracted because he
still could not keep up the pace. And the physical exhaustion,
coupled with the red-tinned food, made certain I slept deeply
again that night.
Nothing changed on the third day, and I can't honestly say that
I found the work got any easier, in spite of my muscles starting
to adjust. But my own hands had stopped bleeding from using the
sledge hammer. When we got out of the truck that night we
weren't fed immediately but were taken into a shower area - just
a plain, tiled room with six shower heads for the 30 of us. The
water came on, and we all crowded underneath - and I mean
"crowded" - five under one shower is really tight. I had
completely lost any inhibitions I had formerly had about
touching other guys' bodies by now, and just stood there
revelling in the clean water as it cascaded over me, totally
unconcerned about the warm flesh that surrounded me and the way
that the other guys' cocks caught my thighs and ass as we moved
around under the spray. And, of course, it was bliss to have my
body properly soaped and rubbed by one of the others as I in
turn ran my own slick hands over a muscular slave called Tony.
When we had finished showering, it was time to shave. Slaves
were not allowed to have beards, and on shower days we needed to
scrape the accumulated stubble from our faces. There were no
mirrors in the shower area, and so we were issued with a small
number of disposable razors and you got a mate to shave you. I
shaved Tony that first time, as he had been next to me in the
shower, and it was difficult - you get used to manipulating the
razor on your own face and chin by looking in a mirror, and
trying to do it to another guy when it's not a "mirror image",
is incredibly difficult. And, of course, the nose ring hanging
down over the upper lip makes it more difficult to shave it.
You have to get really close to another guy in order to be able
to shave him, and you can't help occasionally rubbing your cock
against his trunk as you manoeuvre around to get all the beard
off.
When I had done him, Tony said "Hey - you haven't finished. I
want my balls done, too."
There was no prohibition on having a hairy sac at the road
depot, although we would be shaved clean again next time we went
for auction. But Tony told me that most of the guys kept
themselves shaved because, as you know, when the hair starts to
grow again on your sac after you have shaved it, it can be
really itchy and uncomfortable. It's particularly bad just
inbetween the top of your thighs, and the hard pubic hairs
starting to re-grow around your anus can dig into you
irritatingly sharply. Tony said that life was hard enough
working on the road gang, without being pricked around your ass
all day, too!
So I knelt down in front of him, and gave him a good clean shave
around his balls, then he turned around, bent over, and spread
his ass cheeks so that I could clean away the re-growing stubble
there, too.
Then it was my turn. I thought we would be given a fresh
disposable razor, but Tony started on my face and chin with the
same razor that I had just used to shave his ass. He saw me
wincing slightly as he brought it up to my face, and then told
me not to be so squeamish - we'd all just showered after all,
and his ass was perfectly clean. He was right, of course.
---------------------------
And this was to be our life for the next three months. Days of
toil, nights of deep sleep induced by the physical effort and
the sedatives in our evening food, and every few days the bliss
of being able to clean my body properly.
The only break in our routine was when an occasional bus load of
prisoners from other jails around the country were brought to
"observe the Programme in action". They would watch our naked
bodies in amazement through the bus windows, but were made to
get out and stand quite close, and you could see them wince as
we were lashed by the guard. We were also observed in the
showers, and they would be paraded through the bunk room, too,
to see our naked bodies on the bare bunks as we drifted into
sleep. I remembered that part of the objective of the Programme
was to reduce re-offence rates amongst criminals throughout the
USA, and I guess that seeing us working and living in this
totally humiliating way was part of their orientation.
Mitch, Dave, Jim and I stayed quite close - although we knew all
the other slaves, we were particular buddies and tried to work
together whenever we could. Mitch and I had quickly adjusted to
the very hard work, and after a couple of weeks, Jim's gym-toned
muscles had also taken on the leaner, harder look of those you
only get from physical labour. It took Dave a lot longer, but
by the end of one month on the gang he, too, had lost all traces
of the remaining "puppy fat", and now had a trim, muscular body.
We were, of course, all the same even tan over every part of
our bodies.
I got to realise how important it is to have a group of buddies
who you really like, and who you can really trust. Seeing how
Mitch had behaved with Dave in those first weeks, supporting
him, encouraging him, and taking the lash for him, brought home
to me the real meaning of comradeship. Although we got used to
touching each others' bodies constantly, as we worked, as we
were herded together in the trucks, and in the showers, we did
not feel the need to become sexually involved - just "the guy
thing", with mates you really liked and knew, was enough. Being
constantly naked, with not a shred of privacy, we could have no
secrets from each other.
Even though we were all healthy young guys and therefore had our
normal daily "quota" of erections, it was difficult to do much
about it because of the metal bars through our cocks.
Involuntary ejaculation in the night was common amongst all the
slaves, but I knew Mitch in particular hated that, and always
tried to stimulate the end of his cock enough before the
inevitable sleep overtook him so that he could cum into his own
hand. Jim offered to help him out, but Mitch told him that
although he loved Jim like a brother, he didn't want to have any
sexual contact with him as it would spoil the perfect bond of
friendship we all had. I guess we all felt the same.
New slaves arrived from the auction house each week, and when we
got back from working on the road we would stand there with our
tanned, muscular bodies dropping with exhaustion and watch the
new guys looking pale and disoriented. I now understood why,
when we were new, no one had bothered to greet us or even say
anything: we were all wrapped up in our own little world with
its strange mixture of misery and real comradeship, and these
"outsiders" intruded into it.
But strangely, I enjoyed the road gang. Although the work was
hard, and the lash did sting (even as a very hard worker, I
usually was lashed once or twice a day to keep up my work rate,
as the guard wanted to make his quota), it restored my body to
perfect condition. Although I had always done manual work and
my body was hard from it, by the end of three months of the very
hard regime of the road gang it was absolutely superb. I
revelled in the feeling of power in my muscles, and in the sight
of my skin tanned to a deep golden brown stretched taught over
them. I knew that if I had not had my rings, the tattoos, and
the brand, I could easily have been a centrefold in any magazine
for men (or women) in the USA.
And then it was over.
One day after our shower and shave, the four of us were not fed
but were instead taken out into the yard and loaded into the
back of the pickup - we were being taken back to the auction
house, as our three months were up and we were to be sold on to
our next contract.
End of Part 4. To be continued.