THE LABOURER by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 7
I was so humiliated, having to follow Sean out of the room and back towards the barracks block - I stank of shit, and I knew that anyone seeing me would know what had just happened to me. Look, it wasn't my fault; I didn't ask for it; I didn't want it to happen; I fought against it as best I could. But the fact remains that I'd had a dick - no, two dicks - forced up my ass. And anyone seeing me would know that had happened. I almost couldn't bear it. But what could I do? Running away didn't seem to be an option, from what I'd heard - not that I'm one to quit, anyway: stand and fight it out is always the way I've approached life, and I wasn't going to chicken out of something now. So I just followed Sean, hoping that none of the other servants would see me in this state, and soon I was standing there under the showers, the hot water streaming over me and washing away the cum and shit.
There was a problem, though - my ass felt so stuffed up and full, and I just had to stop the water and go off to one of the lavatory bowls. I've told you that I wasn't used to doing stuff like that in public - well, none of us are, are we, really - and Sean just stood there and watched me as I squatted down and let go. It wasn't so much crap as a horrible slimy mixture of cum and juice that oozed its way out of me, and after a couple of minutes ,when I felt empty, I cleaned myself up with some of the toilet tissue - blushing furiously as I did so: somehow wiping my ass with another guy watching was even worse than crapping! I'd heard it was like this in army barracks and places like that, with all the facilities open, and I wondered how guys coped with doing these totally intimate things in front of their buddies. Sean didn't seem to mind as I went back under the shower - perhaps he wasn't such a bad guy after all, and knew how traumatic it was to have been through what I'd been through.
He carried on watching me as I towelled off, his eyes seeming to follow the movements of all my muscles as I rubbed myself down, as if he was critically examining me somehow. Then he led me off into the dormitory, and showed me my bed - well, it was easy to see as all the others were occupied. I slid in under the thin blanket, and just lay there. I heard Sean go out and the door locked behind him, and then the noise began - little cries and catcalls: "Hey, fuck boy, or is it fuck toy...?", "Want it again up your ass tonight, boy...?", "Rooney take your cherry, did he....? Come on and I'll show you what a real stud can do....", and all kinds of stuff like that. I sat up in bed, feeling the blanket slide over my torso, and shouted "The next guy that says something like that will get my fist down his throat...."
"Oh, big tough guy, you terrify me....", one guy called out. "Be careful it isn't a fist up your ass!"
I sprang out of bed and stood there in the middle of the room, and saw them all looking at me. "So who wants a fight then?", I demanded. "I'll take any of you pussies on..."
"Get back into bed, you fucking idiot!", came the reply. "The Overseers watch us on TV, and if they see you waving your dick around like that they'll be in here and will punish us all. Mister Rooney doesn't allow us out of bed at night...."
"For fuck's sake, do as he says!" someone else called out, and so I went back, and pulled the blanket up over me to cover my nakedness again. Still, at least they all went quiet now, and I soon heard snoring and all those other noises guys make when they're asleep.
I didn't do as well, though - although Sean had said I would sleep deeply, I lay awake - not "tossing and turning" as they say you do, conventionally: For one thing, the bed was too narrow for my big body, and for another if I moved around, my butt hurt from Mike's spanking. I just felt awful - depressed, I suppose - with that sick realisation that things were not at all as I'd expected. I suppose that in my mind's eye I'd kind of pictured this band of strong, tough men all working away together, using their muscles, enjoying the feeling of power in their bodies, knowing they were working hard, and kind of enjoying really doing what men were supposed to do with the power they had. Sure, I'd expected the use of the cane and the tawse to 'encourage' me and make it all happen properly. But I'd never thought that I'd be brutally fucked - and that this seemed to be some sort of norm that I'd have to learn to live with, as I guessed that Mike didn't confine himself to just using a man's ass once.
And I'm not like that, as I've told you - straight as a die, me: a dick's just for one thing, to fuck women (well, I suppose I'd better add in to jerk off with, for fun, and to get sucked, too); and a man's ass is for one thing and one thing alone: to crap from! How was I going to get through all this? I couldn't bear the thought of being fucked again and again.
I lay there turning over my options - I could run, I suppose. If I managed to get back to my folks, dad would give me enough money to get to Canada or somewhere: I'd listened to Mike talking about that whipping, and I didn't doubt it was true that I couldn't do anything in the USA. Or perhaps I could somehow contact Rob and plead with him to take back my indenture from Mike, and let me go free. But then, he'd joined in, hadn't he? He'd fucked me, his best buddy. Jesus, there didn't seem to be much chance of him letting me go - I might end up as his fuck toy, rather than Mike's. But then Karen would never let him do that. But then, Karen had never liked me, for some reason.... perhaps she'd enjoy having Rob fuck me, rather than her: it didn't sound as if she enjoyed sex much. The more I thought about it as I lay there sleeplessly, the wilder and wilder my thoughts got. There seemed to be no way out.
As often happens, not having been able to sleep all night, I must have fallen into a deep, deep sleep just before dawn. Instead of waking up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as I usually did, I was woken up as someone pulled the blanket off me and slapped my bare butt. I sat up in alarm, as you do when you're suddenly pulled from sleep, and was embarrassingly aware that I had my normal morning erection. As I looked around at the other guys, though, I needn't have worried - at last half of them were wooded up as well. Welcome to the world of communal living, I thought to myself - I mean, everyone knows guys have erections, don't they? But you don't go around showing them to other guys - if you feel yourself starting to wood in the locker room and places like that, you hide it, not flaunt it as some of these guys seemed to be doing.
We were all silent as we trooped off into the showers - Mike insisted on silence in the morning, I was later to learn. And there I got another shock - you only went to one of the lavatory bowls if you wanted to crap: you got rid of your overnight piss as you stood in the showers with all the other guys. I didn't know this on that first morning at first, and when the yellow stream from the guy standing next to me splashed onto my foot, I almost attacked him. Then I noticed that everyone was doing it - and the air was full of the pungent smell of piss, being made stronger and more piquant as it mixed with the hot water of the showers.
You had to queue to use one of the wash basins so that you could shave - and that's another thing: using another guy's razor seemed gross, but they were evidently "communal" as there was only one per basin. And then I could hardly believe it - and it made me choke as I had to do it like everyone else, as one of the Overseers was supervising everything: there was one toothbrush per basin, too, and I had to use it immediately after the guy in front of me. I mean, I'd never done that before, not used someone else's toothbrush; not even when I'd stayed over at some woman or others place and needed to clean my teeth before going off to work - even when I'd fucked her, there was no way I was going to use her toothbrush!
Breakfast was one of those awful bars of chow, still nastily greasy all over with the rancid vegetable taste, and then we pulled on the polos and shorts - from a big pile of clean, pressed ones that were obviously communal, too. There was a slight delay then as the Overseer fussed around finding me the right sized boots from a store cupboard, and that was that: just as dawn broke properly, all sixteen of us, shitted, showered, shaved and neatly kitted out, were lined up outside the barracks. I looked at all the others, and like them I moved my feet apart, clasped my hands behind my back, and bowed my head. We shuffled closer together then, and I saw that it was the habit at Mike's for the servants to stand so close tat your shoulders touched your neighbour, not like in the forces when you stand decently apart. I wondered if it was to make us feel part of a "team" or some such crap - I mean, you don't usually get so close to other guys that you're invading their physical "space", do you? Mind you, I began to see the point of uniforms and why they put soldiers in them - standing there with my fellow servants, all identically dressed, I did begin to get some sense that we were all together, all had some common purpose.
We all stood there, and it was faintly cool in the post dawn stillness, almost chilly. I could feel the hairs on my arms and legs standing up, but perhaps this was just from the anticipation of what was to come, rather than from the cold. No one spoke, no one moved, and the overseers walked up and down the line of us, playing with their tawses in their hands, clearly looking for some excuse to get in the first blow of the day. I almost started to tremble: this was my new reality now, this wasn't playing, this wasn't imagining, this was my life. Make a mistake, do something wrong, fail to obey, not work hard enough - and there would be the tawse, or the cane. My dick began to go hard, pressing against the tight shorts, and I got that wonderful feeling that goes through your dick when it wants to straighten out, wants to grow to its full length, wants to reach for the sky, but is prevented by your briefs or Speedos or whatever. Normally I'd just reach down and free it a bit, but there was no doing that now - I had to stand there, perfectly still, with that sensation running constantly through me as my shorts tented to their full extent and then started to really excite my trapped dick.
After what seemed like ages, Mike came out, and simply told the overseers - there were two others besides Sean - how many men were needed for which jobs, and then they simply took the next so many men off the line and marched them over to a truck. There didn't seem to have been any attempt to line up with special buddies - the other guys had all come out of the showers and just lined up - so I guessed it either wasn't allowed, or it didn't matter who you worked with.
I was with the largest group, with six other guys, and an overseer named Ryan. He was a big, tough-looking guy - dark black hair, swarthy complexion, and one of those physically big bodies, almost running to fat. I sensed that he had a lot of power in his body, but no stamina - you wouldn't want to be in a fight with him where he got to throw the first punch, as it would probably be the last; but after a couple of minutes he'd be exhausted, and if you're actively fit, like me, you'd easily then win. He pointed us towards one of the gleaming trucks and we all got in the back, sitting there as I had that first time against the sides, my arms resting along them as we sped along.
I remember that first day - it was a perfectly normal housing development, one of those that spring up like mushrooms everywhere with vast great places on tiny plots, with a yard only a few feet wide at the back, and with the houses almost touching each other at the sides. Because of the very, very cramped site, the usual heavy machinery couldn't work properly once the houses started to go up, so all the "finishing work" like digging the trenches to hold the pipes to connect the plumbing to the main sewers, laying the paving slabs in the yards, pouring the concrete for the drives, and digging the holes for the fence posts out the back, all had to be done by hand. And if all that heavy work has to be done by hand, it was now obviously easier, and cheaper, to hire a gang of indentured servants from Rooney's Contracts than it even used to be to use gangs of Mexicans and other immigrants.
We all just stood around a bit as Ryan spoke to the site foreman, then he came back and told us to take our polos off - it was still chilly at first, but as soon as he told us what to do, we were expected to begin work immediately, and then, of course to work on, hard, without stopping at all. I was assigned to dig trenches for the drains, and soon sweat was pouring off me in spite of the sun only shining weakly from behind thin, high cloud. Of course I made the mistake of resting for a moment, as you do, and it was as if Ryan had been watching and waiting: I actually shouted out, and jumped with the shock, as the tawse came down on my bare shoulders and stung like hell.
The only respite I got all morning was about half way through, when, in turn, Ryan allowed each of us to go to a stand pipe at the edge of the development and drink down as much water as we could. And there was a brief respite when I'd finished the ditches for one house, and moved on to the next - but even this was at a brisk pace, and when I tired to saunter a little, to get a bit of a break, Ryan's cane slashed at my backside to hurry me up. I was teamed up with Danny, a guy about my age, but slighter than me and not as tall. He didn't seem capable of working away at the same rate as me, and at first I thought I'd be "carrying" him a bit, doing more than my share of the excavation. But his lean, sinewy body seemed capable of almost as much as I was, and in some places, like right next to the house, or up against a fence, his smaller frame was at a positive advantage. I soon learned that you relied on your co-workers in the way that Mike chose to run things: if Ryan was going to lash out with the tawse, all the guys in that party got it. So you needed to keep working, and working hard, not just to avoid the lash for yourself, but to prevent it happening to your buddies. And likewise, you were keen to ensure that your buddies never slackened, because if they did, you got punished, too.
We only stopped for about ten minutes at lunch - that damned chow bar again - and some of the other guys on the site clearly felt sorry for us - I guess I must have been lucky when I was working not to have been on these developments where indentured servants were used, so I hadn't been conscious really of what a hard life they had. But these men seemed used to it, as several of them gave us scraps from their lunch boxes that they didn't want to eat - the crusts form sandwiches, half an apple that was a bit soft, a fruit pie that had fallen into the sand, that sort of stuff.
And one really nice guy had some cheap candy bars, and casually tossed one to each of us. Look, I don't even like sweet things usually - I'm a steak and potatoes kind of guy - but I was actually hungry and the chow bars were really foul. I found myself tearing the wrapper off the candy and almost cramming it into my mouth I was do desperate for something else, and I saw that all my fellow servants were doing the same thing. We all waved and nodded our thanks to the guy - it had become clear that we were not allowed to speak during working hours - and he called out "It's OK, guys, glad you liked them....". It had ever struck me before that some small, simple act of kindness like that, something that had cost him a couple of bucks at the most, could make such a difference to the recipient. And, I thought to myself, what the fuck is happening to me? Half a day's work as a servant, and already I'm scrabbling around, grateful for scraps, just as if I was some street urchin in some vile foreign country.
In the afternoon it was digging post holes and erecting fences, and this was at least a bit more interesting, or, rather, there was more variety and so my tortured muscles had some relief as we could task switch a little. We had to dig the holes - and just under the surface layer of topsoil there was a lot of rock and stuff, so it wasn't easy, then carry the posts, mix the cement, pour it in, tamp it down.... And all the time, do it silently, and without a break, or Ryan's tawse or cane would set into us. I could see the other guys - the carpenters and such - looking at us from time to time, and it was almost as if I could feel a wave of pity flooding down on them as they watched Ryan setting about us. "Poor bastards", it seemed as if they were saying. "Still, it serves them right for being criminals."
If you've never been there, you probably don't realise that there are two main "components" of really working hard. One is the amount of actual physical energy that's needed for the task in hand - for example, it's much harder to carry a one hundred pound bag of cement that a fifty pound one. And the other is the effort you need to put in just to "keep going" - most of us are better at working in short bursts than over long periods, and an everyday experience is to see just how hard it is for a marathon runner who has to keep turning out the work for so long, with no possibility of a break. Well, on this site I had a bit of both: the afternoon's work of doing all the different tasks for the fencing wasn't actually as "hard" as digging the trenches in the morning. But I did need to keep at it absolutely constantly, not even pausing between digging a post hole, and rushing off to mix cement and so on. By mid afternoon I was really flagging, and I'd have given anything to be able to take a rest, even if only for a few minutes.
Ryan's tawse an cane saw that there was no possibility of even the tiniest break, though - the moment Danny or I showed any sign of slacking, he seemed to be there, to "encourage" us. I don't know how he managed it - keeping his beady eyes on all of us on the site must have been almost as tiring for him as the actual work was for us. But monitor us he did, and once more I began to feel that this is what it was all about - I forced my body to continue working, I made it jog between activities, rather than just walk; and as I tired, and it no longer wanted to respond as eagerly and completely to my commands, there was its nemesis: the cane. Time and time again, just as I was about to slacken, there would be the unbelievably sharp, hard slam of the thin cane across my butt, followed by the flood of icy sharp sensation as the initial stinging pain spread throughout my rump, and then the longer-lasting solid afterglow, hot and fiery, as its memory lingered on in my muscles and reminded me what would happen if I dared slacken once more.
By the time the site began closing for the evening, I didn't really believe it was possible to carry on working at all. But somehow, my muscles, under the harsh tutelage of the cane, did the seemingly impossible. Nevertheless I was suffering from almost total exhaustion when Ryan at last allowed us to climb back into the truck, and like all my fellows, I sat there slumped, too tired even to hold my head up and watch the town streaming past. I suppose I was aware that life was going on - as we drove past the shopping mall and were stopped for a moment at a light, I saw all the folks going about their normal business, getting in and out of their cars, streaming in and out of the mall.... Was it really possible that only two days before I'd been like that? I'd have been a bit pissed off at having to waste time on my way home from work to go into a food market, but at least I'd been free to do so, and had had the energy. Now, I was a total physical wreck, and even if I had managed to find some strength from somewhere, I couldn't do those things as I had no money, and no freedom. As my asshole complained from the pounding it had had the day before, I began to seriously doubt that I' done the right thing: being forcibly fucked was bad enough, but this incredible total exhaustion and sheer physical weakness that was permeating my whole body was in some ways worse. I just wasn't used not to having control of my body - I could feel my muscles almost trembling with the tiredness I was experiencing, and as so often happens, my physical condition had an effect on my mental state: as my body lapsed into oblivion, so my thoughts became black and depressed.
I still can't believe that in spite of the shape we were in we were made to clean the truck when we got back. And then before we were fed and allowed to shower, we all had to stand there and clean our work boots, and polish them to a bright shine ready for the next morning. And if the overseers weren't satisfied with the glow on them, you had to stand there and do them again, as well as getting another cut of the cane across your rump. It was a real relief to finally be given the chow bar - I almost didn't notice the vile texture and taste - and then to stumble into the blissful warm shower.
It's funny, isn't it? Somehow, hot water cascading over your body kind of revives you. We all stood there and it was like one of those "stop action" movie sequences of a flower unfolding: as the water cascaded over us we all unbent slightly, stood up a bit straighter, and began to flex tired muscles. There were some difficulties, though: the overall ache in my body had to a certain extent masked the pain in my shoulders and butt from the actions of the tawse and cane. But as the hot water worked its magic, this all came flooding back - I looked around at the other guys and could see them, like me, gingerly feeling the fresh red stripes across their butts, and the dull red patches that delineated our shoulder blades. One good thing, though - the start of the showers evidently signalled the end of "formal" things that day, as we all began to talk to each other.
Danny was next to me, and as we companionably pissed together, he half smiled. "Not bad for a first day, Steve! I was dreading being assigned to work with you today, as on the first day most guys are so fucking useless that it's almost a continuous rain of blows."
"I did my best", I replied, returning the smile.
"You're pretty strong, and you're tough - what did they get you for?"
I was about to say I was there voluntarily, then the thought struck me that this might not be a sensible thing to do! I mean, I was going to be living with this bunch of criminals for a long time, and if they thought I was "soft", it might make it more difficult for me. And, anyway, as I thought about it, it did now seem utterly ludicrous that I'd even have thought that I'd have wanted to be kept like this - I mean, a light caning every now and then was one thing, but this reign of terror, these utterly dehumanisng conditions... Even as I thought this, I realised I was pissing on Danny! So I just mumbled "Fighting."
"Who did you do over? Some guy after your old lady, or something...."
"No, I wasn't with a woman permanently. And I'd rather not talk abut it."
"Pretty bad, huh? With muscles like yours, I bet the other guy was pretty much of a pulp when you'd finished..."
"I don't boast about things like that. What about you, Danny?"
"Drunk. Persistent. Lost everything - job, wife, kids. Tried to dry out, but it didn't work. Until I was sentenced, that is, and was sold here. Then I dried out - well, there's no choice, is there?"
"So you're not sorry?"
"Well, Steve, it's a good thing in one way - I'd have been dead by now with a fucked up liver or something, I suppose. But it's tough in another - I'm here for another nine years, unless Rooney sells my contract. Why the fuck did they have to sentence me for such a long period? A year or two would have been enough to dry me out, and sentencing is supposed to be to 'help' the criminal adjust, not to punish, isn't it?"
"I don't know... I'd never thought about it."
Several of the other guys had been half listening to this, and one cut in "Hey, Steve - I'm Craig. Don't listen to Danny - he's always going on with his theories about this and that. Everyone knows that they pay lip service to 'reforming' cons, but really what the public wants to see is good, hard punishment.
That's why this indentured service thing is so good - the government can tell the bleeding heart liberals that we're being taught new, useful trades and stuff, and to respect work; and the others know our butts are being whipped!"
There was a lot of laughter then, and I suddenly realised that Danny's hands were starting to run over my body. "Hey!", I snapped.
"Oh, sorry Steve. I forgot you're new."
"I'm not a fag!"
Craig pushed me away from Danny as I'd taken up a rather aggressive stance, automatically. "Watch it, Steve! You may be in here for beating guys up, but it won't wash with us. You might be able to rough Danny up, but when you're asleep, and several of us leap on you, you'll wish you'd not started it..."
"It was him who started it, touching me up..."
"Cool it, Steve! He didn't mean anything by it. We all look after each other here - the showers are crowded, and it's easier to wash another guy. And when you've been here for any length of time and you've realised that some nice silky girl's hands aren't going to feel that body of yours, you'll even look forward to mine!". As he said this, Craig stupidly slapped me on the back in a kind of "good old boy" gesture, and I winced - no, I almost jumped as the slap of his hand against the inflamed skin of my back was actually hurtful.
When the water was turned off, though, I suddenly went tired again, and all I wanted to do was climb into my bed. I noticed that about half the guys, like me, were just as bone-weary that they did the same, but the other eight hung around for a bit at the far end of the bunk room. I'd sort of imagined that I'd fall asleep immediately, I was so dog tired, but the combination of the general aches from my body from working so hard and the additional hurt from my back and my butt if I turned over conspired to keep me awake. I lay there, willing myself to sleep as I knew I needed all my energy for the next day, but it just wouldn't come.
The problem was of course that I was conditioned to jerking off before I went to sleep - shooting a load, then drifting off with my head full of erotic thoughts. But the beds on either side of me were only about eighteen inches apart, barely far enough to stand in, and I only had the one thin blanket to cover me, so I knew that if I started to play with my dick the guys on each side would certainly know - however careful you are when you start off, I find that as I build to a climax I can't help but make a low "slap, slap, slap" sound as my hand hits my dick head. And there was another problem too - at home I'd used yesterday's boxers to catch the cum; but here I had nothing like that, so what was I to do?
The first problem was solved when I head the guy on my left begin to beat his meat, as if he was totally unconcerned by having me lie there and hear him. Well, if he could do it, so could I. And I suppose I could solve the problem of the cum just by letting it spurt onto the sheet and blanket - but then I remembered how it would stick to me, and how difficult it would be to get clean. As I was thinking about it, I heard the guy next to me give a loud kind of grunting sound, so I guessed that he'd shot his load, then after a couple of minutes, as I lay there and watched, his hand came up from under the blanket and he licked his palm and fingers. How fucking gross, I thought! I mean, licking your own cum up like that is hardly natural, is it? I didn't like the smell of the stuff, and even when I'd persuaded some of the women I'd been with to give me a blow job, none of them had ever agreed to swallow my cum and I'd always had to spurt onto the bed. It seemed to be the "done thing" here, though, as in the relative stillness I then head the guy on the other side of me go through exactly the same process.
My dick was twitching with frustration now - you know how it is, jerking up and down by itself as you thing sexy thoughts, and with the whole thing throbbing and starting to be really uncomfortable. And you know that you're starting to leak pre-cum all over the place. Hearing the other guys jerking off and eating their cum had got me worried, though: I remembered that in the morning the beds were left with the bottom sheets tightly stretched over the mattress, and the thin blankets neatly folded at the foot - if I shot my load all over the bed, it would be seen.... and perhaps this was something you got punished for. But now I had a real problem, as I knew I wasn't going to be able to get to sleep with this raging wood, and if I didn't do something about it, I might cum all over the bed anyway! So there was only one thing to do - if all these other guys could do it, so could I.
As carefully and quietly as I could I started to jerk myself off, sliding my 'skin over my dick head slowly at first, relishing the feeling as my head sent little shivers of excitement through me. But of course I soon speeded up as the excitement built in me, and almost as soon as I'd begun, I felt my balls begin to contract, and I forced my dick down towards my other hand. It's not all that easy, though, is it? For one thing, you can get more than a palm full. And for another , cum seems to spread everywhere - I'd kind of thought that I could get my palm up to my mouth without spilling any, but it's just not that easy, especially if you're lying there. I knew that my cum was trickling out, covering my hand almost totally, but I had to continue - I daren't risk getting it on the sheets now. My nose caught that characteristic smell, a bit like ammonia, I always think, and I almost gagged at the thought of putting that in my mouth. But when I steeled myself and put out the tip of my tongue to my hand, I was so surprised to find that there wasn't any taste at all - well just that odd faintly salt, faintly sweet kind of slimy taste all you guys know about anyway. I licked at my palm, and then cleaned my fingers, and it just wasn't that awful - just to think that I'd been avoiding doing this all those years - even when we started jerking off and the other kids at school had been talking about eating their cum I'd only just joined in and said I'd done it, as I didn't like to be the "odd man out": and it wasn't a problem after all.
I drifted into sleep, a smile on my face, and wondered how I would get through the next day.
End Of Part 7