By slaveobjectx

I tell this story yet I have no name. I am addressed only as slave. I said I would survive but now I will tell you how I did. I had battened myself down in isolation, indifferent to the sufferings of my fellow slaves, concentrating solely on dealing with my own fate, feeling that help from any one else would not be forthcoming. Not from the guards, of course, who at best carried out their duties indifferently – I, as slave was merely livestock and they had received enough training to regard all the chained slaves as livestock, with no need to deal with us as anything but subhuman, owned animals. At worst the guards regarded us as outlets for their own private passions – to punish, to mistreat , to abuse, to debase, to degrade, to humiliate, to fuck.

Yes, I had resolved to survive; to find an inner strength that would see me through all that they could throw at me. I would not be subhuman; I would not be an animal. Though I might not be permitted to exhibit it in terms of physical behaviour, I would not allow them to take over my mind. I’d conform outwardly but inwardly I’d be free. Yeah, great thoughts but how to make those thoughts real? Everything conspired against that – the inhumanity of my physical position where there was no escape in any way from the reality of the chains and shackles; the treatment from the guards which was expressly designed to degrade, humiliate, prompting, at best, a desire to comply with every order, no matter how vile so that the idea of choice was eliminated. We were being programmed to become robotic in all responses, robotic in all our behaviour.

Yet still, I obstinately clung to my mind, to that little shred of consciousness that I refused to relinquish.

After that so-called toilet duty was finished with, I took my place among the other slaves on the chain gang. The work, I immediately discovered, was no work at all. At least work that was in any way productive. It was work for the sake of work. As chained slaves, we were taken outside to our work station. It was a vast empty plain, totally surrounded by electric fences. We were far from the fences but my fellow members of the chain gang assured me that it was instant death to touch them, that they had all seen slaves driven to distraction by unending toil who had chosen to throw themselves against them as a way to escape.

The work was to move huge slabs of stone, one at a time, from a stack stretching out for many metres, to a distance some ten metres away where a new stack was created. Then when every slab had been moved, the process was repeated with every piece of stone being taken back to where it had originally been placed. That was ‘work’. And on and on, every day the same. No conversation was permitted between slaves. There was silence except for the grunting of men being forced to toil. That and the constant clanking of chains were the only sounds. Just unrelenting tedium which I rationalised by seeing it in terms of physical workout. This would give me more muscles than the gym ever would, especially as it was encouraged by the liberal use of whips.

When the guards changed rota we slaves were permitted to rest under a makeshift screen to spare us from the merciless sun. Under that screen was where we had water, and meals were dished out in metal bowls. Depending on who was guarding us, the indifferent or the sadistic, our behaviour with regard to food was controlled. We were not given utensils as they constituted weapons so we used hands – that was when the guards didn’t care. With the sadists, we were not permitted hands but had to place the bowls on the ground and eat from them like dogs. This added humiliation broke some slaves and they would weep more at being degraded than by the physical exertion demanded of them. I accepted any new reality as a way of coping. I was determined not to give them the satisfaction that they wanted from me.

It was cat and mouse and we, as slaves, were the mice but I was determined to be the cat, doing anything and everything that was demanded of me but always finding a positivity in what I had to do. Muscle building. Achieving mental strength. Developing a strength of will that drove me on. They saw complacency and obedience and service in my actions. My interpretations were different. In my mind, I was stronger than they were.

The guards retained interest by watching out for slacking, lack of effort, defeatist attitudes. When the work day was over and we were herded inside, we stood in a line and awaited judgment. Few went unpunished. I had such a lasting streak of non punishment that I resolved to slip up from time to time in case I was drawing attention to myself.

Punishment took various forms – a beating being the most common of various degrees of severity. The lightest was a beating on the buttocks but even this depended on the implement used. A paddle, a belt, a flogger or a cane of varying thickness – these were the options. Otherwise it was the back, chained against a cell door and again a choice of implements. A cat o’ nine tails, a flogger, a single tailed whip, a bull whip. All had to witness these punishments. Yet even after that, the worst offenders would be locked into a metal cravat for the night while the rest of us were chained by the neck to the wall. Or would be subjected to solitary confinement for days, chained alone in darkness, given water and scraps so that they welcomed any visit of a guard to insult and abuse them because otherwise it was just a slave with nothing to live on but his thoughts.

I was beaten a few times. As I said I had to fit in, to appear to be as fallible as the rest of them. So I ‘slipped up’ about once in every ten days or so. Not that it was a regular thing, working like clockwork. I’d have days of being a good, obedient slave with gaps between the misdemeanours of varying lengths. For the most part I was ass whipped. A few times on the back. Never experienced the thinnest of canes on the buttocks, or the bull whip on the back though I witnessed a load of those on other slaves. And I was never locked in the cravat. Or went to solitary.

When we were chained up for the night, there was no taboo about conversation but most slaves were too tired to chat and what was there to chat about? Certainly not the present. That was unvarying in its tedium and toughness of the work assignment. That left the lives we had left behind or the future we hoped for when finally released.

There was one other frequent topic – sex. Yes, there was a certain amount of filthy bragging about whores fucked, girlfriends seduced, wives cheated on. But the great unspoken was sex between men. Now I was sure I was straight except for getting a blowjob from one of the boys on a wild night out and if you close your eyes you get the physical sensation and can picture what you want. It was just one step up from jerking off. All in the mind except there was a mouth instead of your hand. And a mouth gives more pleasure than a hand. And guys give good blowjobs maybe because they have dicks and think about how they’d like it as they give it.

But that’s outside in the great wide world of variety and choice. In here, there’s no porn, no films, nothing. Except your imagination and somehow that big world is no more. This is the new reality you gotta accept. It’s an all male world. Only guys. And bit by bit they all become muscle guys and despite me saying I was straight I began to fantasise about sex with some of them. In a way we all looked the same with no hair and nothing but chains as clothes. But you begin to notice the differences – strong cheekbones, the line of a nose, a dimple on a chin, anything that makes a guy different from another and you begin to eroticise noses and ears and eyes and brows. Well I did.

Chained as we were at strategic distances from one another, there was no possibility of physical contact. Or so I thought at first. That was all to change. And the change was brought about by a lad who showed up and was next to me in the line of slaves chained to the wall and, despite his shaved head and body, and the body not hardened by physical excess such as we were all hardened, I was smitten. Unable to touch him, I became obsessed with him. Gone were my favourite fantasies of girlfriends, of girls I’d dated and had hoped to fuck. Now I thought of no one but him. He changed my chaingang life.