Selected Remnants From the Lost Publication ‘My Two Years in Captive Servitude’

By Miles Pierce

(Author’s note: I was sent this by a trusted academic who wanted to make sure this was known but couldn’t professionally be associated with it.)

Note on the translation: this section of the portfolio seems to have originally been published by a Venetian printer by the name of Aldus Manutius. Due to the issues of this work being referenced by many sources in many nationalities, the original language cannot be verified and due to subsequent censorship and destruction of all known copies, may never be known. We do know it was both highly sought after and scandalous even at the time of publication. The language in this fragment has been modernized, when possible, for the ease of consumption by contemporary scholars.

 

The Terrible Punishment of the Strap, the Service, and the Stump during the Third Month of My Capture

 

It was these two days of brutality that utterly and entirely broke me.

The diligent reader will realize that my captivity had many moments that offered nothing but dejection. The slaughter of many of the men under my leadership, the capture, debasement and disbursement of the remainder of my party, the auction house, my first taste of the whip, harness training and the initial cruel sexual attacks on my person where all crushing. This cascade of misery, though, tore hope from my being.

It began as routinely as any day that could be considered routine in this servitude. You will recall, that on the vast estate, I was relegated to a position as one of eight dray steeds used for moving goods around the ample land, to other estates and occasionally, town. Despite my unusual coloring, I was considered too heavily built for a cart pony even though many of those selected for that service where from equally distant lands. Often the owners would seek out fine boned but exotic appearanced men to emphasize the ornate design of their best carts.

It wasn’t the worst of the lot, to be sure. While the ponies had the best lives, we were second, while the field steeds had much worse conditions and the oxen treated as base beasts.

We knew we had as scheduled shipment to the town that morning because of our fetters. The iron and worn brown leather harnesses and boots were replaced with polish black leather and shiny brass fittings. Supple, black leather boots were used that closely formed on calves, defining each our ample, prominent legs.

While creating a better appearance, it was far more diabolical for us.

The collars forced our heads more upright with no possibility of looking down, the leather bit replaced by a brass rod that protruded into our mouths, suppressing our tongues. As usual, our arms were attached to the strap that ran down our backs and across the cleft of our asses to emerge, split around our groins only to connect to the thick corset leather that belted our middles and attached us to the wagon then, finally, to our stiff, high collar.

Usually that strap was fitted through with short wooden phallus that extended into our anal cavities as part of the drivers ability to rein us. Today, though you could hear the grunts from each man as a bigger, heavy, cold brass member sporting a true horsehair tail was jammed inside each of us. The bulbous bottom of the forged cock was especially hard to accommodate but the stable hands shoved with steady purpose. The rounded based made it impossible for us to expel it. The full tail billowed to quite an effect but hairs made for a continuous itch of the anus. Every step was a constant reminder of that unforgiving invader.

Elaborate brass ornaments in the shape of small serpents bite fiercely into our nipples, their small heads connecting across our chest by thin chains in the shape of small scales. This pain ebbed during the day to almost nothing but their removal caused tremendous agony.

This was all for show as the owner wanted to make sure the town understood his wealth and prestige even with common steeds.

The final piece of our appearance was both a relief and another unmanly humiliation. After at least three weeks, by my account, the devilish devices that confined our cocks where removed. I have noted the fitting for this torment previously upon my arrival to the estate but some greater detail is required.

The instrument was engineered to be as efficient as it was cruel. Around the entirety of my member and testes was encircled an iron ring. Extending from that ring, a short, curved iron tube ended in two bands that blocked the opening but allowed us to pass water. These bands had tiny sharp barbs, the served as a constant irritation but also led to endless arousal. It was fiendish way to deprive us of our manhood and stimulate us at the same time. My arousal would swell throughout the day and night, stuffed in the casement and my head mushroomed through the bands, rubbing the end to constant irritation. You will recall the sleepless nights during my first month of this ordeal.

On market day, however, they were removed to great affect. The groomsmen begin oiling all of our cocks and we each became erect immediately after our forced chastity. I could feel my own member throb immediately and eagerly anticipate release. But it was not to be. Under the head of my hardened shaft, they tied a leather band with small bells, tight as could be and further swelling the tip of my shaft. We were all expected to maintain our erections on the drive to town, our members bobbing up and down with each step, bells tinkling, debasing our stature even more.

To ensure this display was one of the reasons we were kept without sexual relief much of the time. On market days we became show horses and the stock should demonstrate its quality.

This stimulation could produce the opposite effect after such a long time in chastity. We had to concentrate to maintain both our erection and not fulfill it. To that end, they also attached heavy, wide brass bands to our scrotum. They weighed our balls down pulling away from our bodies and added another bit of swinging misery to our step. Each band had small studs inside, agitating our now taut skin as well as small rings on the outside that attached to another set of reins.

Thus fettered and costumed, attached to the wagon, we pulled and began our journey into town. Which is where my hell truly began.

 

(Translators note: these next passages are missing or nearly illegible and seem to relate the method of transit, notes on loading and unloading of the wagon in town. Only the full, complete passages are included when available. )

 

Now, reader, to detail the calamity the befell me.

The overseer was finalizing the bill of purchase inside the store when two bawdy ne’er-do-wells stopped on the street to leer at our situation. I, being differently colored than the others, immediately got their full attention. While their vernacular was specific, I could make out that they wondered if my ejaculate was also differently tinted.

I heard a spitting noise then a rough hand grabbing my cock, the slabber coating it and he began to stroke with vigor. Fettered as I was, it was impossible to move away and after my encasement, the manipulation was driving me quickly to ecstasy. Shamefully, I grunted and moaned like an animal, desperately trying to escape the friction. He redoubled his efforts and I squirmed vigorously no avail.

I begin to become delirious with the pleasure of his unrelenting stroke. His lackey joined in by rubbing my tenderized, bulbous head while the other clenched ever tighter. It was simply too much.

It was all I could do to stand up as the waves of orgasm swept over me, my body shuddering with its power and a high pitched mewl was wrenched from my throat even as my teeth closed hard on the brass bit. My spew gushed in spurt after spurt, so powerful that I could see it splatter on the back and collar of the steed in front of me. His body was coated in a fine layer of sweat and dust from the road and my climax began to run down his withers, rendering my transgression in drips and rivulets.

Suddenly, the overseer arrived, the young men scampered and I was in for brand new kind of hell.

 

Metal would like to thank Miles Pierce for finding this story — and for bringing it to light after all these years!

 

6 thoughts on “Selected Remnants From the Lost Publication ‘My Two Years in Captive Servitude’”

  1. Interesting. This old, old story fits right in with current ones. It’s quite a revelation to read this. I’m not surprised it was heavily censored.

    1. The author who discovered this, Miles Pierce, tells me there is more. When he sends it to me, I will post it. Keep checking back to the Prison Library for more!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.