By Jackson Amacher

Leaving them there, Steve told the Blues that the rest of the night was free time. There was going to be a small party celebrating our victory that night, and most of the Blues went to it. A lot of us went into the A barracks to check out all the stuff we got from the Reds. Kyle and I were able to find the photos of us and the other prisoners naked. We all helped ourselves to the other guys’ stuff, going so far as to “borrow” some of their clothes. They wouldn’t need it.

I also made sure to pay back the Reds for shooting those photos in the first place. I borrowed some film and cameras from one of the Reds, and took full-color shots of quite a few fine- looking bare assed Reds.

Some of us realized that Steve had intentionally left the Reds’ barracks unlocked. Around midnight, we snuck in there and saw a few Blues going at it with a few captive Reds. This was a turn-on for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the same thing. Kyle and I were too close, and besides, it seemed wrong. Instead, the rest of us kind of wandered around the barracks, giving the Reds shit and spanking the ones we thought were asleep.

The next morning our fun was over and the work had to begin. The Blues were already divided into foremen, each ordering around ten or eleven Reds to get the work done in the field. The rest of us coordinated the foremen and planned the fence.

It was tough work, and it went really slowly. It was pure pleasure watching the naked slaves do their work, but we realized the Reds didn’t work very hard. They would always walk unless you ordered them to run, and some of the foremen even suspected them of sabotaging the work. We punished the disobedient, tying them spread-eagle from some stockades and smearing Ben-Gay on their balls and dicks (guess where I learned that?) but it didn’t help much.

So I had another idea. After one day of poor work from the Reds, I spoke to all of them at lunch over the megaphone.

“We intend to appoint some of you as assistants to our foremen. You will not have to work, but will keep your fellow Reds in line. Anyone wishing this job should speak to his foreman.

That night, we had a group of about ten Reds who said they wanted the job. We yelled and screamed at them, insisting to know why they wanted the job, and demanding loyalty over and over.

One of the ten was Chris, Gary’s friend from Capture the Flag. While we were yelling at him, telling him we thought he was lying and only wanted the job to get off work, he spoke up. To prove his loyalty, he would give himself to any Blue at any time.

“Prove it,” Steve said.

In response, Chris just turned his back to us and bent over. It was quite a show. Steve smiled at us, and unzipped his erect cock from his jeans. He rammed it into Chris’s anus in and out, quickly. Chris gave a little yelp, but didn’t move away. Steve finished with him in about three minutes, and then motioned for the rest of us to have a go.

It felt good to finally have the upper hand over my former tormentor. While I was taking advantage of Chris’ offer, more out of spite than pleasure, Steve told the other candidates that if they would make the same promise, they’d get the job, too. Four of them did. The other five we sent away.

We had a lot of fun with the five Assistants. When we were done with them, we gave them their orders: get the Reds to work hard. Since they were Reds themselves, they could do a better job than us in keeping their friends in line. They could give any order they wanted to the Reds, but they still had to take orders from us, of course. In addition, we made it clear to them that we would often take them up on their standing offers.

For uniforms, we gave each of the Assistants a jock strap, dyed red. The jock strap was a source of great pride for the Assistants. Having lost everything took a real psychological toll on the Reds, and being given the jock straps made the Assistants feel even more important.

It was a lot of fun watching the Assistants at work. They were all on serious power trips. They did a better job at punishing and humiliating their former friends than we had ever done.

One time an Assistant punished two of his comrades by forcing one of them to get down on all fours, and the other to mount him from behind. He told the one on all fours to crawl around like that, carrying the other guy on his back, a dick constantly rubbing against his ass. From then on, neither of them walked slowly.

Once I even saw an Assistant order one Red to give another Red a tongue bath. He ordered one Red to stand passively while the other one licked the sweat off, from head to toe. And I’ll be damned if they both didn’t have hard-ons when it was over.

Sometimes the Reds were just plain sadistic. When it rained for a few hours, two of the Reds slipped in the mud while they were carrying away a rock. One of them was Ted, the former Red barracks commander who ran the prison camp I was in. Chris made them stop work right then and there, and wrestle each other in the mud. He didn’t say what would happen to the loser, but we knew he would think of something. Watching those two buffed studs wrangle with each other in the mud was a gigantic turn-on for all of us, and seeing that they were both erect increased our excitement. Finally, Ted lost. Chris patted the other Red on the butt and made him go back to work. He ordered Ted to run into the woods and find four long, straight sticks of wood. Ted came back with them, and Chris told him to pound them into the ground like tent stakes, making a square five feet long on a side. Then Chris ordered Ted to lie down, and he tied each of Ted’s hands and feet to one of the stakes. He left Ted like that, lying in the mud, until it stopped raining.

The blue foremen sometimes resented having Assistants feeling so good about themselves. Assistants were still slaves, as well as willing sex partners, so sometimes the foremen would order them to strip off their jock, grab a tree, and take it in the ass for a while. Right in the middle of the work day. We thought Chris was a little rough on Ted, so when Ted was released we ordered him to strip off his jock and take Ted’s place. Then we each fucked him, one by one, and left him there for all to see.

Tuesday morning some of the Blues came to see me. They were concerned about Steve, our General. He was taking things too far. That first night, when Kyle and I saw some Blues going at it with some naked, bound Reds, we later found out the Reds had asked for it. But some other Blues had seen Steve basically raping a couple Reds. Not only that, but yesterday he had taken over an entire

Blue foreman’s crew of ten Reds and made them spend the entire afternoon jacking each other off while he watched and took photos.

I went to talk to Steve about it, but he wouldn’t listen.

“Look, Doug,” he told me, “if you have a problem with the way I’m doing things, I’ll give someone else your job.”

I reported this to the other Blues. We were all pretty worried. We thought Steve was going too far, and he needed to be stopped. Eventually, the Blues agreed that we should overthrow Steve. Since I was already pretty much in charge, we agreed I would be the next General.

That night I put myself in the crew of 20 Blues responsible for tying the Reds to their beds at night. We still tied them up every night. We sometimes let them talk to each other now, but for the most part we forced them to devote their lives to us completely.

When we were done, 15 of the Blues left, but the other five of us stayed behind and hid. Within five minutes, we saw a door open and Steve walked in.

He had his big grin on, the same grin he had when he had tortured us last week. Steve stripped off his shirt and started admiring the rows of butts in front of him. As he walked up and down the aisle, he unbuttoned his jeans and stepped out of them, too. We were hidden off in the corner in the shadows, but we could see him reaching into his briefs to play with his meat.

Finally he stopped at the foot of a bed. It was Andy’s, a pretty cute guy. Steve whipped off his underwear and started to go to work.

We jumped out of our hiding place and started running for Steve. He didn’t realize what was happening, and before he came to his senses we were on top of him and had tied his hands behind his back.

“You idiots!” he shouted. “Don’t you know what you’re doing?”

Steve was a big guy, and he was thrashing at us with his elbows and kicking us. I didn’t want to try wrestling him myself. So, I took a whistle out of my pocket and blew it.

That was the signal. The barracks lights came on, and about twenty Blues ran in. Steve still didn’t give up, but we got a good hold on him and started taking him outside. Steve screamed and yelled at us, louder and louder, so we stuffed a gag into his mouth and tied it to his head with another rope.

When we got outside Steve saw all the Blue leaders standing there, looking at him. They had an empty footlocker that they’d taken from one of the barracks, with its chest lid open. Steve saw it, but probably didn’t realize what it was for.

“Hold him,” I told the Blues. They obeyed. Steve stood in front of me, stark naked yet somehow defiant. I grabbed a tube of Ben Gay, squeezed a glob of the stuff onto my hands, and rubbed it liberally over Steve’s dick and balls.

He tried to hold back at first, but before long he was screaming into his gag in agony. I nodded to the Blues holding Steve. They picked him up and put him in the empty foot locker. It took all twenty of them, because Steve was struggling so hard, but they managed to cram his massive frame into the small wooden box and shut the lid. The latch clicked, and Steve was trapped. We gave each other high-fives and went to bed.

We left Steve in there the next morning. The foot locker had ventilation, so we knew he would be OK — just very uncomfortable. We watched the Reds work that morning (they worked even harder now, it seemed) and let the foot locker sit in the sun.

Finally, after lunch, we opened the lid and let Steve stand up. He was an awful sight. He was flushed and sweaty from being in that box, and his eyes had an entirely defeated look. I ordered Andy (the Red Steve almost raped) to wipe his dick and balls off with a towel, though I think most of the Ben-Gay was off him by then.

“Steve, I am the General now, and you are nothing. Nod if you agree,” I said. Steve nodded slowly.

I motioned to Andy, and he untied Steve and took the gag out. “I’m sorry,” were the first words Steve said.

“Steve, you’re too dangerous to be a Blue,” I said. “From now on, you’re a Red.”

Steve looked at me blankly, like he couldn’t believe what was happening to him. But a Blue foreman walked up to him, slapped him in the face and said, “Follow me, slave,” and he had to obey.

They put him to work in the fields. The other Reds would never help him out, and sometimes they seemed to make his work harder. The humiliation seemed to be good for him, we all thought. He was certainly less of an asshole, and he maybe started to think about what he had done to people.

Work continued, and before long we were ahead of schedule. With two days to go, the field had been entirely cleared, and we had the holes dug for the new fence. Kyle and I had done a great job running things, and the other Blues were really happy. We never talked about it, but most people knew we were gay, and no one seemed to care.

With so much free time, we made more effort to get as many of the Reds’ bodies on film as we could. It would all be over in another day, and we wanted souvenirs. We videotaped a bunch of them working, and forced them to pose while we took some photos. By this point, they didn’t seem to mind. After almost a week of constant humiliation and hard work, this was nothing.

Toward the end of the second-to-last day, a blue foreman came running up to us. Two of his Reds, Ted and Andy, had run off. This was the first time this had happened. The Blues who weren’t doing anything broke up into groups to search the woods for the fugitives. Kyle and I, of course, were together.

We were only about 100 feet from the work site when we heard some moaning and rustling from the bushes off to our left. We crept toward them, and sure enough, it was Ted and Andy. Andy was on all fours, and Ted was fucking him up the ass.

They didn’t see us, so we just watched for a while. Ted really seemed to know what he was doing. I remembered that he was the guy who ran the Red prisoner camp Kyle and I had been in.

Finally we had enough. Kyle and I had some rope with us (of course!) and we rushed at Ted and Andy. Startled, they pulled apart from each other, but we forced them back into their original positions – Andy on all fours, and Ted humping him like a dog. We tied their chests together, and then tied a second rope behind Ted’s butt and through Andy’s crotch. A third rope went

We led them like that, making them crawl back to the field. It wasn’t that far, but we could tell the crawl wasn’t all that pleasant for Andy. The other Blues who were out searching for the two fugitives noticed what we had found, and helped us urge Andy along.

When Andy and Ted got into the center of the field, I called a bunch of Reds around to stare at the two of them. I would have been embarrassed in that situation, but it looked like Andy and Ted were getting a charge out of it. That gave Kyle an idea.

“Wait a sec,” he told me, and ran back to his barracks. He came back with a video camera, and untied the two guys.

“Now, pick up where you left off,” Kyle said, filming them. Ted got right into it. Andy seemed to enjoy it even more. And having seen Kyle’s tape, I have to complement his camera work. He got a great shot of those two studs surrounded by a crowd of naked Reds, cheering them on and shouting out advice. It’s one of the horniest things I’d ever seen.

We finished work by 11 a.m. the next day. The Director told me it was the best work that had ever come out of the rivalry. He invited me back next year, this time to start out as a General. I told him he could count on it.

Kyle and I keep in touch. We go to different schools, but we always caught up over breaks. Now and then we hear from other people at the camp, sometimes from Reds nervous about what we plan to do with the photos. We just tell them that we hope to see them all next summer.

 

Note from Metal: This story dates back to 1997 and was posted by Jackson Amacher on another site. This guy is one of my favorite authors of gay bondage stories, but I have never been successful in contacting him. If you are him or know how to reach him, let me know!