Slave camp 3

Author: plugged
Title: Slave camp 3
Date: 29 October 2008

slave camp - 3


For the next two days I was kept in solitary confinement having no contact with any of the other poor guys kidnapped by this bunch of weirdoes. They, (the slaves) have probably all been brainwashed into thinking they were born to crawl to guys in leather or uniforms.
Twice a day they tried to brainwash me. 'Quote the slaves rules', 'The life of a slave is a life of dedication', and all that rubbish. 'I must thank a master or guard for punishing me.', 'I must get down on my knees and kiss a master's boots'.
Like hell I will.

In my cell I was ordered to polish the boots of four guardsmen. On both nights they claimed it wasn't good enough and I was forced to lick the boots and polish them again. I now found out what the extra length of the beds was for. At night my wrists and ankles were handcuffed to the corners and I was fucked by the guards.

By the third day my arse was red raw and my balls so sore I could barely get a hard on. They decided on another way to demoralise me into submission. I was strung up in the usual spread eagle fashion. One of the guards brought a box containing clamps and wires. Another master, Lieutenant Dunn, came into the Correction Centre to see my "progress".
You will remember my nipples had been pierced and had steel rings through them. One clamp was secured to the left ring and another clamp to the right. A steel cock ring was fitted over my balls and cock. A clamp was secured to it.

"What is the Slave Rule number 1?" asked my master.
"Never trust a guy wearing leather." I said.
Suddenly an electric shock ran through my tits and round my cock and balls. I gave a silent gasp.
"What is Slave Rule number 2?" I was asked.
"If you're going to fuck a guard make sure he has a lovely arse." I replied.
There was a snigger from one of the guards. That didn't please the guy in leather for he turned the electric shock on again. This time stronger. I gave a yell. I could see a smile coming on the bastard's face. He was obviously enjoying my discomfort.
"What is Slave Rule number 3?"

While I was trying to think of a witty answer I was aware that my tits were turning hard and I my cock was beginning to rise. That was the last thing I wanted these guys to see.
"What is Slave Rule number 3?" he repeated.
"Never report a guard when he addresses a slave as 'Sir'."
Another strong shock ran through my tits and my cock.
"What is Slave Rule 4?"

The visiting master said "If you tell him he's broken Rule 4 that might give him a clue."
I looked down at my cock. It was rock hard. It must have been the electric shock.
"That's one rule he DOES know." said my master. "Let's start again, 107. What is Slave Rule 1?"
I again gave him the 'Don't trust a leather guy' answer and received an electric shock. Same with the 'guard with a lovely arse' reply. After giving another six or seven dopey answers to 3 and 4 the electric shocks and the pain on my tits was now unbearable and I had to concede he had won this round.

After 20 minutes of tit torture I had to give in and quote all the correct answers. If they weren't delivered quickly enough I received another electric shock. All the time my cock remained erect.
During my first two days I was fed on orange juice, bread and cheese. Not a very inspiring diet. After another "persuasion" session in the Correction Centre on the third day I was asked of I wanted good meals at regular time.
"We always look after our slaves' health. A good meal makes a willing slave. A slave who is fed on a well balanced meal and does regular exercises is a valuable asset and worth a lot of money when sold."

He's at it again. Selling guys. I have to get out of here as soon as possible. He continued "We will go to the slaves' mess hall and see what well behaved slaves are fed."
On the third day about 2 p.m. my wrists were handcuffed behind my back and I was led like a dog on a lead to the canteen by two discipline guards and my Master. The slaves are fed only after the masters and guards have had their meals, attended by "willing" slaves, I was informed.

There were about 16 slaves and eight guards in the canteen. Whenever we walked in all the slaves stopped eating and stood at attention.
"Continue eating." said my master. Immediately the slaves continued with their meal. My master then went to the serving counter and I was ordered to follow.

"What's on the menu today, D81." he asked a "devoted" slave. (He had D81 tattooed above his left nipple)
"Roast chicken, boiled potatoes, sweet corn and cabbage, Sir. This is followed by rice pudding and fresh fruit, apples, pears or apricots. To drink there is orange juice, Sir."
"And what's on the menu for this evening?" said my master.
"Vegetable soup followed by grilled fish, roast potatoes, carrots and peas followed by biscuits and fresh fruit. To drink there is pineapple juice, Sir."
My master turned to me and said "You see. A well balanced diet. Once you become a willing slave you will eat here. Until then you will receive water and left overs from the guards meals.

That evening at 6 p.m. my wrists were handcuffed behind my back and I was taken to the guards' mess hall. In the middle of the room I was ordered to kneel. Crusts of bread, lumps of cheese and apple cores were flung in front of me by the guards and I was ordered to eat them. A dog's water bowl was placed down as well and a guard unbuttoned his jeans, took out his cock and a jet of piss rained on to the bowl. That was my liquid "refreshment". To encourage me to eat and drink the guards whipped my arse about twenty times before I ate a piece of cheese. Another twenty lashes and I ate several crusts and sipped the piss from the dog bowl.

The next day I was taken to the Correction Centre as usual. When I approached the door I was ordered to crawl in on my hands and knees. I was led on a chain like a dog. When I reached the middle of the floor a siren gave three long blasts.
One of the guards said "That's the escape siren. Secure 107 to the wall and stand by in case we're needed."

So I wasn't the only dissident. That was good to know. It gave me encouragement to resist these idiots. The guard leading me dragged me to a wall and ordered me to kneel. He clipped the chain on to a self locking hook and followed the other guards to an office next door.
I looked round the room. No-one else was there. I rose and pulled at the chain. It was hardened steel and so was the lock securing it to the wall. Escape was useless.

I looked round the room again then my eyes caught sight of a pair of waders. I could just reach them. I dragged one towards me. I ran my hands gently down the side, almost caressing it. I sniffed. I sniffed again. I licked the ankle. I got down on my knees and with large strokes of my tongue I licked it again and again. Over the ankle. Over the sides. Over the toe. I kissed it. I playfully bit it. It had a canvas lining, not the same pair I saw on my first day. I breathed the inside. The smell of foot odour mixing with the smell of rubber. I gave a sigh and kissed it again.

"Well, well, well. I see 107 has the makings of a good slave." said a familiar voice. It was my master.
I dropped the wader and jumped to my feet. I stood at attention and looked straight ahead. I had been caught by surprise and unsure of what to do or say.
"Why were you licking that wader, 107?" asked my master.
"I was examining it, Sir." I stammered.
He walked over to the waders and picked one up. "Who is the manufacturer?" he suddenly asked.
I had no idea. I never looked at the label or the stamp.

"Dunlop." I said hopefully. My own waders were made by that company.
"Wrong. They are LaCrosse. What size are they?"
That was something else I hadn't looked at."
"Size 9, Sir."
"Wrong again. Size 10. You need your eyes tested, 107. Perhaps that was why you were examining the waders with your tongue?" he said. "Perhaps you would like to examine some more waders with your tongue."
Without taking his eyes off me he said "Guardsman Phillips, go to the cupboard, take out a pair of waders, put them on and come over . . ."
He stopped in mid-sentence as two guys walked into the room dragging a slave.

The guys were dressed like I've never seen before. They wore muddy waders, rubber shorts, rubber T-shirts and a wide rubber belt. From the left side of the belt hung a pair of handcuffs and from the right side hung a rubber truncheon. Their shorts and T-shirt were splattered with mud. The slave was covered in mud up to his waist and splattered over the rest of his body. His wrists were handcuffed behind his back and his mouth was gagged. Two other discipline guards and a master followed them.
"Take him to the shower and bring him back here for questioning." said the master.

One guard opened a door and the poor guy was dragged through and into a cubicle. Glass doors closed and a shower of water covered the slave and his captors who I now assumed were discipline guards. A minute later he was brought out and placed under some chains hanging from the overhead beams and quickly secured standing in a spread eagle position.
"Mr. Hanson, if you are finished with the Water Guards can I have one over here." said my master.
One of the guys in waders came over and stood at attention. So this is a Water Guard. By now his waders had been turned down at the knees and I could see they were filled with water. Water droplets were also on his rubber shorts and T-shirt.

I realised I was getting a hard on again and tried to suppress it.
I was to discover later the reason for the name Water Guard. At one end of the Camp is a river estuary with mud flats and 400m on the other side of the river was "freedom". The Water Guards patrol the mud flats in their waders and shorts to stop any slave from escaping across the 150m stretch of mud flats to the river itself.
"Slave 107 is an expert at examining waders with his tongue." said my master to the guard, "Step forward and 107 will tell us what type of waders you are wearing."
The water guard stepped forward and I was ordered on to my knees. "Lick these waders, 107." said my master.

For once I obeyed without hesitation. Not only did I go on my knees I dropped on my stomach and taking the wader started licking the sides, the ankle, the toe, up the leg.
I rose from my stomach to my knees as my tongue worked its way up the waders. My eye roved to the guard's tight fitting latex short and the bulge at the front. I was tempted to lick that as well. His latex T-shirt covered a well developed chest. I would have been happy to lick him from head to toe.
I aimed my tongue at the bulge of his rubber shorts but before they made contact the second master said "I think 107 is breaking Rule 4."
"That will do, 107." said my master. "Stand up."

I stood to attention. My cock was fully erect.
"What is Rule 4? 107." said my master.
"A slave will show no sexual arousement unless ordered by his master." I said.
"And what is this?" he said tickling my cock with his horse whip.
I remembered 106's ploy and said "I'm sorry, Sir, It's the rubber which causes it."
Perhaps he'll send me out with the Water Guards as they do their exercises.

No such luck.
"I think we might solve your problem another way. Guardsman Morrison, bring the rolls of black polythene."
One of the guards went to a cupboard and returned with one roll of thin polythene approx 20cm (8") wide and a second roll 10cm (4") wide.
"Prepare 107 for mummification."
Two guards held my arms by my side while another produced a large rubber truncheon and handed it to my master.
"Any resistance and this goes up your back passage." said my master as he held up the truncheon.

Within seconds the black polythene was wrapped round my shoulders and chest, round my waist, it was criss crossed leaving my cock and balls exposed, round my thighs and knees to my Doc Martens.
It was then neatly rolled all the way up again leaving my balls and cock exposed and rolled right up to my collar, round my neck and back down to my boots and it stopped there. My arms were pressed tight against my body. I dare not move for fear of falling over.
The narrower 10cm roll started at my neck and was rolled round my head several times leaving a gap for my ears and my mouth. I was blind and felt so vulnerable and helpless yet I somehow enjoyed it.
I think this was obvious when my master said "You've broken Rule 4 again, 107."

I felt myself being lifted horizontally and carried somewhere. Then I felt pressure on my back as was released. I was lying on something. I felt my head lifted slightly and something put over it then suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
My master's voice said "You're wearing a gas mask, 107. Breathe slowly and you will be all right."
I did as instructed and found my breathing easier. Next I felt somebody enclosing my cock within some type of tube. I was aware of a vibrating noise and at the same time my cock seemed to swell. The vibrations continued and my breathing became deeper. I was beginning to panic. I didn't seem to be getting enough air. I tried move my arms but they were almost glued to my sides. I yelled for them to stop but they ignored me.

Suddenly my cock exploded as a jet of creamy juice shot out of it. I took deep breaths. I felt exhausted.
"Well. That's the first lot removed. 107. Only another five to go. We'll have the next session in eight to ten minutes."
He must be joking. Ten minutes?
He was right. About eight minutes later the vacuum tube was switched on again. At first it felt great but after two minutes and with virtually no spunk in my balls only a watery liquid seem to come out. By now I had managed to control my breathing.

About eight minutes rest and we started again. Another break and it was session number four. Again it was water coming out and my cock was getting tender by the minute. What had started out as a great laugh was now getting beyond a joke. My cock didn't feel as if it was part of me.
"Round number 5." said my master six minutes later. I couldn't take any more. I yelled as loud as I could. Again watery liquid came from my very tender cock. The gas mask was removed.
"Did you want to say something, 107?"
"Please Sir. No more Sir." I said.

To be jacked off six times in thirty minutes was too much. I was completely exhausted.
"The next time you get an erection, 107, you will be mummified and subjected to the vacuum tube a minimum of six times in thirty minutes whether you like it or not." said my master. "Twice a day if necessary." he added.
Reluctantly I conceded my master had won again.



I must have been in the Slave Camp for eight, or was it ten weeks? I had lost count of time. Over the last couple of days I had actually enjoyed some of my duties, . . yes, it's hard to believe. I still wanted out, though. I still wanted to go to the bar and pick up some guy for a one night stand, but it certainly wouldn't be a skinhead.
Slave 102 was back in the barracks. Most of the other slaves shunned him. On his third day in the billet he came up to me and said "Are you still interested in escaping from here? I know how you can do it."
I was a bit wary. How do I know he wasn't trying to get me punished? He must have read my thoughts.

"At the rear of the Correction Centre is a cupboard with waders and rubber suits for the water guard. I know where the key is kept and I know when the guards do their patrols."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Every time a slave escapes the guards get into trouble. The NCOs get demoted and all the guards loose their privileges and get fucked by the guards of the other two companies."
"You want your revenge?" I said.
He smiled grimly "You could call it that."

He told me how to get in to the store room from the Correction Centre and where the key was kept. I told him I would think about it. Three nights later I was instructed to sweep out the Correction Centre. Another slave was in the toilets. A guard was in the Centre but he was more interested in reading a magazine. Another guard came in and they had a whispered conversation. I heard them laughing and they went out.
I couldn't believe my luck. I was alone. I opened the door to the room 102 had told me about. I went to the cupboard where the rubber suits were kept. The key was in the door. That was luck.

I opened it and found three rubber one piece suits. I took out one which was my size. In the drawer I picked a full face mask and a pair of gloves. Next a pair of waders.
I put on the latex rubber suit. It clung to me like a second skin. I rubbed my hands lightly down my legs and then down my chest. I was beginning to get a hard-on. The nerves under the surface of my skin cried out for more caressing. My cock was almost rock hard.
I had to take my mind off the latex suit. My freedom was more important than a wet suit.

I donned the full face mask. There were holes for my eyes, nose and mouth. Next the waders. Then the gloves. I felt more confident now. Only the bulge of the collar gave me away as a slave. It was dark and no-one would see me. I was about to leave when I decided to take my Doc Marten boots. They had my number on them. If a guard found them they would realise I had escaped. I'll hide them in the bushes.

Silently I made my way to the mud flats and freedom. The tide would be out and the river would only be three feet deep. I looked out into the darkness. Ahead of me, only 400 yards away was freedom. I flung my boots on the ground. I wouldn't need those any more, and made my way carefully to the mud flats. It was a brainwave putting on the latex suit and mask. I blended in to the darkness.

Suddenly a light went on in the direction of the guardroom. Someone must have realised I was missing. I ran into the mud flats and slipped, falling head long into the slimy liquid. I rose to my knees. At least the latex wouldn't shine with the mud on it. I looked round. There were no lights on anywhere. The lights in the guard room were out. However I did hear shouts but unsure where they came from. I made my way forward, aware of the sucking sound of the mud each time I lifted my foot out of it.

I would be about 80 yards when powerful torch lights from my left side swung out over the mud flats. I sunk into the gooey mess to hide. I could feel the mud pressing against the rubber suit. I took a handful of mud and rubbed it over my face mask to prevent it shining. For several minutes I lay up to my neck in mud not moving. The searchlights extinguished. Was it a false alarm?

I rose and made my way further out. I was now in clear water up to my knees. This was the river. Another 10m and the water was up to my waist. Suddenly I tripped on something and stumbled head long into the water. I rose spluttering. I looked round but couldn't see anything. Everything was in total darkness. Just keep walking I said to myself. The water level didn't rise. Was I walking along the river instead of across it? I couldn't see a thing.
I then became aware of the water level dropping and soon it was only to my knees now and falling with every metre. I was now in ankle deep mud. Another 10m and I stepped on to grass. I was free at last.

I turned and had a last look at that Hell Camp. I couldn't see anything but I knew it was there. I never want to see another skinhead as long as I live. The next town I get to I'll pick up a Hells Angel. A nice greasy session with a filthy Angel. Bend him over his bike and . . . My thoughts were interrupted as I stood on something. Just then the moon came from behind a cloud. I stooped down and picked up whatever I had stood on. It was a boot. Someone had left his boot in the grass. In good condition too. I looked inside. Stamped inside was the number 107.

The full horror struck me. In the darkness when I had stumbled in the water I must have rose facing the wrong direction. I was back in the Slave Camp.