Slave camp 4

Author: plugged
Title: Slave camp 4
Date: 29 October 2008

slave camp - 4


I looked at the Doc Martens in despair. All that effort gone for nothing. What should I do? I had to make another attempt right away.
Suddenly I heard voices and saw the beam of a torch. I ran behind a bush. I was covered in mud so the latex suit wouldn't reflect the torch light. It was two water guards. They stopped only 6ft from where I hid and trained their torches towards the mud flats.
"The first time I heard of three slaves in one billet escaping together." said one guard.

"Yes. I bet the guards in "C" billet will get a roasting from the Commandant. The corporal will become a guardsman again and we can fuck the guards in "C". There's a guard called Timpson. He has a lovely arse. I'm going to make a point of fucking him during their punishment session."
"I know the one you mean. I quite fancy his arse as well. I will make a point of ramming my cock up his arse." said the second guard.
"Interesting to find they have consecutive numbers, 306, 307 and 308."
"I don't think they'll come this way. I was told 306 and 308 hated the mud flats. They're probably in the woods."

They continued to chat and moved out of earshot. I looked along the edge of the mud flats and saw more beams from torches. My chances of another attempt were nil. I could see more flashlights skimming the mud flats.
Three slaves from "C" block had escaped! Does that mean that I wasn't missed? Maybe I've time to slip back to the Correction Centre and wash this rubber suit. I could try again later. Possibly on two or three days time.

On my way back to the Centre I tried to console myself that being a slave has its good points. With regular exercise I was fitter now than I had been three months ago. I was beginning to enjoy being whipped by my master. I did take a pride in polishing the guards Doc Martens. Some of these guards were really handsome . . . and one of the water guards orders me to lick his waders whenever he sees me.
Then he belts me across my arse because I get a hard on every time.

I slipped into the Centre. There was no-one there. I ran to the large shower room, closed the door, removed the waders and turned on the spray washing the mud off the latex suit. Then I washed the waders.
I had finished washing the mud from the floor when I heard a voice shout "107. Come here."
I hung the suit on a peg and went out. The guard who had disappeared half an hour earlier stood there. There was a look of relief when he saw me.
"107 at your disposal, Sir." I said.
"Stop what your doing and get back to your billet immediately . . . Oh! What were you doing?"
"I was washing the rubber suits from the cupboard. Sir."
"O.K., O.K. I'll tell the corporal that. Now get back to the billet."
"Yes, Sir."

I smelled alcohol from his breath. Guards are not allowed to drink on duty. I bet he and that other guard had been up to something and had just newly heard about the escape. He would be so relieved we were all accounted for that he was quite happy to accept any explanation that wouldn't get him into trouble.


Slaves 306, 307 and 308 were never found. The corporal and the lance-corporal of "C" billet were reduced to guardsmen. Apparently all the guards in "C" block were ordered to lick the arses of the guards in "A" and "B" block as well as fucked by them as a punishment.
I was ordered to clean the guards' accommodation block two days later and heard three guards boast which "C" guards they had fucked.

Two days later I was transferred to field exercises. I would be there for three days so I never got the chance of getting to the Correction Centre at night. It was on the second day at the field day that two slaves in "B" billet tried to escape but were captured three hours later.
On the same day, from my own billet, a new slave, 110 had tried to escape. It was during his interrogation that the Commandant found out that 102, the ex-corporal had supplied escape information to 110 and the other slaves who had tried to escape from "B" block.

Slave 110 told me later how he was forced to "confess".
He said "I was taken to the Correction Centre by four discipline guards and my master ordered that I be fitted into a rubber diving suit. The suit had a large butt plug fitted and this was forced up my arse by the guards as they put me in the suit. The suit was sealed round my neck then a large metal dome shaped head was secured into place.
A tube led from the back of the head piece to a pump. Another tube from the pump led to the body section of the suit. I stood with my wrists chained to the overhead beams and my ankles to two heavy weights.

When I was secured I heard a motor run and then the butt plug started to vibrate. At the same time the rubber seemed press into my body as all the air was sucked out. Then I heard my master's voice through a small microphone in the head piece.
The questions started. "How did you get out of the Punishment Block? Who helped you? Who told you to cross the mud flats?"

Three minutes later the questions were replaced by the sound of running water and several minutes later I had the urge to piss in the suit. This stopped and was replaced by music. It was Oxygen by Jean Michael Jarre. It sounded like deep breathing and I started getting an erection. After several minutes the sound of water returned and I wanted to empty my bladder.

My master must have known the effect running water would have for he said "If you urinate in the suit, 110, you will receive fifty lashes across your balls. How did you get out of the Punishment Block? Ho else is helping you? How told you to cross the mud flats?"
The questions continued. The vibration of the butt plug continued. The rubber continued to press round my body. The sound of running water continued. The sound of Oxygen continued. After an hour I could take no more and told him everything.

Within two days of the confession, slave 102 (the former corporal) was given away as a "gift" to an Egyptian Grand Master. Security along the mud flats was doubled and my chance of escape that way was now zero.

I must have been in the Slave Camp for four months now and I confess I was depressed. I do my best to be a willing slave but wonder if it's worth the effort. Perhaps I should try to escape again. Escape hadn't entered my mind during the last two weeks.
Today I was in the training circuit. I had been round twice, but not fast enough for the field corporal. I was carrying a heavy rucksack weighing 7Kg and had to do 50 press-ups at the end.

I was wearing a pair of muddy army overalls and I was soaked to the skin. The field guards were also soaked in mud and they were obviously enjoying themselves.
We were ordered to remove the rucksacks and do the press-ups again in a pool of mud. As I raised and lowered my body I had to count the number of press-ups. One, corporal. . . . Two, corporal. . . . Three, corporal.

One of the guards claimed I hadn't pressed my body deep enough into the mud and beat me across my arse with his cane. I was ordered to remove my overalls and do another 50 press-ups. This time in the nude.
I started again. One, corporal. . . . Two, corporal. . . . Three, corporal.

This time the guard used his boot and pushed my body into the slimy mud each time it was lowered. My arms were aching by the time I reached 50.
Several of the field guards started wrestling in the mud. The mud soaked uniforms clung to their bodies and I couldn't take my eyes off them. It was obvious several of them had erections.
"104, 107 and 108. What is Slave Rule 4?" said a voice behind me.
It was one of the guards. I looked down at my cock. The excitement of watching the guards wrestling in mud had caused it to swell. I looked at the other two slaves. They also had erections.

I'm convinced the mud wrestling was a ploy by the guards to get us excited and have a hard on so they could justify punishing us. We were ordered to stretch out in the mud pool. I could see several guards unbuttoning their combats and knew that I was about to be fucked again.


I have lost count of how long I have been in the Slave Training Centre as it's called. Four months? Five months? Time has lost all meaning. My training has become more important to me. A lesson I learned the hard way was that a slave never assumes his Masters likes or dislikes.
In the Masters Mess room two slave act as waiters and I had been selected this week. In each room a Discipline guard is placed in case there is trouble. The guards this morning were from "C" block where 301 to 312 slaves were kept.

It was 10 am. when my Master entered the lounge. He was in a bad mood. Slave 105 had been sold two months ago to a Japanese Grand Master and last week had attacked three of his guards, all huge Negroes and cut off their cocks with a Samurai sword before killing himself.
The Japanese Grand Master wanted compensation.
I discovered a week later that the Commandant had managed to pacify him by offering him six recruits to become slaves under his orders.

The Commandant had told the guards that six volunteers would be selected to go to Japan to train guards there. The six selected all thought they were having a great time bullying new slaves. Among the volunteers were the former corporal and lance-corporal of "C" billet, when 307,308 and 309 had escaped. None of the six guards selected to go to the Japanese Grand Master were aware that the moment they stepped into the Japanese camp that they were to become slaves themselves.

Recruiting skinhead guards was easier than recruiting slaves. The east end of London, the Moss-side area of Manchester and the Drumchapel area of Glasgow were full of tough skinheads, ideal as guards. The six would be replaced in four weeks.

To soothe my Master I decided to bring him a cup of tea in his favourite mug with a gold and blue Greek scene and a slice a strawberry gateau which I knew he enjoyed. I hoped he would be pleased that I remembered his likes and dislikes.
I brought the tea and gateau in a tray and kneeling in front of him I said "I have brought your favourite morning snack, Sir."

He looked at it and then at me and jumping to his feet he sent the tea and gateau flying.
"Who ordered you to bring me tea and cake?" he yelled.
I was taken aback.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I thought a mug of tea and . . . ."
"Slaves do not think. Slaves obey orders. Nothing else." he roared. "You will clean this up and report to me for punishment in three minutes."
"Excuse me, Sir."
It was one of the Discipline guards.
"What is it, guard?" said my Master.
"I haven't had time to report it earlier but slave 107 had been instructed to lick all the mud off my boots and the boots of Guardsman Harrison. There were still traces of mud on my left boot and I had to order slave 107 to clean the boot again."

I stared at the guard in disbelief. He had never ordered me to lick any boots. I couldn't say that. A slave never corrects a Master or a guard.
My Master didn't question him on his statement and said "Take 107 to the punishment block and deal with him. I have to meet the Commandant in ten minutes."
My Master left the room leaving me with a smirking guard. He produced a pair of handcuffs and ordered me to put my hands behind my back. He secured the handcuffs and I obediently followed him to the Punishment Block. I was dispirited. I thought I was going to be the perfect slave.