Slave camp 5

Author: plugged
Title: Slave camp 5
Date: 29 October 2008

I was excited. I was told I was to be sold today and my Master said I was valued at 5% above the average slave. It is a great honour to be of high value. When 109 was sold at 5% above average all the other slaves gathered round to congratulate him.
My master said I had been in the camp for six months. Six months! I can vaguely remember the days before I came to the camp when my life was empty without a master and the days, . . no, the weeks . . , that I had resisted being taught my true vocation in life. To be a slave. How stupid I was in these early days.

Actually, I feel sorry for masters. They have to make decisions and carry out punishment. We slaves simply obey orders and if we displease our master we get punished, quite rightly, of course. I know I wouldn't like to be a master. All that responsibility. I wouldn't like to be a guard either. Sometimes I deliberately disobeyed one particular field guard because I fancied him and I think he knows it. He has a huge cock. The pain of that cock entering my arse after 20 lashes is wonderful.

At 12 noon all the slaves who were to be sold were taken to the Correction Centre. There were eight of us.
From "A" billet 111 and myself, 107.
From "B" billet 201, 207 and 212.
From "C" billet were 302, 310 and 312.
I was surprised 212 was there. I remember he had been a bit rebellious three weeks ago. Slave 310 was a really big guy and looked more of a guard type than a slave until I found out he loved being belted around the balls and arse, and he loved licking boots.

A Slave Auction is a special occasion and everyone is dressed accordingly. Even the slaves are dressed. We were given a new pair of Doc Martens and spent three hours last night polishing them. We were fitted with special collars this morning. They are two inches wide in tan leather with a close fitted row of 2" long chrome plated spikes and a chrome plated padlock. We stood on the platform with our feet kept the auction regulation 28" apart by chrome plated ankle irons and our wrists secured in tan leather wrist straps suspended from overhead beams.
After the greetings the visiting Masters would walk round about us pressing and probing, rubbing our arses, feeling our balls, squeezing our tits to find out if we matched their requirements. Then the bidding would start.
I was told there would be six Masters and the Commandant stood at the door with the three captains to greet them as they arrived.

The first was a guy in combat gear. Not bad, I thought. He would suit slave 201 who loved uniforms and sometimes "disobeyed" the field guards so they would make him lick their muddy boots. I heard 207 whisper "that's your type, 201."
The second and third Masters wore full leather kit. The next master to walk in was a huge guy wearing mud encrusted boots, mud encrusted tight fitting jeans showing off a large bulge at the crotch, mud encrusted checked shirt, thick leather belt and a hard hat.
Slave 310, who loves licking boots whispered "Whoa!! Look at those boots. I'd love to get my tongue round them.

Just then the fifth Master walked in. I stared at him. He was about 190cm (over 6ft) tall and dressed all in rubber. He reminded me of Darth Vadar from Star Wars. He wore a Master's head mask covering the top of his head and his eyes. His nose, cheeks and lower part of his face were seen. He wore a cape of shiny latex almost to the ground. His well developed chest was bare except for a rubber harness. He wore a pair of rubber briefs, a wide rubber belt and a pair of shiny wellingtons. I couldn't take my eyes off him. I wanted him as my master.
"Psst . . . . 107. You're getting a hard on." whispered 302.

I looked down at my cock. It was erect. I couldn't believe it. No. Don't let it happen. I wanted to turn and face the wall but my wrist straps prevented me.
"Permission to speak, Sir." said a guard to one of the captains.
"What is it, guard?"
"107 has broken Rule 4, Sir." said the guard.
The Commandant heard the statement and spun round. He saw my hard on and roared "Guards. Get 107 out of here immediately."
He turned to the visiting Masters and said "I am sorry gentlemen but 107 has been withdrawn from the sale."

The guards released my wrists from the overhead beam and released my ankles so I could walk to the punishment block. I couldn't believe it. My chance of a lifetime, . . . gone. The humiliation of being withdrawn at an auction. The other slaves would laugh at me.
The rubber Master might not come back. Perhaps if I begged him to buy me. If I could get under his latex cape and lick his wellingtons or his briefs. I suddenly took a run for him. The guards tried to stop me. I pushed one to the floor.
"I want a rubber master." I shouted, "I want a rubber master." Two guards grabbed my arms and another punched me in the jaw once, twice and on the third punch I lost consciousness.

I felt someone shake me. I woke up. "I want a rubber master." I shouted.
"What are you talking about? You're having a dream."
I opened my eyes and looked round me. I was in a bedroom. Then I saw the face of a handsome skinhead. I remembered him. He was the bastard who was the decoy for the Slave Camp.
"You're having a nightmare." he said.
A nightmare? It was all a dream?

I put my hand to my head. I had over an inch of hair on it. I felt my nipples There were no rings there. I looked down at my left nipple. Nothing was tattooed near it. It had just been a dream. A horrible dream. I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Some guest you turn out to be. I invite you to stay the night, expect to get your cock up my arse and the minute we get to bed you fall asleep. How about some action now. I want to be fucked, . . . . Tell you what. I'll mix you a drink that will make you feel out of this world."
"You mix a drink? No thanks . . . not now . . . some other time . . . I have an appointment." I said.
"But it's only 6 o'clock in the morning."
"Yes. Er . . . I have an appointment at 6.15. I have to rush."
I slipped out of bed, grabbed my clothes and headed for the door. I could dress outside.

I opened the front door and stopped in my tracks. Standing on the other side were three guys. One was dressed in full leather kit and carried a riding crop in his hand. The second was dressed in grey T-shirt and urban combat trousers. He held a rubber truncheon in his hand. The third had a pair of handcuffs and leg irons in his hands. He was a skinhead wearing faded blue jeans and checked shirt. On his left cheek was tattooed the word BASTARD.