Hard Labor

HARD LABOR

Chapter Three

A large, timber ranch-style sign marked the entrance of the drive.

‘Cold Creek Farm’.

The three words were painted in ominous black paint against the wooden background. Below it a smaller sign saying ‘Private Property – Keep Out’ swung on chains, creaking in the breeze.

Cold Creek Farm comprised a large stone farmhouse at the end of the front drive, surrounded by numerous outbuildings, ramshackle barns with corrugated iron roofs, all set in a gently undulating valley of green hills, brown fields and clusters of handsome oak and elm trees. The perfect, natural landscape contrasted with the ugly functionality of the manmade buildings.

In the far distance, there was a church spire and the vague outline of neighbouring farms. But most of the land the eye could see belonged to the young owners of Cold Creek Farm.

Steele and Carrie.

The largest of the barns was surrounded by a high wire fence, with gun turrets and searchlights. Several vans were parked at the loading bay at one end of the building. On the side of each van there was a logo comprising the words ‘Cold Creek Foodstuffs’ overlaid on a pyramid of baked bean-style cans.

In the surrounding fields, labourers stooped and tilled the soil. They were dressed only in rags despite the chill wind. Ankle chains connected them up to each other in groups of five or six. The majority of the labourers were male but there were quite a few women too.

Fern uttered a sudden cry of shock.

She had spotted a naked female writhing in the rutted mud underneath a man dressed in a black uniform. Two more uniformed men stood by and watched, one holding a bullwhip, the other a rifle. Nearby, other labourers simply dug the ground with hoes and spades, as if oblivious to the dreadful event happening only a few yards away.

Derek saw what his wife was looking at. “Look !” he gasped.

The two guards escorting them shrugged. “And ?”

“That woman’s being … assaulted … raped !”

The male guard leaned against the fence to watch. He had been introduced to them as Truman. He was a tall, shaven headed black man, who looked like a boxer. He chewed a piece of grass, smiling across at his female colleague. She was a guard with spiky dyed-blonde hair and a thin acne-pocked face, named Lennox.

“Raped ?” he drawled. “Haven’t heard that word for a while now. Cute.”

“There’s no such thing as rape here.” Lennox hissed, staring at Fern then at Derek. “Well, not of slaves, anyway. Women can be raped.” She continued. “But you …” she poked Fern’s chest, “… can’t.”

“But …” Derek replied. “You’ve got to be … look, we’re friends of Steele and Carrie’s.”

Lennox tilted her head, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“It’s true.” Fern wailed. In the distance the rapist was climbing off the woman, only to be immediately replaced by one of the other guards.

Truman grinned at her. He had two gold teeth. “Lady, I’ll lay you odds of a thousand to one that you and me are … intimately acquainted within one month. There are very few female slaves ain’t met Truman Junior here.” He patted his groin and leered at her.

“You !…” Derek turned menacingly towards him.

Truman swung his baton into Derek’s middle, making him double over.

“Don’t you ever threaten me again, kid.”

He wrenched Derek’s head up by his hair and stared into his face.

“Come to think of it, there are very few male slaves ain’t met Truman Junior either ! When I say your ass is mine, boy, I mean it literally !”

“Come on.” Lennox said to Fern. “You follow me. Say goodbye to your darling hubby for now.”

Fern reached out and clutched Derek’s hand. Fat tears rolled down both their cheeks.

“Be brave, darling.” He gasped to her. “I’ll sort this out, I swear.”

Lennox pulled Fern roughly by her blonde hair, making her scream.

Truman anticipated Derek’s desperate lunge to assist her and smacked the baton down on his arm, making Derek howl. “Say bye bye to wifey, kid.”

*** *** ***

Steele took his mug of coffee into his gymnasium. From the outside it looked like an old, ramshackle barn but internally it was state-of-the-art.

Six female slaves were working out under the watchful eye of a female guard. She’d been a Personal Trainer before joining his staff. He sat down on a viewing bench and sipped his coffee.

As usual, the workout was brutal. The six slaves had been originally selected by him and Carrie for their beauty but they were exercised twice a day to bring them to peak physical condition. As well as the usual running and weights machines there were special sex and fucking apparatus, vibrators for improving their internal muscles, feeding tubes for teaching oral skills, and much more.

The gym resonated to the sounds of concentrated training; grunts and squeals from the naked women, the clang and hiss of machines, the crack of crop against boot and shrill shouts by the female guard. Rather incongruously, piped classical music provided a background track; a Rachmaninov piano Concerto. A whiff of machine oil mingled in the air with the aroma of female hormones and sweat.

He casually studied the slave nearest to him. She was lying on her back, legs in the air, closing and opening them wide. Her pretty face was bright red and contorted with effort. Her tits wobbled in rhythm and she uttered little whimpers of effort and pain. A digital clock on the far wall with her name above it was counting down slowly. She still had 06.13 to go.

He knew her name was Mary and she was only just 21. She’d been on the books three weeks and, with her mane of chestnut hair, high cheekbones and natural Ds, she was a shoo-in for his ‘fuck brigade’. So far he’d only enjoyed two sessions with her. It was hard to fit all his ladies in ! The second time had been a big improvement on the first. She’d learned to be more enthusiastic and open-minded and her toned body was coming along nicely. Sure, she wasn’t a ‘keeper’. In a couple of months he’d probably give her to the guards and put her to work in the fields or factory. Or maybe sell her ? He had buyers for all his best meat so long as it hadn’t been too used and abused.

There were ten clocks on the wall but only a half dozen were in use, with their names above them. Mary had less than five minutes to go now. Then she’d move to an upper body exercise. He watched the guard walk over to her, berating her, holding a leather crop threateningly. This seemed to give Mary a surge of new energy. Fresh beads of perspiration popped on her forehead as she opened and closed her long legs, revealing her pink cunt. Her mound was hairless and he could see a couple of narrow red tramlines where the crop had recently been used to encourage her.

He made a mental note to give Mary her third session as soon as he could fit her in. Perhaps he would even invite her to spend an entire night with him and Carrie in their bed ?

He sipped his coffee and looked round at the five other gorgeous fuck-bunnies all honing their bodies for his pleasure. The oldest, at 39, was a brunette mother of two, who Steele had known back in ‘the old days’ before slavery. He watched her on the gym mat doing endless repetitions of stomach crunches. She had to work that bit harder than the younger sluts to keep her cunt and tits in shape. He had used to dream about her in ‘the old days’, jerking off to images of fucking her. She had just got married, and he’d been a teenager living next door. Back then, he’d never imagined that one day his fantasies would all come true.

The others were all in their twenties. Prime physical condition. There was a leggy platinum blonde cheerleader type, an ebony princess who was 6’ 2” tall, a cute oriental and, Carrie’s current fave, an ex-model and socialite with those kind of refined, well-bred features that only exclusive bloodlines can provide.

Each was pumping iron, grinding on cross-training machines, pounding on punch bags, pulling on rowing machines. Of course, as well as weights and exercise, much of their time was spent on stretching, toning, yoga and pilates. Flexibility was as important as muscle tone and fitness.

And orgasm control. They rode sex machines and vibes and learned not to cum except when given permission. None of them looked directly at him now, but he could sense they were watching him with their peripheral vision. Their eyes betrayed their terror. They knew they were the lucky ones. Yet, one mistake, one random moment of anger from him, and they would be brutally punished or, worse, banished to a life as a normal slave.

He sighed. He was a nice guy, really. Underneath his hard veneer. So long as his slaves did whatever they were told - whenever, wherever and however - then he could be a real softie. He didn’t hurt them gratuitously. Well, not often. He just couldn’t tolerate insolence. Or disobedience. Or anything other than blind submission. All those who properly worshipped him would be fine.

He scratched his balls and grinned, grateful for the fact he’d just shot a load. Visits to the gym made him horny. But he knew he’d better save his energy for Carrie and whatever she’d cooked up for him on his birthday.

*** *** ***

Derek stood in just his underpants. He’d removed his shoes, socks, suit, tie and shirt, folding them neatly onto a chair.

“And the watch.”

He glanced at Truman, but complied. His gold Swiss watch was his pride and joy. A gift from his parents on his wedding day. It was all he had left to remember them by.

Truman held out his hand for the watch, hefting it in his palm to judge its weight. He nodded his head approvingly and tucked it into his pocket.

“Nice piece. Okay, shuck the briefs.”

They were stood in what looked to Derek to be a communal bathroom, like a changing room at a sports club. But in much worse condition. There was a row of rusty shower nozzles to his right, facing a row of basins to his left; the shower heads dripped, the tiling was discoloured and cracked, the basins were chipped and stained. Facing him was a single, large bathtub. A strong ammoniac stench of urine and bleach, carbolic soap and lingering excrement pervaded the large room.

Truman raised his baton.

Derek slowly thumbed down the waistband of his underwear. He felt his skin prickle as he revealed his genitals, placing the briefs on the chair.

Truman stared pointedly.

“Hands behind your back.”

Slowly, he crossed his wrists behind him.

His mind flashed back to changing after sports at school. Fooling around and playing pranks with Steele, Terry and Ulrik. At first, in junior school, aged six and seven, there’d been no embarrassment. But in senior school, after puberty, Derek had been one of the shy ones, wearing his towel round his waist.

Steele had been one of those happy to parade around naked, showing off his physique and abs, his hairy and impressive manhood. They had been friends since childhood; Steele the gang-leader, Derek his trusty sidekick.

Steele was magnetic, daring, slightly dangerous, never more than a moment from trouble. Derek had often been torn between his own instinctive good behaviour and his loyalty to the gang.

For over a decade, Steele, Terry, Ulrik and Derek had been an inseparable foursome; the STUD Gang after the first letters of their names, or the ‘Studs’, as they called themselves.

Until Fern, that is.

She’d been Steele’s girlfriend. But she and Derek had gradually fallen in love. And one day it had all gone off. He’d been cast out of the Gang.

“Don’t move.” Truman said, and Derek’s mind snapped back to the present.

Moments later, the door opened and a man walked into the bathroom, pushing a trolley. He was naked, like Derek, except for pink bracelets he wore round his wrists. Derek guessed he was a few years older, maybe early thirties.

“Hah.” Truman said. “Here we are. This is Will. Say hi to Derek, Will.”

“Hi.” The man said, his vacant, brown eyes looking straight through Derek.

“Derek’s a new arrival. Derek say hi to Will.”

“Hi.” He tried to read Will’s dull stare; it was devoid of emotion.

“Will was standing exactly where you are now, three weeks back. Weren’t you Will ?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And Will has a young wifey too, don’t you Will ?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Derek has a wife as well. Nice lady, name of Fern.”

Derek saw a flick of emotion pass through the man’s eyes; recognition, understanding, pity ?

“Let’s get Derek hooked up.” Truman said, changing the subject.

There was a whirring sound and two chains descended from the ceiling, making a metallic sound like anchors being lowered from a boat. There were manacles at the end of the chains.

“Put your wrists through these.”

Derek wondered if he could make it ? He might be able to surprise Truman and knock him down. The guy called Will didn’t seem like he’d put up much of a fight either. He had his bearings. He could flee the farm in minutes.

But then what ? They’d come after him. He had nowhere to hide.

And Fern ? He couldn’t save her. Not yet, anyway. So he had to be patient.

He resignedly put his hands through the steel hoops and held still while the ratchets clicked tight. There was another whirring and the chains slowly climbed back towards the ceiling until his arms were stretched uncomfortably tight above his head.

“That’s better. Now the feet.”

There were two steel manacles on sliders in the floor. Will knelt and held them while Derek put his feet through, then tightened the ratchets round his ankles. The sliders parted until his legs were stretched painfully wide apart.

Truman chuckled, patting Derek on his naked thigh.

“You remember this moment ?” Truman asked Will.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell Derek what’s going to happen now.”

Derek saw Will frown. “We’re going to shave his body, his genitals.”

“And then ?”

“We’re going to put some of these on him.” He gestured at the pink bracelets on his wrists. They looked like toughened plastic watch straps with steel rims and a couple of coloured wires embedded in them.

“That’s right. And where does the third one go ?”

Will gestured to his own bald groin. More like a kid’s than a man’s. He was completely devoid of pubic hair. Even his balls were smooth and hairless. A pink band encircled his limp penis, from the root to the ridge of his helmet. The band was tight and clearly digging into the tender skin of his limp shaft.

Derek stared from Will to Truman and back.

“Tell him.” Truman said.

“These prevent us touching ourselves. If our hands get too near our genitals we get … an electric shock.”

“So, show him !”

Will’s eyes screwed shut and he bit his lip. But he obeyed. He moved his right hand down as if to touch his penis. There was a crackling sound, like a spark of electricity, and the pink band round his shaft briefly glowed bright red.

“Aaahhh …” he gasped, face contorting, jerking his hand away. A sheen of sweat burst onto his forehead.

Truman smiled at Derek. “Works, huh ?”

Derek shook his head at them both in disbelief. Not that he cared at that moment. Sexual urges, frankly, were the last thing on his mind.

“Okay. I’m going to take a piss.” Truman continued. “Shave him.”

Derek watched Truman walk through a doorway into another part of the washroom, presumably where the toilets were located. Will picked up an electric shaver from the trolley and a pair of scissors.

“Hold still. I’m going to trim your hair then shave it off.”

Derek made a face. “Be careful, huh.”

Will looked at him, then glanced at the doorway. “Don’t resist them.” He whispered. “The first few weeks are the hardest. But it will only make them worse.”

“Wh … what do you mean ?” Derek asked, under his breath.

Will shook his head sadly. “Welcome to hell.”

*** *** ***

Carrie enjoyed her little secret for a couple more hours.

She and Steele sipped early birthday drinks on the terrace, overlooking their farm and the pastoral view beyond. They employed over two hundred slaves, along with a couple of dozen officers and guards.

“Happy birthday, darling.”

He chinked glasses with her. “Twenty-fucking-six, huh. Time flies.”

“Time only flies when you’re having fun.”

“Well, it’s been fun all the way since I met you, sexbomb.”

She leaned and teasingly kissed him on the lips.

“Sex bomb ? Am I as sexy as that whats-her-name before me, you know ?”

He sighed. “You mean that bitch Fern. You’re a hundred times sexier, you know that.”

“Am I ?” she rolled her tongue and raised her eyebrows. “Really ?”

He frowned. “Sure you are. Hey, what are you up to ?”

She giggled. “A little surprise. A birthday present.”

“What ? Go on.” He laughed, tickling her ribs. “Tell me.”

And so she told him.

Everything.

Her entire plan.

When she’d finished, Steele sat back in his chair and whistled with glee.

The best damn, fucking birthday present he’d ever had.

End of Chapter Three