The Story of Michael

by Damien Dsoul

  One of the older white men raised his hand and stepped forward. Master Ghandi didn’t waste time venting his law. He threw a back-handed at the man. It connected with his jaw with a loud smack and the man tumbled to the ground. Master Ghandi applied a kick to his mid-section and the man doubled up, clutching his stomach, groaning aloud and rolled over on his back. Master Ghandi spat on him then turned to observe us.

  “Anyone else care to join him?”

  Neither of us dared.

  “Good. Let that be a lesson to the rest of you.”

  A man wearing thick pair of gloves carrying a metal rode with a burning tattoo marker approached us. Master Ghandi told us we would each be branded, as this was his way of stating we were now property. Each of us stepped forward and I gritted my teeth and tried not to shout when the man branded my left shoulder with the tattoo symbol. It wasn’t bigger than two inches and it looked somewhat a cross between a ‘9’ and an ‘S’

  We were led away after the branding was done. we marched forward in single file. The manacle chains jangled with each step we made, dragging up dust as we walked and the round ball made it heavy enough to walk faster. I was hurting from the metal pressing against my ankle’s flesh; it was a relief they didn’t do the same to our hands as well.

  There were housing structures around all separated by wide walkways and footpaths. I noticed some white women around. They were all half-naked, wearing some native top that covered their breasts and short skirts that one rode up their thighs and nearly all of them seemed to be doing menial jobs. We passed other white men too, and they too were bent forward doing some work or another. We passed a trio who carried shovels and hoes and were being led by a Black Mistress who pulled them forward with the separate leashes that was attached to the dog collars around their necks; there was a numb look on their faces like they were relaxed with what was being done to them. One of the Black Masters barked at us to pick up the pace.

  They led us into a bungalow house that bore the name SEQUESTATION ROOM on a title plaque at its entrance. It resembled a horse shed with three separate aisles on either side with plenty of cell rooms. We were led into each one and left to remain there with our cell doors locked. It was like being kept in prison. I grabbed at the bars and tried to pull at them but as I held onto the bars I observed that they were getting hotter ... and hotter. I yelled when it got too hot for me and withdrew my hands and sure enough my imprint were on the bars and I saw they were glowing hot.

  “You’d better not try holding the bars,” a voice from across said to me. I came forward, stood a few inches from the door, and saw a white man standing in the cell across from mine. He was bald-headed and had a wizen look about him. “That’s a precaution so you don’t try breaking free,” he said to me. “The longer you hold it, the hotter it gets.”

  “Thanks,” it was all I could say.

  I turned away from the door and looked about my cell. It was a standard room too small to be called anything else: 6’ to 8” feet. There was a bed on the floor that was three inches thick and nothing for a pillow. There was another barred window above the bed, this one high up on the wall I couldn’t reach it unless I jumped. All I could see through it was the evening sky turning dark. A single bulb hung from a socket in the roof. The floor felt cold under my feet. The walls were painted industrial grey. I sat on the bed and rested my back against the wall. The manacles were irritating on my legs. I held the attached ball in my hand and felt its weight. Heavy enough to slow a man down if one attempted to make a run for it.

  I must have dozed off because I heard a clanging voice outside my cell. I was lying on the bed with my hands under my head for a makeshift pillow and I looked up and there was a black man standing outside my cell doors looking at me.

  “Wake up, slave!” he yelled at me.

  I came up from the bed and stood beside it. The black man bent downward. I noticed a lid doorway at the bottom of my cell door open and the black man then pushed into my cell a plastic tray containing two round bowls and plastic cutleries and then he locked the door back.

  “Eat,” he said to me. “I’ll return in ten minutes.” And then he went to the next cell and did the same thing.

  I picked up my tray and brought it with me to the bed. The first bowl contained some edible broth with some meat in it and the other contained water. My stomach instantly made a growling noise and my nose inhaled the delicious smell of what I had before me and I set the tray down and picked up my spoon and started eating right away. I licked the plate clean when I was done and drank every water in the bowl and smacked my lips when I was done. I never thought I’d get to eat anything that tasted so good like what I just had. Ten minutes came by and the man banged on my cell door again and I placed the bowls and cutleries back onto the tray and brought them closer to the small lid. The man pulled the tray out of my cell and turned the lock and did the same to the other cells before leaving.

  Everywhere was silent now. I looked out the window and saw it was completely dark now. I tried to recall what day it was - was it Wednesday? Thursday? ... who knows. I felt cold. I kept rubbing my arms and legs ... anything to make we sweat. And the mosquitoes, they came for me in the might. They perched on my legs, thighs ... on my arms and danced over my ears. They hovered around my light bulb and I couldn’t help but watch them. They were the only distraction I had in the room. The light in my room went out suddenly, plunging my room in darkness. So too the set of lights that lit the aisle corridor, though there was some dull light coming from God knows where outside my window and it lit the top half of my room.

  I heard someone crying minutes later. I couldn’t tell where but if I could guess I reckoned it was that same kid in the truck. In my heart I cried with him.

  ***

  We remained in that sequestration building for some days - I counted three plus the day we arrived at the camp - before we got let out to meet with the population. It was like being free from a cave. What a relief it brought for all of us. It was then I thought about my history reading about the great Nelson Mandela and wondered if such was how it must have felt for him when stepping out of Robben Island. Except I wasn’t leaving the camp; none of us were.

  I looked at my compatriots and saw that I wasn’t the only one who’d suffered from mosquito bites. Two of them had even fallen ill with Malaria and were being attended to be fellow white boi-slaves. Being kept in the cell had made my skin turn white, not just mine but others too.

  Another relief was that the manacles got taken off our ankles. We stood in formation in front of Master Ghandi as two white boi-slaves walked to and fro unclipping the manacles from our ankles and replacing them with what looked like a rubberized anklet that came with a metallic clip. Master Ghandi explained to us that our sequestration was merely to get us acclimatized with our new surrounding, to take away whatever thoughts we might be harbouring that we’re not really where we’re meant to be.

  “You white bois are where you’re meant to be,” he addressed us. “Make no mistake in thinking that this isn’t real. As to the rubberized anklets ...” he explained to us that there were installed with implanted sensors to monitor our movement and location in and around the camp. Only when you’ve become fully indoctrinated will they be taken off. Make no mistake and dare try taking it off yourself or you’ll be in a fresh set of trouble you wouldn’t want to.”

  We would be given blanket and clothing to wear similar to the ones we have on. Only if and when chosen for special duty will we be recommended to wear something else. Every morning we were to report at the Morning Devotion and Lesson class to start off our indoctrination. We will each be assigned a work station as well as a black Master/Overseer to make sure we fulfil whatever task is given to us. Failure to do so, or any action that might warrant us being recalcitrant and pig-headed will result in punishment.

  My God, it was a punishment alone standing there wit
h the heat of the sun beating down on our heads.

  “Three days from now, you will all be given your chastity lock as well as your dildo toy to play with,” he said to us, grinning. “You’d best learn to love your dildo as you would a white pussy. But know that this will be the only pussy that you white bois are meant to get. In time you will qualify for Copulation Exercise with the bitch-slaves. But not until then.”

  Done with his speech, the white boi-servants led us to one of the hostel buildings we would be staying: two to a room, however we could bunk in whichever room we so choose. I opted to stay with the kid who’d been crying since we got here. He wore spectacles and he looked a lot like that actor who played that memorable 80s character, Pee-Wee Herman. His name was Eamon. He was an exchange student who’d been spending time with his girlfriend when suddenly they’d found themselves kidnapped by several armed men who’d sold them off at an auction.

  “Where’s your girlfriend now?” I asked him.

  He shook his head, looking like he was still in a dream. “I don’t know,” He muttered.

  ***

  We were put on water-fetching detail, Eamon and I. This was two days after we’d been let out of the sequestration building. I’d met with Hugh and he was at the moment on ditch-digging detail. We were considered new fish in the camp thus were assigned the toughest detail jobs available. Eamon and I shared the same Overseer and I was somewhat grateful of that. He stuck close to me and we were practically like brothers here at the camp.

  There was a narrow path that led towards the river. It branched to the west in the direction we knew the bitch-slaves had their own hostel. We were never allowed to fraternize with them unless told to. The bitch-slaves too didn’t fancy mingling with us white boi-slaves. You would have thought they weren’t white-skinned just like us. I had made conversation with other white boi-slaves who’d been here longer and a lot of them were even content about it. One of them told me his girlfriend was a slave just like him and they were being prepped to be sold soon. His name was Jason. I will talk about him pretty soon.

  We came round a bend and could see the river ahead of us as we went down the path holding two buckets in our hands. We got closer and Eamon made me stop and I followed what he was looking at and saw two bitch-slaves pleasuring two Black Masters. The black men reclined against two big rock outcroppings that littered the westward section of the river’s mouth. The overseers saw us and yelled at us to report in front of them. Eamon and I dropped our buckets and hurried to where the Black Masters sat with their pants down their legs with the bitch-slaves sucking their cocks.

  “On your knees, white bois!” one of them barked at us.

  Eamon and I did as told and came down to our knees. The bitch-slaves kept on sucking their cocks not minding our presence. One of the Black Masters got up and held the slave’s face with both hands and went on shoving his meat in and out of her mouth, pushing her head backwards. I caught sight of his cock - it was black and ugly and menacing. That the bitch-slave was struggling to fit take his cock down her throat was equally amazing to watch. I glanced at Eamon and he too had an amazed look on his face. His mouth hung open and he pushed his glasses back up his nose each time it slid downward. I was getting stirred watching the bitches do what they were meant to do. Eamon’s prick stuck out of his loin-cloth and he was jerking it while still keeping the amazed look on his face. I couldn’t help but join him to do the same.

  We remained as we were, watching and beating off on our meat. ‘Worthless meat’, as the older white boi-slaves referred to it.

  One of the bitch-slaves laid a cloth on the ground and the Overseer freed himself out his clothes and laid upon while she climbed on top of him. She reached downward and let his black cock into her pussy hole and was slamming her ass down on him before he’d even rested his thighs. The sight of her round ass coming up and down on his prick was fascinating ... and to hear her moan from it. The Black Master’s hands grasped her ass cheeks and pulled her down to him and then he started jerking his thighs, pumping his hard prick faster in and out of her cunt hole. She was loving it too. She pushed her ass back at him, she pleaded for him to fuck her harder.

  The other bitch-slave helped her Master out of his clothes and then leaned forward over the rock and he shoved his cock into her pussy, slapped her butt hard and started fucking her hard. She was hurting from the pain. He grabbed her hair and pulled her face up, asked her if he liked his dick. She replied that she loved it and he went on fucking her some more. I was jerking off from what I was seeing, panting while I did. Eamon was groaning louder and he pumped his semen into his hand and licked it off his palm. I came too and just like him I too licked off my cum.

  The other Overseer came and joined the couple on the cloth and he pushed the slave forward and entered her second hole and both of them now double-teamed the bitch-slave. Her hollering went higher. her other companion came and rubbed the Masters’ thighs and fingered her cunt; she too wanted the same treatment. The Black Masters pulled out of the bitch-slave and the other now took her place and sat on the Overseer’s cock in reverse position. She stuck his cock into her anus and left her pussy open for the other to come downward and thrust his prick into her pussy hole and both Masters hammered at her with equal gusto. The bitch-slave rested on her hands. Her eyes stared in our direction and I caught her winking at us while she wouldn’t stop moaning from the pounding she was getting. It was a sight watching those two black pricks fill both her holes. It brought all the crazy type of imaginations I’d ever concocted in my head and I was back to pumping my worthless prick as I remained there on my knees watching.

  The Black Masters had both bitches on their knees with their backs facing us. One of them turned to look if we were still there and laughed at us before returning to fuck the slave in front of him. Eamon too was pumping his cock almost in rhythm as mine. He looked at me and smiled, I smiled back.

  The Overseers kept on fucking the bitches from behind and then pumped their load of cum inside their pussies. They pulled out of them, their pricks dangling between their legs looked like wet rubber-hoses. The bitch-slaves thanked them for it. They turned over on their backs lying on the spread cloth and fingered their cunts.

  “Well, what are you white bois waiting there for?” one of the Black Masters barked at us. “Get us asses over here and do some cleaning up.”

  Eamon and I crawled towards the bitch-slaves. Anticipation and dread hung on my face as we got closer. They opened their legs and they too snapped at us to lick them off. I bent my head between the bitch-slave’s spread thigh, inhaling the rank, sweet smell that was the Black Master’s cum mixed with her cunt juice. I lapped my tongue over her pussy’s labia trying to get a hang of the taste.

  “Fuck you wasting time, white boi!” the Black Master slapped the back of my head. “Get to work and clean that bitch pussy up!”

  I abandoned all reason and pressed my face down between her cunt. My tongue ate out her pussy at the same time sucked out every cum juice my tongue and lips encountered. The bitch-slave grind her crotch against my face and pressed my head down on her cunt, moaning and cursing at me. Her curse words only seemed to drive me to doing a perfect job.

  “Clean that bitch pussy, white boi. I want it clean for the next Black Master to come fuck me good! All you white bois can do is jerk off to nothing. You enjoy eating that pussy don’t you, white boi-slave?”

  I murmured agreement to this. I spread her pussy lips as wide as I could and delved my tongue down into her succulent orifice. I looked out the corner of my eye and Eamon too was digging deep into the other bitch-slave’s cunt; I could hear his slurping tongue well enough.

  The bitches had enough and kicked us off them. I had cum juice all over my lips and I licked them off, savouring the taste. One of the Overseers returned to fucking his bitch-slave while the other wore back his clothes and too his bitch-slave along with him. />
  “Carry on, white bois,” he sneered at me and Eamon.

  We both replied, “Yes sir, Black Master,” and watched him stroll away with his bitch-slave’s arm locked around his. They walked like they were strolling down a beach with not a care in the world. Eamon and I watched the others fuck and when they were done and left, we went back and got our buckets and went to the river to get our water.

  SLAVES

  All was quiet and then a church bell rang in the room and immediately all of us white boi-slaves rose to our feet with our legs apart and our arms locked behind our backs and with our chin raised, staring across at each other, we spoke at the top of our voices:

  “GOOD MORNING, BLACK MASTER ABRAHAM, SIR! YOUR WHITE BOI-SLAVES REMAIN OBEDIENT TO THE MASTER RACE!”

  Black Master Abraham would stand at the far end of the warehouse doorway surveying us with his cold merciless eyes, his features scowling at us as he walked into the room and strolled amongst us. We stood four feet across from each other in six long columns, all of us white boi-slaves and all of us naked except for our chastity lock hanging from our penis which made us look as if we had bananas dangling from our genitals. Mine felt heavy on my prick and I was yet to get over the itch it gave me. It came with a designated chastity lock number and though we are allowed to take it off sometimes, it was meant to be on us for majority of the day and must never even think of losing it. It really was uncomfortable to wear, and though it had a penile hole through which we could urinate from, it made the process rather unbearable. One of the older white boi-slaves advised us against thinking about it. He said that soon enough we would get used to the device and would walk about like we weren’t carrying it along at all. The contraption came with a little padlock on the side. Our Black Masters/Overseers held the key to the chastity locks. I was due to report to mine once I’d showered, after the morning devotion we were about to have.