Farmed

My throat was parched as I tried to wriggle my mouth around the harsh gag which stretched my jaws wide.  Lying on my side, I shuffled around in the dark, feeling the unremitting corners of my enclosure.  I was locked in some form of trunk and - from the noise and movement - it felt like I was being transported in a truck.  I tested the cuffs behind my back, restricting my movement severely.  The chain between them and the ankle cuffs meant I wouldn’t be moving very far.

With a sickening lurch my mind recognised the horrific truth.  I had just finished a pro wrestling game at the arena in front of my adoring fans and been victorious.  But after drinking my post match flask to rehydrate, I only remember the haze and then blackness.  I couldn’t believe it could be true, but I had been so careful.  Three pro wrestlers had disappeared - vanished from the face of the earth - over recent months.  The police had no idea at all what had happened to them.  It had scared me.  They were my friends and opponents.  Tough guys who could take care of themselves.  But now they had gone and no one knew where or how or why.  Surely it couldn’t be happening to me?  And yet deep down I knew with a sickening certainty that this could not be a coincidence.  I was to find the same fate as my friends.

I lay on my side and realised the trunk was too small to manoeuvre myself into a sitting position.  I shivered involuntarily.  Dressed only in my wrestling singlet and barefoot I felt the cold.  My white singlet stuck to my body, the drying sticky sweat from my wrestling match indicating it could only have been hours since I was in the ring: conqueror, winner, epitome of masculinity.  Who had done this to me and why?

* * *

I don’t know if it was the drugs that had obviously been a factor in my abduction but I awoke with a start at external noises.  Still imprisoned, I shook from the cold and raw fear of my situation,  realising that the movement and noise of the truck had ceased.  Holding my breath, I heard the sound of a heavy door creaking open outside of my crate. Then footsteps and voices before the roof of my crate was lifted quickly.

I was hardly in a position to fight, lying chained in a singlet.  But the two burly guys standing above me looked down on me and threatened me not to resist, poking a cattle prod stick into my chest menacingly.  

“Up” snarled the older man, and both of them pulled me by my biceps to my feet.  Shakily, I grunted to my feet and stood in the chill air.  Looking out into the darkness I felt the cold air as I felt the vulnerability of my situation.

It wasn’t long before they had pulled me out of the crate, along the back of a large empty lorry and pulled me unceremoniously down onto the floor of a large warehouse.  With a warning to cooperate I was pulled along through the night, struggling to keep pace with my bare feet racing along the cold floor cuffed by their chains.  It wasn’t long before the cold concrete warehouse gave way to an external area and I looked around me dazed and confused as we entered what appeared to be a port.  Cranes and shipping crates were everywhere around me, harsh lights illuminating the night sky.

I jogged between my two minders, aware of the obscene scene I must portray, dressed only in a skimpy skin tight singlet over my muscular body.  Chained and gagged.  I searched the surroundings for help but realised even if I had seen some help, I was helpless to shout for it.
I couldn’t even begin to understand what they were doing with me, as we approached a large container ship and proceeded down a ramp into a metal door on the side of the ship.  I looked around at the large cargo bay in which I found myself.  And still we walked.

* * *

The sound of a ships horn signalled the start of my new life.  Down here in the cargo hold I sobbed and hung my head in despair at my situation as I felt the engine pick up and the ship begin to move.  After bringing me into the hold of the ship, I had been amazed to find myself escorted into a corner of the room that was secured by metal bars into a caged cell.  Unceremoniously, my ankle had been chained to the wall before they had removed the cuffs from my arms and legs and the gag from my mouth.  With a heavy chain I was shackled and helpless.  

I swore.  I cursed them.  I threatened them.  They laughed at me through the bars.  

“You had better get used to it boy,” the younger man laughed.  “Where you are going, you won’t be able to pretend to be the big man any more.

As the men walked away, I sank to my knees and held the bars of my cage.  Nothing to do or see, helpless in a cargo hold, I looked at a large crate opposite me in the ship.  In large letters, my destination read “Mombasa, Kenya”.  I wondered what was happening.  Imprisoned in a ship, heading to Africa.  Alone and afraid, chained to the wall.

* * *

I had plenty of time for fear.  The ship travelled many days.  Many days alone and afraid, the days of my liberty disappearing over the ocean.  I sat and slept on the stone floor.  My white singlet was now filthy.  Sweat, dirt and piss stained.  My only remnant of my former life.  I was brought a basic meal once a day and a bucket to shit in.  Otherwise I was ignored.  Cargo.

* * *

Finally, we arrived in Africa and the ship sailed into port.  The cargo hold was emptied of its cargo and I became the only remaining item.  I was amazed and confused that the local workers all came to look at the human cargo chained away.  They talked and pointed and laughed, smiling knowingly at the white prisoner.  But no one showed concern or pity.

Eventually a flat bed truck was backed through the large door of the hold, up the ramp I had entered so many days ago.  Secured on the rear of the truck was a large cage and it came as no surprise to me that I was told that I would be entering the cage.  The cattle prod reappeared and a crackle of electricity demonstrated its power before me.  With a warning I was ordered into the cage, and after unlocking my ankle I was marched to the cage and shoved inside.  I weighed up the options for escape but it was useless, I was hopelessly outnumbered and could easily have been overpowered.

Once locked in the cage, the men peered at me through the bars laughing and discussing the helpless man inside.  The truck started its journey down the ramp, through the port and out into the streets.  I drew many looks on my journey but no one sought to help.  No one showed concern.  A caged filthy white man dressed in only a skimpy one piece cloth was clearly not of concern to them.  I could only grab the bars and watch the new world around me go by.  City turned to country eventually and I found myself travelling down long basic roads away from civilisation.  Afraid, confused, humiliated and so alone.

* * *

It's a year later.  My life has changed immeasurably.  I have no doubt now that I will never return to the western world or to freedom.  I live a life that is truly unbelievable in its harsh and unrelenting cruelty and humiliation.  And I know that I will never taste the freedom of being a man again.
I don't understand why it has happened, how we were selected or who owns me.  But I am an owned beast now.  Together with four of my former wrestling colleagues and three other athletes from other sports, we form a team of eight white animals.  Eight former professional sportsmen with bodies honed to perfection who now live as white animal slaves to their black rulers.  Far away from any help, any salvation.

We are a herd.  We live as animals.  We are kept stark naked and our bodies have been deliberately chosen to be similar.  Shaved from head to toe, we look identical no doubt to our captors.  Each of is adorned only with the same restraints and humiliation.  A heavy iron ring around our necks, a heavy metal ring that has been pulled through all three sections of our nose and a heavy ring that is embedded deep in the end of our cock, pulling it down always and making it impossible to erect.  I have never been able to cum throughout my captivity, a source of frustration for each of us.  Our cocks are simply tethering posts now for heavy chains.

We are branded.  Numbered.  1 to 8.  A branded burn on our chest and our arse cheek.  Our only identity a number.  I am 5.

The eight of us are prime specimens of muscle, our bodies maintained through the constant work we undertake.  But we are resigned to our status as animals and we know that escape is impossible.  We cower before our black masters and we obey.  

We live on a large plantation and we slave from morning until evening.  Our nights are spent together chained by our nose rings in a pen in the stable yard.  We have no freedom other than the quiet whispers together when alone.  We depend on each other in our despair but there is little to talk about as our days never change.  There is no life other than harsh work and humiliation.  

In the morning we are escorted into the courtyard and met by our clothed black owners on their horses.  Attached in a coffle by our ringed dicks, we jog naked to our work task and start our work.  Always back breaking relentless work for the full day.  Whipped, kicked, abused animals with no hope, no humanity, no freedom ever.  We plant crops, we harvest crops, we break rocks or plough fields.  A cycle of plantation work as a herd of animals stark naked under the sun.
We eat basic mush.  We piss and shit as we work, like animals.  Filthy unwashed white beasts of burden, chained together.  Working from sunrise to sunset.  Every day the same.  A life of despair and degradation.

When we return to our cell in the evening, we are utterly exhausted as we are locked in. No ceremony, no wash, no relaxation.  Simply chained to the central pole and left to recover for the next day, in the pitch black of the farmyard.

On most evenings, at least one of us is removed.  We all look the same now, and so we believe there is no conscious choice.  A captor will enter our cell, unhook one or more of us and take us out into the other areas around the barnyard.

It can be our captors.  It can be other men.  It can be young men or old men. But all delight in using a muscled white man.  Our dicks are useless heavily ringed, but they fuck us mercilessly.  They piss down our throats, they chain us spreadeagled on the floor and sit on our faces, they fuck our mouths for hours it seems.

We accept it humbly.  What else can we do?  It seems like revenge.  Revenge for the history of slavery centuries ago.  The black superior male teaching the white male its place.
We can only accept humbly.  Obediently.  Before we limp back to our cell the cum leaking from our orifices.  We seek only to comfort each other, not question.  Our joint suffering is our only remaining sense of humanity in a world where we are white animals.

* * *

Maybe one day you will pass overhead in an aeroplane.  Maybe visit on safari.  We know we will never be found or released.  Harsh, unrelenting slavery is our destiny for life now, at the mercy of our cruel black owners.