The Chastised Slave of New Mecca 2
Copyright© 2026 by Vanquished One
Chapter 3
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Jailed in the slave barracks adjacent to the slave market I along with my batch of freshly enslaved men are put through our paces by Arabian female guards and their Black male lackeys. I get a reprieve from the heavy labor when the sadistic Commandant took it upon himself to teach me what was expected sexually of slaves in New Mecca, a cyber-city in the heart of the Arabian desert. He proved that I was the slave most willing to embrace homosexuality if it meant doing less work.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/Ma Consensual NonConsensual Rape Slavery BiSexual Fiction BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Sadistic Torture Interracial Black Male White Male Oriental Male Oriental Female Anal Sex Masturbation Oral Sex Spitting
We slaves hurried through the entrances of our pens where the lackeys hovered, threatening to cane any stragglers, and they didn’t need much provocation to lash out.
Along with the lackeys, I noticed strange robots patrolling along the tops of the walls. I could only described them as being like mechanical Dodos, but instead of a head and long beck, they had a machine gun mounted—as much as I feared the canes of the lackeys, getting gunned down by one of those absurd robots would be the worst, but it did cross my mind if there were a way to escape this enslavement, it might be the most viable.
The slaves were made to stand in rows and perform the stretching exercises demonstrated by one of the female guards. I did my best to keep up with her as the guards paced up and down the rows with their batons at the ready to beat any stragglers. The purpose for all the stretching became apparent as great piles of stones and sandbags had been laid out on the parade ground. The ladies laughed when they saw my disappointment when they assigned me to a pile of stones. I felt a little better when I saw a sled—at least I wouldn’t have to carry them.
We all stood at the ready awaiting the whistle to be blown—we all jumped into action when it sounded. Some began lifting the sandbags onto their backs while others attempted hugging them. I lifted a stone onto my sled—boy were they heavy! I slung the rope over my shoulder to drag the sled to my marker on the other side of the parade ground. The coarse rope dug into my shoulder as I put my back into it.
“Hurry up, slave,” called one of the guards in her Arabian accent. “You don’t want to be in the last group—the punishment group.”
I did my best hauling stones from one side of the grounds to the other. It was still morning but we sweat from the workload. My legs ached and my back hurt. The rope chaffed my shoulders as I had to swap the rope from side to side. It became too painful, so I resorted to facing the sled to pull the rope, which was less efficient.
“You’re going to be in the punishment group if you don’t hurry up, slave!”
Thankfully, it was early in the morning so the full Arabian heat hadn’t kicked in yet. I gazed around me at the other slaves hauling. It was quite a sight to see so many naked men look so tired yet have a sense of urgency. We all glistened with sweat and hung our heads either hauling sleds laden with stones or slinging sandbags over our backs. I noticed the piles getting larger as the hours passed.
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