Date: Tue, 30 Nov 2004 06:21:03 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Four The Same, Part Thirteen

FOUR THE SAME    by Pete Brown    petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Thirteen

As I went to my suite that evening the house steward
stopped me and asked me, discretely, if I required
companionship that evening.  I was about to say no, as
I always had Darren available, then thought better of
it.  Perhaps I would instead take one of the two
"college boys" from my bath - it would be an amusing
change to have a virile young stud like that, or,
there again, I might have both of them!  But I had
been powerfully turned on by the spectacle of the
boxing, watching the two fit, strong men beat each
other up for our amusement, and so instead directed
that the winner should be sent up to me.

Darren was waiting in my chamber, no longer wearing
even the skimpiest covering, but I dismissed him:  it
would do him good to see that I did not rely on him as
a pleasure object, and that as his owner it was I who
would choose when he was used, and when he was not.
There was a short delay before the  boxer arrived:
the steward appeared almost instantly to apologise on
Master Andrew's behalf for this lapse in the normal
standards of service to guests, but he explained that
as he was not one of the usual pleasure slaves, he had
had to be woken up from his rest after the fight, and
properly flushed out and made ready for me.

The man was every bit as stunning as I had hoped:  he
was wearing just thin satin boxing shorts, and as I
ran my hands lightly over his muscled torso he
flinched slightly - I could clearly see the bruising
that his opponent had inflicted on him, and it was
interesting to see how these sensitive areas magnified
the effects of my touch.  It always gives me a
particular pleasure to feel a man's penis and
testicles through his clothes - somehow, it's a lot
more exciting than just having the man nude for the
first encounter, isn't it?  There's something about a
stiffening cock felt through fabric, especially silk
or satin, that's qualitatively different from that
same cock "raw", and of course there's always the
extra excitement of seeing whether your sense of touch
has reported faithfully on it, or whether the
subsequent sight is a pleasant, or unpleasant,
surprise.

The boxer was superb - you know that tough, hard men
who are "physical" are a weakness of mine, and to have
a man who had just been so brutally engaged in battle
now available for me was itself a turn-on.  But when I
slid his shorts down over his hips and his cock reared
into life, I knew I was in for an exceptional end to
the evening.   Because of his constant training, his
buttocks were very firmly muscled indeed, and I could
tell from the way in which he shuffled uncomfortably
after I had commanded him to lie belly down on the bed
and to spread his legs that he was unused to having
his body used for a man's pleasure.  I ran my fingers
up and down his ass crack, almost needing to force the
muscled cheeks apart, and when my finger first touched
his moist hole, he whimpered softly.  I stopped for a
moment, and lay myself down on top of his delightful
body, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, and
the sweat that was slicking it.  Putting my mouth
close to his ear, I whispered "Are you not used to
having men?"

"No, sir.  They said it would probably happen one day,
but before they brought me here to fight, I was
straight - I've got a son by my girlfriend...."

My cock, already very hard from its contact with the
smooth skin of his buttocks as I lay there on top of
him, jerked convulsively:  this was a virgin, and a
"straight" one at that!  I was intrigued, so I asked
"What do you mean - 'when you were brought here'?"

"Look, I was a contender for the welterweight title,
but I always knew I was never going to be world
champion. So when my manager told me there was better
money to be made by taking this contract for two years
to come and fight in the Gulf, I did it.  I agreed to
fight naked, and bare knuckled, as they paid so much
more, and I want to make enough to give my nipper a
good start in life - it's hard to leave him and his
mum, but when  I go back I'll never have to fight
again...."

"And the fucking?"

"Well,  once it was all agreed and I'd got my
girlfriend to agree to the separation and everything,
they came and told me that there were these occasional
'extra duties'.  They kept reminding me how much I was
being paid for the two years, and they threw in an
extra ten percent when I turned them down flat.  It
was so much money that I couldn't afford not to go
ahead in the end - especially as I'd lost the chance
of a couple of good fights because everyone knew I was
planning to come and take the job.  So I didn't have a
lot of choice, did I?  Either I agreed to sex with
other blokes, or I lost the whole thing.  So here I
am...."

"So you've never been with another man?"

"No, sir."

"To tell you the truth, what you have told me concerns
me somewhat.  You're a trained fighter.  You're not
used to proper sex, and I'm worried that you might
react badly... You're younger, fitter, tougher than
me...."

"Sir, I made my mind up long ago.  Whatever you do
will be OK.  It's only a few minutes, isn't it?  Any
man can take that.  I mean, I've had teeth drilled
without anaesthetic, and that only goes on for a few
minutes.  It can't be as bad as that, I reckon.  I'm
just going to lie here, hold the edge of the bed, and
bite the pillow to keep my mouth shut and stop me from
screaming."

I eased myself up from his body, and slapped one of
those delicious buttocks playfully.  "It isn't as bad
as that, you know!  Most men actually like it, once
they've tried it.  So I'll be gentle, but firm.... and
it may go on for a bit longer than just a few
minutes!"

I positioned my hand on his buttocks, felt for his
hole, and probed at it experimentally with my
forefinger.  I was pleased to see that he appeared to
have been stretched and lubricated, as my finger
slipped through his portal relatively easily.  And
when I drew my hand away there was no trace of shit on
me, so he had been properly cleaned out.  There was no
further point in delay, and so I pulled his buttocks
apart, positioned my cock head at his hole, and
pushed, gently at first, then harder and harder as I
met with unexpected resistance.

"Stop fighting it!", I called out to him. "Pretend
you're crapping, and push outwards!"

He must have done the right thing, as the next instant
I was through and into him, then slowly and gently I
pushed more, so that I was buried right inside with my
pubic hairs hard up against him.  It was intriguing to
watch as I did this - his body was sometimes tense,
and sometimes relaxed, and his hands seemed to
scrabble frantically at the edges of the bed, as if in
some way that would make things better.

As he had seemed a nice enough chap and was, after
all, doing this for the benefit of his infant son, I
was gentle with him.   It had always been my ambition
to fuck a virgin really hard, but this simply wasn't
the time.  I was almost surprised at myself as I
pushed slowly, smoothly and gently in and out of him,
and even apologised when it became clear that I'd hurt
him when I leaned forward and gripped his muscular
hips to give myself something to hold on to for
greater stability - I had forgotten how badly bruised
he was.

There is something very special about taking another
man's cherry, as the Americans call it.  I suppose
it's not as satisfactory from the point of view of the
sheer mechanics of sexual activity, as he doesn't know
how to respond properly.  But as you fuck him, you
know that for him this is the first time, and that
long after he's forgotten many of the other men who
he'll have been with, he will remember you.  There's
something rather touching about building this tiny
piece of immortality for yourself, I think - and I'm
sure my readers who have done this too will agree.

In spite of being incredibly slow and gentle, the
sheer sensuality of introducing this magnificent
specimen of manhood to proper sex made me cum very
quickly indeed, and after I had pulled out from him, I
turned him over on to his back and lay beside him with
my leg thrown casually over his so that I could feel
his cock and balls against my skin.  He lay there,
with his hands underneath his head, and to my
amazement I saw that he had tears flowing down his
face.

"Surely it didn't hurt that much..."

"It's not that... A fight punishes you much more than
that.  It's just, well, you know, I've been fucked,
had sex with another man..."

"Well....?"

"Well, I'd always been told that was wrong, that it's
a sin.  Our priest is always quoting the holy
scripture about not laying your flesh with that of
another man... It's against God's word, isn't it? I
wish I'd never taken the money now, as he'll be sure
to punish me."

I lay one hand on his magnificent pecs, feeling one of
his nipples taughtly erect under my palm.  "You
actually enjoyed it, didn't you?  It was good, wasn't
it?"

"Yes, but...."

"No 'buts'!  How can something that two men freely do
together that gives them both so much pleasure be
wrong?  Isn't it more likely that your priest is
telling you lies?"

"But it's in the bible..."

"Yes, but the bible is just a load of folk tales and -
I mean, the whole idea on which it is based is flawed,
isn't it?  There is no big juju up there in the sky,
and if there was, why would he be concerned about what
you do?  Anyway, people quote it very selectively -
doesn't it also say that someone walked on water, that
a woman gave birth even though she was a virgin,  and
that someone who was barbarously killed actually came
alive again!  I ask you - what sensible person would
put any credence in such complete rubbish?  Your
priest has to, as that's his job.  But you and I are
both thinking men, capable of making up our own minds,
and we both know, don't we, that what just went on
here was harmless, and fun?"

"Yes...."

"So don't worry about it.  Just enjoy it.  And maybe,
the next time you see that priest, feel for his cock
and see if he's interested in having a beautiful man
like you taking an interest in him!"

He smiled, but went on "But I'm going to get
married...."

"And so you should.  Your son needs parents.  But that
shouldn't stop you exploring and enjoying other men's
bodies, should it?"

"Well...."

"Look, does your girlfriend object to you going out
for a few drinks with your friends occasionally,
without her?"

"No.  She knows men need to shoot the breeze together
sometimes.  And she goes out with her women
friends...."

"Well it's only like more of the same, isn't it?
You'll just spend more time exploring your friends'
bodies, and less time talking and drinking!  It's not
as if you'd ever be unfaithful to her, would you?  You
wouldn't father a child by another woman?"

"No, of course not!"

"Well there's no chance of that if you have a bit of
enjoyment with your friends, is there?"

I could see that this argument could go on all night,
but  I was getting tired and had to be up in the
morning for the flight back to London.  I leaned over,
and kissed him lightly, full on the lips, but did not
try to force my tongue in to his mouth when he did not
freely open up to me.  I did feel his nipple lurch
under my palm, though, and my other hand, which I'd
let wander down to rest on his cock, reported that he
was rampantly erect.

"Anyway, we've broken the ice, so to speak.  It's up
to you now to make the most of it, and start to enjoy
yourself.  I'd let you sleep here, but I'm afraid that
I wouldn't sleep very much, and I have a full day
tomorrow!  So run along - why don't you go and find
that guy you beat up so comprehensively earlier on,
and see if he's interested in doing anything with that
magnificent cock of yours?"

Lithe as a panther, with one smooth movement he was on
his feet, and fumbled to pull the satin shorts back
on.  I smiled inwardly as I saw the wet spot forming
on the front where his erect cock was thrusting the
fabric away from his body, and as he turned and left,
there was a spreading dark stain at the rear where I
knew my semen must be trickling out from him.  It's
funny, isn't it - the anal sphincter normally keeps
your bodily material safely inside until you decide to
let it go - even if it's very liquid.  But a few drops
of semen in there, and it simply leaks out all over
the place.

In spite of the thoughts about the future of the bank
that were now whirling around in my brain as a result
of today's startling news - I needed to start planning
now to capitalise on these astonishing developments -
the magic of completely satisfying sex worked its
usual wonder and I quickly fell into a deep, dreamless
sleep, and awoke refreshed and looking forward  to the
day's challenges as Darren gently roused me with a cup
to tea.

I sat up in bed to sip it before starting the day
properly, and saw that he was still completely humble
and compliant as he stood there, head bowed, waiting
for my instructions.  The only thing that marked him
out as a virile seventeen year old, rather than an
older slave, was that he was unable to prevent his
cock from betraying his interest in sex, as it started
to erect as I stared at it.  I wondered whether to get
the day off to a good start the day by fucking the
boy, but the pleasant memories of the boxer's hard,
muscled body and soft, virgin hole still consumed me,
and I wanted to continue to enjoy those for the next
few days.  On the other hand, I'm not a cruel man, and
remembering what he had told me about not being
allowed to cum unless partaking of sex with a master,
I decided to let him experience some of my own mood of
happy relaxation after sexual relief.

"Wank yourself, Darren!"

He looked startled, and muttered "Master....?"

"It's simple enough, surely?  I told you to wank
yourself.  I wish to see you cum.  No wonder you've
been beaten if you do not immediately obey a master's
orders..."

He went to lie down, but I snapped "No!  Remain
standing.  Do it here, in front of me.  I wish to see
you exercise that cock of yours.... Get a move on, and
be sure to catch your cum in your other hand as I wish
to examine it."

He reached down and began to stroke his erect member,
slowly at first, then with increasing vigour.  I was
interested to see that, like me, he used his left
hand, and marked this down as a potentially
interesting facet of his nature that I might explore
at some later time:  it's well known that left handers
are generally more intelligent and creative than the
population as a whole, with many celebrated
scientists, artists and writers who are left handed.
Could it be that Darren, under his blunt exterior, was
hiding an active and intelligent brain?

My musing was brought to a halt, though, as my
interest in his activity increased - now he'd bent his
knees forward slightly to give himself a better "grip"
on his cock, and his hand was flying up and down the
shaft, causing his cock to jerk up and down as his
thumb caught on the meaty protruding flange of his
cock head.  His breathing, too, had become deep,
almost ragged, and he was making deep sounds from
somewhere inside him that denoted that he was enjoying
himself, but that it was hard work.

The grunting noises became louder, then his whole body
twitched as he started to cum.  Just in time, he
brought his right hand up, and stood there, gently
squeezing his cock to wring the last traces of
enjoyment from his orgasm.  His body was covered in
sweat, and he held his hand out towards me, so that I
could see he big pool of thick, viscous cum filling
his palm.

I know it's traditional in "slave literature" for
owners to take hold of a pinch of the slave's cum at
this point between their thumb and forefinger and
"inspect" it for viscosity, texture, and colour.  But,
on the whole, I tend to think that's fanciful as a
quick visual scan of the contents of the palm is all
that's needed to assure yourself that the slave is
properly virile and healthy.  Certainly in Darren's
case there was absolutely nothing to complain of in
the quantity he had produced, and I told him that he
could relax.

He stood there, almost bewildered, looking around for
something to wipe his hand with.  "On your thigh,
Darren!  Rub that cum-filled hand up and down your
thigh - smear it down your leg... I don't want you
dripping it all over the floor!"

He hesitated for a moment, then did as I had
commanded.  As the cum spread over his skin its
special odour almost filled the room, and I could see
the hairs on his legs all standing up from their
sticky base.  For some reason he seemed to be
embarrassed about this, and as it was anyway time to
get up, I slid out of bed and stood in front of him.

The pistol crack sound of the resounding slap I gave
him to his face echoed around the room, and Darren,
caught completely off guard, staggered slightly under
the impact.  I saw the red mark of my hand print
appear n his cheek, and just for an instant there was
a touch of the old defiance, but fortunately it was
eradicated so quickly that I was able to tell myself
that I was mistaken (I did not, after all, want him to
suffer more beatings and pain).

"Let that be a lesson to you", I told him sternly.
"You were embarrassed, weren't you?  You need to
remember that you're a slave, and there can be no
possible cause for a slave ever to suffer
embarrassment when he's carrying out his owner's
orders.  If I want to see your body covered in cum,
then you will do just that, quietly and expeditiously,
even if there's a room full of people watching  you.
Nothing a slave can do in executing his owner's
instructions should ever be shameful or embarrassing
to him.  Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir.  I'm sorry, sir."

"Good.  Remember that.  Now, come and help me in the
bath.  I am afraid that my resolve might slip if those
two college boys make an appearance and I do not
really have the time for even a brief sexual adventure
this morning."

He behaved perfectly as he helped me bathe, shave and
dress, and as a reward I let him sit at my feet as I
ate the breakfast that the serving slaves brought in
as soon as I picked up the telephone and commanded it
- no waiting here, as you so often have to do, even at
the most expensive hotels.  To show him that I was not
displeased with him I even broke off a few crumbs
every now and then from the delicious freshly-made
warm croissants that I was eating, covered in the
exotic wild honey from the desert plants, and fed them
to him as he sat there almost underneath the table.
Slaves know that this is a singular mark of favour, as
any relief from the total monotony of their diets is
to be welcomed, but of course you have to be careful
not to overindulge them as their stomachs are simply
unused to anything other than slave chow, and you do
not  want unpleasant bowel problems to set in.  Darren
was properly appreciative of this mark of my returning
favour, and even gently clasped my hand so that he
could better lick my fingers completely clean of the
honey with his delightfully prehensile tongue.  I
wondered if his education had also included lessons in
the proper use of the tongue to pleasure all a
master's body, and resolved to find out on the next
occasion I was visiting.

In my formal business suit I was again the perfect
captain of industry as I strode towards the car to
take me to the airport, and Andrew, attired again in a
snowy-white "traditional" robe, was there to accompany
me as I would expect.  Darren had followed me down the
stairs to the porte cochere, and I decided to continue
to enjoy the spectacle of his body as we drove along,
so commanded him into the car, where he crouched where
the two slaves had been the previous day.

Andrew and I began to talk serious business as the car
sped along, but at some point, to avoid a child, it
swerved somewhat and Darren was thrown against our
legs.  Andrew was incensed, and kicked out at the lad
as he lay at our feet, and I could see the ugly
bruises appearing on his skin where Andrew's shoes had
made their mark.

"These slaves need harsh discipline", Andrew told me,
without a care for Darren. "Next time, he'll be more
careful to enure he has a good purchase and not allow
himself to be thrown around, inconveniencing us.
That's the secret of my success - proper discipline
for the slaves... And, of course...."  He lowered his
voice, and bent towards me so that only I could hear -
not even Darren, and certainly not the driver
"....it's the same with the sheikh.  A little
discipline, and he's mine!"

"What on earth do you mean, Andrew?"

"It's like this, sir.  I began to notice that no one
ever touched the sheikh.  I assume he fucked slaves -
well, I know he did, as I watched him, on occasion,
but  I thought he was just going through the motions:
it was kind of expected of him, it seemed. No one ever
dared initiate sex with him, and certainly no one ever
dared try to fuck him:   he always had to make the
running."

"There's a fundamental problem, isn't there, sir,
about the way you act in life generally, and what you
like in sex?  I think you're lucky, as you're always
in charge at work, for example, and also like to be in
control during sex.  But for a lot of really
successful businessmen, it can be more relaxing, and a
lot more fun, to 'let go', to relinquish control, and
to let someone else make the running.  It can be hard
for them, as the other guy sees someone who's really
got it made, nice house, big car, all that stuff, and
he might not make the right moves to get in there and
really control the guy, to fuck him until his brains
shake!  It seemed to me that the sheikh might be like
that - he's always had to take charge, always been the
ruler, or the ruler's son, and so no one has ever
dared to even suggest that he might like to take cock.
 So all his life he's had to fuck the slaves, when
what he really wanted to do was just lie there and
feel a nice hard cock up his ass!"

"Anyway, I decided to risk everything.  And after we'd
both spent a very pleasant evening fucking a couple of
slaves, I asked him to dismiss them, and leave us
alone.  He was totally surprised then when I pulled
his clothes off him, slapped him a couple of times to
give him the idea that I was in charge, ordered him
onto his knees, then fucked the shit out of him -
literally, as of course he'd not been cleaned.  It was
a huge risk, I know, but after the first couple of
moments, once I saw how readily he obeyed orders, I
just knew it was going to be OK."

"It turns out he really likes to be dominated and
controlled during sex.  I was invited back the next
night for another dinner, and I told him to dismiss
the servants immediately.  I fucked him before we ate,
and afterwards, and when I went to take him a third
time, he said 'no'.  So I slapped his face hard, as it
wasn't his choice, was it?   Then I pushed him face
down over one of those cushions, and gave him a good
caning with one of the canes that's always lying
around to punish slaves - I didn't break the skin or
anything, just hit him hard enough so that he'd know
that he wasn't to argue with me when I needed sex.
Then I fucked him, and I had to really force his head
down into the cushion to stop him squealing as my body
slapped into his tenderised ass, as I was a bit
worried that the guards might rush in."

"And it's gone on from there - he knows that I make
all the running with sex, and he actually tries to
argue with me sometimes until I punish him:  he likes
pain, really, and again, no one had ever dared slap
him, or cane him, or punch him in the guts."

"Once he understood that he was my plaything for sex,
and that secretly he enjoyed being the underdog, the
rest was easy.  I told him to do a piece of business
one day, and when he didn't, I caned him.  And well,
to cut a long story short, I wondered how he could be
of most use to the Bank, and you've seen the result!"

"You mean you caned him, until he appointed us as the
new central bank?", I asked in astonishment.

"Well, you could put it like that, I suppose.  I'd
prefer to say that as a reward for prostituting
myself, I was given a most interesting new business
contract.  And it's not all that much fun for me, you
know, sir...  I actually prefer men my own age or
younger, and sometimes it's difficult to get the
enthusiasm to fuck an old guy.... No disrespect, sir.
So it's not all fun for me, and I look to you to take
that into account when you're determining next year's
bonus...."

I suppose I could understand how the sheikh felt.
Sometimes, just occasionally, I tired of all the
efforts I had to make to run everything, and would
like someone else to take charge.  I suppose it must
be the ultimate relaxation, after a day of ordering
the affairs of the world, just to lie back in bed and
let the other guy take charge.  I contemplated -
briefly - trying it, but then remembered how much I
enjoyed the sensation of power, domination and control
that I got from skewering another man on my cock, and
my thoughts moved on.

"Well, Andrew, there is something you can do for me,
then.  I still harbour the most passionate erotic
thoughts about a certain group of four identical
slaves that the sheikh had.  No men I have seen since
have interested me so much, but he unfortunately had
to send them off down his mines.... I would like you
to get them back, and have them brought to your house
for my next visit. It will be difficult, mind - the
sheikh is particularly concerned to keep these slaves
a 'secret'... you'll need to use all your powers of
persuasion..."

Andrew just grinned at me as I said this, and I
wondered just exactly how much "persuasion" he would
need to administer to the sheikh.

THE SLAVE'S STORY

I just couldn't bear it.  The thought that Matt was
going to kill Marc later that day.  We toiled away, as
usual, but my mind was obsessed. I thought of all the
good times I'd had with Marc, and I knew that this was
the end - I'd never see him again, or feel his body
against mine.  It's about the only time that I wished
I believed in those silly stories about life after
death, in heaven - the thought of being able to fuck
Marc for ever and ever, in the big juju land in the
sky, actually became vaguely appealing.  But I was
still too much of a rationalist to allow this to
happen to me, and I knew that we were doing the only
thing possible in the circumstances - we'd all die if
we didn't dispose of Marc, who was totally unable to
fulfil the work quota.  And whilst our life here was a
living hell, at least we were alive, and there always
was the possibility of rescue.

All day I kept thinking about what was to happen.  How
was I going to say goodbye to Marc?  Should I attempt
to get through to him one more time, and explain what
we had to do?  Should I actually be there when Matt
snapped his neck?  I wasn't sure that I could stand
the prospect of having his magnificent body, that body
that I had enjoyed on so many occasions, slump
lifelessly against me.  But, on the other hand, I
couldn't abandon him in those last moments, could I?
Whatever I did I knew it would haunt me for the rest
of my days - if I stayed, my last memory of him would
be awful;  and if I left it all up to Matt, I'd know
I'd failed my lover at that last crucial moment.  It
was another variation of that age-old human dilemma  -
would you prefer your lover to die suddenly of a heart
attack, or an accident:  you don't get to say goodbye,
but you have strong memories of the "good times";  or
would you prefer him to die a long, lingering death,
so you have time to tie up all the loose ends of your
life, but might be left with your last memories of him
as being a pale husk of his former self?

I knew what I had to do, of course.  And as we trudged
our way towards the shaft, I touched Matt lightly on
the arm and told him that he wasn't to kill Marc.  He
started to protest, saying that there was no going
back on the agreed plan now, but I cut him short.
"No, Matt.  You don't understand. Marc's the special
one for me.  I owe it to him.  I'll do it."

Matt hugged me, pulled me close, and said "No, Steve!
You don't know how.... I learned, in the marines..."

"Then you'll just have to teach me, Matt.  It can't be
that difficult, if they could teach you!".  Even now,
there was that bond between all of us that made it
possible to infuse our horrible situation with a tiny
bit of humour.  And there was a shred of truth in it -
Matt was strong, fit, virile, but not the brightest
spark in the pack - typical army fodder, to work hard,
and obey.

We walked the last few hundred yards with my arm
around Marc, who shambled along in that terrible
zombie-like way we had become accustomed to.  As we
saw the faint glow of the lift chamber in the
distance, I stopped and told Matt and Ray to go on, as
I needed to be alone with Marc to do this.  They
wanted to stay, saying we were all in this together,
but I needed one last special time to be alone with
Marc.

I watched them moving off towards the light, leaving
us in darkness, a terrible darkness from which Marc
would never emerge.  Tears were streaming down my face
as I kissed him for one last time, and ran my hands
over the planes of his body, that body that had caused
me so much pleasure - no, joy.

Matt has shown me how to sandwich his neck between my
to two forearms, and I did this now, still pressing my
body against his.  I knew I had to do it.  It was the
only way.  I braced myself... And then heard shouting.


It was Matt and Ray,  and my instinct was to do the
deed there and then, to let Marc slip into death with
just me tending to him, rather than all four of us.
Then to my utter astonishment I heard that we were
saved!

End Of Part Thirteen