Date: Wed, 9 Jan 2002 06:52:37 -0800 (PST)
From: Brown Pete <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave And The Electricians (auth)

THE SLAVE AND THE ELECTRICIANS

By Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


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

FROM "JOURNAL OF CONTEMPORARY SOCIAL STUDIES"
PREFACE

The Sheikh and I have been close - no, intimate -
friends for many years, since we first went up to
Harrow together in the 60s.  At that time there was
very little tolerance of foreigners, and his very
pronounced Arabic looks with dark shiny hair and a
swarthy olive complexion, caused him to be the but of
comment and ridicule.  We shared a study together all
the time we were there, and when he couldn't fly home
for weekends off, my parents were always pleased to
receive him at our Sussex home.   Our close friendship
continued whilst we were at Cambridge, and although we
now only see each other about twice a year, each time
we meet it is just as if the intervening time did not
exist:  we both count ourselves fortunate to have had
a rock solid foundation on which to build a friendship
which we know will last our lifetimes.

His critics often accuse the Sheikh of being uncaring
for his fellow men, and I would like to take this
opportunity of redressing the balance somewhat by
publicly acknowledging the extraordinary kindness and
generosity he has showed to my family all his life.
When my mother's affliction with Alzheimer's got so
bad that my father was at his wits end to know how
best to care for her, the Sheikh stepped in.  He
arranged for my mother to be flown to his palace in
his private jet,  and for the rest of her life she
received the most amazing care from a whole team of
servants dedicated solely to her welfare.  As well as
being extremely good for my mother, this relieved my
father of all the stress and worry he had been under -
there was no way that this level of care could have
been paid for by the dwindling revenues from the
Sussex farms, and my father had been terrified that my
mother would have to end her days in a public
institution.  This extraordinary act of kindness on
the part of the Sheikh did, I believe, contribute to
my father living for at least five years more than he
would have done, and his dying words to me were about
those happy Sussex days of our childhood and early
adulthood and the golden weekends when the sun always
seemed to shine, that the Sheikh and I spent there.

I say all of this in this preface because I know that
some of my critics will accuse me of taking a far too
lenient view of the practices in the Sheikh's kingdom
that are the subject of this series of papers.  Whilst
I am  his extremely close friend, and owe him more
than I can ever repay, I wish it to be understood that
this does not inhibit the impartiality that I have as
a long-time researcher, and now Emeritus Professor, in
the field of the social sciences.

It is idle to pretend that slavery does not exist.
Its critics always roundly condemn it, but is it
necessarily a bad thing?  Rather than rely on rhetoric
and supposition, the purpose of these papers is to
present findings on the way that slavery is practised
today as an aid to researchers in the field.   No
system of human organisations can ever be wholly bad,
as some of slavery's critics would have us believe.
And whilst here are serious problems with the "human
rights" aspects of the treatment of slaves, there is
no doubt that many of them lead happy, fulfilled,
contented lives - indeed, lives that are better for
them than life as a "free" man would ever be.

Using my privileged access to the Sheikh's kingdom, I
have interviewed many slaves, their owners, and their
users.  Rather than pass judgement or voice criticism,
at this initial stage of my work I am simply going to
present the facts as I find them.  Later papers will
then critically examine this evidence and present my
conclusions.

As in all sociological research, it can be difficult
to prevent the unconscious and deeply-buried
prejudices of the researcher influencing the findings.
 Consequently I have decided to present these papers
as a transcription of the extensive notes I took
during my interviews.  This first paper "The Slave And
The Electricians", gives a good overview of the slave
breeding system in operation, and of the way in which
skilled workers can easily adapt their working methods
to take advantage of available slave labour.

In addition to my thanks to the Sheikh, without whose
co-operation these researches could never have taken
place, I'd also like to thank my devoted typist, Mark,
who has spent many hours transcribing my notes.
Pete Brown, London, January 2010

Note:  As has been the practice for many years now,
"bred" slaves are taught "Aralish", a mixture of
Arabic and English.  This thus makes them easy to
command either by the Arabic-speaking natives of the
country, or by the many educated and cultured owners
of slaves whose international lingua franca is
English.  I have translated the comments in Aralish
into standard English for two reasons:  firstly, the
unfamiliarity of the majority of my readers with
Aralish, whereas most of my readers will have at least
a good working knowledge of English. And secondly, the
deliberately limited vocabulary in Aralish prevents
the slaves from expressing many of their thoughts
simply, without long circumlocutions as they try to
grasp ideas and ideals which Aralish - as primarily a
"concrete" language -  is designed to prevent.  In
this paper we do not hear the slave 403 ever discuss
"freedom" or "escape", as there are no words in his
vocabulary for that: the concept that Orwell foretold
in "1984" has indeed come to fruition in standard
Aralish.  But it is tedious, I believe, for my readers
to keep hearing "bright red fruit with seeds that
grows close to the ground" - Aralish has no need for
"strawberry", as slaves are never allowed to eat food
like that or even think of it as a food.  Consequently
when these circumlocutions arise, I note them the
first time and then use the English word - I do not
think that this detracts from the underlying truth or
meaning of the slave's narrative.

Similarly, I have modified the English of the two
Electricians.  They were honest, cheerful young
workers from the East of London, and spoke with the
common "Estuary English" dialect.  I do not like
transcribing dialect, and so have not elided the words
as they did, or strangled the end of sentences.  I
have removed many tedious repetitive and irrelevant
"I'nnit?" and "You know" interjections.  But when a
word that has a more precise shade of meaning was
used, such as "geezer", I have not replaced it with
"guy", "man", "bloke" or other synonym.  They freely
interchanged words like "cock" and "dick";  "fuck" and
"shag";  "masturbate", "jerk off", "wank" and "jack
off"; and  "spunk", "jism", "load", and "cum".  It is
not clear whether these meanings are differentiated
for the electricians, or whether it is just sloppy
thoughts and an excess of American influence in their
language, so I have left the words just as they used
them in their conversation with me.

Americans and those to whom English is not their first
language may find the account of the two young
electricians hard to follow, as they use many phrases
and expressions not normally found in learned
journals. If demand warrants it, I will consider
preparing a translation of these more earthy
expressions into "standard English".

We all know that in sociological work the words that
are used often hide deeper meanings.  I trust that my
editing of these transcripts leaves any underlying
truths that there may be intact.

THE SLAVE AND THE  ELECTRICIANS, as told to Professor
Brown

403

It's not often I can rest during the day, but the last
part of the field, as it ran down towards the wadi,
was a lot less stony than the top part.  So the plough
just snicked along and we finished ploughing it a lot
earlier than the Overseer had expected.

He went off to find out what jobs we were going to be
assigned to next, but he was very good as he allowed
us to take off our harnesses.  So the six of us who
had been dragging that big plough over the field all
morning were able to sit on the narrow strip of grass
beside the wadi, and the plough boy who had been
guiding us joined us too.  It was really nice to feel
the grass on my ass and back - it's rare that a slave
gets to experience anything other than concrete and
straw underneath him, when we're bedded down for the
night.

As we sat and talked, we all wished that we could go
and frolic in the wadi.  It had been the usual very
hot morning with the sun burning down out of the
cloudless sky, and we were all hot and sweaty from the
morning's work.  We're all used to working outdoors
all day of course, and we're all tanned a very dark
brown  so the sun isn't a real problem to any of us.
But it would have been really good to have been able
to experience the water on our bodies and clean away
the dust and sweat that was all over us, even though
the wadi was now only a trickle in the middle of the
hot season.  Unfortunately the Overseer had told us to
sit and wait for him, so even though the water was
there right beside us, we could not go into it.

I'm 07016403, or 403 for short when there's no chance
of confusion.  My slave fuck buddies just call me 3 of
course.

My best friend, 806 - I always just think of him
familiarly as 6 - was lying stretched out full length
on his back, arms behind his head.  I wanted to lie on
my side for a change, so I took the opportunity to use
his belly as a pillow, and lay at right angles to him
with my head resting on his navel.  6 is a really
hairy guy - lots of short wiry black hair all over
him, and his "treasure trail" is particularly thick
and luxuriant - it was quite scratchy on my cheek as I
lay there.

Although we're amongst the tallest of master's slaves
(only the big Nubians he has for his formal pony
carriage are taller) and extremely heavily muscled, 6
and I couldn't be more different in looks:  I'm dark
blond, and not very hairy at all -   there's nothing
on my chest, and the hair on my arms and legs is short
and bleached almost white by the sun.  As I lay there
looking at 6's nice cock, I thought that he was so
hairy that if master didn't order all his slaves to
have completely shaved balls and pubic hair trimmed
down to a uniform one inch, you probably wouldn't see
his cock at all.   That's one of the hallmarks of this
estate - all the slaves are trimmed every three days:
Master requires us all to have short hair (no more
than half an inch), shaved cocks and balls as I've
mentioned, and of course our asses and ass cracks are
clear, too.  We also get a regular trim under the
arms, as master does not want to see unsightly
longhair peeping out from under a slave's arms when he
is working.


As we lay there we saw one of those things they call
aeroplanes go overhead.  One of the Overseers once
told us that the Masters go in them and travel to
places that can be hundreds of days away if you had to
walk there.  I'm not sure he isn't trying to joke with
us - you wouldn't get people going in one of those
things, would you - it might fall out of the sky!  And
I don't think there are that many places to go anyway
- and certainly not hundreds of days foot journey
away.

6 and I talked about the aeroplane a bit.  We decided
finally that the Overseer must have been joking.
After all, both 6 and I have been to four places -
five unique places, when you consider we were born on
different farms - and that's almost the whole world.

My first five years were spent on Breeding Farm 27 -
there were over 400 of us pups there, looked after by
20 of the brood mares.  We could hear the screams all
the time as the mares in labour produced new pups, but
we were never allowed to see this.  All we ever did
see were the mares with huge stomachs looking after us
- then, when they went into the delivery chamber to
pup, they disappeared.  But there were always fresh
ones who came along to keep us pups cleaned and fed.


The constant crying of the tiniest pups was a bit of a
trial for everyone, but once you could walk and run it
was a great life - we ran freely around the exercise
yard on the farm and played all day.  There was always
enough to eat, and you always had another pup of your
own age to snuggle up to at night.

It was difficult to know the numbers of the other pups
as we weren't then marked clearly - our numbers were
on little medallions on chains around our necks.  If
another pup wouldn't tell you his number, there was no
way you could find out as we didn't know how to read
the medallions.  You had to remember your own number
as any of the guards could ask you at any time and
would spank you if you did not remember it.

I first met 6 when I was shipped along with seven
other pups, who the guards said were now five years
old, to Factory 30.  6 arrived on the same day in a
batch of five other pups from the farm where he was
bred.  Life was a lot harder at the Factory:  there
were no brood mares to look after us, and we had to
feed ourselves, and clean our dormitories ourselves.
We didn't get as much time for play, either:  we were
much more regulated.

Every morning we had to do an hours exercise, then we
worked in the factory on the line.  It was really
boring - these big boxes came along a conveyor in
front of us, and we had to take empty plastic cases
out of them, put a shiny disk in each one, and re-fill
the boxes neatly.  If we broke any of the cases or -
even worse, dropped any of the disks on the floor -
the guards caned us!

We did another hours exercise after we had been fed in
the middle of the day, then more of the work in the
factory, followed by another hours exercise before we
were fed again and locked into our dormitories.  Every
day was exactly the same.

As we had arrived at the same time, 6 and I learned a
lot of lessons about life in the factory together -
not to drop the disks, for example!  And how to make
sure we both got locked into the same dormitory as the
other every night - the guards just counted out 20
into each room, and if you didn't want to get split
up, you had to make sure you weren't the 20th and 21st
worker in line!

We were five years in the factory, and then moved on
to something called "The Institution".  All farmed
slaves spent the last five years of their training
here, and life was much tougher.  For one thing, all
the exercise sessions were now two hours long - I
heard the guards saying that if we didn't lay down
long, hard stringy muscles at this age, we would never
develop properly later.  And in-between we worked in
the fields.

All the fields at The Institute were worked entirely
by gangs of slaves.  Every morning 20 of us would be
marched to a field, and then collared to the work
chain by lockable collars.  The work you did was very
varied and depended on the season - digging, planting,
weeding, and picking the crop.  We didn't know what
the stuff was - it looked very dangerous, as it was
bright red and had a funny smell.   In my first week
when I was picking, I saw one of my fellow slaves
going to taste one of the red things, but the guard
knocked it out of his hand and caned him thoroughly.
The guard said that all the strange things - he called
them "strawberries" - I don't know why, as they
weren't a bit like the straw in our dormitories - were
needed by  the masters who put them in the aeroplanes
and flew them away.  The guard said that in addition
to stealing from our master, taking the "strawberries"
would make us ill as we were only used to eating slave
meal - that is all we ever got, at our three  daily
meals.

During our time at the institute our bodies all
changed - as well as getting harder and stronger and
bigger, we found hair growing around our cocks and
under our arms and on our faces.  And our voices
changed, too.  It was worse for 6 as he is so hairy -
he was amongst the first to show these signs, and was
always being inspected by the guards.  He was the
first of our cohort to have to go for the regular
weekly shaving with the older slaves.

It was also scary because our cocks were all acting
strangely, too:  I remember the first time 6 shot a
load during the night.  He hadn't been touching his
cock or anything, although he was snuggled up close to
me.  He shot all over me, and we were both worried
that the guards would cane us both.  But when they saw
us both covered in spunk, they just laughed.  We soon
found out how much fun it was to wank each other, of
course, and we still enjoy doing that today.

During our second year there the entire complement of
slaves was paraded on the exercise ground one morning,
and two of the oldest slaves were brought out, hauled
onto a platform in front of us so everyone could see,
and then whipped.  This is the first time I had ever
seen a whipping, as the Institute's guards usually
only used canes, and it was rather shocking to see how
the blood spurted from the slaves' backs.  The chief
guard said that it was because the slaves had been
found trying to get their cocks up each other's
assholes - this was absolutely forbidden, he said, and
we should all remember it if we wanted to avoid a
whipping.  We would all be doing this soon enough, but
it was up to our masters, not us, to decide when.


We were both in the same group that was sent off to
the auction, too, in the month after we were told we
had had 16 full years of growth.

This was the first time for all of us that we had been
any distance from The Institute or the farms and
factories where we were bred and grew to maturity.  We
were loaded into a cage on the back of a fearsome iron
machine, that set off with a roar and a terrible
shaking across the desert.  It was terrifying - it
went at a speed that was incredibly at least three
times as fast as a man could run.  I have since been
in a "truck" again, when I have been taken to away
matches as my master's champion wrestler, but this
first time we were all sick with the unexpected motion
and all the other eight lads and I clung together in
misery for the whole journey.  A lot of us had
erections as we went along, and I have since been told
that "traveller's knob" is quite common.  But we were
so miserable and terrified that we couldn't even be
bothered to enjoy each other's hard cocks on this
first journey.

We arrived at what I now know to be the auction house,
where we joined 40 others from other slave farms and
institutes also being auctioned for the first time.
We were all "novices", as this was a sale purely for
first-timers:  lads who had reached 16. But in the
cages we passed there were many other naked slaves
waiting for an auction the day after.  Of course I'd
seen other slaves whilst growing up, as there were few
guards and any rough work around the farm and in the
factory was done by the normal slave gangs.  But it
was interesting to be able to compare our young bodies
with the much harder, more mature muscles on these
work slaves.  I hoped that mine would soon mature so
that I could be like them, as I found the sight of
these tanned, lean, work-hardened slaves exciting.

As we entered, an Overseer ripped off my medallion
with my slave number on it, and checked me off against
a list he as holding - I'd seen Overseers with lists
and books and things before, but as a slave I was of
course not able to read them as this was not something
that slaves were taught.  He then marked my number
across my belly and my ass with one of those "magic
markers" and told me to join the line of slaves that
was making its way across the room.

We went in long single file across the big room, with
crowds of buyers watching us.  The line went slowly,
so there was slots of opportunity for the potential
buyer to see us all and to note down our numbers on
their auction sheet.  Frequently the whole line would
stop, as some slave's body was given a particular
inspection:  my own nipples were tweaked on several
occasions, my balls cupped and felt, and my foreskin
rolled back so that the buyer could see my shining
cock head.   It was funny for us slaves to see men
dressed so differently - other than naked slaves, I
had only ever really seen men in standard guard
uniform before.  But here there were all types - the
things I know as "suits", and the "robes" of Arab
costume were much in evidence.

And some of the men were not men!  They looked very
different, and wore brighter and lighter clothes.
These were women - I remember them vaguely from my
first few years of life when the brood mares were
supervising us young pups.  It was funny really - I
had never seen a woman in clothes before as the brood
mares were of course naked at all times.  I think that
women should go around clothed - there's something
wrong with a human body without a nice cock and balls
hanging down;  and I don't think that the pecs should
be allowed to get so obscenely large and jut out from
the body, either.  So it's better it's all covered up.

The actual auction process was very quick.  After we
had paraded around the room several times, we were
held for a couple of minutes whilst the buyers took
seats in front of a little stage.  Then one by one we
mounted the three steps up onto stage, stood there
with arms above our heads, rotated all around so that
everyone could see us from all angles, then stood
still whilst the auctioneer recited details of my
current height and weight, and gave brief details of
my sire and my dam (he said that my sire was a
first-generation captured German, and my dam was a
first generation captured American. He also said that
the records of all my "siblings" and "half siblings"
were available so that buyers could see that there
were no congenital diseases, whatever they are) .
Then he called for bids and I was knocked down very
quickly.  Then off the stage, whilst the next slave
was already mounting.

>From the stage I followed the line of slaves out into
a holding area, were there were cages for the
purchases of each buyer.  Looking at the number on my
chest, the supervisor directed me to a cage with a
couple of lads already in it, and we waited.  To my
joy, I was joined by 6!  Our new master had bought us
both so we were not to be separated after all - we had
said goodbye to each other before the auction, as we
did not expect to ever see each other again.   The
cage filled, and there were soon eight of us novices,
plus 10 other slaves who had been auctioned the
previous day and had been awaiting shipment.  These
slaves were all happy and laughing, as they were glad
to have been bought by my Master - they told us that
amongst experienced slaves he had a good reputation
and was known to be fair - he was strict, expected
total obedience, and lots of hard work, but provided
the slave did his duty he was not ever punished
arbitrarily.

After some time we were herded out into the yard at
the back of the auction house and into a cage on the
back of one of those hateful trucks... It was a long
journey to Master's estate, and I was sick again.  But
a lot of the more experienced slaves seemed to enjoy
it, and shouted to other slaves as we passed them on
the road.  Of course with a lot of slaves together
with no work to do there was a lot of play with each
others bodies - the experienced slaves were even doing
that thing that  we had been expressly forbidden to
do, and were fucking each other.  6 and I wanted to
join in, but one of them said that we were still not
allowed to as it was our Master who was going to be
the first person to push his dick up inside me.  It
was forbidden for any slave to use a new "virgin"
slave until after the master had had his fill.

We arrived at our master's estate in the late
afternoon, where I have been ever since - 12 years, I
think as the master tells me I'm 28 years old.  And he
is indeed a good master- in those 12 years I have only
ever been whipped twice - and each time I deserved it
as I didn't obey a guard or an Overseer  completely
and immediately.  Of course I'm talking about a major
whipping, one that draws blood, the sort that's done
in front of all the other slaves as a warning to them
as well as a punishment to the guilty slave, and not
just the tiny cracks and lashes that all slaves get
all the time to keep them working right up to the
mark.  You expect the Overseer to use his cane, or his
tawse, don't you, in the course of your normal work?

On the day we arrived the estate the Overseer told us
how lucky we were as the Sheikh's policy was to own
slaves for life.  Consequently we could be branded
with our slave number and the Sheikh's ownership mark,
and we wouldn't have to wear any medallions or
anything around our necks with our numbers on.   The
only exception was for two of the novices  - they were
the type that the Overseers call "swimmers" - shorter
than 6 and me, less heavily muscled, but good muscle
tone all over.  They were destined for something
called the Master's pleasure room, and he liked the
slave's flesh unmarked.

Of course it hurt - when the white-hot branding iron
was pushed into my left ass cheek I screamed and
screamed before I fainted.  It was just as well that I
had been securely tied down on the branding table,
else I'm sure the reflex movements I would have made
to try to get away from the iron would have spoiled
the crisp, clean brand line I have ended up with.  But
that was as nothing to the agony when my slave number
- 07016403 - was branded, number by number, across my
upper chest.  Poor old 6 had it worse - he was hairy
even then, and he had to have his chest shaved before
they could brand him as the Overseers said that
otherwise there was a risk of his chest hair catching
on fire and severely damaging him.

(Author's note:  3 was almost proud of his brands, and
as he spoke he moved his body so I could indeed see
the big circle containing the Sheikh's house emblem,
with which I am so familiar:  it appears on everything
he owns, being embroidered on to the pockets of his
shirts, forming the mark on the underside of the
palace china commissioned from Villeroy and Boch,
stencilled into the coachwork of his cars, painted on
the tail fins of his planes, and so on).

The branding hurt like hell as I said, but we were
allowed two days to recover and the estate's physician
smoothed healing cream over the sites to speed
recovery.  But they were  still very sore when on day
three we were cut.

A lot of the experienced slaves almost protested when
the Overseer announced that the veterinary surgeon was
coming later that day to do the operation on us all -
they wanted to keep their foreskins.  But the Overseer
said there were no exceptions - all the Sheikh's
slaves were cut, as he believed that it was more
hygienic as there was no possibility of your cum
leaking and drying out under the foreskin to make an
unpleasant smell.  He also thought that a slave should
have absolutely no secrets from his Master, and did
not like to think of us having our cock heads
"concealed" - there's no other part of a naked slave's
body that isn't completely exposed to view, after all.
  I couldn't understand why some of the others are
upset - although I was used to having a moist,
concealed cock head and liked to feel my foreskin
slide back across it when I jerked off, it was my
Master's wish that I be cut:  if that's what your
Master wants done, that's what gets done, after all.
It's not as if a slave has any choice in anything.

The cutting itself was very quick.  I was told to jerk
off as that would help me avoid getting an erection
whilst the operation took place, and then I was
securely lashed onto a frame held at 45 degrees, with
straps around my belly and thighs so my cock was
immovable.  The vet moved al little table in and
placed my cock on it.  He pushed my foreskin back, and
fitted a small metal cap over my cock head, then
rolled the foreskin back over the metal.

"OK, now I'm going to cut", he told me, and I actually
felt the scalpel go all around my foreskin, pressing
into the metal guard.  It didn't hurt that much, and I
winced more than cried out.  But I had heard my
predecessors scream, and I couldn't understand why -
until he bought up a glass container of some fluid and
quickly dipped the bleeding end of my cock into it.
It was a powerful antiseptic, disinfectant, and
astringent to disinfect the cut and stop the bleeding
- and that's what the screams were about.  My own
joined them, I'm almost ashamed to say, as the harsh
fluid bit into the raw end of this sensitive part of
me.

So that's pretty much it.  I started working in the
fields like all the other young slaves, and on the
estate there's absolutely no slacking - the guards and
Overseers see to that.  Obviously my body would have
developed rapidly between 16 and 20, but the constant
hard work and healthy diet gave me much what you see
now....

(Author's note:  3 was clearly proud of his body,
because as he spoke this he was gesturing at his
magnificent musculature that sat so well on his tall
frame)

At 20 there was some talk of me going to the quarries,
or receiving specialised training as a pony boy or
litter bearer.  For some reason, fortunately, I wasn't
sent to the quarries.  And  the Master likes "matched
sets" of slaves to pull his carriages and carry his
litters, and there just weren't any others like me
around at the time.  So I was assigned to work in the
gang I'm still in - we're a heavy-duty gang, that gets
to do all the really hard manual labour around the
estate.  So we pull ploughs, load and unload trucks
taking out the produce and bringing in supplies, mend
the roads, dig the ditches: anything that needs real
raw muscle power.

We're kept together much of the time, as the Master
has found from experience that a gang gets to know its
own "rhythm" of working, and the strengths and
weaknesses of its own members.  That suits me fine -
I'm still with 6 and it's good to work together as
well as play together at night.  But the real
advantage of this work gang is that we are all bred
slaves like me - so much easier.  Some gangs are mixed
with "captured" slaves, the ones they bring in and
enslave when they're mature, and they can be a real
pain.  They're always whining, and tend to argue with
Overseer.  Then the whole gang might then get whipped,
because the Overseer gets pissed off.   And they don't
join in properly with our games at night - they say
something I don't understand about "not being gay", or
"not being queer".   I don't understand what they mean
by this  -  I have always played with my fellow slaves
ever since I could first jerk off - isn't it the best,
most natural  thing you can do with your mates?

In a way I'm specially lucky as my Master has singled
me out to perform two additional special services, so
I can be of even more use to him.

One morning a week taken I'm taken to the breeding
shed and have to jerk off into a metal cylinder that's
fuming with something.  The first time I was there I
went to touch it, and was told that it was so cold
that it would stick to me, and I was not under any
circumstances to let my dick touch it, although they
wanted every drop of my jism to shoot into it.  That's
all there is to it, really - nothing special, just
jerking off.   Bit they told me it's really important
for my Master as they want to capture my body type in
the herd of master's slaves, as they want more of the
tall, well muscled, blondes  with blue eyes.
Apparently my spunk is taken away in the cylinder and
stored until they need it to fertilise the breeders.
I've been doing it for seven years now, so I expect
there's a whole breeding farm somewhere full of little
pups who look just like me!

6 and I were talking about this one night as we lay in
each others arms - he's always a bit pissed off the
night before I have to go to the breeding shed as I'm
not allowed to cum that night or the next morning, as
they say I have to "save myself" for the cylinder.  He
used to believe this funny story that one of the
"captured" slaves told us about new slaves coming out
from the breeders when a slave's cock had gone up them
and shot its load some months before.

6 is a bit gullible, and believed the guy for some
time.  I was always sceptical, because, as I said,
breeders aren't built like proper slaves.  But once I
was on the breeding programme I was able to put 6
right and tell him that the cylinders were involved -
everyone knows that a slave's cock fits so well down
another slave's throat, and up his ass, that it's
ridiculous to think of them going anywhere else.  They
wouldn't have been made the right length and
thickness, would they, if you weren't meant to use
them with your fellow slaves?

In fact, although I love 6 and he's my best and oldest
buddy, he is a bit of a worry sometimes.  Frankly,
although he's a terrific guy and can work the balls
off everyone else in our gang - me included - so he's
a really good gang member when we have a big project
on a tight time schedule, he's just not the brightest
of guys.  Sure, he's always happy when some of the
rest of us are a bit down some days.  But there's
something missing, somehow - he just doesn't always
grasp things first time around.  The guards told me
that that's one of the reasons why he isn't on the
breeder programme in spite of his fantastic body -
they're concerned about his ability to execute complex
orders first time, and get them right.

 So I look out for 6, I suppose I always have, and
make sure he does the right thing:  I can't bear to
see him punished for fucking up.  And I know he
respects me and would do anything for me - if we're
fucking or 69-ing, he doesn't even mind if I break off
because there's a new hot slave in our pen that night
who has made me an offer - well, at least he says he
doesn't mind.

It's the second additional job I like most, though.
Four years ago when  my body had really developed the
mature muscles you only get in your twenties, the
Master saw me working away one day and decided that I
should be trained as one of his fighters. So when he
has important guests and they have an after dinner
entertainment, I'm one of the slaves who fights in
front of them.

Mostly the fighters are specially trained slaves like
me - three afternoons a week I get tuition from a
fighting trainer - but occasionally as a treat the
Master arranges for newly "captured" slaves to fight:
they always seem to have a really wild streak in them.
I don't think they like being made to strip naked for
some reason, and then fight with me, especially as
those fights are always "fights to the fuck" where the
winner is determined by the slave who first gets his
cock up the opponents ass.

I guess that shows how difficult it is for "captured"
slaves to adjust to the life here.  They don't seem to
realise that they exist only for the Master's service.
 Or it could be that they don't want to get naked
because their bodies are all different colours all
over - it's as if the sun was never allowed to get to
their asses or cocks at all in most cases, as even a
slave with a tanned chest can have a completely white
ass.  I'm not surprised they're ashamed - I think a
completely even tan, like I've got, is much better for
the body.

Our little rest on the grass was over all too soon,
though, as the overseer came back.  He made us line up
according to height, then picked 6 and me and said
there was a special job for us that afternoon as we
are the tallest.  Of course, he might just have been
being nice to us - he's one of our regular Overseers,
and he knows I "look out" for 6, so if he picks one of
us, he'd perhaps pick both.

He was in a real hurry, as he'd come back in a pony
trap - and it was one of the "express" ones with a
pair of those big black Nubians with the incredibly
long legs pulling it.  He tells 6 and me to run along
behind, as he whips the pony slaves and we set off at
a cracking pace back towards the palace.  Even though
we don't have the trap to pull, 6 and I are soon
sweating - it really is difficult to keep up with
those Nubians when they're in full flight:  I suppose
it's the special training they get, as well as their
long legs, that enables them to run so fast whilst in
the shafts of the trap.

It's amazing -we actually go up to the doors of the
palace, and it looks as if 6 and me are going to go
in!  I've never ever been in the palace itself before,
as we are of course kept in the field slaves'
quarters.  And when I fight, they area always held in
the special fight pavilion that has the slightly
sunken fighting arena in it.

After the two big slaves had opened the doors for us,
we did go in.  It was so strange, I can hardly tell
you about it.  The floor was smooth under my feet -
not rough like the concrete in the slaves' quarters or
the gravel of the estate roads.  And it was cold!
I've never been cold before - perhaps that's why the
Masters always wear clothes.  I've never worn
anything, of course, as it's only those slaves who
have special duties who ever get any parts of their
bodies covered.  But I can see why a covering would be
an advantage here  - little pimples came up all over
me, and all the hairs on my arms and legs were
standing up!  It felt really strange, and when we were
left for a moment outside the doors of a room whilst
the Overseer went in, 6 and I hugged each other and
rubbed each other all over to try to get warm.  When
he came out the Overseer laughed - he said something I
didn't quite understand about what he called "air
conditioning" keeping "an even 21" - he said we were
used to the more normal 30 to 35.  I've no idea what
he was going on about.


THE ELECTRICIANS


I'm a London lad, born and bred in the East End.  But
my mate John is "up from the country" - one of those
sleepy towns somewhere in Dorset.  Like a lot of lads
from outside, he got fed up with low wages and decided
to chance it in the city.  But he still went "home"
every weekend, and stayed in cheap lodging during the
week.  I first met him when we were working on the
fitting out of one of the new office towers in
Docklands - in spite of being a bit of a country
bumpkin at first, he's actually a real laugh.

When I saw that he was alone most nights and went back
to some poky room, I asked him to come down my local
and meet some of my mates.  He's a crack hand at
arrows, and soon he was spending most evenings with
us.

I had a big bust up with my girl friend a couple of
months later - she was really pissed off just because
she found out I shagged one of her friends when I'd
had a drop too much one Friday night.  There wasn't
anything in it- just a quick in and out as far as I
was concerned - but my girl friend took it really
seriously and threw me out.   All my mates and the
guys on the site thought it was a real joke -  after
all, the quick screw wasn't the first, as even a bloke
who's living with a regular girl needs a bit of
variety, doesn't he?  They thought it was hilarious
that I got found out - that was the real problem!
But it was a bit more serious for me - I'd had to move
back in with my mom and dad, and as well as there
being not enough room for all my gear in their poky
10th floor flat on the estate in Bethnal Green, dad
kept on at me about being out all the time.  I think
he's just jealous, really, as my mom only lets him
give her one about once a week.

I really needed to get out, and thought it might be
time to get a place of my own.  But prices and rents
are just mad, even in the East End, especially as it
has become fashionable.  Then I saw the perfect
solution - I told John we'd find somewhere together.
It would be better than the lodgings he usually took
and cheaper, and with him paying half the rent, I'd be
quids in.  I'd also got my eye on the fact that he
went down to Dorset every weekend, so on Friday and
Saturday nights I'd be able to shag away as hard as I
liked, without having him moaning on about the noise
coming from me and the tart in the next room.

We got on well together, and living in the flat wasn't
 a problem - a couple of blokes can manage perfectly
well with takeaways, the ready meals from Tesco, and
pub grub.  The place was a bit squalid of course as we
weren't much into cleaning, but after a few weeks we
got the single mom from the flat below to clean up for
us once a week to supplement her social. I even
thought of helping her "supplement" it a bit more in
exchange for an hour or so in my bed in the evening
sometimes when I hadn't had any luck in picking up a
bird and felt particularly randy - but when I told
John I was going to do this he said I was a silly
fucker, and that before I knew where I was I'd be
saddled with her kid and her - single mums never just
wanted to screw, they really want a meal ticket until
the kids are grown up.  And, he said, she wouldn't do
our cleaning as well if I was giving it to her.

John never had a bird during the week - he had a
childhood sweetheart down in the sticks, and they were
going to get married as soon as he had saved enough
for the sort of house she wanted.  I told him he was a
raving loony, to be working as hard as me and not
having any fun.

He didn't get to screw her on Fridays, as by the time
he'd caught the last train to Dorset he was so late in
arriving, and so tired, that all he could do was go to
bed (he stayed at his mom and dad's, and she lived
with her mom, and there was no way that they could get
together when his train arrived at 10).  Then on
Saturdays they went for long country walks -  and he
didn't always get it then, as they had to do it in the
fields as neither of their parents approved of sex
before marriage.  And you know Dorset - it rains a
lot, so half the time there was no dry place for them
to bed down in!  Sunday afternoons he was back in the
train to London, as it takes just under three hours
and we start promptly at 7 on our site on Monday
mornings.  I told him his pecker would drop off from
under use if he wasn't careful!

John was always worried about money - me, I spent
every penny I earned and was always skint by the next
pay day.  But John was saving hard (at least I could
always rely on him for a sub) for that bloody house,
and I felt really sorry for him.

We'd lived in the same place for about a year, and he
seemed no closer to getting hitched or anything, when
he pointed out an advert to me in "Construction News"
he was reading during our morning tea break - a bit of
an intellectual, John is - he reads stuff with long
sentences, not the tabloids with the page three girls
the rest of us do!

Look, before I go any further, I'd better put you
right on one thing.  You might think from what I've
said about John not pulling birds during the week, not
always getting his end away on Saturdays, and not
looking at the tits in the tabloids, that he was gay:
there's no way I could share a flat with a poofter.
No, he's as straight as me, but, as he says, "I have
different priorities to you, Steve".

 Whenever I needed anything to jack off to, I could
always find some real hard core under John's bed,
usually with the pages stuck together on the real
pussy shots!  And one night a week we usually hired a
video from the man under the DLR track near our flat -
he totally ignores those stupid video censorship laws,
although he does charge a bit more than for
certificated videos.  And, believe me, they're really
hard:  it's difficult to imagine blokes and birds
doing such degrading things together - I've never
succeeded in getting any of my birds to do those sorts
of things with me.

Anyway, as I was saying, John sees this advert where
they're looking for qualified electricians for big
contracts in the Gulf.  Not only are the rates of pay
three times what we're getting in Docklands, but they
say the salaries are tax free, and our flights there
and back, and our accommodation whilst we're there,
are all free a well.  John says that within a year he
could afford to get married, and that if I saved hard,
I could even buy a place rather than renting when I
got back.  Then it occurred to me that he wasn't just
thinking about going himself, he wanted me to go too!

I was having too much fun, so I told him no.  But he
went ahead and made some calls, and went for an
interview.  He had a lot of forms to fill out, but, as
I've said, he's a bit of an egghead so that's no
problem for John.  He kept on at me about going with
him, but I kept saying no, and his departure day got
closer and closer.

On his last night on the job in Docklands, we all went
down to the boozer after work to say goodbye - and we
all took a sack full.  There's one of those little
rituals we always do when a mate is leaving - we pull
his trousers and pants down in the bar, only for a
moment of course, but it's a big laugh for all the
other customers.  After we'd done this to John and
he'd blushed deep red (although why, when he's as well
hung as I am, I can't imagine).  Then they came over
and did it to me!

I told them I wasn't leaving  - I called them a lot of
queers, as they just wanted to take a look at my
tackle - but everyone was so pissed no one took any
notice.  But when we got back to the flat that night,
John confessed:  he'd filled out all the application
forms for both of us, and had sent in my notice to the
site, too.  So I was unemployed, but had a plane
ticket to the Gulf the following Wednesday.

I felt like thumping him, and shouted at him that he'd
had no right to do that to me.  But he actually looked
pretty sorry.  It was shitty weather, being February,
and after a few minutes I thought "well, why not?"  So
I told John that although he was still a complete
bastard, I would go.

He looked really happy then - and must have been much
more pissed than I thought because he told me he
hadn't dared to go by himself - coming to London had
been almost as much as he could bear, and there as no
way he could go to a foreign country without "his one
real mate" to support him.

Blokes just don't tell each other things like that -
that's what birds do, and it's why they're always so
long in the ladies at clubs:  telling each other
everything.  But I suppose I've always known John
followed me - he never went into a pub by himself, but
would always go if I suggested it.  And he tended to
eat the same things at me in restaurants. I liked him
as a mate a lot, and didn't mind this - it was a bit
like having a younger brother to show the ropes to
(although we're the same age - 28).

Well, to cut a long story short, we've been here six
months now.  I've actually saved a phenomenal amount -
not just because of the pay and lack of tax, but
because there's no fucking thing to spend the money
on!  There are no pubs or clubs (and no alcohol!).
And absolutely no birds to pull and show a good time
to - all the women you see are covered totally in
those long robes, and never go out alone, let alone
speak to a man.

All we do is work - it's paid by the hour, so the more
hours we work, the more we get.  We watch the TV at
night - most of the channels are in Arabic so we don't
understand them.  The only English channel is the
dreadful BBC World with all those plummy voices going
on about international crises all the time.  They
don't even have Eurosport, as they say it's sinful.
We rent a film one night a week, but they're all
heavily censored - not even the normal flash of a tit
or bum you see in most movies these days - those
scenes are all cut out, so it can make following the
plot difficult.  And as for the suggestion that we
might have one of the ultra-hard videos we used to
have in London, well, it's a laugh:  one of the other
blokes on the site said a trader was caught trying to
smuggle them into the country, and was sentenced to
having his hand chopped off.  No one else has even
tried since then.

We have one day a week off, though - on Fridays, all
work stops.  And then we just sit by the hotel pool
and brush up our tans.

The hotel - oh , yes.  We have a big double room with
twin beds, and a huge bathroom, right here in the
centre just around the corner from the office block
we're fitting out.  We can eat what we like in the
restaurant, or have room service.

We soon found out that the Arabs here are real lazy
bastards - all the manual labour on the site is done
by Indians or Pakis, and all the specialised trades
like HVAC, electrical, marble fixing, and so on, are
done by specialists like us on short-term contracts.
They really don't mind paying over the odds to get
experts in, as the Arabs don't seem to work much at
all - I think they all get very generous welfare
benefits from the state, from the oil.

So here we are - piling up the money, and living a
good healthy life style.  It's a bit funny sharing a
room for all this time with another bloke, but there's
no problem.  It's not as if we're fucking each other
or anything, as we're completely straight.
Paradoxically I think John gets more "sex" now than I
do - he phones that girl friend of his every Saturday
night - I go down to the lobby to give him some
privacy.    I'm almost certain he wanks himself whilst
he's talking to her as there's that distinctive smell
hovering in the air sometimes when I get back to the
room.

We both wank every day, of course, but only after
we're in our own beds.  You know how it is when blokes
share a room - you fuck the five fingered widow,
trying to keep the slapping noise down as your
foreskin slides over your cock head.  And you think
your mate can hear you, because you think you can hear
him!  You both know you're doing it, because all young
guys do, and you both know the other one knows.  But
you neither of you ever mention it at all, and you
just pick up the screwed up paper hankies and throw
them into the bog the next morning.

If I'm very horny, I can at least have a good wank in
the morning completely uninhibited - I'm a bit of a
morning person, and always wake up, whereas John would
stay in his pit until midday if I let him.  I like to
lie on my bed  totally naked and toss myself off
whilst John sleeps on - it's much better than having
the sheets banging into your hand all the time.

When I've finished, I shower and shave, and the lazy
bugger still hasn't woken up, so I pull the sheets off
him and slap his naked arse to wake him - that's the
only way I can do it.  He always sleeps face down, and
then he has to try to get to the bathroom with me
watching him trying to hide his morning hard-on from
me.  What a laugh - he's always embarrassed, every
morning.  It's not as if I haven't seen an erection
before, after all.

We usually work on office blocks being built in city -
there's a lot of new construction going on at the
moment.  As soon as they have the frame up they put
the glass walls on, then they can install temporary AC
so that we can work in reason able comfort - it's not
all that different from working in London, actually.
But one morning the foreman said we could go to do a
special job at a palace in the desert if we wanted to.
I wanted to stay put, as it was so easy to walk across
from the hotel to the site, but John said we'd never
really seen the desert, so we said we'd go.

I never realised how empty this country is - whilst we
were in the city, provided we were inside, we could
have been anywhere in the world .  But once we left
the town it was so different - people think of desert
as just sand, but actually it's a lot more like
pebbles and boulders everywhere.  It was just as well
we were in an air-conditioned Land Rover for the three
hour journey, else we would have been boiled!

When we got there, it was a huge place - you could see
it shimmering on the horizon long before we got there
- I went to Las Vagas once and drove across the desert
to get there, and it was just the same effect:  you
think you're going to be there soon, but the air is so
clear that your eye is deceived and it's a lot further
away than you think, and an awful lot bigger as you
eventually get closer.

We went inside and saw the foreman of works, who told
us the Sheikh who owned it was having the whole place
brought into the twenty-first century, with proper air
conditioning, and modern alarm systems, phone service,
smoke detection, and so on.  It was all being rewired
as part of this, but our job on this occasion was to
install those low-voltage spotlights in the ceiling of
the Throne Room:   even though they have passed their
peak in the UK, they're still the height of fashion
there, apparently.  They're a big bore to have to
install, as it's so repetitive:  lots and lots of
fittings, each of which has to have a cable connection
and so on, so lots of wiring to be pulled across the
ceilings.

The Throne Room when we saw it was a huge place, and
we were told that the design called for the
installation of 700 of the spot lights!  Well, there
was no way we were going to get all that done in one
day, and we told the bloke so.  But he told us to get
started, so we got stuck in.

The Throne Room had been done up once before, in the
early seventies, I'd guess, and there was already a
modern suspended ceiling which theoretically made the
job a whole lot easier.  But the tossers who had
installed the Air Conditioning at that time had done a
terrible job - all the ducting was all over the place,
and the blowers and chillers were placed everywhere -
and the state of the cables leading to them was a
disaster - they'd been badly installed in the first
place, and were now badly frayed and corroded.

We told the foreman that it all needed ripping out and
replacing, but he said there was no time for that now,
just to get on with the lights.  The Throne Room was
needed for some big ceremony in a few weeks time.
They might look at the AC after that.

John was really worried - I've told you he's a bit of
a thinker - and didn't want to go poking around in the
ceiling with our cables when there was all that
dangerous stuff up there already, especially as it was
all 415V gear because of the power requirements.  He
said there was no way he was going to work around
that, so the foreman said if it would enable us to get
on, they'd turn off the system whilst we were working.

It was a real bastard of a job - each light needs you
to drill a hole in the ceiling tile, mount the
fitting, attach the cable, and then run the wire
across the ceiling to a junction box.  It's not
difficult, but it's repetitive.  And by lunch time
we'd only done about 30.  Part of the problem is that
we had to keep moving ladders around, up to each new
hole, then along to be able to thread the cables, then
to the place under the junction box, and so on....
There was just no way you could speed it up with only
two of us doing it.  And it was bloody hard work - I
was up and down those step ladders like a fucking
monkey.

We were soon sweating like pigs, as the temperature
went up with the aircon switched off.  We took off our
shirts, and our Ts, but we were still much too hot.
And working with your arms above your head for long
periods is really tiring!   Our jeans were getting
soaked in sweat from it running down our backs and
chests and into them - you know how it is, when you
see guys working and the waistbands of their jeans are
all a darker colour with the sweat.  And as the damp
spread downwards, it was really chafing (as both John
and I like shaped jeans, not those baggies).

I got so pissed off that I decided to take my jeans
off, too - after all, my boxers were perfectly decent,
and anyway there hadn't been anyone else around all
morning.  It felt really good to be able  to move more
freely, although it didn't really help us to get the
job done any faster.  We left our heavy leather work
boots on - as you know, you always need to wear
protective footwear on building sites - and we still
needed our leather belts around our waists to hold all
our tools.  I suppose it looked a bit like one of
those fetish things - guys in boxers, boots, and
leather belts!

At lunchtime the foreman reappeared, and saw us
working stripped down as we were.

"Good idea", he said.  "There's only blokes here in
the Palace anyway, as the Sheikh is really strict
about allowing women anywhere near him."

He'd bought us some sandwiches with him, and we all
sat around eating them.  He was from England, like us,
and had been in the Gulf for four years now.  It was
just the same for him - high wages, no taxes, and he
sent all his money home to his wife and kids who were
having a much better life now than they did when he
was working on housing estates in Guildford.

As we chatted he told us he preferred working on these
jobs out in the rich Sheikhs' palaces rather than on
he office blocks in the city, as the Sheikhs were
usually very generous and as well as his wages he
often got a big present as a reward at the end of the
contract.  And he was able to use all the facilities
of the palace - swimming pool, riding stables, and so
on.  He'd even been allowed to go hawking, and was
full of the thrill of seeing the huge birds tearing
their prey out of the sky.  And, he said, in a
confidential tone, "There are the pleasure rooms."

H e saw John and I looking at him questioningly when
he said this, and lowered his voice.

"No, I've said too much.  You lads don't want to know
about that.  Let's get you back to work...."

We then explained about how slow it was, because of
the need to keep moving the ladders constantly, and
that we couldn't see how we were going to get it done
faster.

"I've got an idea", he said. "You lads start back to
work, and I'll see if I can get someone to come and
help you get up to the ceiling better."

So John and I started working again, but he was back
an hour later.

Our eyes almost fell out of our heads, because he had
these two big guys with him - and they were starkers!
 Two,  big, tall completely naked guys.  Now look, I'm
not queer or anything, but even I could see that these
blokes were something special - big, strong-looking
muscles, great big cocks hanging down over low-hanging
balls, nice looking and handsome.  It was as if they'd
stepped out of the front covers of the gay magazines
you see on the top shelves of the newsagents, when
you're trying to find a proper porno mag!  The only
thing that spoiled their perfection was that each of
them seemed to have tattoos on his chest - I'm not one
for tats myself, although a lot of blokes on the sites
do have them.

The two guys followed him into the room and stopped a
couple of paces behind him.  They each at once stood
with their feet about a metre apart, hands clasped
behind their backs, and heads bowed.

"These two are slaves from the field gangs", the
foreman said.  "Just tell them what you want them to
do.  They understand some English - or, rather, there
are enough English words in the language they speak so
they can understand you if you give them simple,
direct commands.  But don't try anything complicated."

"You mean they're going to move the ladders for us?  I
can't see there's much else they can do, unless
they're skilled electricians.   And if they were
skilled, you wouldn't have bought us out here...."

"Well, you could have them move the ladders.  But I
picked these out as they are the tallest we have -
tall enough so that if you two sit on their shoulders,
you'll be able to reach up and work.  Then you won't
have to keep getting up and down the ladders - just
tell the slaves to move wherever you want, around the
room."

"What do you mean... Slaves?  And why are these blokes
naked?"

"Oh, coming from the city I suppose you don't know.
All  the heavy work around here is done by slaves.
And their owner, the Sheikh, always has his slaves
totally naked - it saves all the expense of buying
them uniforms and maintaining and cleaning them."

"Yes, but..."

"And in this climate there's no need of clothes anyway
as it's always hot.  So the only real purpose is for
modesty, and slaves have no right to that - their
bodies are completely at the disposal of their
masters, so why be ashamed of showing it?  And, as
you've seen, it's only blokes around here - the Sheikh
doesn't allow women.  So we're all lads together here.
 You've seen enough men bollock naked at school and at
gyms, haven't you?"

"Yes..."

"And anyway, look at you two!  Just in those boxers,
which are so soaked in sweat anyway that you can see
your bums coming through the fabric. It's only a few
square centimetres of difference between working in
boxers and working naked.  Just ignore the slaves -
sit on them and treat them as moving platforms to help
you get your work done.  They won't mind - it will be
a change for them from doing the normal stuff they do
out on the estate - almost like a holiday!  Standing
here with you two on their shoulders will be a lot
less effort than what they would be doing this
afternoon out in the fields."

"Well, I suppose we could try...."

The foreman turned around and looked at the slaves and
just said "Kneel".  No "please" or anything, just the
one word, and both guys obediently knelt down.

"So who's going to have the blonde, and who the dark
one?", the foreman asked us.

I saw John standing there unsure of what to do, as
usual, so I made up his mind for him.  I went over and
stood behind the big blonde guy, straddled his
shoulders with my legs, and sat down on his shoulders.
 It's actually quite difficult - because you don't
know where to put your cock!

The last time I sat on a man's shoulders was when dad
took me to a big parade up in London.  But I was only
a nipper then, and not only was my cock very small,
but I didn't even think about it.  Now my good-sized
cock was going to be a problem - especially as I was
thinking about it!  And you know how it is when you
think about your cock - it starts to go hard.  And as
it got harder, it was more and more difficult to
decide what to do with it.

I usually dress on the right, as they say, so as I got
myself comfortable on the slave's shoulders I sort of
hitched myself so my cock and balls went down the
right side of his face.  It did feel strange - because
my boxers were already so wet, and the slave's
shoulders themselves were covered in his sweat, I
could feel the heat of him striking through to my arse
- it felt almost sexual, somehow, as the only time
your arse usually gets warm like that is when you're
astride a bird.

"Comfortable?" The foreman asked after I stopped
wriggling.

"As much as I'm going to be."

"Stand up!", he snapped at the slave, who rose to his
feet.  Now I'm about 11 stone, so I'm not exactly a
light weight, but this guy was strong - he stood up so
smoothly that it's as if I wasn't there.

"OK", said the foreman.  "Try and fix a light."

So I did - I told the slave things like "forwards" and
"Back a bit" and "left" and "right", and it actually
was quite good.  It was just the right height to be
able to get up into the ceiling, and it was certainly
a lot easier than shinning up and down the ladders all
the time.

After watching me for a bit, John got up onto the
shoulders of the other slave (who had remained
stationary, just waiting) and he too started to ride
the guy around the room to get a "feel" of controlling
him.

I don't know whether you have ever tried riding a
guy's shoulders, but it's actually more difficult than
it looks as you need to keep your balance - if you go
forwards, you bump your belly into his head.  But if
you start to fall backwards, there's nothing you can
do.  When you're little, on your dad's shoulders, you
can always grab his hair, or put your hands around his
forehead.  But neither of those things worked with
this slave - his hair was just a brush over the top of
his head, and  there was nothing to hold on to.  I
needed both my hands to work of course, but even if I
had a spare hand, I wouldn't have wanted to grip
around the slave's head - if I had started to fall
backwards, I might have broken his neck.

The foreman solved this, though, because after he had
watched me wobbling around a bit, he came over and
tucked my feet around behind the slave's back, and
then moved  the slave's arms and instructed him to
grip around my legs.  It was even more warm and sweaty
like this, especially with the hairs on the slave's
arms rubbing against the hairs on my legs,  but it
worked - I felt a lot more secure.

The foreman stood and watched us fix a few more of the
lights, then said  "You know, you're messing about
unnecessarily trying to position these slaves as you
want by telling them which way to go.  Why don't you
just guide them with your feet and your knees, as you
would if you were riding a horse?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you're on a horse as well as using the reins
and bridle to control it, the rider gives a lot of
instruction by pressing with the knees and kicking the
flanks of the animal with his heels.  You could do the
same thing with your slave - although he hasn't got a
bridle - but that too could be arranged - you could
press with your knees, and kick him in the ribs, to
guide him.  Then you needn't keep shouting to tell him
what to do.  You can talk to your mate as usual, with
all the guidance of the slave just coming from your
body."

So I tried it, but it didn't seem very successful.

"The problem is those boots", the foreman said.  "You
lose all judgement about how hard you're pressing the
slave.  Take them off, and just dig into his body with
your toes - I think you'll find that then you will be
able to have a much more precise degree of control."

"No, don't get down", he continued, "I'll slip your
boots off."

And he came up beside me and unlaced my boots, and
slipped each one in turn off my feet.  Then without
stopping, he peeled my sweat-soaked socks off, too.  I
felt so embarrassed by this - you know how vile your
boots smell when you take them off at the end of the
day - you can't help sweating, of course, and in the
tight work boots there's nowhere for the sweat to go
so it gets really rank and pongs something terrible by
the end of your shift.  It's one thing to get a whiff
of it when you're taking your own boots off, but
another to inflict it on someone else - I don't really
like it when John takes his boots off back in our
hotel room, and he's my best mate!  Now the foreman
got a lung full of my boots, and I knew the slave
would be, too - especially as my sweaty fee were
pressing into his body.

Once I'd got used to it, it actually was easier to
drive the slave this way, and he soon learned that
pressing my knees into his sides meant "stop", and a
kick from one foot meant "go that way", and a kick
from both, "forwards".  I could see John had got the
hang of riding his slave, too, and soon it was just
like normal - we chatted away to each other as we
worked, and were able to cooperage on pulling the
cables and so on as we didn't need to think about
commanding our work platforms at all.

We made cracking progress, and the only problem was
the temperature.  The room got hotter and hotter, and
being on top of the slave and with my legs wrapped
around his body, it felt even worse.  The sweat was
absolutely running off me and I could feel the slave
sweating underneath me, too.  Little rivulets of our
combined sweat were trickling all down him... And you
know how water after a shower runs down your belly
then makes its way along your prick and drips of  the
end, so it looks as if you're just finishing off after
a leak?  Well, both slaves were like this, and the
sweat was dripping from their pricks and you could see
little drops of it all over the smoothly-polished
marble floor.

We stopped for a rest after about an hour, as even
though it was more comfortable working this way than
using stepladders, our arms were still tired from
having them above our heads almost constantly.  The
slaves knelt down  to let us dismount - perfectly
smoothly.  These guys really were strong, as it's more
difficult to go down gracefully when you're carrying a
heavy weight  than it is to get up.

John and I  were both dying of thirst after all the
sweating, and we almost emptied a litre bottle of
water each.  After we had dismounted, the slaves had
remained kneeling just as we had left them, waiting
for further commands, I suppose.

John said to me "What about those guys?  Do they get a
drink, too?"

There were lots of the bottles of the mineral water
standing on a table by us, so I picked up a couple,
went over to the kneeling slaves, and said "Here - for
you."

The looks on their faces can only be said to be of
pure astonishment - it's as if no one had ever given
them anything like that before.  They both tore open
the bottles and downed the whole thing without
stopping - their heads were tilted back, and you could
see their Adam's apples bobbing up and down as they
almost sucked the water in.

When they had finished, I gave them another two
bottles, and they looked even more amazed.  They were
able to drink this much more slowly, and looked as if
they were really enjoying it.  Now I know we had sweat
a lot, but the way these guys drank it was as if they
hadn't had any water for hours and hours - surely they
would have drunk before the foreman brought them to
us, I thought.  And, if they were that desperate, why
didn't they tell us so we could have stopped sooner
and let them drink?

They had continued to kneel, and it was time to get
back to work.  But my boxers were really chafing me
now, they were so soaked with the sweat from me and
the slave.  I looked at the two slaves, and they
seemed to be so much freer and cooler entirely naked,
so as I went to remount I just shrugged my boxers onto
the floor and gave my cock a little "flick" to free it
from where it had been pouched against my balls by the
fabric of the boxers.  It immediately felt a bit
cooler, and a lot easier without the damp fabric
flapping around me.

Now before I had been very conscious of the warmth of
the slave as I settled onto his shoulders, but without
anything at all between my skin and his, it was even
more apparent.  And there was still the problem of
what to do with my cock - I went to push it to the
right again, up against the slave's ear, but then
thought I would try something else.

I reached down and moved my cock up against my own
belly, then wriggled forward so that it pushed into
the nape of the slave's neck - I realised at once that
this was a mistake - being surrounded by warm, moist
flesh, it started to have a massive erection!  I knew
that the slave must have been able to feel my cock
pushing into his neck, and was really embarrassed - I
was blushing all over.  But what could I do now - even
if I reached down and freed my stiffy from between us,
the only place it could go would be to the right, or
the left.  And I didn't want the slave to have to have
my erection slapping against his cheeks.

So I just ignored it, and, as they do, after a few
minutes the erection went away.  But in addition to
the smell of the sweat wafting up towards my nose, I
got the occasional whiff of cum - having my cock
trapped like that had caused it to get a gentle
massage due to the motion of me and the slave - not
enough to cause me to cum, thank God, but enough to
get the pre-cum flowing!  I suppose it's lucky the
slave's hair was so short and neatly razored off quite
high up at the back - It can't be nice to have a guy's
cum in your hair!

John had not  stripped like me - but, as I've said,
he's a bit of a "follower" and after a few minutes
more work when I could see that he, too, was getting
more and more uncomfortable, he told his slave to
kneel, got down, shrugged off his boxers too, and rode
his slave totally naked, like me.

We worked away and were making good progress, and were
surprised when the foreman came back.  The slaves
knelt, and we dismounted.  The foreman took one look
at us and started to laugh.

"What's so fucking funny, then?", I asked.

"I'm just thinking that you two have adapted so well
to the normal dress codes for those who actually do
work here!   You know, if you were both in better
shape physically, didn't have those tan lines around
your arses, weren't wearing those leather tool belts,
and had your hair cut short, it would be difficult to
tell you from the slaves.  Although I suppose you
haven't been branded, either."

Up until now I'd thought that the stuff on the slave's
chests were tattoos, and they'd both got some sort of
design on their left arse, too.  But I now went up and
looked more closely and saw that they were indeed not
tattoos, but brands!  The flesh was grooved, and
pinker than the rest of their deeply-tanned bodies.

"Yes", the foreman said as he watched me. "All the
permanent slaves here are branded.  It's better than
tattooing, as it's impossible to remove or go over
with another design.  So once a slave wears his
maser's brand, he knows that he is the master's
property for the rest of his life."

"We're finishing early, aren't we?  Me and my mate
usually like to do a lot of overtime".

"Well, you've got to stop now, as it's a three hour
drive back to the city....  Unless you want to stop
the night here", the foreman replied.

"Well, I don't know...."

"Suit yourselves.  But if I were you, I wouldn't want
three hours of jolting back across the desert, then
three more hours back here tomorrow morning - you will
have to come back, after all, as the job isn't nearly
finished. "

"But then, a couple of young guys like you, I suppose
you have an exciting evening planned in the
city.....", he continued.

I could see the sense in what he said, and of course
we had bugger all to do, other than that dreadful TV.
I didn't need to ask John, as I knew he'd agree with
anything  I wanted, so I said  "OK - is there a hotel
here or something?"

"No need.  The palace has over 100 bedrooms, and
they'll certainly put you up as guests of the Sheikh.
He really does want his Throne Room finished, you
know."

"OK, so we'll go in working...."

"Yes, but I've got to take the blonde slave away now,
as he's working at his other job tonight and he needs
to get ready."

Progress was much slower with only one slave -
naturally I took the dark-haired one, and let John
haul the ladders around - he didn't mind.

When the foreman came back a couple of hours later
John and I pulled on our clothes, and followed him
along corridors, up a magnificent staircase, and down
more corridors. Everywhere was marble, glass and gold
- completely luxurious.  There wasn't a speck of dirt
to be seen anywhere, and everything shone.  However
much labour must it take, I wondered, to keep all this
up to this standard?  You usually can't get cleaners
at all, let alone those who can do work like this.

The bedroom we went in to was even bigger and more
luxurious than the huge one in our hotel.

"There's everything here you'll need", the foreman
said. "Shaving gear and stuff in the bathroom, and
clean clothes in the drawers - if you leave your
sweaty stuff on the bathroom floor, the slaves will
have it laundered and returned to you by tomorrow when
you leave.  The stuff in the drawers should fit you -
loose Ts, workout shorts, that sort of thing:  nothing
too tight or size-critical."

"Order whatever you want from the kitchens on the
phone.  And you'll find that the in-house TV service
offers a few things you don't get in your hotel:
there's porno flicks on channel 10 to 19, and channel
20 has the available comfort slaves on display -
prostitutes, I suppose you'd call them.  There's no
charge, of course, as you're guests of the Sheikh."


When he went out, I couldn't wait to turn on the TV!
Real porno flicks.  And maybe we'd even have a prossie
- I've never paid for sex before (and I suppose I
wasn't going to pay for it now as the Sheikh was
picking up the bill), but after so long without a
woman, anything would be better than nothing!  I
wondered though how we'd get on - John is a bit of a
prude, and I didn't think he'd like shagging away with
me doing the same thing on the next bed!

But when I turned the TV on, all the flicks were of
men.  Not a boob or a slit in sight - just cocks,
balls, asses, throats:  men doing everything to each
other in all combinations.  I couldn't believe it!
And, of course, the comfort slaves on channel 20 were
all guys, too: pretty stunning, I'll admit:  all sizes
and shapes from lithe lads to big muscled types like
our slaves this afternoon.  And all handsome, I
suppose.  They were all smiling as they stood around
preening themselves and displaying their bodies for
the camera - it was quite obvious they knew that
people were watching, as they were all holding little
signs that had big numbers on them, and a caption kept
running along the bottom of the TV screen "Press the
number of the slave you require on your TV remote, and
he will be sent to your room immediately."

John and I just sat there and stared at it.  Well, one
thing was certain:  we weren't going to be having a
prossie after all tonight!   We were just talking
about the whole amazing setup when the phone rang - it
was the foreman calling to say that we should hurry up
and order a meal as there was to be an entertainment
in the Palace that night and hearing that we were
there, the Sheikh had invited us.

"But we haven't got any clothes...."

"Just wear the Ts and shorts you find in the room",
the foreman said. "We're very informal here.  And as
you'll see, you'll be over dressed compared with some
of the men there!"

So we decided to get going - I told John to order some
grub for us - of course I had to spell out what we
wanted - whilst I went to shower.  There didn't seem
to be any point in modesty any more after the day's
work naked, so I just dropped my sweaty clothes there
in the bedroom, in full view of John as he was on the
phone.  We'd never done that before - in our hotel
room we always dressed and undressed in the bathroom.

In the huge bathroom there was a walk-in shower - a
frosted glass door opening into a big area tiled from
floor to ceiling and with a drain hole in the centre.
There was  one of those giant "deluging" shower heads
in the ceiling, but no obvious way of turning it on.
I looked all round, and was just about to give up when
an opening appeared in the wall opposite the door:  I
saw that another door had been concealed there, tiled
over.  Two men came out - like me, totally naked.

I thought that this must be a bathroom shared with the
room next door, and they were just about to try to
shower too.  But then they dropped to their knees,
just like the two slaves we were working with earlier
on, and I saw they had those numbers tattooed on their
chests as well.

If I liked men, these two would have been fucking
gorgeous:  they were almost twins, about 5'10" tall,
very well muscled (not hugely built up, but lean and
lithe so you could see there was not an ounce of fat
on them and all their muscles were sharply defined),
tanned a deep honey brown all over, very short cropped
hair, and bodies completely hairless except for a very
small patch on top of their cocks - it looked as if
their pubic hair had all been shaved off except for a
strip about three inches long and an inch high, and
this was trimmed short.  It seemed that you were
supposed to get he idea that they were fully mature
with lots of pubic hair, without it actually spraying
all over the place.  They were smiling at me, and the
water suddenly started pouring out of the shower head.

One of the slaves got to his feet in a single smooth
movement, and stood there feeling the water splash
over his naked body, until he judged that it must be
at the right temperature because he then came over to
me and took me by the arm and led me under the water.

His companion joined the two of us as we stood there,
and then the two of them started to soap me all over!
I nearly freaked out - two naked guys going all over
my body with their soapy hands.  And I mean ALL over -
they didn't seem a bit embarrassed about gently
massaging my cock and balls, or sliding a soapy hand
down my ass!  I'd never had anything like this before
- you never touched the other lads in the showers at
school or after a football match.  And most of the
birds I'd been with didn't want to feel you like this
either.

And when one of them reached up and started shampooing
my hair, it was amazing.  His strong fingers massaged
my scalp, and it somehow felt so natural, so right,
that a man should be doing this intimate service for
me.  And as he reached up, he had to get quite close
because we were about the same height and he needed to
be able to reach.  That meant that his cock, that was
swinging around as he moved and soaped me, kept
bumping in to me: it was somehow all very sensual, and
my cock started to spring to life.

Fucking hell!  Was I getting to be a queer or
something, to get a hard on when a couple of naked
guys were massaging me in the shower?

One of the two men saw my erection, and the next
minute he was on his knees in front of me.  He washed
the soap off my cock, and then he had it in his mouth!
 Of course I've had BJs before - sometimes you can get
a bird to blow you - but never standing up.  And never
like this - I suppose that actually it's only a man
who can really give a good BJ as he himself knows what
it feels like as the tongue runs over your cock head,
the teeth carefully nudge    the flange of your head,
and that sensation as the tip of the tongue is flicked
at your piss slit.  But there was a problem - as I
reached my climax - amazingly quickly - I felt my
knees literally go weak:  you know how it is if you
try to wank standing up, because we're all used to
doing it lying on a bed or slumped in an arm chair.

I thought the slave would pull away as I thrust
forwards towards him as I bent my knees slightly to
ease the funny sensation in them, but he obviously
interpreted this as my wanting to get more into him,
because he reached his hands behind me, cupped one of
my arse cheeks in each hand, and pulled me tightly
into him.  I could feel his nose poking through my
pubic hair and reaching my skin just above my cock, he
was pulling so hard.  It was more than I could bear,
and I felt myself starting to cum - and then shot a
huge load out into his throat.  He made no attempt to
pull away, and kept sucking - and then I was  in real
problems, because you know how sensitive some men's
dicks get when they've just come - well, I'm just like
that!  After I've shot the first bit, I need to stop
wanking or whatever and let the "after spurts" just
happen naturally.  But the slave kept sucking at me
and running his tongue all over my cock head, still
buried in his mouth.  I cried out - not so much in
pain as with an amazing ecstasy, and I could feel my
second and third spurts going into him too.

My great shout - yes, it was pleasure - must have
startled John because he rushed in, also naked as he
was going to shower straight after me, and saw one of
the slaves with my cock down his throat, and the other
one standing right behind me with his arms around me
to help me stand up!

I thought John's eyes were going to pop out of his
head.  But, well, you know, I don't like to look like
a complete idiot, so I said to him "Your turn now!",
and pulled out from the slave.

"Go on, then, shower!", I told John as I stood there
recovering.  And of course he did as I told him.  At
once one of the slaves started to soap him, whilst the
other one brought a big fluffy white towel over and
wrapped me in it and massaged me dry through it.

I think John wanted to tell the slave to stop, but I
carried on watching him and he knew that the slaves
must have been washing me in the same way as they were
now washing him, and so he didn't say anything (he
always tries to do what I do!).  And he didn't even
protest when the second slave stopped drying me to go
over and start sucking him!

I though it best to give him a bit of privacy then, so
went out into the bedroom.  He came out a few minutes
later, and he looked as shattered as I had.

"Fucking marvellous BJ wasn't it?", I said to him as I
thought it best to keep the thing out in the open and
not try to hide it.  "But don't worry - I won't tell
that girl friend of yours!".

"Christ!", John burst out - I knew it must be
something important because he usually didn't swear
other than to use "fucking", as we all do - "No one's
ever done that to me before.  I can't believe it."

"You mean that girl friend of yours doesn't blow you?"

"No, of course not.  Never"

"But what about the girls you knew before her?"

"They didn't either.  One of them wanked me once."

"Well, now you know what it's like.  But, as someone
who's had their cocks in a lot of mouths, let me tell
you that you've been spoiled for the rest of your
life.  It will all be down hill for you, as every
other BJ you ever have will never be as good as that
one.  It's just as if those two guys were specially
trained to do it!"

Still naked, both of us decided to go back and ask the
guys more, but when we went back into the bathroom, it
was empty and the men had gone.  Surely it couldn't be
possible that they hung around somewhere waiting to go
into bathrooms whenever men wanted to shower?

We thought about phoning, but couldn't think who to
phone.  So we looked at the clothes in the drawer, and
found they were all as the foreman had said: Ts and
shorts - but silk Ts, that clung to our bodies like a
whisper, and those loose, tightly-knitted shorts you
wear in gyms.  The only thing was there were no boxers
or briefs or anything - John said he supposed it was
because of the heat, and it was better to "hang loose"
inside the loose-fitting shorts so that the air could
circulate around your privates.

As we finished dressing, there was a a knock on the
door, and without us having to say anything it
immediately opened and two waiters came in with our
meal on a trolley.  You could tell they were waiters,
because they had black bow ties around their necks -
but their only other item of clothing was a tiny black
silk G-string that only just covered their genitals.
Both of them were impressively well hung, and the tiny
pouch was strained to its utmost to contain them - you
could see everything through it, including the fact
that, like the rest of their bodies, they were totally
shaved.  They didn't even have the little patch of
pubic hair left above their cocks as the young slaves
in the shower had.

Both John and I were too astounded to say anything, as
they put the dishes out onto the table by the big
window, then bowed deeply to us, and left.

We just sat there and eat - we couldn't think of
anything else to say or do.  And the food was amazing.
 We'd only asked for ordinary grub, but the chef they
had at the palace had just done it differently, and we
stuffed ourselves like pigs.  They'd even given us a
couple of bottles of ice-cold lager each (the first
alcohol we'd seen since we came to the country), and
we drained those in double quick time.

We ate every scrap - and they really had given us a
lot.  We sat down on the sofa afterwards belching
away, and we even had another look at those porno
flicks.  They didn't look so disgusting when you'd got
a good meal inside you and were happy and content- you
could see that all the blokes were really good
looking, nicely hung, and they all seemed to be
enjoying themselves hugely!  John said he still
thought it was disgusting, but I pointed out to him
that if there had been a camera in our shower a short
time ago it would have made a good scene for one of
these movies, so he shouldn't go on about it too much.

There was another knock on the door, but this time it
didn't open so I went to see who it was.  It was the
foreman, and like us he was in a T and shorts.

"I just came for you lads to show you the way to the
entertainment", he said.  "It's easy to get lost in
the palace, as it's so huge.  And anyway it's across
the courtyard, in the banqueting suite."

As we walked through the palace he went on "About 20
of the Sheikh's closest friends have been invited to a
banquet this evening, which is just finishing.  His
highness sends his apologies that you couldn't attend
the dinner, but they were discussing their strategy
for oil prices for the next five years over the meal,
and it was inappropriate for Westerners to attend.
But he hopes you will enjoy the after-dinner
entertainment."

"You lads are lucky, you know.  It's not many people
get to see 'the real thing' as you will.  I had to
spend a year here before he first invited me, and I
wouldn't miss out on it for the world now."

We started to ask him exactly what this entertainment
was, but we arrived at the doors to the banqueting
suite - two ceiling-height doors each about four feet
wide, and each with a naked black man standing in
front of them.

John and I gaped, but the foreman didn't slow down or
even appear to notice much - as we got close enough,
the blacks stepped smartly aside and pulled open the
doors just as the foreman got to them: just like those
electric door openers we are used to in big stores,
but slave powered.

The room was huge, and basically square.  The walls
were hung with thick hangings of silk in all the
colours of the rainbow.  In the middle of the room the
marble floor was lowered to a depth of about three
feet, to make a sunken area approximately fifteen feet
square.  There were steps leading up from this sunken
area on all sides, so if you wanted to go to one part
of the room to the other, you didn't have to go around
it.  The area surrounding this pit was furnished with
sofas, and on each one there was an Arab sitting or
sprawling.

A naked slave (I was getting to recognise slaves now,
just by looking to see if they were branded) came up
and led the three of us to another sofa that was at
the back of the room, behind the others.

The Arabs on the sofas were all  being served food and
drink by "waiters" who, like the slaves who had served
us earlier, were all dressed in bow ties and tiny
posing pouches.

"See", the foreman told us "Dinner is basically over.
The waiters are just offering sweetmeats and
savouries, but they're mostly being declined.  The
Sheikh insists that waiters, or anyone involved in
food service or preparation here at the palace, is
totally shaved - he found a pubic hair in the pastry
he has for breakfast one morning, and said it was
never going to happen again.  And the waiters have to
wear those tiny pouches so that if they do get an
erection, there's no risk of the food being
contaminated by their precum.

I looked around and just sat and watched the
incredible scene - there must have been at least 40 of
the near-naked waiters serving the Arabs.  Then I
noticed that one of the Arabs - a big fat one - who
was sprawling on a couch near us had beckoned a waiter
over to him.  The man stood in front of him, and the
Arab reached out and first fondled the slave's cock
through his G-string, and, clearly finding it
pleasing, then ripped the string off so that the slave
was naked except for his bow tie.

He snapped something at the slave, who reached down
into the Arab's robe and clearly was stimulating him.
The slave then moved so he was astride the lap of the
fat Arab as he lay there sprawled, and lowered himself
onto the Arab's cock!  The slave then started to move
up and down and you could see all the muscles in his
thighs straining as he did so, gently raising and
lowering himself so that the Arab's cock slid smoothly
in and out of his arse.

The Arab would say something to the slave from time to
time, and each time the slave altered his pace -
sometimes going slowly, sometimes fast, and clearly
sometimes just having short "strokes" whilst at other
times the Arab's cock must have been slamming into the
poor chap.  It seemed like the ultimate way to be
really humiliated:  being told exactly how you should
move to cause the Arab the maximum pleasure as he
fucked you.  The slave was obviously under great
strain as he tried to maintain his straddled posture
and obey the Arab in relation to how he was to move,
and it went on and on.  It took about 20 minutes
before you could tell form the look on the Arab's face
that he had cum.

Then he snapped something else at the slave, who at
once got off the Arab's cock, bent down, and we could
see him licking the big fat cock clean!  Fancy having
to clean a man's prick with your mouth and tongue when
it's been up your arse, I thought, and it almost made
me puke.

The foreman saw me looking disgusted, but said "Don't
worry, as we make all the waiters have thorough enemas
before serving.  So if a master does choose to fuck
them, they can clean the master off as there will be
very little shit on their cocks."

Well, ha bloody ha, that's all right then, I thought!

They might have been waiting for the Arab to finish -
I think he was one of the guests of honour, because as
soon as the waiter had finished with him, the lights
in the room dimmed and spotlights above the sunken
area came on.

Four big naked slaves then entered, hauling something
about four feet square and seven feet high on a small
trolley - we couldn't see what it was, as it was
covered with a big sheet of white cotton fabric.

The slaves went and stood in that position I had seen
our two adopt - hands clasped behind their backs, feet
apart, and heads bowed, in the four corners of the
area.  One of the "Overseer" types in full Arab rig
went up to the fabric and with a big flourish pulled
it off.

We all gasped, because underneath there was a cage
made of steel bars, and inside the cage was a Marine,
in full military uniform.  The guy was clutching the
bars and shaking them, as if trying to get out.  He
blinked in the sudden light, then must have caught
sight of the four big naked slaves standing there,
because he abruptly stopped moving and his mouth fell
open as if in shock.

The Overseer went up to the cage, and I think he must
have been wearing a concealed radio mike because even
though he was clearly speaking quietly, all of us in
the audience could hear every word.

"Welcome, Marine, to the entertainment centre in the
palace of his Highness the Sheikh.  You are here
tonight not to see the entertainment, but to
participate in it.   Fully participate in it, I may
say.  You were captured whilst on a secret
infiltration mission to our country, and your comrades
who were captured with you have all been dispersed to
other Sheikhs by our gracious ruler as 'thank you'
gifts for their loyal support of his regime.  You
should abandon any hope of being rescued, as  your
government is not even looking for you - your mission
was secret, and when it failed, they can't admit to
the world that it was even going on."

"You have been abandoned.  Totally.  Newspapers in
your country have even reported the deaths of a small
group of marines in a 'training accident'  at your
home base. Your only hope now is to co-operate fully
as a loyal 'servant' of our merciful Sheikh."

"Your first duty as his new 'servant' is to show off
your fighting skills.  We have assembled here tonight
a group of connoisseurs of hand to hand combat, and
you are to demonstrate your art to them.  You will
fight the Sheikh's chief wrestler, 403."

Then in a louder voice, he called "403, enter the
arena."

Very dramatically, lit by a following spot, 'our'
slave came out of the shadows in the corner of the
room and walked serenely and proudly into the arena to
stand in front of the cage.

"Now, Marine", the Overseer continued, "you have seen
your opponent. Take off your clothes so that we can
let you out of the cage and the contest can begin."

"FUCK YOU!", the Marine shouted, and the radio mike
picked up his words and carried them all around the
room.

"I'm not stripping in front of a load of queers, or
fighting in the nude as an entertainment for you.  In
fact, I'm not going to fight at all, naked or clothed.
 I'm a prisoner of war, and I demand my rights under
the Geneva Convention."

"Marine", the Overseer replied in his calm voice, "I
caution you to obey the Sheikh's wishes, as your
future life will very much depend on his kindness.
You are not a prisoner of war, as there is no war.
And, as I have told you, your country no longer cares
about you.  So get naked, so that we can all see what
sort of a man you are.  Then come out of your cage
fighting, and try to beat 403 here - although I have
to warn you that he is an expert."

"AS I SAID, FUCK YOU!" The marine shouted, and shook
the bars again in anger.

"This is your last chance, Marine.  If you do not
voluntarily unclothe, we will make you, forcibly.  And
you assuredly will fight 803 here - all our fights are
what we call 'finish on a fuck', that is to say the
fight is only over when one of the fighters gets his
cock completely up the nether regions of his opponent.
 If you do not fight, 803 here will have an easy time
of it.  Whilst it will not be as entertaining as
seeing a fight, 803 has a very pleasing body and
seeing him take your virginity - I assume you are a
virgin - and shoot one of his massive loads of cum up
inside you will be almost as good.  Now, unclothe!"

The marine did not say anything, but in an act of
sheer defiance simply turned around so that his back
was to the Overseer.

"Very well... Slaves...." The Overseer said.  The four
big naked slaves who had been standing in the corners
approached the cage, and the door was unlatched.  They
reached in and pulled the Marine out, and in spite of
his violent attempts to prevent them from doing so,
they quickly and efficiently stripped him completely
naked.  I suppose that there's a point when a man
knows he's beaten - these four slaves were big and
tough, and had obviously done this lots of time
before.  I suppose even the best fighter knows he
can't hope to win against four opponents who are all
trained to act as a team, so they don't get in each
others way, and so conserves his strength and avoids
getting damaged in the hope that he can face better
odds later.

This certainly seemed to be the case for the Marine,
who after his initial skirmish with the four slaves
effectively became completely passive and let the four
men take all his clothes off - they weren't at all
gentle, and it looked as if they were tearing his
shirt off  as buttons flew out, and they yanked his
trousers and pants down together, and pulled them over
his feet whilst one of them pinned his back down to
the ground.  We were all treated to the spectacle of
his arse hole as his legs came up as the trousers were
pulled off.

A couple of minutes later he stood there, his hands
held in front of his cock as if to hide it, glaring at
our 403.

403

Well, what a day it turned out to be.  First, being
taken into the palace.  And then working with those
masters doing things with the ceiling.  It felt
strange to have a master sitting astride my shoulders
at first, and I could hardly keep up with all the
shouting they did to get me to move around.  I was
worried about 6, in case he understood less, and they
ordered him to be whipped as they would think him to
be disobedient.

But after the master who seemed to be in charge of the
other masters spoke to them, they took their boots off
too and then started to guide us by pressing into the
ribs with their knees, and kicking into my back with
their feet - it was a  lot easier.  I know it seems
strange to some people that one master would be in
charge of another, and yet the one master did seem to
give orders to the others. Yet all three were masters,
because as two of them were only wearing shorts,  I
could see that they had no ownership marks on them.

Compared to pulling the plough, carrying the master
was really easy work.  And although it was hot in the
palace so I was sweating all over, at least I was not
out under the burning sun for a change.

It was surprising to see how much like a slave a
master really is when he is almost unclothed - the
master on my shoulders looked just like me - very
little hair on his body, nice pecs carried high, with
good tits, a flat stomach, and long thin toes.  Of
course he was not nearly as well developed as I am,
and he was a lot shorter.  But a few weeks of heavy
toil could easily turn him into a good-looking slave.

Late on, when he took off the shorts and sat his naked
ass directly on my shoulders, I saw that he was even
more like a slave - he had been cut.  This added to
the mystery - why would a master be cut?  (although I
saw that the other master, the one sitting on 6, had
not been ordered to be cut as mine had).

The master had an erection as he sat on me, and he
tried to get comfortable by first sitting with his
cock pressing against my left ear, and then the right
one.  Finally, he pushed it up between his belly and
the back of my neck, and I could feel its silky soft
firmness nestling in the nape of my neck.  I always
think a guy's cock feels lovely - it seems to have a
completely different feel to it than any other part of
his body.  I liked its warmth against my neck, and I
must remember to do this to 6 when we next get a
chance to play together - I've put my cock almost
everywhere else on and in his body, but never there
before.  It will be exciting for him, I know.

Master was sweating just like I was, but his sweat
smelled different.  Most of us slaves have sweat that
smells the same, as we're always fed on exactly the
same food.  But I've noticed that masters' smells vary
from day to day, and I think it depends on what
they've been eating.  This master's sweat smelled
excitingly different, and I longed to be able to lick
my tongue all over his body so that I could savour it
to the full.  With his cock and balls so close to my
head, I also kept getting whiffs of the exciting "man
smell" that comes from those areas - you know how it
is, wen you press your nose up between your playmate's
thighs, and then on and up between his cock and balls
- there's that unique scent there that's found on no
other parts of the body.  Some of the slaves in my
gang like to suck at each other's arm pits, bit I
don't think you can beat the good rich man-smell from
cocks and balls that are sweating heavily.  I really
wanted the master to turn around, so I could bury his
cock deep into my mouth and really get the full taste
as well as the smell.

When they stopped to have a drink, the masters did a
quite extraordinary thing.  6 and I remained kneeling
having gone down to let them  dismount from our
shoulders ( they did not give us the command to allow
us to rise).  We were both dying for a drink - it was
hours since we had last had any water, and we had been
sweating heavily all the time we were working.  The
masters stood there swilling the water down, and I
could even smell its sharp, clean smell, I was so
desperate for it.  Of course we couldn't ask, as
slaves do not beg masters for anything.  But it was as
if the masters knew we were thirsty because they
brought some of the water over and gave it to us!  No
master has ever done anything like that for us before,
no master has ever considered that we too might need
watering.

I thought 6 and I would work for these masters all
day, and if we were lucky and they saw we were hard
workers, who knows, they might buy us from the Sheikh
and take us under their protection - although the
Sheikh is a considerate master, he does not think
about his slaves in the same way as these masters
thought about us.  Any slave would be grateful to be
owned by these two.  I fervently hoped that if they
were only able to buy one of us, it could be 6.  I can
look after myself as well as any slave can, but 6
needs someone to look out for him, as I've said.  I'm
always worried that we will be separated, but if it
was to two masters like these, I could stop worrying.

The fight that evening was going to be a special one.
I know most of the other masters' champion fighters
because we have all fought each other several times,
but an Overseer told me that tonight I was to go up
against a "wild" slave, in fact a soldier who was a
crack fighter and who had only been captured the day
before.  I hate these fights, as the guys just don't
know how to behave in polite society, and I'm always
worried that they will upset the audience of masters
and we'll both get punished - you know the sort of
thing I mean, they stand their with their hands over
their cocks, so the masters can't see them properly,
and when we do get to fight they fight dirty, trying
to punch and chop you, instead of just wrestling.  So
I knew I was in for a bad time.

It was worse than I thought - first of all, he refused
to take his clothes off in the cage - how did he think
we were going to fight?  He was shouting and screaming
obscenities, and the four arena slaves had to go in,
pull him out, and forcibly strip him:  you'd have
thought that would have been humiliating enough.  But
then he stood there concealing his tackle from the
masters with his hands, as if they had no right to get
a good look at him!  It's stupid anyway, as well hung
men, and he was well hung, can't really cover all of
themselves with their hands and it just makes them
look ridiculous.

Although they told me he was a freshly-captured slave,
he must have been a master fairly recently as once he
was nude you could see that the sun had not tanned him
equally all over.  He was three different shades!
Very dark lower arms, hands and face.  Lighter body
and legs, and pure white around his cock and ass.  It
shows how sensible masters are to have us slaves naked
in the sun - this guy really did look ridiculous with
these kind of "stripes" of tan over him!

He wasn't shaved, of course, and his uncut cock hung
down from a big forest of black pubic hair - it
stretched right across from thigh to thigh.  He had
quite a pronounced treasure trail, too, and a lot of
hair all over his chest.

He stopped his shouting when he saw me, but when I
went over to him and wanted to help him oil up the
parts you can't  easily reach yourself, he started
again.  And it shows how he was uncivilised - he went
to hit me when I poured some oil into the palm of my
hand and went to rub it on his ass.  Fancy hitting out
at your opponent when the fight hasn't started
officially!

Personally I don't like fighting all covered in oil,
as you can't get a proper grip on your opponent as his
body slithers away under yours.  But an Overseer once
told me that the masters think it's better for two
reasons - firstly, a slave's body looks nice when it's
oiled and picked out by the spotlights in the arena;
and secondly, it makes the bouts last longer and there
is more of a chance for a weaker fighter to overcome a
stronger one, as the strong guy has less of an
advantage.  Of course, as the masters want it that
way, I fight that way.  And it does mean that your
cock is already slicked up for your opponent's ass -
it's difficult enough fighting to the fuck as it is,
keeping the opponent subdued whilst you go up him:  if
you had to try to slick your cock as well, it would be
almost impossible.  And as a professional, I don't
like to think of going up my opponent without any lube
at all - the aim isn't to cause the guy pain, after
all!

Anyway, I put an extra dose of oil all over me, and as
soon as the arena slaves had pulled the cage away, the
Overseer looked at us and told us each the traditional
rules "Fight to the fuck.  One cock up one ass ends
it."

The other fighter screamed stuff at the Overseer that
I didn't understand.  But then I think he saw there
was no escape as he saw the arena slaves and the
guards all around the room, so he shut up.  I went
into the normal crouching stance, but he held his
hands out in front of him - I've had these captured
fighters do this before - they try and strike you in a
special way - and you have to be careful, because if
their hard hands hit your neck, or one of your key
pressure points, you can be out of it!  So to avoid
this I did my special trick:  instead of continuing to
circle around him, I just launched myself in the air
and threw myself towards him, arms open wide.  I hit
him square on in the middle of his body before he
could lash out and hit me, and locked my arms around
him.

The more he tried to escape from me the more the oil
that was all over my body spread to his.  I probably
could have carried on crushing him from this first
move and finished the fight quickly, but I knew my
master wouldn't consider that a proper evening's
entertainment.  So I let up on the pressure, so he
could wriggle out - and for the next half hour I
wished I hadn't!

He might not have been as big as me, and he wasn't as
powerful, but this fighter had stamina and guts.  He
just didn't give up, and tried every move I've ever
seen, and some besides, to beat me.  But in the end my
superior stamina won the day, and I did manage to pin
him to the ground on his back.  I lifted myself up a
bit, then let my whole weight crash down onto his
chest.  Whilst he was winded, I flipped him over on to
his belly, and locked my arms under his and around the
back of his neck - one of my trainers calls this a
"Nelson" - I don't know why.

I'd got him then, as there was no way he could escape.
 Try as he could, he couldn't get away from under me.
I got my knees down between his legs, then spread them
by the sheer force that my thighs could exert.  The
way was now open to his ass - but it's not that easy.
If the guy isn't co-operating, and if he doesn't pull
his ass cheeks apart a bit and then guide you in, it
can be really difficult to get your cock those first
few vital millimetres into the asshole.

It wasn't easy - I had to stab and thrust away with my
erect cock to try to locate his asshole, and it was
more difficult because, unlike a proper fighter, he
wasn't shaved down there and there was a whole lot of
hair in the way.   But I did hit the spot eventually,
and started to push myself in.

The stupid guy tried to resist!  Everyone knows that
once the tip of the cock has found the hole it's just
not possible to stop it being forced in further, so
you might as well make it easy on yourself by doing
that action you do when you crap, so the muscles
around the hole relax and the cock can slide in.  But
this guy seemed determined not to let me in, and I had
to push harder and harder - of course I went in
eventually, but I could feel his body spasming with
the pain, and he was screaming and shouting words I
didn't understand but which seemed to cause pleasure
to the masters.

Once I was fully in, inserted up to the hilt, I did
the ritual four or five thrusts that you do - they
don't really expect you to stay at it until you cum,
but they like to think that you could, if you wanted
to or they ordered it.  Normally a fighter quietens
down whilst this is going on, as it's much easier on
both guys if you let the fucking take place without a
lot of struggling and bucking - but this fighter
didn't seem to know this and tried to stop me every
inch of the way.  Of course this excited me to further
efforts, as when your fighting spirit's up, it doesn't
take much to drive you over the edge. Unusually for
me, I came.  I could feel my cum pumping up his
asshole.  And when I had finished I just slumped
forwards so my body covered his, I was so exhausted!

I pulled out, and saw that the "captured" fighter
hadn't even done the right thing there, either - us
professionals always clean ourselves out properly with
an enema first, with at least three changes of water,
but this dirty beast hadn't.  My cock was coated in
his shit - it was absolutely disgusting.  As a mark of
respect for your conqueror you usually clean up his
cock after he has fucked you in a fight like this, and
I had a good mind to make this one do so anyway -
perhaps eating his own shit would teach him proper
manners!

But the Overseer saw the problem, and gestured me to
the side of the arena where another slave quickly made
me sweet-smelling again with a warm moist towel, so
that I could go to the Sheikh and be congratulated.  I
went up onto the dais where he was reclining, knelt
down, and respectfully touched my head to the floor as
you do in his presence.  He must have been very
pleased with my performance, because instead of just
dismissing me as he usually did, he reached out and
put his naked foot under my chin, and raised my head.
I was so surprised by this mark of his favour that I
forgot myself and pressed my lips to his toes.  I
realised my mistake at once, and thought that I would
surely be punished, but he continued to raise my head
with his foot so that I could actually look at his
face ,and I saw that he was in fact smiling.

"Fetch me the other slave over here for inspection,
403", he said.  He'd actually used my number, instead
of just referring to me as "slave" - he'd never
honoured me like this before.

The slave was still lying on the arena floor, but as
soon as I went to pull him to his feet, he went to hit
out at me again - no manners, as I've said.  Everyone
knows that once the fight is over slaves aren't
allowed to strike out at each other as their masters
don't want to risk damage to their property.  I went
to guide him towards the Sheikh, but he wouldn't go.
I thought about dragging him, as he looked pretty
exhausted, but remembered how he had struck at me -
perhaps he might try the same thing with the Sheikh!
So I put him into a "Nelson" hold, and frog-marched
him across towards the dais.

My cock was nestled in-between his ass cheeks, and
although I would normally try to control an erection
in the presence of masters, no one could see and so I
allowed myself the pleasure of going half-hard and
feeling my cock push into that nice warm place between
his cheeks.

He was struggling and shouting things as I pushed him
along in front of me, and didn't stop when the Sheikh
got down from his couch and gave him a thorough
examination - well, as thorough as you can do when
only the salve's front is available to the master's
hands.

The Sheikh of course wanted to feel his musculature,
and ran his hands all over the slave's body.  He
tested the sensitivity of the nipples by that little
"tweak" that experienced masters, used to inspecting
slaves, all learn.  But when he started to inspect the
slave's cock, pushing the foreskin back to be able to
view the head, the slave's shouts got even louder and
more violent.  I felt certain that the Sheikh would
order him to be flogged for this disrespect!

But the Sheikh, as masters do, remained calm and
simply ordered guards to take the slave away to await
his enslavement processing the following day.  Of
course the Sheikh then saw my semi-erection, and I was
so embarrassed at the disrespect I was showing him
that even I, used to being totally naked all my life,
felt one of those "flushes" come over me.  But the
Sheikh my master was obviously in a good mood, because
he invited me to sit on the edge of his dais and watch
the rest of the evening's entertainment, and at odd
times he even caressed my cock and balls with his
toes.  I was in heaven, to be so favoured by my
master.

The remaining spectacle wasn't nearly as good as our
fight, I thought.  The Sheikh's troupe of dancers
performed one of their routines.  When they first come
on it's interesting, as they all have identical bodies
- same height, same lean shape with long, sinewy
muscles, same sort of cocks and balls (all
low-hangers, with none of those high tight little sacs
that a cock rides on top of), and they'd even all got
the same hair colour - or, at least as much as you
could see in the arena lighting as their heads were
very closely cropped and they did of course only have
a tiny bar of short-cut hair above their cocks with
the rest of them being shaved smooth.   The Overseers
call them "almost like clones", and say that finding
replacements of the same type is really difficult as
they all need to have identically long cocks, and so
on - the Sheikh has a standing order for any men of
this type with all the major slave houses, they say.

But there's only so many things that 12 men can do
together, although some of the combinations were
impressive.  When we do it ourselves, I know how
difficult it is to synchronise just a three-way to
make sure you thrust in whilst the guy who's going in
to you thrusts at the same time:  there was real skill
here in their finale, when all 12 of them did a
simultaneous group fuck in a long line.  They must
have practised and practised for hours, as the 11
thrusters all managed to cum, and cum at he same time,
and the guy at the head of the line  even shot his
load at that moment as he was jerked off by the hands
of the guy who was fucking him reaching around his
body.

At the end of the evening, the Overseer said it was
too late to take me back to the main field slave
dormitories and so I wouldn't be locked in with my
gang that night.  Instead they took me down a flight
of stairs and into the holding area under the arena.
There's not a lot of  need for cages or anything here,
as we're all fully trained slaves who take part in the
entertainment.  But there is one cage, and it was
occupied by the slave I'd fought.  He was sitting
against the bars of the side, and he looked a picture
of misery:  his knees were drawn up to his chest, and
he had his arms clasped around his knees, and his head
buried down.  Judging by the motions of his ribs that
I could see on his side, I thought it looked as if he
was crying, or, at least, tying to control tears.

"Sorry, 403, but you're going to have to spend the
night with this wild slave.  Watch out - I know you've
beaten him once, but I don't suppose he'll respect
you", the Overseer said as he unlocked the door and I
went in.

The holding area isn't meant to be used for long-term
slave storage so the cage was  absolutely basic -
there wasn't even any straw to lie on as you normally
get, and it was just the bare cement underneath me.
It was cooler than usual down here, too, and the floor
felt a bit cold to my ass as I sat down.

The cage wasn't very big either, and with him sitting
against the side, I couldn't lie down.  If we were
going to get any sleep, he was going to have to lie
down alongside me.  So I moved across to be next to
him, and asked him to do the right thing, so we could
both sleep.

He looked at me and started to shout again.  Was he
mad?  I was only making a sensible suggestion for the
good of both of us.

I think he realised I didn't understand what he was
saying, because he stopped after a time, but still sat
there, hunched up, the picture of misery.

Using as simple words as I could find, I said "Look,
it's not that bad.  Although you're a slave, you've
ended up with a good master.  I've been here 12 years
and I couldn't hope for a better master than the
Sheikh."

"If you're worried about the branding that they'll do
tomorrow now that you're the Sheikh's property, just
don't.  Sure it hurts as the irons bite into you, but
you're tied down completely immobile so you can't
damage yourself.  And the pain dies away after three
or four days."

He looked at me and said, haltingly, and reaching out
and touching my brands, "You mean they're going to
scar me like you are?"

"Of course.  If you're not marked with the Sheikh's
brand, how could you be returned if you were lost?
And without your slave number on your chest, masters
and Overseers wouldn't know how to command you
separately from a group you're in."

"All the so-called slaves are branded.....?"

"Yes, of course, all us slaves here on the Sheikh's
estate are branded.  And don't worry about losing that
skin that conceals your cock head, either - that
really doesn't hurt at all after the first couple of
minutes."

"Losing the skin....?"

"Yes, haven't you seen?  All the slaves here are cut.
The Sheikh doesn't like his slaves to have little
secret places not accessible to the eyes of masters,
and so you are not allowed to have a concealed cock
head and all new slaves here have that skin cut off."

"Jesus fucking Christ.... ", the slave said (that's
the best ideas I have of his words... It seemed
important to him), and now it really did look as if he
was going to cry.

I put my arm around his shoulders as you do to comfort
any slave who's in big trouble.  He tried to shake me
off, but I persisted.

"Look", I said to him.  "You feel cold, and it isn't
as warm in here as I'm used to either.  But you're not
yet used to feeling the air on your body, or this cold
floor on your ass.  So let's be friends...  Let me lie
down, then you lie on top of me.  I can stand the
coolness of the floor for the night...."

He started to say something that didn't sound like
"yes" - the sooner he learns proper Aralish the
better.  But I persisted, managed to stretch out and
pull the guy down on top of me.  We shucked around a
bit, and I lay flat on my back and got him to lie so
that he was half across me so I wasn't taking his
whole weight (although shorter than me, he was
surprisingly heavy as his whole compact body was
muscle).  His head was cradled in-between the top of
my arm and my shoulder, and his legs straddled one of
mine.

He seemed to be shy at first - he didn't like his cock
lying against my belly, and was worried about his face
being on me.  What an idiot - as if I'd be worried
about another slave's cock anywhere on me.  And I know
I stank of sweat, so my armpit wasn't the best place,
but it was still fresh sweat from our fight - and,
anyway, he obviously hadn't smelt himself!

As he lay there, he asked me about slavery and I told
him about my life and how lucky we were to be here.
He only asked me a bit about the branding and cutting
- he was worried, I could tell, but like a man, didn't
want to admit it.  I thought he needed cheering up, so
I went on

"You're really lucky, though.  When you shouted at the
Sheikh like that I thought he'd order you to be fitted
with false balls."

I had to explain to him then that particularly unruly
or wild slaves were, as a last resort, fitted with
false balls in order to clam them down.  Before that,
almost the only thing the Sheikh could do with an
unruly slave was to have him put to death:  he
couldn't be sold on, because of his irradicable
brands;  and he couldn't just have his balls cut off,
because the Sheikh didn't like to see slaves without a
nice looking set of tackle.  But now they could have
their balls cut out and replaced with false ones, they
were clamed down and still looked OK.

"However", I went on, "You pissed him off enough that
he's ordered you to be ringed as well as cut."

"Ringed?"

"They'll pierce your nipples and fit big gold rings in
them.  You may have them where you come from, as I've
occasionally seen masters at the swimming pool with
things through their nipples.  Slave rings aren't like
those, which I think the masters wear for ornament -
they're about 2" in diameter and quite heavy.  They
have two uses:  firstly, as you move or run, their
weight reminds you all the time that you're a slave.
And secondly, if you show any sign of disrespect, an
Overseer can quickly jerk down on them to remind you
of your proper place.  It's a lot easier for them as
the rings are so big and accessible compared with your
normal nipples."

"Of course", I went on, "It's a badge of shame as
well, as all your fellow slaves will know that you
were considered to be an unruly, disrespectful slave."

"And the third ring is around your tackle - they'll
pull your cock and balls as far away from your body as
possible, then fasten a thick, heavy ring around the
place.  From then on, your cock will jut out in front
of you, and you'll be erect most of the time."

"But don't worry about that - the slaves I've spoken
to who are ringed like that say it doesn't hurt at
all, and after you have got used to your cock being
held out like that, you really wouldn't want to go
back to the 'natural' way.  It does cause me to wonder
what role you're going to have, though, as it's
usually pony slaves, litter bearers, and message
carriers who have that sort of ringing - it's easier
for them to run long distances without their cocks and
balls flying up and down all the time."

The slave said something like "Jesus Chris!" again,
but he was obviously exhausted, poor guy, and was
drifting off to sleep.

I reached down and thought that I'd jerk him off,
because even though he had been fucked, he hadn't had
any relief himself.  And that seemed to set him off
over again, forgetting that he needed to talk simply
if was to understand what he was going on about.

Still, it was his loss - it's so much easier to sleep
when you've shot a load - well, that's what I always
find.

He tossed and turned a lot during the night, and was
muttering and crying out in his sleep - obviously
deeply troubled.  The sooner he was properly enslaved
and working hard in a proper job, with no worries, the
better it would be for him I thought.

In the morning he still didn't want me to jerk him
off, and he wouldn't even put his hand on my erect
cock, either, so I had to do it myself.  I hoped he'd
soon get used to us slaves enjoying each other and
helping each other, as it makes life so much more fun
- but I knew he'd soon learn in the dormitories, as
most slaves won't put up with guys who are
stand-offish in their gangs.

He didn't even know the simplest thing, and I had to
show him how to take the whole of the slave biscuits
into your mouth at one time when they brought our
breakfast, to avoid the crumbs going everywhere.

They took him away for processing when I was taken off
to work later - do you want me to tell you what
happened to him, and how our paths crossed again?

(Author's note:  the story of the Marine, 3, 6 and the
two electricians does indeed take a strange turn and
their lives do intertwine in a most astonishing way.
But that narrative does not add to the understanding
of slavery that is the subject of this first paper in
the series, and so I have deliberately cut 3's
narrative here.  I have full notes of what he said,
and have heard the events from the lips of the
Electricians, and the Marine  (properly, slave
35821897, or '7' familiarly).  I will consider
publishing the continuation of their story in a later
paper in the series, when examining the relationships
between masters and slaves.  Readers who believe they
need this material earlier should contact me
privately).

THE ELECTRICIANS

I know the Marine must have been fucking cross when
they stripped him off, but "our" boy 403 was only
trying to be helpful when he went to oil the marines'
arse.  There was no need to attack him like that.
Everyone in the audience was shocked, as it obviously
wasn't protocol to fight before the "go" had been
given.

I like to go and see boxing myself, especially the
professional fights where their upper bodies are bare
so you can see he sweat flying off as the gloves punch
home (I've been to a lot of amateur bouts in the East
End, but they're mostly the light weights - you don't
tend to get heavy weights boxing amateur - and they're
not as good to watch.  You need big strong blokes
pounding away at each other for it to be fun).
Wrestling's a joke, of course - all those fakes, in
those silly costumes, I can't see why anyone bothers
to go and see it.  I suppose it's only old grannies,
hysterical birds, big fat blokes with beer guts, and
kids who do, anyway.

But  when they got stuck in, this was real fighting:
oiled and naked,  you could see  every muscle of both
blokes as they pounded each other with bare fists and
did all sorts of wrestling moves I can't even
describe.  The sweat was flying off both of them, and
you knew it was for real - nothing held back, and both
determined to win.  If a promoter bought bouts like
this to London, he'd make a fortune.

I think our "3" expected to  win - he looked very
confident at the start.  But the Marine obviously knew
a thing or two about fighting, because every time you
thought that "3" had him down, he came back again.
"3" was a good 5" taller than the Marine, and a lot
heavier, so if the fight had just been plain
wrestling, he'd have won quickly.  But the Marine
punched, kicked out, and did those sort of chopping
things from the Japanese, and that almost turned the
tables.

It went on for over half an hour, and they must both
have been near exhaustion.  I've never seen anything
so fantastic in my life - I was erect from the moment
it started, and my dick was dripping precum all the
time.  I could see John was the same, too, as his
shorts were tented up just like mine.  Some of the
waiters hovered around and I think they would have
done something about my erection if I'd made any sign
of wanting it - but I wasn't about to start letting a
load of fags wank me; well, not in public!

Finally "3's" greater weight and strength won out
though, and he had the Marine pinned on his back.
They lay there a moment or two, then "3" flipped the
Marine over on to his belly and got him in a
half-Nelson.... And the next minute he was fucking the
Marine.  I've never heard a guy shout and scream like
that, even though "3" was pulling his head back and it
was difficult for him to speak at all.  It wasn't so
much that the guy was in terrible pain,  or even anger
- it was sheer bloody rage.  I know some expletives
believe me, and this Marine went through the lot of
them and then a whole lot more!

You could see from the look on 3's face that he
actually shot a load, and then he collapsed on to the
Marine, lying there across his  body as  I now know
you do when you've just fucked.

When he pulled out he had to have his cock cleaned -
they didn't seem to be expecting this, as slaves had
to come with damp towels to do it (although why they
didn't expect it I don't know - if your cock has been
up a man's bum, it must get coated with his shit!).

3 went to take the Marine over towards the Sheikh, but
there was more struggling and eventually he could only
do it by holding him in a half-Nelson again.  The
Sheikh didn't look all that pleased as he examined the
Marine, as the guy kept F'ing and Blinding at him (and
a whole lot more besides), and eventually he was taken
away  by the guards.  I wondered at the time what was
going to happen to him, but  of course now.....

(Author's note:  Steve's narrative cut here, as I did
3's, to go into a separate paper).

It looked as if our 3 had earned himself some favour
from the Sheikh, because he was allowed to sit on the
dais for the rest of the evening - although the Sheikh
kept playing with 3's cock and balls with his toes.
Poor old 3 - to be humiliated like that, when he'd won
the fight.

John and I didn't stay to see the dancers - as soon as
they came on we knew they weren't for us.  Although
how they managed to get 12 men so much alike, I'll
never know.  Or course with shaved bodies and cropped
hair, and that little bit left on their pubes, I
suppose it must be easier.  But they were so similar -
even I, and, let me remind you, I'm not one to look
closely at another bloke's body, could see that their
cocks were all the same length even!  But you won't
get me sitting through a load of dancing, however
athletic the dancers look - sissy, I call it.  So John
and I made our way back to the Palace and our room.

Even though we were both sweating we didn't bother to
shower:  I don't think either of us wanted to see
those slaves who came with it, in the excited state we
were in.  I didn't even bother to wait until John had
gone to sleep - I needed to wank so desperately after
that fight that I just lay there on the bed and did
it:  John was a bit surprised when he came out of the
bathroom and saw me with my hands wrapped around my
cock, jerking away for all its worth.  And I knew he
must have been pretty much on the edge, too, as he did
it as soon as he was in bed - although modestly
covered by  the sheets - that's John for you - didn't
he know I knew what he was doing?  He's a laugh
really.

Slaves served us breakfast in bed the next morning -
they didn't knock or anything, just came in with the
food.  We could have been start naked, or anything -
but then, the slaves were almost naked with just one
of those tiny pouches on trying to restrain their
cocks and balls, so perhaps they didn't mind seeing
their customers like that.

As we lay there eating, John said how much fun it was
- it didn't matter if the jam dripped on to your
chest, or if you spilled the tea, as you were going to
wash anyway.  He said that back in London he'd think
about having me bring him his breakfast in bed every
morning, the cheeky buggar!

We went along to the Throne Room straight after
breakfast, and the slaves, 3 and 6, were already
waiting.  They had been talking or something as we
went in, but immediately stopped and went into that
"holding" position we'd seen yesterday, waiting for us
to make a move.

I went over to look at 3, and had him move around a
bit - poor guy, he must have been sore as you could
see bruises all over his upper body where the Marine
had hit him:  the bloke was obviously trained well to
get so many blows to strike home, as 3 seemed really
good at dodging and weaving anyway.

I asked him if he hurt, and if he was able to work
that day.  He told me he hurt like hell, all over.
But he didn't answer me about being able to work - it
was as if he expected to have to work however he felt.
 I suppose that's part of being a slave, on
reflection.

It was obviously going to be hot again when the sun
got high enough to come in through the big windows
that lined one side of the room, so I decided not to
fuck about getting my Jeans soaked, and then my
boxers.

The two slaves watched me, and so did John - he looked
a bit surprised - as I stripped off totally and
buckled my leather tool belt around my waist so that
it was just held up as it couldn't slip down over my
ass.   I suppose I'd got so used to seeing naked men
all around here that it didn't bother me as much as it
would have done before to be stripping in front of
other people.  Of course I was puny compared with the
muscled magnificence of 6 and 3 - although I've never
had any complaints about my body from any of the birds
I've been with -  and I actually felt a bit ashamed of
the way in which I was all white rather than having
that dark tan all over as they did.  And I know that
when your cock is resting, the size of it can vary
enormously from guy to guy - it doesn't mean that much
as once you're erect there's not a huge difference
between them.  But seeing the magnificent tackle on 6
and 3 almost made me shrivel up totally when I
compared my self to them - but then, I thought, having
the balls shaved and the pubic hair trimmed did make
theirs stand out better:  perhaps I'd try that myself.

I was really getting the hang of it now, and without
hesitation I commanded my chosen mount, 3, to kneel so
that I could get astride his shoulders.  He hadn't
started to sweat yet, and he felt quite different to
yesterday when we had both been slippery even before
we began to work.

I looked down at John, and I told him to get a move
on!  He took his T off, then hesitated.

"Look, mate, you've got to have your boots off,
otherwise you can't guide your slave properly", I
shouted down at him.

So he took off his work boots and socks, and I think
that made it easier for him to take off his Jeans too.
 But he was going to mount his slave whilst still in
his boxers, until I told him I didn't want him
buggaring around later on with having to stop work to
strip when the sweat really started.  So, reluctantly
I think, he dropped his boxers too and then told 6 to
kneel - John was learning - so he could mount.

We made excellent progress that morning, with a couple
of breaks only for water.  We made sure the slaves got
some, too, as they were sweating.  I was surprised
that they could carry our weight all the time, but
although they had difficulty getting to their feet
from a kneel, once up, they didn't seem to have that
much of a problem.

At lunchtime the foreman brought us sandwiches, and
stayed to share them with us.  I was going to sit on
the floor, like the slaves who had already gone over
to sit with their backs propped against the wall, when
the foreman said "No!  A master can't sit down at the
same level as a slave!" There was obviously more to
being a master than I thought.

I was surprised when he shouted at the slaves who got
up, came over, and then knelt down on their knees with
their backs parallel to the floor, supporting their
shoulders on their arms.  3 tucked his head down and
under the bum and between the legs of 6,  and pushed
his shoulders hard up against 6's bum. I guess 6's
cock must have been lying on 3's head, but I couldn't
see.

The two slaves' backs were now quite a long smooth
length, with only a small join in the middle, and the
foreman went and sat down on them and told John and me
to join him.

Well, sitting on a guy's shoulders because you're
having to work is one thing, but sitting on the guy's
back as a seat, just because you're a master and he's
a slave, is another!  And remember, John and I were
bare-arsed naked.  Their backs were sweaty under my
bum, but as the foreman pointed out, it was easier
than sitting on the floor.  And he said that on the
occasional cold days when the winds came the wrong way
in Winter, we should remember this as it was always
good then to have a nice warm slave body under you.

We actually finished the job that afternoon, and were
driven back to the city.  Work on the office block the
next day seemed very routine after our time at the
Palace.  There's no doubt that the use of the slaves
made for a huge increase in our productivity - if we
had had to continue to use ladders, we'd still be
buggaring around there now.  I suppose you could have
regular blokes, rather than slaves, carry you around.
But I haven't seen too many blokes built like those
slaves, and even fewer working on sites - if you don't
breed them specially, where do they come from?  And
not too many blokes want another bloke's sweaty cock
pressing into their neck and shoulders, either.


Author's Note:

That concludes the narrative content of this first
paper.  As indicated earlier, there is more to the
story of the electricians and the slave (and his
companion 6), and the newly-enslaved  Marine.  But
that will have to wait until a later paper in the
series unless there are any readers who require
immediate access to it for their own research, in
which case they should apply to me privately.

I said in opening that my purpose was to say something
about slavery as it is practised today, but that I did
not intend to do so until the end of the series of
papers presenting "the evidence".  There's too much
prejudice against the practice, and this is made worse
by the hysterical nonsense talked in the popular press
about child slaves being shipped in to New York, or
women being sold into clubs in London.  With  even a
modicum of sense one can determine that these
practices are simply not economically viable - a child
slave can never do sufficient work in a major Western
city  to justify his upkeep and training; and women
slaves, probably to be used as sex objects, just are
not worth much given the ready availability of sexual
services of all kinds at very low prices.  No, slavery
can only be practised properly where there is a
society whose citizens are rich and do not want to
work, but where there is still work to be done.  Such
conditions exist in the Sheikh's Kingdom, rich beyond
measure from its oil exports: as a means of ensuring
that the basic work necessary to run a country gets
done, slavery appears to be the answer.

It is interesting that our two pairs of men in this
narrative are similar - all are 28, and in each pair
there is a "leader" and a "follower", and the "leader"
feels protective of, and concerned about, the
"follower".  I would ask my readers to read the
narrative again, and ask themselves questions such as
which "follower" was the more closely protected by,
and cared for by, which "leader"?  Was the focus of
either "follower" on his condition, or was he more
concerned with what his "leader" felt for him?  Was
therefore the question of whether the "follower" was a
free man or a slave his primary concern?

And which group of men was the happier?  John and
Steve were "free", but had to work hard to make enough
money just to live.  They did not have pleasant
accommodation in London, and were often short of
money.  Their diet of fast food and pre-prepared meals
was certainly not healthy, and if they were sick, they
would not have private medical cover and would need to
rely on the UK's crumbling National health Service.
They did not seem to particularly enjoy life, or to be
"happy".  The slaves on the other hand appeared to
lead stress-free lives, and were properly fed and
housed.  Whilst we do not hear what happened if they
fell ill, I know from other information I collected
during my study that they would receive the very best
medical attention - they were, after all, expensive to
buy and keep.  You don't buy a thoroughbred, expensive
car and not maintain it properly is the analogy I like
to use.

Finally, on a broader front, what is the long term
effect on the human race of these policies?  As far as
we can determine from the narrative so far, John will
marry and breed.  Steve will continue to have a
succession of "birds" but is unlikely to do so.  So
the race will be deprived of Steve's ready wit and
general native cunning as he will certainly ensure
that he is not "stuck" with a child by any of his
casual women encounters; whilst John's "slow" docile
personality may well be passed on to his heirs.  The
Sheikh's breeding programme will ensure that the
magnificent body and steady sense of "3" will be
perpetuated - probably hundreds of times;  but there
is no chance that "slow" 6 will be allowed to detract
from future excellence.

However the primary point of this paper is to
illustrate how quickly two "ordinary" men, brought
from "civilisation" in London can quickly adapt to
seeing slaves as a regular part of everyday life, and
of making good use of them.   Note how shocked Steve
and John are when they first see the two slaves, but
within two days Steve is "commanding 3 to kneel" and
easily accepts that he can strip naked and "ride" the
slave like a dumb animal, guiding him with his knees
and feet, in order that his work can be done more
easily.   Those who wonder whether slavery could be
easily transferred from the Sheikhdom to the West
should perhaps ponder the question of how many other
"ordinary" Steves and Johns would find having a slave
as a new tool to use at their workplace highly
desirable.  And notice how Steve goes from being
totally "straight" to enjoying the ministrations of
the shower room slaves:  how many other men, given the
opportunity, would regularly enjoy sexual services
from highly trained and compliant slaves in this way?

Further papers in this series will explore these and
other issues that affect slavery today.

THE END.