Date: Thu, 4 May 2006 06:50:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Show, Part Seventeen

THE SLAVE SHOW

By Pete Brown.   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part  Seventeen


I needed to make a success of Trent, as many of the
slave owners we'd spoken to had been sceptical about
the idea of hiring a firm like ours to do it for them.
 It seemed that the model for our business, based on
racehorse training, might be inappropriate as the
world of slave showing was more akin to that of dog
breeding and showing.  But I thought we had a chance -
after all, the major prize at Cruft's was always
presented by a "royal personage" of some kind - not
the king, but one of those rapidly spawning "second
tier" royals who needed to be seen to be doing
something to justify their grotesquely
state-subsidised living.  And there are always enough
silly people in society who want to meet "celebrities"
and even scrape and bow and curtsey to minor royalty,
and who might therefore find this an opportunity.
But even as I lay in bed, lonely and alone, making
these plans, there was one hurdle that first had to be
overcome:  Trent had to be turned into a winning
slave.

Theoretically it should be easy enough, I thought.
After all, the lad had won prizes as a pup, and it was
only his incompetent, weak-willed owner who had
allowed him to become idle and indolent and to slouch
around avoiding exercise whilst eating inappropriate
foods.  So a programme of hard - some would say harsh
- physical training was implemented for him, together
with a minimal diet that would enable him to work and
work, but only by dint of burning his reserves of fat.
 It wasn't so bad for me, actually, as I like working
hard and I know it does me good, but I did have other
things to do as well like fetching Dan from the
station and talking to owners, but then there was
always Joe:  he needed to work out, so could
"supervise" Trent as he did it.  Mind you, I was not
wholly convinced that Joe kept up the remorseless
pressure on Trent that I did, and I suspected that
although he knew it was in the lad's best interests to
get really fit, the moment I disappeared off on an
errand the pace would generally slow.  I also had to
speak quite sharply to Julie who "felt sorry" for
Trent and accused me of bullying him!  She tried to
compensate for this by almost "mothering" him, even
though he was nineteen, and sneaking little "treats"
to him, like a slice of cake, or a scrap of bacon left
over from my breakfast.

One sure way to regain control of a slave is of course
to exert your power over him sexually, and this at
least was one thing that I could focus on myself.
There was little chance of making love to Dan in this
time as we were always "at home", and, anyway, Dan was
so exhausted from the commuting that most evenings he
wanted only to slump in front of the TV.  Consequently
it suited my purposes to simply fuck Trent, once in
the evening, and once first thing in the morning - I
decided I didn't want to keep him in my bed overnight
as he needed to know that he was just being "used",
and there was no affection or tenderness between us:
he was playing the part of my hand, providing a
convenient way of bringing me to climax instead of
wanking (although, I have to say, a way that was
perhaps more enjoyable!).  He was given no choice in
our sex, and I barely spoke to him:  he had to wait
outside my door after dinner, and then I called him in
and depending on my whim, either pushed him belly down
onto the bed and kicked his legs apart so I could
enter him, or forced him down onto his back, then
grabbed his legs and put them around my shoulders.  As
soon as I'd cum he learned that he was required to
clean my cock with his mouth, and then leave.  I
deliberately avoided speaking to him, or asking him if
he was OK, or if he had enjoyed it - it was to be
clear to him that he was there for my sexual relief,
and his feelings on the matter were utterly
inconsequential.   He soon learned, too, that when I
woke in the morning I would shout for him and that he
had better be there instantly - one morning I found
him and Joe curled up together in Joe's bed, asleep,
and so was forced to punish them both.  It was tough
on Joe, I know, as he was only trying to be nice to
the lad by giving him a little human comfort, but it
was more important to train Trent properly. I
therefore commanded them both to lie on their bellies
on Joe's bed with their arses in the air, and used my
running shoe to spank both of them soundly - for Joe
at least it wasn't so much the physical pain, but the
humiliation of being treated like a naughty young
slave, that was so terrible.  I suspect Trent found
the pain more of a problem.

As those of you who use a gym regularly will know,
there's a potential problem with exercising your body
in this way:  somehow muscles built working out
against machines are just not "natural".  Of course
it's better to have muscles like that rather than an
expanse of flab, but so many slaves on show were
exercised to a point of perfection that way that
something else is really needed to make a slave truly
stand out from the crowd.  I think one of the reasons
why Dan had had such a success with me was that my
muscles came from years of rugged hard work in a
practical sense, firstly in the army and then on the
construction site, and I therefore determined to make
use of this knowledge in our general training and
showing venture.  One of the advantages of the house
and stables we'd invested in (as well as its low price
as it was such a wreck and so far out of London) was
the acres of land attached, and I thought that we
could use this to build an assault course of the kind
that I was always being trained on in the army - you
perhaps have seen TV programmes about that sort of
thing (or might even have been put through training
yourself):  there are obstacles like walls, high
walls, to scramble over; pits full of mud that have to
be leapt across or clawed out of if you fail; ropes to
swing from;  walkways suspended between trees, swaying
perilously, that you have to cling to if you are to
make progress;  strands of barbed wire suspended a
foot or so above the ground that have to be crawled
under on your belly; and stuff like that.  Provided
the "recruit", or slave in our case, is driven around
the course fast enough by the sergeant, or trainer,
it's totally exhausting and extremely good for all
parts of the body.

We didn't have such an assault course initially, but
the building of it was a further way in which Trent
could be got up to speed - he, Joe and I worked away
digging the mud pit, building the foundations for the
wall, scrambling up the trees to sling heavy ropes for
the walkway, and so on.  And because I was so
intimately involved there was no chance that he could
"slack" and fail to do his proper share of the work -
each morning I'd cut a switch from one of the many
scrubby bushes that covered the place, and at the
slightest sign of him letting up in his work, he'd
feel it across his back or bum.  It was good for Joe,
too, as he tended to be one of the "gym" muscled men,
and this introduction to the way that "real men" got
fit was useful for him. And, if I'm being totally
honest with you, it was good for me, too! Since
leaving the site I'd got idle, and although the
running and football and stuff has kept me pretty fit,
I was really just "ticking over".  I had to set a good
example to Trent and Joe now, so, if anything, I had
to work even harder than they did, and many nights it
was a real effort to fuck Trent as the muscles in my
thighs and bum were so sore from all the effort I'd
put in during the day.

Dan almost never stopped worrying about whether we'd
be successful or not, and kept telling me that I'd
wasted my money in buying the place with him.  But as
the work progressed and the place began to look smart,
and the assault course cleared the wasteland around
us, he did seem to get a bit more cheerful.  It was
even better when, two months after we'd started, we
took Trent up to the Norwich Show.  It's not one of
the major league, as you may know, but Trent was "best
in show"!  Mind you, it was a huge effort - all Friday
afternoon was spent in trimming and grooming Trent,
and from the Wednesday I'd tied his hands to his bed
head to prevent him from touching his cock (and had
even taken Joe into my own bed, as I couldn't really
trust him not to "help" Trent - actually, it was good
to have "proper" sex again, rather than just a
mechanical fuck).  And on Friday night, in spite of
being exhausted after a week of work and commuting,
Dan spent three hours "schooling" Trent, getting him
to understand the subtle signals that Dan sent him
down the leash when they were running, and to
"present" himself properly when on display.  Trent
seemed eager to learn - or, more likely, he was
worried that I might hit him if he failed to respond
properly to Dan (he need not have worried - the last
thing I could do then was punch or slap him, or even
spank him, as we needed his skin in perfect condition
for the next day!).

As we drove to Norwich with the two slaves in the back
of the car, Dan and I were both so anxious that we
could almost not speak to each other.  So much
depended on this, and we were both worried that
something could go wrong.  In the end, though, it was
a triumph:  Joe won best in class, and then Trent beat
him to best in show.  And it showed me the value of a
slave like Joe, who remained calm throughout (he was,
after all, very experienced at showing) , and exerted
a good, steadying influence on Trent (and on Dan and
me, I think!).  When Dan and I were talking to
prospective customers, I noticed Joe had his arm
around Trent's shoulders in the rest and preparation
area, talking to him quietly, and I' sure it helped.
Afterwards Dan told me that the only time he was
really worried during the judging was when the judge
ran her hands over Trent's, and make a muttered remark
about the "callouses somewhat spoiling the texture of
the skin".  As Dan said, "I had to be very respectful
in pointing out that Trent was a proper working slave,
not some mere body that had been prepared just for
show", and she nodded, and then saw it as a good
point.  It seemed she was also very impressed when the
moment Trent's shorts were pulled down and she touched
his cock, it became instantly erect, so his forced
abstinence had been worth it.  And she also bothered
to pull on a latex glove and feel his anus.  "I
thought we'd got a real rapport going then", Dan told
me.  "He's not only eager for sex", the judge had
said, "But he's well used, too.  Very commendable for
a beautiful young slave like this."

The next week, Jason excelled himself - the new method
of owning and showing slaves not only made the
specialised trade press and the magazines aimed at
"the fancy", but he managed to get us four pages in
one of the Sunday colour supplements - and after that,
the phone never stopped ringing!  Within weeks we were
able to be selective in choosing the slaves we took on
- after all, we were not miracle workers:  there's no
way that we were able to turn some gross, fat slob
into a lithe, muscled stallion within a few weeks.
But success in these things tends to lead to success -
because we were first, we could pick and choose to
some extent, and so we chose slaves "with a chance",
as they say in horse racing circles.  And some of
those were indeed winners, which further enhanced our
reputation, which meant we could be even more
selective in choosing the next batch of slaves.

In a way I really liked Trent, and even began to
occasionally let him spend the night with me.  As you
do in these circumstances you are a bit more free and
easy with the slave when you're lying there
companionably close, and Trent joked  "Steve, I think
you only want to sleep with me because I'm a champion
again!".

"Actually, it's because I like nice firm young bodies,
mate."

He went quiet, and seemed kind of sad.  "So do I,
Steve.  And soon I'm going to have to go back to my
owner, aren't I?  It's disgusting, Steve, to have to
lie there engulfed by his rolls of fat, as he tries to
get his tiny cock into me...."

I couldn't allow that, of course, so I sat up and
slapped him very hard across the face.  "Steve, what
the fuck...", h shouted, as he rubbed the bright red
patch that was forming on his skin.

"You're a slave, Trent.  Always remember that.  And
slaves don't criticise their owners.  Not ever."

"But he's so disgustingly fat, Steve.  Sex with you is
great, feeling your hard body against mine, but with
him it's awful.  Do you know what it feels like to
have great rolls of fat, covered in sweat, lolling all
over you...?"

Well I had to seriously punish him then, didn't I?
I'd warned him, and clearly a slap wasn't enough.  So
I kicked him out of bed and sent him back to his own,
and then the following morning as he and Joe were
getting ready to start work, I made him bend over the
pile of blocks they were using to build a wall on the
course, pulled down his shorts, and thrashed him with
one of the switches from the bushes - and not just
once or twice, as I did to "encourage" them when they
weren't exercising hard enough, but on and on, until
my arm was tired.  Trent just lay there sobbing, and
Joe was clenching his fists as if he was having
trouble in  controlling himself.  Fortunately, though,
he is a properly trained slave and even though he
clearly thought I'd gone much too far in punishing
Trent, he made no movement to actually stop me.


One day I might write in more detail about those early
years of our business - suffice it to say that within
months we were making so much money that Dan could
easily afford to give up his job on the site and join
the training staff full time.  And we decided that it
was better for the slaves to be fed "proper" food
rather than slave chow - Julie couldn't cook for
twenty slaves, of course (and anyway, her own part of
the business was  thriving as owners wanted her to
style their slaves).  Consequently we bought a chef,
or, rather, a cook - a slave in his early twenties who
had just graduated from catering college, and who
might have ended up working in a pub restaurant had he
not been enslaved for beating up a bloke who had
supposedly offended his girlfriend during some
alcohol-fuelled argument in a night club.  He was told
to turn out good, nourishing, wholesome, plain food
and we instituted a clever form of quality control:
each week the slaves in training were allowed to vote
as to whether  they were satisfied or not, and if he'd
failed to provide sufficient variety or quantity so
they were unhappy, he was strapped to one of the beds
and they were allowed to beat his bum with their
training shoes.

One week, when it seemed he'd failed as Julie, Dan and
I could hear his screams from the stables as they
others beat him as we ate our supper, Julie turned to
me and asked me, quietly, in that way she has "Steve,
are you sure that's fair?  I've been past the kitchen
extension at the back of the stables several times
this week and it all smelled, and looked, delicious."

I shrugged, and she went on "In fact, it was so good
that I got him to make extra portions, and you and Dan
chomped your way through it tonight without any
complaints!"

"Well it's not just that, Julie.  It's a bit of fun
for the slaves in training, too - they have to let off
steam a bit, after a hard week out on the course."

"Steve, that's wrong!  I insist you sort it out
properly."

Well, Julie doesn't put her foot down very often, but
when she does, you need to do something.  So the next
morning I called the cook into my office.  He stood in
front of me looking extremely nervous, and I ordered
him to drop his whites, so I could inspect his bum.

They'd really laid into him, and the neatly rounded
globes of his bum were black and blue from the
bruises.  And unlike the other slaves, of course, he
wasn't used to standing there naked in front of
another man, and he shifted nervously from foot to
foot as I inspected him and ran my hands over his
flesh.  "So why don't they like the food?", I asked.
"I understand you cooked extra for mistress Julie, and
it seemed all right to me."

"Thank you, sir.  It's fine for the majority of them,
sir.  But sometimes there isn't enough of it - they
work so hard out on the course, and they're ravenous.
And the amount of meat and vegetables you buy in isn't
always sufficient, sir, and they hate having to fill
up the cracks with spuds and rice and bread."

"We buy enough - some of them are meant to be slimming
down, and they need far less."

"...but they still pile their plates, sir, and then
there isn't enough for the others. And then there are
the special diets, sir.  It all makes it more
difficult to use the materials effectively... Those
that won't eat meat, or pork, or want only
vegetables..."

What on earth are you going on about?  Special
diets....?"

"We've got a fair number of slaves who won't eat meat,
or pork especially, for religious reasons, sir."

"They do from now on!  I don't want you wasting your
time, and my money, pandering to silly superstitions.
And slaves need proper protein for their muscles.  So
from now on, you cook one set of food, and it gets
served to all the slaves."

"But they won't eat it, sir, and then they'll
complain, and then you'll let them beat me on Friday
nights."

"We're suspending that system temporarily.  From now
on, you'll give me a list of any slave who fails to
clear his plate, and they're the ones who will get
beaten."

"Sir, please, sir.... You can't expect me to rat out
on my fellows...."

I grabbed his balls as he stood there, and squeezed
them hard, causing him to yelp with the sheer
unexpectedness of it, and the pain.  I thrust my face
close to his and snapped "You're a fucking slave,
remember?  And, what's more, you're my fucking slave!
A slave has only one loyalty, and that's to his owner.
 And if I tell you to do something, you do it!  Is
that perfectly clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

I relaxed my grip on his balls and instead let the
palm of my hand hold his penis, and I rubbed it gently
with my thumb.  I'd not looked at the slave closely
before as I'd bought him as a cook, rather than as a
slave to be used sexually, but in fact he had quite a
nice cock - a little longer than I might have expected
from his general body size, and he hadn't been
'skinned.  I carried on toying with him, now sliding
his 'skin off as his cock hardened under my
ministrations.

"I hadn't thought of using you sexually, as the slaves
in training keep me pretty busy.   Are you a virgin?"

"No, sir... Before I was enslaved I had a girlfriend,
and we lived together, and we were going to get
married...."

"No, you idiot.  I'm not interested in whether you
ever used our cock in some woman or other.  What I
meant was have you ever taken a man's cock up the
arse?"

"Sir, no, sir!".  He sounded shocked, and I guessed he
was telling the truth, therefore.  I felt my cock
stirring in my jeans at the thought of taking his
cherry, as it's not often that you find a slave who's
a virgin - well, not amongst the kind of slaves I'd
met and been involved with, anyway.    And I suppose
it's something everyone wants to do, isn't it? I mean,
to be able to thrust your cock where one hasn't been
before is kind of exciting.

I let go of his cock and went and sat in my office
chair.  The cook remained standing there, his erect
cock jutting out from under the top of his whites, and
his trousers still crumpled around his feet.  He
looked embarrassed at being aroused in front of me,
and perhaps a little scared.

"OK, wank.  And be sure to catch the cum in your
hand."

"Sir?"

"You heard me!  Wank.  I want to see that cock of
yours shooting cum."

"Sir, please... Not with you watching...."

"Why not?  You're my slave, I own you, and I own your
cock.  And if I want to see it in action, I will.
Now, unless you want me to punish you again, start
wanking."

He really was so embarrassed, and he'd almost lost his
erection as he reached down and began to stroke
himself.  It's no all that difficult though, is it?  I
mean, it's a perfectly natural thing to do, and I've
never really understood why blokes are shy about
wanking in front of each other - they piss in communal
urinals, after all, and it's not so very different, if
you ask me.  But the cook was really making heavy
weather of it, blushing bright red and staring at the
floor as if by avoiding my eyes I'd in some mysterious
way perhaps not be able to see him!

I watched him closely, though, and as his knees sagged
and his breathing got faster so that he was on the
edge of shooting, I reminded him that he was to catch
his cum in his other hand, and told him that any drops
that spilled on the floor would have to be licked up -
by him.

When he did shoot and then stood there looking
helplessly at his hand filled with a reasonable amount
of passably thick cum, I found my desire for him had
got stronger.

"OK, bend over my desk, and spread your legs.  Make
sure you don't spill that cum...."

"Sir?"

"You heard me!  You must have seen the other slaves
having sex - so bend over and spread them!"

"Sir, please, no, sir... I don't have sex with men,
sir...."

I just laughed.  "You mean you haven't had sex with a
man before.  You do what ever I want, as you're a
slave.  And I want to fuck your arse, and that's all
there is to it.  Now, bend over and spread them,
before I decided to add  to those bruises on your
bum....."

Almost whimpering with embarrassment or fear or
whatever, he shuffled towards my desk, and half lay on
it.  I got up from my chair and walked around behind
him, then ran my hands over his bum slowly and calmly,
feeling him flinch under my touch.  "Easy, boy", I
whispered.  "Try to relax, and you might even enjoy
this."

As I've often said, I'm not a heartless monster,
unlike some slave owners.  After all, I know what it's
like to have been a slave, and to be utterly powerless
when faced with the demands of my owner.  So I didn't
do as some might have, and basically rape him - no, I
dipped my fingers in his cum, which he was still
holding in the palm of his hand, and then gently
spread his cheeks and started to push a finger up into
him.

There's a fantastic feeling of power, isn't there,
when you're preparing a man for sex and he doesn't
really want it?  As my finger went into him his feet
shuffled uneasily on the floor, and he made little
whimpering noises.  Then, as I used more of his cum to
make it as easy as  possible for him and got two
fingers inside him, he began to moan softly "No,
please, please don't....."

"Shhhh...."  I lowered my voice to a whisper, as
somehow you feel like being supportive and intimate in
these circumstances, don't you?  Well, I do.  I
suppose some blokes might have slapped his bum and
shouted at him to shut up, but I felt the need to be
supportive.

It seemed to calm him a bit, though, but when I went
into him with three fingers, and then opened them out
to really get him stretched, it sounded as if he was
almost crying as he began again "No, please, please
don't do this to me...."

Actually, having a man totally in your power is a real
turn on, I find.  And then having him beg you not to
fuck him just adds to the excitement - I reckon that
if you ever find yourself in that position you'd be
much better to stay silent and just take what's coming
to you.  But as he carried on pleading, he also bean
to shuffle and move as if to try to stop me, so I
needed to reach forward and press my fingers into his
neck, to make sure he understood that he was totally
in my power.

I felt the excitement surging in me and I almost
ripped my fly open and scrambled frantically to push
my jeans and boxers down as  I was so eager  to begin.
 And then as my cock first touched his skin a
sensation shot through me, and I thought I was going
to cum there and then.

Look, I know the cook was a virgin, and I had taken a
lot of trouble to properly lube and stretch him, and I
had intended to go into him slowly and gently, giving
us both the maximum pleasure.  But it's just not
possible, is it?  I mean, I had him totally under my
control - my fingers were telling me that he was being
held securely down; and my cock was throbbing with
excitement and anticipation.  Once my cock head had
grazed his virgin pucker I was simply unable to
contain myself - I was no loner thinking, no longer in
control, no longer capable of the slow, languorous
entry I had planned.  Instead my hips thrust and my
powerful thigh muscles rammed my cock into him in a
single fluid motion.  He screamed, and somehow that
only served to excite me even more.  I pulled out and
slammed in again, and as he cried out and began to try
to get his body out from under me, my passion was even
more inflamed and without being able to stop - and not
wishing to stop, actually - I fucked and fucked and
fucked him as hard as I could.  I knew I was covered
in sweat.  I was vaguely aware of the feeling of my
polo shirt sticking to my torso.  I knew drops of
sweat were flying off my belly and legs.  I heard the
slap, slap, slap sounds of my body slamming into his,
adding a counterpoint to his cries of distress and
pain.  And then it was over.  I wanted it to go on for
ever.  I wanted to continue to revel in the power and
control, and in that primeval feeling of maleness that
was flooding my brain with excitement.  But the body
has other needs, and millions of years of evolution
have taught the balls to fire when the cock reaches a
certain level of stimulation.  I now gave a great
shout as my back arched and my thighs thrust one last
time in a desperate attempt to get the last millimetre
of my cock into him, and I stood there, as if frozen,
as my balls pumped my cum up and out along my cock and
deep into him.

I fell forwards, enfolding his body with mine, and
began almost savagely to bite at his shoulders and
neck, needing to leave another mark of my subjugation
of him on his flesh.  I lay there then, panting,
feeling his body feebly writhing under mine, and I
knew it was over.  Almost reluctantly I pulled out of
him, and went into my bathroom to wash my cock - it
was a long time since I'd fucked a bloke who wasn't
nicely clean, and to some extent it spoils it a bit
for me as I enjoy the way that Joe cleans me off with
his mouth after I've finished with him.  But it's not
fair on a man, especially when it's his first time, to
make him clean his crap off you, is it?

When  I came back, zipping up my jeans, he was still
lying there sprawled across my desk, and I gave him an
affectionate light slap on the bum.  "Come on, then -
off to work for you!  And remember what I said about
reporting any slaves to me who refuse to eat.  What
are you cooking for tonight, anyway?"

"Roast belly of pork slices with apple sauce and roast
potatoes, sir.  But at least five of the salves won't
eat pork, sir....".

"Good.  That will be a real test of the new rules
here.  I think I'll come and supervise dinner myself
and weed out the superstitious trouble makers
personally."

Although I make it sound easy to manage all the slaves
we had, that night was a real test for me. Some of the
owners had been remarkably lax in maintaining control
of their slaves, and had allowed those who were Jewish
or Muslim or something to follow their superstitious
ideas and eat special diets.  Those slaves dared to
defy me when I made it clear that it was me who set
the agenda now, not the mythical nonsense written in
so-called sacred books, and sat there refusing to eat
the delicious strips of belly pork in their savoury
sauce.    I really don't like using unnecessary
physical force on slaves as it seems to me that a
master ought to be able to impose his will without it,
but exceptional disobedience calls for exceptional
measures.

I told Joe and three of the other larger slaves to
hold the slave who looked as if he was some sort of
ring leader down, then squeezed his balls to make him
open his mouth and wedged it open with a couple of
wooden spoons from the kitchen.  I dropped pieces of
the delicious meat into his open mouth, followed by
some water, then simply held his nose closed.  He
tried to thrash around and get free but the four big
slaves held him tight, and of course sooner or later
he had to swallow the contents of his mouth to avoid
suffocating.  I repeated it two or three more times,
then let him up.

"I could carry on until you've eaten all the meal", I
told him.  "But we've established the principle, I
think, that you've not been struck dead by your ju-ju
in the sky by eating a few mouthfuls of proper food.
You can eat the rest or not as you please, but if you
fail to eat you will get weak, and then you won't be
able to exercise properly, and then you will be
punished as you make your way around the course.
Now, who's next...?"

It was regrettable that three of them had to be forced
in this way as I think it slightly lessened my
authority, and it took a few days for most of them to
understand that there was no food other than the
"standard", before their silly superstitions were
fully overcome.


But what of Dan all this time as our business was
growing, you are probably wondering.  Well, it was
good, and it was bad.  It was good as we now worked
together and I saw him for long periods every day, and
we were so different that we hardly ever quarrelled
about business matters - I liked to get stuck in and
make things happen, and he liked to plan and monitor
the numbers.  So rather like Jack Spratt and his wife,
it all worked.  It was terrible in another way,
though, as we seemed to have less and less privacy,
less and less time when we could be together.  Clearly
I couldn't fuck him in the house or stables, even when
Julie and the boys were out, as there were not so many
pairs of eyes always watching.  And it got more and
more difficult when we went to Shows, too:  now we
generally had two or three slaves at least for Dan to
"show" in the arena, and we needed to house them
somewhere if we were at a distant venue, and that
"somewhere" often ended up as the floor or our bedroom
in a local hotel - dearly though I wanted Dan, needed
to feel his body against mine, was desperate for his
kisses and the sensation of his hands on me, there was
just no way we could do it in those circumstances.  As
often as not a weekend away now resulted in
frustration and cross words, rather than the
excitement of two men sharing themselves with each
other.

Well it couldn't go on like that, so I thought of a
little innovation:  I bought an old caravan and mostly
ripped out the interior so it could just house some
simple beds and a table for preparing the slaves on,
and now we towed that behind us if we were at an
"away" event.  We left it parked at the venue
overnight with the slaves locked snugly inside it,
whilst Dan and I took ourselves off to a hotel.  Dan
was worried at first, saying that there might be a
problem if there was a fire or something with the
slaves locked in, but once he was lying in my arms and
we'd kissed and stroked and fondled each other, and
then made passionate love, these worries seemed to
evaporate.  Mind you, he did have a point, and after
some discussion we started to take Joe with us,
whether he was showing or not - he was a kind of
"trustee", and we let him have the key to the caravan
door on the strict understanding that the slaves were
to remain locked in overnight.

End Of Part 17