Date: Sun, 21 May 2006 23:48:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Show, Part Twenty Two

THE SLAVE SHOW

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

Part  Twenty Two

It didn't take long for the other slaves to catch on
that Joe and Andy were an "item", and there was a lot
of ribald joking at first about cradle snatching and
stuff like that, which Andy just shrugged off, but
where Joe needed to slap some of them (not all that
hard) - perhaps he saw there was that ring of truth in
what they were saying?  Andy's behaviour improved
immeasurably, though - he worked away in the kitchens
(I was going to say "worked like a slave", to give the
thing a charming early-in-the century flavour, but we
all expect slaves to work hard now, don't we?).  And
when he wasn't needed in the kitchens, Andy spent all
his time hovering around Joe, and as Joe spent most of
his time exercising the slaves around our assault
course, Andy naturally was there an awful lot.

He'd shown considerable prowess in some of the things
on the course, as I've said, although the stuff that
needed raw strength was beyond him.  But he seemed to
revel in using his wiry body to its best advantage,
and he often openly taunted some of the others, saying
they could fuck him if they could catch him, and then
raced away up a rope, knowing he was so much better
than they at that kind of thing.

One night a few weeks later I'd just fucked Joe and we
were lying there companionably enjoying those
sensations you have after a vigorous bout of sex -
feeling the sweat of the other bloke, laughing a bit,
touching each other, all that sort of stuff - when Joe
stopped "playing".  Inwardly I thought to myself "Oh
fuck - something's gone wrong between him and Andy"
and saw problems looming.   It's one of the problems
of owning slaves,  I suppose - you think they're going
to make life easier for you, but for every bit of
effort they take out of the system, there's a fresh
lot of stuff waiting to happen - and much of it is a
lot harder to deal with!  I mean, training the other
slaves is tough, hard work, but if I needed to, I
could easily do that myself.  But sorting out slaves'
love life is a wholly different, and more complex,
ball game.  I had enough problems with my own tangled
love, after all, without needing Joe's.

But it turned out not to be that.  "Steve", he said,
tickling my balls to make us seem even closer
together. "Young Andy..... He's been really good
lately, hasn't he?  Co-operative, hard working, not
losing his temper....?"

"I suppose so.  You're a good influence on him,
Joe..."

"Well  I think he deserves a reward.  Look, he adores
football, and the one thing that kept him going as he
was growing up was to be able to play it, and watch it
on TV.  Now he's a slave he can't do that, as there's
no TV here... And it really makes him miserable.  He
follows one of those Scottish clubs - Celtic or
Rangers, I can never remember which - and he goes
through the house rubbish bins every Monday morning to
get the Sunday papers to read the football reports,
and then Monday nights he and some of the other slaves
can be a real pain as they sit around going through
the matches, and trying to imagine what they were
like."

"Whoa, Joe.  'Deserves a reward'?  He's just starting
to behave as a slave ought.  I don't reward slaves for
behaving properly."

"You forget what he was like, Steve.  But skip Andy
for a moment, and think about some of the other slaves
- there's been a real change of attitude from some of
them since Andy started talking about football on
Mondays.  Sure, they were accepting the training, but
they could be miserable and moody - and now that
they've got something to talk about together and be
interested in, there's much more of a kind of esprit
de corps, you might call it.  And I reckon they all
work harder, and they look happier, so they show
better.  Happy slaves are good for your business,
sir."

"So your point is?"

"If you put a TV in the barn, sir, all the slaves
could watch football, and it would make for a happier
place, with everyone working even harder...."

"Absolutely not, Joe!  Before you know it, they'd all
be spending their time watching the soaps, and old
movies, and, heaven forbid, all those discussion
programmes where they keep banging on about the ethics
of slavery and what a bad thing it is, and all that
crap.  The first lot would make them idle, and the
discussions might make them rebellious if they see
that not everyone is in favour of it...."

"You trust me, don't you, sir?"

"You know I do, Joe."

"Well then, put a lock on it, and let me keep the key!
 I'll only let them watch football - and, well, other
sport too, I suppose - the Olympics, Wimbledon,
perhaps the snooker, and of course Cruft's."

"I trust you, Joe, you know I do.  But I reckon they'd
be constantly be badgering and wheedling you to let
them see 'one more programme' - I've seen how Dan and
Julie's boys are when they know what their bedtime is
supposed to be, but they always want to watch a bit
more.... And slaves are very much like kids in that
respect."

Joe dug his elbow in my ribs, making me give a little
squeal of laughter.  "Steve, you're forgetting one
thing - Andy is sports mad, and would want to watch it
all.  But all the time he's stuck in front of the TV
at night he wouldn't be with me.... When I'm not with
you, that is!  So I reckon I'm pretty well motivated
to make sure the TV's off as early as possible every
evening...."

We laughed together, and in fact I did install a big
TV, and paid the outrageous fees to get the dedicated
sports channels.  And, indeed, the slaves did appear
to be happier, and work harder, and "show" better.  I
reckon it did wonders for Andy, too - he was always a
bit shy deep down and over compensated for it with
aggressiveness, and that's probably also why he was so
foul mouthed and abusive.   But when it came to
football, all that changed - he was "an authority",
knowing all the players, their history, the clubs,
their records, and all the stuff they did on the
pitch.  So before, during and after a match on TV it
was Andy who was arguing with the others, Andy leaping
about cheering when "his" men won, or when he was
proven right about some subtle point of tactics, and
him who was at the forefront of the often heated
arguments at the end of the matches.

In all this turmoil with Joe and Andy you'll notice
that I haven't said all that much about Dan and me -
it's not that there's not anything to say, more that
it's repetitive.  We were a bit like a long-married
couple:  we worked together and had interests in
common, and then occasionally, when we could get away,
we had sex.  And it was good sex, too - well, not
passionate and all consuming, as it had been when we
first started fucking, but competent and enjoyable.
We were so discreet, as we certainly didn't want to
upset Julie - Dan because he loved his wife, and me
because I had a huge respect for her, liked her very
much, and certainly didn't want to see her hurt in any
way.  So I suppose we were in some ways like old-time
lovers, conducting our torrid sex in hotel rooms
around the country as we moved around from show to
show, and then not touching, not stroking, not
kissing, when we were "in the world".  In fact, some
of the other trainers and people at shows used to joke
about the fact that although our  business was
booming, as we were so successful that we could charge
almost what we liked to get a slave in "show winning
condition", and our own owned slaves were consistently
pulling in big prize money and could then be sold off
at high profits, Dan and I still shared a room in the
hotels we stayed at.  In the bar, we'd often get
comments that they thought funny, but where I felt
like going and punching the bloke who made it  - you
know the kind of thing:  "So that wife of yours makes
you share a room with Steve, does she, Dan?  I suppose
she doesn't trust you, and wants to make sure you
don't 'pull' and take the woman back....".  It's
laughable, really, that these men's prejudices were so
deep-seated that they couldn't even conceive that we
might be sharing a room so we could fuck!

We were basically comfortable, settled in our ways,
and, some might say "had it all", or, at least, had
all that was readily available without making a major
upset in other people's lives.  Funnily enough, Dan
and I never talked about this - it was, I suppose, as
if we wanted the outside world to go away when we were
in bed together.

Life was jogging along, and then one day Joe used the
time after sex to make another request.  As we lay
together, feeling our racing hearts start to slow, Joe
said "Can I ask you another favour, Steve?"

"Another?"

"Well, the TV for the slaves was a big success....."

".... And now you want to give them a bar, or free
women, or....?"

"No, Steve.  It's Andy.  He needs something to keep
him interested..."

"And that TV and the football isn't enough?"

"He's a bright lad, Steve.  He just never had the
chances.  I reckon he'd have done well at school if he
hadn't been constantly moved around and so on.  He
works hard enough in the kitchen, as you know, but he
needs something 'stimulating' to do as well."

"And your cock isn't 'stimulating' enough?"

"No, the sex is great.  But a lot of nights I'm here
with you.  And then he 'strays' a bit - he thinks I
don't know that he goes off with some of the other
slaves."

"And you don't mind?"

"Steve, he's sixteen!  His juices are flowing as fast
as they ever will do.  It's natural for men of that
age to want to use their cocks, to fuck and fuck and
fuck.....  There's no point in trying to oppose mother
nature, is there?"

"I think you do care, Joe, and you're just putting a
brave face on it..."

"No, honestly, I don't.  He's sensible enough not to
allow anyone else to fuck him, so he's always ready
for my cock whenever I can get to him.  So where's the
harm in him giving his cock some exercise?  To tell
you the truth, I don't know whether he just wanks with
some of the others, or if he fucks them - but it's all
pretty harmless and natural, isn't it?  It's not as if
he loves them, like he does me:  they're just having
sex, not making love."

"Joe, I think you're deluding yourself.  Some people
don't know the difference, or they think they do, then
let the boundaries blur....  But then, you don't think
I know a anything about stuff like this, so I'll keep
quiet.  But take care, Joe, take care not to get
hurt.....  So what the fuck is it you want anyway?"

"Well I reckon he needs a real interest, something
that he, Andy, can do, something where he's better
than all the rest.  And the obvious thing is 'agility'
- you've seen him go up the ropes and things, like a
monkey almost, and I reckon that if he was in the
agility competitions he'd win a lot of them..."

"We don't do that kind of training, you know that.
Forget it."

"But Steve, it wouldn't be a problem, and it wouldn't
cost much: we've got a lot of equipment here, and we
could easily make a few bits of stuff like they use in
the shows - some hurdles to leap over, a seesaw to run
along, one of those sets of square frames to thread
yourself through, and a 'slalom' set of poles to race
around...."   Joe was in his stride now, and I let him
go on.  "And it would be an interest for the other
slaves, too - some of them could try it, and they
could follow Andy's progress, just as he takes an
interest in them when they go off to shows.  And it
would do the kid good, Steve, to see a bit more of the
world, to travel to the shows, get a broader
perspective on life...  It wouldn't cost much, Steve -
when we're at a major show the cook doesn't need help
as so many of the guys are away with us.  And Andy
could sleep in the slave caravan with me...."

"It's too much of a distraction for you, Joe.  You'd
spend all your time training Andy, and forget why I
have you - to help train the other slaves."

"I promise it wouldn't, sir!  Honest!  In fact, I
don't know all that much about agility training - but
some of the other slaves do, and, as I said, I reckon
it would be good for them...."

"I'll think about it then."

"So does that mean 'yes', Steve?"

"No!  It means that I will think about it.  Now, what
are we going to do about that cock of yours?  I don't
want it stabbing into me all night....."

Actually, of course, it wasn't a bad idea:  the slaves
had benefited from the TV, and with another interest,
it might improve matters even further.  So the next
morning I told Joe he could carry out a limited amount
of work preparing an "agility" course, providing there
was no expense and no time was lost from regular
training operations.  He beamed all over his face and
promised there would be no disruption, but later that
afternoon, when the slaves had finished their regular
running of the course, I heard shouting - and some
complaints - as Joe ordered them to start digging the
holes for the posts for the slalom, and so on.  The
slaves were used to being able to go and shower at the
end of their exercise period, and were not at first
taking well to the idea that they should start heavy
manual labour - Joe had to slap a couple of them to
remind them he was boss, but after that they seemed to
work away.  And as Andy raced around inspecting
everything and urging them on, some of them even
started to smile a bit.

I never knew where Joe got the heavy posts and stuff
from - I warned Dan to look at all the invoices form
our suppliers especially carefully, but nothing was
ever found.  I had my suspicions that Joe "sold" time
with some of the handsome young Scandinavians, who
Essex blokes seem to particularly fancy, to the truck
drivers who made regular deliveries to us, in exchange
for goods "falling off their lorries", but I could
never prove anything.  Still, most of those younger
slaves really appreciated big burly truck drivers to
pound it home up them, so no harm was done,  I
suppose.

Andy started to use all the various features as soon
as they were ready, and he was particularly good at
the "slalom", where his wiry body could thread itself
between the big posts without scraping his skin or
anything.  And on the suspended squares, he was
fearless:  that's the one where four big wooden beams
horizontally and four vertically are bolted together
to make nine squares, the whole suspended about eight
feet off the ground.  The slave has to leap up to
catch the bottom beam, haul himself up, and then snake
his body through each of the squares in turn, before
leaping down.

He began taunting the other slaves to follow him and
try to catch him, as he did on the ropes, and most of
the older, heavier slaves refused to rise to the bait.
 But a few of the younger ones, proud of their bodies
and their supposedly perfect physiques, took up the
challenge:  after a time I had to tell Joe to forbid
this, as they would bruise and scrape their skin on
the slalom poles, and I was concerned that they would
fall form the suspended squares as they chased after
Andy.

Seeing that he could, uniquely, do some of the stuff
that the others couldn't, even though he was not
anywhere as perfect in his physique as them, seemed to
do wonders for Andy's self confidence.  Of course he
pestered Joe, and me, whenever he got the chance to
speak to me, to be allowed to go and compete in one of
the local shows.  Frankly, I got tired of hearing Joe
in turn pressing Andy's case whenever we were in bed,
and although I could have stopped it, it seemed easier
to give in.

We were showing some slaves at Manchester (by this
time, almost all those we trained and showed were our
own stock, who we were "bringing on" to re-sell), and
I said that Andy could compete - reminding Joe that he
was there not to help Andy, but to groom and prepare
our show slaves as usual!  I didn't get to see his
Andy's performance as I was watching our show slaves
in the ring and taking the opportunity to talk to
dealers and potential buyers, but when we went back to
the preparation and grooming area there he was with a
certificate saying "First Prize - Agility, Juniors".
They couldn't clip a rosette to his nipple, though, as
it was just too small for the jaws of the clip to get
a grip, and so it was attached to his collar.  Some of
the show slaves, even those who'd got prizes
themselves, seemed genuinely delighted and were
clustering around him, slapping him on the back and
congratulating him:  it looked odd to see this slip of
a youth, in his tight shorts, surrounded by all those
big studs, their cocks bouncing up and down as they
moved around him - at this time, "agility" slaves,
especially in the novice classes, wore shorts to
prevent their cocks getting hurt as they hurled
themselves around, whereas show slaves had now moved
to be totally nude.

"It's good to see the other slaves making such a fuss
of Andy", I told Joe.  "You were right about the group
dynamics thing...."

He just gave a long, slow smile, then added, when he
saw me looking curious "Oh, yes.  That too.  But these
blokes are the winners - they're the ones who bet
money on Andy taking a prize first time."

"Bet money?"

Joe smiled again.  "Well, not as such, as they don't
have money.... But, you know.... If there's a bloke
they fancy, and he won't take cock as so many of them
claim themselves as exclusive 'tops',  they bet their
arses!  Some of those lucky blokes there are going to
be up the arses of a slave they've wanted to fuck,
when we get home...."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing...."

"Sir, it all adds interest.  And no one makes a slave
bet his arse, after all.  They need to learn to take
responsibility, and if they bet, they've got to learn
to take the consequences.  Anyway, there are very few
genuine 'tops', are there, sir?  I reckon there's only
you who'll never take it....."

"Mind you", he went on, "It's me that loses really -
Andy's bet on himself with two of the studs he really
fancies, and so I'll only get him crawling into bed
with me after he's had his way with them.  And they
won't like it one little bit, as Andy always picks the
toughest, older slaves and then makes them kneel for
him 'doggy style'...."

"Joe, I thought you and he...."

"Well we are, Sir.  But you've got to remember that
Andy's still only seventeen, and he needs to fuck -
and I don't let him fuck me.  So I shouldn't complain
if he goes after a good fuck every now and then - it's
only natural.  It's not as if there's anything to it,
after all:  I know it's me he wants to be with, and
with the others it's just sex."

Well, Joe ran a pretty tight ship out there, so if he
didn't mind slaves betting their bodies, why should I
care, I thought.  Mind you, it did make me think of
something else: I suppose I hadn't really separated
sex and "togetherness" in my mind until now, but I saw
the parallels immediately.  I loved Dan and fucked
him, but he also fucked Julie and seemed to love her
as well.  So Dan and I had sex, but were we really
"together"?  Joe loved Andy, but I fucked Joe, and Joe
didn't seem to mind Andy fucking other men.  And Andy
loved Joe, but fucked other blokes but it "wasn't
serious".   It seemed all kinds of relationships were
possible - which was best?  Did it matter?  Well, you
can't really puzzle stuff like that out in the middle
of a crowded show hall, can you?  So I stopped
thinking about it and went back to watching the
activity around me and receiving the congratulations
of the other owners and trainers.

Joe looked as proud as a father who'd just seen his
son get a place at university or something, and the
following day, when we got home, Andy's prize
certificate was pinned to the wall above the bed he
usually shared with Joe, and I was amused to see he's
put it above all of Joe's own certificates (we allowed
slaves to show their prize certificates like this as I
think it gives them a sense of pride in their
achievements, and it encourages them all as none of
them want to be seen not to be winners so publicly.
I've seen it when we've visited racing stables, too,
where the horses all get to have their rosettes on the
door of their stables, although quite why, I can't
imagine, as horses can't be spurred on to greater
competition as slaves can).

Andy had of course spent the night with Joe in our
slave caravan after the show, and Dan and I were as
usual in bed together in a hotel.  We'd undressed,
embraced, and kissed passionately, and then rolled
around on the bed a bit, hugging each other, grabbing
each others cocks, kissing some more, playing with
each others nips, and generally "messing around" prior
to the serious business of fucking.  Remembering my
thoughts earlier about "togetherness" and sex, I
happened to say something to Dan about how happy I was
to be with him, and "almost as happy as Joe seemed to
be with Andy's success".  I felt Dan's body stiffen,
and his whole manner seemed to change abruptly, and an
air of sadness came over him.

"Dan, what's the matter?"    I thought about what I'd
been thinking about earlier, and added "It's not that
we can't be together all the time, is it?  Can't we
just enjoy this....?"

He kissed me, holding my face tenderly in his hands,
and gently rubbing his cock against mine as he knows I
like that.  "Oh Steve, Steve.....  No, of course it's
not you, mate!  I don't want to spoil tonight - fuck
knows, we have little enough time like this.... But
I'm worried about Shane.  And seeing Joe looking so
proud about Andy earlier... So pleased with him that
even you noticed it....  Oh, Steve, I wish Shane and
me could be more like Joe and Andy...."

I fell silent.  It was too painful.  "Dan, you can't
mean it.... I thought you loved me.... You can't want
to fuck Shane...."

Dan roared with laughter, and grabbed hold of my nips
and tweaked them, causing me to try to get away from
him, and start laughing too.  "No.... I'm always
having to tell you how stupid you are, Steve!  Of
course I don't want to fuck Shane:  he's my son!  And
of course I want to be with you, you know that."

As usual, Dan avoided using the "L" word when talking
about us, even though I'd used it.  But he went on
"It's just that Julie and I are so worried about
Shane:  he used to be such a good kid, getting good
marks, near the top of the class, popular with the
other kids, liked by the teachers, happy, even!  But
recently he's gone sullen, he's not working properly
at school and his marks have plummeted, we had a note
asking us to go and see his class teacher about his
behaviour - he's apparently withdrawn.... She actually
asked us if there was trouble at home that had caused
the change in him, and when Julie and I said of course
not, she then suggested we keep an eye open for
drugs...."

"You don't think he's doing drugs, do you, Dan?"

"No, I don't think so.  But he's drinking...."

"Well that's OK, then - sounds pretty normal to me.
Most sixteen year olds do, after all... I remember
getting plastered once or twice when I was that age.
It's just a phase of growing up, like your first
fuck."

"Steve, shut up, will you?  It's not 'normal'!  You
may have been the kind of wild kid that drank and
fucked and everything, but I certainly wasn't - my
parents were nice middle-class people, like Julie and
me, and Shane hasn't been brought up that way.
Anyway, what do you know about it?  You don't have
kids."

"No, Dan.  But I train slaves.  And a lot of them are
just like kids - they can't understand that there are
rules, and if you break them, you get punished...."

"This isn't about breaking the rules and getting
punished!  Shane's unhappy, really unhappy, and I
don't know why.  Julie's tried asking him and he just
turns away and goes to his bedroom.  And I had him in
my study this week for a 'man to man' talk, and he
just sat there, saying 'yes' and 'no' and never
volunteering anything.... We used to be so close,
Steve, and now it's as if he's a stranger almost."

"I listen to the radio when I'm driving to the shows,
Dan, and I hear a lot of those programmes during the
day about family life and such.  I find myself sitting
there thinking 'silly bitch' as some mother or other
wails on about her son or daughter leaving home - and
that's only to go to university!  That's what's
supposed to happen, Dan:  you're meant to give your
kids the self-confidence to go their own way, and I
can never understand why the mothers aren't pleased.
I left home at sixteen, joined the army, as you
know.... I didn't ask my parents or anything, it was
my decision...."

"As usual, because that's what you did, that must be
the right thing to do....".  Dan paused then, and lay
close to me, and I could almost feel his worry and
stress. "That's what's so good about you, Steve - you
always know what's right, even when it's not. You
don't ever doubt yourself.  You just get in there and
start giving opinions, telling people what to do,
organising things...  But you're not always right, not
that you'd care - and I don't think Shane wants to
leave home or anything... He's just so very unhappy."

A wave of sadness swept over me.  Dan was right, of
course - I do know what's right, generally. And I
don't suffer from self doubt, well, not openly.  But
that wasn't it: I was sad because Dan was able at
least to tackle Shane about something like this,
whereas my dad and I never could;  he and I just
argued and fought, from the time I was thirteen until
I left home.  I suppose we were so alike, so sure we
were both right all the time, that living in the same
house was tough.  And I'd never had the chance to tell
him that, all these years later, I understood that he
loved me really, even though he'd never said it or
showed it.  My dad loved me, just as Dan loved Shane,
and that I'd loved dad, too, even though I was always
rejecting everything he said and did.  But neither of
us could ever actually say that at the time, we were
so wrapped up in "proving" that each of us was better,
tougher, smarter, more of a "man" than the other.

"Shane's so lucky to have you and Julie, Dan.  He
ought to know that...."

"He probably does, deep down.  But this other thing,
whatever it is, has taken over.  I just hope he
remembers Jules and me love him, love him to bits, and
that it doesn't matter what he does, he'll always be
our son...."

"Tell him, Dan.  Tell him.  I wish my dad...."  But I
couldn't go on.  A tear was running down my cheek, and
I don't cry.

I don't think Dan noticed, as he was so wrapped up in
his own worries.  "Don't you think I have?  But he
won't talk to me, won't discuss things...."

"I'll do it then - I've know Shane since he was a
baby, after all.  He and I get on together...."

"No, Steve!  You stay out of this.  You're a bit of an
emotional cripple, you know!  You'll only make matters
worse."

"I only want to help...."

Dan was deadly serious now.  "Steve, I know you do.
And thank you.  And if things go very wrong, there's
no one I'd rather have there, on our side, trying to
fix things.  But Jules and me and Shane have to work
this out for ourselves.  So promise me you won't
interfere, OK?"

Well, I didn't know what to think.  But I hugged Dan,
kissed him, and whispered "OK.  But if there is ever
anything....."

"Steve, you're our best friend, you know that.  And
more than that, much more than that, to me.... I know
you'd do anything I asked, and it's a real comfort,
believe me.... But wait, please."

I hugged him again, and he clung to me as if in
desperation.  "Steve", he eventually said in a small
voice.  "Steve, would you mind if we don't fuck
tonight?  My mind's not on it, mate.... But hold me,
hold me tight, will you?  When I'm with you the world
doesn't seem such a terrifying place... I just want
be near you, Steve, feel you close to me, know you're
there for me...."

I hugged him again, and it didn't seem as if I needed
to say anything else.  Having Dan say those things was
worth more to me than any "mere" fucking!

Going back home the next day, though, I saw things
were just a bit more complicated than "not doing
anything".  Now that I'd been alerted to Shane's
behaviour I saw that he was indeed unhappy, or angry,
or both.  And once you've noticed something like that,
it's hard to react normally, and pretend everything's
OK.  But I did my best, and I sat there fuming
inwardly and impotently as Shane snarled at his mother
when she asked him simple things like if he'd got
everything ready for school, and when he and Dan had a
real stand-up shouting match at each other one day
when Dan had read his end of term report and the marks
were right down again.

As we were driving together on a way to a show, Dan
actually told me that he thought that our time
together was one of the few things that enabled him to
get through the week!  "Every time I see Shane
throwing away his chances, Steve, I want to hit him!
I'm so furious, and then I'm furious at myself for
being furious.... But he's only got one shot at
university, and if he goes on like this he'll get
terrible exam results, then he won't be able to
go...."

"Oh, you worry too much about things like that.  He's
pretty bright, and when he's acting normally, he's
really personable.  Blokes like that will always get
along....  Look at me!"

"....or get enslaved, like you!  It's harder and
harder, Steve, to get a job, any job, without a
degree.  And no job, no money.  No money....
Indenture."

"You asked me not to interfere, Dan, and I haven't.
But, look, this weekend... Two nights together...
Let's just try to forget Shane, shall we?  Let's just
be you and me, and when the door of that hotel room
closes we'll pull the curtains, unplug the phone, turn
off our mobiles, and pretend we're the only two people
left on the planet...."

"If only life were that simple, Steve.  But I reckon I
need a break.  So I'll try.  And let's play the game,
shall we?  We haven't done that for years... That
might take my mind off things...."

I looked across at him for a moment, and a slow smile
spread across my face.  "I thought you'd forgotten
that..."

Well, "The Slave Game", as we called it, was what we
used to do in the early years, after I'd been freed
but when, as it sometimes does, even the greatest sex
starts to bore just a bit.  And after we'd checked
into the hotel once all the slaves had been fed and
were locked securely in their caravan, I felt my heart
begin to race as we went up the steps into the hotel
reception.

Firstly, Dan did all the checking in, and I knew that
I had to stand back from the reception desk, and even
keep my head bowed, looking at the floor in front of
me.  Then Dan turned and walked to the stairs, without
saying anything to me, and I was expected to pick up
his overnight bag as well as my own, and follow him
along the corridor.  Once we were in the room and the
door was closed and locked, Dan snapped "On your
knees, slave boy!"

I had to kneel in front of him, and then came the part
that I found unbelievably erotic each time it happened
- Dan got my old chain collar from his pocket and
slipped it around my neck, closing the clasp behind.
It could only be removed when Dan used the special
key, and as the cold metal touched my bare skin I once
again felt that indescribable sensation of being under
another man's control, as I had that first time a
collar closed around me.  But there was no time to
think about that.  "You fucking slave", Dan hissed.
"How dare you kneel there in men's clothing.  Get
naked, get naked at once!  Don't you know that a slave
needs only his collar to wear?"

I got to my feet, and had to stand in front of Dan as
I undid the buttons on my polo shirt then stripped it
over my head - I knew Dan liked to see my belly
stretching as I did this, and I lingered for a moment
with my face covered by the shirt, allowing him to
drink in the sight of my belly that was still firm and
hard, although the treasure trail stretching across it
had lost some of the jet blackness that it had once
had.  I dropped the shirt to the floor, only to have
Dan almost shout "Fold it!  That's an expensive shirt,
and it belongs to me!  Just as you do."

Then I slipped off my shoes and socks, and stood
there, fiddling awkwardly with my belt, as if
reluctant to take my jeans off in front of him.  I
didn't mind really, of course, as I was used to
showering with the slaves when I'd been taking them
around the course, and even at my age I had absolutely
nothing to be ashamed of in my body.  But I made a
show of reluctance, and then had to stand there in my
boxers, neatly folding my jeans, watched by Dan.  That
done, I assumed the "slave rest" position, with my
feet nicely spread and my hands clasped behind my
back.

"You fucking slave!  I told you to get naked!  Are you
so stupid that 'naked' includes keeping those shorts
on?  Get them off!"

Actually, there is something strange about stripping
in front of another man - well, not when you're both
doing it, of course, but when one of them is standing
there fully clothed as you take yours off.  In spite
of us "playing" at slaves, my cock stiffened as I
slipped the shorts down over my hips, then stooped to
pick them up.  And, of course, I stood there with my
cock waving around as I neatly folded the boxers and
added them to my other clothes on the chair, knowing
that all the time Dan was watching my body, seeing my
bum exposed to him as I moved.

"Nice body", Dan commented.  "At rest!"

I assumed the position again, and Dan came and walked
around me, inspecting me as he had done all those
years ago on the site.  Then he ran his hands lightly
down over my shoulders and pecs, allowed his hands to
linger on my belly.  He stopped and went to the back
of me.  As his hands ran down my back, feeling my ribs
and seeing that there was no ring of fat around my
waist, my cock rose and became erect.  His hands
rested on my bum, then he was almost kneading it,
feeling the power and strength in there.

"A nice piece of slave flesh!", he said, to the air,
not to me.  "Worth taking, I reckon."

Then his tone changed "On your knees, boy!  Get my
cock out and get it hard."

Naked, I knelt in front of Dan, then opened his fly
and got his cock out.  I'm absolutely no stranger to
it, as you know, but kneeling there with him still
dressed was so different, so thrilling.  I went to
suck it - as I often did when we were fooling around
in bed - but now Dan put his hands behind my head and
pulled me down on to him, so that I started to gag and
choke as it touched the back of my throat.  Dan let me
go, and I looked up at him, staring down at me.  "You
need training, boy!  A master's cock is the best gift
a slave can have!  Now, try again."

I put my arm around Dan's bum to hold myself steady,
and moved onto his cock again, smelling as I did his
male scent - that special smell in a man's crotch, and
on the front of his trousers, that special mixture of
sweat and dried piss.  I ran my tongue all over him,
teasing back his 'skin so I could lick the delicious
saltiness of his moist cock head, but he again gripped
my head and began to vigorously face fuck me.  "I'm
fucking you, boy!  Fucking your face!  How does it
feel to have your master's cock down your throat,
boy?"

Dan pulled out, and I knelt there, gasping for air.
He slapped my face (as hard as he could, but that's
not as hard as I could have done it, of course!).
"How dare you look away!  Look up at me, boy!"

As I looked up, Dan began to swing his cock so that it
hit my face, then used his hand to guide it all over
my cheeks and forehead and nose, so that I was slimed
with the pre-cum that was leaking out from it.  "As
you don't seem to like taking this cock down your
throat, boy, there's only one thing for it.  But
first, I need some lube....."

Dan went and sat on the couch, then commanded me to go
and kneel in front of him as I had done so many times
before.  "Kneel properly!", he intoned.  "Feet
together, knees spread apart, back straight, bum
resting down on your heels!"

I did as he ordered, assuming that most subservient
position when you're naked and your cock is sticking
up in front of you - you're so exposed o the other
guy, who can see all the front of you.  "Now wank.
And be sure to catch all your cum in that ashtray."

Even though Dan was my oldest friend, there's
something deeply shaming about being ordered to wank
for another man, as he sits and watches you do it in
front of him, with you kneeling there as he idly
strokes his dick, evidently revelling in his power
over you.  It took me only a very short time, as
usual, before I shot my load, and then he ordered me
to stay kneeling and "present" the ashtray to him - I
had to have my arms outstretched holding the ashtray,
just above head height.

I watched as Dan put his thumb and forefinger in to
the creamy white cum in the ashtray, and tested its
strength by rubbing them together.  "This is
satisfactory for an older slave", he told me, "But
there's not much of it.  Most of my slaves produce two
or three times this quantity."

It hurts, actually, to be criticised like that, even
in play.  And it's true, of course - as I got older, I
stopped shooting the huge loads I used to in my early
twenties, and now there was just this tiny pool lying
there.

"On the bed, slave.  Belly down, feet on the floor,
spread apart.  I'm going to fuck that arse of
yours..."

"Please, master, no, please don't.... I don't take
cock, master...."

Dan laughed.  "You mean you used not to!  You're a
slave, boy, and a slave does what his master commands.
 You belong to me, boy, and your arse belongs to me.
Now, do as you're fucking well told, before I punish
you...."

I lay there, feeling the silk of the cover on my
torso.  In truth, this is the bit of the slave game I
like the least - as you know, it's me who's on top
always, but when we played like this I had to take
Dan's cock, just as I first had had to, all those
years ago.

He stood behind me, and I heard the rustle of his
trousers falling to the floor and the clink of his
belt buckle as it hit the ground.  Then his hands were
on my bum again, now spreading my cheeks apart, and
then having a finger training down my crack and
tickling my pucker.  I knew he'd taken some of my cum,
as his finger was wriggling and forcing its way into
me, and on and on it went, as he stretched and
lubricated me.  As he was really opening me up with
three fingers, I cried out "Please, master, no.... It
hurts, master.... Please, no, stop....."

"Fucking slave!  I'll show you what hurts!"

My whole body jerked forward as Dan's belt slammed
across my bum, and I shouted out as it really is
painful.  "Shut up, boy!  Any more noise and I'll gag
you...."

The belt slammed down on me again, making that great
"crack" noise, and I bit into the covers to try to
keep myself from screaming - I wasn't going to let Dan
know I was weak!

Four more strokes, then the coolness of his hands
again, stroking and caressing my bum, which felt as if
it was on fire.  "Now you're nicely warmed up, boy,
it's time for the main act....."

Somewhere in all of this, as I always did, I'd
forgotten that we were playing.  I was once again the
helpless young slave who was being fucked by his
master, and as Dan thrust in and out of me I gripped
the bed, and pushed my face deep into it to contain my
cries:  cries not just of the pain and hurt I was
suffering, but of the indignity and injustice of what
was being done to me.  I was a man, a man just like
Dan, and he was turning me into a slave.  Or perhaps I
was really crying for the past, for a return of those
times when I'd been young.

Of course the best part of the slave game is when Dan
has shot his load.  Then he lies forward on me, and
he's laughing and crying all at once, and he nibbles
my ears, holds my hands out at the side of me, and
rubs his hot sweaty body over mine.  Then slowly and
languorously I roll over and pull him down to lie on
top of me, and we kiss and laugh and hold each other
and are just.... Just so "close" that I can't describe
it - not only physically, but emotionally.

We lie there, feeling the warmth of each other and at
the same time the chill of the room as our sweat
evaporates from our naked bodies.   And then it's the
second best part of the game.

"You fucked me, you bastard!"

"No, I only did what a master has a right to do...."

"And I have rights, too.  The rights that a strong man
has over a weak one.  Now, lie back, and get your legs
in the air..."

"No, please.... Please don't fuck me....."

Generally I wrestle with Dan a bit at this point, to
demonstrate that I am, as I always was, physically so
much stronger than he is - not so much to hurt him, of
course, but to get him on his back, pinioned to the
bed, so I can force my cock into him.

And afterwards, we sleep in each others arms, each of
us having fulfilled some different and personal part
in this strange game we know as love.

End Of Part Twenty Two