Date: Fri, 31 Mar 2006 06:05:10 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Show, Part  Three

THE SLAVE SHOW

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

Part Three


I must confess I did feel good as I strode along wit h
Dan towards the show ring.  I'd never oiled up my body
before, but it felt really special when I caught sigh
of my reflection in various mirrors and shop windows
as we strode along - the subtle sheen from my skin
really enhanced the look of my body, and I could see
the heads of women, and a lot of blokes too, turning
to admire me as we made our way through the crowded
Centre.  I felt almost proud of my physique - well,
not at being made to display myself like this in tiny
shorts and so on, when everyone else was properly
dressed;  but if I'd got such a reaction when I'd been
a free man, on a beach somewhere, it would have been
great.

The judging of each class - pups, studs, primes,
matures and veterans - was done in a number of heats
with fifteen slaves taking part in each heat, and the
best two in each heat going through into the class
final.  So when we got to the area immediately outside
the ring there were a lot of other primes and their
owners there, as the number of entries was at an
all-time high and they needed four heats.  Officials
in dark navy blue blazers and white trousers bustled
around self-importantly assigning us to one of the
heats, and then going around and re-doing it so that
the small number of female slaves were evenly
distributed amongst the heats.  Once all this was
done, they came along again and lined us up into a
"running order", and noted down the show numbers from
our collars.

It was lucky we were not in the first heat, I guess,
as Dan wouldn't have had a clue!  As it was, he could
stand there in the wings and see how the first heat
owners did it - and I suppose the same was true for
me, too.  So when it was our turn, we didn't look like
complete "newbies" and made a pretty credible show.
Mind you, I hated it - I hated the whole fucking
process, as it was so totally and utterly humiliating.
 I mean, I' a man, in spite of them all calling me
"slave".  And you shouldn't subject men to being
displayed and judged like that.  Just judging a bloke
by the condition of his body reduces him to being like
an animal - never mind that I was a brave soldier,
with all sorts of skills, and wit and intelligence:
no, in this show I was just a beast, a beast to be
assessed on his musculature and physical condition.

Dan was issued with a leash -  a leather strap with a
loop in one end of it for his hand, and on the other a
hook to attach it to my collar.  Then the officials
fussed around making sure we were all in the sequence
they'd written on to their clipboards, there was a
brief fanfare of trumpets (pre-recorded!), and our
owners led us into the show ring by the leash!  I'd
seen that it was the "done thing" for the slave to
always be on the owner's right, and to walk one pace
behind him, and so I suppose this is what I did - it
must be all those years of drilling in the army that
had subconsciously taught me that when you're on
parade you do what all the other blokes are doing, as
there's normally no way I'd walk one pace behind
another man in that subservient way.  But again I felt
so shamed, to be "led" along on a leash, just as if I
was an animal:  I'm a man, for Christ sake, just as
good as any of the rest of them, and better than most.
 It's only this insane slavery thing that's brought me
to this.

We had to do a complete circle of the ring, with all
the spectators watching us, so the judge could "see
how we moved", and I got this kind of blurred
impression that a lot of the men and women in the
massed tiers of spectators were looking at the show
catalogue and making notes. After one circuit, we then
walked into the middle, and stood there, in a line,
again on the right of and just behind our owners.

The judge was a fat old hag - a big plump woman in her
sixties, with those terrible tight grey curls women of
that age tend to wear, in a bilious green Crimplene
dress that was so ill fitting that it emphasised the
ungainly nature of her body rather than flattered it.
She walked up and down the line of us, once in front
and once behind, and I could almost feel her eyes
looking at the prominent bulge in the front of my
too-small shorts.  And I knew she was staring at my
bum, too, as the elasticised fabric pulled up into the
valley between my bum cheeks (and anyway, the top inch
was exposed as they were not high enough in the waist,
as I've told you).

After that, in turn each of us had to run, lead by our
owner, from where we were lined up to the far side of
the ring, and back again.  It wasn't so bad for me as
Dan was young and fit, but I did feel sorry for some
of the other slaves in my heat, as those with big,
overweight owners had a real struggle to "run" slowly
enough so as not to overtake them!  And when you're
not running properly I suppose you're really not
showing off your muscles well.

It was the next bit that was really terrible, though.
The judge stood in front of me and ran her disgusting
sweaty plump fingers all over my upper body, telling
me at one point to flex my biceps, so she could feel
the power in them.  And all the time this was going on
I could hear the public address telling the crowd....
"This is Steve, owned by  Central London Construction
Partners, and shown today by Mr Daniel Green.  Steve
is a novice, making his first appearance in a slave
show, and he's six foot three, sixteen stone seven
pounds, and a very well muscled piece of slave flesh,
if I may say so.  Steve is just at the start of his
period of indenture, too, and is a real working slave,
using that body of his on construction sites.  So give
him a big round of applause, ladies and gentlemen, to
encourage him in his new career...."

The sound of clapping almost drowned out the judge's
instruction to me to kneel, and from watching the
other blokes I knew what was coming next - she felt my
neck muscles and my jaw line, and then told me to open
my mouth, to look up at her, and to stick out my
tongue so she could "judge my condition" as she held
her fingers under my ears, kind of probing at my
glands at the side of my neck.  I hated it all - it's
one thing to have a doctor feel you like that when
you're a bit under the weather, but to have some
"judge" do it so she could give me a prize is just
terrible.

I knew what the final thing was, but that didn't make
it any better!  I had to get to my feet  and clasp my
hands neatly behind my back.  The judge's hands ran
over my belly, and then plunged down into my shorts.
I  took a step backward, and she at once rapped
"Handler, calm your slave!  I'll make an allowance
this time as he is a novice, but any further movement
from him and he'll be disqualified!  I need to be able
to examine his testicles to ensure he is a complete
and entire man, and without that he cannot be in this
competition which is for slaves who are 'Primes'."

"Steve, please....", Dan hissed at me.  Although  I
was flushed with embarrassment and wanted to tell them
all to fuck off, I didn't want all the hundreds of
spectators to think  I was afraid.  So I braced
myself, and just stood there.

Look, I've had women fondle my balls before of course,
but usually because they were trying to pleasure me as
their lips wrapped themselves around my cock!  This
was totally different - the woman was old enough to be
my mother (grandmother?) and I could smell the
horrible perfume - scent, more likely - as she bent
slightly and wiggled those horrible fingers (complete
with a big set of cheap, flashy rings) down into my
shorts.  Then they were probing around to find my
balls, and when they did, I almost winced as she gave
them a gentle pinch - I don't think women know just
how sensitive a bloke is down there,  and I always
think they just don't take enough care.

She pulled her hands out, and said quietly to Dan "I
think you'd better have a few strong words with your
slave if you're in any more heats here!  It's not
acceptable for him to be pumping out pre-cum, and some
judges would mark him down for it.  Now we all know
that these slaves are fit and virile, but I think it
would be sensible to empty him in future before
showing, so that the judge does not end up with sticky
hands.  Still,  for an inexperienced show slave, he's
not done badly:  after his initial reaction I thought
there might be trouble when I had to squeeze his
balls, but he flinched and kept himself under control
otherwise."

" I need to make sure that he's one hundred percent
genuine", she added to Dan.  "Some unscrupulous owners
have been having prosthetic testicles implanted in
their slaves to make them appear more virile!  There
was almost a scandal last year when a fine specimen
like Steve here was found to have had plastic implants
as his owner thought he was a bit lacking in terms of
the size of his testicles and would 'show' better with
implants.  So now the rules say we have to test to
make sure the slave is one hundred percent genuine,
and the only simple test you can do out here is to
squeeze them - no man can help reacting, if his balls
are genuine."

As she said this, she walked off to do the next slave,
and we just stood and waited.  At the end of her
inspections she stood out in front of all of us,  then
 pointed to a slave at the far end of the line, who
came forward with his handler.  Then to my
astonishment she pointed at me, and Dan and I walked
out, and we realised that  I was one of the two from
this heat to go forward to the  class final.

We all marched smartly out, and, as I said, the owners
seemed really nice as they didn't hesitate to
congratulate Dan and tell him he'd done exceptionally
well to get this far with a novice.  Dan took me up
into a section of the stands then, one  reserved for
exhibiting owners and their slaves, so we could watch
the other heats, and I suppose it was actually quite
interesting to see all these other blokes being
marched around and inspected - especially as I could
really relate to what they must be feeling as the
bitch of a judge put her hands down their shorts.

When the final heat was over there was short
intermission when six dancing slaves came on to
perform - three men and three women, all wearing
nothing but tiny G-strings!  They must otherwise have
been entirely body shaved, as especially on the blokes
there was just no room for even a bit of pubic hair.
It was erotic stuff, though, to see these six lithe
figures cavorting around, writhing and interweaving
their bodies, carefully synchronised to the hypnotic
sexy music!   The way the blokes held the women,
especially the way they caressed their bare breasts,
was a real turn on, and my cock was really pushing out
the already stretched front of my shorts.

Dan turned to me. "No time for this , Steve, boy!  You
heard what he judge said - they don't like pre-cum all
over their hands, and I'd better take you out so you
can wank yourself.... Especially after seeing this,
eh?  Sensuous stuff, isn't it - real entertainment for
men?  I can see it's got you pretty excited....."

We went out and followed the signs that said
"Lavatories" - well, the ones that said "Lavatories -
slaves", that is, as of course there were separate
facilities for free men.  I felt ridiculous, as Dan
hadn't seen fit to undo my leash, and so we had to
make our way through the crowds with me being lead as
if I was an animal.  And he came in to the place, too.
 They didn't bother with "luxuries" like cubicles for
slaves, so there was a line of lavatories against one
wall, and a long trough urinal on the other.  It's not
all that much of a problem for me, as in some of our
barracks you used to crap sitting alongside your
mates.

 "OK, Steve - get at it.... Start beating that meat of
yours."

"Here?"

"Where else?"

"I can't do it here,  Dan... Sir!  Look.... It's
completely exposed."

"Oh come on!  There's no one else here,   And the way
you were all fired up watching those dancers, you must
be almost on the edge... so it oughtn't to take
long.... Now, get on with it..."

"You're here....  And look, there's absolutely no
privacy..."

"Steve, for fuck's sake, stop being such a wimp!  I
thought you were supposed to have been a big, tough
soldier - don't tell me you've never wanked yourself
in front of another bloke before...?"

Well of course I had, hadn't I?  But it's one thing to
do it when you're watching porn with your mates,
sprawling on one of the chairs in the mess room, and
quite another to do it standing up there in that  bare
place.  And you know how it is - wanking when you're
standing up is much more difficult, as it's not as
comfortable and your knees tend to sag and bend the
wrong way.....

"For fuck's sake, Steve, get on with it, will you?  Or
do you want me to pull those shorts down and do it for
you?"

"No!  Look, sir, it will be OK... I can control
myself....."

"I'm not prepared to risk it, Steve.  There's a lot at
stake here!  The boss and I want the prize money, and
I'm not prepared to have you spoiling our chances just
because you won't do this simple thing.  It's not as
if you haven't wanked hundred s of times before, after
all.  Now, do it!"

"No, sir, please....

Dan dropped the leash, and before I could stop him
simply pulled my shorts down, and my cock leapt into
the air.  I did as any man would, and went to hit him
- but fortunately my reflexes cut in, and I just
stopped my fist an inch or so away from his body.
It's part of the military training,  I suppose - us
grunt privates go through some pretty tough times with
drill sergeants and such like, and the one thing you
very quickly learn is hat you never hit  an NCO, or
even worse, an officer!  Even though  I was young and
tough, the first time I went to hit a corporal who was
screaming at me and calling me a weak bastard wimp, he
reacted so quickly that I didn't know what had hit me
until it was too late - he had lots of experience at
dealing with bolshy recruits like me, and the next
instant I was gasping for breath as his fist buried
itself in my belly, and then I was flailing around on
the ground as I desperately tried to avoid his combat
boots as they kicked at me again and again.  He was a
real artist - I was sore for days and days afterwards,
but his skill and experience mean that none of my ribs
was broken or anything.  And I only ever tried it once
with a sergeant, and not only did he give me a good
kicking, but when I was almost recovered, he and a
couple of corporals pulled me out of my bunk that
night and "took me outside" to give me the worst going
over I'd ever had.  So I'd learned to respect
"superiors", I suppose, and that saved Dan that night.

He didn't realist it, though, and snapped "Now, start
wanking.  Or I'll do it for you...."

I felt really foolish standing there bare-assed with
my shorts around my knees, and Dan went on "Now,
you've got two minutes!  If it helps, I'll look
away....."

Well, what was I supposed to do?  I reached down and
started to stroke myself, and it wasn't all that bad,
actually - as Dan had pointed out, those six sensuous
dancers had really fired me up, and it only took a few
shakes before I was grunting as I felt my whole body
tensed in anticipation, and then a big slick of cum
shot out of my cock.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?", Dan said once he
realised I'd gone quiet.  "Now, whilst we're here,
you'd better piss as well, as we don't know how long
this class final will take...."

Well you all know how it is - you just can't piss
immediately after you've shot a load, can you?  I
mean, first of all, your cock's still mostly hard.
And then if you do start too soon, I think it hurts.
But Dan urged me on as we could hear the loudspeakers
calling for the class finalists in the Prime -
Mid-European - Caucasian class, and so  I had to do my
best.  Dan insisted I blot

 my dick dry on some of the lavatory paper, too, and I
suppose that after all I'd gone through, having him
watch me as I did this could be endured, and then he
led me back to the show ring.  Thank Christ, though,
that no one else had come in whilst I was having to go
through all of that!

Well the finals was just like the heat, really, except
that there were only eight of us - two each from the
four heats.  Six of us were men, and two women.  I
suppose I was getting used to seeing bare-breasted
women by now as I didn't feel myself reacting as much
as previously - although perhaps the big wank I'd just
done had something to do with it.  Still,  I did
wonder how the judge could possibly decide who was
best - a big muscled stud like me, or someone with a
fundamentally different body "style", like the women!

There were two judges this time, too - the vile old
women who'd examined me before, and a man in his
mid-forties, I'd say, wearing those kind of elaborate
"country" clothes - a smart tweed sports jacket,
cavalry twill trousers, brown brogues, a silk shirt,
and a  "guards' tie.  We were used to seeing men like
this around the army camp, as it tended to be the sort
of thing that the officers wore as civvies.

The routine was the same, though - parade around, then
individual examinations after a run across the ring.
And this time as the woman's fat fingers plunged down
my shorts I steeled myself and willed myself to remain
calm, and I just grunted when she gave each of my
balls a squeeze. I wasn't prepared for the male judge
to come and do the same thing too, though!  I mean,
having your balls fondled by some old hag is bad
enough, but another man.... He didn't do it badly,
though, as I suppose he knew himself what I must be
going through, and as his hands went down my shorts he
said calmly "Easy now, boy, it will soon be all
over..."

And that was it, really.  I don't know who was the
more surprised when I was called out as class champion
- Dan or me!

Both judges shook Dan's hand and congratulated him on
putting up such an excellent show with a novice slave,
and were even more surprised when they heard he'd
never shown before at all as they complimented him on
his expert handling of me.  Then, as we waited for the
Show chairman to come in and present the cup, they
chatted on.  Dan told them I was a genuine working
slave, and not some man who was just kept for show
purposes, and they seemed very interested.  The woman
picked up my left hand and ran her podgy fingers over
the ridges of hard skin all over it from where I grip
tools, and said "You know, Colonel, I do think we
ought to talk to the breed committees about this -
there's scope, I think, for having a separate class
for genuine working slaves, slaves who do an honest
day's work, rather than who are just groomed and
trained for the ring.... "

"Yes, but that might lower the standard.  The public
comes here to see the very best of the human form....
Does it matter if that comes from 'work' or
'workouts'?"

"Well I think so.  This slave here proves that it's
possible for a real worker to have a superb physical
form - indeed, I think those long, stringy muscles he
has are far superior to the kind of pumped-up thing
we're used to seeing.  We both judged him to be the
best in his class without knowing that he was a
genuine worker - and certainly he's well above the
breed standard.  No, I think we ought to lobby for
more genuine working animals to be included here - not
just labourers like this one, but all the other
slaves you see in the streets like those pulling
drays, and so on."

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of the
chairman, who shook Dan's hand and handed him a silver
cup and an envelope (which I assumed held a cheque).
He then came over to me - I'd naturally fallen into a
"stand easy" position from my army days, with my feet
apart and my hands clasped behind my back.  The judge
reached out and then I almost screamed with surprise -
he had a rosette, a big silk rosette, with two ribbons
streaming down from it, and this was attached to me:
literally!  On the back of it was a sort of crocodile
clip, and in a smooth, practised movement he reached
up and let it go, so that the teeth gripped my right
nip!

"Easy!", Dan hissed again, and I did my best to stand
there now even more humiliated than before, bearing
this rosette telling the world that I was the best
piece of slave flesh for my age within that subset of
white men who they could classify as "Mid-Europeans".

After a long day we rested in our rest and grooming
area a bit, and the public kept coming up to Dan to
congratulate him - as if he was really anything to do
with it.  It was my body, after all, and all the hard
work I'd put in on the site that had made it so good.
It was me they ought to be congratulating, but it
seemed that it wasn't the "done thing" for free men to
congratulate slaves, or even to speak to them at all.
That didn't stop them slyly running a hand over my
body, though, and some of the bolder ones even ran
their fingers over the outside of my shorts to feel
the outline of my cock - more congratulations for Dan,
then, too - and there's just no way that anyone could
believe he had anything to do with that.  At first I
shied away from the vulgar hands and made menacing
noises, but Dan calmed me down.  "Just ignore them,
Steve - it's what they expect at  slave show, to be
able to 'pet' the animals, especially the very good
looking ones who have just won.  I won't have you
misbehaving by preventing the public from getting its
money's worth - just calm down, it's not as if it
hurts, after all!"

He was right, of course.  Most of the men - and even
some women - who wanted to feel my body were really
gentle as they were so timorous: it was as if they
were afraid of feeling another person's skin at all.
No, it wasn't the physical hurt that was the problem,
it was the mental hurt:  knowing that they saw me as
some sort of object, or even as an animal, who they
could caress and stroke as I stood there, as I was
totally unable to do anything about it.

Later that after noon, though, Joe came back and, like
me, he had one of the big rosettes clipped to his nip:
 he was best in his class of "mature" Mid-Europeans.
His owner, The Captain, and Dan shook hands, and I
slapped him on the back to congratulate him.
"Remember though, Steve, we're now competitors!", he
told me, a twinkle in his eye.  "When we go into the
ring tomorrow they're going to be selecting 'best of
breed', and you, me, and the winners of the pups,
studs and veterans of the Mid-Europeans are all up
against each other.  I wonder if young Trent will be
the pup winner...."

As he was saying this Trent came back with his fat
owner and we could see immediately that he hadn't won
as there was no rosette.  "You little bastard", his
owner was saying angrily.  "Just wait until I get you
home.  You know I told you that you were going to be
caned if you didn't put up a good show...."

Trent looked sullen at first, but as the verbal abuse
of him continued he suddenly snapped "Stop blaming me!
 It's your fault!  How could I run around the ring
properly, showing off to the judges, when all you
could do is waddle along, you great fat cunt..."

His owner drew back his arm and slapped Trent's face
with all his might.  Joe and I both heard the slap
ricochet around the place, and Trent was knocked
sideways by the force of the blow.  He sprang at his
owner then, fists flailing, and before I could react
Joe in turn flung himself across the gap between them
and wrapped himself around Trent, lifting the lad off
his feet as he did so.  Trent carried on struggling,
his feet kicking at Joe, and all the time hurling
abuse at his owner, and then at Joe, for not letting
him "Get his own back for that fucking blow...."

Joe abruptly let go of Trent, and the lad went
sprawling on the floor.  Joe simply went and sat on
him, straddling his heaving chest and pinioning
Trent's arms to the floor with his knees.  Trent
started to shout again, and now it was Joe who
casually leaned over and slapped him - although not
anything like as hard as his owner had - it was the
sort of blow any NCO would give a raw recruit, to calm
him.  "Shut up, you little fool!", he commanded.
"Shut up now, before you make your owner even more
cross...."

Joe looked up at Trent's owner then and said in a very
ingratiating tone "He's calm now, sir.  Please don't
punish him too harshly - it was his first time in the
ring, wasn't it?  And I suspect he had a bit of 'stage
fright' - it's never easy the first time, is it,
Steve?"

I shook my head vigorously in agreement, trying to
lend Joe all the support I could, and he went on "It
takes us all differently, sir.  I expect young Trent
here put up a brave show, but bottled it all up inside
and it's only coming out now.  And remember, for a lad
like this to have to run around totally naked in front
of all that crowd.....   So please don't punish him
too harshly, sir.... I'm sure he's a really
potentially valuable property, and so don't do
something to permanently disfigure him for this lapse,
dreadful though it was...."

I suddenly realised just how serious young Trent's
plight really was - he'd actually swore at his owner,
and then physically attacked him and might even have
harmed him had Joe not acted so quickly.

The owner looked at Dan and the Captain, and said
"Well I don't know what to do!  You all saw that,
didn't you?  He went to physically attack me!  We
can't have that, no, not at all.  I'm afraid I really
ought to take him off to the vets' area and perhaps
one of them could take his balls off now... That
should calm him, and prevent any recurrence."

"Quite right!", the Captain chimed in.  "These young
lads have no discipline, no self control.  A good
spell in the Royal Navy is what they really need...."

I saw Joe looking pretty horrified as evidently
Trent's owner was serious, and he cut in "Mind you,
the lad is pretty good looking, sir.... In a couple of
years time, with some hard physical labour, he could
well turn into a pretty stunning 'stud'... Could be
worth a lot of money.  Except that they'd mark him
down so heavily for having been snipped..... You could
be throwing away a huge return on your investment...."

It was horrible to hear a man spoken of in these
terms, just as if he was a prize animal, but it seemed
to do the trick.  The fat man's beady eyes glinted.
"Quite so.  One has to think of all the money we spend
on our slaves, let alone all the love and attention we
lavish on them to train them....  But he has to be
punished...."

The Captain nodded as if he too was considering
"values", and remarked  "Why don't you get my slave to
do it, and do it now?  Punishment immediately after
the crime is always much more effective, they say.
Just like training puppies - if they soil the floor
you have to spank them there and then - it's no use
waiting until later.  I think you should punish this
slave right now, to drive home just how badly he's
behaved."

Dan nodded too, and he and the Captain were evidently
winning the argument to save Trent's balls, as his
owner sort of wavered as he said "Well I could, I
suppose, give him a good beating, but my punishment
cane is at home...."

"The big slave Joe could spank him for you...."

"No, the lad's used to being spanked.  It won't
signify...."

"With respect, sir", Dan's tone was sort of wheedling
now.  "That slave who's sitting on top of him looks
pretty strong and muscular.  I'd imagine that the kind
of spanking he could do would be rather more severe
than you usually do... Not that I'm suggesting that
you're not administering proper punishment, far from
it.... But you seem to be a very good and benevolent
master, and I suspect you probably hold yourself back
a little, quite deliberately, to give the lad an
opportunity of seeing the error of his  ways without
suffering real harm...."

The fat man looked pleased.  "Excellently put, sir!  I
have a reputation for benevolence, and perhaps I have
been just a little too lenient on the lad.  And to go
from that to removing his testicles is probably too
harsh:  and you're right,  I think he does have
potential..... Perhaps some hard physical punishment
is all that is necessary..."  He turned to the Captain
and went on "Would you mind if we used your slave to
spank my lad?"

"Not at all! Personally, I use a cane on my slaves,
and I haven't seen a young lad spanked since I left
the navy - it was somehow always rather rousing when
one of the young ratings had been particularly naughty
and elected to take his punishment in the Officers'
Mess, rather than having a disciplinary hearing in
front of the Captain and a black mark on his record.
We used to make him watch as we ate dinner, then when
we'd finished coffee and the table had been cleared,
we'd make him strip totally naked and bend over it.
Every officer then had the opportunity to beat his
bare backside, with a hand, or a slipper, or a rolled
up newspaper.... It wasn't just the pain, but most of
them had never been stripped and spanked like that and
they were beetroot with embarrassment - especially as
they mostly had erections, and certainly didn't like
to be seen like that in front of all the officers."

The Captain looked at Joe then, and his tone turned to
one of command.  "Joe - get off that lad, go and sit
on the bench there, put him over your knee, and beat
the living daylights out of that backside of his.
Keep striking him until I tell you to stop."

Joe got to his feet, grabbed hold of Trent's arm and
hauled him to his feet, then dragged him over  and sat
down on the preparation bench.  He pushed at Trent to
bend him over his knees, until the Captain shouted
"Joe, before you start, get rid of his shorts!  A
proper spanking can only be delivered on the bare
skin."

Joe grinned as he hauled Trent's shorts down, and
pushed the lad over his knee.  Trent was shouting and
calling Joe a right bastard, and much worse, but he
was unable to resist Joe's sheer power as he was bent
over - or was it that Joe's grip had changed so that
his hand was over the back of Trent's neck, and Joe's
strong fingers were digging in to hold him?  It was
probably painful, I expect.

Joe looked at Trent's owner, who nodded, and he stated
to spank him on the lad's bare bum.  Trent's shouts of
outrage turned to shouts of anger, and then of pain as
Joe's hand rose and fell remorselessly.  I could just
tell it must be hurting him as the sound of Joe's palm
against the lad's bare skin was like a pistol shot -
you've got to remember that Joe's a big bloke, and can
wield considerable power in his arm.

On and on it went, and Trent's shouts an cries
gradually turned into a low continuous wail of pain
and shame as his beating  continued.  I don't know how
long it lasted, really, but I counted at least twenty
of the slaps, and then Joe stopped.

"Carry on!", Trent's owner shouted.   "The slave needs
to be taught a lesson he'll never forget."

"I'm sorry, sir, but my arm is tired... I don't think
I'm making as much of an impression as I was when I
started...."

The owner said something to Dan, and then called out
"All right, stop there.  Hand the lad over to the
other slave, Steve."

Joe got up, and almost pushed Trent towards me - there
was a lot of laughter and sniggering from the crowd
who'd gathered to watch as Trent was erect, and his
cock was jutting out in front of him.  I stood there
for a moment, wondering what to do, until Dan called
out "Steve, for fuck's sake, you saw what you're
supposed to do... Now get that slave over your knee,
and beat the shit out of him!"

Look, I have spanked a bloke before.  It's one of the
things we do to new recruits when they join us in our
barracks - just for a bit of a laugh, really.  It
humiliates them on their first day, and kind of
"breaks the ice" - after all your mates have seen you
over the knee of one of them, you can't be stuck-up,
or stand-offish, can you?  But we never stripped them
totally naked - we always let them keep their
underpants on before they had to bend over.  But
having to put Trent over my knee was very different -
for one thing, my thighs were bare, instead of being
in trousers.  And for another, Trent was totally naked
- and erect - as I've told you.

I grabbed the sobbing lad by the scruff of the neck,
and muttered "Come on, Trent.... It will be easier if
you co-operate...."  And pushed him down.  He moaned,
and I realised his cock was trapped in-between his
body and my legs, so I opened my thighs slightly to
let it slip between them - it was kind of erotic,
actually ,to have his hot, sweaty, bare body draped
over me like that and his cock hard against the inside
of my thighs, and I felt my own erection stirring:
thank Christ I'd got shorts on!

"Get on with it, Steve!", Dan called, sounding as if
he was starting to get impatient, so I raised my arm
and began to hit him.

Look,  I know some blokes do it for fun, but  I can
tell you that when you've been told to do it "for
real", and when your owner knows you're really strong,
it's not that easy.  The blows are OK as you raise
your arm, but it really stings your palm when it
smashes into the bare bum.... And I mean REALLY
stings, even when your hands are work-hardened, as
mine are.  His already-red bum turned even darker

Poor Trent wriggled and shouted and sobbed as I beat
him, and I felt really sorry for him.   But what could
I do?  If I disobeyed a direct order from Dan, it
might be me ending up there with some slave beating my
bare bum, after all.

I certainly gave him twenty hard slaps, and I could
see what Joe meant about it being tiring.  But
fortunately Dan then called out "That's enough,
Steve", and I could let Trent go so he could stand up.
 He stood there looking the very picture of misery,
especially when there was a round of applause from the
"audience" that had gathered.  And it wasn't all that
nice for me, either, as I could feel slimy pre-cum on
the inside of my thighs, where he's leaked all over me
as I'd been thrashing him.

Our three owners went off together then, and us three
slaves were left there.  Trent had pulled his shorts
back on (although there was a wet patch on the front,
where his cock was continuing to leak pre-cum), and he
was kind of sniffling as he tried to control his sobs.
 "Bastards!", he muttered at us.  "You two fuckers,
doing that...."

Joe grabbed him by the arm and put his face right
close to Trent's.  "Listen, you stupid young sod -
you're fucking lucky!  A slave who goes for his owner
is likely to end up without his balls, and that's what
your owner was planning.  If Steve and me hadn't given
you a really good working over, he might still have
done it.  If you ask me, you've got off lightly!  And
if I were you, I'd be a damned sight more careful
about how I treated my master - yours has that sly
look that seems to me to be suggesting that he only
wants an opportunity to do something like that to
you..."

"He's right, Trent", I cut in.  I know you were
provoked, and young blokes like you have a hot temper,
but you've got to learn to control it.  We had lots of
young recruits in the army, and we mostly had to knock
the stuffing out of them once or twice before they
learned to behave 'properly' around the rest of us -
so listen to what Joe's telling you, before your owner
does something really serious to you."

"A fuck of a lot of good it does me to have balls
anyway...", Trent started, as if he was spoiling for a
fight somehow. "I'm never gong to get a chance to use
them..."

I went to argue, but Joe put his hand on my arm.
"Leave him be, Steve.  He only wants to provoke us and
make trouble.  If he doesn't realise that even if he
never gets to fuck a woman it's still better to wank
with your balls on, then he's even more of a stupid
young cunt than he looks!  And, anyway, statistics
show that most slaves do get to fuck.... He just
doesn't appreciate it yet, as he said that his owner
hasn't treated him very well, being as he's so fat and
flabby, and he hasn't learned that sex with another
slave can be fun."

Well, I didn't say anything, as I hadn't realised that
"sex with another slave can be fun", either.  We
didn't do things like that on our site, and the
bosses, like Dan, didn't use us for sex.  There was
evidently a lot more to the business of being  a "show
slave" than I'd imagined.

End Of Part Three