Date: Sun, 2 Apr 2006 12:50:33 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Show, Part  Four

THE SLAVE SHOW

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

Part  Four

When they came back our owners  had decided that they
wanted to go and watch the judging of the "Celts", and
they evidently considered that it would be a "treat"
for us - although why slaves would consider watching
other men being as humiliated as they themselves were
didn't seem to occur to them.  But when we got to the
arena they did at least allow us to sit together, at
the back of the block reserved for exhibitors and
slaves, and so Joe and Trent and I could at least sit
there not quite so much under their very direct
control as usual.

I didn't think much of the Celts as they were
displayed.  I'd always considered the Welsh and the
Scots to be undersized, and kind of pugnacious - when
there scraps in the barracks it was often because some
fiery little Welsh bastard had started it. And some of
the Scots in particular were very hard to understand
when they first arrived.  So it wasn't all that much
fun watching them prancing around, especially as the
"breed standard" seemed to dictate that they should
all be under five foot six, and thin and wiry. Or do I
mean generally puny?

In the interval between heats I'd been looking forward
to those sensual dancers we'd seen before, but this
time they had another "speciality act" for our
delight.  As soon as they came on I felt sorry for the
eight blokes - they'd done their best to totally strip
away any trace of humanity from them, as they were all
totally body shaved so there was not a scrap of hair
anywhere on them (and we could tell this for a fact,
as the were completely stark naked, with their cocks
and balls waving around as they ran into the arena),
and then they'd been painted!  Yes, actual paint, it
looked like, as each bloke was a totally different
colour all over - red, green, blue, yellow, and so on.
 The sheer unexpectedness of it amazed the audience,
and there was a big round of spontaneous applause.

What they proceeded to do was a mixture of dancing and
gymnastics - running around in time to the music, then
doing cartwheels and somersaults across the huge space
(which really made their cocks fly around!), and then
leaping up so four of them rode on the other four's
shoulders,  and began whirling around like on a
merry-go-round, and so on.  You could tell it was
really hard work, as under the hot lights of the arena
you could see beads of sweat breaking out all over
their smoothly-painted surfaces!  And some of the
configurations they had to get themselves in to were,
frankly, lewd.  For example one bent down, resting his
feet and palms of his hands on the ground, then the
next one put his head between the first one's open
thighs, and another between his, and then they sort of
marched around like a giant multicoloured caterpillar.
 I couldn't help wondering what it felt like to have
your mate's cock resting on the nape of your neck, and
having your own cock and balls pushing into the soft
warmth of the bloke whose head was stuck between your
legs!  Those blokes must have balls of steel, I
thought, to be able to do that sort of thing
apparently without worrying about getting them
painfully trapped.  And then I remembered all the talk
we'd heard about prosthetic balls, and I began to
wonder if these poor blokes had all been "done" like
that, and that their balls were indeed steel.

They ended up, to thunderous applause, by lining up in
the order of their colours in the rainbow, with arms
linked around each other, and then they whirled around
the centre of the line like a wheel, all the time
getting erect, so that after about four revolutions,
when they stopped and were again standing there, they
were all showing their magnificent cocks stuck out in
front of them.  Finally, they "about faced" and put
their hands on the shoulders of the bloke in front of
them, and marched out - you could just tell that in
order to get that close together their cocks must have
been wedged up the bum of the bloke in front.

Their "trainer" came on then, to take a bow, and to
our utter astonishment it was a little blond woman no
more than five foot two or so.  I whispered to Joe
"How on earth does she control those eight big blokes,
and get them to do those disgusting things?"

"Oh Steve, you really are naive, living on that
construction site of yours.  An owner can get slaves
to do anything - literally anything - with the right
training techniques.  She'd only have to withhold
these bloke's food, keep their hands cuffed behind
them, and have an electric slave prod and a whip, and
within four or five days they'd be eating out of her
hand, literally!

"But shaving them, painting them, making them appear
naked like that - and some of it was disgusting...
Their cocks against each other..."

"Oh come on, Steve!  For all you know, they like it.
I mean, once they're used to being shaved, it's no
great thing really.  The painting's a bit unusual, I
agree, but I suspect they like the close contact with
each other - come on, you must know what it's like
with eight good mates living together all the time...
"


"It's not like that in the army!"

"Well that's your loss.  Most groups of blokes living
together soon get to like that special contact that
you get.  In fact, I bet they really pity the bloke
who that training bitch selects for her pleasure each
night."

Trent cut in then.  "Hey, you mean some slaves get to
fuck women?"

Joe laughed. "So you're ready for it are you then,
lad?  Been waiting to see what it's like?"

"I've fucked more girls than you have, I bet", Trent
rejoined.  "In that home.... You grow up early."

Joe slapped him on the back.  "Hey, Steve, we've got a
junior stud here, if you ask me.  But let me give you
some advice, Trent - don't go bragging about your
ability to satisfy women!  It's one thing to fuck a
woman as a man, and quite another to do so as a slave.
 As a man, you do it the way you like, but as a slave
you have to do it the way she likes!  I've known
blokes who've been worn out trying to satisfy their
bitches of mistresses - hours with their tongues stuck
up her, and then having to fuck away without being
able to cum until she's satisfied.... And most women
owners won't allow a slave to cum properly as part of
the fucking - they have to hold themselves in until
she's finished, and then stand there and wank in front
of her."

Joe  paused for breath, as he warmed to his theme, and
went on "So, young Trent, I wouldn't advise you to let
women know that you even like them.  If you're up for
auction, just stand there and try not to get noticed.
At least with a male owner you're starting off from
the same point - even though you're a slave, you're a
bloke like he is, and he has some understanding of how
a man works."

"Well my current owner is a real bastard...."

"Yes, Trent, and not very attractive, either.  But if
you were Steve there, and had that nice-looking young
guy Dan as your owner, it could be a whole lot of fun.
 I bet you and he have some good times, don't you,
mate?"  As he spoke, Joe looked at me for a reply.

"You mean having sex with him?  No way!"  I gasped.

"You mean he hasn't fucked you?"

"No, of course not."

"Look, Steve, what's this 'of course'?"

"I don't go with blokes...."

Joe just laughed.  "It's not up to you, Steve!  If
your master wants to fuck you, it's his choice,
remember, and what you want just doesn't enter into
it.  I'm surprised that Dan hasn't been up that arse
of yours already - I can't be the only bloke who
thinks you've got a great body.... "

"But he's married..."

"You told us!  And I told you, if you remember, that
that's got nothing to do with it.  Almost all owners
fuck their slaves.  They do it because they can -
that's the nature of the owner and slave
relationship."

"Well he hasn't tried anything...."

"...you mean 'yet', Steve!  And I don't suppose he
will, whilst you're here, either - I mean, suppose you
hit out at him and then he had to have you whipped....
It would spoil his chances of winning, wouldn't it?"

"No man's going to stick his cock up my arse...."

"Steve, get real!  If your owner wants to fuck you, he
will.  The first few times he only has to get you tied
down on a frame, and you won't be able to do a blind
thing to stop him.  In fact, that's what young Dan
might be planning - get you shackled down on a
'fucking horse', then come up and stand at your spread
legs and pull your arse apart, then slip his cock into
your waiting hole... Some men like the slaves to
really buck and squirm, and scream and shout, as it
makes it so much more interesting.  And the master is
really demonstrating that he's in total control of
you.  Anyway, what's his cock like?"

"How the fuck should I know?  And what does it matter,
anyway?"

"Well some blokes are long and thin, like a stick of
asparagus, and they're not so hard to take.  But if
he's more on the beer-bottle principle....."

I shuddered at the thought, but we had to cut the
conversation short as at that moment our owners
appeared below us where we were high in the stands,
and the Captain and Trent's owner clapped their hands,
just as if they were summoning an animal, to attract
our attention and tell us that we should go down.
They led us off to the food court, and, as I'd now
come to expect, there were signs saying "No slaves
allowed in this area".  Fortunately the Show's
organisers had made arrangements for competitors, as
somewhat smaller signs said "Exhibitors with their
slaves may use the restaurant facility on the second
floor."

It looked pretty good to me - it was self service,
with a really good choice and as we followed our
owners along the line I piled my tray with roast beef,
Yorkshire pudding, boiled and roast potatoes, sprouts
and peas, and also picked up a big helping of spotted
dick and custard.  I looked at the bottles of beer
standing there, and wondered if I dare pick one up -
we weren't allowed to drink at all on the site, of
course, but perhaps Dan wouldn't mind here.  But in
the end I decided against it, and just took a whole
carafe of water as all this "being shown" is thirsty
work as you sweat a lot.

I was amazed when we got to a table, as instead of
sitting down, Trent knelt by the side of his owner!
And Joe stood there, too, until the Captain told him
he could sit.  And as I looked around, I saw that I
was the only slave with "proper" food - Trent and Joe
had both taken metal dishes of something that looked
not unlike dog biscuits!    The Captain seemed faintly
scandalised, and said to Dan "Do you really allow your
slave to feed like that?  It's not necessary, you know
- I noticed it cost a lot when it was rung up at the
register."

Dan looked a bit embarrassed, and sort of mumbled
"...I didn't really think about it.  On the site they
feed in the canteen, the same as us, only at different
tables of course.  The company reckons that it needs
them to work very hard, and so they need feeding
properly...."

"Preposterous, young man!  I think I ought to have a
word with those employers of yours about such
scandalous and profligate waste!  I feed Joe only on
slave chow, and as you can see, he's perfectly fit and
healthy, and, believe you me, I do work him hard to
keep him in such excellent shape.  It's specially
formulated to give them everything they need..."

"But, sir, it's not very interesting for them...."

"Nonsense!  It comes in various flavours - chicken,
beef, tuna, lamb.... And I allow Joe to have a
different flavour each time I order a new sack from
the merchant.  And another thing.... You need to teach
that slave manners!  If he was mine and he began
eating before I'd told him he could, I'd cane him."

I had of course just started eating when we sat down,
to stop the food getting cold, and now I rested my
knife and fork in my hands, as I noticed that Joe was
just sitting there with his hands clasped in his lap,
and Trent was kneeling in front of his bowl with his
hands clasped behind his back.  I began to realise
that as a real working slave my life wasn't quite so
bad after all - on the site we were treated almost as
if we were still free men, and this business of being
fed only "chow", and then having to wait until I was
"allowed" to begin was another example of how awful it
must be for some other slaves.

Dan was giving me furious looks, but there was not
much to be done now, was there? And my food was
getting cold, so I picked up my knife and fork and
just started eating again.  Fortunately the three
owners were soon in animated conversation with each
other, and Joe and Trent were allowed to start
crunching the bits of "chow", and we were generally
ignored. I could see Joe and Trent eyeing my food, and
so I sliced small bits of the beef, balanced them on
small pieces of the Yorkshire pudding, and pushed them
right to the edge of my plate.  In-between mouthfuls
of "chow", Joe and Trent then sneaked these little
morsels and popped them quickly into their mouths,
nodding at me to say "thank you" and seeming to be
almost in heaven.  The beef wasn't all that tasty,
either, as it had been cooked, allowed to go cold,
then sliced and re-heated as caterers do (not like on
the site where every day there was a fresh, hot roast
amongst the stuff to choose from), and it did make me
wonder more about their lives if they thought these
little "extras" were good.

After we'd eaten I heard Trent's owner and the Captain
saying that they were going off to the hotels they had
booked in to, and asking Dan where he was staying as
they might take only one or two cars.  Dan looked
embarrassed again, as he muttered "Well, money was
short, and I didn't know Steve was going to be a
winner and we would get a prize, so I put a couple of
air beds in the back of the van, and we've got some
blankets, and we're going to bed down there, in the
car park.  I saw a lot of campers and things there,
and there's a shower block...."

The fat man nudged Dan in the ribs.  "Ah, so all your
talk of not using the slave properly was just that!  I
bet he's going to keep you nice and warm tonight, with
those blankets around you..."

"No!", Dan said firmly.  "I'm going to talk to my wife
on my mobile, then Steve will be under one blanket,
and me under another."

I don't think the Captain and the fat man believed
him, though, as they went off chortling to each other
about how young men like Dan didn't know how lucky
they were to be always ready for sex, and to have a
slave like me there to satisfy themselves!

It was just as Dan had said, though - two separate air
beds there in the back of the van, and two piles of
blankets.  Dan was standing around outside, talking to
Julie on the mobile, asking about his kid, and how she
was, and then all sorts of ridiculous "lovey-dovey"
stuff and kisses blown in to the air, so I  decided to
turn in.  I wasn't going to sleep in those tight
shorts, so I pulled them off, wrapped myself in a
blanket, and lay down.

Dan climbed in a couple of minutes later and pulled
the doors closed behind him, and then half crouched,
half sat there looking pretty uncomfortable. It
occurred to me that he might not ever have slept with
another bloke in the same room before, and all this
talk of sex might anyway have made him feel
uncomfortable.  He said a few things about how pleased
he was with winning and how we'd got a busy day
tomorrow, and then, seeing that I wasn't going to look
away, he fumbled around to take off his jacket, and
then to undo his jeans and push them down his legs as
he knelt there.  You may think I was cruel as Dan was
clearly embarrassed by all of this and I could easily
have turned over to face away from him, and pretended
to go to sleep.  But considering what I'd had to go
through, this was nothing, and it made me smile a bit
and I'd had little enough fun that day.

He actually had pretty good legs - not very muscular,
like mine, but I reckoned he'd been a runner or played
football or something as they were in good shape, and
they were tanned, suggesting he wore shorts a lot and
spent time out of doors.  I didn't get much of a
chance to look at the rest of him, though, as he kept
his boxer shorts on, and when he took his shirt off he
had a T underneath, which he also kept on.  Still,
there was no evidence of fat around his waist as he
crawled along the van to lie on the air bed along side
mine, then he said "goodnight", and clicked out the
light.

I usually sleep well - I'm so fucking tired after a
day's hard work on the site - but that night I kept
waking up, partly, I suppose, because Dan was a really
restless sleeper:  he'd occasionally call out "Julie"
in quite a loud voice, and then make a lot of
mutterings that I couldn't understand, and I supposed
he was dreaming about his wife!  He was clearly
missing something, as by the light of the moon
filtering in trough the side windows I could see he
was rampantly erect as the blanket had slipped off him
and his cock was poking through the fly of his boxers.
 I wouldn't want you to think I stare at other blokes'
cocks, but when you're awake, and quite close, you
can't help but take a look, can you?  I guess all men
like to compare themselves with others, and, actually,
Dan was pretty well hung:  not as good as me, of
course, but for a smaller guy, he looked properly in
proportion.  But then erect cocks are deceptive,
aren't they?  You really need to compare yourself with
other guys when they're just hanging loose.

You also know that I don't like wanking other blokes -
I'd done it occasionally, as I said, when we were
watching porn in the barracks, but I much preferred
having them wank me.  But as I lay there looking at
his cock, a plan formed in my brain and I began to
smile to myself.  I reached over, and gently, very
gently so as not to wake him, I started to stroke
Dan's cock, and then, as he responded by making
appreciative murmuring, I changed to wanking him
properly.  He started to mutter "Julie, mmm, oh...
Julie, you do it  so well, mmmmmm....", and even began
to respond by moving his hips, almost thrusting his
cock into my fist as I worked away.

Well, you know how you can always tell a bloke is on
the point of cumming by holding his balls and feeling
them tense as they prepare to fire? So as my other
hand curled around Dan's sac it was clear that he was
right on the edge, and about to cum (not that I've got
a whole lot of experience of feeling other guys'
balls, mind!).  I raked my thiumb across his piss slit
and the flange of his cock head, and that was that - I
barely had time to push his cock back inside his
boxers and point it up across his belly before his cum
flooded out!  I then gently and carefully massaged his
boxers (on the outside!) so that his cum would get
spread around, soaking into his pubes, and making his
boxers and the hem of his T all slimy.

Still smiling, I leaned over and now elbowed him,
quite hard, in the ribs.  I shouted "Dan!", and he
came awake and went to sit up, almost bumping his head
on the van roof.  "What's the matter... Where am I....
" he babbled.

"Dan, sir.... Please, sir, I need to piss...."

He lay there rubbing his eyes, pulled himself
together, looked at his watch and said "Steve, for
fuck's sake... If you need to piss, go and piss..."

"I thought I ought to ask permission, sir.  If they
found a slave out at night...."

"You're right, I suppose.  So don't go wandering off
to the shower block.  Just do it outside - and be
quiet about it:  you big blokes can sound like a fire
hose, and there may be other owners sleeping close
by...."

I crawled out of the van and stood there relieving
myself against the wheel.  I knew that Dan would by
now have felt the sticky mess inside his boxers, and
would think that he must have had a wet dream or
something.  I didn't want to give him too much time,
so I shook myself dry, then crawled back in to the
van.  Dan was srabbling around in his holdall, looking
for clean boxers, I suppose, and flushed with
embarrassment as he saw me.

"Fucking hell, sir, it smells a bit in here....".  I
deliberately took long, deep breaths, as I knew that
Dan would think I might smell his cum.

"It's just the air beds probably, Steve... Now get to
sleep, as we've got a big day tomorrow..."

"It's difficult though, isn't it, sir?  I usually wank
- but with you there, right next to me, so close...  I
mean, a bloke can't cum when he's only a foot away
form another.... So it will be hard to drop off.
Still, goodnight...."

I lay there with a smile on my face, thinking about
how embarrassed poor Dan was right now.  Don't judge
me too harshly - remember how he'd made me wank with
him watching in the lavatories earlier?  Just consider
it justice, a little harmless revenge!

The next morning Dan shook me awake.  I must have
overslept, as he'd had time to pull on a set of track
suit bottoms (and probably change his boxers, too!).
"Come on you lazy lump - we'll go for a good stiff run
before breakfast, to get you set up for the day.  You
blokes who are used to being active get bored or
overexcited if you don't get a proper work out..."

I had to get out of the blanket and crawl out of the
van and stand there naked, as I rummaged around inside
trying to find my shorts.  We set off then - there was
a big grassy area hard by the car park that was marked
out as "slave exercise area", and Dan sped off in
front of me, shouting at me to keep up.  I increased
my pace, and levelled with him, and he speeded up
again, and I followed.  Soon we were going at a really
cracking pace, and it was beginning to show in me -
I'm used to doing really hard work, but doing it for
sustained periods, whereas I was being asked to
basically sprint now - in the army I could jog for
hours on end, even with a fully-laden kit bag, but
there was never any need to sprint.

"Come on, Steve!", Dan called.  "I though you were
meant to be fit!  I haven't done any serious running
since I was at university, and I'm outpacing you...."

I gritted my teeth and started to really pump my legs
to keep up with him.  In theory it ought to have been
easy - I was taller than him with longer legs, and so
I needed to make fewer strides than he did to cover
the same ground.  But on the other hand Dan was
lighter and had more of a "runner's" body than me - I
had a  lot of weight to drag along, albeit that weight
was all solid muscle, and not fat.  I also had a big
lug capacity and a strong heart, and so I ought to
have been OK, but I could feel the sweat starting to
break out all over me as I struggled to keep up with
him.

"Do you want to slow down, Steve?", Dan taunted.  "If
you can't keep up the pace, just say.  Are you OK?"

"Yes, sir", I managed to get out although the effort
almost hurt my lungs which were labouring away now to
keep my body fuelled with oxygen.

"Good man, Steve.  I like to see a man who can
exercise properly.  So many blokes I know wimp out of
exercise, and just give up.  That's not like you
though, is it, Steve?"

"No", I managed to gasp through gritted teeth this
time.

Around and around the green space we went until I was
going on sheer willpower alone.  I'd long ago managed
to ignore the agony from my legs and lungs for so long
that the brain had turned off the messages, as if in
despair.  And I knew I must have gone into that phase
where the body starts doing all sorts of things as it
can't metabolise enough sugar and oxygen to keep you
going.  I was almost on autopilot, just doggedly
following Dan's trim body as he sprinted along.

At some point we saw two figure ahead of us, and Dan
slowed and ordered me to stop, too.  He stood there,
jogging lightly on the spot, but I was bent double, my
hands resting on my knees, as I gasped in huge
quantities of air into my tortured lungs.  I could
feel little rivulets of sweat all over me, and my
shorts were soaked.    I realised that Dan was talking
to the two judges from yesterday, the fat old woman
and the military gent.  These two were walking around
the exercise ground with a couple of dogs - a nasty
snappy little Pekinese for the woman, and a big
sorrowful-looking Labrador for the man.

The woman was congratulating Dan again on "his" win,
and I was so pissed off that if I hadn't been utterly
exhausted I'm sure I'd have butted in and given her
the truth, no matter what the consequences.  I heard
her say "I can see why you did so well yesterday,
young man, even though it was your first show - most
owners can't aspire to getting a 'best of class' until
they've attended several shows an really got their
slave into the  right condition.  If you're prepared
to come out and exercise him like this in the morning,
it's no wonder he's in such excellent condition.  We
like to see such young, enthusiastic owners, don't we,
Colonel?"

"Oh quite, yes indeed, madam."

"I think owners who are as enthusiastic like this
ought to be encouraged, don't you agree?"

"Oh quite, yes."

"I think it add another piece of information to our
view of the slave - he looks in good condition in the
ring, but now we know he's capable of had work - I saw
you doing several circuits as we approached with our
dogs.  Well done, young man!"

Dan smiled.  "Thank you, ma'am, sir.  Now, I'd better
get on - Steve here needs a lot more work this morning
before we have to go into the ring again."

So saying he snapped "Come on, Steve!  Get
moving....."

Well, as you know, you can keep going, with a lot of
effort.  But restarting when you're exhausted is a
wholly different thing.  I needed all my willpower to
force my body to start running after Dan again, but
thankfully it wasn't for long as when he saw the man
and woman walking away, Dan stopped.

"Well done, Steve!  That must have been tough for you,
if you're not used to running."

I nodded.

"Let's hit the showers then....."

To my surprise there was a shower block near the car
park that wasn't segregated - owners and slaves used
the same facility, just as if there was no difference
between us.  It wasn't crowded at that time of the
morning, and indeed we were the only two  in there.
Dan didn't seem at all embarrassed about stripping off
in front of me - well, I suppose if he did a lot of
sport at university he'd be used to communal showers
,wouldn't he?  And he had nothing to be ashamed about,
anyway - his body was nicely trim and in good
condition, and he had a good long-ish cock on top of a
nice set of balls (although it was difficult to see
exactly, as he had a long foreskin that concealed his
cock head).  He saw me giving him the once-over, and I
looked away, as you do - I mean, it's acceptable to
take a quick look at another bloke in the showers,
isn't it, but not to keep staring at him - he'll think
you're queer!  But I had to look at Dan again, because
I wanted to see whether he had those stringy bits of
dried cum adhering to his pubes, and as he saw me
continuing to stare down at him, Dan started to blush
so I knew it would be there somewhere.

We stood there talking, as you do in the showers, not
really looking at each others bodies then, and it was
only when another owner and his slave came in and
started to use the adjacent showers that I realised
how lucky I was - this other owner just stood there
and the slave had to wash him!  I watched almost in
horror as the slave soaped his hands then started to
run them all over his master - it was gross,
especially when the slave had to kneel down in front
of his master and soap his cock and balls, and then
reach behind and run his hand down his master's bum.

Dan saw me looking at this, and I think he was joking,
although  I couldn't be sure, when he slapped me on he
back and said "Getting ideas for tomorrow, are you,
Steve?   I've only ever had my wife wash me in the
shower before... I'm no sure how I'll like those
calloused hands of yours all over me."

Still, he did buy me a proper breakfast - sausages and
bacon and eggs (I was allowed to help myself to as
many as I wanted, and took three), baked beans,
tomatoes, mushrooms, and just as I thought  I couldn't
get any more on my plate, I saw the black pudding,
which is something I'm very partial to, and had to
find room for several slices.  All washed down with a
big mug of really strong tea, with lots of sugar in
it.

When we got to the rest and preparation area later I
was not expecting to see Trent there, but he was in a
bad mood as usual and muttered angrily to me that "his
fucking owner had only gone and entered him in the
fucking agility competition."  I just shrugged, and he
went on "It's fucking dangerous, Steve - climbing
around, naked... I might get my balls trapped.  And
anyway  I was no good at gym at school."

Joe was there too, and he stuck out his hand.  "Shake
on it before we begin, boy, and may the best man win,
eh?"

"Oh sure.  I don't know why you're bothering to go
into the ring, then... If the best man is going to
win, it's already decided...."

We laughed together, but he went on "Still, Steve,
there's something that's going to wipe the smile off
your face..."

"Oh?"

"The costume.  What we have to wear in the Best Of
Breed competition!"

Just at that moment Dan came up to me, and said
briskly "OK, Steve, slip those shorts off and put this
on - you can put the shorts on afterwards, on top,
until we get to the ring...."

He handed me a tiny scrap of something silky, and as I
held it in my hand I saw it was a small triangle of a
white, stretchy fabric, with thin white strings
attached to each corner.  He saw me looking at it, in
disbelief.  "Never seen a G-string before, Steve?  I'd
have thought that a masculine bloke like you would
always have been going to strip clubs and you'd have
seen lots of women wearing these things.... Well, they
work for blokes, too, to keep your cock and balls snug
whilst still letting the world see as much of your
body as possible."

End Of Part  Four