Date: Wed, 5 Apr 2006 07:30:20 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Show, Part  Five

THE SLAVE SHOW

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

Part  Five

I hated having to drop my shorts in that public place
- there were the usual set of "rubber    neckers"
looking  about, and I had to stand there and try and
get the G-string on.  Of course if anyone had told me
that the best way of doing it was to attach one string
to the others first, so that I could kind of step into
it and then just tie the two loose ends at the side,
it might have been easier.  As it was, I stood there
trying to get the little triangle to cover my cock and
balls whilst struggling with three pieces of string -
a lot of the people going past started to laugh at me
as they thought it was some sort of deliberate comedy
act!  But it certainly wasn't - I didn't want all
these people looking at my cock any longer than
absolutely necessary.

In the end, Joe came over and showed me how to do it,
by illustrating on himself:  he'd already got his tiny
G-string in place and stood there showing me the
string emerging from his bum crack at the back and
joining the ones around his waist.  I began to get
worried then as Joe's bum was deeply tanned, like his
body and legs, and so it didn't look all that bad when
he was walking around with only the tiny triangle
covering his tackle.  But when mine was finally on I
still felt very self-conscious, as my bum was stark
white, as of course I always wore at least shorts when
I was working, and the contrast between my tanned
upper body and my bum was huge.

I went to pull my shorts on to cover my embarrassment,
but the Captain said to Dan "If I were you I'd let the
slave get used to appearing like that - make him walk
to the show ring dressed like that and he'll be a lot
less worried about appearing in it when he's actually
being judged."

"Thanks, sir!  Good idea."

"Not at all - us owners of Mid-Europeans always like
to help each other out, even though your boy and my
Joe are now in direct competition.  And I might just
remind you that it's only about half an hour to
judging.... Time to get them oiled up."

Well I stood there and did my body and legs as usual,
and then lay on the preparation bench so that Dan
could "finish off" the bits I couldn't reach.  But now
he started to massage the oil into my bum as well, as
he said I'd been too timid in doing that bit myself
and my skin wasn't shining nicely there.

"Don't forget to oil inside his crack", the Captain
told Dan.  "The judges will almost certainly take a
closer look at the buttocks of the slaves this time,
and it's better if the skin shines evenly."

So Dan did!   I had to lie there as, gingerly at
first, and then with increasing confidence, his oily
hands slid down my bum crack - to my horror I felt an
erection rising as I lay there, and I started to get
worried that I might be actually enjoying having
another bloke playing around with me like this.  And
it was dead embarrassing when Dan said he'd done, and
told me to get up, as everyone saw how my cock had
pushed the tiny scrap of fabric right away from my
body.  I blushed red with embarrassment as Joe
couldn't resist pointing it out to Trent, and then Dan
and the other owners saw it too.  "Don't worry", I
heard the Captain say to Dan.  "It's better he does it
now, out here, rather than out there in the ring.
And even a young man like him won't have another
erection within a few minutes".

The walk to the ring was terrible.  We had to thread
our passage half way across the huge exhibition centre
to get to the ring where they judged breed champions,
and all the way the public stopped and stared at Joe
and me as we walked along.  Joe didn't seem to mind at
all, but then, as I've told you, he didn't have a
white bum shining out like I did - in some ways his
tanned backside looked  almost "natural", I thought.
But it's not right to make a man display himself as we
were made to, no matter how good your body is - it
ought to be your choice, not that of some owner.

The "best of breed" judging was pretty quick, actually
- thank Christ!  Pretty quick, but pretty humiliating.
 There were only six of us - pup,  youth, stud, prime,
mature and an oldie - yes, there actually was an old
bloke, but he was probably still in his early fifties
and didn't have a bad body on him at all.   The
problem was that the "youth" was a woman, and you know
how stunning a woman of eighteen or nineteen can be:
all the sensual body development of a proper woman and
yet still with that enticing freshness.  As soon as I
saw her I thought that I'd certainly lost, as anyone
in their right mind would select her rather than any
of us blokes, and then, an instant later, I almost
broke out into a sweat as my mind started to fantasise
about her (which was easy to do, as she only wore the
same tiny G-string as the rest of us), and I started
to worry about having an erection.  Actually, I say
that we were all in the same tiny G-strings, but the
pup was stark naked, as I've told you that this was
the way pups were always shown.  He was just like me
when I was that age - big, rangy, nicely muscled but
lacking that full development blokes only get when
they're in their early twenties,  and his cock looked
good, too:  unusually for a lad of his age, he'd been
circumcised and I thought it actually made him look
better - you don't see very many cut young blokes, do
you, as doctors don't seem to do I routinely at birth
any longer.  Still,  I did feel sorry for him - I knew
how I'd have felt if I'd been made to flash my cock
around at that age.

It was the usual line up, then run around the ring
with your owner holding your leash, and it was awful
for me to have to watch that girl running with her
firm young breasts jigging around so enticingly.  I
did everything I could think of to stop myself
thinking about her, and even tried closing my eyes in
the hope that this would distract me.  When they came
to do the physical examination, though, it was much
more thorough.  The fat old hag and the exquisitely
neat military gent spent ages running their hands over
my body as I stood there trying to fight down the
panic and embarrassment.  And then the woman said to
Dan in her commanding tone "Now for the sexual
apparatus.  Take off the slave's covering, please."

I saw Dan give me the look that implied that I'd
better not protest or move or do anything, and he
grabbed hold of the strings on my hips, and in one
smooth movement pulled the G-string down so that it
was hovering somewhere around my knees.  Both the
woman and the man then squeezed my testicles, causing
me to grunt nervously - although why they needed to do
this, as they'd done so the day before and so ought to
know I was a "genuine" male, I don't know.  The
military man then squared himself up in front of me,
and said quietly "You're the novice, so I'll give you
a little latitude here, but only a little, mind.  Now
I can see you're nervous, but I have to 'skin you back
so we can examine your penis properly... Hold steady
now..."

Look, I've never had another bloke skin me back
before.  Not even when those mutual wanking sessions
with the porn were going on in the barracks - I was
usually rock hard and "showing" by the time they got
their hands on my cock.  And it's not something
another bloke can do for you easily, I find.  But this
man seemed to be an expert, as he casually laid my
cock in the palm of his hands, and teased  my 'skin
back with his thumb.

Those of you who have been cut from birth just don't
realise what a private thing a bloke's cock head is -
even when I was naked I knew that this part of me was
not exposed to the rest of the world, so I retained
some small (very small) shred of privacy.  But now
here I was, totally and utterly naked, naked in a way
that only a woman I was about to fuck normally saw.
And to make matters worse the TV cameraman zoomed in
on it as I was being "examined", and I could see my
cock head blown up to enormous size on the big TV
screens around the show ring.  There was an
appreciative round of applause form the audience
though as the man ran his thumb over my moist,
dark-coloured cock head, and as I started to throw a
bone as his thumb nail gently scratched at my piss
slit!

Fortunately he then just dropped me, looked at Dan and
remarked "You can dress the slave now", and moved on
to do Joe.  Dan came and pulled my G-string back up,
but whispered "Keep still... Let me do this!", so I
stood there as he fumbled to get my semi-stiff cock
back under cover.  He was as gentle as he could be,
but you know how it is - anyone else trying to do
something like that can never be as careful as you
would be yourself.

We had to run around the ring then, and at last my
ordeal was coming to an end.  I knew they'd select the
woman, but I heard the two judges muttering to each
other about "encouraging new blood", and the next
instant Dan and me were being called out to the centre
as "best of breed" in the Mid-Europeans, and the woman
was only the reserve champion.

As Dan led me out there was an official from the Show
standing there, who said "Follow me, sir, to the press
room.... We keep all the reporters and photographers
nicely corralled as we don't want them spoiling the
atmosphere, but in return we agree to take all the
winning owners and their slaves for interview there."

"I don't know....", Dan began.

"Sir", the official hissed, "Think of the publicity!
There are representatives from the national press and
all the big  magazines for the slave-owning public....
Having your slave featured can add thousands to his
value..."

Dan nodded, and my fate was sealed - not content with
the humiliation of being in the show ring, I now had
to stand there with flashbulbs going off all the time,
and under the glare of the TV lights, as Dan was
interviewed.  And then he stood there and "Showed" my
fine points for the cameras, holding up my arms,
resting his hand on my nip, and stuff like that.  It
all seemed to go on for ages, as they seemed to take
to Dan - well, he was young and personable, and he
answered lots of questions about his job ("No, I work
in construction - slave showing is only a hobby") and
his family ("My darling wife Julie will be so pleased
I've won, but my little son is too young to know, and
the new baby's not due for another three months") and
his other hobbies ("I don't have much time, with my
family coming first, so I just kick a ball around with
the lads in the park on Sunday mornings"):  I guessed
he was just the sort of bloke they'd want to write
stories about, rather than, for example, Trent's
bloated owner.

It was almost over at last, until I heard one of the
reporters call out "Can you strip the slave for us,
please Dan?  The readers of 'Modern Slave Owner' like
to see the full picture of the slave."

"Well, no.... I don't think..."

"Oh come on, Dan!  Don't disappoint the readers..."

Dan was wavering, still inclined to say no, when a
reporter went up to him and told him he was a staff
reporter from "Modern Slave Owner" and that he'd been
on his mobile and they wanted to do an article on Dan
- for which they'd pay - as he was just the sort of
new owner people were interested in, him being a
proper family man.  And of course it would have to be
illustrated....  So for the second time that morning
Dan reached down and almost tore off my G-string.

He left me in front of the photographers whilst he
went off to talk terms with the reporter, and those
blokes just wouldn't leave me alone.  They had me sit
down in a chair, stand up again, raise my arms, and
then prop one foot on a chair "so we can get a better
view of your balls hanging in free space", and then
started to shout that they wanted me erect!  I was
blushing with embarrassment anyway, and furious with
Dan for putting me trough this, and I just shook my
head in refusal.

One of the show officials was standing there, and he
came over as the reporters' demands got more strident.
 He held up a slave prod, and snapped "Do you know
what this is, boy?"

Well I did, as we had one of the site, although it was
never used.  "It's a slave prod, sir."

"Yes, indeed.  And we don't tolerate disobedient
slaves here at the Show - we have our reputation to
think of!  It does little for our credibility as the
best slave show in the world if one of our champions
is disobedient.  So get that cock of yours hard, and
get it hard now, before you find out what a slave prod
does...."

Well, what choice did I have?  I stroked my cock, and
it sprang to life:  I suppose ther are some advantages
of having been aroused all morning.  The cameras
flashed and snapped again, and they wanted several
poses, of course - from  the front, from the side, and
then with my hand on the shaft, gripping it, and then
with my cock just lying in my palm.  And of course I
had to 'skin back as their readers were, apparently,
interested in that sort of thing!  Actually, it's not
all that bad:  once you've got over the initial shock,
it's somehow a bit sexy to be showing your cock off to
other blokes. Well, if you've got a good big one like
I have it is, I suppose.

Dan could see I wasn't all that happy as he led me
back to the rest and preparation area,  but said "Come
on, Steve!  Where's the harm in it?  It doesn't hurt
to have  a few pictures...."

"I'll remember that, if I ever get a chance to strip
you and put you on show, Dan..."

He just smiled.  "I don't think there's much chance of
me becoming a slave, or of you getting to strip me...
Look, I think you're making too much of this, Steve.
Just remember that you're a slave, and a slave ought
to feel no shame in anything he does, if it's at his
master's command."

"That's easy to say... But fucking hard to do..."

"Steve, watch your language!  You're a champion now,
and you'd better start to behave like one."

I never thought I'd be glad to get those tiny shorts
on, but I felt so much better just a little more
covered, and then Dan said he'd take me to lunch, as
that migt calm me down.  As we walked across the
centre it hurt, though, as Dan insisted I wore my
"best in breed" rosette, and it tugged at my nip very
painfully.  It took a long time, too, as the public
was very knowledgeable, it seemed, and kept stopping
Dan and asking for his autograph, and requesting him
to pose with me for pictures from their cameras.

When we got to the restaurant at last,  Dan said "I
really ought to get you a dish of slave chow after
that performance this morning...."

"Hey,  I won...."

"No, not that... I meant that disgraceful performance
with the photographers - an official told me that I
needed to keep you under much tighter control, as he'd
almost had to prod you.  It would do you good, and
help you to start thinking more like a slave, if
perhaps you ate slave food, like Trent and Joe..."

I shrugged defiantly, as if to say "see if I care!",
and Dan snapped "That's your problem, Steve - you're
not reconciled to slavery yet.  A proper slave would
be grateful his master fed him at all."

Still, it was only talk, as when we were in the queue
Dan pushed a tray at me and muttered "You did do well
actually, and you'll make the boss and me a lot of
money - and Christ knows, I need it!  So eat up,
whatever you like... There won't be much more of it,
as those other owners are right: it is so much cheaper
to feed slaves on chow.  When we get back I'm going to
suggest  to the boss that he changes the site over -
we could just have a big sack of it in the corner of
the mess hall, and it would save us a small fortune on
paying the caterers for all the proper food you slaves
eat."

I shuddered to think what my mates on the site would
say - or do - once it became known that it was my
attendance at the Slave Show that had resulted in them
having to eat that disgusting stuff all the time - the
proper food we got was, after all, just about the only
pleasure we had in life at all,  as I've told you that
life on the site was pretty kind of stripped down,
with no luxuries or comforts.  Still, that didn't
prevent me from enjoying my big plate of Irish stew,
with roly-poly and custard afterwards.  I'd just have
to handle the problems that would arise when it
happened -  don't worry too much about what might
happen, I reckon, and wait and deal with it when it
does.

Dan took me to see one of the heats of the agility
competition after lunch as we had time to kill, and as
luck would have it I got to see Trent perform, as it
was "pups" performing that afternoon.  It was, I
suppose, quite exciting to watch:  the arena was
filled with stuff like vaulting horses, and hurdles,
and a big set of squares was suspended about  six feet
above the floor.  It was a timed running of the course
- the young lads (this seemed to be exclusively for
male pups) had to sprint across a starting line, which
began an electronic timer, then go all around the
course in a particular order, vaulting  over the
horses, jumping the hurdles, then climbing a rope to
get access to the big set of squares in the air, and
threading their bodies in and out of them before
leaping down onto a trampoline, and leaping a couple
more hurdles to cross the finishing line. You lost
points if you disturbed a hurdle or stuff like that,
but most of them seemed to get "clear rounds" and it
was time that really counted.

Poor Trent didn't do very well at all!  He got around
the course all right, but he was slow in comparison
with the others - I didn't think it was all that fair,
as most of the competitors were pups  that their
owners had probably chosen specially for this event as
they certainly couldn't compete in those where their
bodies were being judged - they were all mostly small,
slight, verging on the starved, and thus very agile
indeed and able to hurl themselves at the apparatus
and really do it quickly.  Trent, though, was after
all a potential Mid-European champion in years to
come, so he was nicely muscled, big boned, and quite
tall.  Even though you could see he was more than
strong enough to haul himself over and through the
obstacles on the course, and his legs and thighs moved
nicely as he raced between them, there was just no way
he could hope to do it quickly.  And like all us
slaves chosen to have our bodies judged, Trent was
well hung with a good set of loose balls and a thick
cock, unlike most of the other entrants who still
looked a bit "boyish" with tiny cocks mounted on top
of small sacs:  it was a real disadvantage for him
when he came to things like the rope he had to climb.
You know how you have to wrap your body around it to
make progress... I  think I wasn't the only bloke in
the audience who winced in sympathy with Trent at the
thought of that rough hemp rope scraping against his
tackle!

Still, the audience seemed to like him, and he got a
big round of applause even though he came last -
probably they were enjoying seeing such a well-built
young slave, rather than the weedy specimens who were
otherwise taking part.  The winner was really scrawny,
and you could see all his ribs sticking out, and there
was no way they could clip the winner's rosette to his
nips as they were almost non-existent.  I felt really
sorry for him, as I could see him almost shivering
with the cold, in spite of the heat from the lights,
as he stood there:  there just wasn't enough weight on
him to keep him warm.  His owner was a big brute of a
guy - about the same height as me, I reckon, but
really heavy set, turning to fat, and when he reached
out his arm to put it around the lad, I think we all
saw the kid flinch:  you just knew that the owner
probably only usually reached towards the kid to hit
him.

I didn't see Trent again, though, as his bench was
empty when we got back to the rest and preparation
area, and the Captain was just finishing putting Joe's
grooming stuff into his bag  in preparation for
leaving, too.  Joe was sitting there in his "normal"
clothes - his owner evidently kept him pretty much on
display, as it was basically a loose vest, exposing a
lot of his shoulders and allowing you to see his pecs
as he moved, and loose-cut shorts, with very short
legs so as he sat there I thought I could almost see
his cock up them.

"See you around, then....".  Joe stuck out his hand as
he said this.  "You did well, for a novice.  But I'll
thrash you next time - is he gong to enter you in the
Great North Show?"

"I shouldn't think so - this was pretty much a
one-off, as he needed the money...."

"Steve, get wise!  You're a champion, best of breed.
And you might even win the Caucasians group, or even
be best in show yet.... But being best of breed is
pretty good - your owner will want to exhibit you
again, as there's a lot more rich pickings in the
prize money.  Let alone endorsing advertisements, and
that sort of stuff - he's a pretty good looking guy,
and I saw the reporters mobbing him, so I wouldn't be
surprised if there weren't some offers coming his way
to appear on chat shows and stuff like that, and of
course they'd want to see you, too."

Actually, I hadn't thought about all this stuff
continuing at all, and I really didn't like the idea
at all.  But you can't let another bloke know you're a
bit scared of things, can you, so I made a bit of a
joke of it.  "Well I hope I get to wear more than that
fucking G-string!  I don't fancy flashing my bum on
TV!"

"How do you feel about this afternoon then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well in the Group championship you don't wear a
G-string - it's a loin cloth.  A little tiny thin one
that they hang from a string around your waist.  They
had a problem a few years back in that the TV people
objected to the group entries appearing totally naked,
but on the other hand most of the actual spectators
had come to expect it.  So they had one of those great
British compromises - this loin cloth thing.  When
you're standing still the cameras can show you as your
cock is covered - just.  But when you're running
around the ring with your owner, it's basically all on
display.  You know how it is when you run naked - your
cock bobs up and down...."

"No, I don't..."

"I thought you were a pretty sporty type..."

"I was, in the army.  But we always wore a jock strap,
or running shorts...."

"Well it will be another new experience for you, then
- it feels funny at first, especially for us blokes
with low-hangers as your balls slap into your thighs
too.  But I expect you'll get used to it."

At that moment the Captain came over and Joe
obediently got to his feet, and the Captain led him
away.  Dan came over to me, and told me it was time to
start oiling up for the Group championship, and added
"He's a nice guy, that Joe.  His owner says he works
well, and isn't a bit of trouble.  You got on with him
well, didn't you?"

"Yes.  He seems to know a lot about these slave
shows."

"It's his owner's hobby, really.  They don't do a
whole lot of things other than travel around.  They're
off to the USA next week for a big thing in Las
Vegas.... Who knows, Steve, if you do well we might
get there.  I've always wanted to go to the States,
but I couldn't afford it, getting married as soon as I
left university - but if we were sponsored so that
someone else picked up the bills...  You'd like to go
there, wouldn't you?"

"I've been.  Twice.  Once on a training course and
'exercises' with the US Marines... We had a great
time.  And then a couple of years later me and some of
my mates took ourselves off for a week of sun in
Florida after we'd been all winter doing exercises in
Norway."

"How did you afford that?"

"Dan, I was a soldier, and the pay's not bad at all.
I lived in the barracks, which is subsidised, and I
didn't have a mortgage, or a wife, or kids.... Other
than beer on Saturdays I didn't have many expenses.
In fact I had quite a bit of savings - until they
enslaved me, and they took it of course, as slaves
don't own things."

Dan looked wistful for a moment.  "It sounds as if you
had a better time than me... I'm always broke, and I
don't know how Julie gets through to the end of the
month sometimes."

I shrugged.  "Don't get me wrong, but it's your own
fault, isn't it?  You should have gone out and enjoyed
life a bit before you had kids..."

Dan kind of glared at me, so I knew I'd struck home
and was right.  "I wouldn't be without Julie for the
world, I...."

"So you made your choice, so stop complaining.  And
after one kid, why did you stick her with another
one?"

"You slaves think you're the only horny blokes
around".  Dan was grinning now. "But even though I'm
dog tired most of the time from work and commuting,
I've still got lead in my pencil!  We went to her
parents for Christmas and her dad took me down to the
pub and wouldn't let me buy a round or anything...
Then when we got back to their place Julie had almost
to help me up stairs.... And with one thing and
another.... Well... She didn't  want to fuck as she
didn't like her parents listening to us at it through
the bedroom walls, so we didn't take any
precautions... But once I was next to her, well.....
And now we've got the second one on the way.   I can
still remember the look on my mother-in-law's face the
next morning, as once I got started I think it was one
of my more memorable performances...."

He was really smiling now, and for a moment it was
just as if we were two normal blokes talking about sex
down in the pub, and bragging about our achievements,
as you do.  But then Dan changed and became
businesslike again.  "Anyway, enough of that!  We have
to get you ready, as you can see why I need the money.
 And I have to split it all fifty-fifty with the
boss...."

Dan watched me as I rubbed the slave oil into my body,
and them muttered "I've got to do all over your back
again, Steve, as it's a pretty minimal costume....
Lie down...."

It wasn't quite so bad somehow to have his hands all
over my bum this time - well, he clearly wasn't a
homo, so I reckoned I could put up with it.  But when
I stood up and he handed me my "costume", I at once
saw that Joe had been right:  this tiny strip of white
cloth can't have been more than three inches wide, and
I looked at it helplessly.  Dan looked a bit
embarrassed, too, and I think he was flushing slightly
as he handed me a thin gold chain.  "Put this around
you, Steve - they say you have it as low as possible
at the front, but it's good to have it pressing into
your bum a bit, about two inches below the start of
your crack - it kind of ' adds emphasis ' they say.
Then the cloth just hooks over the chain..."

"Please, Dan... Sir... Please don't make me wear this.
 It's fucking humiliating....  It won't cover my cock,
hardly....  It was bad enough this morning with that
G-string.... Can't I wear that, at least...?"

Dan looked really sheepish.  "Steve, I agree with you,
mate.  If it was up to me I wouldn't make you go
around like that - I reckon a bloke ought to be
allowed to keep his cock to himself.  But it's the
Show regulations - all Group entries must be dressed
the same.  Now come on - it's not that bad really:
you've got nothing to be ashamed of...."

"I wish people would stop telling me that they think
I'm well hung..."

"Well you are, but that's not what I meant.  I'll
remind you again that you ought not to be ashamed as
you're just obeying orders.  You are a slave,
remember, and slaves do what their owners tell them.
So if I told you to walk out into the centre of the
site and take off your jeans and wank in front of all
the other blokes, you oughtn't to be ashamed of doing
it, as you'd be showing them that you were a proper
slave, obeying even when he'd rather not.   But
anyway, all this is getting us nowhere.  Just put the
fucking thing on, and let's go...."

I stood there stark naked then for a couple of
minutes, watched by a little crowd who'd seen that one
of the Group entrants was being groomed, as I fiddled
to get this chain "right" - it had to sit really low
in front but not obstruct the movement of my bum
cheeks as I walked. Although, as Dan reminded me as he
inspected me, having it cut into the muscle slightly
did really emphasise what a fantastic arse I had as it
flared from the base of my spine.  Then when the
little strip of cloth was hanging down, Dan held a
mirror up so I could see myself - it was true that  I
was covered, I suppose, as standing still like that
you couldn't see my cock or balls.  But even as I
moved slightly to hold the mirror at a different
angle,  I got a glimpse of my balls as the fabric
moved.

I looked pleadingly at Dan again, but he just
shrugged.  "Come on, Steve.  It will all be over in
half an hour, try thinking of that.... Pretend it's
just like going to the dentist and will soon be over -
that's what my mom says when I've got to do something
I'd rather not"

Well that thought wasn't a whole lot of help to me as
I followed Dan, on my leash, with the flashbulbs
popping from all the cameras of the crowd as we made
our way to the very biggest judging ring in the centre
of the hall.  And it wasn't true that it was only half
an our, either!

Us Caucasians were a funny lot - a real mixture.  I
was tall, dark and well built.; the "Scandinavian"
was, as you'd expect, craggily handsome with blue eyes
and a well-muscled body: he was a "stud", so younger
than me.  The "Slav" was older, though, and carried
his thin athletic body well;  but when the
"Mediterranean" came in, we all, I think, knew we'd
lost - she was a dark-skinned stunner, flaunting her
breasts and not seeming to care at all that her loin
cloth barely covered her cunt. She smiled at us all
and even came and touched us - causing the poor
Scandinavian stud to lose it totally, and his cock
came soaring up from behind his loin cloth.  She told
us she was only a pup - but you know how it is with
some girls of that age, they look as if they've had a
lifetime of experience even though they might only be
on their second or third bloke!  The Celt was the last
to arrive, and he was, as you'd expect, pugnacious and
bounded around telling us all that "the Taffs" were
going to show us all how to do it.

There was the usual flurry of activity as the
officials lined us up and checked our collars against
their records - it's funny how over those couple of
days I'd got used to wearing a collar and now didn't
even feel the tag banging against my skin as I walked
- and then we stood there as the announcements were
made.

The lights dimmed, and the first of us was led into
the arena.  They made a big thing of it, with each of
us being walked by our owners right around the ring,
with a spotlight playing on us and the lights
otherwise dimmed, and with our particulars being read
out again.  When it was my turn I found it wasn't as
bad as I'd expected, as although the audience could
see me quite clearly, I couldn't really see them, and
it was almost as if I was just walking across a room
with my cock bouncing around.  And it was quite good,
I suppose, to hear myself described as "Champion
Steve, winner of the Mid-Europeans, who at twenty six
obviously has a long and successful career in the show
ring to look forward to."  I liked that, "Champion
Steve", and in one of those odd thoughts that come to
you from time to time, I wondered if my mates on the
site would start calling me "Champ", as we're great
ones for nicknames.

The inspection was totally thorough, as you'd expect,
and a new element was introduced at this level:  after
the general feeling of my body and arms and stuff, I
had to climb up onto a small table and kneel down,
with my legs apart and my head pressed down onto the
table.  If you could have seen my face you'd have
known it was beetroot-red from the shame of having my
arse right up in the air (and the TV cameras looking
right in to it!).  They spent a whole lot of time then
really fondling my balls as they hung there, kind of
"jiggling" them up and down between my thighs as if
testing to see just how lose I hung.  And then I had
to come up so my palms were on the table, as that's a
very good test of stomach tone:  the judge ran her
hands underneath me from my pecs down over my ribs and
along my belly as I knelt there, and I heard her
muttering to herself "Very good, excellent muscle
tone, not a trace of lose skin or fat."

I didn't win, though: as I expected, the Mediterranean
bitch stole the show: but I was the reserve champion
(i.e. second), and the Scandinavian bloke was third.
 Outside the ring, Dan was really pleased, though
"That's fantastic, Steve!  Your first show, and to be
reserve Champion in the Caucasians....  And we still
get a big prize, so the boss will be pleased."

One of the officials told us though that for the Group
championships the first, second and third were all
needed in the press room, so we went there and I stood
around a bit, with the young Scandinavian next to me,
as we watched the bitch flash her tits for the
cameras, toss her hair and pout, and do all those
things that women who are very aware of their sexual
powers do.  Then the press decided they wanted to
photograph all three champions together, as "those men
would make a nice contrast with the woman", and so I
was made to stand on one side of her, and the
Scandinavian on the other.

Look, it's one thing to stand there and watch a woman
flaunt herself, but quite another to stand right next
to her with your bare skin touching hers!  There were
hoots of laughter from the pressmen as they asked for
our loincloths to be taken off "as they're not doing
any good anyway, with both of those guys hard as
hell".  I must have been getting used to having people
commenting about my cock by now, as although I was
really uncomfortable as my erection was so hard, it
hadn't occurred to me that the whole room could see
it.

They wanted us to "pose", then, and I could tell it
was as bad for the Scandinavian guy as it was for me:
I had to cup one of her breasts in my hand whilst he
cupped the other, and we looked at each other across
her as we did this, and I wondered if he hated the way
his cock must be pressing into her skin as much as I
did mine, as we were all three so close together.
Then us two blokes had to kneel on either side of her
and look at each other - and that was truly awful, as
our faces were right down by her cunt, and we both got
that scent that says "female":  our response is
programmed into us somewhere, I think, by millions of
years of evolution, as I could feel my cock twitching
in frustration at being this close to sex.  It was
even more humiliating, though, when they called out to
her to put her hands on our heads, "To show she was
superior".  Well, I mean, it's not right to photograph
a bloke making it look as if some woman is controlling
him, is it?

Most of the press went away then, but there were a
couple of cameramen left and one "reporter".  He
sidled up to Dan and the owner of the Scandinavian guy
and pointed at us. "Your guys are pretty fired up, I
see - really good, solid erections.  And they're both
leaking pre-cum."  I blushed as I heard his, as
although I hadn't reached down to touch my cock, I
knew it must be true as I was so stimulated.

"Seems a pity to waste it - would you gentlemen be
prepared to let them take part in a photo spread for
'Slaves At Play'?  We pay a very good rate for those
articles as they're syndicated around he world, and
it's rare to get three such beauties as these all
together.... "

The owner of the Scandinavian nodded, but Dan asked
"What's involved?"

"You're not a reader of 'Slaves At Play', evidently,
sir!  The world's premier magazine devoted to the
beauty of the human form, showing how slaves perform
uninhibitedly..."

"No.  I don't buy porn..."

"It's not porn, sir.  You're wrong there!  We only
show pictures of slaves, and then only to show owners
in general what slaves are capable of.  We like to
think that it's educational."

"I'm not sure I want Steve to take part in some sort
of lewd display..."

"If you'll look at the slave, sir, I'd say he was
ready for it!  And the fees are exceptional..."  He
turned away then so the rest of the sentence was lost
to me, especially as the Scandinavian leaned closer to
me and whispered "It looks as if we're going to get to
fuck the bitch.  My name's Torsten, by the way...."

"Steve.  Are you really a Scandinavian, then?"

"Fuck no!  Born and bred in Streatham.  But when my
owner started showing me, he renamed me as he thinks
Scandinavians ought to have Scandinavian sounding
names!  I'm really Matt, but I'm not allowed to use
that now."

I really felt sorry foe the bloke - I mean, not only
was his freedom taken away, but he wasn't even allowed
to use his own name.  I whispered back "What do you
mean anyway... 'Get to fuck....'?"

"Haven't you ever read 'Slaves At Play'?"

"No."

"Well it's one of those picture magazines that
specialise in showing 'slave life as it is', they say.
 What they mean is pictures of slaves fucking - it
would be against the law to show men and women doing
it, but it's OK to show slaves as they're not men and
women, they say.  Not that I think that's anything
like life as a slave - my owner never lets me fuck
anything normally.  I expect it's the same for you."

"Yes - I haven't had a woman since I was enslaved.  I
work on a construction site, and they don't allow
women into our barracks at night."

"Well you're OK anyway, with all the other slaves
around you  - it must be fun in there once they've
closed the doors for the night.  I'm the only slave my
owner has, and for me it's fucking the old
five-fingered widow, or nothing."

"Hey, we don't fuck in the barracks!  What do you take
me for?  Some sort of queer?"

Torsten just shrugged.  "As far as I know, all men who
live together always fuck - it's not being  'queer' at
all - it's just normal.  That's what blokes do.  But
if you say you don't, who am I to care?  Still, if you
haven't fucked for some time, you must be looking
forward to it..."

"You bet I am.  But which of us is going first?  I
don't like 'sloppy seconds' as the Americans call it."

Actually, standing there naked having this
conversation with Torsten was really erotic.  I think
blokes who are waiting to fuck do "bond", and it's as
if seeing each others cocks straining in readiness
really encourages you.  It's only happened to me a
couple of times before - I particularly remember one
night in Berlin where we'd been sent as some sort of
honour guard to take part in some celebratory parade
or other.  That night we really hit the Bier Kellars,
and by the time we realised we needed women, we were
pretty broke.  So four of us decided to pool what cash
we had left and hire one "reasonable" prostitute,
rather than each risking his cock in some really
cheap, old, vile, pus-scabbed whore.  We tossed coins
to decide who went first, and the other three of us
stood there stroking our cocks watching our mate go at
it.  Well, this was a bit like that - the
anticipation, talking to another bloke, was just
heightened.

Dan and Torsten's owner came over then and looked at
us.  "So do you want my Torsten or your slave to fuck
the bitch?", Dan was asked.

"Go on, Dan!  Tell him you want me to do it first", I
wanted to shout out. "I don't mind all you blokes
watching - a man using a woman properly has nothing to
be ashamed of, and that arrogant bitch needs to feel a
real man's cock in her, showing her what she's for".
But I kept silent, and didn't actually say anything.

But before Dan could reply, the guy in charge came
over and said something to them.  Dan looked a bit
doubtful, and there was some negotiation that resulted
in a small roll of notes being handed over to Dan, who
then shook his head in agreement.

"Right, you slaves.", we were told.  "The young blond
one is going to start fucking the woman.  And when
he's got started, the big hairy guy is going to start
to fuck him.  It  will be just that bit different.
And our readers are always after novelty."

I was about to shout "No fucking way!", when I saw
Torsten grinning.  "So I get to fuck the bitch, Steve.
 And you get to fuck me.  Wow - I get double the fun.
But I expect you'll have a good time - my owner never
has anything to complain about when he fucks me."

His sheer acceptance of this shook me to the core.  I
felt as if I'd look like some sort of wimp if I
protested now, and, anyway, I'd seen Dan taking all
that cash, and I doubted I'd get him to change his
mind.  And, for some reason, my cock, which was
already rock hard and had been for some time, now
started to throb and pulse, and I began to get worried
that I might shoot there and then.

End Of Part Five