Date: Fri, 7 Apr 2006 23:53:25 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The slave Show, Part Six

THE SLAVE SHOW

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

Part  Six

I watched Torsten, who was now perhaps excessively
excited, start to fuck the bitch.    She was lying on
her back in the classic missionary position, so I
could see his muscular arse and thighs driving his
cock and out of her just as if it was a piston.
Before  he started, though, there was one more level
of humiliation we had to go through - they made
Torsten and I stand there  side by side with our arms
around each others shoulders whilst the bitch was on
her knees in front of us rolling condoms onto our
rock-hard cocks.  Well that wouldn't have been so bad
- I didn't object to the feel of Torsten's skin
against mine as I was used to a bit of body contact
with other guys in the showers and stuff.  And I
didn't mind her rolling a condom on to me either -
that's what all the prostitutes do usually, as they
won't let you have a decent bareback fuck.  No, what
made it awful was the fact that as well as the
journalist who was "directing" this show, there were
two cameramen with those cameras with long snouts on
them, so they can get really tight close-ups, and they
weaved and dodged around sticking the lenses in
between us, and at us.  The thought that all of this
was being recorded and would appear in some fucking
magazine made it truly dreadful.

Anyway, there I was, with a condom on and my cock rock
hard watching young Torsten perform.  It was really
erotic, as I've told you she was a good looking bitch,
and Torsten was a handsome bloke and knew what he was
doing.  There was that wonderful scent of sex in the
air, and Torsten's grunts and shouts as he pistoned
away, and her screams and cries, were really turning
me on.  Mind you, you could tell she was like a lot of
women, and faking it:  every now and then  one or
other of the cameramen would shout "Give us a smile!",
or "Let's see that he's really hurting you", and
instantly her face would change.  I'd thought she was
really turned on when it first started, but soon saw
that she was like a lot of prostitutes and could make
you feel you were the most experienced lover in the
world, or the next best thing to a rapist.  Still,
that's typical of them, I reckon.

When he was well stuck in, and I thought he must be
about to cum, they told Torsten to stop but to remain
in her, as it was now time for me to mount him.  When
they'd first said I'd got to do this, I'd been really
worried as I didn't think I could give it to another
bloke, but the sight of them fucking away had kept me
hard, so perhaps it was going to be all right.  The
"director" came up to me and  gave me a knowing grin,
the sort that says  "we're men, and we know what to
do!".

 I wasn't so sure, but he snapped "I want a real good,
hard fuck from you, so that the young blond really
feels it, and it makes him go at her even harder than
he has been, as he thrusts forward to try to get away
from that cock of yours.  Have you ever done this
before?"

"No", I muttered, blushing as I said it, as it's not
strictly true, and I hate lying.  Look, I don't want
you to think I'm queer, as genuinely before this time
I hadn't fucked a bloke's arse, or even thought about
it.  I don't go for blokes, and I'd just the
occasional mutual wank, which I've told you about.
And of course sometimes I did let one of the blokes in
my unit who liked that sot of thing suck my cock
(after all, one set of lips is much like another).
But I'd never even considered a bloke's arse as
something I'd want to do.  No, I was blushing because
I had fucked arse - well, if I was just a bit drunk
and the woman I was with had been a real cow, I'd tell
her I was going to fuck her doggy style.  Then, when
she was on her hands and knees and I was kneeling
behind her, I'd slip my cock in her arse instead of
what she was expecting.  It was usually a real laugh,
for me at least.  If she'd been disrespectful to me
all evening she'd now see how bitches deserved to be
used.  There was usually a lot of screaming at the
time, and sometimes shouting and throwing things
afterwards, but it all adds to the  fun of a  night
out, I think.

I looked at Torsten's arse and it wasn't all that
different from a bitch's - well, he was shaved clean,
and most of them didn't do that.   So I started to
move in-between his legs, and the director shouted
"No, get that stupid condom off  first!  Our readers
like to see real sex when it's between blokes, with
none of that namby-pamby 'protection'.  Just raw cock
on raw arse, that's the way men do it."

Well that was a good thing.  I hate having sex with my
cock wrapped in a plastic mac. I reached down and
unrolled the condom and dropped it on the floor
contemptuously, and was about to go for it when the
director called again "Hey, we don't want that slave
damaged!  For fuck's sake lubricate him and stretch
him a bit first or that monster of yours will tear his
membranes!  Are you an idiot or something?  A big
bloke like you ought to know how to fuck!"

I looked around helplessly, as we were doing this in
the press room and there didn't seem to be any
containers of lube or anything around.  "Get on with
it, slave!", he shouted again.  " A gob of spit should
do it, and it will make a good picture to see you
flobbing at his hole."

Look,  I'd never done this before, so I didn't really
know what to do.  Well, I had stuck my finger up my
own bum of course, as most blokes do when they're
wanking and are at a bit of a loss for inspiration,
and I knew that it was easier to do this with a wet
finger.  But the problem was the angle - when you do
it to yourself it's one way, isn't it?  And now here
was Torsten's bum positioned quite differently.
Still, I licked my forefinger well, and went and stood
by the side of him as he lay there on top of the
bitch, and pushed his bum cheeks apart with one hand
and  positioned my finger at his hole.  It was really
interesting, as you probably know - as soon as the tip
of my finger touched his hole, it kind of contracted
and Torsten shuffled his feet as if reflexively.    I
wiggled and pushed, and my finger slid into him quite
easily - I reckon this wasn't the first time young
Torsten had had this done!  I explored around inside
him a bit and felt the little walnut of his prostate -
I struck gold there, as he moaned appreciatively, and
shuffled his feet even more.

They had to tell me the shot they really had in mind,
though: I had to kneel down between his legs and use
both hands to pull his bum apart, and then fill my
mouth with spit and really flob it at him.  My big gob
started to roll down towards his balls that were
hanging there, much to the delight of the
photographers, and they told me to get my finger stuck
in again quick, before it all ran away.  I think the
thing you don't realise is that when you're kneeling
there like that you do have an amazing view of a
bloke's pucker - I'd never really seen one "up close"
like that before, and it does show you how marvellous
the human body is, doesn't it?  Something relatively
small like that can keep all your shit and stuff in,
and yet when it has to, can easily stretch to take
even a big cock like mine.

For some reason the sigh of Torsten's pucker, and the
incredible scent  that I'd been breathing in as I
knelt there had really turned me on, and I had
absolutely no problem in remaining hard and getting
right up to him.  Then as I stroked my cock up and
down his ass crack I almost went wild - you 'skinned
blokes who are reading this probably don't realise
just how sensitive your cock head is when it first
comes out to play, and having it rubbed up and down an
arse crack is just so different, especially as you
keep touching the pucker as you do, and a wholly
different sensation floods through you.

They kept photographing me, but then they said "OK,
slave, in you go!"

Well, I knew that it was going to be difficult, as I
remembered from the bitches I'd taken that way that
you had to push hard to get your cock head in - it's
not like that when you're fucking a woman properly,
and it was a long time since I'd taken one of them up
the arse.   But perhaps your body "knows" these
things, perhaps it's imprinted somewhere in our genes
after millions of years of blokes fucking each other,
because I found one hand "naturally" went to keep
Torsten's bum apart, and the other "naturally" held my
cock shaft to stop it buckling, so that it would go
in. I mean, when all those ancient hunters were away
for days on end they must have done something at
night, and I reckon the chief honcho would have simply
used the young tribesmen as it would be his right; and
 that "racial memory" lives on in blokes.

It was so exciting after that that I completely forgot
any feelings of shame that I might have had about
fucking a bloke.  Torsten had grunted and shouted a
bit when I went in to him, and I started to "play"
him, seeing how much of my dick he could take before
shouting again for me to stop.  And then when I was
right t in and the front of my thighs were feeling the
warmth of his legs ,  I started to fuck him.  It
wasn't the same as fucking cunt.  No, it was better -
Torsten gripped my cock much harder and so it was
fantastically good physically.  But more than that, it
was the feeling of total power and control that I had
over him - by thrusting harder or slower, or by almost
pulling right out and then slamming in, or by very
slow, gentle strokes,  I could make young Torsten
shout or groan or cry out just as if he was some
complex instrument.  And I knew that this was how it
was meant to be-   hard, tough older guys like me
ought to show their dominance and control over young
studs like Torsten.  The "tribal elders" presumably
always had their management of the tribe reinforced
this way, and so it was natural for me to enjoy doing
it, wasn't it?  This is how we evolved, and there
couldn't be anything wrong with it.

The director kept calling instructions and Torsten
started to fuck the bitch as I fucked him, and it was
amazing how quickly we got into a rhythm so that as he
pulled back my cock was pushed further in to him, and
I reckon we were all enjoying it (well you couldn't be
sure, with that bitch, as I said).    We went on and
on and I was right on the edge, desperate to cum, but
doing everything  I could to hold back as I wanted it
all to go on for ever.  But then Torsten gave a great
cry and his back arched up - again, those age-old
human reflexes cut in and I grabbed his shoulders and
pulled his body back against mine, to drive my cock
just those few millimetres more into him.  I could
feel ripples of sensation going through his body as he
pumped his cum into her (or, more accurately, into the
condom).  When he was done, I let him fall back and he
lay there on her, caressing her tits and biting at her
neck in a frenzy.  It was too much - I felt myself
begin to cum, and the director must have been watching
for signs of this as he shouted "Pull out!  Pull out!
We want to see your cum all over his back!"

It must be my army training, as even when my brain is
engaged elsewhere, as it certainly was then, I do tend
to obey the orders of someone in charge.  So I stood
there then pumping my cum along Torsten's sweating
back.  It was a really long, thick slick - I do tend
to produce a lot of cum anyway, and I hadn't wanked
for over twelve hours and so I was even more prolific
on this occasion.  It lay there, milky white against
his bronzed skin, and that special scent filled the
air.  I stood there, my chest heaving as  I gasped for
breath after the mammoth exertions I'd been making,
the sweat running down me, as the last few dribbles of
cum fell off the end of my cock, hung there for an
instant, and fell to the floor.

It was all over then, except that they wanted a few
more shots of me and Torsten, and Torsten and the
bitch, afterwards.    It was only then that I realised
Dan was looking at me open mouthed with astonishment.,
 I went over to him.  "OK, Dan?  Did I do all right?"

"Fucking hell, Steve!  I thought you said you didn't
fuck blokes.."

"I don't.  I've never done that before. I guess I must
be a natural!"   I was smiling as I said this, trying
to make a bit of a joke to lighten the atmosphere,
but  I didn't understand the rather strange look that
then flickered across Dan's face .

There was a bit of a problem then because we were all
covered in sweat, Torsten's back was running with my
cum, and my cock was covered in his arse juices.  All
the three of us slaves had were the tiny scraps of
loin cloth that we'd been exhibited in, and there was
just no way that we cold make our way back to the
preparation and rest area in that state.  It was easy
for the bitch, as she just pulled a tablecloth off the
table and wrapped that around her like some sort of
exotic toga.  Torsten's owner must have been
anticipating the possibility of this photo shoot as he
had a lightweight tracksuit for him.  So it looked as
if it was going to be just me who was going to suffer
total humiliation as the stink of my body and the
obvious signs of sex were made obvious to the public.

"Dan, sir, please could you go to the rest area and
get me some shorts or something - I can't walk back
through the crowds like this...."

Dan looked at me, and muttered "I suppose so.  But I
waned to get away now - we're not staying for the rest
of it, and we'll lose a good twenty minutes if I have
to go all the way there, and all the way back.  Come
on, Steve, it won't matter - no one will notice."

"Dan, you just noticed yourself!  And you know how
they all cluster around, and want to take pictures.  I
can smell the stink from my cock myself....  Of course
they'll notice...."

"Look, I'm not going to waste time.  The traffic gets
very bad on the motorways around here, as it's nearly
rush hour..."

"Dan, please..."

He gave a shrug, and then, as I watched,  unbuckled
his belt and dropped his jeans.  Then he turned around
so his back was to me, and pulled off his boxer
shorts.  It was fucking ridiculous, really - after
all, I'd seen him naked in the showers, so why was he
embarrassed now?  But some blokes are like that in the
changing rooms, I think, so perhaps Dan was one of
those.  It's silly, really, as I think a bloke looks
funny standing there with his shirt tails barely
covering his bum, and his legs sticking out
underneath, and there's something a bit comical about
it.  Still, Dan had a nice bum and good strong thighs
- so it wasn't all bad.

I continued to watch as he pulled up his jeans,
turning around as he tucked his cock in and buckled
his belt.  He picked up his boxer shorts off the
floor, and tossed them to me.  "Here!  This should
cover your modesty..."

"Dan, those are yours... I just saw you take them
off....."

"Steve, you're the one whining on about not going
around naked.  Now I've gone to all this trouble, put
the fucking shorts on!"

"I can't wear  your underwear.  Your dirty
underwear...."

"They're not dirty!  They were clean on this morning.
Now, as I said, I've gone to all this trouble - put
the fucking things on, or else on Monday I'll tell all
your mates that you really got turned on by fucking
arse.  I bet they don't know that - you always seem to
be telling stories about fucking women...."

"You wouldn't..."

"Try me!  Now, do as I say.  Or put your loincloth
back on."

Well I wasn't going to risk it, was I?  So gingerly I
picked up Dan's boxer shorts - they were of thin
cotton, with pale blue stripes on a white background,
with an open fly at the front.  I held them open and
looked in, and Dan was right - they were clean, at
least in the sense that there were no obviously
visible skid marks!

Look, have you ever worn another bloke's underwear?
We had to do it sometimes in the barracks when the
laundry hadn't come back and you'd run out of your own
- you'd borrow a mate's then, but they'd have been
clean from out of his locker.  Even so, it felt funny
putting them on, and all the other blokes would laugh
at you.  But these were crumpled from where Dan had
been wearing them, and warm from his body.  And as I
slowly stepped into them and pulled them up, I
realised they were damp from his sweat, too -  I felt
I could almost feel the moisture in the crotch seam as
I pulled them up high and it touched my balls.


Still, at least my cock and balls were out of public
sight now - just!  Dan's a lot smaller than me so
those boxers were really tight on me and I was worried
that my cock would pop out of the fly at any moment.
But they came up higher than the "show" shorts I'd
been wearing most of the week, so at least my bum
crack was now decently below the waistline (just!).
Dan led me back to the rest and preparation area by
the leash, and quickly threw the few things we had
there into his sports holdall, and then it was back to
the "reception" area where Dan gave them my show
number and the box with all my clothes in it  was
produced.

It was such a relief to get back into proper clothes
that I didn't mind the fact that there were all the
heads poking over the temporary screening that was
around the changing area, supposedly to protect our
modesty.  And as I tugged my jeans on - fuck me, but
it felt good to have cloth pressing against m thighs
again - I realised I wasn't even noticing an
attractive bitch who was standing naked just opposite
me as her owner held up several sets of panties,
deciding which he would give her to wear.  Dan had
told me to keep his boxers on, as he thought my
regular underpants made me look stupid, and he picked
up the old fashioned things and simply dropped them
into a litter bin.  But one of the "heads" poking over
the wall who had been watching me intently called out
"Please..... If those are the champion's old ones, can
I have them, please?"

Dan looked a bit surprised and reached into the bin to
pull my old underpants out.  He went over to the bloke
and said "Yes, Steve wore these - but they're pretty
rank, as he was sweating a lot when we arrived and
they haven't been washed...."

The bloke smiled at Dan, but looked a bit sheepish.
"Yes... I know.... Actually, that's why I like
them....."

Dan just handed the pants over and walked back to me,
looking a bit disgusted.  "Fuck me, Steve!  He
actually wanted your dirty stuff!"

"It's like Japan, Dan.  Quite a lot of schoolgirls
there sell their panties to old businessmen!  You can
even get them from vending machines at the railway
stations in Tokyo, a mate of mine told me when he'd
been there.  And they cost quite a lot of money, too.
And, after all, every now and then you see blokes
auctioning their underwear on e-Bay - there was a
bloke in the barracks who had quite a nice little
thing going doing that:  every now and then they'd
notice and block his auctions, but the prices of his
'used' stuff were about five or ten times that of
'new'.   He used to go off and buy twelve or more
pairs of pants, use them day by day, (and, the rest of
us reckoned, he wanked into them, too), and put them
up for auction.  He was making a tidy sum on it, but
then we got posted to Germany, and it wasn't as easy
to get to the post office."

"You are a mine of information, Steve.  If I'd known
all that before I gave away your old stuff I might
have asked the bloke to pay for them:  every bit of
money is useful for me now."

He was evidently in a good mood though, and as we
walked out of the hall and towards the car park it was
just as if we were a couple of mates out together for
the day who'd decided to enjoy ourselves by coming to
the Slave Show to look at the women.  In my jeans and
T and work jacket I didn't look all that different to
Dan, who was dressed much the same except that perhaps
his boots were fresh and clean, not all scuffed as
mine were from working in them.  Of course if anyone
took a second look at us they'd have known instantly,
as the bright green show collar was around my neck
still - at one time it used to be quite fashionable
for blokes to wear chains and stuff around their
necks, and you'd see young men with beads on leather
thongs even.  But since the introduction of Indentured
Service no free man now ever wore anything around his
neck, and so anything at all there was a  sure sign
that the bloke was a slave:  I seem to remember now
that at the time there were some stories in the papers
about how some jewellers had gone out of business as
people had stopped buying necklaces and stuff.

The Friday night traffic was all fucked up as usual as
the lemmings all tried to get home, or away for the
weekend, and it took hours for us to get out of the
Centre, along the motorway, and then the main roads
back to Steve's place.  I just sat there and relaxed,
my feet up on the dashboard, as Dan cursed and swore
at the time it was taking:  I offered to drive, as the
army had taught me, but Dan pointed out that only free
men were allowed to be in charge of a vehicle, and
that he couldn't let me do it as his insurance
wouldn't be valid.

"What about all those delivery trucks and stuff then?"

"It's part of the way they keep some employment for
unskilled free blokes, Steve.  They have to have a
proper driver - although most of them now have a slave
taken along to do all the loading and unloading.
Don't you remember there was almost rioting in London
when the new laws were coming in?  All the taxi
drivers knew they'd be out of work, so they all formed
up and just drove around and around Parliament Square
and Whitehall and Trafalgar Square:  hundreds and
hundreds of them.  The police couldn't do anything as
they didn't stop or anything, just drove around and
around - and the blockages as normal traffic couldn't
get along the Embankment or Piccadilly or anywhere
soon spread, and the whole place was brought to a
virtual halt for three days - until the government
caved in, and changed the Indenture laws to make it
illegal for slaves to do drive."

"So what's next?", I asked him.

"Well really I ought to take you down to London
tonight and lock you back in the slave hut on the
site, as you're supposed to be at work tomorrow.  But
I'm so fucking tired, so I'm going to take you home
with me and call the Boss and explain.  I don't really
want to have to go into London tomorrow, either, as
weekends are the only time I get with Julie and little
Shane... I think he almost wonders who this bloke is
who appears at weekends, as he's not awake when I have
to leave in the morning and he's asleep by the time I
get back.   But, if needs must, we'll go up on the
early train and I can be back for lunch."

I nodded.  "Couldn't you live a bit closer?"

"Probably, but the prices.... It would be in a really
dreadful area, living  in a couple of rooms... The
house we've got here is no palace, and it's minute,
but we've got a bit of garden which is nice for Shane,
and the neighbours are all OK, mostly young families
like us, in the same boat, scrabbling to get a foot on
the housing ladder.  Sometimes I don't think you
slaves realise how lucky you are, living on the job,
with all that time to spare in the evenings...."

"Oh come off it, Dan - you can't possibly believe
that!  What do you think we can do with all that
fucking spare time?  We're not allowed out, and we've
got no money even if we could leave."

Dan looked a bit irritated that I'd questioned him.
"Steve, I've told you before - I think you ought to
call me 'sir'!  You were doing quite well at it until
you won at the Show, and  I think it's gone to your
head!  It's in your own interests, you know - I don't
mind the occasional lapse into over-familiarity for a
slave, but some of the men on the site do, and they
might order a punishment for you."

"Sorry, sir."  I made the "sir" heavy with sarcasm, as
I recognised that Dan was only using this to avoid
debating with me the way that slaves were treated on
the site - as I've told you it was pretty good
compared with the way some slaves had to live their
lives, but nothing at all like actually having freedom
of choice and being able to do what you wanted.

"I don't like that one, Steve!  Now cut it out - I
thought we were getting on well, and I was going to
reward you with a nice homely evening tonight as I've
called Julie on my mobile and she's getting us
supper."

"Sorry, sir."  I was sarcastic again.  "That was the
problem with officers too, sir.  Always thinking they
hear something in what blokes say.  Young guys, wet
behind the ears, fresh out of Sandhurst and thinking
they know everything, whereas it was us experienced
men who'd been in for years, been in battles, done
duty in all sorts of places...."

"Is that how you think of me, Steve?  'Wet behind the
ears'?  I know I'm younger than you, but  I do a
responsible job, helping to manage the site, and I'm
properly trained.  For fuck's sake, how difficult is
it for slaves like you to dig trenches and stuff,
provided the 'officers' like me have marked them out
and everything?"

I lapsed into a sullen silence then and we drove on
for about an hour without saying anything at all.
Then Dan broke in.  "Look, Steve, I know it's hard for
tough bloke like you who's seen a lot of life to be
turned into a slave, and have to obey orders from free
men who are younger, and not as fit, and not as big,
and who haven't seen as much of life....  And you're
obviously clever - some of the slaves are as thick as
two short planks, but you seem to know what's what.
So why don't you just accept that things are different
for you now, and try to make the best of it?  Life may
not be good as a slave, but it could be an awful lot
worse if the other supervisors on the site decided you
were one of those slaves with 'attitude', and that it
needed to be beaten out of you...."

I just sat there in silence, as he was right of
course.  Seeing that he'd struck home, Dan lowered his
voice and went on "So let's have no sullen silences,
or displays of petulance, shall we?  Julie's going to
be pleased to see me home, we've got good news for her
as she's always worried about money, and I don't want
the evening spoiled, OK?  Either you decide now to
behave properly, or I'll stop at the next garage, but
a bag of slave chow, and you can spend the night
locked in the back of the van."

"Look, Dan.... Sir... I'm sorry, but you don't
appreciate how hard it is..."

"Yes I do, Steve!  Do you think I have it easy? The
Boss is an oaf, really.  It's the supervisors like me
who really run the site, but at the daily update
meetings we have to listen to him going on and on, not
agreeing with our plans, all that sort of stuff.  It
happens all the time, and I just have to keep my trap
shut as at the end of the day it's going to be him who
decides who gets promoted - and Christ knows I could
do with a pay rise!  It's not so different, if you
think about it."

We stopped talking then, but now it was a kind of
friendly, companionable silence, and it was just as if
we were two mates going home after a hard day's work.

I felt really envious when we got back to his little
box of a house.  As soon as we stopped in the drive
(which was barely long enough to take the van, so
closely were the houses packed together to save on the
cost of land), Julie rushed out and he swept her off
her feet, hugging her and kissing her as if they'd
been separated for weeks, rather than days.  I felt a
bit envious, actually, as there's never been anyone
like that who had been so pleased to see me, even when
I'd been away for months in some pretty dangerous
places.  Then they went in, squeezing through the
narrow front door side by side as if they didn't want
to be separated.

"Move yourself, Steve!", Dan called.  "Get my bag out
of the back, and get in here...."

Well this was one order I didn't mind obeying, and
inside the house it was kind of comforting - there was
an appetising smell of cooking, and Julie said "hello"
just as if I was a mate of Dan's, rather than his
slave, and Dan told me to sit down, and then brought
me a beer out of the fridge!  I hadn't ad alcohol for
I can't remember how long, and that beer was
fantastic, even though it was one of the cheap
supermarket own-brands, and not a proper premium one
as we'd al drunk in the army.  They'd got the gas fire
on in the tiny living room, and I stretched my feet
out towards it as I sat on the sofa, and the world
seemed a happier place all of a sudden.

Dan came out of the kitchen - well, not out, exactly,
as there was only a half-wall separating the living
room from the minute kitchen to try to make it  seem
bigger:  there was no door as such, and I'd been able
to hear he and Julie kissing and murmuring to each
other.  "Take those fucking boots off, Steve!  Haven't
you got any manners?  And I can't afford a new carpet,
you know, if you stain it with dirt or anything."

"Sorry, sir.  I didn't think....  I'm not used to
being a guest."  Well that was true - not just since
being a slave, either.  Blokes in the army don't get
invited into too many private houses either.  I sat
there and wriggled my toes in front of the fire then,
and the effect of just that one beer made me feel
sleepy as I was so unused to it.  I must have been
dozing as Dan had to shake me awake to tell me to get
into the kitchen, and all three of us sat around the
table and prepared to eat.

Julie had done a roast chicken - I suppose it's the
cheapest sort of meat - and it was a minute one at
that.  If I'd seen it in a take-away, I'd probably
have bought the whole thing for myself.  But Dan
carved it and put the slices on three plates, and even
left some of the thing "for tomorrow".  I helped
myself to huge amounts of vegetables, but even so I
was still hungry at the end of it, and looked
hopefully at the remains of the bird, hoping that Dan
might offer seconds - but he didn't.  Afterwards there
was trifle, and even though Julie gave me almost twice
as much as she and Dan had, I was still hungry at the
end of the meal.

We went back into the living room then and Dan gave me
another beer, and he and Julie sat close together with
his arm around her as he told her about the Slave Show
and how well we'd done.  Then he pulled the big wad of
cash he'd been given for the photographs, and gave it
to her "to help out with the bills."

"I thought the prizes would be in cheques", she told
him.

"They are.  And I have to take them to the boss and
split them with him.  But this is a little extra,
something  I arranged for Steve to do, and what the
boss doesn't know about, he won't care about..."

"What on earth could Steve do at the show, that
produced this much money?"

Dan looked a bit shifty, and muttered "Oh, nothing
much...."

"Dan!  Nothing much?  There's a lot of money here!
What did you do?"

"Oh I arranged for a photographer to take some
pictures.  Steve's a champion, you know."

"How exciting!  Will he be in next week's 'Slave
owner'?  I'll go down to the newsagent and get a
copy...."

"No, not that one."

"Which one then, Dan?  I'd like to get a copy, as a
souvenir."

"Oh, I don't remember....  I shouldn't worry about
it.".

Julie looked at me.  "Which magazine was it, Steve?"

Without thinking, I just said  "Slaves At Play".

Julie pushed herself away from Dan, looking very
surprised.  "Dan, that's a disgusting magazine!  One
of the girls had a copy at that 'party' two weeks ago
where they were selling all that soap and stuff - we
passed it around and a lot of them were laughing at
it, but I don't think it was very funny.... Some of
the things they made the slaves do was pure
pornography."

She turned to me then, looking concerned.  "Steve, Dan
didn't make you do something awful, did he?  You
weren't one of those slave s made to have intercourse
with a woman, just to titillate the readers?"

I didn't know what to say. So I mumbled "No, not
exactly..."

"What do you mean?   'Not exactly'?  You men are
really stupid sometimes.  Surely you can remember
whether you were made to go with some poor female or
other....."

I just at there, looking down in embarrassment.
"Steve, answer me!", she said, her voice getting
sharper.  Then, as I continued to be silent, she
turned to Dan.  "Dan, tell me at once!  Did you or did
you not make Steve go with some poor woman?"

"No."

I thought the crisis was over, as Julie relaxed, but
after a few seconds she turned to him again.  "So
what's all this money for, then?  They didn't pay you
all that just to take photographs of Steve standing
there, surely?"

It was Dan's turn to be silent now, and Julie rounded
on me next.  "Now Steve, stop sitting there as if
you've been struck dumb!  What did Dan make you do?  I
insist you tell me if he made you have sex with a
female for public display."

I sat there silent again, and now it was clear she
knew that something had happened.  "Steve, answer me!
Did Dan make you have sex?"

Well, what was I supposed to do?  I was blushing, and
shuffling my feet uneasily, and just sat there, hoping
Dan would say something.   But Julie cut in "You men!
I can tell from Steve's attitude that you made him
have sex, Dan!  You men are so stupid - you think that
women mind what men do!  It would be different if it
was you, Dan, as we're married.  But Steve is single
and unattached - there's no problem with him having a
woman, if he wants to!  So why are you two so
secretive about it?"

We both sat there in silence again.  "Dan, tell me!  I
insist!  Did you make Steve have sex, for the
photographers."

I could barely hear Dan as he muttered "Yes."

"Daniel, I know that tone of yours.  You're trying to
hide something from me.  Now, tell me exactly what
went on!  You didn't join in, did you?"

"Jules, how could you even think that....".   Dan was
extremely animated.  "I've been longing to get back to
you, you know you're the only one for me...."

"...and I know what men are like when they're away,
Daniel!  Don't think I haven't heard from some of the
other girls what you and your mates did when the
football team went on that tour last year..."

"Please,  Jules, don't bring that up again!  It was
only one night of the tour, and I didn't do anything -
those four strippers would only do two of us each, and
there are eleven in the team, and..."

"...and I believe you, Dan.  But why are you being so
secretive about this?  Did you make Steve have sex?
Tell me!"

"Jules..... Please.... Yes, he did have sex."

"Well then!  What's the problem?  Why are you two both
being so secretive?  I don't understand why you don't
just tell me - it's perfectly natural for a man like
Steve to want sex, after all.  But I'm surprised at
you, wanting to watch him - it's degrading to women,
you know, to watch them have sex, even with a stud
like Steve!"

Dan gave a sigh.  "Look, Jules, there's no mystery.
Yes, Steve did have sex.  And the photographer paid a
lot of money for it.  And I did watch - I'm in charge
of him, remember?.  But that's all.  I didn't do
anything.  I love you, you know that..."

"But you like to see some poor woman being fucked,
especially by a big man like Steve!  Was she a tiny
little thing, and she squealed and squealed as Steve
went in her?  Did it turn you on, Daniel?"

Dan seemed to lose it.  "Jules, it really wasn't like
that!  He didn't fuck a woman at all - it was a bloke.
 So now you know.  And I did watch it  And it didn't
turn me on."

Julie turned to me.  "I'm sorry, Steve.  I hadn't got
you marked down as a man who liked men - women can
usually tell, you know, and I could see your eyes
scanning me up and down when we first met, and again,
tonight.....  But it's OK, I don't have a problem with
gay men."

"I'm not gay!", I snapped.  "I like women."

Julie's expression changed and she really went at Dan
"You bastard, Daniel!  You made Steve have sex with
another man, and he doesn't like it..."

"Jules, I'm sorry.  I was only thinking about you and
Shane... The money...  It will make a real difference.
 And it was no big thing for Steve really - he was
hesitant at first, but it looked to me as if he was
enjoying it at the end.  It's not unknown for men to
go with other men, you know... And Steve was soldier,
I expect he'd done it before."

"Steve, I'm sorry..."  Julie was looking at me now.
"I'm sorry that Dan made you do that sot of thing.
But it won't happen again:  you may be a slave, but
you deserve some dignity even so."

"Julie, keep out of this, will you?"  There was a
sharp tone in Dan's voice.  "Steve's a slave, and
slaves have to know that they do what their masters
tell them.  You don't bargain with them, you don't
promise them things, and you don't apologise to them!
I'm in charge of him, and if I want him to fuck fifty
women and a hundred men as that's the best thing to do
to make us some money, that's the way it's going to
be."

"Don't talk to me like that, Daniel!  I won't have
it...."  Julie got up and flounced out - not that she
could go very far in that minute.  Dan sat there
looking a bit shell shocked, and before he could say
anything she came back in with two blankets and a
pillow, plonked them down on the sofa and said to me
"Here, Steve.  You ought to be warm enough.  If you're
not, just turn on the gas fire.  I'm sorry the sofa's
not very long, and you're such a big man....."

"Oh that's OK, thanks...."

She turned and went up the stairs, and Dan, after
sitting there for a moment, just shrugged, and
followed her.

I heard cross words being exchanged as I stripped off
and wrapped myself in the blankets and tried to get
comfortable on the sofa:  you could hear the tone, and
the volume, through the ceiling, but I couldn't make
out the words.  Then silence fell, and a moment later
there was squeaking and thumping and other "bed"
noises coming through the ceiling, and I guessed that
Dan and Julie had made it up - and Dan was making up
for lost time, by the sound of it!    The thought of
it made me hard and I started to wank, but stopped in
time as I realised I had nothing to catch the cum
with, and the thought of having to explain to Julie
the next morning that the blankets would need
laundering to get the cum patches off was too much!

End Of Part Six