Date: Thu, 11 Jan 2007 23:00:42 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Young Stud, Part Ten

YOUNG  STUD

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Ten

Jeff was totally silent on the drive back to the
motel.  And in the room he just sat there on the edge
of the bed, still dressed, his head drooping as he did
nothing other than stare at the floor.  The boss got
ready for bed and I thought that he was planning to
have us suck him as he often did, but then he looked
at Jeff and beckoned to me to go over to him.

I assumed that the boss had decided that it would be
only me sucking him that night - that had happened
before occasionally, but, in some strange way, Jeff
seemed to regard this as almost a privilege, and so it
was rare, and if I did take part, it was always as an
adjunct to Jeff.  Still, I knelt at the side of the
bed and reached for the boss's dick, but he put his
hand out and stopped me.  "No, Steve, not tonight.
Jeff's got a problem, and you need to resolve it
between you."

"Boss, what can I do....?"

"Do what seems right, Steve!  I've told you before
that Jeff sometimes needs a bit of looking after, and
some guidance.... You're an intelligent, educated man:
 go sort him out."

As I walked back across the room I was in a turmoil.
What the fuck was I supposed to do?  I sat beside Jeff
on the edge of the bed, and put my arm around his
shoulders and pulled him close to me.  "Jeff, buddy...
Come on, it's bed time.... The boss wants to put the
light out..."

Jeff pushed my arm away, not violently, but kind of
carelessly.  I went into the bathroom and pissed and
cleaned my teeth, and to my surprise, when I got back,
Jeff had clearly undressed as his T and shorts were
crumpled on the floor, and was lying in bed - right at
one edge, facing outwards, and with his top arm almost
covering his face.  I got into bed and lay there, and
it felt so odd - I was so used now to having Jeff's
body curled around me, and somehow it seemed so
unnatural to be lying there alone, with Jeff isolated
on the edge, a few inches away.  I lay there and
thought about it, and then decided to risk it:  I
shuffled across the bed and spooned up to Jeff's body,
then put my arm over him and let my hand lie on his
belly, palm down.  He felt warm and lovely, and I
couldn't stop my fingers lightly scrabbling at his
treasure trail overlying his hard muscles.

Suddenly, as I was letting my hand probe downwards as
I thought I might at least jerk Jeff off, Jeff's hand
gripped my wrist and held me immobile.  "Fuck off,
Steve", he whispered.   He sounded angry, but I
suppose he was still obeying the boss's prohibition
about not making noise at night. By only whispering  I
pushed myself up slightly, so my body was in close
contact with his (my dick shivered with excitement as
it trailed across his back bone), and pressed my lips
close to his ear.  "Listen, Jeff, stop being so
stupid!  You can't change the past, you know - you
have to learn to live with it.  Come on, buddy - you
can fuck me, if you like....."

"I'm not a fag.... I don't fuck guys...", he muttered,
and tried to pull he covers over his face to shut me
out, as if to hide from the world.

I wasn't having any of it, though.  I tugged at the
covers and pulled them back, and whispered again "Will
you shut up about this fag nonsense?  I thought we
agreed that what we did together was natural, and
right.  And, anyway, when you fucked me the other day,
you seemed to like it - both times.  So don't tell me
you don't fuck guys:  you had to for the
demonstration, but what we did afterwards was for your
enjoyment...."

"..and that's what's so bad about it!  I shouldn't
like fucking ass, Steve."

"But you do, Jeff.  And so are you going to waste the
rest of your life not doing something you enjoy?  Now
you've found out you like fucking a guy, surely you're
not going to let prejudice stop you from doing what
men have the right to do?"

I felt his grip on my wrist relax a bit, so my hand
was free.  I let it slide further down over his belly,
and began to tease his pubes.  Jeff just lay there,
but somehow I thought his body was relaxing, and I
slid my fingers down a little further  -  he was
erect!

I pushed my face to his ear again, and teased his ear
hole with my tongue, something he always found sexy,
and whispered "All this talk of fucking, Jeff... Right
or wrong, your dick seems ready.... Come on, buddy,
you'll never get to sleep like that:  let me at least
jerk you off..."

He remained silent, but I just knew he was relaxing.
So I put my hand on his shoulder and pulled and tugged
at him, so that he rolled over on to his back, albeit
rather reluctantly.  At once I half lay across him,
pressing my chest to his and thrusting a leg
in-between his - I felt his rock-hard dick pressed
against my waist.  I kissed his nip and teased it with
my tongue, then turned my face towards his.  "Come on,
Jeff... You're ready, you know you are...."

He still lay there though, so I changed positions, and
tunnelled down under the bedclothes, something which
again we used to do and found rather sexy, and began
to kiss his dick.  I remember thinking to myself that
this seduction business was hard work - normally I
never had to bother, as Jeff was always more than
ready for it, and it was more a case of keeping him
off me, rather  than encouraging him!

His hands reached down for me, and he pulled me back
up to lie beside him.  "No, Steve.  I'm not going
to... I'm not going to let you tease me, and lead me
on, and get me to fuck you..."

"You enjoyed it the other night...."

"Yes..."  He sounded very, very sad.  "Yes, I did,
Steve.  It was one of the best things I've ever done.
And that's why I'm not going to do it again - I don't
want to enjoy fucking guys!"

"You really are a stupid idiot, Jeff!  No wonder they
didn't want to keep you in the marines!  A guy who
can't do the things he enjoys because he's got stupid
prejudices...."

The moment I'd said it I knew it was wrong.  It was
not fair of me to taunt Jeff about being a marine, as
it was a very important part of the way he thought
about himself.

He sounded almost bitter as he responded "Well I'm not
a marine any longer - I'm just a slave.  A slave, like
you.  And I'll always be a slave now.  And slaves
aren't supposed to enjoy themselves. So that's OK,
then... No more sex, unless the boss orders it."

Oh, fuck me, this was turning out pretty disastrously.
 I lay there wondering what to do, and finally made up
my mind on a "do or die" strategy.  "Well that's good,
Jeff - because the boss ordered me to come and have
sex with you tonight, as he was worried about you,
sitting there all forlorn...  And as you don't want to
fuck me, I guess I'd better fuck you again."

Jeff lay there silently, and I knew him well enough by
now to know that he was thinking, thinking hard.  It
takes a long time, with Jeff!

"OK, Jeff, turn over, on your belly... I think you're
probably still slicked up from earlier on, so I can
start straight away...."

He still lay there, and so I changed tone to a sort of
"command" one and quietly and calmly issued my order
again.  "OK, soldier!  Over on to your belly.  Right
now!  Are you going to disobey an order from the
boss?"

I thought it had still failed, but slowly, very
slowly, after a delay that could only have been a few
seconds, but which felt like long, long minutes, Jeff
rolled over and cradled his head in his crossed arms.

"Right, buddy.... This is going to be fun.... For both
of us.....!", I told him, trying to sound confident
and in charge.

Well, I've told you how I really like lying right on a
guy and sliding my dick into his ass as he lies there
flat, and how I liked Jeff doing that to me in
particular:  the method has its critics, I know, as
it's not possible to get all that much of your dick
inside him for really deep penetration.  But, after
all, most of the nerve endings are in your dick head;
and you can certainly tease his ass quite enough, I
find.  But, more importantly, a whole lot of your body
is in contact with his, and your mouth is ideally
placed to bite his neck and shoulders, to nibble his
earl lobes, to lick his ear hole, and to whisper all
those little nonsense things that you want to say to a
guy you really like.  And, of course, your hands are
free - you're not holding his legs or anything, so you
can slide them under his body and play with his nips,
or hold his dick, or just stroke and caress him.

This wasn't rough, it wasn't forced, it was gentle and
loving, and I felt so close to Jeff.  And as I worked
away, Jeff began to respond, shifting under me and
sliding his body against mine, then even raising his
ass gently to meet my insistent dick.  And at some
point, when his ear had been tickled so much with my
tongue that he'd had enough, he turned his face up and
reached forward almost hungrily for mine.  I held his
head tenderly, pressed my face down towards his, and
let the action of my tongue into his mouth mimic the
action of my dick in his ass.

I don't know how long this session lasted - I'd have
been happy for it to go on all night.  But even when
your dick is only just "teasing" the other guy, you do
reach a limit, don't you?  I felt myself starting to
cum, and now I didn't pull out, but allowed my seed to
pump up into him so I could remain lying there,
resting, on top of him.  After some minutes, minutes
in which Jeff was totally silent and simply lay there,
I slowly slid out of him, then lay beside him.

To my surprise, he turned on his side to face me.
There were tears on his face again, and I suddenly
felt terrible as this was how he'd been earlier, when
I'd force fucked him.  I pressed myself close to him,
and whispered "Jeff, I'm sorry, buddy....."

His strong arm went around me and he pulled me close
to him.  Our faces were side to side, and I just
couldn't help it - I licked gently at his tears again,
letting the tip of my tongue flicker over his eyeballs
behind his closed lids.

"Steve.... It's OK, buddy...."

"But you were crying, Jeff...."

"Marines don't cry, Steve.  Not even ex-marines who
are slaves.  And especially not slaves who know they
have a real buddy....  It must be something in my
eye...."   He was silent for a few seconds, as if
challenging me to refute his obvious lie, then went on
"Thanks, Steve....  I've always wanted a real buddy,
someone I could be really close to, someone like you,
Steve..."

I felt the tears flooding down my face now as we lay
together in that totally intimate closeness you only
get after truly great sex with a guy you love.  He
noticed, of course, but, being Jeff, made no attempt
to lick them away, or even mention them.  Instead He
now pushed himself up on one elbow and I saw that
characteristic Jeff smile spreading on his face.  "So,
buddy, this is what buddies do together, is it?  Real
buddies, that is?"

"I guess so, Jeff...."

"Well then, little buddy, it's my turn now....."

Ever so gently Jeff turned me over, put his arm under
my waist to haul my ass into the air, and began to
stretch me and lube me with my cum which was now
sliding out of his hole.  It might not have been great
sex then, but afterwards we fell into a deep sleep,
with Jeff still buried inside me.  And that's how the
boss found us the next morning, with Jeff spooned so
tight to me that I suppose we looked almost like one,
as it was only Jeff's ass that he could get to to slap
to wake us up.  Somehow I still find it a bit erotic
to have the covers pulled off me and to have another
man slap my naked butt to get me to wake up.

The boss knew that something had happened - I suppose
it was obvious, as Jeff and I could hardly keep our
hands off each other:  we showered with a lot of
laughing as we soaped each other, whereas we were
normally pretty silent and grumpy in the morning, and
when the boss said we should go for a run before
breakfast, Jeff was leaping around like a frisky lamb
before we set off,  and when we got back and the boss
said we could choose what we wanted for breakfast as a
treat, Jeff walked to the restaurant with his arm
around my shoulders, then sat so close to me on the
banquette so that our bare legs and things were
touching  that it was difficult to actually eat.  And
all the time he was smiling, as I suppose I was, too.
It was almost magical, and one of the best days I've
ever spent in my life.

Once that barrier had been broken, Jeff and I almost
began to resent the studding sessions where he, and
occasionally I, had to fuck the bitches.  We enjoyed
performing for the ladies, when Jeff's "vigorous"
fucking of me was now mostly false, and in turn he
hammed it up when I used him roughly at the various
gay clubs and bars the boss booked us in to.  And,
in-between, we had night after night of the most
wonderful, intimate sex that you can imagine.

I began to think that life as a slave wasn't all that
bad - here I was, seeing the South as we drove from
place to place, having lots of sex with a guy I loved,
and with absolutely no responsibilities: no studying
to do, no tests and exams to bother about....  In some
curious way I felt as if I was more free than when I'd
been a student, and at home with mom and dad in New
Hampshire.

The "real world" came crashing in on me one morning
though, when after breakfast when Jeff and I were
standing in the morning sun by the SUV waiting for the
boss, just generally enjoying the morning, the boss
came over and handed me his cell which showed a call
already in progress.

It was so long since I'd held  phone, it felt really
strange.  "Hullo...", I said cautiously.

"Stephen?  Is that really you?"

I recognised the voice of course, but even so I knew
who it had to be, as only my parents called me Stephen
- everyone else always called me Steve.  "Dad.....
Yes....."

"Happy birthday, son....."

"Dad?"

"Your twenty first birthday, Stephen..... Are you
having a good day?"

"Dad... I'm a slave!  Slaves don't have 'good
days'..."

"Son, I'm sorry, but you did bring it on yourself...."

"Dad....!"

The boss took the phone off me then.  "As we were
discussing, I think you'll find Steve has changed a
lot.  But he's no longer your son, you know:  when he
was enslaved, all family ties were broken.  Your
former son Stephen is now my slave Steve, as I said."

He walked away then, still talking animatedly into his
phone, but  I couldn't hear.  Steve put his arm around
me, looking anxious "Buddy, are you OK?"

"Jeff, that was my dad...."

"As the boss said, not really, Steve.  You only have
an owner now - no moms or dads, or brothers and
sisters...."

The boss came over then and ordered us into the SUV.
He turned to me and said quietly "Your father tracked
me down, Steve.  I'm sorry... He seems to have upset
you.... And I wanted you to have a special
birthday...."


As it turns out, it was an utterly fantastic day after
that.  We stopped at a market and bought a mass of
stuff for a picnic, and a crate of beer, and then
drove to a secluded part of the countryside on the
banks of a river.  The boss settled himself with a
book under a shady tree, and told Jeff and me the rest
of the day was ours!  Well, we threw off our clothes
and dived into the river and swam, and then we did
utterly childish things as guys do in the water:
diving through each others legs, wrestling, splashing
each other, shouting, laughing... All that sort of
stuff.  We got out in almost a frenzy of desire and in
the shade of another tree, well away from the boss,
fucked - at first, hard and urgently, but then when
the first fire of our passion had been spent, slowly
and languorously, exploring each others bodies,
kissing, nuzzling and generally making out.  Then we
swam again, and after that the boss told us to make
lunch and we had beers, and then we fucked again and
fell asleep in the warm afternoon sunshine..... All in
all, it was absolutely the best birthday I could ever
have imagined. Whether that's because having so little
usually, the beer and the picnic was extra special, or
whether it was because I spent the entire day doing
great things with Jeff, it wouldn't be fair to say.

After that amazing day, though, it was back to work as
usual.  There seemed to be even fewer genuine studding
slots available now, and when there were, I was almost
never selected even though the  boss gave owners a
choice of Jeff or me.  There were a lot of
"demonstrations", the boss seemingly to have cornered
the market there, probably because there weren't a
whole lot of owners who had two big white studs like
us available.  Well, that went for the "lunch ladies"
market, anyway:  I seemed to get  fucked by Jeff at
least once, and often twice, a week (and although we
talked about it endlessly, these public fucks seemed
to turn into really tough, hard ones that made me cry
out with the pain and discomfort he caused - although
not perhaps as hard as the first time.  All Jeff could
say afterwards was "Sorry, Steve, but you know how it
is - a man's got to prove himself to be a real man
when there's an audience.  And real men fuck hard."
Still, I always got a lot of tips afterwards - tips
which the boss always pocketed.   I was less
fortunate, I suppose:  we had relatively fewer
demonstrations in gay clubs and bars, and so I had
fewer opportunities to fuck Jeff hard (in bed, we
always did it very gently and lovingly).  I kept
complaining to the boss about this, and he just
shrugged.  "It's the market, Steve!  Gay guys usually
want to see white studs really giving it to niggas".
His face broke into a faint smile "....or, I suppose,
to see a big buck nigga really reaming the ass of a
young white guy.  Would you like me to get you an
engagement like that?  Would you like some big buck
big nigga buck reaming you?  I bet you'd squeal then,
even more than when Jeff does it."

"NO thanks, boss!", I said hurriedly.   "But how about
getting one where I fuck some nigga?"

"That's difficult - suppose we arranged it so that you
got to fuck the nigga, then when we got there the bar
manager decided his customers wanted it the other way
around?  Are you willing to take the risk?"

"I guess not."

The boss just smiled again.  "You boys just do what
you're supposed to, then - just act like slaves, and
let me do the worrying about bookings and all that
stuff.  I'm not making a lot of money from you two
currently, but we are certainly covering costs, so we
can carry on like this for eve, and I don't think I
need to sell either of you."

That send a shiver of fear through me - I knew, of
course, that the boss could do that - sell Jeff or me,
at any time.  And, if he did, what would happen then?
I'd probably never see Jeff again.

"Boss, you're not going to do that, are you?", I
blurted out.

"What?  Sell you?"  He hesitated a bit, shrugged, and
continued "Only if  I absolutely have to, Steve.  I
know you and Jeff are really close, and I won't split
you up unless I absolutely have to."

I suppose that's the only "guarantee" you can get from
your owner, isn't it?  Nevertheless, I felt uneasy
about it, and all I could do was to try and ignore the
little worries that occasionally tugged at my brain.

We had another joint studding at the factory where I'd
started out, with Jeff and me being put with fifteen
bitches with the big nigga stud Coon.  I remembered
how timid I'd been the first time this had happened,
and now I actually enjoyed it:  I mean, there's not a
lot of guys who get to go to an orgy at all, are
there?  But as  I was fucking my third or fourth
bitch, I couldn't help looking across at Coon and
seeing his big black butt pumping away, and wondering
how I'd feel if it was me lying on my back under him
at some gay club.  On the other hand, the sight was
pretty erotic, and even as I fucked away at the bitch,
something inside me was telling me that it would be a
whole lot more fun to have the hard muscle of Coon
under me, and to have my dick forcing its way into
Coon's tight ass.  But then, it wasn't up to me, was
it?

I did try, though - in  the showers afterwards, I
stood next to Coon and offered to soap his back, and
in doing that I of course let my hands stray down to
caress his butt.  He didn't seem to mind at first,
until I tried to force a finger in-between his cheeks,
when he called out, kind of jokingly,  "Hey, Jeff,
have you got some faggot for a buddy here?  I reckon
young Steve fancies my ass!"

Jeff looked vaguely uncomfortable as he shouted back
"Who, Steve?  No - you saw him in action last night!",
as if he was ashamed to admit to what he and I did
together.

The next day, though, the boss drove us back to the
gay club where I'd first fucked Jeff.  As we got there
he told us that he had business in New York, and he
clearly couldn't take us with him as slaves were not
allowed to leave the South.  And instead of paying
boarding fees at the slave kennels at the airport, he
had instead hired us out to the club for three nights,
and that part of the deal was that we could sleep at
the premises - there was some accommodation there for
the bar staff.   He added "I suppose it can be a bit
of a holiday for you two - you can go for a run in the
city, but I don't want to pay gym fees, so most of the
time is your own.  Go to a museum, or an art gallery,
or whatever...."

We went up into the owner's office when we arrived, as
we had before.  Jeff and I stood there at "slave
rest", as the boss liked, but I was interested to see
that at the other side of the room there was a young
guy standing with his back to us who was making coffee
at a little combined sink and hotplate.  His back to
us and he was totally naked, and I looked with
interest at him:  unlike Jeff and me, he was one of
those thin, wiry guys with "snake hips" and a tiny
butt.   He must be a Mexican or something,  I thought,
judging by his skin colour, and, again unlike Jeff and
me, he was very hairy:  his back, butt and thighs were
covered in that kind of black hair that lies flat
along the skin.  It was interesting, I suppose, to see
the club owner had a friend or buddy like this who
wasn't ashamed to be naked in the room with us,
because the guy couldn't be a slave:  his little butt
was smooth, and there was no sign of the big "S" with
which Jeff and I were marked.  I knew that some slave
owners made their slaves wear collars instead, but
above the boy's wide shoulders, his long neck was
clear, too.  I say boy, because the more I looked at
him, the more it made me think that it he was not a
mature guy like me and Jeff, but probably only sixteen
or seventeen.

I was about to nudge Jeff to get him to take a closer
look, when the boy turned around to carry two mugs of
coffee over to his owner and the boss.  To my utter
astonishment  I saw that his face was horribly
disfigured:  there, on his left cheek, stretching form
the jaw up to the eye, was a livid red "S" brand!
Yes, the bastards had actually branded him on the
face, and  I could only imagine how it must feel - not
only must it have hurt even more than being branded on
the butt, but everywhere he went he'd be conscious of
guys staring at him, disfigured as he was.

The club owner saw the boss was staring at the boy,
too, and in conversation said "Nice, isn't he?  Just
sixteen - he was one of three brothers caught trying
to enter the country illegally.   I wish I'd had
enough money to buy all of them, as there was him, an
eighteen year old, and a twenty year old, alike as
peas in a pod.  I hated to see the set of them broken
up, but what can you do, the prices young males are
these days?  I was lucky to get him, I suppose - and
he's really good:  he works in the bar at night, and
he's a cracker in bed...."

"I was looking at his brand...", the boss muttered.

"Oh yes, the dealer advised that.  It's becoming quite
the fashion for slaves who will be used for sex:  the
traditional brand on the butt is OK for workers and
manual slaves generally, but when you've got a slave
underneath you ready for fucking, a lot of guys prefer
to see a butt without a brand on as it lets them
fantasise that they're fucking a free man.  But the
slave has  to be branded, of course, and the same
considerations apply almost everywhere else on the
body - you wouldn't want to play with his nips if they
were surrounded by a brand, or stroke his belly with
the feeling of it across the ridges of his muscles....
 And I certainly would never have the cock branded, as
some owners do to slaves who are only to be used as
the bottom in a fuck session - I mean, you never know,
do you?  The next owner might want a stud slave, and a
big "S" on the cock would lower market values...."

I listened with utter amazement.  These commercial
considerations being applied to disfiguring a guy's
body - it was outrageous, but there was nothing  I
could do, after all:  that was the law for slaves, and
owners could do what they liked, mostly.

Jeff wasn't too pleased about the prospect of me
fucking him hard three nights in a row, but I promised
him that after each show he could "make up for it"
when we were alone.  And, I suppose, he'd got used to,
or at least reconciled to, our life.  The club owner
told us that we were not needed until the club opened
at five, and so Jeff and I set out to explore the
city:  we soon discovered, though, that life for a
slave there was a lot less agreeable than anything we
were used to with the boss, and began to understand
how truly considerate he really was and how lucky we
were to have such a good owner.  For one thing we had
no money, so we couldn't use the subway or buses - it
wasn't a particular problem for Jeff and me as we
could walk or jog, being very fit:  but then we found
out that the sidewalks were reserved for free men, and
we had to make or way along the narrow "slave tracks"
on the side of the streets - it seemed so ridiculous
when Jeff and I wanted to jog, the slave track was
full of walking slaves, and the sidewalk was mostly
empty.  But when we tried sneaking on to the sidewalk,
we were spotted by a traffic cop who called us over
and told us that if we were seen doing that again he'd
call the SP!

The boss's idea of us going to a museum or art gallery
was also out - slaves were only admitted "When serving
as an aid to their owners" and unaccompanied slaves,
or slaves not acting as assistants or helpers, were
strictly prohibited.  I don't suppose it mattered all
that much to Jeff, who wasn't really the gallery or
museum type, but it would have made a change for me.
Anyway by noon we were back a the club, and the young
Mexican slave, who told us then his name was Juan,
showed us  our quarters - not bad, actually:  a big
room, with some mattresses on the floor, next door to
a shower.  Jeff asked him about life at the club, and
he shrugged.  I won't try to reproduce his accented
English, but he said, more or less,  "It's better than
at home, I suppose - I get enough to eat, and I don't
get hit or anything... Well, mostly I don't... But I
miss my brothers very much."

"Why were you trying to get to the USA?", I asked.

"We were poor.  And after my mother died my dad drank,
so we got poorer and poorer.  There's was no work, and
dad hit us all the time in his rage.  So when I was
sixteen, my eldest brother said we ought to try for
the better life here in the USA.... He took me and my
middle brother, and made for  the border.  We were
caught, of course - I've heard from some of the guys
here at the club that they make it look easy at first
to cross the border, and then they pounce on you and
enslave you once you get across:  it makes for a good
supply of fresh slaves.  I miss my brothers, though,
very much...."

"Well perhaps you'll meet again, one day", I said,
trying to sound cheerful even tough I knew this was
unlikely.

The boy shook his head.  "I don't think so.  I don't
know who bought them....", but then said  "It will be
nice having you and Jeff here to help out, though
....Towards the weekends when we get busy there's a
lot of work, and it's more than I can cope with, and
my owner gets cross and threatens to cane me."

"Hey, no way!", Jeff said.  "We're here for the
demonstration".

"My owner said to your boss that he'd like to use you
two to help out in the bar, and your boss
agreed......"

Jeff brightened.  "I always waned to be a bartender...
And I reckon I can have a drink or two...."

"Oh no, senor.  State law prohibits slaves from
working behind bars - that's a job reserved for
freemen.  We just clear the tables of bottles and used
glasses, that sort of thing."

"I'm not a waiter!", Jeff almost exploded.  "That's
not the kind of work big guys like us do...."

"No, senor.  Not a waiter.  The customers have to
fetch their own drinks to prevent us slaves from
taking a sip.  But we clear away, to encourage them to
go and buy more.... And, senor, you would not wish to
steal a drink anyway:  my owner would beat you, as he
beats me...."

"So you clear away the empties", I cut in, anxious to
get off the topic of beatings and so on.  "What else
do you do?"

"Sweep the floors in the morning and clean the place,
carry in the supplies when they arrive....."  The boy
paused for a moment, and I thought  I detected a faint
glow of embarrassment under his dark skin.  "...and,
well, you know, for my owner....  But I do not like
that."

"You mean he fucks you?"

"Yes, I suppose all slaves get fucked.  But he is not
a nice man.  He hurts me, not like my brothers did".

"Your brothers fucked you?"

"Miguel says that's what brothers do, brothers who
love each other.  And I miss them...."

The lad looked so sad that I put my arm around him.
"Well perhaps you'll meet them again one day, as I
said...."

"I do not think so.  Once you are sold, how can you
meet again?"

My job of comforting him wasn't going too well, but at
that moment a bell rang and Juan told us that it was
the weekly beer delivery, and he had to go and unload
it.   I told him I'd help, and Jeff too.  I saw Jeff
scowling at me a bit, but I slapped him on the butt
playfully to encourage him.

"Hey, Steve, leave me out of this - the boss said it
was a bit of a holiday...", Jeff retorted.

"Don't be so fucking lazy!  We need some exercise, a
bit of hard work.... And it's not fair to leave it all
to young Juan here...."

Reluctantly Jeff got up and followed us out, down to
the back door.  The dray slaves from the delivery
company had already made an impressive pile of crates
in the back alley, and Juan pointed at them.  "It's a
lot of work for me, senor Steve, thank you...."

"You don't have to do all of that yourself usually, do
you?"

The lad blushed again.  "Well the dray slaves will
help.... If they are ahead of time a bit.... They will
carry the crates upstairs.... But then.... You
know...."

He saw me looking quizzically.  "Well senor Steve,
they must be paid...."

I looked at him again "And I am a slave,  I have no
money....  "

One of the dray slaves, a huge nigga, came over then
and put his arm around Juan, his other big hand
reaching down and grabbing Juan's dick through his
shorts!  "Hey, Mexican boy, are you ready to suck my
nigga cock?", he asked cheerfully.  "...mine and my
buddies' here?"

"Hey, nigga, that's not on the cards today!", Jeff
barked.  "And get our filthy hands off the kid...."

The big nigga turned.  "Who are you calling a nigga,
whitey?"  And mind your own fucking business - this
Mexican kid is one of the best cock suckers I've ever
known...."

"Better than your nigga buddies, anyway, I suppose",
Jeff called back, his tone challenging.  Jeff's a bit
like that - he wants to have things his way, and if
anyone stands up to him, he tends to "bid things up"
rather than trying to resolve it.  He went on, his
tone now sneering "In fact, I bet you and your buddies
are really good at sucking cock yourselves. So why
don't you let go of the boy, and get down on your
knees in front of us studs here, and let us see your
skills?"

There were eight of the dray slaves - not all of them
were as big as the chief one, but they were all bulky,
powerful men.  Well  suppose you only get to be a dray
slave if you've got a strong body:  pulling the dray
when it was fully laden would be tough, especially
uphill.  And then there would be all the unloading and
stuff.  They were all beginning to form a menacing
cluster behind their leader now, and glaring at Jeff.

"Who are you calling a cocksucker?", one of them
called out.


"Not all of you, anyway", Jeff retorted. I suppose
that living together all the time, pulling that dray,
some of you get to be real pussy boys for the others.
Does this big chief nigga here ream your ass instead?"

It was insane!   We'd never met these guys before,
and, who knows, they might be really nice people.  And
because the conversation had started off badly, here
we were about to get beaten up, I felt sure, by them.
I mean, I suppose it was true, what Jeff said, that
living together and working together like that they
would obviously have sex, wouldn't they?  I don't
suppose they were given bitches or anything.  But it
was wrong of Jeff to make an issue of it - and he
could hardly talk, could he?  I mean, think about how
we were together!

Look, I know Jeff was a marine, and a trained fighter.
 And I guess marines are taught to be challenging and
everything and not to be afraid of confrontation, but
the odds were totally wrong!  I'd never fought anyone,
and Juan was only a kid.  So there was really only
Jeff, and, as I said, these niggas were all very big,
tough, muscled guys with a lot of power in their
bodies.  And they were used to working as a team, all
together:  all eight of them would presumably fight
us.

I stepped forward, getting in-between Jeff and the
chief nigga.  Frankly, I was terrified - there was
such tension between them.  "Now, guys, let's calm
down, shall we?  None of us want a fight - whoever
wins, there's bound to be some damage to the other,
and our owners will probably have us beaten, or even
whipped...."

"Keep out of this, Steve!"  Jeff's tone was tense, and
angry.

"Yes, whitey!  Mind your own fucking business - your
buddy there has insulted us, and is going to pay..."

"Loo, there's been some misunderstanding....", I
stammered.  "It's not worth fighting over!  We're all
slaves, and we ought to stick together.  It's our
owners who are at fault, keeping us away from
women.... You wouldn't have been talking like this,
any of you, if you'd just got out of bed after fucking
some nice warm cunt...."

"He's right", one of the dray slaves called out.  "If
I had a bitch, even occasionally, we wouldn't need
guys to suck our cocks...."

"....or to have to take it up the ass sometimes",
another added, laughing.  "Is it the same for you
whiteys?"

I laughed, as best I could.  "Look, guys, Jeff here is
just pissed off because he fancies the Mexican kid
himself... We're in the same position as you - your
owner won't give you a bitch, not even one between
eight.... Well, how do you think it is for us?  Do you
reckon our owner will give us a woman. Shell out the
new dollars for one between two?  And white women cost
one hell of a lot more than nigga bitches, or so I'm
told."

"He's right", one of the drays called out.  "We're all
the fucking same!  It's the fault of the owners...."

"....so when we get here and find this lad...
well.....  It would be a bit of a change for us,
wouldn't it?  So if you gentlemen don't mind, how
about leaving him alone.... Leaving him for us?"

There were mutterings of agreement from the drays,
and, like a good leader, the chief one seemed to think
that it was better this time to go along with his men.
 "OK, whitey", he said to Jeff.  "You live, this time!
 But we've got no more time to waste - you and your
buddy can wear yourselves out carting this stuff up to
the bar today."

I have to say I breathed a sigh of relief as the drays
put themselves between the shafts of their cart, and
dragged it off down the alley, breaking out into one
of the popular slave work chants as they did so.

End Of Part Ten