Date: Wed, 22 Oct 2003 00:16:25 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Slave's Life, Part 5

A SLAVE'S LIFE, Part 5

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


"Right", the doctor said.  "I know you're sitting
comfortably!  I am actually a qualified doctor, and I
do treat proper patients such as your master.  But I
am also his veterinarian, responsible for the good
health of the slaves on this estate.  So you will see
me again if you are ill, or injured.  It's much easier
 to treat slaves, of course, as, rather like animals
taken to a veterinarian, they can be given much larger
doses of stronger drugs - drugs that are not
necessarily approved for use on humans. And so you'll
usually be back hard at work very quickly"

I knew what he meant - I was always amazed when my
parents took our cats to the local vet - they could be
almost dying, and one big shot of penicillin or
something, and they were skipping around the next day.
 Our local doctor buy contrast, always took weeks to
cure us!

"However I also have another function.  Like all good
veterinarians, but not like most doctors, I also carry
out other procedures on animals when their owner
requires it.  So if your owner decides that you should
be circumcised, or castrated, I will do it. And I will
of course 'put you down', as they say, just as I would
an animal, if you were too sick or too injured to
continue working.  But all that is in the future.
Today, I have to do another of those little
veterinarian's tasks - heavy work group slaves are
ringed in two places, and I do that."

"Please...."

"Silence, slave!  I do hope you soon learn that rule -
I hate it when the owner gets so exasperated with a
slave constantly speaking that he orders the vocal
cords to be cut.  I really would advise you to get out
of the habit of asking unnecessary questions.  I
expect you were going to ask me where the rings are
going to go, or not to do it.  It you stopped to think
a moment, you'd know that, as a slave, both these
questions are irrelevant to you.  Firstly, you'll find
out soon enough anyway where I am going to ring you.
And what does it matter to you anyway, if your owner
has ordered it?  And secondly, what would be the
purpose of asking me not to do it - your request is
worthless, as your owner has ordered it and it is he
who now owns and controls the piece of manflesh
sitting in front of me, not you."

"But, as I'm a nice guy, I'll tell you anyway.  Heavy
work group slaves get a genital band, and a snout
ring.  The genital band is actually one of the ways in
which you slaves are lucky that you have such a caring
owner - you're going to be doing heavy manual labour,
and with low-hanging free-swinging balls like yours,
there's a potential problem: they can get in the way!
You probably haven't experienced it yet, but naked
slaves sometimes get caught out if they do something
without thinking - something simple, like sitting
down!  Their balls can slam into the chair, or get
trapped under their thigh, and they scream.  It's much
worse when you are working at a huge variety of
unfamiliar tasks - the slaves are so concerned about
their balls that they don't focus properly on what's
going on.  It's not a problem on normal construction
sites and so on as the workers' balls are safely
protected inside their jeans, and most of the very
well hung also wear briefs, or even jockstraps.  But
nude, there's a risk to you, and you may not work as
hard as you should."

"The solution is simple - a wide metal band around the
root of your cock, stretching under your balls, lifts
the balls up slightly and thrusts them and your cock
forwards.  It's much more out of harm's way when your
legs are working hard.  And, of course, incidentally
it shows off your cock and balls to a much greater
advantage - with them lifted up and thrust forward,
they can't fail to be more noticeable - and you're not
just here to work:  your owner likes his men to be
show objects, too.. We call it a cinch ring, as it
cinches your balls up and out of the way.  You'll find
that once you're used to it you'll like it - you won't
get those pains that you'd otherwise get when your
balls slap your thighs as you run:  a lot of guys are
surprised about this, as they just aren't used to
exercising or working in the nude - but think about
it:  when did you last run a mile without shorts, or a
jockstrap?  And, of course, you'll get even more
erections than usual - or, rather, those erections
that you get anyway as a virile young slave will last
longer and longer.  The cinch ring restricts the flow
of blood flowing out of your cock a little, so once
it's erect, it will be even harder than usual and some
slaves even report it to be in the edge of painful,
it's so hard  - and the erection will last longer."

"The snout ring is just a comfort factor for when the
owner has nervous guests - in spite of the fact that
we've never had an incident here of a slave attacking
a man - there's no point, after all, as the slave can
never escape and will surely be punished - some of the
owner's guests get all worried when they see
exceptionally strong, vigorous, young slaves working
near them.  On those occasions when the master is
entertaining, therefore, all heavy work slaves in the
vicinity of the main house are secured - we can't
chain your arms or legs, as you are working.  We tried
attacking the chain to your genital band, but it too
can get in the way, and it is thought unwise to risk
upsetting the electronics in your collar chain by
attaching a security chain to it."

"Consequently all you heavy work slaves are fitted
with a snout ring - a simple ring through the septum
in your nose.  It doesn't interfere with your eating,
as it doesn't overhang your top lip, and once it's
fitted, it isn't at all painful.  But when we need to
we can run a steel wire through the snout rings of all
the slaves working on a project, and tether the end
securely.  It makes the owner's guests much happier,
and it doesn't much interfere with your ability to
work."

"Bear in mind", he went on, "That the owner has two
purposes in keeping slaves like you.  Of course he
needs the work about the estate done, but he could, if
he wished, use machines for much of it with much less
expense and a lot less effort - machines don't need
guards, slave barracks, and veterinarians, do they?
However the real purpose is to please the eye - the
owner and his guests like to see beautiful men with
firm, strong bodies working hard.  There's nothing so
pleasing as watching the muscles of a naked man as he
toils away at a task that is almost physically beyond
him, to see him panting and gasping for breath, to see
the sweat trickling off him, and then, just as he
seems to be giving up, to watch as the guard's whip
caresses his arse and to see the slave invigorated and
almost redoubling his efforts!  It's a fine spectacle,
and that's why all you slaves are handsome, well
muscled, have no major physical deformities, and, or
course, are kept nude."

"Now.. .enough of this.... To work!"

He moved a little lever on his control panel and the
chair tilted backwards and the base almost raised so
that my knees were up in the air and my head was
towards the floor.  The veterinarian sat on a small
wheeled stool and scooted over to sit between my legs.

His hand felt cold as he gripped my balls, and I
almost winced.

"Relax, boy - this isn't going to hurt you", he said.
"What I need to do is to stretch your balls down so
that I can gauge the size of ring to fit - it needs to
be big enough to ensure that the balls are raised
properly, but not so big that you're in constant
discomfort as your balls are under relentless
pressure.  Now, try to relax as I stretch your
balls.... If you get extreme discomfort, you may say
so.  But I do need to pull them a little, to make sure
I've got them fully extended....."

I was getting slightly sick feelings in the pit of my
stomach as his relentless pressure on my balls
increased, but he did seem to be trying to be gentle.
And then he let go and I just sat there, although I
noticed form the cool, clammy feeling that my body had
broken out in sweat as he'd been working.  And as I
sat there I couldn't help reflecting on what a mad
world I seemed to have landed up in:  I'd been a
normal guy, and now here I was sitting naked, my pubes
and body shorn and shaved, and waiting for a "cinch
ring" to be fitted to me!

"Right.... That's it.... Now all we have to do is fit
you with the ring."

He went to a cabinet against the wall and opened the
door.  Inside I could see, neatly laid out on trays,
lots of gleaming metal bands.  The doctor reached in
and selected one, and came back.

"Look, see.... Stainless steel, so there's no risk of
getting an allergic reaction from your tender skin to
it."

The ring was open so there was a gap in it, but even
so it took a long time for the vet to position it and
get my cock and balls through - he slopped oil over my
cock and massaged it in to help, and I almost got used
to having his fingers teasing and caressing my most
sensitive parts as he worked away.  Looking back on it
I'm surprised I didn't spring an erection - now, when
another man touches my cock it's absolutely
instantaneous.  But perhaps it was the thought that
the was a "doctor", and you don't do things like that
when a doctor's examining you, do you?

When he seemed satisfied that the ring was properly
located, he coated the open ends with something from a
tiny tube, then came over with an instrument that
looked rather like a giant pair of pliers, except that
the handles were about three feet long.

"Don't worry", he said jokingly "These aren't the
castrating shears, just the  thing to close up the
ring and make it nice and secure.  We got you into
that ring because the ends are open, but once I
squeeze it closed into a perfect tool, and the
superglue sticks it, there'll be no getting it off."
I shuddered inwardly - the fact that he could joke
about there being a castrating tool presumably meant
that, in his world, such a thing did indeed exist!  I
wondered how many men had sat where I now sat, just
waiting to lose their manhood.

He closed the jaws of the instrument around the ring,
and pulled the two handles together.  I got a
momentary twinge of pain as my balls felt crushed by
the tightness of the ring, but it did subside quite
soon.  I was suddenly "aware" of my balls and cock in
a way you normally aren't - not only ere they no
longer "hanging", but they feel all tight and
constricted - and then, o my horror, I found myself
going erect.  As my cock hardened and lengthened, a
deep blush arose across my shoulders and neck and up
over my face. I'd never really been erect in front of
another man before, and I desperately hoped that the
doctor wouldn't notice.

But he did!  He reached down and actually played with
my genitals, moving the ring around.  "Yes, that's
excellent.  You don't feel any rough edges, do you?"

I shook my head, too embarrassed to speak.

"What you're experiencing now is a perfectly normal
reaction to cinching", he went on. "As I said, you'll
find yourself erect more often, and those erections
will be harder, and will last longer.  You'll soon get
used to it, and to the way that the balance of your
body is altered because all your tackle is shifted
forwards."

"You'll need to keep the whole area shaved, of course,
as if your pubic hair starts to re-grow it will be
extremely painful for you if loose hairs get trapped
under the ring.  It's deliberately tight to cause the
maximum protrusion, and to prevent it ever slipping
off - and, of course, to make you erect more.  But
that very tightness would work against you if you get
hairy again - not that there's much chance of that
happening whilst you're here, as all the slaves in the
heavy work squad are kept shaved anyway."

He started fussing around with my head then, moving
clamps from the side of the back of the chair and
tightening them so that my head was immobile.  "This
is going to be a little more unpleasant", he told me,
and so I need you held tight.  "Now, TRY to relax -
the human body tolerates pain much better if it isn't
quaking and shivering with fear, you know."

Well, I didn't know!  No one had ever inflicted pain
on me before.

The doctor rummaged in a drawer around behind me, out
of sight, and came and stood beside me holding another
instrument that looked like one of those things you
can get for stoning olives - a pair of pliers with one
end fashioned in the form of a spike, and the other in
the form of a small circle with a hole in the middle.

"One quick squeeze of this to make a hole in your
septum", he told me.  "There'll be lots of blood, but
don't worry - there are no serious arteries in the
nose, and blood spilling out always looks much more
dramatic than it really is.  You can scream if you
like - it will hurt - most slaves do, and there's
nothing to be ashamed of."

"Please... Can't you give me something - a pain
killing shot....?"

"No.  You don't need it.  The pain is only for a short
time, and we don't like to waste money on pain killers
for something inconsequential like this.  And, in any
case, your owner wants you to remember your ringing:
every time you  touch your snout ring in future you'll
remember this morning just a little, and the memory of
the pain you're about to experience will remind you
that your owner has absolute power over your body.  He
can order all sorts of unpleasant procedures to be
performed on you, and you are powerless to resist.  So
let this be a further lesson to you in what it really
means to be a slave."

As he finished speaking he reached up my nostrils with
the instrument, and I could feel the cold steel
against my flesh.  There was also that peculiar sharp
"metallic" smell that you sometimes get from steel - I
suppose it was because it was in such intimate contact
with my nostrils.


He fiddled around, positioning the end of the device
to his satisfaction, then, holding the handles gently
together so that it didn't slip or change its
position, he moved around.  He changed his grip on the
handles so that he could exert the full pressure of
his hands and arms, then squeezed.

I did shriek.  I felt the spike piercing my cartilage,
and I'm sure I heard a dull sort of "scrunch" noise as
the semi-brittle substance fractured.  It hurt like
hell.  And blood started to pour out from my nose, to
fall onto my naked chest and start to run down in a
little rivulet across my belly and onto my
newly-ringed cock.

I was sobbing now, I couldn't help it.  But the doctor
paid no attention, and said, calmly, "There. The
worst's over.  Punching the hole is the painful bit,
and the rest is merely, shall I say... 'discomfort'."

He'd put the instrument down, and was peering into my
nostrils intently, dabbing at the blood with a
surgical wipe.  The cupboard holding the rings was
opened again, and he came back to me holding a
stainless steel ring, again open at the ends, about an
inch and a half in diameter.

It tickled, rather than hurt, as he manoeuvred the
ring into the hole he'd punched in my septum, and then
 a smaller version of the squeezing device was brought
over, the open ends got a coating of glue, and the
ring was squeezed closed.

"There, all done!  Another success!"  He fussed
around, releasing my head clamps, and then the bands
holding my wrists down to the chair.  At once my hands
flew up to my face, and I tentatively touched the cold
ring hanging from my nostrils to fall across my top
lip.  It felt so odd to have this foreign appendage on
me, and I fiddled with it, moving it around - I got
little shooting, tickling pains as I did so.

"You should do that for the next few days", the doctor
told me.  "Every now and then move it around so that
as the scar tissue forms inside your nose the ring
isn't trapped by it - you want it free moving, else
when they tether you by it, it will be intensely
painful later if you tear away lesions that will
otherwise form between you and the metal of the ring."

He finished freeing me from the restraints, and told
me to get up.  As I stood there, I felt so
humiliatingly exposed - my cock jutted out obscenely
in front of me, and my body was all out of balance.  I
took a couple of tentative steps, and it jus felt so
odd - you don't really ever think of your cock and
balls, do you, normally, but now I couldn't help doing
it as they jutted out so prominently.

The doctor opened the door and called the guard in,
and the last I saw of him, as the guard marched me
away, was him sitting at a PC and typing something in
- I supposed he was updating the medical records, to
record his "operations" on me.

The guard led me trough the corridors of the building,
then we exited into a courtyard in the centre.  As we
left the air-conditioned coolness, the heat hit me -
it must have been in the high eighties, and it was
humid with it.  Sweat broke out all over me almost
immediately, and I could feel it forming little
rivulets under my arms and trickling down my ribs.  I
almost felt sorry for the guard - in his tight
trousers and T-shirt, he looked much more
uncomfortable than me!

He had one advantage, though:  his boots protected his
feet from the very hot ground and the many sharp
stones it contained!  Fortunately I'd been on a beach
holiday relatively recently and had gone barefooted
most of the time so I already had some tough skin on
the soles of my feet, but, even so, it was almost
painful to have to walk following the guard.

On and on we marched, and I couldn't help noticing
that everything we passed was in immaculate condition
- paths were freshly swept, ornamental shrubs were
neatly pruned and tied, buildings gleamed with clean
paint and had a freshly-washed look.

Eventually we arrived at a site that was in the early
stages of a construction project - bricks and stuff
were piled around ,but they were waiting for the
foundations to be dug.  There was an Overseer, in
tight, high-cut shorts and a singlet, supervising a
group of seven naked men - all big, tough-looking
strong men, like me.  The Overseer had what I assumed
was a whip slung on his belt - a short handle, and an
ominous-looking leather tail hanging from it., and one
of the "cattle prods" was also slung there - it was
clear he was in charge from the way he stood there
arrogantly watching the naked men , and I guessed that
the whip and prod were the ways in which he exercised
his authority.  The men were all using shovels to dig
trenches - the sort that outline where the rooms are
to go, so that concrete can be poured in to make a
secure foundation.  Some of the men had just started
and were working almost at ground level,. But on the
far side of the works the trench was already about
four feet deep and the men in there were having to
work extra hard to throw the soil and rubble up and
out.

The guard who had been escorting me turned to the
Overseer and said "This is the new slave for this
squad.  Just treat him like all the others from now
on, but make sure for the next few days that he's
properly covered in sun block until his pelt is tanned
fully - we don't want any more incidents like that one
a few months ago when one of the new field hands died
from sunstroke.  So keep an eye on him!"

The guard turned and walked off, and the Overseer
looked at me.  He took hold of my shoulder and turned
it towards him, and read my "name" from the tattoo.

"Right, Jon, here are the rules of this work gang.
One, I'm your Overseer, and if I tell you to do
something, you do it!  If I ask you a question you
reply, respectfully, in the way you've been taught.
And otherwise you stay totally silent - you are not
allowed to talk to your fellows, or whistle, or sing,
or anything like that:  slaves in this gang work
totally silently - after all, you may be doing tasks
near where the master and his guests are, and the
raucous noise of slaves would disturb them.  So it's
easier if you learn the 'total silence' rule from the
outset."

"Is that clear so far?"

"Yes."

The Overseer reached for the whip at his belt, and
snapped "You weren't listening, were you?  You answer
respectfully.  Now, that's your last chance.  Was that
clear so far?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Good!  Remember that.  Now we operate a 'buddy'
system here where it's 'all for one and one for all'
as the Musketeers used to say.  What that means is
that you are all equally responsible for what happens,
and all equally  share the work, and the punishment.
If your work rate falls below what I expect, I will
punish 'you', generally with a light lashing with this
whip.  More serious errors result in a prodding.  By
'you' I mean any one of the group who happens to be
handy - if I were to hear you speak, but another of
your fellow slaves was next to me, I'll prod him as
it's more convenient for him.   Likewise, you might be
unfortunate enough to be whipped or prodded because
you happened to be closest when one of your fellows
misbehaved.  It all evens out in the end, of
course.... And we've found that if there's a classic
shirker who tries to dodge his part of the work, or a
very disobedient slave who constantly disobeys orders,
his fellows will sort him out!  Some stubborn slaves
might refuse to work if they were being punished
themselves, in a sort of macho 'I can take it' way.
But when they realise that it's not them, but all
their fellows, who are being punished, they soon
change their ways."

"Is that still clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

I'd noticed that in spite of my arrival and the
Overseer taking all this time to talk to me, the seven
men had not slackened their pace, had not stopped to
look at what was happening, had hardly glanced at us -
they were so intent on working.  Evidently this system
they used did keep you toiling away.

"Provided you work hard, and obey the rules, you'll be
all right", he went on. "You work from sunrise to
noon, then you're allowed three hours rest in the
shade, then work again from three until sunset.
That's usually about fourteen hours work a day, but
you're young, fit and strong, so that should not be a
problem.  You get fed in the morning, and at the noon
break, and you may only eat the slave biscuits you are
given - if you should be working in the fields or
orchards, it is absolutely forbidden to take any of
the crops for yourself:  they are your master's crops,
and he does not choose to feed them to his slaves.
You may piss whenever you want to when we are on a
site like this that is open and bare - indeed, you
must do it without stopping work, as no break in the
work is permitted.  But if we are working close to the
master's palace, or in an enclosed area, you will of
course wait until you are allowed to do so.  Crapping
during the day is strictly forbidden - make sure you
empty your bowels in the morning, and at nigh."

"And finally, I will remind you that you are not
allowed to touch your own cock and balls.  If you need
sexual relief, it is from the hand - or mouth, or ass
- of one of your fellows."

"Now, is that all understood?  You will not be told
again, but infractions of these simple rules result in
group punishment."

"Sir, yes, sir."   What else could I say?  I wanted to
tell him it was all unfair, that I wasn't a slave,
that he must let me go.... But I knew it would be no
use.  And the instructions, as they had been given,
were very simple even though they were grossly cruel
and unjust.

"Right.  Now, take a shovel, and get digging.  Your
break at noon is still two hours away, and there is
much to be done."

Feeling rather foolish, naked, with my cock jutting
out, I picked up a shovel from the pile of tools the
Overseer had indicated to me, and walked over to where
the excavations were going on at a rapid pace.  I saw
that the lines of trenches had been marked out in
white paint on the ground, so I joined the other naked
men in digging.

It was incredibly hard work!  The sun beat down on my
naked body, and I'm sure I could feel it burning me in
spite of the sun block.  I was covered in sweat almost
instantly, and it pooled and trickled down me in
little rivulets.  But I soon realised that trying to
shovel, naked, is a big problem - without shoes, you
can't push the shovel down into the ground properly.
Some of the others were doing so, and I guessed that
this was because they were hardened and toughened to
the life - would I get to be like this, I wondered,
with such tough feet that I could drive a shovel into
the earth?  As it was, I had to use the power of my
arms and shoulders to drive the shovel in as hard as I
could, then bend double to pull it out loaded with
spoil.  It was excellent exercise, I soon realised - I
could feel all my muscles straining and stretching as
I toiled away, and It was giving me a harder workout
than I'd ever had in the gym!

I'd only been working about ten minutes when I did
what you always do when you're working hard, I stopped
for a "breather".  I stood upright, leaned on my
shovel, and wiped my hand across my forehead to get
rid of some of the terrible sweat.  There was a faint
cry from the other side of the site, and I saw one of
my fellow slaves' bodies jerking - the Overseer had
just struck him, hard, with his whip.  The Overseer
looked at me and motioned for me to continue working,
and there was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach
as I realised that my fellow worker had been punished
as I'd stopped working!

I redoubled my efforts, therefore, and as the morning
wore on and the sun got hotter and hotter, I was in
real difficulty.  I'd thought I was fit and strong,
but I began to realise the differences between "gym
fit" and the ability to work - no, to toil, as that
was what it was.

The only respite - and it was a very brief one, every
twenty minutes or so, was when a young slave brought
around water to us.  It was clear that they knew the
importance of keeping us well watered to replace the
copious amounts of sweat we were losing, as there was
a dedicated "water boy" assigned to our group and one
of the groups of slaves toiling in a nearby field.
The slave was young - he looked about 16 - and was
naked like the rest of us and wore only the chain
collar of the restraint system.  In spite of his age,
he seemed to be well muscled, though, and he needed to
be - he had a big sack made of skins on his back, with
a tube leading out from it.  He stopped in front of
each of us in turn and pushed the tube into our
mouths, and we could suck a huge draft of water.  It
wasn't exactly refreshing, as it was warm from the
heat of the sun through the skin sack, but I could
tell that my body needed it desperately.  It also
tasted bitter and salty, and I wondered at first why
they couldn't at least supply us with fresh, sweet
water, but later I learned that in line with his
policy of being a considerate slave owner, the owner
ordered electrolyte salts to be added to it to replace
all  the stuff we were constantly sweating.

I don't know ho I made it through those first few
hours - but perhaps it was the thought of my fellows
getting punished for my low work rate that kept me
going.  And I experienced the pain of that punishment
myself, too - I happened to be nearest the Overseer
(who constantly patrolled the work site) when he saw
that one of the other slaves had stumbled and fallen,
and was taking some time to get to his feet.  At once
his whip lashed out, and I screamed as the sharp edges
of the leather cut into my hot, burned back."

"Shut up, slave!", the Overseer snapped, "Unless you
want more!  Suppose we had been working near the
Master and you made that disgusting noise!  You may
get punished at a formal punishment, when it will be
so bad that you need to scream.  But this little work
whip is just to encourage you - it doesn't even break
the skin, and so it must be endured in silence.  Do
you understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Good... Now...."

He lashed out again, and my whole body jerked as the
whip slashed across my naked bum.  I almost screamed,
but gritted my teeth and managed to hold it in.

"That's to remind you!", the Overseer said.  "Now, get
on with your work, before I 'encourage' you again."

So I worked away, like I'd never done before.  It was
a huge relief when the Overseer at last told us to
stop, and led us away to the shade of two trees.  All
eight of us just collapsed onto the ground, and I saw
that it wasn't just me that was exhausted - even the
experienced workers clearly felt the pace, too.  The
Overseer opened a box and handed out the slave
biscuits that I now knew were our food, and we sat
there, silently, champing away at them.

I went to speak to the others, but they quickly
"hushed" me, and I realised that the "silence" rule
applied even during this break period.  In turn,
though, they all came and took my arm and read my
name, and rotated their arms to me so I could read
their names.

I'd been bothered by one other thing all morning - the
effects of my cinch ring and my natural frequency of
erections had caused my cock to be rock hard for quite
a lot of the time, and as I sat there, munching away,
I felt that initial stirring you get when you know
you're going to start a hard-on.  I fought it, trying
to think of "neutral" things like Christmas Day, or
reciting the laws of thermodynamics, but it failed - I
was hugely and obscenely erect, and it was almost
painful as my cock was so hard.  There was nowhere to
hide, no way of concealing it from my fellows - we
were huddled quite close together in the patch of
shade out of the burning sun, and when you're totally
naked, there's no way you can cover an erect cock, is
there?  I felt myself blushing, but then realised I
wasn't alone - several of the other guys were in a
similar state.

The man next to me leaned over and touched my cock - I
almost jumped in to the air with the shock as his
fingers first stroked me - and I realised by the way
he was looking at me that he wanted to know if he
should jerk me off!  I shook my head vigorously, and
he gave a little shrug, and moved his hand away.  But
sex was clearly something that did happen at break
time, as a couple of the guys were lying full length
on the ground, facing each other, and wanking away.
None of the others even seemed to notice, or consider
it in any way unusual.  Oh God, I wondered, would this
be me in a couple of months time, casually having sex
with other guys  fully exposed out in the open?

The water boy came around again, and we all gratefully
sucked huge draughts of his water.  He too stopped to
read my name, and I in turn read his - tattooed into
his firm biceps was "Stu".
He let go of my arm, and I thought he was finished and
was going to leave for the other group of slaves he
looked after, but instead he sank to the ground and
sat down with us - evidently he got to rest, too.

We were all sprawled around on the hard ground, but I
quickly saw that all sorts of ways were adopted to
make it more comfortable - it seemed to be OK to rest
your self against another guy, or even to rest your
head on a six-pack stomach if it was convenient!  I
couldn't believe that a group of men could be so
relaxed about each others' bodies - even though we'd
been a close rugby team, I'd never even thought that
men could behave this way together.

One of the guys reached out and grabbed the water boy
Stu's arm, and pulled him towards him.  The big guy
was lying on his back, fully stretched out, and I saw
his cock jutting vertically upwards from out of his
cinch ring.  He pointed at it to Stu, and the young
guy smiled, then went and stood astride the man.  I
watched in fascinated horror as Stu first crouched
down, then reached under himself to pull his arse
cheeks apart, and slowly - very slowly - lowered
himself onto the erect cock!  He began to raise
himself up and down so that the cock was thrusting in
and out of his firm young arse, and the slave who was
lying down put his hands behind his head, stretched
languorously, and broke out into a big grin!

Stu continued to ride up and down on the slave's cock
and the slave joined in, arching his belly up and down
to cause his cock to thrust deeper and deeper into the
boy.  It went on and on, with both of them making tiny
moaning noises of pleasure - I supposed this didn't
count as "speaking"!   Then the slave's body subsided,
and his mouth dropped open and he gave a big sigh, and
young Stu stopped.  He sat astride the slave for a
minute or two, then raised himself again and I saw the
slave's semi-flacid cock drop out of his arse.

The slave half sat up grabbed Stu, and pulled the
boy's body down onto his.  He wrapped his arms and
legs around Stu, and I saw his hands rubbing up and
down the boy's back and his legs raking the boy's bum
and thighs.  Stu seemed to really like this, and he
and the slave were kissing passionately.  It was so
hot, though, and their bodies were so slicked with
sweat that they stopped, and Stu just lay beside the
slave, who kept one arm companionably around the boy.

I didn't know what to think - two men: no, one man and
one boy, having sex, in full sight of all the others.
And it was only me who seemed to have shown any
interest, or even to have watched - all the  others
were now just lying with their eyes closed, and the
only motion visible was the rise and all of chests and
bellies as they breathed in the hot air.  I too felt
my eyes starting to close, and I slipped into a brief
sleep in the heat.

End Of Part 5