It all seemed to be working out rather well, until we had a letter from a firm of solicitors in Australia, informing us that they were acting as executors for the (late) Captain Mainwaring, and instructing us to sell Joe and remit the proceeds to them. It was all suitably official, and they even enclosed a copy of the Captain’s death certificate, telling us that the poor old bloke had died of cancer of the prostate.
Joe didn’t seem unduly concerned about the Captain’s death, and was perhaps a little coarse when he said “Oh, the prostate. Perhaps that’s why he had so many problems getting it up me!”. But when I told him that he was therefore going to have to be sold, he almost broke down.
“Please, sir, please don’t sell me. I like it here. I work hard, you know that, and I help train the new slaves… “
“Sorry, Joe, but that’s what the solicitors say. They’re in effect your owners, you know.”
“But sir… Steve…. I thought we were…. You know… A bit special….”
“Joe, I’m sorry. You are a good fuck, and a great help around the place. But there’s just no way we can afford you: all those prizes you’ve won make you a really valuable property, and we’re a bit over extended when it comes to capital spending as we’re trying to buy the field net to the property to expand…. We won’t be able to do that if we buy you.” “Steve, please…. I thought I was more than ‘a good fuck’, I thought….”
“Joe, you’re a slave – you’re not here to think. Look, I know it’s tough, but that’s the reality of slave life. You’re valuable, and too expensive for us.”
I turned and walked away as I said this, for in truth I liked Joe a lot and he’d kind of been with us all my time as a show slave and trainer, and I’d really miss him. But business is business, after all, and there wasn’t much I could do about it.
I’ve mentioned to you, I think, that Joe and Julie always got on well, and later that day I saw Joe talking to her and then Julie putting her arm around the big man as she was evidently comforting him. That night over supper Julie looked at Dan and me and said firmly, in that way of hers that brooks no argument “You are not to sell Joe – or, rather, you are to buy him. It’s not fair to make him go to a new owner now.”
“Julie, we can’t afford him. He’s a really valuable property. And, anyway, what’s this ‘fair’ stuff? He’s a slave, a piece of property, and his owner wants to sell him and we can’t afford to buy him.”
“He’s right, Jules”, Dan cut in. “There just isn’t the cash available, and I don’t want to have to extend our bank overdraft.”
“This is silly! You two men are going on about money, and it’s Joe you’re talking about, for heaven’s sake. Joe, who’s been with us from the start, who does a hell of a lot of work around the place. He’s a kind, gentle, man. The kids adore him, too….”
“I’m sorry, Jules”, Dan went on, “But he’s too expensive. And remember, we’ll be losing the training fees the Captain was paying us, too….”
“Daniel, I insist! And you can stop supporting him, Steve. You get on the phone tomorrow morning and make those solicitors an offer for Joe – they probably don’t know what he’s worth anyway, so you don’t need to offer much….”
“Jules, we can’t…”
“Daniel! Just do it.” With that, Julie got up from the table, leaving Dan and me sitting there.
Dan looked at me, and shrugged. “Steve, mate…. She who has to be obeyed has spoken….. Sorry, and all that, but you know what Julie’s like when she’s made up her mind about something.”
“Well if we can get him for a good price, it would be a good investment, I suppose. There must be another few years of potential prizes to be won with him.”
Dan saw me the next morning when I was covered in mud having run the assault course, and followed me in so that he could enjoy seeing me shower. “Fucking Australians!”, he muttered as I stood there soaping my body. “They seem to know what’s what. I offered them as much as we wanted to pay for Joe, and they just laughed. They’ve got access to the UK edition of Used Slave Guide and reckoned he’s worth four times that, even if they only make a minimal allowance for his prize winning potential. I tried to negotiate, of course, but they just cut me off eventually and said we had to put him into an auction, as that’s the only fair way of determining his true worth.”
“Throw me a towel”, I called, and when Dan handed it to me, I grabbed his arm and pressed his hand down onto my cock. “Come on, Dan…. Let’s have a quick one…. I’ll lock the office door….”
“Steve, you know we said we wouldn’t do it around here…. If Julie were to see us….”
I felt so sad, as I let him go. “You’re right. And I reckon we’re both in enough trouble with her as it is, once you tell her Joe’s got to be auctioned and we’re not going to be able to bid on him, But I want you, Dan, I’m desperate for you….”
“We’re in London, at ExCel at the weekend, Steve…. I’ll tell Julie we have to stay down and not drive home as we usually do – I’ll think of some reason. And there’s lots of hotels on site…. we don’t need to pay central London prices as it’s cheaper out there in Docklands.”
As he said this, Dan leaned forward and kissed me, and quick as a flash my arm snaked out and I pulled him close to me, so we could kiss properly. When we broke off a few seconds later Dan almost pushed himself away from my naked body.
“Hang in there, Steve, not long until Saturday night…. Look… For fuck’s sake, you’ve made my clothes all wet….. If anyone sees…..”
We both laughed, though, and went about our business – well, as I was aroused now, not just because it was Dan, but because it’s somehow so erotic to have a fully clothed man pressing against you when you’re naked. So I had to go down to the other end of the stables where the slaves were showering, and I picked out a relatively new guy, a neat, trim little Mediterranean type, and fucked his throat, before I could concentrate again on more mundane matters.
Julie wasn’t pleased at dinner that night, and the atmosphere was distinctly icy. Dan went through the numbers over and over again, trying to prove that we really couldn’t afford to buy a slave like Joe, but she was in favour of all types of wild schemes like dramatically increasing our overdraft. And it didn’t seem to matter that Dan said that he was then in danger of being Indentured if the business was to turn down.
The carriers came for Joe the next afternoon to take him off to the dealers in Norwich – the fucking Australians had brought in some agent or other to maximise their potential gains, and he had advised them to put Joe into a big regional auction, and to pay for advertisements in the specialised press for the slave “fancy”. Strangely, Julie didn’t seem to be all that upset as he marched up the ramp into the back of the transporter, and it was me who had to turn away as I saw Joe locked into one of the tiny cages inside, before the thing drove off. I’d done my best for him, though, allowing him to wear a T and his jeans as he was taken away, rather than making him go naked as most of the salves in the transporter were – of course he’d probably be stripped immediately he arrived at the auction house, but it was good that he could retain his dignity a little longer.
I didn’t want to go to the auction – it was a waste of time, I reckoned, as there was no way we were going to be able to bid on Joe, but Julie insisted that Dan and I drove up there three days later, and seemed to be in a fever of worry that we might be late if there were road works or something. Dan and I kept trying to tell here that there was no way we were going to be able to buy Joe, and Dan even confided in me that he was worried that Julie was “obsessed” by the whole thing: “I don’t like to think what’s going to happen when we come back without him, Steve”.
“As we’ve got a sort of day off, away from the place, why don’t we check into a hotel and enjoy ourselves? It’s so long since I’ve had you all to myself for a day…. Let’s fuck Norwich, or, rather, fuck in Norwich….”
“No, Steve. I can’t risk it. Julie will be cross enough and upset enough when we go back without Joe, and I don’t think I can lie to her about what the auction was like…”
“You lie to her about a lot of stuff, Dan! Important stuff. You and me, for example.”
“That’s different, Steve. You have to lie about some things. She would be dreadfully hurt if she found out about us. I don’t want to have to lie to her any more than absolutely necessary.”
“Dan, I want to spend time with you….”
“And we will, Steve. We’ll be together all day. And you’ll enjoy the auction, I’m sure – you enjoyed it when you went off and bought the cook, didn’t you?”
“Yes, actually – it’s sort of exciting, bidding on a man, knowing that if you win you own him totally…”
“Well we can always walk around and inspect the stock on offer – get a feel of the market.” Dan grinned as he said this. “And I mean ‘feel’ in both senses – I don’t get to run my hands over skin as often as you do, Steve.”
Those of you who haven’t been to the Norwich slave market probably need a few words of explanation of how it’s organised. It’s not in the city centre of course as there was no space to insert all the viewing rooms, slave pens, veterinary facilities, and the loading and unloading bays for the slave transporters into the ancient fabric of the city. It’s a pretty major market, being slap bang in the middle of East Anglia, and it has a huge turnover, especially for the agricultural labourers needed in the vegetable fields and market gardens, and that of course attracts hundreds of buyers on a major sale day. There are acres of parking around the purpose-built central complex, but it’s easily accessible from the ring road, and for the elderly and infirm potential buyers they even lay on rickshaws from the parking to the main viewing hall. The pony slaves pulling the rickshaws all have little labels attached to their collars, and if you take a fancy to one of them as he pulls you along, you can see how much he costs as the dealers don’t mind selling them as there are plenty more who can be taken from the auction stock and used that way.
Inside you have to register if you’re intending to bid, handing over your credit card and in turn getting a sheet of stiff card with your buyer’s number on it – they only accept bids when these numbers are held up in the sale ring, to avoid confusion. I thought it was pretty pointless to join the queues waiting to register, but Dan insisted we did as he said we could at least show Julie our number, so she’d know we tried.
After you’ve registered you can take coffee in the large central atrium under the glass dome, before setting off to view the stock. It’s all set out to make it easy for you, as the viewing galleries radiate out from this central space, and you can immediately ignore most of it as they categorise the slaves, and all those of one type are in one gallery to facilitate making a comparison. So the women are down one gallery, then they have niggas, Asiatics, whiteys, and so on down others. Dan had bought a catalogue and as we sat there with a coffee he was looking around ruling out the places we didn’t need to go.
“Here, Steve – gallery four is what we want, I reckon: ‘mature whiteys’. I reckon that sums up Joe, don’t you?”
“This is utterly pointless, Dan. It’s only going to upset Joe….”
“Steve, I’ve told you, I don’t want to lie to Julie. So we have to go and take a look at him. Now, if you don’t want to come, go and look over the niggas, or whatever else takes your fancy. But I’ve got to go and see Joe, so I can tell Julie I tried.”
Well I didn’t want to lose sight of Dan, did I? We got little enough time together as it was, so rather reluctantly I tailed off after him as he strode towards gallery four when we’d finished our coffee. Once inside though, it started to be quite exciting: the ‘mature whiteys’ covered blokes from twenty five upwards, so there was a lot of interesting flesh on offer, mostly in it s prime. And the air was full of that special scent of men under stress – almost all of the slaves on offer were sweating and worried, and you could feel the male pheromones assaulting your senses. The auctioneers made sure they were all spotlessly clean at the beginning of the day of course, but as the slaves stood there being handled and inspected by the throngs surging past, they just couldn’t help starting to show their tension and excitement.
As is usual in these places the slaves were naked except for tiny loincloths to provide a “modesty” covering – not that it mattered for the slaves: it was done for those members of the public who found total nudity offensive (whole families did come to these things after all, if they were buying a family slave, and so I suppose mothers and fathers might want to avoid embarrassing questions from very small children about penises). Their wrists were cuffed to their collars behind their heads so that their torsos were fully accessible, and they had a little movement as they were tethered in their display positions by short chains to only one ankle – each slave stood in front of a low box, and you could order them to step up on to it if you wanted their genitals or bum at a more convenient height, or to put one foot on it if you wanted to move the loincloth aside to see how their balls hung.
It really is exciting to see men offered for sale like this, and to know that if you have the money you can bid on them and take them home and they’re totally and utterly yours to do with as you will. I did indeed start to handle several of the more choice specimens myself – not because we were planning to buy, but because I was interested in seeing how they’d been toned, and prepared for sale: we were after all in the business of showing slaves, albeit in a more specialised way, and I thought a little market research would be useful.
Dan kept dragging me off, though, telling me we had to find Joe, and when we were almost at the end of the gallery, there he was.
Dan and I both gasped when we saw him! It wasn’t so much that his normal light “show” collar made of chain that we always used had been replaced by one of the heavy cast-iron “standard” collars, and this was making his head lean slightly with the unremitting weight. No, it was the fact that right across his back, covering his shoulders from side to side, was the word “SLAVE” spelled out in huge black tattooed letters. Right at the base of his spine, in smaller letters, “Joe” was tattooed, and it appeared to be almost slipping into his bum crack. And his bum was striped with ugly red weals, indicating that he’d received a very recent caning. Then, as he turned around, we saw the word “JOE” running down his body! The J began between his pecs, and the bottom of the E curled neatly around his navel. As we got closer we then saw the word “Slave” in smaller letters across his flat bell, just above the line of his trimmed pubes.
Dan and I rushed over, and a big grin – or what passed for one, I think – broke out over Joe’s face as he saw us. He couldn’t speak, as there was a ball gag in his mouth, secured in place by a strap around his head, something which no other slave had. And as we looked at him in astonishment we saw both biceps now had tattoos running all around them in the form of stylised slave bangles, as did his legs, just above his ankles. Joe made muttering noises and indicated that we should lift his loin cloth, and there was a further shock in store for us as we did: Joe’s familiar cock was almost disfigured by a tattoo on his cock head in the form of a big “S”, neatly done so that his piss slit was in one of the arcs.
There was an attendant from the auctioneers close by, and I called him over. “When was all this tattooing done?”, I demanded.
He consulted his palmtop, and shrugged. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know. This is how the slave arrived from his former owners. They do look agreeably crisp and fresh, though, so I would imagine they’re relatively recent – I expect his previous owner had them done as some sort of fetish, then tired of him…. Some owners are like that – they think they’ll get a greater sexual charge from seeing a decorated slave, but it’s easy to get bored with it: perhaps it’s having the decoration done that’s important. A pity though, as it’s considerably detracted form his value. With a body like that he might almost have qualified as a show slave, but with all that on him…. well, I think his price will be far below that which we might have expected.”
“And why’s he gagged?”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate, too. A lady telephoned the office, in some distress. She claimed that she was in here inspecting the slaves with her children as she was looking for a personal trainer for her two boys, when this slave let out a stream of expletives! She insisted that we gag him, as although her boys were relatively mature, she didn’t want that sort of language used in front of toddlers. We asked her to come back and point the slave out to me, but she said she was so affronted that nothing would get her back in here, but of course it was easy to identify the slave because he was called Joe. It makes him even less desirable, actually, as most people would recognise the reason for a gag like that, and so he’ll only be attractive for working in a coffle in the fields or something similar – and most agricultural coffles use younger slaves….”
“…and the cane marks?”
“Here when he came in, sir. I expect he’s wilful, and needs discipline. Not a very good buy, all in all, for discerning gentlemen like yourselves…. Now, if I might direct you to this slave over here….”
Well, we had to wait around until after lunch before Dan’s lot came up. Dan tried phoning Julie all morning, but her mobile was switched to the answering service. We couldn’t help laughing, though. “Fuck me, Steve”, Dan kept saying. “It’s just as well we came. If we went home and told Julie we couldn’t buy Joe as the price was too high….”
“She wouldn’t necessarily know….”
“Steve, sometimes you are really stupid, mate! It’s a wonder I still like being with you after all this time, as you can be like the proverbial two short planks sometimes! Who do you think got all that tattooing done? I reckon Julie used her contacts and got that bloke from Chelmsford to come over and do this quickly and secretly. And I reckon it was her on the phone to this place, too, this morning – there was no ‘lady inspecting the slaves’: it was a call from home. I wonder who gave him those stripes on his bum, though…. I wonder if Julie had one of the others do it? They must have hurt. But he’s probably hurting all over, actually – especially his cock! Tattooing isn’t painless, you know, especially stuff as big as that.”
He kept on smiling, as he went on “Anyway, I reckon now that we can easily afford to buy Joe. His market value seems to have been dramatically lowered, and there’s not even a chance anyone would even consider him for showing….”
“Including us, Dan. He may be cheap, but that’s because he’s not worth much now. If we can’t show him….”
“Steve, you’re joking, right? I thought you liked Joe…. He’s your main fuck buddy, isn’t he?”
“Well, yes… But the expense….”
“Well then, that’s OK. I reckon you need a slave like that to help you with the training, to keep all of them up to the mark on the course when we’re busy. And, anyway, who’s going to look after the show slaves in the caravan? We need someone like Joe to be in there with the key, or else you and me can never get away…”
Joe was smiling so broadly as he said this, and my cock leaped inside my jeans at the thought of this wonderful man actually making plans to be with me.
We sat through the auctions then – they really do go very fast, with most of the stock knocked down within a minute – that shows you just how little most people value slaves. When Joe came up there was a murmur of disapproval in the hall as the auctioneer made Joe turn around in front of the audience – even in the softly-glowing pink lights designed to make the naked flesh look at its best, the cane marks on Joe’s bum were clearly visible. So we did get him for an astonishingly low price, and as we got up and left, Dan shook my hand and slapped me on the back. “Fucking marvellous, partner! And we’ve pulled a fast one on those fucking Aussies, too – if they’ accepted my initial offer they’d have made five times as much. After they’ve paid the auctioneer’s percentage and the fee to that fancy agent of theirs, I doubt if they’ve made any money at all from the sale.
Almost miraculously, it seemed, Dan’s mobile went off then and it was Julie, and I could hear her almost shouting with happiness as she congratulated Dan. It seems she’d been following the auction on the internet, and had seen the price we’d paid. As Dan finally came off the call, he smiled at me again “I told you we’d have to come, Steve. Can you imagine what it would be like at home if Julie had seen that price but it wasn’t us who’d bought Joe?”
“You’d be deep in the shit, Dan.”
“And you, Steve! I reckon Julie would blame you for leading me astray. And then there’d be no nice cosy suppers…. “
We smiled at each other, and I felt so good to be there with the bloke I loved. I cupped my hand around his bum as we walked along, causing an old matron to give us a scandalised look as it was clear we were both free men and one of us wasn’t a slave. “Come on, Dan… Before we collect Joe…. Let’s go somewhere… Just you and me….”
“Steve, no. We’ve got to do all the paperwork, and Julie will be expecting us back. And I know you – once we get together it won’t just be a quick five minute fumble…. Two hours at least, I reckon…”
“Dan, please…..”
He started to say something, but we were going past a gents, so I grabbed his arm and dragged him in. We were alone, as most other customers were still in the auction hall, and as the door closed behind us I threw my arms around him and began to kiss him passionately. When we broke for air, he spluttered “NO, Steve… Not here…. It’s so sordid…..”
I broke away from him. “Is that what you think, Dan? It’s sordid to have sex with me?”
“For fuck’s sake! Are you a complete idiot? Of course it’s not. But I just can’t do it here, Steve, not in a public lavatory! I want you, Steve, probably even more than you want me. But I want you properly, in bed, unhurried…. I want to hold you, kiss you, stroke you, feel your cock deep inside me…. I love you, Steve, and I want us to make love, not just have a quick shag.”
I stood there, and I could feel my heart pounding. “Dan…. That’s the first time you’ve ever said that….”
“What? That I don’t want a quick shag?”
“No… That you love me.”
Dan looked deep into my eyes, and my heart raced. Had I misheard? Had it just been a casual remark?. “This is getting to be a habit, Steve. For the third time today, you’re an idiot! You must know I love you, Steve….”
“But you never say it.”
“I didn’t think I needed to.”
We kissed again then, more passionately than I think we’ve ever done before. And when we broke again, Dan tenderly brushed the tear away that had trickled down my cheeks.
“You really are an idiot, Steve….”
“It’s only sweat…”
“No one has ever cried for me before, Steve.”
“I’m a bloke, Dan. Men don’t cry.”
“They do if they love other people, Steve.”
We hugged again, and now I couldn’t help myself. My body was racked with sobs as I clutched Dan to me. And Dan was the same, too.
It turned out that although Joe had seen us before the auction, he hadn’t been sure that it was us who had bought him. When he’d been pushed up onto the auction stage he couldn’t actually see the audience of prospective purchasers because of the strong lights that were shining on him. And we didn’t speak, of course – as the auctioneer ran through his patter we just held up our numbered card, and at the end he’d just said “Sold. Number eight six six.” When we’d paid for him and got his “log book” updated and the right papers sent off to the national slave registry to record our ownership, therefore, and made our way to the collection area with our receipt and release authority, Joe was really on tenterhooks. He stood there in the collection cage wearing just the tiny loin cloth, and was gripping the bars, scanning the throngs of people coming and going and totally ignoring the other slaves in there with him – considering that he’d always said that he was “straight” and really into fucking women (and he’d been married, remember), that was really odd: the auction centre was strictly non-discriminatory and caged all the slaves together after they’d been sold, irrespective of whether they were whiteys, niggas or Asiatics, or men or women. I’d have expected Joe to have been paying attention to some of the younger blokes in there with him, or the women – he seemed to be totally ignoring them, even though the cage was pretty crowded they could hardly avoid contact with each other. I suppose it was a measure of how worried he was, as I know that when I still thought that I liked women, having one press her tits into my naked back would have had me hard in a moment, and now the same thing would surely happen if I’d been pressed so close to one or two of the younger blokes! But Joe was just standing there gripping the bars, with no sign of movement under his tiny loincloth.
He saw us coming before we saw him, as it was his shout of “Joe, Dan… Sirs….” That alerted us to him. We showed the guard our receipt and authority to remove the slave from the premises, and indicated to him that it was Joe we’d bought. The man called Joe forward to the cage door, but then carefully checked the numbers on the documents against the tag that was hanging down from Joe’s collar, muttering to us that “You can’t be too careful, as some of those slaves are really crafty and manage to switch their tags whilst they’re waiting.”
Joe came out of the cage and went to throw his arms around me, but the guard slashed at him with his control cane, making Joe leap backwards. “This one looks really vicious, if you ask me, sir!”, he shouted. “An ugly brute, isn’t he, with all that ink all over him? And I’m not the first one to have to use the cane on him, I can see. Are you all right to take charge of him, sir, or do you want him muzzled again, or cuffed – quite a lot of new owners have the slave cuffed to the collar again until they’ve got him home and have exerted their authority?”
“No, thank you. My partner and I are experienced slave handlers”, I replied, and the guard just shrugged, as if he didn’t believe me. Then he reached forward and whipped Joe’s loincloth off, giving a little whistle of surprise as he saw Joe’s inked cock.
“Hey!”, I snapped. “What did you do that for?”
“The loincloths are the property of the company, sir. If you haven’t brought your own uniform for the slave with you, you can purchase temporary paper tabards at the kiosk in the main entrance area.”
“…or I could take him away in the raw.”
“Ordinarily, yes, sir. There’s no general prohibition on slave nudity here. But in this case, with those tattoos, especially that very unusual decoration on his cock head, I think it might be advisable to have him covered as some of our other customers might otherwise complain.”
I’d have been inclined to tell the guard to fuck off, and just take Joe away, but Dan nodded, and told me he’d be back shortly. The guard had other purchaser to attend to then, and after asking me if I was certain that I was all right to be left with Joe, he turned to deal with them.
“Joe…. Who….?”
“Mistress Julie, sir. She got a colleague of hers to come over and ink me when you and master Dan were out.”
“And the stripes on your bum?”
“That was fucking humiliating! The other blokes were all out on the course, and the only one available to do it was the cook. I had to bend over the table in his kitchen, with mistress Julie watching, as he laid into me. I mean to say, he’s just a little wimp, and to have him punish a proper masculine bloke like me…..”
“But he evidently has a strong arm, Joe! I doubt if I’d have marked you much more.”
At that moment Dan came back and handed Joe one of the cheap disposable paper tabards, that with a lot of good humour Joe pulled over his head. The only problem was that they were evidently designed for your average run of the mill type, and Joe was a lot more beefy and a lot taller than that. Consequently there was an awful lot of his body displayed at the partially open sides, and his cock just jutted down below the hem of the thing, and as we walked over to where we’d parked the car, anyone who wanted to could see the “S” on his cock head staring at them.
To be continued …
