Julie was so relieved to see us back safely, and we were all astonished when on the Wednesday there on the news stand at the station was one of the tabloids with “Free Steve!” In huge letters filling the entire front page. Inside, “A special article by our star reported Jason Carter” castigated the British Government for bowing to “The African scum who infest the United Nations” and “enslaving one of those men who Britain ought to be proud to call its own.”
It went on to talk about my career in the army, and how I was now “Acknowledged to be one of the finest specimens of manhood in the country” as I won prizes for it. And then, of course, it went on to ask how I could have been enslaved, and it urged readers to log on to their website and say what they thought, and to text a special number…. And to cut out the front page and paste it into their car windows!
Well you know how these things can go – this particular campaign seemed to fire the public imagination and within days we started to see “Free Steve!” stickers in car windows, and a gang of lads was prosecuted for climbing over a whole lot of the bridges on the M25 and daubing them with “Free Steve!” In huge letters. Jason’s paper never let up either, and almost every day there was another article about it, with pictures of me they got from somewhere in my army uniform, side by side with one of me in the tiny loin cloth! Julie was besieged during he day with reporters outside the house waiting for Dan and me to come home, and Dan was interviewed on the TV news (although, as the anchorman explained, “Steve is not able to appear as broadcasting regulations specifically prohibit slaves from speaking on radio and television”.)
On the Last Night Of The Proms, the audience, instead of waving Union Jacks as they sang “Rule Britannia!” all had Free Steve!” Flags instead, provided outside the Albert Hall by the paper. And the high point of the campaign was probably reached when the Prime Minister was on one of those serious discussion programmes on TV when he made a little speech about the economy and was going to be asked questions from the “invited studio audience”: it all went well for the first couple of questions, but then this little old lady was given the microphone and said quietly “Prime Minister, why won’t you free Steve? And why was he enslaved in the first place?” He waffled on about “the rule of law” and “international obligations” and thought that would do, but she turned on him! “That could be my grandson!”, she said. “Doing the best for his country, and then being betrayed. It’s not good enough! Now, why can’t you free Steve?”
There was cheering form the audience, and as hard as he could, the Prime Minister just couldn’t get away from that little old lady who, irrespective of the “protocol” on those programmes, refused to give up the microphone, and kept saying to the presenter “I really don’t understand why the Prime Minister can’t answer a simple question simply! I’ve asked him if he thinks that what’s happened to Steve is right, and he won’t give me a yes or no!”. The audience began chanting “Answer her, answer her….”, and they had to take the programme off the air ten minutes early.
The papers reported the next day that the Prime Ministers’ popularity ratings, in a “telephone poll late last night of our readers” had slumped ten points. And they were full of those blurry images grabbed form TV of the little old lady standing there, and of transcripts of her direct questions and his evasive answers. She was known as “Granny Green”, I remember, and the papers were all asking if you wouldn’t be glad to have her as your mother or grandmother, if “you were doing your duty and were then enslaved for it”. After that, of course, every Prime Minister’s Questions in Parliament was just full questions about the “Steve issue” and British policy to the UN, and Britain’s sovereign rights, and so on. In an effort to regain some of its ground, the Government got eminent lawyers to explain how a permanent indenture, like mine, was just that as it was the intention to send a “clear message to criminals” that permanent indenture meant just that. So that “even if the Government wanted to free Steve, it was not able to.” All that then happened was the campaign changed slightly, to demand a revision of the Indenture Acts.
The Government’s popularity, as measured in the opinion polls, continued to slide. And within months the popular “Action Man” dolls for kids now had another soldier added to the range, called “Steve”, and “Barbie” got a new boyfriend, “Action hero Steve, who cares for his fellows”. It just went on and on, and when fifty thousand students and workers marched from Hyde Park to Parliament Square, causing the biggest traffic chaos ever seen in London, it was clear that the whole country was involved – this wasn’t something that the right or left wing wanted: everyone, it seemed, wanted to “free Steve!”.
It took nine months, and by then comedians were making the government a laughing stock as they said that a “new Steve could have been conceived and born in less time”, but the Indentured Felons (Revision) Act was finally passed. We (that is to say me and the seven other blokes in my squad who’d also been enslaved) weren’t mentioned by name, but it gave the Courts the right to “review indenture cases if this seemed to be in the public interest.”
There was the biggest TV audience for Cruft’s ever that year, and when Dan led me on the whole audience in the show ring rose to its feet, cheering. Then before the judging began, the normally upbeat and cheery commentator actually asked “For a respectful one minute of silence in solidarity for those who have been shamefully treated by our society.”
Needless to say, I won “Best In Show” as no judge could possibly have awarded me anything else, and afterwards, stark naked except for my collar and the special rosette clipped to my left nip, Dan led me up to the TV studio perched high above the arena (by this time it had been decided that at the very top level, when the group champions were competing, the judges needed to see all the slave, and so even the tiny loincloths were dispensed with). I stood there in front of an audience of millions, and although they were interviewing Dan, I knew they could see all of me.
“So, Dan, as the owner and trainer of Steve, you must be very proud….”, the interviewer began.
“Yes, Sue. But we’re always proud of Steve. He not only shows superbly, as you can see from looking at him, but he’s a great guy! He’s always concerned for others, always does his best….”
“There’s obviously a lot of controversy about Steve….”
“Indeed there is, Sue. And it’s so unfair. A man like Steve ought to be an example to us all, not a slave! If I could, I’d release him tomorrow….”
“If as seems likely, Dan, the law is changed, will you be sad?”
“Of course not! Steve deserves his freedom! My wife Julie, and the kids, will miss Steve dreadfully, as will I. He’s not just a show slave, you know – he lives with us, as part of the family…. And it will be like losing a very special dog, or cat. My youngest has grown up with Steve in the house…. How are we going to explain to him that Steve’s no longer there? But it’s absolutely the right thing to do….”
And so it went on and on, and I was beginning to get worried that I couldn’t stand there much longer without starting to get an erection!
Whilst all this was going on the relationship between Dan and me really suffered, though – we had to keep on going to work, and we had to keep going to Shows, as Dan needed the money not only for the family’s normal living and housing expenses, but to service the loan he’d taken out to buy me. But the porno market dried up completely – for which I was heartfeltedly glad – although it caused Dan terrible problems as that was a valuable income stream for him (it seemed that the porno makers thought that they’d be in big trouble if they dared use a slave who had become a national icon). If I listened very carefully at night I could hear him telling Julie how worried he was, as he was having to take out extra loans to be able to service his current debt. I could tell Julie must have been hugging him and trying to soothe him from the way I could faintly hear the bed squeak, and I felt almost insanely jealous that it was not my arms around Dan and that my cock wasn’t lying alongside his.
What was worse, of course, is that Dan and I had no privacy. There were often reporters lurking around the house, or the site. And on the trains passengers were always coming up and shaking Dan’s hand and saying “Free Steve!”, and some of them even shook my hand and told me how sorry they were for me. So we couldn’t risk snatching even a brief thirty minutes in the woods on the way home from the station, and when we went to Shows Dan was always being asked for his autograph, and to speak at owners’ meetings, so we did not have time there either. I wanted Dan so desperately, and yet all I could do was lie there on the sofa wanking, as I heard him and Julie fucking above me – and it’s not as if it was just the physical contact that was lacking, either: we couldn’t even talk about how much we missed each other as so many ears appeared to be listening now.
At last, though, Dan received the Court summons requiring him to appear at the Chelmsford Crown Court, together with “the Permanent Indentured Servant known as Steve”, and on that great day Julie kissed me on the cheek and whispered “Good luck!”, as Dan and I left. There were some provisions already in place for the Court’s dealings with slaves as permission was needed if, for example, a slave was guilty of such heinous crimes that he was to be executed, so when we arrived Dan was directed to the upper floor, and a uniformed guard came to take me down to the basement.
Slaves always appeared naked before the Court, it seemed, and even though this was a very different kind of hearing as I confidently expected to be a free man at the end of it, this was no different: the guard curtly ordered me to strip, and then he stood there watching me as I was told to shower to “ensure I was sweet-smelling in the Court”, before herding me along a short corridor and into a holding cage. To my amazement there in the cage were my old buddies – or some of them, anyway, although at first I had difficulty in recognising them.
There were eight of us in my patrol group and we had all been enslaved together after Africa, and now seven of us stood there. Three of my mates had been sent down the mines – although the last coal mines had closed in the nineteen eighties, they had been re-opened as the energy crisis deepened, and were now of course worked exclusively by slaves. My mates looked dreadful – for one thing, there were absolutely pale alabaster white, as they never came to the surface they said (no, not ever!) and so lived their lives entirely underground. As a consequence of this they had failing eyesight as it was not considered necessary to light the entire mine brightly and they were always peering through dust and gloom, and were nearly unable to stand upright as even the main corridors and so on were only dug out to the minimum height necessary to get a stooping man through! What was worse, though, was that their elbows and knees were covered in an ugly thick layer of hard skin and scar tissue, and their toes were bend and deformed – the actual work area, where they had to dig the coal out from the surrounding rock, was not often only three or so feet high (all the bigger seams having been mostly worked out when the mines closed before) and so they had to work on hands and knees, or even on their bellies! One of them whispered to me that he reckoned they were lucky, as it was rumoured that shortly all the mine slaves were going to have their cocks and balls surgically removed – they weren’t, after all, necessary, and the mine owners had had a study done that concluded that the men were not working as hard as they could because they were worried about the pain from their cocks and balls as they scraped along the floor.
Two others had been working as dray slaves, pulling the heavy delivery carts that were now used for all city and suburban deliveries rather than fossil-fueled vans and trucks, and their backs, bums and thighs were an ugly mass of scar tissue from where they were almost constantly subjected to the whip, to make them work hard and pull their heavy loads up the hills..
Tony, who was always slightly built, not like the rest of us, seemed to be in good shape though: he stood there naked and he was evenly tanned all over, and nicely muscular. I found myself speculating of how good it might be to get my cock up between his hard, firm buttocks (something I’d never have thought of when we were in the barracks together), but when I went over to speak to him, I found that what they’d done to him was disgusting: he had a slight lisp, now, as every one of his teeth had been extracted, and his face was kind of hollow and sunken. “I work in a brothel, Steve”, he said quietly. “And the clients think it’s better for slaves giving blow jobs to have nice smooth gums. Some clients are worried that the slave is going to bite their cock off, and the management like to give them this reassurance.” Even worse was what they’d done to Chas, who’d always been a bit of an athlete and had long, strong legs: we used to joke it was so he could run away if the going got tough, but it was just a joke, of course, as we were a real fighting team. He was pretty skinny looking, I’ll say that, with his ribs sticking out almost painfully and his sinewy muscles making harsh lines everywhere, and when I went to give him a hug he almost flinched as my arms went around him and I thought he might snap as he was so thin! He didn’t return my greeting, either – just pointed at his mouth.
Tony came up and said “It’s OK, Steve! Chas can’t speak now. He’s owned by one of the sick bastards who comes regularly to the place where I work – I used to get to talk to Chas when his owner was fucking one of the other lads sometimes, as Chas was his pony – he had to pull the rickshaw through the streets. Chas was thought to be really good for that with those long legs of his – but then of course it became “fashionable” for rickshaw ponies to look skinny and starving as owners thought you ought to be able to easily count their ribs. So poor old Chas has to work just as hard, but on dramatically reduced rations so he looks a bit like a skeleton! He lost all the ability to have sex, of course, as his weight plummeted and his body started keeping everything in reserve to stay alive. And then the bastard had him muted: Chas and the other ponies used to lie in the stables just talking quietly at night, and their owner thought this was too “human”, so he had the vet came in and cut all their vocal chords!
No one seemed to know where the eighth guy was, and when we stood in Court later, we heard that he’d been killed: he was working on the M1, re-doing the tarmac on the inner lane and they hadn’t bothered to properly slow the traffic down as they didn’t want to cause congestion , so the middle and outer lanes were still running at full speed. Some inattentive driver just clipped a whole bunch of working slaves as he fiddled with his CD changer, and of course there was no comeback other than his insurance had to pay the construction company their value, and he got a couple of points on his licence.
It was pretty humiliating to be in the Court as it was packed with reporters and TV cameras, and all seven of us kind of huddled together in the slave cage to one side, trying not to expose ourselves too much. Well it wasn’t so bad for me, actually, as after Cruft’s I was used to being photographed and stuff without a stitch on, but for the others it was pretty bad – especially for the miners, who weren’t used to the lights, and to seeing people in large numbers either. It took all day to go over “the facts” of our case, a day in which we had to stand there and say absolutely nothing as slaves aren’t allowed to address the Court – I suppose it was “good” of them to have us there at all, really: if you were deciding on the ownership of a herd of cattle or something, you wouldn’t have them there, would you?
I reckon it was a foregone conclusion. I know the Courts are supposed to be independent, but with the General Election coming up the Government didn’t want this mess rumbling on. So at around four o’clock the judge retired to consider his verdict – and was back five minutes later, and we were free! There was pandemonium then, of course, as it was absolutely unacceptable for free men to appear naked in public and the TV cameras swivelled wildly backwards and forwards as the Court ushers vainly tried to find blankets and stuff to cover us! Then we had to be ceremonially uncollared – Dan handed the key to my chain up to an usher, so it was easy. But they had no experience of freeing Indentured Servants, so the heavy iron collars on the other blokes proved a real problem. And when it was finally done, I saw another example of how cruel my mates had been treated, as they all had heavy scabs and scarring around their necks where the collars had rubbed and chafed, and made constantly open sores.
I was almost in a daze as we dodged the reporters and made our way to Liverpool Street for the train “home” – well, I had nowhere else to go, and I did think of the little house out in the wilds of Essex as “home”, I suppose. It was still rush hour, and Dan and I elbowed our way into the train and grabbed two seats. Some bloke who we saw every now and then got on just as the train was about to leave, and made his way over to us “On your feet, boy”, he told me in that self-satisfied way that suggested he was looking forward to sitting down now.
“Fuck off, mate!”, I snapped back casually. “I’m not a slave. And if you call me ‘boy’ ever again, I’ll ram your teeth so far down your throat they’ll come out of your ass…”
“Steve!”, Dan hissed. “Watch the language, mate! You’re not on the site now.”
I was in a fever of excitement sitting next to Dan and wanted to put my arms around him, my hands on him…. All things I couldn’t do on the train and I had to be content with pressing my thigh and calf right up close to his as we sat there, feeling his warmth faintly through our jeans. And then, of course, we couldn’t risk stopping on the way back from the station in case a reporter was following us, and we had to do an interview for the TV crews outside the house before they would let us in: Dan stood there with his arm around Julie, holding little Liam, and Shane jumped up and insisted he sat on my shoulders. But they weren’t interested in what we had to say, really – it was just closing off a story for them.
Dan opened a cheap bottle of wine for us to have with our supper, and Julie had made one of my favourites – a big steak and kidney pudding, which, as she pointed out, just got better and better the longer it steamed so it didn’t matter that we were so late. Then she reached out and held my hand. “I’m so happy for you, Steve”, she said. “Now we can all be friends. I always liked you, Steve, and you know I even trust you with the boys. But you can’t be friends with a slave, as the old saying goes….”
“There may be more of a problem here, though!”, Dan cut in. “You may have to get used to just ‘liking’ me – Steve’s a free man now, but I’ve still got this fucking huge loan that I took out to buy him. And it’s been hard making the payments without the porno work – there’s no fucking chance, now that I no longer have Steve’s earnings at the site, or winnings from Shows….”
“Daniel! You know I don’t like you using the F word in the house… The boys…..”
“Jules, this is fucking serious, OK? If I can’t make the payments, they’ll make me Indentured to work to pay off the debts….”
“Dan, don’t worry – I’ll go on working on the site. I’ve got to work, after all. And I’ll pay for my board and lodging…. That will help…”
“No it won’t, Steve. You won’t have a job on the site, will you? You’ve got no skills, no education. All you can do is labour. And all the labouring is done by slaves. So there’s no job on the site for you now.”
“So I’ll work somewhere else…”
“What at, Steve? There’s not much call for blokes without degrees any longer.”
I sat there in shock, and Julie’s lip began to tremble, as if she was going to cry. I could hardly bear it. “What’s going to happen to Shane and Liam and me, Dan? I knew this whole idea was stupid…. If you’d just worked away, and got promoted… But this get-rich quick scheme to buy a slave….”
I reached out for Julie’s hand now. “Don’t worry – the game’s not over until the final whistle blows. Something will turn up. There must be work for me somewhere…. And I will pay you rent, and that will make the difference….”
“But you can’t go on living here, Steve! There’s not room, especially as the boys are growing. And…. And, well, there’s something you don’t know…. I’m… That is to say Dan and me…. Well we’re expecting another as well. It was all right for you to sleep on the sofa as a slave, but we couldn’t have a man living here in the living room….”
I looked hard at Dan, who’d always said he sort of “cuddled” Julie to keep her company but that he didn’t really fuck her since he’d been going with me. He had the decency to blush a bit, at least!
“No, we’ll make do, at least for the time being. And it won’t be a huge problem for another few months with the new baby….?” I tried to sound cheerful, but felt pretty depressed at the thought of Dan fucking away like that.
Anyway the dinner was pretty much over then, the happy mood destroyed, and Julie said she wanted to go up, and Dan followed her immediately – I suspect because he wanted to avoid me confronting him. I just lay there on the fucking uncomfortable sofa, and had no satisfaction from being free again, and I didn’t even feel like wanking immediately.
Dan avoided my gaze the following day, too – which wasn’t so difficult since he went off on the early train leaving me lying asleep on the sofa. So Julie woke me up, and without thinking, I swung my legs on to the floor and went to go up to the bathroom.
“Steve!”, she squealed. “Put something on….. It’s disgusting: You’re just like Dan, with that thing always erect when he wakes up….”
“It’s OK, Julie. Sorry – but it’s not as if you haven’t seen it before: you did groom me for all the shows, didn’t you?”
“But it’s different when you were a slave, Steve! I won’t have you naked around the house now – it’s not polite! That’s what I mean about it being unsuitable for you to go on living here. But I don’t know how we’re going to manage, and I’m terrified Dan will get into trouble about the loans….”
I pulled my boxers on then put my arms around her protectively. “Look, Julie, don’t worry – something will turn up. You’ve got two men looking after you, you know: Dan and me. We’ll sort something out between us.”
I had the rest of the day off as a sort of holiday – after all, I’d been working every day since I left the army, and I didn’t have much time off there, either, with all the little wars we were sent to. So I strolled around the countryside, and ended up at the station waiting for Dan’s train.
He saw me as soon as he got off, and put his head down as if trying to avoid eye contact. But I wouldn’t have it. “Dan….” I grabbed his arm to get his attention. “Dan, I thought you said you didn’t fuck Julie any longer – it was you and me….”
“Just a mistake, Steve…. You must remember how it is sometimes – the woman pulls you into her, and then it’s bloody difficult to avoid giving it to her…. That’s why she’s in the club: I wasn’t expecting it, so I didn’t have a condom or anything…”
I looked at him. “Are you bullshitting me, Dan? I’ve heard all the creaking from the bed, through the ceiling…”
“Just getting comfortable, that’s all – it’s you I want, Steve….”
We were walking past the woods then, so I pulled him in. “Steve, no….”, he muttered, trying to break free of my grasp. “Not tonight – we need to get home….”
“Yes, Dan. Just a quickie. I’m desperate for you, mate. My cock needs that bum of yours….”
“No, Steve… We can’t… Julie’s expecting us. And I haven’t got my spare underpants with me – she’ll see all your semen stains all over these….”
“Fuck that, Dan! Make some excuse. I need you, and I want you, and we’re going to fuck…. Now….”
I pulled him into the shadow of the trees, so we couldn’t be seen from the road, and then started to kiss him. He resisted at first as I went to kiss him, but once my tongue was down his throat his resistance melted, and I kept one arm around him as I fumbled to open his fly, and then to caress and fondle his cock. He didn’t seem to be responding to me properly, though, so I thought he needed a bit of encouragement: I put my hands on his shoulders and pressed down, and he soon got the idea he should kneel, and then get my cock out and start to tease it with his tongue. I held his head with my hands on both sides, and began to fuck his face, at first gently, and then with more and more vigour, until my excitement was so great that I thought I was going to cum. I pulled out of him then, hauled him to his feet and kissed him again, then started to nibble his ear, whispering “Come on, Dan… You want my cock, don’t you? You want it up your bum, deep in you…..”
“Steve, no…. Please. Let me just blow you…. I don’t want to be fucked….”
Well, I have to admit, I lost my temper a bit then. I thought he’d been “cheating” on me, whereas I’d been waiting for him. So I pushed him over to where there was a horizontal branch from one of the willow trees, told him to grab hold of it so that his body was bent at right angles, then pulled his jeans and underpants down and went into him.
He shouted a lot at first, until I slapped his bum a few times to remind him who was running the show, but I have to tell you it wasn’t a very good fuck: I was angry, and almost ready to cum before my cock felt his arse, and the consequence was that I only had a few good thrusts before I was shooting up into him. Or perhaps it was that my anticipation of this “first fuck” as a free man was so great that the reality of it could never match it.
I helped him wipe himself really clean afterwards, and even gave him some paper hankies so he could stuff them up his arse as a kind of stopper, to prevent my cum from leaking out of him. Then we set off for home, with Dan walking with that sort of suppressed anger that blokes do sometimes. After a few minutes I was really pissed off by him, and grabbed his arm again and almost shook him, I was so cross.
“Dan, stop fucking around, OK? If we go in like this, Julie will know something’s wrong! We’re meant to be mates…. When I was your slave and we came home, we were always at least smiling. If you go in with a face like a wet weekend she’ll know there’s something wrong, and will start to ask a whole lot of questions to find out why…. So fucking cheer up, OK? And start talking, tell me about the site….”
“Fuck you, Steve! I told you I didn’t want sex tonight. Some people would call what you did earlier rape.”
“Oh grow up, Dan! It’s not rape – I’ve fucked you lots of times.”
“Its’ rape, Steve ,when the other bloke doesn’t want to do it.”
“Well you would have enjoyed it if you hadn’t been so bloody uptight – why don’t you want me, anyway? I’m absolutely desperate for you….”
“I guess it’s because I’m so worried, about the loans and everything….”
“Cheer up, then! It’s not so bad being a slave, you know – especially with a good owner! I don’t think they’ll put you down the mines, as you’re a it on the small side But you might enjoy being in a brothel – although it would be no good saying you didn’t feel like it, or you didn’t want to, if you were on the staff there.”
“It’s OK for you, Steve – you’re free now. But it’s a real possibility for me….”
“And for me! You seem to forget that I’ve not got a job, and there’s no prospect of getting one, according to you. So I might get Indentured again, as I’ve got nowhere to live, and no money… So let’s work on this together, shall we?”
Dan nodded, and I put my arm around his shoulder and pulled him close to me. “OK then – first joint task, Dan is a big smile from both of us! Julie’s worried enough as it is, without adding to it. And I’m sorry for fucking you like that, OK? But you seem to forget that I’m a man, and a man has urges, and needs….”
We walked home then, with my arm still around Dan’s shoulder, and we had fish and chips, I seem to remember, and a couple of beers. And when Julie said she was tired, Dan and I sat together on the sofa and it was just great – we didn’t play with each other or anything, but just being there, next to each other, with the TV on and a beer in our bellies, was fantastic: this is what it’s like to be real mates.
Dan wasn’t working the next morning as it was Saturday, and I’d seen posters saying that there was a slave show in Clacton, and I asked Dan if he’d drive me there as I was interested in seeing one “from the other side” (they hadn’t got around to restoring my driving licence and stuff like that yet). He looked at Julie, who smiled at him and said “Oh go! You two men need some private time together to sort yourselves out, now you’re no longer owner and slave.”, so off we went.
It was odd, actually, having to pay to go in, and then walking around on the “other” side of the arena and stuff. We made for the rest and preparation area, and there was Joe and the Captain.
The Captain was punctiliously correct, as you’d probably imagine, and shook Dan’s hand, and then stretched out to do the same to me, adding “…now you’re a free man too, Steve.” And when Joe went to hug me, as we always did, the Captain was incensed and commanded him to stand there at slave rest, as it was outrageous that a slave should even think of touching a free man. It didn’t stop me, though, and with the Captain’s permission I went and hugged Joe, and then ran my hands lightly over his body, complimenting him on the magnificent condition he was in.
We stood there chatting about slave showing in general then, and suddenly the Captain said to Dan “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in buying Joe, now you’ve no longer got Steve to show, would you?”
“I would, but I’m broke!”. Dan actually did look a bit upset, as I reckon he actually enjoyed the Shows. He went on “But why are you selling Joe? He’s in the peak of condition, and there’s several years of trophies in him yet, I reckon!”
“I don’t want to, Dan, but my daughter’s just given birth in Australia, and I need to go and see my grandson…. Keeping the old genes alive in the race, and all that sort of thing, you know. She wants me to go for six months, and there’s no way I can leave Joe for that time – even if I paid to board him at a kennels, they wouldn’t exercise him properly, wouldn’t show him…. He’s a lazy bugger sometimes, and when I got back he’d be all out of condition and no good for showing: it would take me a year to get him ‘right’, I reckon…. So the simplest thing is to sell him now, and then buy something new when I get back. I hate to let him go, but I can’t see any other way – I can’t afford to take him with me as the international shipping rates for slaves are terrible – and, anyway, my daughter would be cross as she wants me to focus on my grandson: she’s just like her mother, you know, very wilful, and I couldn’t bear the row!”
“Well, sir, I have a plan”, I cut in. “Why don’t you pay Dan and me to look after Joe? We’ll board him, but I’ll make sure he’s properly exercised, and Dan will ‘handle’ him in the ring – he’s good at that, as you know. That way Joe will keep winning those prize certificates, and his value will stay up, and then when you get back he’ll be completely ready for you….”
“Good god, Steve, you’re a genius! Just what’s needed! A man with your abilities was wasted as a slave, even though you were a pretty sight in the ring!”
Well we argued – a bit, a very little bit, actually, as we didn’t want to fleece the Captain, but we did need the money, and at the end of the Show (when Joe got another prize), we drove home with him sitting in the back of the car.
Julie was appalled, of course, even after we’d explained about how we were being paid, and how we’d agreed with the Captain that we could have half he prize money Joe won, too. She dished up the supper, though, and put out a lot more bread as there was now one more to eat it – and a big one at that – and then as Joe and I shovelled our food down, she rounded on poor Dan.
“I’ve told Steve that there’s not room here for him now, and you come and bring home another giant of a man…. Where’s he going to go?”
“Well he can sleep here, on the floor….”
“With two great big men in here sprawled out in the morning, how do you think I’m going to get around? And what’s he going to do all day, with you down in London? You used to take Steve with you…. I suppose you could get him a job on your site….”
“Well not really – we’re way above ground level now, and the number of slaves we need for grunt work has really gone down – they sold ten off this week, so I doubt I could get the boss to pay me to bring Joe in. Anyway, it was Steve’s idea….”
“Julie, it will be OK in here – I’m used to sleeping close to other blokes. I was in the army, remember, and the beds in the barracks were pretty close together….”
“No it will not be OK, Steve! It was bad enough having you on that sofa all the time, and there’s no way I’m going to put up with two of you.”
“Well we could put Joe in the garden shed, I suppose….”
“Steve, it’s tiny! It’s only about four by three. You can’t expect a big man like Joe to sleep there… I was only designed to hold the garden tools, not to be a dormitory for the slaves you and Dan seem intent on acquiring…”
Dan butted in “No, not the shed – but we do have that tent up in the loft. We haven’t used it, Jules, since we went camping together before Shane was born…. In fact, I seem to remember it was about nine months before…..”
“Dan, you can’t expect a slave to sleep in that tent….”
“Why not, Julie?”, I asked. “When we were on exercises, and when we were sent overseas, we all slept in tents. If you’ve got proper warm sleeping bags, it’s perfectly OK – the tent keeps you dry, and the sleeping bag keeps you snug and warm. I reckon that would do for Joe.”
“Well if it’s so good, I suggest you go out there too, Steve! I told you the other morning it’s not ‘polite’ to see a free man nearly naked every time I come into the room. No: if you want to stay, you’ll have to sleep in the tent. And we do have two sleeping bags…. Although they’re the sort that zip together to make one, as Dan and I know…. Not that that’s relevant to you and Joe, of course.”
I saw a slow smile creep over Joe’s face, and remembered how he was always trying to feel my cock – I think that comment about the sleeping bags had started him thinking.
Well it took some time to get the ladder, go up into the loft, get the tent down, and then of course to try to assemble all the bits and pieces in the right order to make the frame: Dan and Joe were utterly useless, and it needed me to sort it all out and actually get he thing up, by which time it was almost midnight. Joe and I went out there then, and it was kind of odd to be sleeping under canvas again, especially as outside the tent flap we knew there was this tiny suburban garden. I couldn’t help but admire Joe’s body as he slipped out of his clothes to climb into the sleeping bag, and I thought I ought to exert my authority from the outset.
“Now, Joe, no wanking! I don’t want Julie to have to keep washing that thing because your cock snot has dribbled all over it!”
“But Steve….”
“And I’m ‘sir’, when we’re discussing orders!”
“But sir… I can’t not wank! I won’t be able to sleep…. And it’s not good for a bloke to have all that cum building up in his balls, sir – you must know that…”
“Well you can wank, then, but not in the sleeping bag. Unzip it, and make sure your cum soaks into the grass. I’ll inspect it from time to time, and if I find any hard patches of dried cum on the lining, I’ll tan your hide!”
“Sir, yes, sir.” I recognised the ironic tone in Joe’s voice, as I’d so often used it to Dan when he’d said things like that. “And will you be making sure your cum soaks into the grass too, sir? Do you want me to turn over and look away when you’ve got your cock out and are wanking it into the grass?”
We both burst out laughing then, and as we lay there, side by side, I heard Joe whisper “Is your cock coming out, sir? Can I wank it for you, as you must be tired?”
Well, where’s the harm? I mean I liked Joe, and he had a great body and he was only a few years older than me. And it is a real turn on, isn’t it, to have another bloke wank you every now and then? And after I’d shot, it seemed only fair to reciprocate, and bloke’s cocks feel nice, so I wanked Joe. And then, after that, just as I was drifting into sleep, Joe whispered again “Steve, sir…. Can we zip the bags together? I’m kind of cold, sir…. I’m not used to sleeping by myself, as the Captain always has me in his bed at night…”
“The randy old sod! So he fucked you every night?”
“No, Steve! He couldn’t get it up most of the time. But he liked to have me spoon up to him in bed, an then put my arm around him…. Perhaps I ought to demonstrate, so you know what the Captain did? I mean, you are supposed to be looking after me until he gets back from Australia….”
We sniggered quietly then, and I unzipped the bag and we fumbled around trying to zip the damned things together. And then Joe, who was a n inch or so bigger than me, came and spooned himself up against my back, and put his arm across, letting the flat of his palm kind of hover over my belly. It felt so good to have a warm body next to mine, especially that of a really nice bloke like Joe. But when his hand started to move down and his fingers began to tease my pubes, I thought it was too much – especially as I could feel his cock nudging at my bum!
“Turn over, Joe”, I whispered.
“What?”
“You heard! I’m the master, and you’re the slave, remember? And if there’s any cocks to be played with, and any cock going up a bum, it’s going to be me that does it!”
I always like that little soft spot at the nape of a bloke’s neck, right at the top of the backbone, and I lay there then with my nose pressed in to Joe’s skin, drinking in his wonderful male scent as I let my hand hold his cock, and wriggled my hips so that my cock lodged into the deep cleft of his superb buttocks.
To be continued …
