Look, this story isn’t meant to be about football. It’s about love. So I’m not going to recount all the ins and outs of that competition – you can look it up for yourself. Everyone remembers of course the nail-biting final, when Shane again scored the “winning” goal against the Germans in injury time. The crowd was delirious, the old chant at once changing to “Two world wars and TWO world cups!”.
Shane and Jason began to regret their public declaration of “a party” to celebrate their marriage – even this simple statement caused controversy, as even after all these years, the Christians still wanted to make a fuss about using the common word for it rather than the technically correct “civil partnership”, saying that marriage was a sort of sacrament between a man and a woman, or some such mumbo-jumbo. Dan was an astute businessman, though, and the whole thing was funded by the “celebrity” papers who vied with each other for exclusive rights to take photographs at the ceremony and the party. It took hundreds of police, a small army of private security people, and extraordinary precautions to ensure that all the guests, and only the guests, got in to the thing though.
Every Manchelsea player and his partner, a whole load of Jason’s Cambridge friends, and of course us “family” all would be there, as well as hordes of “celebrities” who couldn’t bear not to attend what promised to be the biggest social event of the season. We also agreed that the slaves could go – well, all those we’d owned for at least five years, anyway: they wouldn’t get the food and drink, of course, but they would be allowed in to the room to see master Shane wed.
There was some little “discussion”, as I suppose there is in all families, about “who does what”. Shane wanted Dan to be is “best man”, but I then pointed out that this would leave Julie to sit alone at the front and that Dan ought to accompany her; and that, anyway, it ought to be Liam as it was kind of traditional for brothers to do that type of thing. Liam didn’t seem to mind, although it then gave a problem about who might accompany his then-current girlfriend (he joked that they were lining up to let him shag them, so keen was the competition to get to the wedding). There was a problem with Jason, though, as he really didn’t want any of his Cambridge friends to do it, and he came to me and asked if I would. “Steve, I reckon Shane and I owe you more that we’ll ever know… You seem to have a knack of handling Dan…. I’d be honoured if you’d be my ‘best man’, as you can’t be Shane’s…” That was one of the nicest things that had ever happened to me, I reckon.
You’re not meant to cry at weddings. Well, not if you’re a big, hard, tough bloke like me. But when Shane and Jason exchanged vows and kissed, I felt something welling up inside me. Then, after we’d all stood around for hours for the obligatory photos (the photos which, I suppose, were paying for it all so it wasn’t quite as bad as usual), there were the speeches!
Liam gave a jokey one about what it was like to be growing up with an elder brother, especially one who was never able to tell him how to get it off with girls! I gave one about having met Jason only a short time before but what a fantastic bloke he was…. And then Dan stood up and messed about a bit, causing all Shane’s footballing friends to hoot, when he said he didn’t know f he was speaking as the father of the bride, or the groom.
And then we all called for Shane and Jason to say something, and Shane stood up first.
“There’s that famous poem”, he started. Some of the football friends, who had had quite a lot of champagne and fine wine by then, began to shout “You’re the footballer, not the clever one!”, but Shane continued.
“They fuck you up, your mom and dad They don’t mean to, but they do. They give you all the faults they had Then add some extra, just for you.”
There was a deathly silence in the room now, as everyone thought that some terrible revelation was about to happen. And the camera and sound people from the world’s press looked both astonished and annoyed, as that word was still unacceptable in some places.
Jason turned towards Dan and Julie, and went on, calmly “Mom, dad…. I want you to know, and I want the world to know, that if you did fuck me up, and give me all your faults, then you did a fantastic job – all my life I’ve looked at you and hoped that one day I could find someone to share my life with, someone to love, as much as you two do. You’re the best mom and dad in the world, and if Jase and me can be even half as loyal, half as loving, as you, we’ll be blessed.”
Dan put his arm around Julie as Shane said this, and I could see the tears start to run down Julie’s cheeks. I wondered how Dan felt, with all this talk of “loyalty” – but then, I suppose that as well as being loyal to Julie, he’d been loyal to me, too – we were still “together”, or what passed for it, after all those years. And as far as I know, Dan never fucked other blokes. So perhaps I should have been grateful for what I had.
But Shane was going on “But this isn’t meant to be a serious day – it’s the start of a new chapter in our lives for Jase and me, and I’ll let you into a little secret – the lads in the team all said I couldn’t make a speech in public like this, and when I said I could, they said I couldn’t make one using the ‘F’ word at a wedding. So Jase and me are now that little bit richer…” He turned to the tables with the Manchelsea players and added “…so I’ll have your hundred quid each as soon as I sit down!”
The players all cheered and shouted, and Jason let the noise die down a bit before he gestured for silence, and went on “What more is there to say at a wedding, I wonder? Except to say thank you to all of you for coming here today to witness the love that Jase and I have for each other.” He turned to Jason then, held out his hand to get Jason to stand up, then with that passion that only the young can muster, kissed him long and hard.
When they broke, it looked as if the speeches were over, but Jason gently pushed Shane down into his seat. “Shane’s the one who always gets all the publicity”, he said with a half smile, so we knew it was a joke, rather than a complaint. “So this may be the only time I ever get to speak publicly. And Shane, as usual, has bagged all the best lines…. Just as when we’re away he always bags the best pillows, the shampoo in the bathroom of all those hotels….” He waited for the laughter to die down – a somewhat uneasy laughter from some of the people there, perhaps, before continuing. “But he’s right – I had a difficult childhood, but since I’ve know them, Julie and Dan have shown me by their example just what happy married life is all about. Without that example, I don’t think I could have risked making this commitment to Shane, however ardent he was in always asking me. I know it’s not going to be easy for us, as we lead such different lives, and Shane’s is, of necessity, lived in the full glare of publicity. I always need to remember, too, that some part of Shane belongs to the supporters of Manchelsea, and to the British public at large.”
Cheering broke out at this point, and when it finished he continued “But all this is unimportant, really, as Shane has already told you why we’re together, and why we’re going to be together always. In spite of the difficulties we face, in the words of the old song ‘Love IS all you need’, and Shane and I have that in abundance.”
It was now his turn to hold out a hand for Shane to stand up, and the two men kissed again, to cheers and whistles that went on long after they were forced to surface for air!
The rest of it was pretty conventional – cutting the cake, with them both holding the knife, more pictures, and then the dancing. It started off serenely enough, but by about two in the morning when the heavy rock was pounding away, it was mostly the footballers and their partners on the floor – well, they were all supremely fit, and in spite of the huge quantities of alcohol they’d consumed, they needed to use their bodies. I watched for quite a long time, then went out of the marquee for a breath of air and to try to get my thoughts in order – I too had had a lot to drink. Our slaves were waiting patiently – they’d been told to stand by, in case any of the guests needed help to their cars after so much drinking – or, at least, there was a lot of scrabbling around when one of them saw me approaching, and I guessed that they’d been sneaking off to talk to the slaves from the caterer, to cadge left overs and, probably, drink. You may think I was getting soft as I got older, but I didn’t demand to smell their breath and schedule punishments for those who had done this – it was, after all, a special day.
Joe was there, looking uneasy as he knew he ought to have stopped the slaves from breaking the rules, but I told him not to worry. “So where’s Andy, then?”
“Watching the footballers dance! The little beggar crept around all of them during the evening and he’s got a full set of Manchelsea autographs. He’s on top of the world, as he followed one of them into the gents and gave him a blow job!”
“You’re not serious!”
“Yes, sir. It seems this bloke’s girlfriend’s eight months pregnant, and she won’t let him have sex, and won’t blow him as she says it’s disgusting… So when young Andy saw him pissing, he took advantage of having a slave there, not knowing that Andy would have enjoyed it even more than he did, I think.”
Joe smiled as he said this, but looked a bit sad. “Joe, it’s not like you to be a bit down…. You know what Andy’s like – I’m surprised he hasn’t got his cock up one of them….”
“No, it’s not that….”. Joe faltered, and then went on “It’s just, well, you know, Steve, seeing master Shane and master Jason getting married like this, it makes me realise what I’m missing. Andy and me can never do that. And even if we did, it wouldn’t work…”
“Technically you’re right, Joe – slaves can’t get married. But you and Andy are together, and I’ve promised you I’ll never sell Andy as long as you want him around….”
“No, Steve, it’s not that… It’s seeing master Jason and master Shane so ‘together’. Andy and me aren’t like that – I’m standing here, feeling old, and he’s there, desperate to party, if he was allowed to. And all I want to do is to cuddle up to Andy every night, and what he wants is to be up the bum of some virile young slave or other.”
“Joe, you’re almost fifty, and Andy’s nineteen! What do you expect?”
“But I love him, Steve….”
“And he loves you, Joe – but not in the same way. I keep having to tell people that there’s a difference between love and sex: two people can love each other but not want to have sex together, or, if they do, one might want to be exclusive and the other might enjoy a bit of fun outside the relationship. There’s no harm in it – you love someone with your brain, and what your cock does can be something different…”
“I wish I could totally believe you, sir. I really do. And it may be true for some men. But for most, I think they want love and sex together.”
“We live in an imperfect world, Joe. Maybe we need to learn to understand that we sometimes need to accept less than the ideal, as that’s better than having nothing at all.” This was all getting a bit serious, and I could feel my own sadness welling up inside me as I knew I could never have Dan wholly and completely. I had to lighten it a bit, so I went on “Of course in the particular case of Andy, I can fix it for you if you want…”
“How?”
“I’ll get him one of those chastity things that slides over his cock and locks around his balls…. And give you the only key….”
Joe looked at me, saw I wasn’t really serious, and we both burst out laughing. But I was still unhappy, and on this night I was in a mood to do nice things, so I went on “But seriously…. Does Andy mind that about the half of the time you’re with me?”
“No – he understands that as slaves we don’t have a choice.”
“Is that all it is to you, Joe?”
Joe reached out and put his hand on my shoulder, and looked straight into my eyes. “When you first fucked me, all those years ago, I hated it. I hated being a slave. I wanted to go back to my old life, find a woman, settle down, have nippers of my own… And I went on hating it for a bit, hating the way you just used me as it made a change for you from wanking yourself – I reckoned that’s all I was to you, something you could fuck. But over the years I’ve got to like you, Steve – not just because you’re a good, considerate master – I talk to enough other slaves at the shows to know we’re really well off here – but because I think you do care, just a little. I think you started off fucking me because I am a slave, and that’s what an owner can do. But I reckon you do it now because you like me, even if only a little bit….. And I know that’s all you’re going to do, as you really love someone else….”
I nodded. And I realised it was true – I had access to all those fantastic slaves, men with hard, young bodies that I liked, and yet time and time again it was Joe in my bed, and I fucked the “new acquisitions” out of duty, rather than desire.
I’d probably had too much of the champagne, too, as my head was whirling. What was going on here? Dan and Julie, Dan and me, me and Joe, Joe and Andy, Shane and Jason, Liam and his girlfriend – we were all experiencing “love” of one sort or another. What was it all about? Who was getting the best deal out of all of this? Or were we all experiencing some part of something that was much greater?
Joe saw me standing there, looking a bit vacant as all these thoughts ran around in my head. Then he put his arm around my shoulder as if to steady me. “Easy, Steve…. A bit too much champagne? Shall I help you to your car? One of the slaves can drive you home…”
“Joe, I’m OK. It’s just… Well, talking like this….”
“Don’t worry, sir. It’s probably the drink. You’ll have forgotten about it tomorrow.”
Well I didn’t forget about it, and the more I thought about it over the next few years, the less I seemed to make sense of it all. After that wedding, and after all the hysteria when the pictures were in all the papers had died down, we went back to normal – if what we were all doing can be described as normal. But we were pretty busy in those years – Jason and Shane bought a house quite close to us and after it had been “fortified” to keep the fans out, lived together with the usual complement of slaves to make the place comfortable. Shane drove to the Club every morning to practice, and Jason stayed on in Cambridge to do his doctorate, then got a lecturer’s job, and became one of the youngest full professors ever after his masterly work on “Non linear entities and their role in computing the four body problem” was published. Julie bought a copy at once, as she thought she ought to know more about what her son in law did all day, but then she and Dan and I all laughed as we realised we couldn’t understand even the introduction, as modern mathematics is so different from anything any of us had done at school. Our business was booming, too – so much so that we added a second slave barn to house even more slaves in training, and bought more acres to further expand the assault course. I suppose I was a reasonably wealthy man now, but it didn’t matter much – there wasn’t anything I wanted to buy, I didn’t need expensive foreign holidays as my weekends away with Dan were more than sufficient, and I had a big, fast car courtesy of our company. When we did the major expansion Julie suggested that my simple but functional bedroom and bathroom could be improved to add in a sitting room and kitchen. But when she saw me looking hurt quickly added “No, Steve! It’s not because I’m tired of having to cook for you every night, and having you and Dan outvoting me on what we’re going to watch on TV. I just thought you’d want a bit of privacy…” But I didn’t, did I? If I couldn’t live with Dan properly, then being near him like this was the next best thing. Somehow the additions got lost in the planning process, so we continued as before.
At fifty two I was still in pretty good shape, and I did still occasionally run the course, mostly against Joe, to show everyone that I could still do it! Joe, though, was a real “hands on” trainer and was always out there urging the slaves on and running around with them. We’d stopped showing Andy as an “agility” winner a couple of years before, and now he helped Joe in training the regular slaves – there had been a proposal to go into agility training, but when we did the numbers it just didn’t add up as they take too long to get right, and then have only a relatively short showing life before they start to slow down. We ought to have sold Andy at the top of his career, really, but I kept my promise to Joe, and both of them seemed to like having Andy working alongside – something we could justify, given the increase in numbers in training.
As luck would have it – well that’s probably the wrong expression – I mean I was out there at the time, in shorts and a T having run the course with Joe, watching him now bounding along by the side of a group of “new recruits” and screaming at them to do better. Then Joe suddenly stopped, stood there for a moment putting one hand on his head, and collapsed.
I raced across to him, screaming at the slaves to fetch the first aid kit and call the vet, but as I got to him I saw he wasn’t even breathing. I began frantically to pound his chest and give him the “kiss of life” to try to get some life into him, but it did no good. After a few minutes I realised it was futile.
Andy had been on the far side of the course and now threw himself on top of Joe’s body, screaming and crying. I knelt there in the mud, utterly numb. I think there’s a kind of calm that comes over you at times like this that allows you to go on functioning “rationally” even though your whole mind is confused. Somehow you turn off all the emotions you’re feeling, as you, and all those around you, have to get through the next hour or so.
I stood up, not noticing, or caring, that I was caked in mud, and reached over and put my arms around Andy and almsot hauled him to his feet. I hugged him, and said quietly “Let it go, Andy… Let it go. There’s nothing you can do for Joe… Come on, back to the barn….”
I still think of Andy as that scrawny, vulnerable sixteen year old who first came to us, but of course he was now in his thirties, and although he was still slim and fit, “scrawny” no longer applied. And he’d lost that vulnerability somewhere, too, as he gained confidence both in fucking, and, latterly, in being Joe’s second in command. But now it was as if the years rolled back, and as the tears streamed down his face, his whole body slumped and he was once again that young lad who had nothing, and saw no future in life.
“Come on, Andy…. Back to the barn….”
“Steve, no…..” That’s how stressed he was. He knew Joe called me “Steve” at special moments, but never did it himself. “Oh Steve…. I can’t….”
“Come on!. There’s no point in staying here. W need a shower, and some clean clothes….” I then told one of the more experienced slaves to organise getting Joe’s body back to the barn, and then that the rest of them should shower and sit quietly for the rest of the afternoon.
I half helped, half dragged Andy back to the barn, undressed him, and then in a strange reversal of roles, soaped him and washed him. All the time it was as if he was a zombie, incapable of independent action. Finally, when we were both dressed, I hugged him once more. “Come on, Andy. Joe’s dead, and we can’t change that. But we need to go on with life…. I loved him too, you know. And I think Joe would want us to carry on….”
“You never loved him, Steve….”
“I did, Andy. Not the way you did, perhaps. But I did love him too.”
“No, Steve. You used him.”
“Andy, listen: there’s a whole lot of different ways that two people can love each other. You loved Joe, even though you fuck every available arse in the place. Joe loved you, you know that, and I loved Joe but in a different way – he’s someone I slept with for over twenty years, and that means something.”
Andy went silent, and just sat there on the edge of my bed. “So what now?”
“The vet’s on his way. There’s nothing we can do for Joe, except that we ought to know what caused him to die so suddenly when he was so fit. And then, well, we’ll have to dispose of the body…”
It’s not generally known, and it has only happened once before at our place, but when a slave dies you have to arrange for the body to be taken off to the nearest recycling facility. They arrange for the body to be neatly butchered for easier shipment, and it goes off to the factories that make pet food (and, it is rumoured, “meat meal” that’s fed to chickens and pigs and farmed salmon!). I somehow didn’t want that for Joe – I mean for Joe’s body – there is no Joe once he’s dead, after all. And I can’t tell you why – after all, it is just meat once “Joe” was no longer inside it.
“I think we’ll choose a place in that new copse of screening trees we planted two years ago – the one that looks over the course – and we’ll bury Joe there. He’d like that, keeping an eye on the place and the training. And the slaves can come… And you might want to say something…. I expect I will, too.”
Andy still just sat there, hunched up. The picture of misery. “Still, there’s one thing I can do now….”
He looked at me enquiringly. “Yes, I can sell you! I promised Joe many years ago that I’d never sell you, even though you were utterly useless on the course as you were so scrawny, and caused all sorts of problems by trying to fuck everything in sight….” I smiled as I said this. “But I suppose I’ve got used to the sight of you around the place…. And you’re not so scrawny now… And you’ve learned to be Joe’s second in command, and I need someone to help run things….” I was really smiling now, so he knew I was joking.
“Steve, did Joe get you to promise that, really?”
“Yes. He was desperate not to lose you, and you didn’t fit in well here at first. And I promised him that if he ever tired of you I would sell you. So you’re still here because Joe carried on wanting you…. And I guess I may be stuck with you now for the rest of my life….”
I hugged him then, and we went out into the barn, where the slaves spontaneously came up and hugged and comforted Andy as best they could – perhaps they didn’t dare do that to me, or perhaps they didn’t understand that I was hurting inside at least as much.
It was an embolism on the brain, the vet said. It could have happened at any time Joe was working hard and under stress. That didn’t make it any better for Andy and me, but at least we knew. And that night I took Andy into my bed, and we just clung together all night, not even wanking each other, only needing the presence of the other for comfort and support. I was really glad he’d put on a bit of weight since I last slept with him, as he had a very disturbed night, tossing and turning, and I remembered those sharp elbows and knees!
It wasn’t easy the next morning as it was one of those windy, overcast, grey days we get a lot of in Autumn. Andy got up early and slipped out, and when I’d showered I found him in the cold store, sitting next to Joe’s body. “I came to say goodbye too, Andy”, I told him gently. “But let go now – take some of the strongest slaves and go and choose where we’re going to bury Joe, and get the grave done.”
“Sir, please…”
“Andy, you’re the head slave now. I’ve decided to ‘promote’ you. And, even more than the others, the head slave has to obey, and set an example. Now, off you go….”
I stood there then for a few long minutes, looking at the body, and all the pleasure it had given me for all those years. Joe looked strangely peaceful, but I felt the tears flow down my face as I said a last farewell to my long-time lover. It was best I did it then, as I did not want the slaves to see me not being in control later that morning.
As soon as I went into the kitchen Julie saw the expression on my face and rushed over and hugged me. “Oh, Steve…. I’m so sorry….”
I could only mumble something, and when Dan hugged me – something we usually did only in private – I felt the tears start again and Julie gave me a big piece of kitchen roll to wipe them away, trying to make it easier for me by saying “I’ve been slicing the onions for lunch, and I think there must be something in the air…”
I didn’t want to eat, but Julie insisted, and then, when we’d finished, she slipped upstairs and came down a few minutes later in a dark suit and white blouse – I hardly ever saw her in anything other than jeans and a sweat shirt, and she looked at Dan and me. “You men go and put your suits on now – the good ones, mind, that you wear at Crufts. Joe was only a slave, but he was a friend, too – I remember how good he was to Shane and Liam when they were growing up, and we should respect him.”
In my room as I fumbled with my tie (I don’t wear one often) I was numb. It was unreal, what I was going through. But the tears seemed to have dried up, thankfully. Julie walked between Dan and me, arm in arm, out across the course, and there under the copse were the slaves, all neatly lined up. The wind was still blowing, and even in my suit I was chilly, but the slaves stood there calm and silent, out of respect. Andy appeared to have things well organised, as once we’d arrived he stepped forward and said “Sir, will you say a few words….”
I hadn’t been expecting this, and I almost broke down. “Joe was a good slave”, I called out, my voice getting caught by the wind. “He was loyal, and faithful, and hard working. But more than that, he was my friend. And I will miss him. Goodbye, Joe.” That was it. I couldn’t say more. And I was more affected that I’d thought I was going to be.
We stood there then as Andy organised four big slaves to lower Joe’s body into the grave, then he stood there, and sprinkled a handful of earth in. And that was that – we three turned and began to walk away, and then Julie stopped. “Steve…. Help Andy….”
I turned and saw him standing there alone at the graveside, hunched and somehow as vulnerable as the first day I ever set eyes on him. I walked back, put my arm around his shoulder, and led him away, the two of us following Dan and Julie back towards the house.
Andy and I slept together that night, and after we’d tossed and turned for an hour or so, I began to stroke his cock…. feeling his hand on mine, in turn. “Fuck me, Steve…”, he whispered. “Fuck me, please…. I miss Joe so much….”
“Oh Andy, it’s no good! I’m not a substitute for Joe for you, and you’re not one for me, either.” I began to stroke his cock harder. “Let’s just pretend we’re two blokes who’ve met today, and wank each other. In a way, that’s what we are – two new men, who’ve got to learn to live without Joe, not play out silly games pretending he’s still here.”
Actually, it was OK. We shot a lot of cum, and then slept. I woke up about five, and nudged Andy in the ribs quite hard. He came awake slowly, rubbing his morning erection against my thigh. “OK, time for you to get up…. Now you’re in charge….”
“Shall I come back tonight, Steve?”
“Andy… I reckon it’s best that you don’t. We both need to get back to normal as soon as we can: Joe’s bed is yours now, and I think you ought to pick out one of the new slaves, and fuck him long and hard tonight. And pick one out for me, too – one of the new ones, with a nice meaty bum and who doesn’t really like taking cock: I fancy a bit of a struggle, OK?”
Andy smiled, stroked my cock a couple of times, and whispered “I reckon you’re right, as usual, sir.” Then got out of bed, and strode out into the barn, his cock jutting in front of him, to start his new life.
>From what I could see, Andy now worked his way methodically through all the slaves – they could now no longer refuse to be fucked by the head slave! I, though, almsot went off sex totally – it’s not that there weren’t a lot of slaves with the physiques I liked, but somehow I was bored with it all, and I even began to worry that I might get one of these studs in my bed and then might be unable to get hard – something which, of course, only made it more difficult to get stuck in. It wasn’t good with Dan, either – the first show weekend after Joe’s death when we were away and in bed together, I found I couldn’t fuck him. And when it happened the next weekend, too, and Dan and I were sitting up in bed and I was sort of slumped forward in despair, Dan put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to him.
“It’s OK, Steve…. You’re still grieving, that’s all. These things take time….”
“Dan, Joe was a slave. I liked him, that’s all… He wasn’t like you….”
“I think you’ve been harder hit than you’ll admit, Steve. You never want to show anyone else you’re vulnerable, or scared, or worried…”
“Dan, we have so little time together I don’t want to waste it in amateur counselling… Now get down the bed, and spread your legs…”
I couldn’t do it, though, and after a few minutes of trying to force my semi-stiff cock into Dan, I gave up. He hugged me again, and told me it was all right, and then we lay together, Dan holding me close and telling me that it didn’t matter at all – he was happy just to be with me like this. But I could feel his cock stabbing at me, and I felt… I felt what? I don’t know. Something inside me was so sad I didn’t care, and yet I felt angry, too, as I was not used to having this kind of failure, not used to failing in any way at all, actually.
The third weekend – we were at the height of the show season – Dan understood how worried I was. Not that I’d said anything, but he was sensitive enough to know I was hurting. After I’d failed to get an erection again, he got out of bed and went over to his case, and came back with my collar. “Time for the slave game then, Steve.”
“No, Dan…”
“On your knees, fucking slave, so I can get your collar on!”
As I’ve told you, we occasionally played this, and with everything else seeming to be going wrong, I didn’t want to risk this ending, as it would if I didn’t play along – once we stopped playing it, I felt we’d never re-start. So I got out of bed and knelt in front of Dan, adopting the usual servile posture of resting my bum on my heels, keeping my back straight, and having my hands clasped behind my back. Dan reached down and put his hand under my chin. “Look up at me, slave, whilst I collar you!”
Usually Dan was clothed at this part of the game, but now his cock was right there in front of me, hard and proud. I felt the cold of the steel as Dan slipped my collar on and heard the snick of the catch closing, and knew that under he rules of our game I was now a slave again until Dan released me.
He moved his body so that his cock waved around in front of me. “Worship your master’s cock, slave!”, he snapped, and dutifully I leant forward and began to kiss, lick and nibble at it.
I could fele Dan getting more excited, and knew what came next – the command to sprawl across the edge of the bed, or go down on all fours, or do whatever Dan had decided he wanted me to do to get ready to be fucked. But now he went and lay on his back, and called “Get up here, slave! I want to use your cock….”
I knelt there between his legs, and he snapped “Get that cock of yours hard, rock hard. I need to be fucked tonight…”
“I can’t do it….”, I muttered.
Dan got up. “OK, across the bed, feet on the floor….”
I assumed he was going to fuck me then, as Dan liked to stand up and do it like that. But there was a swish noise, and I screamed as Dan’s leather belt struck my bum.
“Hey…”
“Fucking slave, this is what happens to slaves who disobey orders. If I had a cane here, you’d be really hurting now. But I think this belt can help you understand your duties better…”
Dan struck me four more times on the bum, and it wasn’t all “play” – I could feel the initial sharp smarting from the strokes transforming into a deep glow that was spreading through my bum.
He went and lay down again, and ordered “Now, get in here and fuck me, or do you want six more?”
Incredibly, my cock was rock hard. And as I knelt there between his legs, pushing his feet apart and back towards his head, a flicker of a smile played across Dan’s face. “So, slave, a bit different from normal, eh? But you’ve got to do what your master commands, haven’t you, Steve?” My recovery had begun.
To be continued …
