All about KINK ...

Html code here! Replace this with any non empty text and that's it.

The Slave Show (3)

I must confess I did feel good as I strode along wit h Dan towards the show ring.  I’d never oiled up my body before, but it felt really special when I caught sigh of my reflection in various mirrors and shop windows as we strode along – the subtle sheen from my skin really enhanced the look of my body, and I could see the heads of women, and a lot of blokes too, turning to admire me as we made our way through the crowded Centre.  I felt almost proud of my physique – well, not at being made to display myself like this in tiny shorts and so on, when everyone else was properly dressed;  but if I’d got such a reaction when I’d been a free man, on a beach somewhere, it would have been great.

The judging of each class – pups, studs, primes, matures and veterans – was done in a number of heats with fifteen slaves taking part in each heat, and the best two in each heat going through into the class final.  So when we got to the area immediately outside the ring there were a lot of other primes and their owners there, as the number of entries was at an all-time high and they needed four heats.  Officials in dark navy blue blazers and white trousers bustled around self-importantly assigning us to one of the heats, and then going around and re-doing it so that the small number of female slaves were evenly distributed amongst the heats.  Once all this was done, they came along again and lined us up into a “running order”, and noted down the show numbers from our collars.

It was lucky we were not in the first heat, I guess, as Dan wouldn’t have had a clue!  As it was, he could stand there in the wings and see how the first heat owners did it – and I suppose the same was true for me, too.  So when it was our turn, we didn’t look like complete “newbies” and made a pretty credible show. Mind you, I hated it – I hated the whole fucking process, as it was so totally and utterly humiliating.  I mean, I’ a man, in spite of them all calling me “slave”.  And you shouldn’t subject men to being displayed and judged like that.  Just judging a bloke by the condition of his body reduces him to being like an animal – never mind that I was a brave soldier, with all sorts of skills, and wit and intelligence: no, in this show I was just a beast, a beast to be assessed on his musculature and physical condition.

Dan was issued with a leash –  a leather strap with a loop in one end of it for his hand, and on the other a hook to attach it to my collar.  Then the officials fussed around making sure we were all in the sequence they’d written on to their clipboards, there was a brief fanfare of trumpets (pre-recorded!), and our owners led us into the show ring by the leash!  I’d seen that it was the “done thing” for the slave to always be on the owner’s right, and to walk one pace behind him, and so I suppose this is what I did – it must be all those years of drilling in the army that had subconsciously taught me that when you’re on parade you do what all the other blokes are doing, as there’s normally no way I’d walk one pace behind another man in that subservient way.  But again I felt so shamed, to be “led” along on a leash, just as if I was an animal:  I’m a man, for Christ sake, just as good as any of the rest of them, and better than most.  It’s only this insane slavery thing that’s brought me to this.

We had to do a complete circle of the ring, with all the spectators watching us, so the judge could “see how we moved”, and I got this kind of blurred impression that a lot of the men and women in the massed tiers of spectators were looking at the show catalogue and making notes. After one circuit, we then walked into the middle, and stood there, in a line, again on the right of and just behind our owners.

The judge was a fat old hag – a big plump woman in her sixties, with those terrible tight grey curls women of that age tend to wear, in a bilious green Crimplene dress that was so ill fitting that it emphasised the ungainly nature of her body rather than flattered it. She walked up and down the line of us, once in front and once behind, and I could almost feel her eyes looking at the prominent bulge in the front of my too-small shorts.  And I knew she was staring at my bum, too, as the elasticised fabric pulled up into the valley between my bum cheeks (and anyway, the top inch was exposed as they were not high enough in the waist, as I’ve told you).

After that, in turn each of us had to run, lead by our owner, from where we were lined up to the far side of the ring, and back again.  It wasn’t so bad for me as Dan was young and fit, but I did feel sorry for some of the other slaves in my heat, as those with big, overweight owners had a real struggle to “run” slowly enough so as not to overtake them!  And when you’re not running properly I suppose you’re really not showing off your muscles well.

It was the next bit that was really terrible, though. The judge stood in front of me and ran her disgusting sweaty plump fingers all over my upper body, telling me at one point to flex my biceps, so she could feel the power in them.  And all the time this was going on I could hear the public address telling the crowd…. “This is Steve, owned by  Central London Construction Partners, and shown today by Mr Daniel Green.  Steve is a novice, making his first appearance in a slave show, and he’s six foot three, sixteen stone seven pounds, and a very well muscled piece of slave flesh, if I may say so.  Steve is just at the start of his period of indenture, too, and is a real working slave, using that body of his on construction sites.  So give him a big round of applause, ladies and gentlemen, to encourage him in his new career….”

The sound of clapping almost drowned out the judge’s instruction to me to kneel, and from watching the other blokes I knew what was coming next – she felt my neck muscles and my jaw line, and then told me to open my mouth, to look up at her, and to stick out my tongue so she could “judge my condition” as she held her fingers under my ears, kind of probing at my glands at the side of my neck.  I hated it all – it’s one thing to have a doctor feel you like that when you’re a bit under the weather, but to have some “judge” do it so she could give me a prize is just terrible.

I knew what the final thing was, but that didn’t make it any better!  I had to get to my feet  and clasp my hands neatly behind my back.  The judge’s hands ran over my belly, and then plunged down into my shorts. I  took a step backward, and she at once rapped “Handler, calm your slave!  I’ll make an allowance this time as he is a novice, but any further movement from him and he’ll be disqualified!  I need to be able to examine his testicles to ensure he is a complete and entire man, and without that he cannot be in this competition which is for slaves who are ‘Primes’.”

“Steve, please….”, Dan hissed at me.  Although  I was flushed with embarrassment and wanted to tell them all to fuck off, I didn’t want all the hundreds of spectators to think  I was afraid.  So I braced myself, and just stood there.

Look, I’ve had women fondle my balls before of course, but usually because they were trying to pleasure me as their lips wrapped themselves around my cock!  This was totally different – the woman was old enough to be my mother (grandmother?) and I could smell the horrible perfume – scent, more likely – as she bent slightly and wiggled those horrible fingers (complete with a big set of cheap, flashy rings) down into my shorts.  Then they were probing around to find my balls, and when they did, I almost winced as she gave them a gentle pinch – I don’t think women know just how sensitive a bloke is down there,  and I always think they just don’t take enough care.

She pulled her hands out, and said quietly to Dan “I think you’d better have a few strong words with your slave if you’re in any more heats here!  It’s not acceptable for him to be pumping out pre-cum, and some judges would mark him down for it.  Now we all know that these slaves are fit and virile, but I think it would be sensible to empty him in future before showing, so that the judge does not end up with sticky hands.  Still,  for an inexperienced show slave, he’s not done badly:  after his initial reaction I thought there might be trouble when I had to squeeze his balls, but he flinched and kept himself under control otherwise.”

” I need to make sure that he’s one hundred percent genuine”, she added to Dan.  “Some unscrupulous owners have been having prosthetic testicles implanted in their slaves to make them appear more virile!  There was almost a scandal last year when a fine specimen like Steve here was found to have had plastic implants as his owner thought he was a bit lacking in terms of the size of his testicles and would ‘show’ better with implants.  So now the rules say we have to test to make sure the slave is one hundred percent genuine, and the only simple test you can do out here is to squeeze them – no man can help reacting, if his balls are genuine.”

As she said this, she walked off to do the next slave, and we just stood and waited.  At the end of her inspections she stood out in front of all of us,  then  pointed to a slave at the far end of the line, who came forward with his handler.  Then to my astonishment she pointed at me, and Dan and I walked out, and we realised that  I was one of the two from this heat to go forward to the  class final.

We all marched smartly out, and, as I said, the owners seemed really nice as they didn’t hesitate to congratulate Dan and tell him he’d done exceptionally well to get this far with a novice.  Dan took me up into a section of the stands then, one  reserved for exhibiting owners and their slaves, so we could watch the other heats, and I suppose it was actually quite interesting to see all these other blokes being marched around and inspected – especially as I could really relate to what they must be feeling as the bitch of a judge put her hands down their shorts.

When the final heat was over there was short intermission when six dancing slaves came on to perform – three men and three women, all wearing nothing but tiny G-strings!  They must otherwise have been entirely body shaved, as especially on the blokes there was just no room for even a bit of pubic hair. It was erotic stuff, though, to see these six lithe figures cavorting around, writhing and interweaving their bodies, carefully synchronised to the hypnotic sexy music!   The way the blokes held the women, especially the way they caressed their bare breasts, was a real turn on, and my cock was really pushing out the already stretched front of my shorts.

Dan turned to me. “No time for this , Steve, boy!  You heard what he judge said – they don’t like pre-cum all over their hands, and I’d better take you out so you can wank yourself…. Especially after seeing this, eh?  Sensuous stuff, isn’t it – real entertainment for men?  I can see it’s got you pretty excited…..”

We went out and followed the signs that said “Lavatories” – well, the ones that said “Lavatories – slaves”, that is, as of course there were separate facilities for free men.  I felt ridiculous, as Dan hadn’t seen fit to undo my leash, and so we had to make our way through the crowds with me being lead as if I was an animal.  And he came in to the place, too.  They didn’t bother with “luxuries” like cubicles for slaves, so there was a line of lavatories against one wall, and a long trough urinal on the other.  It’s not all that much of a problem for me, as in some of our barracks you used to crap sitting alongside your mates.

 “OK, Steve – get at it…. Start beating that meat of yours.”


“Where else?”

“I can’t do it here,  Dan… Sir!  Look…. It’s completely exposed.”

“Oh come on!  There’s no one else here,   And the way you were all fired up watching those dancers, you must be almost on the edge… so it oughtn’t to take long…. Now, get on with it…”

“You’re here….  And look, there’s absolutely no privacy…”

“Steve, for fuck’s sake, stop being such a wimp!  I thought you were supposed to have been a big, tough soldier – don’t tell me you’ve never wanked yourself in front of another bloke before…?”

Well of course I had, hadn’t I?  But it’s one thing to do it when you’re watching porn with your mates, sprawling on one of the chairs in the mess room, and quite another to do it standing up there in that  bare place.  And you know how it is – wanking when you’re standing up is much more difficult, as it’s not as comfortable and your knees tend to sag and bend the wrong way…..

“For fuck’s sake, Steve, get on with it, will you?  Or do you want me to pull those shorts down and do it for you?”

“No!  Look, sir, it will be OK… I can control myself…..”

“I’m not prepared to risk it, Steve.  There’s a lot at stake here!  The boss and I want the prize money, and I’m not prepared to have you spoiling our chances just because you won’t do this simple thing.  It’s not as if you haven’t wanked hundred s of times before, after all.  Now, do it!”  “No, sir, please….

Dan dropped the leash, and before I could stop him simply pulled my shorts down, and my cock leapt into the air.  I did as any man would, and went to hit him – but fortunately my reflexes cut in, and I just stopped my fist an inch or so away from his body. It’s part of the military training,  I suppose – us grunt privates go through some pretty tough times with drill sergeants and such like, and the one thing you very quickly learn is hat you never hit  an NCO, or even worse, an officer!  Even though  I was young and tough, the first time I went to hit a corporal who was screaming at me and calling me a weak bastard wimp, he reacted so quickly that I didn’t know what had hit me until it was too late – he had lots of experience at dealing with bolshy recruits like me, and the next instant I was gasping for breath as his fist buried itself in my belly, and then I was flailing around on the ground as I desperately tried to avoid his combat boots as they kicked at me again and again.  He was a real artist – I was sore for days and days afterwards, but his skill and experience mean that none of my ribs was broken or anything.  And I only ever tried it once with a sergeant, and not only did he give me a good kicking, but when I was almost recovered, he and a couple of corporals pulled me out of my bunk that night and “took me outside” to give me the worst going over I’d ever had.  So I’d learned to respect “superiors”, I suppose, and that saved Dan that night.

He didn’t realist it, though, and snapped “Now, start wanking.  Or I’ll do it for you….”

I felt really foolish standing there bare-assed with my shorts around my knees, and Dan went on “Now, you’ve got two minutes!  If it helps, I’ll look away…..”

Well, what was I supposed to do?  I reached down and started to stroke myself, and it wasn’t all that bad, actually – as Dan had pointed out, those six sensuous dancers had really fired me up, and it only took a few shakes before I was grunting as I felt my whole body tensed in anticipation, and then a big slick of cum shot out of my cock.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”, Dan said once he realised I’d gone quiet.  “Now, whilst we’re here, you’d better piss as well, as we don’t know how long this class final will take….”

Well you all know how it is – you just can’t piss immediately after you’ve shot a load, can you?  I mean, first of all, your cock’s still mostly hard. And then if you do start too soon, I think it hurts. But Dan urged me on as we could hear the loudspeakers calling for the class finalists in the Prime – Mid-European – Caucasian class, and so  I had to do my best.  Dan insisted I blot

 my dick dry on some of the lavatory paper, too, and I suppose that after all I’d gone through, having him watch me as I did this could be endured, and then he led me back to the show ring.  Thank Christ, though, that no one else had come in whilst I was having to go through all of that!

Well the finals was just like the heat, really, except that there were only eight of us – two each from the four heats.  Six of us were men, and two women.  I suppose I was getting used to seeing bare-breasted women by now as I didn’t feel myself reacting as much as previously – although perhaps the big wank I’d just done had something to do with it.  Still,  I did wonder how the judge could possibly decide who was best – a big muscled stud like me, or someone with a fundamentally different body “style”, like the women!

There were two judges this time, too – the vile old women who’d examined me before, and a man in his mid-forties, I’d say, wearing those kind of elaborate “country” clothes – a smart tweed sports jacket, cavalry twill trousers, brown brogues, a silk shirt, and a  “guards’ tie.  We were used to seeing men like this around the army camp, as it tended to be the sort of thing that the officers wore as civvies.

The routine was the same, though – parade around, then individual examinations after a run across the ring. And this time as the woman’s fat fingers plunged down my shorts I steeled myself and willed myself to remain calm, and I just grunted when she gave each of my balls a squeeze. I wasn’t prepared for the male judge to come and do the same thing too, though!  I mean, having your balls fondled by some old hag is bad enough, but another man…. He didn’t do it badly, though, as I suppose he knew himself what I must be going through, and as his hands went down my shorts he said calmly “Easy now, boy, it will soon be all over…”

And that was it, really.  I don’t know who was the more surprised when I was called out as class champion – Dan or me!

Both judges shook Dan’s hand and congratulated him on putting up such an excellent show with a novice slave, and were even more surprised when they heard he’d never shown before at all as they complimented him on his expert handling of me.  Then, as we waited for the Show chairman to come in and present the cup, they chatted on.  Dan told them I was a genuine working slave, and not some man who was just kept for show purposes, and they seemed very interested.  The woman picked up my left hand and ran her podgy fingers over the ridges of hard skin all over it from where I grip tools, and said “You know, Colonel, I do think we ought to talk to the breed committees about this – there’s scope, I think, for having a separate class for genuine working slaves, slaves who do an honest day’s work, rather than who are just groomed and trained for the ring…. “

“Yes, but that might lower the standard.  The public comes here to see the very best of the human form…. Does it matter if that comes from ‘work’ or ‘workouts’?”

“Well I think so.  This slave here proves that it’s possible for a real worker to have a superb physical form – indeed, I think those long, stringy muscles he has are far superior to the kind of pumped-up thing we’re used to seeing.  We both judged him to be the best in his class without knowing that he was a genuine worker – and certainly he’s well above the breed standard.  No, I think we ought to lobby for more genuine working animals to be included here – not just labourers like this one, but all the other slaves you see in the streets like those pulling drays, and so on.”

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of the chairman, who shook Dan’s hand and handed him a silver cup and an envelope (which I assumed held a cheque). He then came over to me – I’d naturally fallen into a “stand easy” position from my army days, with my feet apart and my hands clasped behind my back.  The judge reached out and then I almost screamed with surprise – he had a rosette, a big silk rosette, with two ribbons streaming down from it, and this was attached to me: literally!  On the back of it was a sort of crocodile clip, and in a smooth, practised movement he reached up and let it go, so that the teeth gripped my right nip!

“Easy!”, Dan hissed again, and I did my best to stand there now even more humiliated than before, bearing this rosette telling the world that I was the best piece of slave flesh for my age within that subset of white men who they could classify as “Mid-Europeans”.

After a long day we rested in our rest and grooming area a bit, and the public kept coming up to Dan to congratulate him – as if he was really anything to do with it.  It was my body, after all, and all the hard work I’d put in on the site that had made it so good. It was me they ought to be congratulating, but it seemed that it wasn’t the “done thing” for free men to congratulate slaves, or even to speak to them at all. That didn’t stop them slyly running a hand over my body, though, and some of the bolder ones even ran their fingers over the outside of my shorts to feel the outline of my cock – more congratulations for Dan, then, too – and there’s just no way that anyone could believe he had anything to do with that.  At first I shied away from the vulgar hands and made menacing noises, but Dan calmed me down.  “Just ignore them, Steve – it’s what they expect at  slave show, to be able to ‘pet’ the animals, especially the very good looking ones who have just won.  I won’t have you misbehaving by preventing the public from getting its money’s worth – just calm down, it’s not as if it hurts, after all!”

He was right, of course.  Most of the men – and even some women – who wanted to feel my body were really gentle as they were so timorous: it was as if they were afraid of feeling another person’s skin at all. No, it wasn’t the physical hurt that was the problem, it was the mental hurt:  knowing that they saw me as some sort of object, or even as an animal, who they could caress and stroke as I stood there, as I was totally unable to do anything about it. 

Later that after noon, though, Joe came back and, like me, he had one of the big rosettes clipped to his nip:  he was best in his class of “mature” Mid-Europeans. His owner, The Captain, and Dan shook hands, and I slapped him on the back to congratulate him. “Remember though, Steve, we’re now competitors!”, he told me, a twinkle in his eye.  “When we go into the ring tomorrow they’re going to be selecting ‘best of breed’, and you, me, and the winners of the pups, studs and veterans of the Mid-Europeans are all up against each other.  I wonder if young Trent will be the pup winner….” 

As he was saying this Trent came back with his fat owner and we could see immediately that he hadn’t won as there was no rosette.  “You little bastard”, his owner was saying angrily.  “Just wait until I get you home.  You know I told you that you were going to be caned if you didn’t put up a good show….” 

Trent looked sullen at first, but as the verbal abuse of him continued he suddenly snapped “Stop blaming me!  It’s your fault!  How could I run around the ring properly, showing off to the judges, when all you could do is waddle along, you great fat cunt…”

His owner drew back his arm and slapped Trent’s face with all his might.  Joe and I both heard the slap ricochet around the place, and Trent was knocked sideways by the force of the blow.  He sprang at his owner then, fists flailing, and before I could react Joe in turn flung himself across the gap between them and wrapped himself around Trent, lifting the lad off his feet as he did so.  Trent carried on struggling, his feet kicking at Joe, and all the time hurling abuse at his owner, and then at Joe, for not letting him “Get his own back for that fucking blow….”

Joe abruptly let go of Trent, and the lad went sprawling on the floor.  Joe simply went and sat on him, straddling his heaving chest and pinioning Trent’s arms to the floor with his knees.  Trent started to shout again, and now it was Joe who casually leaned over and slapped him – although not anything like as hard as his owner had – it was the sort of blow any NCO would give a raw recruit, to calm him.  “Shut up, you little fool!”, he commanded. “Shut up now, before you make your owner even more cross….” 

Joe looked up at Trent’s owner then and said in a very ingratiating tone “He’s calm now, sir.  Please don’t punish him too harshly – it was his first time in the ring, wasn’t it?  And I suspect he had a bit of ‘stage fright’ – it’s never easy the first time, is it, Steve?” 

I shook my head vigorously in agreement, trying to lend Joe all the support I could, and he went on “It takes us all differently, sir.  I expect young Trent here put up a brave show, but bottled it all up inside and it’s only coming out now.  And remember, for a lad like this to have to run around totally naked in front of all that crowd…..   So please don’t punish him too harshly, sir…. I’m sure he’s a really potentially valuable property, and so don’t do something to permanently disfigure him for this lapse, dreadful though it was….” 

I suddenly realised just how serious young Trent’s plight really was – he’d actually swore at his owner, and then physically attacked him and might even have harmed him had Joe not acted so quickly. 

The owner looked at Dan and the Captain, and said “Well I don’t know what to do!  You all saw that, didn’t you?  He went to physically attack me!  We can’t have that, no, not at all.  I’m afraid I really ought to take him off to the vets’ area and perhaps one of them could take his balls off now… That should calm him, and prevent any recurrence.” 

“Quite right!”, the Captain chimed in.  “These young lads have no discipline, no self control.  A good spell in the Royal Navy is what they really need….” 

I saw Joe looking pretty horrified as evidently Trent’s owner was serious, and he cut in “Mind you, the lad is pretty good looking, sir…. In a couple of years time, with some hard physical labour, he could well turn into a pretty stunning ‘stud’… Could be worth a lot of money.  Except that they’d mark him down so heavily for having been snipped….. You could be throwing away a huge return on your investment….” 

It was horrible to hear a man spoken of in these terms, just as if he was a prize animal, but it seemed to do the trick.  The fat man’s beady eyes glinted. “Quite so.  One has to think of all the money we spend on our slaves, let alone all the love and attention we lavish on them to train them….  But he has to be punished….” 

The Captain nodded as if he too was considering “values”, and remarked  “Why don’t you get my slave to do it, and do it now?  Punishment immediately after the crime is always much more effective, they say. Just like training puppies – if they soil the floor you have to spank them there and then – it’s no use waiting until later.  I think you should punish this slave right now, to drive home just how badly he’s behaved.” 

Dan nodded too, and he and the Captain were evidently winning the argument to save Trent’s balls, as his owner sort of wavered as he said “Well I could, I suppose, give him a good beating, but my punishment cane is at home….” 

“The big slave Joe could spank him for you….” 

“No, the lad’s used to being spanked.  It won’t signify….” 

“With respect, sir”, Dan’s tone was sort of wheedling now.  “That slave who’s sitting on top of him looks pretty strong and muscular.  I’d imagine that the kind of spanking he could do would be rather more severe than you usually do… Not that I’m suggesting that you’re not administering proper punishment, far from it…. But you seem to be a very good and benevolent master, and I suspect you probably hold yourself back a little, quite deliberately, to give the lad an opportunity of seeing the error of his  ways without suffering real harm….” 

The fat man looked pleased.  “Excellently put, sir!  I have a reputation for benevolence, and perhaps I have been just a little too lenient on the lad.  And to go from that to removing his testicles is probably too harsh:  and you’re right,  I think he does have potential….. Perhaps some hard physical punishment is all that is necessary…”  He turned to the Captain and went on “Would you mind if we used your slave to spank my lad?” 

“Not at all! Personally, I use a cane on my slaves, and I haven’t seen a young lad spanked since I left the navy – it was somehow always rather rousing when one of the young ratings had been particularly naughty and elected to take his punishment in the Officers’ Mess, rather than having a disciplinary hearing in front of the Captain and a black mark on his record. We used to make him watch as we ate dinner, then when we’d finished coffee and the table had been cleared, we’d make him strip totally naked and bend over it. Every officer then had the opportunity to beat his bare backside, with a hand, or a slipper, or a rolled up newspaper…. It wasn’t just the pain, but most of them had never been stripped and spanked like that and they were beetroot with embarrassment – especially as they mostly had erections, and certainly didn’t like to be seen like that in front of all the officers.” 

The Captain looked at Joe then, and his tone turned to one of command.  “Joe – get off that lad, go and sit on the bench there, put him over your knee, and beat the living daylights out of that backside of his. Keep striking him until I tell you to stop.” 

Joe got to his feet, grabbed hold of Trent’s arm and hauled him to his feet, then dragged him over  and sat down on the preparation bench.  He pushed at Trent to bend him over his knees, until the Captain shouted “Joe, before you start, get rid of his shorts!  A proper spanking can only be delivered on the bare skin.” 

Joe grinned as he hauled Trent’s shorts down, and pushed the lad over his knee.  Trent was shouting and calling Joe a right bastard, and much worse, but he was unable to resist Joe’s sheer power as he was bent over – or was it that Joe’s grip had changed so that his hand was over the back of Trent’s neck, and Joe’s strong fingers were digging in to hold him?  It was probably painful, I expect. 

Joe looked at Trent’s owner, who nodded, and he stated to spank him on the lad’s bare bum.  Trent’s shouts of outrage turned to shouts of anger, and then of pain as Joe’s hand rose and fell remorselessly.  I could just tell it must be hurting him as the sound of Joe’s palm against the lad’s bare skin was like a pistol shot – you’ve got to remember that Joe’s a big bloke, and can wield considerable power in his arm. 

On and on it went, and Trent’s shouts an cries gradually turned into a low continuous wail of pain and shame as his beating  continued.  I don’t know how long it lasted, really, but I counted at least twenty of the slaps, and then Joe stopped. 

“Carry on!”, Trent’s owner shouted.   “The slave needs to be taught a lesson he’ll never forget.” 

“I’m sorry, sir, but my arm is tired… I don’t think I’m making as much of an impression as I was when I started….” 

The owner said something to Dan, and then called out “All right, stop there.  Hand the lad over to the other slave, Steve.” 

Joe got up, and almost pushed Trent towards me – there was a lot of laughter and sniggering from the crowd who’d gathered to watch as Trent was erect, and his cock was jutting out in front of him.  I stood there for a moment, wondering what to do, until Dan called out “Steve, for fuck’s sake, you saw what you’re supposed to do… Now get that slave over your knee, and beat the shit out of him!” 

Look, I have spanked a bloke before.  It’s one of the things we do to new recruits when they join us in our barracks – just for a bit of a laugh, really.  It humiliates them on their first day, and kind of “breaks the ice” – after all your mates have seen you over the knee of one of them, you can’t be stuck-up, or stand-offish, can you?  But we never stripped them totally naked – we always let them keep their underpants on before they had to bend over.  But having to put Trent over my knee was very different – for one thing, my thighs were bare, instead of being in trousers.  And for another, Trent was totally naked – and erect – as I’ve told you. 

I grabbed the sobbing lad by the scruff of the neck, and muttered “Come on, Trent…. It will be easier if you co-operate….”  And pushed him down.  He moaned, and I realised his cock was trapped in-between his body and my legs, so I opened my thighs slightly to let it slip between them – it was kind of erotic, actually ,to have his hot, sweaty, bare body draped over me like that and his cock hard against the inside of my thighs, and I felt my own erection stirring: thank Christ I’d got shorts on! 

“Get on with it, Steve!”, Dan called, sounding as if he was starting to get impatient, so I raised my arm and began to hit him.  

Look,  I know some blokes do it for fun, but  I can tell you that when you’ve been told to do it “for real”, and when your owner knows you’re really strong, it’s not that easy.  The blows are OK as you raise your arm, but it really stings your palm when it smashes into the bare bum…. And I mean REALLY stings, even when your hands are work-hardened, as mine are.  His already-red bum turned even darker 

Poor Trent wriggled and shouted and sobbed as I beat him, and I felt really sorry for him.   But what could I do?  If I disobeyed a direct order from Dan, it might be me ending up there with some slave beating my bare bum, after all. 

I certainly gave him twenty hard slaps, and I could see what Joe meant about it being tiring.  But fortunately Dan then called out “That’s enough, Steve”, and I could let Trent go so he could stand up.  He stood there looking the very picture of misery, especially when there was a round of applause from the “audience” that had gathered.  And it wasn’t all that nice for me, either, as I could feel slimy pre-cum on the inside of my thighs, where he’s leaked all over me as I’d been thrashing him. 

Our three owners went off together then, and us three slaves were left there.  Trent had pulled his shorts back on (although there was a wet patch on the front, where his cock was continuing to leak pre-cum), and he was kind of sniffling as he tried to control his sobs.  “Bastards!”, he muttered at us.  “You two fuckers, doing that….” 

Joe grabbed him by the arm and put his face right close to Trent’s.  “Listen, you stupid young sod – you’re fucking lucky!  A slave who goes for his owner is likely to end up without his balls, and that’s what your owner was planning.  If Steve and me hadn’t given you a really good working over, he might still have done it.  If you ask me, you’ve got off lightly!  And if I were you, I’d be a damned sight more careful about how I treated my master – yours has that sly look that seems to me to be suggesting that he only wants an opportunity to do something like that to you…” 

“He’s right, Trent”, I cut in.  I know you were provoked, and young blokes like you have a hot temper, but you’ve got to learn to control it.  We had lots of young recruits in the army, and we mostly had to knock the stuffing out of them once or twice before they learned to behave ‘properly’ around the rest of us – so listen to what Joe’s telling you, before your owner does something really serious to you.” 

“A fuck of a lot of good it does me to have balls anyway…”, Trent started, as if he was spoiling for a fight somehow. “I’m never gong to get a chance to use them…” 

I went to argue, but Joe put his hand on my arm. “Leave him be, Steve.  He only wants to provoke us and make trouble.  If he doesn’t realise that even if he never gets to fuck a woman it’s still better to wank with your balls on, then he’s even more of a stupid young cunt than he looks!  And, anyway, statistics show that most slaves do get to fuck…. He just doesn’t appreciate it yet, as he said that his owner hasn’t treated him very well, being as he’s so fat and flabby, and he hasn’t learned that sex with another slave can be fun.” 

Well, I didn’t say anything, as I hadn’t realised that “sex with another slave can be fun”, either.  We didn’t do things like that on our site, and the bosses, like Dan, didn’t use us for sex.  There was evidently a lot more to the business of being  a “show slave” than I’d imagined.  

To be continued …

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.