When they came back our owners had decided that they wanted to go and watch the judging of the “Celts”, and they evidently considered that it would be a “treat” for us – although why slaves would consider watching other men being as humiliated as they themselves were didn’t seem to occur to them. But when we got to the arena they did at least allow us to sit together, at the back of the block reserved for exhibitors and slaves, and so Joe and Trent and I could at least sit there not quite so much under their very direct control as usual.
I didn’t think much of the Celts as they were displayed. I’d always considered the Welsh and the Scots to be undersized, and kind of pugnacious – when there scraps in the barracks it was often because some fiery little Welsh bastard had started it. And some of the Scots in particular were very hard to understand when they first arrived. So it wasn’t all that much fun watching them prancing around, especially as the “breed standard” seemed to dictate that they should all be under five foot six, and thin and wiry. Or do I mean generally puny?
In the interval between heats I’d been looking forward to those sensual dancers we’d seen before, but this time they had another “speciality act” for our delight. As soon as they came on I felt sorry for the eight blokes – they’d done their best to totally strip away any trace of humanity from them, as they were all totally body shaved so there was not a scrap of hair anywhere on them (and we could tell this for a fact, as the were completely stark naked, with their cocks and balls waving around as they ran into the arena), and then they’d been painted! Yes, actual paint, it looked like, as each bloke was a totally different colour all over – red, green, blue, yellow, and so on. The sheer unexpectedness of it amazed the audience, and there was a big round of spontaneous applause.
What they proceeded to do was a mixture of dancing and gymnastics – running around in time to the music, then doing cartwheels and somersaults across the huge space (which really made their cocks fly around!), and then leaping up so four of them rode on the other four’s shoulders, and began whirling around like on a merry-go-round, and so on. You could tell it was really hard work, as under the hot lights of the arena you could see beads of sweat breaking out all over their smoothly-painted surfaces! And some of the configurations they had to get themselves in to were, frankly, lewd. For example one bent down, resting his feet and palms of his hands on the ground, then the next one put his head between the first one’s open thighs, and another between his, and then they sort of marched around like a giant multicoloured caterpillar. I couldn’t help wondering what it felt like to have your mate’s cock resting on the nape of your neck, and having your own cock and balls pushing into the soft warmth of the bloke whose head was stuck between your legs! Those blokes must have balls of steel, I thought, to be able to do that sort of thing apparently without worrying about getting them painfully trapped. And then I remembered all the talk we’d heard about prosthetic balls, and I began to wonder if these poor blokes had all been “done” like that, and that their balls were indeed steel.
They ended up, to thunderous applause, by lining up in the order of their colours in the rainbow, with arms linked around each other, and then they whirled around the centre of the line like a wheel, all the time getting erect, so that after about four revolutions, when they stopped and were again standing there, they were all showing their magnificent cocks stuck out in front of them. Finally, they “about faced” and put their hands on the shoulders of the bloke in front of them, and marched out – you could just tell that in order to get that close together their cocks must have been wedged up the bum of the bloke in front.
Their “trainer” came on then, to take a bow, and to our utter astonishment it was a little blond woman no more than five foot two or so. I whispered to Joe “How on earth does she control those eight big blokes, and get them to do those disgusting things?”
“Oh Steve, you really are naive, living on that construction site of yours. An owner can get slaves to do anything – literally anything – with the right training techniques. She’d only have to withhold these bloke’s food, keep their hands cuffed behind them, and have an electric slave prod and a whip, and within four or five days they’d be eating out of her hand, literally!
“But shaving them, painting them, making them appear naked like that – and some of it was disgusting… Their cocks against each other…”
“Oh come on, Steve! For all you know, they like it. I mean, once they’re used to being shaved, it’s no great thing really. The painting’s a bit unusual, I agree, but I suspect they like the close contact with each other – come on, you must know what it’s like with eight good mates living together all the time… “
“It’s not like that in the army!”
“Well that’s your loss. Most groups of blokes living together soon get to like that special contact that you get. In fact, I bet they really pity the bloke who that training bitch selects for her pleasure each night.”
Trent cut in then. “Hey, you mean some slaves get to fuck women?”
Joe laughed. “So you’re ready for it are you then, lad? Been waiting to see what it’s like?”
“I’ve fucked more girls than you have, I bet”, Trent rejoined. “In that home…. You grow up early.”
Joe slapped him on the back. “Hey, Steve, we’ve got a junior stud here, if you ask me. But let me give you some advice, Trent – don’t go bragging about your ability to satisfy women! It’s one thing to fuck a woman as a man, and quite another to do so as a slave. As a man, you do it the way you like, but as a slave you have to do it the way she likes! I’ve known blokes who’ve been worn out trying to satisfy their bitches of mistresses – hours with their tongues stuck up her, and then having to fuck away without being able to cum until she’s satisfied…. And most women owners won’t allow a slave to cum properly as part of the fucking – they have to hold themselves in until she’s finished, and then stand there and wank in front of her.”
Joe paused for breath, as he warmed to his theme, and went on “So, young Trent, I wouldn’t advise you to let women know that you even like them. If you’re up for auction, just stand there and try not to get noticed. At least with a male owner you’re starting off from the same point – even though you’re a slave, you’re a bloke like he is, and he has some understanding of how a man works.”
“Well my current owner is a real bastard….”
“Yes, Trent, and not very attractive, either. But if you were Steve there, and had that nice-looking young guy Dan as your owner, it could be a whole lot of fun. I bet you and he have some good times, don’t you, mate?” As he spoke, Joe looked at me for a reply.
“You mean having sex with him? No way!” I gasped.
“You mean he hasn’t fucked you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Look, Steve, what’s this ‘of course’?”
“I don’t go with blokes….”
Joe just laughed. “It’s not up to you, Steve! If your master wants to fuck you, it’s his choice, remember, and what you want just doesn’t enter into it. I’m surprised that Dan hasn’t been up that arse of yours already – I can’t be the only bloke who thinks you’ve got a great body…. “
“But he’s married…”
“You told us! And I told you, if you remember, that that’s got nothing to do with it. Almost all owners fuck their slaves. They do it because they can – that’s the nature of the owner and slave relationship.”
“Well he hasn’t tried anything….”
“…you mean ‘yet’, Steve! And I don’t suppose he will, whilst you’re here, either – I mean, suppose you hit out at him and then he had to have you whipped…. It would spoil his chances of winning, wouldn’t it?”
“No man’s going to stick his cock up my arse….”
“Steve, get real! If your owner wants to fuck you, he will. The first few times he only has to get you tied down on a frame, and you won’t be able to do a blind thing to stop him. In fact, that’s what young Dan might be planning – get you shackled down on a ‘fucking horse’, then come up and stand at your spread legs and pull your arse apart, then slip his cock into your waiting hole… Some men like the slaves to really buck and squirm, and scream and shout, as it makes it so much more interesting. And the master is really demonstrating that he’s in total control of you. Anyway, what’s his cock like?”
“How the fuck should I know? And what does it matter, anyway?”
“Well some blokes are long and thin, like a stick of asparagus, and they’re not so hard to take. But if he’s more on the beer-bottle principle…..”
I shuddered at the thought, but we had to cut the conversation short as at that moment our owners appeared below us where we were high in the stands, and the Captain and Trent’s owner clapped their hands, just as if they were summoning an animal, to attract our attention and tell us that we should go down. They led us off to the food court, and, as I’d now come to expect, there were signs saying “No slaves allowed in this area”. Fortunately the Show’s organisers had made arrangements for competitors, as somewhat smaller signs said “Exhibitors with their slaves may use the restaurant facility on the second floor.”
It looked pretty good to me – it was self service, with a really good choice and as we followed our owners along the line I piled my tray with roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, boiled and roast potatoes, sprouts and peas, and also picked up a big helping of spotted dick and custard. I looked at the bottles of beer standing there, and wondered if I dare pick one up – we weren’t allowed to drink at all on the site, of course, but perhaps Dan wouldn’t mind here. But in the end I decided against it, and just took a whole carafe of water as all this “being shown” is thirsty work as you sweat a lot.
I was amazed when we got to a table, as instead of sitting down, Trent knelt by the side of his owner! And Joe stood there, too, until the Captain told him he could sit. And as I looked around, I saw that I was the only slave with “proper” food – Trent and Joe had both taken metal dishes of something that looked not unlike dog biscuits! The Captain seemed faintly scandalised, and said to Dan “Do you really allow your slave to feed like that? It’s not necessary, you know – I noticed it cost a lot when it was rung up at the register.”
Dan looked a bit embarrassed, and sort of mumbled “…I didn’t really think about it. On the site they feed in the canteen, the same as us, only at different tables of course. The company reckons that it needs them to work very hard, and so they need feeding properly….”
“Preposterous, young man! I think I ought to have a word with those employers of yours about such scandalous and profligate waste! I feed Joe only on slave chow, and as you can see, he’s perfectly fit and healthy, and, believe you me, I do work him hard to keep him in such excellent shape. It’s specially formulated to give them everything they need…”
“But, sir, it’s not very interesting for them….”
“Nonsense! It comes in various flavours – chicken, beef, tuna, lamb…. And I allow Joe to have a different flavour each time I order a new sack from the merchant. And another thing…. You need to teach that slave manners! If he was mine and he began eating before I’d told him he could, I’d cane him.”
I had of course just started eating when we sat down, to stop the food getting cold, and now I rested my knife and fork in my hands, as I noticed that Joe was just sitting there with his hands clasped in his lap, and Trent was kneeling in front of his bowl with his hands clasped behind his back. I began to realise that as a real working slave my life wasn’t quite so bad after all – on the site we were treated almost as if we were still free men, and this business of being fed only “chow”, and then having to wait until I was “allowed” to begin was another example of how awful it must be for some other slaves.
Dan was giving me furious looks, but there was not much to be done now, was there? And my food was getting cold, so I picked up my knife and fork and just started eating again. Fortunately the three owners were soon in animated conversation with each other, and Joe and Trent were allowed to start crunching the bits of “chow”, and we were generally ignored. I could see Joe and Trent eyeing my food, and so I sliced small bits of the beef, balanced them on small pieces of the Yorkshire pudding, and pushed them right to the edge of my plate. In-between mouthfuls of “chow”, Joe and Trent then sneaked these little morsels and popped them quickly into their mouths, nodding at me to say “thank you” and seeming to be almost in heaven. The beef wasn’t all that tasty, either, as it had been cooked, allowed to go cold, then sliced and re-heated as caterers do (not like on the site where every day there was a fresh, hot roast amongst the stuff to choose from), and it did make me wonder more about their lives if they thought these little “extras” were good.
After we’d eaten I heard Trent’s owner and the Captain saying that they were going off to the hotels they had booked in to, and asking Dan where he was staying as they might take only one or two cars. Dan looked embarrassed again, as he muttered “Well, money was short, and I didn’t know Steve was going to be a winner and we would get a prize, so I put a couple of air beds in the back of the van, and we’ve got some blankets, and we’re going to bed down there, in the car park. I saw a lot of campers and things there, and there’s a shower block….”
The fat man nudged Dan in the ribs. “Ah, so all your talk of not using the slave properly was just that! I bet he’s going to keep you nice and warm tonight, with those blankets around you…”
“No!”, Dan said firmly. “I’m going to talk to my wife on my mobile, then Steve will be under one blanket, and me under another.”
I don’t think the Captain and the fat man believed him, though, as they went off chortling to each other about how young men like Dan didn’t know how lucky they were to be always ready for sex, and to have a slave like me there to satisfy themselves!
It was just as Dan had said, though – two separate air beds there in the back of the van, and two piles of blankets. Dan was standing around outside, talking to Julie on the mobile, asking about his kid, and how she was, and then all sorts of ridiculous “lovey-dovey” stuff and kisses blown in to the air, so I decided to turn in. I wasn’t going to sleep in those tight shorts, so I pulled them off, wrapped myself in a blanket, and lay down.
Dan climbed in a couple of minutes later and pulled the doors closed behind him, and then half crouched, half sat there looking pretty uncomfortable. It occurred to me that he might not ever have slept with another bloke in the same room before, and all this talk of sex might anyway have made him feel uncomfortable. He said a few things about how pleased he was with winning and how we’d got a busy day tomorrow, and then, seeing that I wasn’t going to look away, he fumbled around to take off his jacket, and then to undo his jeans and push them down his legs as he knelt there. You may think I was cruel as Dan was clearly embarrassed by all of this and I could easily have turned over to face away from him, and pretended to go to sleep. But considering what I’d had to go through, this was nothing, and it made me smile a bit and I’d had little enough fun that day.
He actually had pretty good legs – not very muscular, like mine, but I reckoned he’d been a runner or played football or something as they were in good shape, and they were tanned, suggesting he wore shorts a lot and spent time out of doors. I didn’t get much of a chance to look at the rest of him, though, as he kept his boxer shorts on, and when he took his shirt off he had a T underneath, which he also kept on. Still, there was no evidence of fat around his waist as he crawled along the van to lie on the air bed along side mine, then he said “goodnight”, and clicked out the light.
I usually sleep well – I’m so fucking tired after a day’s hard work on the site – but that night I kept waking up, partly, I suppose, because Dan was a really restless sleeper: he’d occasionally call out “Julie” in quite a loud voice, and then make a lot of mutterings that I couldn’t understand, and I supposed he was dreaming about his wife! He was clearly missing something, as by the light of the moon filtering in trough the side windows I could see he was rampantly erect as the blanket had slipped off him and his cock was poking through the fly of his boxers. I wouldn’t want you to think I stare at other blokes’ cocks, but when you’re awake, and quite close, you can’t help but take a look, can you? I guess all men like to compare themselves with others, and, actually, Dan was pretty well hung: not as good as me, of course, but for a smaller guy, he looked properly in proportion. But then erect cocks are deceptive, aren’t they? You really need to compare yourself with other guys when they’re just hanging loose.
You also know that I don’t like wanking other blokes – I’d done it occasionally, as I said, when we were watching porn in the barracks, but I much preferred having them wank me. But as I lay there looking at his cock, a plan formed in my brain and I began to smile to myself. I reached over, and gently, very gently so as not to wake him, I started to stroke Dan’s cock, and then, as he responded by making appreciative murmuring, I changed to wanking him properly. He started to mutter “Julie, mmm, oh… Julie, you do it so well, mmmmmm….”, and even began to respond by moving his hips, almost thrusting his cock into my fist as I worked away.
Well, you know how you can always tell a bloke is on the point of cumming by holding his balls and feeling them tense as they prepare to fire? So as my other hand curled around Dan’s sac it was clear that he was right on the edge, and about to cum (not that I’ve got a whole lot of experience of feeling other guys’ balls, mind!). I raked my thiumb across his piss slit and the flange of his cock head, and that was that – I barely had time to push his cock back inside his boxers and point it up across his belly before his cum flooded out! I then gently and carefully massaged his boxers (on the outside!) so that his cum would get spread around, soaking into his pubes, and making his boxers and the hem of his T all slimy.
Still smiling, I leaned over and now elbowed him, quite hard, in the ribs. I shouted “Dan!”, and he came awake and went to sit up, almost bumping his head on the van roof. “What’s the matter… Where am I…. ” he babbled.
“Dan, sir…. Please, sir, I need to piss….”
He lay there rubbing his eyes, pulled himself together, looked at his watch and said “Steve, for fuck’s sake… If you need to piss, go and piss…”
“I thought I ought to ask permission, sir. If they found a slave out at night….”
“You’re right, I suppose. So don’t go wandering off to the shower block. Just do it outside – and be quiet about it: you big blokes can sound like a fire hose, and there may be other owners sleeping close by….”
I crawled out of the van and stood there relieving myself against the wheel. I knew that Dan would by now have felt the sticky mess inside his boxers, and would think that he must have had a wet dream or something. I didn’t want to give him too much time, so I shook myself dry, then crawled back in to the van. Dan was srabbling around in his holdall, looking for clean boxers, I suppose, and flushed with embarrassment as he saw me.
“Fucking hell, sir, it smells a bit in here….”. I deliberately took long, deep breaths, as I knew that Dan would think I might smell his cum.
“It’s just the air beds probably, Steve… Now get to sleep, as we’ve got a big day tomorrow…”
“It’s difficult though, isn’t it, sir? I usually wank – but with you there, right next to me, so close… I mean, a bloke can’t cum when he’s only a foot away form another…. So it will be hard to drop off. Still, goodnight….”
I lay there with a smile on my face, thinking about how embarrassed poor Dan was right now. Don’t judge me too harshly – remember how he’d made me wank with him watching in the lavatories earlier? Just consider it justice, a little harmless revenge!
The next morning Dan shook me awake. I must have overslept, as he’d had time to pull on a set of track suit bottoms (and probably change his boxers, too!). “Come on you lazy lump – we’ll go for a good stiff run before breakfast, to get you set up for the day. You blokes who are used to being active get bored or overexcited if you don’t get a proper work out…”
I had to get out of the blanket and crawl out of the van and stand there naked, as I rummaged around inside trying to find my shorts. We set off then – there was a big grassy area hard by the car park that was marked out as “slave exercise area”, and Dan sped off in front of me, shouting at me to keep up. I increased my pace, and levelled with him, and he speeded up again, and I followed. Soon we were going at a really cracking pace, and it was beginning to show in me – I’m used to doing really hard work, but doing it for sustained periods, whereas I was being asked to basically sprint now – in the army I could jog for hours on end, even with a fully-laden kit bag, but there was never any need to sprint.
“Come on, Steve!”, Dan called. “I though you were meant to be fit! I haven’t done any serious running since I was at university, and I’m outpacing you….”
I gritted my teeth and started to really pump my legs to keep up with him. In theory it ought to have been easy – I was taller than him with longer legs, and so I needed to make fewer strides than he did to cover the same ground. But on the other hand Dan was lighter and had more of a “runner’s” body than me – I had a lot of weight to drag along, albeit that weight was all solid muscle, and not fat. I also had a big lug capacity and a strong heart, and so I ought to have been OK, but I could feel the sweat starting to break out all over me as I struggled to keep up with him.
“Do you want to slow down, Steve?”, Dan taunted. “If you can’t keep up the pace, just say. Are you OK?”
“Yes, sir”, I managed to get out although the effort almost hurt my lungs which were labouring away now to keep my body fuelled with oxygen.
“Good man, Steve. I like to see a man who can exercise properly. So many blokes I know wimp out of exercise, and just give up. That’s not like you though, is it, Steve?”
“No”, I managed to gasp through gritted teeth this time.
Around and around the green space we went until I was going on sheer willpower alone. I’d long ago managed to ignore the agony from my legs and lungs for so long that the brain had turned off the messages, as if in despair. And I knew I must have gone into that phase where the body starts doing all sorts of things as it can’t metabolise enough sugar and oxygen to keep you going. I was almost on autopilot, just doggedly following Dan’s trim body as he sprinted along.
At some point we saw two figure ahead of us, and Dan slowed and ordered me to stop, too. He stood there, jogging lightly on the spot, but I was bent double, my hands resting on my knees, as I gasped in huge quantities of air into my tortured lungs. I could feel little rivulets of sweat all over me, and my shorts were soaked. I realised that Dan was talking to the two judges from yesterday, the fat old woman and the military gent. These two were walking around the exercise ground with a couple of dogs – a nasty snappy little Pekinese for the woman, and a big sorrowful-looking Labrador for the man.
The woman was congratulating Dan again on “his” win, and I was so pissed off that if I hadn’t been utterly exhausted I’m sure I’d have butted in and given her the truth, no matter what the consequences. I heard her say “I can see why you did so well yesterday, young man, even though it was your first show – most owners can’t aspire to getting a ‘best of class’ until they’ve attended several shows an really got their slave into the right condition. If you’re prepared to come out and exercise him like this in the morning, it’s no wonder he’s in such excellent condition. We like to see such young, enthusiastic owners, don’t we, Colonel?”
“Oh quite, yes indeed, madam.”
“I think owners who are as enthusiastic like this ought to be encouraged, don’t you agree?”
“Oh quite, yes.”
“I think it add another piece of information to our view of the slave – he looks in good condition in the ring, but now we know he’s capable of had work – I saw you doing several circuits as we approached with our dogs. Well done, young man!”
Dan smiled. “Thank you, ma’am, sir. Now, I’d better get on – Steve here needs a lot more work this morning before we have to go into the ring again.”
So saying he snapped “Come on, Steve! Get moving…..”
Well, as you know, you can keep going, with a lot of effort. But restarting when you’re exhausted is a wholly different thing. I needed all my willpower to force my body to start running after Dan again, but thankfully it wasn’t for long as when he saw the man and woman walking away, Dan stopped.
“Well done, Steve! That must have been tough for you, if you’re not used to running.”
I nodded.
“Let’s hit the showers then…..”
To my surprise there was a shower block near the car park that wasn’t segregated – owners and slaves used the same facility, just as if there was no difference between us. It wasn’t crowded at that time of the morning, and indeed we were the only two in there. Dan didn’t seem at all embarrassed about stripping off in front of me – well, I suppose if he did a lot of sport at university he’d be used to communal showers ,wouldn’t he? And he had nothing to be ashamed about, anyway – his body was nicely trim and in good condition, and he had a good long-ish cock on top of a nice set of balls (although it was difficult to see exactly, as he had a long foreskin that concealed his cock head). He saw me giving him the once-over, and I looked away, as you do – I mean, it’s acceptable to take a quick look at another bloke in the showers, isn’t it, but not to keep staring at him – he’ll think you’re queer! But I had to look at Dan again, because I wanted to see whether he had those stringy bits of dried cum adhering to his pubes, and as he saw me continuing to stare down at him, Dan started to blush so I knew it would be there somewhere.
We stood there talking, as you do in the showers, not really looking at each others bodies then, and it was only when another owner and his slave came in and started to use the adjacent showers that I realised how lucky I was – this other owner just stood there and the slave had to wash him! I watched almost in horror as the slave soaped his hands then started to run them all over his master – it was gross, especially when the slave had to kneel down in front of his master and soap his cock and balls, and then reach behind and run his hand down his master’s bum.
Dan saw me looking at this, and I think he was joking, although I couldn’t be sure, when he slapped me on he back and said “Getting ideas for tomorrow, are you, Steve? I’ve only ever had my wife wash me in the shower before… I’m no sure how I’ll like those calloused hands of yours all over me.”
Still, he did buy me a proper breakfast – sausages and bacon and eggs (I was allowed to help myself to as many as I wanted, and took three), baked beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, and just as I thought I couldn’t get any more on my plate, I saw the black pudding, which is something I’m very partial to, and had to find room for several slices. All washed down with a big mug of really strong tea, with lots of sugar in it.
When we got to the rest and preparation area later I was not expecting to see Trent there, but he was in a bad mood as usual and muttered angrily to me that “his fucking owner had only gone and entered him in the fucking agility competition.” I just shrugged, and he went on “It’s fucking dangerous, Steve – climbing around, naked… I might get my balls trapped. And anyway I was no good at gym at school.”
Joe was there too, and he stuck out his hand. “Shake on it before we begin, boy, and may the best man win, eh?”
“Oh sure. I don’t know why you’re bothering to go into the ring, then… If the best man is going to win, it’s already decided….”
We laughed together, but he went on “Still, Steve, there’s something that’s going to wipe the smile off your face…”
“Oh?”
“The costume. What we have to wear in the Best Of Breed competition!”
Just at that moment Dan came up to me, and said briskly “OK, Steve, slip those shorts off and put this on – you can put the shorts on afterwards, on top, until we get to the ring….”
He handed me a tiny scrap of something silky, and as I held it in my hand I saw it was a small triangle of a white, stretchy fabric, with thin white strings attached to each corner. He saw me looking at it, in disbelief. “Never seen a G-string before, Steve? I’d have thought that a masculine bloke like you would always have been going to strip clubs and you’d have seen lots of women wearing these things…. Well, they work for blokes, too, to keep your cock and balls snug whilst still letting the world see as much of your body as possible.”
To be continued …
