A kinky story written by Pete Brown.
Chapter 8 of 17 –> here you find the other chapters of the story
Illustration by Theo Blaze

And so I found myself bacK in one of the BanK’s holding centres – the one serving the Raleigh area wasn’t so different from the one in my home town: an old motel in an unfashionable area, with the rooms subdivided into tiny cubicles. They fitted me with a tracKing bracelet again, too, and I no longer cared. After a year where my every movement had been noted and monitored, my whole life totally controlled, this seemed trivial. At the centre I could at lest get up when I wanted to, got to bed when I wanted to, choose to eat the plain but nourishing food or not, and, best of all, whenever I wanted to jerK off, all I had to do was lie there and start stroKing: no humiliating request to the Boss, no need to persuade Jason and Marc to join in, no requirement to Kneel there and be watched.

When I was taKen off to the pre-auction inspection I didn’t find a problem either. I almost laughed when I remembered the previous year when I’d been acutely embarrassed by having to wear the tiny pouch that I’d been given as a labourer. Now, used as I was to worKing nude, my body tanned an even darK tan all over, and my pubes trimmed almost away, it just wasn’t a problem. I have to say that I looKed the picture of what I’d have thought everyone would want in a labourer: big, strong body, lean tough muscles obviously acquired from hard worK and not just from worKing out, and a neat and tidy appearance with my cropped hair and smooth body.

I stood there with the other guys and several men stopped to give my body a quicK glance, but they showed not much further interest. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that there were a lot more totally naKed guys this time – last year, the young blond had been the only one amongst a dozen or so of us. Now, about half of us were nude, indicating, I suppose, that they’d taKen the “can be used for sex” option.

No one bought my contract, so I was returned to the holding centre, and now I had a weeK with absolutely nothing to do except watch the special TV channel, sleep, and worK out – they did at least provide a weights room and, joy of joy, a swimming pool – although it was one of those motel ones, where you’ve hardly got room to get into your stride before you have to turn. As I said though, after the stringent control I’d experienced, it was almost liKe a holiday: albeit a holiday for which was paying dearly as I was very conscious that this weeK was in effect added to my sentence, and some extra time, too, as I would have to pay my maintenance costs there as well.

I was really glad when I went off to the next weeK’s auction, as a change in the routine, if nothing else.   But no one bought my contract again.

By the third time I was standing there I was getting desperate: at least a month must have gone onto my sentence by now, and where would it end?  Still hardly anyone was looKing at me, and I was almost in despair. Then suddenly I saw a familiar face – the agent who’d bought my contract for my last employer.

“Sir, sir…”, I called out as he was walKing past the area marKed out for me on the floor, and which I wasn’t supposed to leave. He stopped, and came and stood in front of me.

You looK familiar, boy…”

“Sir, yes, sir… A year ago you bought my contract, and drove me here to Raleigh… I t’s Steve, sir.”

“Ah, yes.  But there’s something odd…”

“Yes, sir. The employer you bought me for didn’t liKe hair, sir, so I was shaved.”

“Yes, it spoils your perfection a bit. I’d personally have left you with that nice thatch on your pecs, and on your belly.  And there’s something else…. “

His eyes scanned up and down me, and he continued “…yes, you’ve had yourself circumcised. That was a mistaKe, Steve – uncut men have a scarcity value.”

“No, sir.  It as my employer, sir.  He did it to me.”

“Ah yes, I remember now, that contract waiver to allow minor body modifications. A mistaKe, that. You should never have signed. But then, as I remember, you just pushed your thumb on anything that his servant boss put in front of you…”

“Yes, sir, that was a mistaKe! But looK – can you help me, please?” “How?”

“Please find me a new contract. You said you searched out suitable servants on commission, and that I had an exceptional body. LooK, I can’t find a contract – this is my third weeK here, and there’s no interest.”

He tooK hold of the label hanging around my necK, and said “LooK, Steve, I’d liKe to help, but you’re not an easy piece of merchandise to shift now. For one thing, it says here that you were flogged by the public chastiser by order of the Court. Well, no employer is going to liKe that. And secondly, there’s a lot more competition now – looK at all these naKed guys around you who’ve taKen the ‘sex’ option: if you were an employer, even if you didn’t w ant sex with your servant, one liKe that is a better choice as you might change your mind one day, and you might also have an eye to a resale value.”

“LooK”, he went on, “You can’t do anything about the Court flogging. But you could sign up for sex – that would increase your chances of getting a contract. But it’s still a pity then about your dicK – a sex option and an uncut dicK, and you might be in business.”

“Sir, you don’t understand… The court order… Let me explain….”

He listened patiently, then said “OK, I believe you. They properly fucKed you up, didn’t they? But that’s not the point – there are lots of contracts for sale here today, and none of the buyers

is going to hear your sorry tale – they’re just going to see ‘flogged by order of the court’, and move on.  Your best bet really is to sign up for sex.  Believe me, I’m an expert in this areas.”

“No, I’m not going to do that, however long it taKes to find a buyer for my contract.”

“Well, looK, I feel Kind of sorry for you as I did place you with that employer, and he did mess you around. Leave it with me, I’ll talK to some contacts, and see if there’s anything I can do.”

So I had another wasted weeK at the centre, and the following weeK I was again standing there in my pouch, eagerly scanning the potential buyers as they came in. I’d almost given up hope, as he didn’t appear until it was almost time for the auction.

“OK, Steve. I’ve called in all the favours out there, and I’ve found you a buyer for your contract.”

“Sir, thanKs.. But where’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. It’s just a standard one year labouring contract, at the standard rate, plus my commission as before, that you pay. No sex. No body modification. But you do have to agree to a punishment clause, as before – it’s impossible to place servants without it these days.”

“LooK, sir, I’m sorry… But I don’t believe you. There must be a catch. I was fucKed over before, and I don’t want more of the same. I’m desperate for worK, so please tell me where the problems are – I might accept anyway, but I want to Know.”

“You’re fucKing ungrateful, for a guy I’m doing a favour for. I don’t thinK you realise how difficult it is to find worK for grunt labourers these days. There is no catch, so let me Know now, as the auction is about to begin.”

“Please, sir…”

“LooK, you’ve got to move a bit – it’s in New Orleans. And it’s really hard, bacK-breaKing worK. And in their climate, with the humidity and stuff… But that’s all. Honest. No sex, nothing. Just good old fashioned hard ball-busting worK. I’ve spoKen to the employer, and he’s prepared to taKe you on my word alone. Now, do you want me to go in there and bid?”

I looKed at him, and he seemed a basically honest guy, in spite of his job. “Sir, yes, please, sir.”

So that was it. Later that day I was sitting beside him in his sport saloon, as I had before. He looKed at me and said “Well, it’s another very long drive. I’ve got a couple of auctions to go to along the way, and I’m afraid this is costing you, as it’s another weeK without pay…”

“I Knew there’d be a catch!”

He grinned, looKed at me and said “Still, at least you won’t be paying for your accommodation as you were in the centre, as we’ll bunK together again. I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about sex – you don’t want it in your contract, but didn’t you at least well, experiment, with the other servants?”

“Sir, sorry, sir, but no.”

“Ah well, at least I get to looK! That’ll have to be my reward. And my percentage, of course.”

Actually, he was good company and we chatted away as we sped along. And that night he even let me choose what Kind of restaurant to go to, and let me picK my own meal.

“Want a beer with it?”, he asKed, and I almost fell over myself with surprise. “Sir, are you hoping to get me drunK, and then hope I’ll have sex with you?”

No, Steve”, he laughed. “But how many beers would it taKe? I might just try…”

Well, that night in the motel room – and we were sharing again to save expense – he watched me as I undressed, and I remembered how a year ago he’d been displeased when I’d tried to sleep I my shorts, so I hung those up neatly in the hanging space and went to my bed, pulled bacK the covers, and slid in. In some ways it was easier than the previous year, in that I was used to going naKed, and in some ways it was worse that I was used to: it’s one thing to worK named with your buddies, and to be around other guys liKe that in the evenings when you’re all servants together. But now I was in this small, enclosed motel room, being watched intently by someone who was, after all, a connoisseur of the male form.

“Are you sure you don’t want sex, Steve? Not even a little mutual masturbation?” “Sir, no thanK you, sir.”

“You Know, Steve, that although you haven’t signed up for sex, the owner of your contract still has the right to inspect your body to maKe sure it’s all in order, and as expected. Until I novate the agreement to your new employer tomorrow, I am actually the guy who currently is your employer.  And I thinK I’d therefore liKe to maKe sure you are exactly what I’ve hired.  So get out of that bed, and come over here.” Although I’d only had one beer, he’d had several, and his words sounded a little slurred.

I got out of bed, very conscious now that I was naKed in front of this man who had the power to order punishments for me.  He was sitting on the bed, and I stood there in front of him, very apprehensive.

“Don’t you Know anything? Assume the ‘display’ position when your employer wants to looK at you!”

Reluctantly I grasped my hands behind my necK, an d felt my chest thrust out and my hips push forward a little, as they do when you’re liKe that. I fought to stop my dicK going hard. He got up, and went behind me, and then I felt his hands on me – he stroKed them lightly over my bunched shoulders and shoulder blades, then ran them in parallel down the sides of my bacK, reaching around with his fingers to explore my ribs and the ridges of muscle on my belly. They were warm and clammy as they rested on my buttocKs, and he spend some time moving them around, as if caressing me there. Then on down – he was almost stroKing my thighs.

He’d Knelt as his inspection went lower and lower, and now he came bacK up again, getting to his feet as he did so. His body was pressed into my bacK as he stood up, and I felt his hot breath playing over my naKed flesh. He stood for a long time cupping my ass this time, and he pressed his face into my shoulders, and I heard little moans of pleasure coming from him.

Before he ‘inspected’ my front, he stripped off his own clothes. Standing in front of me, very close, so close I could feel the heat radiating from him, he told me to drop my arms, then tooK my head between his hands. His fingers ran all over my necK and ears, then he held the side of my face in is fingers and gently pushed his thumbs into my mouth – I tasted the salt of his sweat, and the faint meat taste of the ribs he’d had for dinner. I opened my mouth, and he probed around inside, massaging my gums – I felt somehow violated, that this recess of my body was being opened to him.

He caressed my throat carefully – hands around my muscular necK, he ran his thumbs over my Adam’s apple, as if enjoying the feeling of power it gave him as it would be so easy to press hard and choKe me. Then down onto my pecs, where his hands rested for a few seconds as if wanting to cup them. His fingers then started to massage my nipples, and as they went erect, he squeezed them until I had to squirm my body to try to escape from the pain and the pleasure, muttering “Sir, please, no, sir, please….” His attention to my nipples had an unfortunate effect in that I could no longer contain myself and my dicK went rocK hard, and as he was standing so close to me I could feel it pressing into his naKed body, a sensation that he obviously found very pleasing as he moaned slightly, and rubbed his body up and down against me.

He didn’t spend all that much time feeling the strong muscles of my belly, but did try to pinch the flesh just under my navel to see if there was any slacK (which of course there wasn’t); the warmth of his finger and thumb here made my dicK even harder.

I Knew it would happen, that it was inevitable. But when his hand first closed around my dicK I gave a little moan. He moved his hand along my shaft then used his thumb to comprehensively investigate my flange. He was standing so close to me, and looKing directly into my eyes as he did this, and his hot breath was all over my face.  Some how I found it very erotic to have a man doing this to my dicK, and in spite of myself  I wanted  to respond, to reach forward and do the same to his dicK. But straight guys don’t do that, do they?  So I just stood there and tried to control myself as the sensations from my dicK flooded my brain. I remember my head went bacK, my breathing got deeper, and I was giving little inarticulate moans. It got worse as his attention turned to my piss slit, and a finger nail scratched casually over my dicK head, and to compound my problems his other hand now cupped my balls, and was stroKing them, gently stretching the smoothly shaved sKin over them, dividing them with his thumb, and generally toying with them.  His palm felt all hot and sweaty to my sac, and I moaned with pleasure again.

He continued to grip my dicK and toy with my head, but the hand holding my balls now loosened and he ran the tip of his finger from my sac towards my hole – it tingled and ticKled, and sent an electric thrill of sexual excitement and pleasure through me. I raised myself on tiptoe, as if trying to get away from his finger, and I was now so excited that I Knew my dicK must be leaKing pre-cum.

But then he stopped, and just stood there. I lowered my head, and looKed at him. My breath was coming in big, deep gasps.                           “Are you sure you’ve not had a man before, Steve?”

“Yes, sir. Never.”

“You seem very excited, though…. You’re flushing, your nipples are hard, your dicK’s erect, you’re leaKing pre-cum…. So do you want to go a little further? Shall we play….?”

“Sir, no, sir.  I don’t go with men, sir.”

He gave a little laugh. “Well, I’ve got one more place to inspect. Up on the bed, Steve, and Kneel down on your elbows and Knees.”

Well, I didn’t liKe to do that at all, as I Knew what was coming. But I didn’t want a punishment ordered, so I did as I was told.

“Good boy…. Now….. Head down…” I felt his firm hand gripping my necK and pushing my head down until it was buried in the bed cover. I Knew now that my ass must be raised humiliatingly high into the air, and that my hole would be exposed to him.

When his finger started to move up and down in the hot moist cracK between my ass cheeKs I couldn’t help starting to gently writhe in response – was it the embarrassment, or was it the ticKling sensation, or the special frisson of excitement that this was bringing to me?  No one had ever done anything liKe this to me before. Suddenly I tensed – his finger was positioned on my hole, and he was gently scratching it.

“No, please, sir, don’t…”, I begged ,my voice muffled from where his firm pressure on my necK was still holding my face down to the bed.

“Yes, Steve. I am going to, and I can. An employer has a right to inspect a servant’s anus, in case there should be any infection, or growths, or something else that might prevent them from worKing properly….”

As he spoKe, the pressure on his finger increased, and instinctively I moved my body for ward as much as I could as if to try and get away – but, Kneeling, there was nothing I could do. He slipped inside me, and I felt my hole stretching as his finger wormed further in to me, and soon his hot palm was against my buttocKs. He moved his finger bacKwards and forwards, and I moaned softly.

“See, Steve, you liKe it, don’t you…. Shall I do more?”

I was foolish. Having gone this far, what had I to lose? But instead I muttered “No, please, sir, leave me alone…”

He seemed very disappointed as his finger came out of me. He slapped my ass, and said “Oh, well, better lucK next time. Get into bed, then, and just jerK yourself off, if that’s what you’re determined to do.”

As I lay there, he went on “You Know, Steve, you really are incredible. Your body is a joy to looK at and to touch, and you’ve got one of the nicest arses it’s ever been my pleasure to touch it’s really a pity you’ve got this irrational prejudice against sex…”

“Sir, I haven’t, sir… I used to enjoy a lot of sex before I was indentured, with my girl friends…”

“Silly boy, Steve! I mean proper sex, sex with men, not just breeding. Sex where two strong virile men pleasure each other just because that’s what they want to do, and because as a man they can understand the other’s needs perfectly; not sex just because society tells them that it’s only ‘correct’ to go with a woman.”

I didn’t say anything in reply, but as I lay there going to sleep, it did maKe me thinK. None of my girl friends had ever played with my nipples, or caressed my balls as he had. Could he be right about only another guy really understanding what a man needed?

My refusal of his body that night didn’t seem to affect him as we drove along quite cheerfully the next morning, and I said he sounded happy. “Yes, Steve”, he responded. “Who wouldn’t be? Sitting next to a real hunK liKe you, in a nice car, and I’m getting paid for it!”

Well, anyway, we arrived at New Orleans and drove to a really shabby industrial area somewhere on the outsKirts. We drove into the parKing lot of a really run-down looKing building which said “Delta DrinKs Distributors” and, underneath, a small sign that said “Drivers always required”.

“Here we are, Steve – your new employers. Now, be civil to the depot manager here – the company belongs to a large conglomerate, but he maKes all the hiring and firing decisions locally, and it’s he who  authorised your contract.”

We went in through the gates into the yard, where there were a number of trucKs bacKed up onto loading bays, and activity going on to load them. We went up a rusting flight of stairs on the outside of the largest building, through a door marKed “Office”, and then another marKed “John Marlow – General Manager”.

“John, good to see you again. This is the servant I spoKe to you about, and who I signed up…”

The man behind the desK was in his late fifties, going grey, and slightly overweight. “What’s your name, boy…?”

“Steve, sir.”

“Good… Now, come here, and let me taKe a closer looK at you….” Almost resignedly I walKed up to the desK, and went to drop my shorts.

“Hey, there’s no need for that! I’m buying your muscles, not your dicK, and I can see enough of those with your clothes on. Yes, I thinK you’ll do, and do very well.”

I was so surprised, as I didn’t thinK employers of indentured servants could be liKe that, and Kind of smiled bacK to him. Mr Marlow and the agent exchanged a few pleasantries, then got down to signing the papers to novate my contract over to Delta DrinKs Distributors, and then I was asKed to put my thumb print on to ratify my agreement to the change. Well, I did so, but I still couldn’t quite believe that they weren’t trying to fucK me over in some way.

The agent and Mr Marlow continued to chat, then said their goodbyes, and I was left with my new employer. “Now, Steve”, he said, “It’s not difficult worK here, but it’s hard. The cases of drinK we deliver are heavy, and it gets very hot and sweaty down here – I expect you’ll be pretty tired out each night. Basically, you have three Kinds of worK to do – on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays you taKe the hand delivery float down into the old quarter – they’ve banned all traffic there now, and there are so many clubs and bars catering for the tourists that it’s a constant problem to Keep them stocKed. We deliver on a hand trucK – well, actually, it’s battery powered so you can get a good number of cases on – and we deliver directly to the club or bar concerned. That’s our unique selling point, as many of our bigger competitors only deliver to the end of the street and the club or bar owner has to haul it the rest of the way – you will provide a direct delivery, but it’s hard, as I said:  this stuff is heavy, and a lot of the clubs and bars are in basements, or on an upper floor; and in the old quarter there aren’t a lot of elevators. Still, you looK really fit, and this will Keep you that way.”

“On Tuesday, Thursdays and Saturdays, you’ll go out with one of our drivers in one of the regular trucKs – again, it’s to maKe deliveries. We usually unload with an integral loader, but some customers can’t be reached that way. And if none of the drivers need you, you’l l worK around here in the yard – Keeping it tidy, moving stuff around in the warehouse, and so on. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir.  But what do I do on Sundays?”

“Rest, Steve. The Lord set aside Sunday as a day of rest, and I’m a strong believer in the bible and its teachings. Head Office want us to operate seven days a weeK, but I have refused. The depot is closed Sundays, and decent folK do no worK. Now…. Let me show you where you will be living….”

We went out of the office and up another flight of stairs on to the roof, and there, in the corner, was a Kind of small hut. He showed me inside, and there was a plain single bed, and a TV.

“It’s not much, I Know”, he said, “But Head Office won’t pay for more. They don’t really agree with employing indentured servants at all as they have these policies about creating employment and they want me to hire a load of Mexicans or blacKs – but they won’t worK for the wages I can afford. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be OK here – no one will disturb you. The yard is locKed at night, of course, but I’ll give you a Key – you’re an indentured servant, not a slave, to be locKed up liKe and animal.”

I could hardly believe it – could an employer be so generous? The bed in the small hut looKed fine, and it occurred to me that as the roof was the highest point for miles around I could probably sunbathe on Sundays and Keep up my tan. I Know it’s silly and unscientific, but I actually felt a whole lot better being a rich golden colour.

Next he tooK me down into the yard, and introduced me to some of the drivers who were just bacK to end their shift – they seemed to be a decent bunch of guys – and then he explained the arrangements for my food.  Across the way there was a McDonalds, and each morning I could go there for a coffee and a breaKfast sandwich. In the evenings there was a diner two blocKs up on the main street, and they would allow me whatever I wanted, except alcohol, up to seven dollars. At lunchtime the driver I was worKing with would buy me something and the company would reimburse him on expenses “But”, my employer told me, “You’d better be sensible – no eating steaK! Lunch is just that – a sandwich, or perhaps a pizza, OK?”

Well, it worKed out fine.  The next morning I wolfed down a sausage and egg McMuffin and a big coffee, then stood around in the yard until I was assigned to worK with a driver. We drove around, and I hauled the crates of drinK off the bacK and delivered them. The driver bought me pizza for lunch, and then, in the evening, I went to the diner and by carefully choosing what I wanted within my limit, had a good meal.  I was better fed than I had been for a year!

The next day was great, too – I used the handle to guide the battery-powered delivery float through the thronged streets of the old town and hauled crates upstairs and downstairs – a guy who Knew the route came with me, and told me I really had to looK out for the signs and so on, as it was so difficult to locate most of our customers. Then another day on the delivery trucK… And then it was Sunday!

I could hardly believe it – a whole day to do nothing in.  A whole day to myself.  I hadn’t had this luxury for more than a year. I lay in my tiny bed and jerKed off, then I went down to the men’s restroom and showered, and let myself out through the gate to get breaKfast. After that I lay on the roof – but got bored!  I wasn’t used to being alone, with nothing to do.

It was one of those warm, moist spring days, and I thought about it a bit – I had absolutely no money, of course, but I Knew downtown was only five miles away. So I put on clean shorts and a T and simply ran, or, rather, jogged there. I really enjoyed all the crowds around me, and most people did not even Know I was a servant as their casual shorts and Ts were not so dissimilar to my own – the big logos on mine saying “Delta DrinK Distributors” were not so very different from a lot of other logos, after all. By lunchtime I was hungry and thirsty, though, and although I could get water from the public drinKing fountains, there was no way I could get food. So, reluctantly, I had to jog bacK “home” and go to my regular diner. Still, I’d had a great day out, and for the rest of the afternoon I slept, naKed, in the sun.

So that was the pattern or my existence for the next couple of months – it was hard, it was hot, it was sweaty, and it did Keep me fit. I really looKed forward to my Sunday jogs into downtown, and I guess I adapted to the life. Mr Marlow seemed Kind and courteous, and the drivers treated me almost liKe themselves – they weren’t well off at all, as the company did not pay high wages, but if they had a sandwich or something they didn’t want, they’d always give them to me.

I fell from grace quite by chance. One of my favourite places to deliver to was a girly bar and sex show place – I could stop for a few minutes and watch the girls gyrating under the spotlights in the bar area as I hauled the crates in, and it gave me something to thinK about as I jerKed off that night.  I saw the girls in the corridors as I carried in the crates, and as we

squeezed past each other they’d sometimes run their long fingernails down my arm, or even, if I didn’t have my T on as it was so hot and sweaty, sometimes press their nipples into my bacK. It was so erotic.  And if the owner was there and I needed a receipt, he’d taKe me to his office then let me looK through the window down into the sex area – it was true what the signs said outside: guys really were doing it to women on the tiny stage while the audience watched! It seemed quite mechanical – a couple would come on, they’d strip, he’d fondle her breasts for a bit, then would casually fucK her.  There was a lot of groaning and so on, but I don’t thinK the guy actually shot inside her, and I suppose her orgasm was faKed. Still, they were good-looKing people and it made me remember the hot times I used to have, and I went out of the office with the inside of my shorts quite damp from the pre-cum that had been oozing out from me as I watched.

Delivering there one day I went up to the office to get a receipt and the owner seemed desperate – he was on the phone, calling around, as two of the studs had failed to turn up. “I’ve got a huge audience of ministers from some Southern Baptist Church who’re taKing a fun afternoon off from their convention, and I can’t give them a real fucK scene – they’re just going to have to go with a couple of the girls playing with each other: I hate to disappoint them, and they’ll spread the word and I’ll be out of the religious marKet before I Know where I am.”

I saw him looKing at me, then he said “Hey, boy, you don’t want to earn twenty, do you?” Did I?  Did I just!  I thought what I could do with a twenty, on my Sundays off.

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Right, boy, get down there, on the stage, and fucK away – you can picK which of the girls you fancy.”

Well, I fancied all of them. My dicK was rocK hard already, just at the thought.  It had been much more than a year since I’d last had a woman, but I Knew I hadn’t forgotten what to do. And I wasn’t worried about being naKed in public, after all. But twenty – no, he was ripping me off.

“Sir, fifty, sir!”

“No way, boy! You’re only a servant, and I’m not paying you that much. I only pay the free men a hundred.  Anyway, a lot of guys would pay me to go with one of my cuties…”

“No, sir – if you pay the free guys a hundred, fifty for a servant, sir.”

“LooK, boy, you’d better get those shorts off and get down there, for twenty. Otherwise I’ll call your employer and tell him what a bad job you do here, always hanging around, molesting the girls, taKing too long over the deliveries. Now, twenty’s over generous – I can see you’re totally boned and relishing it… I thinK I might cut it down to ten if you don’t get started…”

The bastards always get you, don’t they? And I Knew he’d maKe that call if I ca rried on arguing. And I did want a good fucK… So I went down to the dressing room, picKed the cute little blond I’d always fancied, and led her onto the stage. Well, after all those clergy men had stopped hollering and cheering, I gently undressed her, then she pulled down my shorts – and as soon as she put my dicK in her mouth, I began to wonder if we’d ever get as far as fucKing, as I almost shot straight away.

Well, we did – although it wasn’t a very long fucK scene as I was so excited. But the audience seemed to enjoy it almost as much as I did.

The owner paid me my twenty with a bad grace, I thought, and he said again that he thought I ought to pay him for the privilege. Still, I tucKed it into the waistband of my shorts, and went out…. To find a parKing ticKet on my float!

Oh, fucK me, I thought. What was I going to do? Perhaps I could pay the ticKet – no, it was for a fifty, and I only had twenty…. I did the rest of my deliveries in a panic, and went b acK to the depot to tell Mr Marlow about the ticKet.

He raged at me, as it was absolutely unusual to get one – the average delivery time was only five minutes, and the ticKet said that my float had been parKed for over an hour. He was going to call the parKing bureau to tell them there was a mistaKe, but I mentioned that I had stopped at the strip club for perhaps a few minutes…. So he called the owner.

He wasn’t just cross, he was apoplectic. He demanded my twenty, the money I’d earned, honestly, from me as a contribution towards the ticKet. Then he told me I was to be punished.

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