A kinky story written by Pete Brown | Chapter 15 of 16

Click here to see all published chapters. Illustration by Theo Blaze.


ANIMAL HOSPITAL

We arrived at the entrance to the veterinarian’s clinic and the nude Overseer flung open the door and rushed in, shouting. He came out a moment later with the veterinarian, who took one look at the blood still oozing out copiously from me in spite of the tourniquet, and told the Overseer to get me inside. They lifted me between them, and I was laid onto the leather examining table.

The veterinarian rushed around, connecting me quickly to a saline drip, and examining the wound before daring to touch the tourniquet. I heard him say to the Overseer “There’s not much hope – he’s lost too much blood, and the wound is too deep.”

The Overseer was standing there, with his chest heaving from the effort of the run, and with sweat running down him that mingled with my blood that was covering his chest and crotch – I don’t remember things all that clearly, but I do remember his penis being stained that very dark red of arterial blood. He made a Herculean effort and shouted at the veterinarian “This slave is to be saved. I don’t care what it takes. Just make him live.”

My pain was indescribable, and as the veterinarian started to probe the wound it got even worse than anything I had ever known before. I knew I would be screaming and shouting had I been able, and I was unable to stop my body starting to thrash around.

“Hold him still, if there’s to be any chance at all”, the veterinarian shouted to the Overseer, who came around behind the head of the table and pressed my shoulders down, whilst one of the slaves from the office grasped my ankles to stop my legs kicking. In spite of everything else, I remember looking up into the Overseer’s face as he pressed down on me with all his strength, and seeing genuine concern in his eyes.

The veterinarian pricked me arm with a needle, and I felt the pain begin to lessen, and my consciousness start to slip away. The Overseer was able to let go of my shoulders, came around to stand by the side of me remote from where the veterinarian was working, and took my hand between his two. My last waking thought was one of calm reassurance as he squeezed my hand in that universal gesture of support that people can only manage in times of great crisis. His bloodstained naked body was shaking with emotion. I could no longer summon the effort to keep my eyes looking up into his, and as my eyelids started to close, my gaze fell down and my last waking sight was of the Overseer’s lovely cock riding high on his tight, rounded balls.

I came to, and was looking at a white ceiling. I hurt all over, but it was a gentle dull pain from all over my body, unlike the cruel, sharp pain following my gunshot wound. I tried to move a hand, but it seemed stuck in some way. I couldn’t move my legs, either. I lay there in terror – probably I wasn’t thinking straight as I awoke from the anaesthetic the veterinarian had administered, but for many long moments I thought that I had lost all control of my muscles. I knew that injury to the spinal chord could leave a person completely paralysed, and this is what must have happened to me. I was unable to control myself, and tears for my lost body coursed down my cheeks.

Then I realised that the tears were being gently wiped away, and tried to turn my head, and succeeded. At least some of my body could still move. I desperately tried to focus my eyes, as things started to come into focus, I saw that it was the Overseer, sitting in a chair beside me, who was so gently stroking my face with a tissue to dry away the tears.

“Don’t fret”, I heard him say. “You’re going to be OK. It was a close call, but the veterinarian did a heroic job and you survived.”

As my senses started to recover more and more, I moved my head around, and experimentally tried to move my arms and legs again – yes! – there was some motion, but I could only move them for an inch or two. But if I could move then a little, surely that meant that there was life in the nerves, and I wouldn’t be a paraplegic?

I tried again, and then saw my true predicament. I was lying on a leather-topped hospital bed, nude, and my ankles and wrists were chained to the four corners of the bed. A broad webbing strap around the bed and my waist held my trunk immobile.

The veterinarian came in, and the Overseer said “Is it really necessary to have him chained up like this? After what he did for me, there’s absolutely no possibility that he has any thought of harming a master. Keeping him chained whilst he’s in a hospital is just barbaric”.

The veterinarian gave a wry smile and said “You’ve changed your tune a bit! Who was always on about slaves being animals, not needing any consideration. Why does it matter if he’s chained or not – it’s only a human who should be in the slightest bit concerned about his

predicament, or so you are always telling me! But in any case we don’t have any choice – the Sheikh’s orders are that all slaves in here in the treatment ward must have their wrists chained. And as far as his legs go, it’s a matter of necessity – it is absolutely essential his left leg is kept immobile to avoid disturbing the stitches and dressings, and I don’t want his right leg being able to thrash free either and inadvertently disturb them when he’s asleep. The trunk strap stops him moving from the top of the legs, and that’s also necessary.”

“How long will he be here?” asked the Overseer, “and will he be all right – is he going to be able to run properly again?”

“For god’s sake!” the veterinarian exploded. “The slave saved your life, from what you have been telling me, and you want to know if he will be able to run again! Have you no more concern for him than when he’ll again be able to pull you around in that rickshaw of yours?”

“But yes, the leg will recover. If he’s then trained properly, and allowed to exercise gently to rebuild his strength gradually, he will be as good as before at running. His appearance will be spoiled a bit, as even though I have been very careful, the wound was so bad that there will always be some scarring visible. I’m afraid that the Sheikh’s investment will have gone down in value somewhat – it will still be able to fulfil it’s purpose, but it won’t look as nice. It’ll be like when a car has had its first accident – it’s never quite the same afterwards, and it always looks slightly damaged, no matter how good the repair shop is.”

“You’ve got me wrong!”, the Overseer snapped. “I care about whether the slave will be able to run not because I want him back between the shafts quickly, but because I know that, to him, running is very important. Indeed, I think his whole personality is defined by his own perception of his body. During the last five years I know ‘he’ wasn’t there after I finally tamed him by forcing on to his body endless acts that he found repugnant. When he ‘came back’, in these last few weeks, it has been a very special sight to see – he has been glorying in his body, running harder and faster than ever before, and it has been clear from the way that he has been holding himself and generally disporting his body that he admires, respects, wonders at, loves… I don’t know…. ‘he’ is his body. If he was not to recover it in all its, to him, perceived glory, I think it would drive him over the edge into catatonia and we would never get him back again. So that’s why I am worried sick – I have seen how completely and amazingly loyal this pony is, and I want to repay that loyalty in some way. Isn’t there a famous Christian passage that begins ‘Greater love hath no man than this than to lay down his life for his friend?’ He was prepared to lay down his life for mine, and I never even thought of him as a friend, only as a piece of property.”

The veterinarian shrugged, unable to reply, and I saw him preparing a needle which slid into my arm. I drifted back into sleep.

Each time I woke over the next few days the Overseer would be sitting there, patiently watching me. On about the fourth day as I came out from sleep, I was aware that I had an erection – you can always feel

that little sensation in your balls when you know your cock is ready to fire, and I lay there in a half-doze enjoying it for itself, and also for what else it was – another sign of my return to full health. I must have stayed in that wonderful semi-awake state for about twenty minutes, and it was like being back at home again when I was at high school. Back then I tried to lie there, just enjoying my erection without touching it or anything, just feeling it there,

 

feeling it stretching my skin, feeling it tugging at my balls, and feeling that general ‘sex’ sensation throughout my genitalia and the sensitive area down to my anus. Of course, as soon as I did touch it, that was that – normally the moment my hand reached out for the engorged cock, I couldn’t stop my self from wanking, and after a very few strokes my cock would be spasming, my balls jerking in my sac, and a huge jet of cum would leap into the air. Then I had problems – I always knew afterwards that I should take a tissue first, but I never did – I always went straight from blissful contemplation of my erection to complete flying cum, and then had to leap about and do something about the bed. Even though your mom knows that you are mature and therefore are masturbating, there’s a difference between ‘knowing’ and ‘saying’, and I don’t think any adolescent lad likes to leave cum stains all over his bed sheets.

But as I now came fully awake, there was no possibility of moving to the second stage, as my hands were manacled. The Overseer was there as usual, watching me, and of course saw the erection. He thought nothing of it, because he had seen me erect many times before whilst I was shackled in the rickshaw, and knew that this was perfectly normal for a healthy young slave. (Indeed, had I not had regular erections during the day, I think he would have taken me to the veterinarian to make sure I was not coming down with some illness). But now he obviously recognised it as a sign of my returning health, and looking between it and me, grinned and said “Great. I like to see you doing that again. That’s the first time since you were shot, five days ago.”

Then, and I think this shows what a considerate master he was, he continued “Of course, though, your balls must be aching. You normally get ‘milked’ daily, and now you’ve got five days’ worth in there. I think you’d like relief, wouldn’t you?”

This was the first time he had ever asked me a direct question, and I was so nearly overcome with emotion that found it difficult to nod my agreement.

“I’ll go and check with the veterinarian that it won’t do you any harm, then. We don’t want to set back your recovery just for a few moments of passion. If he says it’s OK, I’ll bring a slave back to ‘milk’ you.”, he said, and got up and went out.

I lay there thinking about this. My master had shown genuine concern for me. He had understood what I needed. I felt so grateful that it was difficult not to cry. But when the door opened, he was alone. I wasn’t going to get relief, but I didn’t care – what was the small ache in my sac compared to the fact that my master had thought about my needs?

The Overseer sat down again by my bedside, and said “The good news is that the veterinarian says that letting you purge all that old semen would be good for you. The bad news is that I am going to do the milking!. Although there are lots of slaves around, I want to perform this service for you. It’s bad news because I am not an expert – I only have experience of wanking two cocks, my own, and my friend’s – and he always complains and says I am not as gentle with him as he would like!”

He spat into his palm and made sure his hand was moist all over, reached out for my cock and started to stroke it slowly and gently. It was the most wonderful experience I have ever had. Of course physically one hand wanking you is much like another, and the only differences are the speed, the pressure they exert, and whether they keep your cock straight or move it up and down with the strokes. But an awful lot of sex is in the brain and is really about feelings and emotions, and whatever the Overseer’s wanking may have lacked physically, the other components were there in force. After a much too short interval of the most pure, exquisite pleasure, my cock jerked and jerked and spewed out ropes and ropes of thick cum.

I was horrified to see that the Overseer had not been expecting me to reach a climax so soon, and had not moved out of the firing line. His beautiful hairy forearm was dripping with my cum, and some was trickling down the top of his chest, too, getting stuck on the thatch of hair between his wonderful pecs.

He wasn’t angry at all. He looked at me, smiled, and bent over and touched his lips to the tip of my detumescing cock in an ever so gentle, tender, kiss.

This moment of silent communion between us was broken when the veterinarian then came into the room. We both knew that there had been a special moment of bonding between us, but it was still too fragile, and the presence of another caused the bonds to snap.

The Overseer covered his emotion by saying to the veterinarian “Look, even though he has to be chained, does he have to lie here nude like this? Get him covered with a sheet or something.”

But the veterinarian would have none of it. “Stop that”, he said, “You’re going down that path that you always tell others to avoid. You’re starting to think of a slave as a man. I can’t cover him, because we have no sheets here – this is a slave medical facility. And if you sent sheets over from your bungalow, I wouldn’t cover him – we have to make sure slaves are treated as slaves. I suppose, though, you’re going to tell me that the sheets would be a safety measure, to prevent you becoming inadvertently covered in the slave’s cum when, quite without warning, he had a massive involuntary ejaculation!”. He smiled as he said this, and I knew he must know something of the Overseer’s real feelings.

The Overseer bent over me again and said “I have to go to the city for a couple of days, but I can do so now that I know you’re really recovering. The veterinarian tells me that you’re going to be got up and started walking tomorrow, and so by the time I get back, I will expect to see a massive improvement in your condition”.

It was indeed so – helped by a couple of slaves, the following morning I took my first faltering steps, and then more in the afternoon. The veterinarian was amazed at my progress, and ascribed it to my superb physique and fitness before the shooting. But I knew it was because I wanted to please the Overseer.

He was in fact away four days, and I was growing steadily more worried about him. Suppose those slavers had set upon him again on the road, and he was even now strapped on his knees on some pedestal, being displayed for potential new owners?

I was chained by the wrists to the bed as usual when he did come back, although my ankles and middle were now free as there was no longer any danger of the stitches breaking loose, and I could lie there flexing my muscles as an aid to keeping them in shape. He was accompanied by the veterinarian, who snapped at me “open wide!”

This command was usually the prelude to something unpleasant, but I obediently opened my mouth. He took out his dental mirror and an instrument, and fiddled around in my mouth for a bit, then said “all done”, and left the Overseer and me alone.

The Overseer said “Steve?” , and I was so amazed at hearing my name for the first time for over five years that, absolutely by reflex and instinct, I said “Yes?”.

The Overseer burst out laughing, and then, when I realised what had happened, so did I. My tongue restraint had been removed by the veterinarian, and the Overseer had used a clever psychological trick to get me to use a word. I learned later that, after many years of silence, some slaves never spoke even when unrestrained, and the Overseer wanted to give me the best chance he knew how. Your name is so much a part of you, that losing it in favour of a number when you become a slave is one of the most dehumanising parts of the experience. Hearing it again and rapping out the reflex answer had convinced my brain that I could again speak.

I was still chained, of course, and the Overseer told me that he had gone to the City to see the Sheikh to try to convince him that I should be freed. The Sheikh would not agree, saying that it was belief that “once a slave, always a slave”. But in reward for saving the Overseer’s life he was prepared to give me back speech – but only on pain of only using it between the Overseer and me, and then only when it was clear that there were no other slaves or masters able to hear us.

“We won’t talk much at first”, said the Overseer, “as it’s important your speech comes back naturally. Let me tell you about me, and how I came to be here.”

I lay back of the bed, and started to listen.

THE OVERSEER’S STORY

“I grew up in a small town in Wyoming. I was always a rebel at school. In Junior High I gave up working, and had a terrible reputation with the teachers. My grades were at the bottom. My mom didn’t care, as all she wanted was a good time and provided she could go out with my step dad every night, that was OK. I never knew my real dad, and I think my step dad was jealous of the small amount of affection my mom actually did have for me. He hardly ever spoke to me, and if I offended him in any way – any way at all – he hit me.”

“I supposed it’s ‘compensation’, but as I worked less and less I exercised more and more. I tried to spend all my time in the gym. If I couldn’t get in to the gym, I ran through the countryside, and swam in the local river. I didn’t get much food at home, so I grew up skinny, but I had good muscles from all the exercise. I was waiting to blossom, and as soon as puberty hit, I started to gain muscle power. Then I used to steal money and buy food with it – not candy, like the other kids, but fruit, and cheese, that I could eat without anyone seeing me.”

“By the time I was sixteen I had a hard body. I was always in trouble, and could defend myself in a street fight against kids two or three years older than me. My mom had totally given up on me, and told the school counsellors that ‘I was beyond control’.”

“I knew about sex, of course, and had been getting it up various girls – usually a bit older than me – since I was 14. There was a girl in school who was gorgeous, and the whole football team as trying to get into her pants. I was always telling her that I was willing – but she thought I was an obnoxious little brat. I was too young, she said, and she liked being seen with the school’s top jocks not some junior troublemaker.”

“But one day I came across her when I was out running. She was sitting in her car, crying. I stopped, and she told me that the captain of the Football Team had just raped her – it wasn’t a complete rape, I suppose, as everyone knew she had been sleeping with him for weeks. But on that day she hadn’t wanted to go all the way, but he had, and so instead of stopping when asked, he had simply gone on, and he was so powerful there was nothing she could do.”

“I listened, and thought ‘so what?’. But I said ‘there, there’, and put my arm around her. One thing led to another, and I ended up the afternoon fucking her too. She must have been a real cock teaser, thought, because although we had had a really great bout of foreplay, just as I was going to stick it in her, and was straddling her, really stiff and hard, she told me to stop! Of course I didn’t – when a guy is at that point, there’s no stopping! And what was good enough for the Football Team Captain was good enough for me!”

“She told her parents she had been raped by me. There was no mention of the Football Team Captain. They came around to see my mom and step dad, and when I got home that night my step dad beat me up. I was so badly bruised I couldn’t go to school the next day in case they thought my parents were child abusers. I lay in bed, groaning, and then my step dad came into the house unexpectedly early – my mom was not home yet.”

“He came up into my bedroom, and started screaming and shouting at me again. He was worried about the legal bills if the girl’s parents sued, and about the costs if she did have a kid and we had to bring it up. And, he said, you’re only 16 and it’s illegal still at that age in this state. Your mom and I can be fined.”

“He got more and more irate, and I never said a thing. Finally, after it had been going on for about 15 minutes and I was hearing the same old crap over and over, I told him to shut the fuck up”.

“He went berserk. He slapped my face very hard on both sides several times, and grabbed my shoulders and banged me up and down several times on the bed. I always slept in boxer shorts and so my shoulders were bare – I could see marks appearing on my skin where his fingers dug in to me.”

“He was beside himself as my beating continued. His fists slammed into my belly. He hit my head again. Then I heard him say ‘you need a real lesson. We’ve put up with you for too long. You never learn. Perhaps this will teach you’.”.

He grabbed me and flipped me over on to my stomach, and pinioned me down to the bed with one arm and his heavy body. I felt his other hand scrabbling at my boxers, and then they were torn form me in a frenzy.”

“As I lay there, with my face pushed in to the bed, I could hear him fiddling with the belt on his jeans. Then he started to hit my naked ass with it. It went on and on. In books they suggest that it’s the leather of the belt that hurts you. It does, but the most painful part is the buckle, and the spike thing in the middle. That’s the bit that draws blood first.”

He couldn’t stop, and the belt hit me in the back, and over my shoulders. I was being seriously hurt, but there was nothing I could do – I just had to lie there until his passion burned itself out. When it did stop, I was crying. And he was sobbing, too, those deep sobs from the bottom of the diaphragm that only big men do.”

“I heard him say ‘This is for your own good’. And from the corner of my eye saw his jeans hit the floor, followed by his boxers. Over his sobs he was saying ‘An eye for an eye’, the bible says. ‘You raped that girl – see how you like it’.”

The next moment the pain I had experienced whilst he was beating me was as nothing as his heavy body crashed into my bruised and bleeding back and ass. He was fumbling around, and then I felt something I had never experienced before – something shoving at my asshole.”

“I won’t go on. It’s still too awful to think about. It was a disgusting, brutal rape of a virgin 16 year old by a forty year old man.”

“When he had finished and I was left alone, I lay there sobbing on my bed. Some time later he came in and said ‘If you ever tell your mom what I just did to you, I’ll do it again, and again. And she won’t believe you anyway – parents never believe that their partners can be abusing their children.'”

“When mom came home she was appalled when she saw the state of my body, but I knew my step dad was right, and she wouldn’t believe me if I told the truth about what had happened. So I told her I had been beaten up by a gang at school who had heard about me raping the girl.”

“She wanted to call the police, but my step dad craftily persuaded her that it was best to let sleeping dogs lie – if we made no more fuss, all the rape stuff would die away.”

“All of this would have been bad enough, but a couple of weeks later my mom went away to visit her sister for the weekend. My step dad was in a foul mod, and I kept out of his way. I was in bed when he came back from the bar, and I heard him stumbling up the stairs. He came into my room, and pulled the covers off me. I watched in horror as he pulled off his T-shirt, dropped his jeans, and pushed his boxers to the floor. He was erect, of course.”

“He threw himself down on top of me – I was lying on my back, and his face was pushed into mine. He forced his mouth over mine, and tried to kiss me. I kept my mouth closed, but his hand reached down between us into my boxers and gripped my balls. He said ‘open your mouth you little fucker, if you don’t want me to rip your balls off’, and gave me a hard squeeze to show he meant business. I opened my mouth, and his tongue went deep into my throat – it was repulsive. I could taste the stale beer, and the pizza he had had earlier.”

“Still with his tongue down my throat he let go of my balls and used the hand to pull off my boxers. Then he wriggled on top of me completely, and I was almost completely suffocated by his weight. His hand forced my legs apart, and his finger felt for my anus and then pushed in. He found my prostate, and then I had an erection, which jabbed in to his balls as his own cock was flattened between my stomach and his.”

“With both hands he grabbed my ankles, pushed them up and over towards my shoulders, and thus exposed my ass so that he could fuck me again with his fat prick.”

When he had finished, he stood up and pulled on his boxers. He looked at me lying on the bed snivelling, and said ‘You’re a better fuck than your mother. I’m going to have you every week as a special treat’.”

“I quit the house that night. He passed out in a deep alcoholic sleep after he had drunk a few more beers, so I went through his pockets and took the remainder of his week’s wages that hadn’t already been spent at the bar. I went to the bus station, and used most of the money to buy a ticket to Dallas – not because I wanted to go there especially, but because there was a bus about to leave, and I wanted to get away as far as possible.”

“I never saw my mom or step dad again.”

“In Dallas late the next night I had no money, and I was hungry. There was a cold wind in the bus station, and I tried to huddle on a bench in the corner until morning, but a cop turned me out saying that they liked to keep the bus station for decent people.”

“As I was trailing out, slowly and miserably into the night, a guy came up to me and said ‘hey, kid, are you lost?’. I told him no, I was just waiting for someone, and he said ‘Well, whilst you’re waiting, come and have a pizza with me’. I followed him to an all-night pizza place, and he bought me a pizza, which I wolfed down. I could see him watching me with interest, and he asked ‘Run away?’. I told him to fuck off, as it was none of his business, and he just smiled.”

“We left the pizza place, and he said ‘My car’s down there’, and I followed him and got into a big black Lincoln. We drove to the suburbs, and went into his house. I think he genuinely wanted to be kind, but as he was showing me into a room where I could spend the night, he rubbed a hand over my ass, outside my jeans.”

“I went berserk. Even though I was only 16, I was tough and strong. He was in his late forties, I guess, and overweight. He was no match for me, and I flailed at him with my fists, knocking him to the ground. I punched him in the head many times. There was blood everywhere, and I broke his glasses. I left him crawling around his house, blood streaming from him, sobbing.”

“But before I went, I had a good look around. In his study I found a lot of really hard pornography – really young boys, you know the kind of thing. And $500 dollars or so. I left with the money and some of the magazines – he never reported the theft, because I suppose he was scared of the magazines coming to light in evidence.”

“I got a really grungy room downtown. I spent my days at the YMCA gym and pool. Whenever my money started to run out, I hung around the Convention Centre waiting for delegates from out of town looking for a boy for the night. There were usually about 10 of us there, and it was known locally as ‘the meat rack’. Most of them were 18 to 20 years old, and I was the youngest. But most of the others were on drugs, and were ‘weedy’ – I was the only one with a nice-looking body, and was usually the first choice of a guy looking for a trick.”

“But I only ever went off with older, fat guys, who I knew couldn’t defend themselves. In their hotel room, I would usually take off my shirt to show them a promise of what they could have, then the moment they started to undress and were relatively helpless, I would lay into them and beat them into a pulp. I usually got four or five hundred dollars from their wallets, as being at a convention they had a lot of cash for drinks. And I guess those that came looking for boys on the meat rack knew they needed cash to pay them off anyway.”

“I was 17 and after those two times with my step dad I had never let a man touch me seriously again. But I had lost all interest in girls. I just spent my time working out and watching TV, with the occasional night where I robbed some old faggot.”

“My mistake, however, was to go off one night with a really fat Arab. He didn’t seem to know how to work the meat rack, and was trying to feel the muscles of the guys as we stood there! Of course, I now know that this was normal behaviour for someone from this society, being used to slaves as he was, but I didn’t know that then, and went off with him.

I took over $2000 from his room as I left him gasping in a pool of his own blood and vomit.”

“I thought I had it made – I wouldn’t need to ‘work’ for several weeks. But as I left the room, there were four Arabs standing in the corridor. They grabbed me, and went into the room. The game was up, I thought – the cops would be called, and I’d be jailed. And I had heard a lot of stories about what happens to good-looking young boys in jail.”

“The fat guy was recovering, and was obviously in charge, because the four other Arabs were rushing around obeying his orders. I didn’t know what they were saying, as it was in Arabic and I couldn’t speak the language then. One of them was on the phone, and another was helping the fat guy by sponging the blood and puke off his clothes.”

“One of the two others held on to me – he had my arm twisted behind my back, but wasn’t pushing it up too high, so I could stand there relatively comfortably, but couldn’t escape. After some further conversation, the fourth Arab stood in front of me and in perfect English said ‘We are the Sheikh’s body guards. Unlike our master, we are all fit and tough. If you make one false move, any one of us can break every bone in your body. Ahmed is now going to let your arm go, and you are going to stand there, quite still’.”

“My arm was freed, and the Arab then said ‘Now get naked. The Sheikh was disappointed not to see you earlier on , but wants to look now.’ I said ‘Fuck you’, and the next minute was sprawling on the floor.

Without a moment’s hesitation the Arab had whipped his arm across his body to smash into my face, and the sheer power knocked me flying.”

“I was hauled to my feet. My ears were singing, and it was difficult to hear. The room was flicking up and down as my eyes tried to adjust. The Arab said ‘No more games. I can hurt you more than you can imagine. Now get naked.”

“I saw I had no choice, and started to undress, watched by the Sheikh and the four other Arabs. I was of course used to getting changed at the YMCA in front of lots of other guys, but this was different – it was only me taking off my clothes, and all the others were concentrating on watching me. I stood there in my boxers.”

“The next minute I was sprawling on the floor again, after another hard, fast blow to my head. Again I was pulled to my feet. ‘Perhaps you don’t understand’, the Arab said, ‘When I tell you to get naked, I mean you to do it. Totally nude. Not half covered, in boxers. Now, for the last time, strip’.”

“I could see there was no choice, so put my hands in the waistband of my boxers and pushed them off down over my hips. I saw their eyes watching me, and moved my hands down to cover my genitals. ‘Hands behind your head’, the Arab said, ‘We want to see exactly what we have – or, should I say, exactly what you have!’, and when I hesitated, he raised his forearm ready to strike me again. I put my hands behind my head, and stood there, feeling a dreadful hot blush start to creep up my neck and face.”

“‘Very good’, said the Arab. ‘Now turn around.’ And then, a few minutes later, ‘Keep you r hands behind your head and bend over so your head is between your knees’.”

“I did as I was told, and felt the muscles of my ass and the backs of my thighs stretch and extend as I did. ‘Now reach behind you, and spread your ass cheeks’, I was told. This was probably the most humiliating thing I had ever done in my life, but I had no choice.”

“I was made to stand there like that for a couple of minutes, and there was some more discussion amongst the Arabs. Then, without any warning, a couple of them simply picked me up and carried me into the bathroom. My hands were cuffed and the cuffs looped around the shower rail, and I was left standing there, naked, in the bathtub. After an hour or so I was cold – the room’s air conditioning was fierce – and I needed desperately to pee. So I called out. One of the Arabs came into the bathroom. He was naked, and I had a tanned muscular body with lots of straight black hair all over it. When I told him I needed to pee, he said ‘Do it. You’re standing in the tub, so you won’t make too much mess for us. And don’t disturb us again. This is the body guards’ bedroom outside, and we need our sleep.”

“I hung there all night, shivering to keep warm. Then the door opened and one of the other Arabs, also naked, came in and casually peed into the toilet, simply ignoring me standing there. Through the open door I could see that two of the bodyguards had been sleeping in each of the two double beds in the room – one still had both occupants, and the other had just been left by the guy peeing. His companion was lying there, exposed from where the covers had been thrown over, and I could see a massive erection.”

“Could it be, I wondered, that these four guys always slept with each other, and shared beds? Just thinking about it made me feel strange, and I started to erect. But then all four came crowding into the bathroom, as they needed to get ready for the morning. They turned the shower attachment on, and in spite of me hanging there, took turns to shower. Just as the last one was finishing, he said something to the others who were shaving and cleaning their teeth at the sinks, and they obviously agreed because one went into the bedroom, came back into the bathroom, and unlocked my handcuffs. Before I could get my arms properly down to relieve the cramp I was feeling, the Arab who was still showering grabbed me around the waist and pulled me under the jet with him. He shampooed my hair, and soaped me all over – and I mean all over; up the my ass crack and everything. It didn’t seem sexual at the time – but it was more than just two guys having fun in the showers together. At the end we were both sporting big hard-ons.”

“They dressed, and I was roughly towelled dry, and my arms cuffed my back. I was asked if I wanted to crap, and said no, as I couldn’t believe I could perform in front of those four guys.”

“Then, totally naked, and without being to cover myself in front at all, I was marched out of the room, along the hall, and we waited for the elevator. When it came, we all got in, and it started down.

I wondered what on earth they would do if someone else got in – it was still relatively early in the morning and the breakfast rush was not yet started, but even at that early hour surely there would be some people around?”

“Sure enough, ten floors down the elevator stopped and an old couple started to get in. They looked in astonishment at my nakedness, and quick as a flash one of the Arabs said ‘Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen. This is just a frat hazing. I’m sorry if we startled you – if you find the pledge offensive, we’ll get out and let you folks go on down’. The guy then laughed and said ‘You remind me of my days at College. We all did wild things. It’s not a problem’, and he and his wife got in and stood facing the doors, as people always do in elevators, as if nothing unusual had happened. I thought about crying out for help from the couple, as surely the Arabs would not harm them, but as the doors closed and the couple were no longer looking at me, one of the Arabs reached down and grabbed my balls. He turned towards me, and smiled, meaningfully.”

“We went down to the parking garage, where I was bundled into a limo, taken to the airport, and flown out on a private jet.”

“I think you experienced the same things after that – I was taken to the government slave centre because I had made the mistake of hitting an important guy in the country’s ruling class, and had been judged and found guilty under their laws even thought I was an American and the offence took place in the USA. I was shaved and so on, and put on display for the next auction.”

“I was almost never off the ‘special inspection blocks’. Every day one or more buyers would want me on my knees, and would shake my cock and probe my ass. They were all looking at me for various brothels and sex clubs – it was rarer in those days to get an American at all, and getting a 17 year old boy, in good shape, was a real exception. They all knew they could sell my ass every night for huge sums to their clients.”

“The first time I was probed up the ass and they hit my prostate it was dreadful. I had never had another man see me with my cock dripping pre cum before. But after the first few, I got used to it and almost ceased to notice as they pushed their prying fingers up my hole. I did lie awake at night in the cage, though, worrying about how I could take a cock up there – my step dad’s cock had really freaked me out. I had several tussles in the cage, as some of the other slaves tried to fuck me, and they needed to learn that although I was young, my body was hard and I was used to punching guys out.”

“One of the inspections was different, though. The guy didn’t waste any time in probing my ass, squeezing my balls, or trying to jack me off. He carried out a minute inspection of my musculature, again and again squeezing my biceps and my thighs, and probing his thumbs down into my lats to see how I reacted. I couldn’t imagine what sort of perversion he had in mind for me.”

“On the day of the auction, the bidding went higher and higher, and it was apparent that here were several of the sex show owners bidding for me. When I was finally delivered, though, I was surprised to be bundled out of the van and into a gym. It was full of strong, good looking guys working out on the usual sort of exercise machines, and in one corner there was a big boxing ring where a couple of guys were knocking the hell out of each other. They were in the usual sort of kit guys wear to the gym, but none of them seemed to look much at me as I was led, naked, through their midst.”

“In an office in the corner was the man who had inspected me so minutely. He told me to assume the ‘display’ position, and when I just stood there, he told me what was expected. He said that even though it looked like a pretty normal gym, it was in fact a slave training facility and that slaves were expected to ‘obey the rules’. So I stood there with my hands behind my head and my cock jutting out whilst he explained that he ran a sort of ‘gladiator school’, to train slaves to fight for the pleasure of masters.”

“Provided I behaved myself, I would have a better life than I could have hoped to have if I had been sold as a sex slave. I would be trained to fight, and would normally have one bout a week. Training was done in this gym wearing ‘western style’ gym kit mostly, because some masters also liked to attend, and they did not want to expose their bodies to us hard slaves because they were envious of our development. So everyone wore ‘the same’, and in the showers there were some open areas, where we were expected to shower, and some private cubicles the masters who were just customers could use if they wished”.

“Fighting training was usually done in bikinis, or G-strings. Although we were expected to fight naked, he allowed us to train with our cocks and balls contained because it could be painful having our genitalia scrape on the floor as we fought, and he wanted to ‘save’ us from that, until there was a real fight. The masters who used the gym as a gym were allowed to come and watch us training for fights if they wanted, and this was one of the reasons why his gym was so popular.”

“We were in the middle of the Capital, and so there was only limited space for his gym. He needed to be central, so that masters could come out from their offices for a quick work out if they wanted to. But his slaves lived in a dorm about 4 KM away, and we would wear running shorts to run to and fro each day. He cautioned me against trying to escape, even thought I would not be branded or marked visibly and would be crossing the Capital twice a day, as the police kept a special watch out for his slaves on their journey. Any attempt to speak to westerners would be severely punished.”

“He then took a tiny G-string out of his desk drawer, and told me to put it on. I had never worn anything so provocative before – even though my genitals were covered, it was with a very thin, almost transparent elastic fabric. You’ll know that I’m a very hairy guy anyway, and my pubic hair sprayed out from around the pouch. I couldn’t get used to the sensation of the thin string going up my ass crack, particularly as it cut into my anus – I’d always worn boxers and so on before, and had never had fabric in my ass crack, let alone a thin string. He told me to go off into the gym and get training – I would get other kit later, but he knew that the other slaves and the masters in there would like a chance to have a good look at me on my first day.”

“I thought I would die of embarrassment. Being naked is one thing, being dressed totally provocatively is another. But I did as I was told, and ran on the running machines, pumped iron, and so on. Very late in the afternoon there was a note from a klaxon, and all us slaves – there were 10 of us – went off into the locker room and changed into high-cut satin running shorts. Then we set off, running at a fair pace, through the city streets to our ‘dorm’.”

“The dorm was just a building where there was a room with a table where we were fed, a big communal shower room, and a big communal bed room. As we went into the dorm, we dropped our shorts and handed them to a guard on the door. He then locked it, and we were left to ourselves until the morning. There was absolutely no privacy, as in the showers there were no walls, and the two crap holes were just along one wall. And the communal bedroom was just that – an empty room, with a soft-ish floor. You just lay down, anywhere there was a space.”

“I had been used to my own room at home, and had always locked the bathroom door since I had sprouted my first pubic hair. So getting used to this totally open communal life was at first difficult But the other guys had all been there a long time, and were totally used to it. They showered, shat, slept, and fucked together. With nowhere to hide, I got used to having erections in public, and to jacking myself off with other guys looking on. Although all the guys were fully sexually experienced, there was never any coercion to fuck unless you wanted to – I guess that this is because they were fighters, and any attempt at ‘rape’ could be damaging to the guy trying it on. Initially of course they were all curious about my body – anything ‘new’ always attracted attention – and I was specially interesting as I was a young boy of 17. But they didn’t try to fuck me, and I slept as best I could, surrounded by the snoring, farting snuffling bodies of my companions. Had I not been naked, I could have been in a barracks room in any army camp in the USA.”

“The following morning we all showered, and most of the guys jacked off to get rid of their morning hard-ons, then we had breakfast, still in the nude. We lined up in the hall, and the guard opened the door and handed out our running shorts, and we ran of to the gym. I didn’t understand how he managed to get the same shorts back to the same guy, as they were unlabelled, but I soon learned that they didn’t bother – what difference did it make if you got some other guy’s shorts anyway?”

“I went on like this for about three months, and my body got harder and stronger. Then I started ‘proper’ training to be a fighter. I was to be a wrestler, and my master told me I should be glad about that as the boxers and ‘rough housers’ tended to get badly beaten and soon lost their looks, as their noses were broken and their ears were torn. Wrestling training consisted of putting on my tiny G-string and fighting with a trained wrestler – no proper instruction was ever given, I was just told to attack the other fighter and he would throw me, just hard enough to hurt. Then we’d do it again, and again, and again, until I was hurting so much that my body learned how to fall, or how to do the throw better, or whatever. Real ‘learning by doing’.”

“I had a natural aptitude for wrestling, and after about another three months I was ready for my first fight, my master said. One day I was called into his office in the middle of training and there was a young couple sitting across from my master at his desk. ‘This is the new boy I was telling you about’, he said, ‘If you’re looking for something unusual for your party, this is it. He’s only just 18, and, as you can see, he has the proper white skin of a European. He’s been well trained, and I think he’s a natural fighter. His first time in the ring might produce fireworks’. The woman whispered something to her husband, who in turn leaned over and whispered to my master. ‘Of course’, he said, smiling at them. Looking at me he said ‘Take off those gym clothes so the customers can see you properly.”

“Living naked with 10 guys, and training in a skimpy G-string was one thing. But stripping in front of three properly dressed people, one of whom was a woman, was something else. I remembered something one of my colleagues had said about how to strip in front of customers, and instead of taking off my training vest and then dropping my shorts, I instead dropped my shorts, then pulled my vest off over my head, which gave them a chance to see my cock without needing to look into my face at the same time. I stood there naked in front of them, but felt so embarrassed that I started to blush; and as I blushed harder, to my horror I felt my cock start to go erect. There was nothing I could do, as at my master’s prompting by a small gesture, I had assumed ‘display’ and my hands were behind my head. Moving them down to try to do something about my erection would have drawn attention to it, and made it worse.”

“The woman started to giggle in embarrassment, but her husband only leaned closer for a better look at my nude body, and I could see his tongue moistening his lips in little flicking movements. Obviously he was interested in me.”

“Suffice it to say that I was hired for the evening, and two days later I was delivered to a house in the city here a wrestling mat was set up in the middle of the garden, as an entertainment for the party guests. There were about 100 guests standing around, sipping champagne, and I met my opponent – a guy of about 24, Arab, with a thatch of black hair over his stomach and chest. Like me, he was wearing only a brief G-string.”

“An announcement was made to the guests saying that this was to be an unlimited time fight, with no rounds break, ending ‘in the usual fashion’. We faced each other across the ring, and started to wrestle. He was much more experienced than me, and much more powerful – in spite of my heavy training, I was, after all, still only 18. We grappled away, and in the hot night air our bodies were slick with sweat and slid over each other. It became difficult to get a grip on each other, and our hands scrabbled for anything they could. After about 10 minutes his hands got behind the string around my waist holding up my G-string, and he tore it off. I had no time to be embarrassed at the 100 people now looking at my totally naked body, and we continued to grapple.”

“With my cock and balls now exposed, his advantage became the greater. Not only did I have to be careful how I fell, but his hands were always trying to get a hold of my private organs, and I knew that if he succeeded, the fight would be over. I did the only thing

I could think of – I scrabbled at him, and succeeded in ripping his G-string off, too. The crowd cheered, as his large thick cock flopped out, and we carried on fighting.”

“I didn’t know what ‘the usual fashion’ was for ending the bout, but I knew I wasn’t going to be the winner. I was tiring rapidly, faced with this stronger, much more experienced fighter. Then I found out – ‘the usual fashion’ of ending the bout was for the loser to utterly succumb to the victor, by being fucked by him. The Arab managed to get me on my stomach, then he got one of his arms under me so that my ass was raised slightly, and before I knew what was happening, or could even try to summon up some small part of my remaining energy, his cock thrust itself into me. The crown shouted in unison and he pumped in and out of me, and cheered when he came. He then stood up, and went around the mat giving victory salutes (and the crown an opportunity to look at his cock slimed with cum, so they could know it was ‘for real’). I just lay there, utterly defeated, and with my worst nightmare come true – I had vowed never to be taken up the ass again after being raped by my step dad, and now I had been. And it was clear that this was to be my life in the future.”

“But, to cut a long story short, it wasn’t. From 18 to 20 I lost a lot of fights and took a lot of cock, but all the time I was gaining in experience and I exercised like mad to pile on muscle power. And, of course, my body was going through the normal changes that all guys go through as they leave their teens and go into their twenties, and my muscles were naturally hardening and growing in endurance. From about 20 onwards, I sometimes won a fight, and in spite of not really liking my cock up another guy’s ass, this was part of my ‘job’ as a gladiator slave, and I simply got in there and fucked them. Between 21 and 22 I almost never lost – I was becoming famous, and there was a string of bookings for me to appear at parties and receptions. The rich set in the Capital liked looking at my European body, and it had now filled out so that I was a real ‘centre fold’ type.”

“My master had lots of offers to buy me, but he refused them all. He told me that I was the best investment he had made for some time – although I had been fabulously expensive to buy as a 17 year old and had cost a lot to train and feed, I was now really pulling in the appearance money and was repaying his investment handsomely. I was proud of this, and, in truth, I liked the life. I had a group of good guys to work out, train and live with, and there was no bitching or jealousy about possessions, or the other guy’s girl, or all the other things that I already was having arguments about before I was enslaved. I guess living totally without privacy, and with no possessions (I didn’t even own my running shorts, or the G-strings or gym clothes) with a group of guys really makes that impossible.”

“But when I turned 24, I started to lose again. Newer fighters were coming along all the time, and 22 to 23 is about the ‘right’ age for this type of fast, skilful fighting. My master told me one day that this was normal. I should expect to go ‘downhill’ until I was about 25 or 26, and I would be fucked almost every fight. But then he would sell me on, and I would be out of the fighting game. He told me that he usually managed to get his fighters a good spot, being the workout buddy or fuck toy for some rich Arab.”

“In truth, this was profoundly depressing. I wondered if I could somehow get a message to the US Embassy, and for a few months watched and plotted how I might accomplish this – I ran every day past the embassy compound, but there were Arab police guarding it, and I guessed they knew not to let slaves in. But my hopes were dashed when, one night, my bout was actually in the embassy grounds. Half the crowd were Arabs, and the other half American and European diplomats. There was no discernible difference in the behaviour of the two groups in the crowd, and they all seemed as turned on by the sight of us guys grappling naked in front of them and being forced to fuck each other.”

“At the end of my bout I was going to run up to the Ambassador and beg him to tell the US Marines on guard inside the compound to protect me. I won, and was getting ready to leap up and confront him, when my master took me by the arm, together with the opponent I had just fucked, and led us up to the Ambassador and his wife, and their most important guests at the top table. I stood there in front of them, dripping with sweat and with my cock drooling the last of my cum from its end, and my master said ‘This is the young

American I told you about, Ambassador. He does well, don’t you think?’. ‘Yes’ the Ambassador replied. I have read his file in ‘missing persons’ from back home, and he was a real trouble maker. You have succeeded in turning him into a real man – he’d have spent most of his life in prison by now in the USA, and he would have been fucked even more often by the other prisoners’.”

“I knew that my master had arranged this interview with the Ambassador to show that he knew about the American slaves in the country, and that any attempt on my part to flee to the Embassy would be futile. As I lay with my mates that night in our communal bedroom, I was as depressed as I had even been. There seemed to be no escape, and at some point I would be sold on as a rich man’s sex toy.”

“A couple of weeks later, though, I was booked to appear in a grand ‘knock out’ tournament. 16 fighters were going to take part, with eight first-round matches to ‘fight to the fuck’ Then when the winners had had time to recover, four matches would be fought, again ‘to the fuck’, then two matches, and, finally a grand last bout to decide the winner. When we arrived, all of us were lined up and lectured to by the master running the tournament”

“He said that this was to be a special night, and they really wanted to see good, hard fighting. There were to be no G-strings or anything, we were to be nude all night, whether fighting or watching. If any fighter was seen to be simulating his fucking, or if the crowd decided any fighter was not fighting hard enough, he would be bought from his master, go into the service of the fight arranger, and would then be castrated. But the fabulously wealthy man for whom the evening was being arranged had offered a special prize – he would buy the winner from his master, and set him free!”

“None of us slaves could believe our ears. A chance of freedom! But I knew, deep down, that I was not well placed. I only won about 50% of my bouts now, and there were some very good, young, fast fighters amongst us 16.”

“That was probably the most amazing evening of fighting and fucking the Capital has ever seen. Each of us desperately wanted to win our bouts, and no one dared let up in case he was selected for castration. I won my first round bout, and sat crouching at the edge of the mat with my fellow winners. Amazingly I also got through the second round, and the semis, and ended up in the final. I think it was sheer desperation – I was going to get free!”.

“And I did win. But the final fuck was a real challenge. Both my opponent and I were already exhausted when we started the final bout, but we summoned up reserves of strength from I know not where to fight like devils. We were slick with sweat, and the ammoniacal smell of cum was everywhere – on our winning cocks from the earlier bouts, and on the surface of the mat. Normally our bouts only lasted at most 15 minutes, and I had already had three that evening running to 25, so desperate were all the fighters. Now this final went on and an, and neither of us had the strength to gain an advantage. I felt my strength ebbing, and my opponent was gaining the upper hand, and I knew I had lost. But luck must have been on my side, because suddenly my opponent slipped slightly on a patch of still-wet cum, and this seemed to strain his groin. He was now much more feeble, and could no longer hold me off as I forced him down, pushed his legs apart – he screamed as I did this, because of his groin injury – and rammed my cock home. I was in trouble, though, because I could only just manage an erection, and it took me about 8 minutes of solid humping before I could actually force a trickle of cum out.”

“But that was all I needed. I was presented to the Sheikh who had organised this special event and who was hugely pleased with it, and he talked to my master, and I was told I was free!”

“But my troubles now began in earnest. I was standing there naked, and what was I to do? I had no money, and no clothes. My master said I could not go back to the dorm that night, as it would be bad for the other slaves. He also said that that was my last fight, as the laws in the country only allowed slaves to fight, as it was considered unseemly for free men to do so. And finally I was told that even though I was free, the law also did not permit a freed slave to leave the country. He cautioned me about begging or anything, as that was illegal, and I would quickly be arrested and enslaved again.”

“I stood there, feeling utterly helpless, and bone weary. I di not even have a G-string to cover my genitals.”

“There was an Arab of about my age standing there listening to all this, and after the Sheikh’s party had left, and I was just sitting on the grass in despair, he came over and said ‘There is one way you can earn a living. Come back with me now – you’re a free man and you can do what you please – and I will pay you $1000 dollars to experience your body.'”

“I couldn’t believe my ears – I was being offered a prostitute’s fee. But there was no choice, so I followed him to his car. I was still naked, and he had not offered me any covering – I thought that he could, for example, have loaned me his sweater to tie around my waist. He opened the doors, and I was about to get in when he snapped ‘What do you think you’re doing – I don’t want to get the upholstery covered in sweat and cum. You’d best lie in the trunk’.”.

“So that’s the way I went to his apartment, which turned out to be a vast, western-stlye one in the most exclusive residential area. In the apartment I followed him in to a bedroom, then he sat on the edge of his bed and looked at me. He sat there for a couple of minutes, as if inspecting me, and I did not know what to so. Then he stood up, and stripped off his clothes. He wasn’t in bad shape – nothing like me, of course, and nothing like the flesh I was used to being surrounded with. But at any country club in the USA he would have cut an acceptable figure around the pool.”

“‘So come on, then’, he said. ‘Come on what?”, I replied. ‘You’re the expert – come and do to me whatever two guys do together.’ I listened in astonishment, as he then broke down and explained that he was a virgin. He had had to marry a girl at his father’s command, because that was the done thing in their rich family, but they had never slept together. His brothers all laughed at him, all the time, because they knew he had never taken any of the estate slaves into his bed. And so he was determined to buy some experience. He had chosen me because he had seen my superb body, and had been really turned on by the brutal fighting and seeing me fuck four guys that night. He had mistakenly thought that I was a skilled sex slave, rather than one who just took it up the ass, and gave it the same way, as the demands of the ring required.”

“After that honesty, what could I do but put my arms around him and comfort him. We both sat on the side of the bed, talking. Then I told him I simply couldn’t fuck again that night, and, anyway, as a free man I was resolved not to do it for money. But why didn’t I treat him as if he was one of my buddies in the slave dorm? This seemed to turn him on, so we went together into his marble shower, and stood there washing each other (I told him that slaves generally did not wash their own bodies). He seemed to find this arousing, because he had a gentle erection as my hands were soaping his ass. So as I would with any of my buddies that way in the shower, I knelt in front of him and jacked him off with my soapy hands, whilst the warm water sprayed over us.”

“Then we towelled each other off, and he particularly enjoyed gently patting my shaved ball sac dry, and went back into the bedroom. I stripped the covers off the bed, and told him that in the slave dorm we just slept on the floor, without covering. He said he always felt cold in the air conditioning, but I said not to worry, as the mutual warmth of our bodies would counter that. We slept all that night twined together, and in the morning he was ‘spooned’ up against my back. I could feel his breath over my shoulder blades, and he had one arm around me, lying just below my rib cage. I lay there awake, not wanting to disturb him, but knew he must soon wake up because his morning hard-on was pushing against my ass. His hand started to stretch, then touched my cock, which sprang to attention. He was still half asleep, I know, and perhaps he thought it was his own cock, because he started to stroke me gently. Just before I came, I took his hand away and turned over to face him. I think he realised what had been happening by then, but we lay there facing each other, and it seemed only natural to jack each other off.”

“Over breakfast he seemed pleased, and told me that was the first time he had ever slept with another man all night, except for his brothers. And he had never mutually masturbated with anyone before. He suggested a swim, and said he would find me some trunks, but I asked him why he was bothering. A mischievous grin spread over his face, and we both ran out to the rooftop pool outside his penthouse, and dived in. It was fabulous, high above the city, with the water running over my naked body. We raced, ‘bombed’ each other from the pool edge, tried to swim between each other’s legs, and generally played around. We were at our games when two of his brothers arrived and stood by the pool looking down at us. We both got out, and stood there naked. His brothers were astonished, and told him they had never known him to swim naked before, and certainly not with another guy. ‘But then’, said the other brother ‘it’s only a slave, and swimming and playing with a slave isn’t the same’.”

“I broke in at this point and said ‘Hey – who are you calling a slave? I’m an American, and I met your brother last night. Why don’t you guys fuck off, so we can get back to our fun. We only have a day or so, and there’s lots of positions we need to get through. I don’t want to have my vacation wasted listening to you talking about slaves when I can be in your brother’s bed.’.”

“My friend thought it was hugely funny as his brothers left, and thanked me for what I had said. ‘They’ll tell everyone now about the fabulous, exotic, foreign hunk who really wanted my body’, he said. ‘And did you notice that they were both so turned on that they had erections as they looked at us?’.”

“We had a week of genuine fun, and he took me and showed me some of the Capital, and we went out into the desert to watch camel racing. We did fuck, but only because we both wanted to after we had got to know each other a lot better. But I knew it couldn’t last, and one day I said to him ‘We have to face the facts. I need a job. I know you want me to live with you permanently, but it won’t work – our worlds are too different, and after we have exhausted all the combinations of sex, and got in slaves to do sex with, and whatever, we’ll be tired of each other. We must break it off now, whilst we still have this amazing week to remember for the rest of our lives. And if I’m not living with you, I won’t take money from you – that would be just a lesser form of slavery.’.”

“He cried at first, but as we talked, it became clear that I was right. He used his influence with his uncle the Sheikh to get me a job here, on the estate, as a lowly guard. I didn’t like guarding the slaves at first, and when I was put on the duty that processed any new American or European arrivals because I could speak their language, that was particularly difficult. I kept myself in good shape in the gym, but I never used any of the ‘comfort’ slaves.”

“Over time I discovered I had a talent for spotting things out of line before they caused a disaster, and for quickly fixing cock-ups. This surprised me, because I had never been any good at school when I was a kid, but now I could easily see where paperwork was out of line, or where someone was trying to fiddle the books. I stopped being a guard, and went to work in administration, and soon the Sheikh got to hear of my talents. I stopped one particularly big fraud before any money had left the country, and the Sheikh had the guys who had almost got away with his money enslaved. As a reward, he made me his Overseer.”

“So I’ve gone from punk kid, to rent boy robber, to slave, nude wrestler, guard, and Overseer! I like the life. It’s never boring. In most things, I’m in absolute command here over 100 workers and 2500 slaves. Life is funny, isn’t it – had my step dad not raped me, I’d have been a high school drop out , and would probably be working in a meat packing plant or something!”

“But I’ve tired you. I have to go to the City again tomorrow, but I’ll be back in a few days. Go back to sleep now, and continue to exercise to get well.”

He bent over, and kissed me gently on the closed lips, and left.

 

To be continued …

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