A kinky story written by Pete Brown | Chapter 5

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

I hated having to drop my shorts in that public place – there were the usual set of “rubber    neckers” looking  about, and I had to stand there and try and get the G-string on.  Of course if anyone had told me that the best way of doing it was to attach one string to the others first, so that I could kind of step into it and then just tie the two loose ends at the side, it might have been easier.  As it was, I stood there trying to get the little triangle to cover my cock and balls whilst struggling with three pieces of string – a lot of the people going past started to laugh at me as they thought it was some sort of deliberate comedy act!  But it certainly wasn’t – I didn’t want all these people looking at my cock any longer than absolutely necessary.

In the end, Joe came over and showed me how to do it, by illustrating on himself:  he’d already got his tiny G-string in place and stood there showing me the string emerging from his bum crack at the back and joining the ones around his waist.  I began to get worried then as Joe’s bum was deeply tanned, like his body and legs, and so it didn’t look all that bad when he was walking around with only the tiny triangle covering his tackle.  But when mine was finally on I still felt very self-conscious, as my bum was stark white, as of course I always wore at least shorts when I was working, and the contrast between my tanned upper body and my bum was huge.

I went to pull my shorts on to cover my embarrassment, but the Captain said to Dan “If I were you I’d let the slave get used to appearing like that – make him walk to the show ring dressed like that and he’ll be a lot less worried about appearing in it when he’s actually being judged.”

“Thanks, sir!  Good idea.”

“Not at all – us owners of Mid-Europeans always like to help each other out, even though your boy and my Joe are now in direct competition.  And I might just remind you that it’s only about half an hour to judging…. Time to get them oiled up.”

Well I stood there and did my body and legs as usual, and then lay on the preparation bench so that Dan could “finish off” the bits I couldn’t reach.  But now he started to massage the oil into my bum as well, as he said I’d been too timid in doing that bit myself and my skin wasn’t shining nicely there.

“Don’t forget to oil inside his crack”, the Captain told Dan.  “The judges will almost certainly take a closer look at the buttocks of the slaves this time, and it’s better if the skin shines evenly.”

So Dan did!   I had to lie there as, gingerly at first, and then with increasing confidence, his oily hands slid down my bum crack – to my horror I felt an erection rising as I lay there, and I started to get worried that I might be actually enjoying having another bloke playing around with me like this.  And it was dead embarrassing when Dan said he’d done, and told me to get up, as everyone saw how my cock had pushed the tiny scrap of fabric right away from my body.  I blushed red with embarrassment as Joe couldn’t resist pointing it out to Trent, and then Dan and the other owners saw it too.  “Don’t worry”, I heard the Captain say to Dan.  “It’s better he does it now, out here, rather than out there in the ring. And even a young man like him won’t have another erection within a few minutes”.

The walk to the ring was terrible.  We had to thread our passage half way across the huge exhibition centre to get to the ring where they judged breed champions, and all the way the public stopped and stared at Joe and me as we walked along.  Joe didn’t seem to mind at all, but then, as I’ve told you, he didn’t have a white bum shining out like I did – in some ways his tanned backside looked  almost “natural”, I thought. But it’s not right to make a man display himself as we were made to, no matter how good your body is – it ought to be your choice, not that of some owner.

The “best of breed” judging was pretty quick, actually – thank Christ!  Pretty quick, but pretty humiliating.  There were only six of us – pup,  youth, stud, prime, mature and an oldie – yes, there actually was an old bloke, but he was probably still in his early fifties and didn’t have a bad body on him at all.   The problem was that the “youth” was a woman, and you know how stunning a woman of eighteen or nineteen can be: all the sensual body development of a proper woman and yet still with that enticing freshness.  As soon as I saw her I thought that I’d certainly lost, as anyone in their right mind would select her rather than any of us blokes, and then, an instant later, I almost broke out into a sweat as my mind started to fantasise about her (which was easy to do, as she only wore the same tiny G-string as the rest of us), and I started to worry about having an erection.  Actually, I say that we were all in the same tiny G-strings, but the pup was stark naked, as I’ve told you that this was the way pups were always shown.  He was just like me when I was that age – big, rangy, nicely muscled but lacking that full development blokes only get when they’re in their early twenties,  and his cock looked good, too:  unusually for a lad of his age, he’d been circumcised and I thought it actually made him look better – you don’t see very many cut young blokes, do you, as doctors don’t seem to do I routinely at birth any longer.  Still,  I did feel sorry for him – I knew how I’d have felt if I’d been made to flash my cock around at that age.

It was the usual line up, then run around the ring with your owner holding your leash, and it was awful for me to have to watch that girl running with her firm young breasts jigging around so enticingly.  I did everything I could think of to stop myself thinking about her, and even tried closing my eyes in the hope that this would distract me.  When they came to do the physical examination, though, it was much more thorough.  The fat old hag and the exquisitely neat military gent spent ages running their hands over my body as I stood there trying to fight down the panic and embarrassment.  And then the woman said to Dan in her commanding tone “Now for the sexual apparatus.  Take off the slave’s covering, please.”

I saw Dan give me the look that implied that I’d better not protest or move or do anything, and he grabbed hold of the strings on my hips, and in one smooth movement pulled the G-string down so that it was hovering somewhere around my knees.  Both the woman and the man then squeezed my testicles, causing me to grunt nervously – although why they needed to do this, as they’d done so the day before and so ought to know I was a “genuine” male, I don’t know.  The military man then squared himself up in front of me, and said quietly “You’re the novice, so I’ll give you a little latitude here, but only a little, mind.  Now I can see you’re nervous, but I have to ‘skin you back so we can examine your penis properly… Hold steady now…”

Look, I’ve never had another bloke skin me back before.  Not even when those mutual wanking sessions with the porn were going on in the barracks – I was usually rock hard and “showing” by the time they got their hands on my cock.  And it’s not something another bloke can do for you easily, I find.  But this man seemed to be an expert, as he casually laid my cock in the palm of his hands, and teased  my ‘skin back with his thumb.

Those of you who have been cut from birth just don’t realise what a private thing a bloke’s cock head is – even when I was naked I knew that this part of me was not exposed to the rest of the world, so I retained some small (very small) shred of privacy.  But now here I was, totally and utterly naked, naked in a way that only a woman I was about to fuck normally saw. And to make matters worse the TV cameraman zoomed in on it as I was being “examined”, and I could see my cock head blown up to enormous size on the big TV screens around the show ring.  There was an appreciative round of applause form the audience though as the man ran his thumb over my moist, dark-coloured cock head, and as I started to throw a bone as his thumb nail gently scratched at my piss slit!

Fortunately he then just dropped me, looked at Dan and remarked “You can dress the slave now”, and moved on to do Joe.  Dan came and pulled my G-string back up, but whispered “Keep still… Let me do this!”, so I stood there as he fumbled to get my semi-stiff cock back under cover.  He was as gentle as he could be, but you know how it is – anyone else trying to do something like that can never be as careful as you would be yourself.

We had to run around the ring then, and at last my ordeal was coming to an end.  I knew they’d select the woman, but I heard the two judges muttering to each other about “encouraging new blood”, and the next instant Dan and me were being called out to the centre as “best of breed” in the Mid-Europeans, and the woman was only the reserve champion.

As Dan led me out there was an official from the Show standing there, who said “Follow me, sir, to the press room…. We keep all the reporters and photographers nicely corralled as we don’t want them spoiling the atmosphere, but in return we agree to take all the winning owners and their slaves for interview there.”

“I don’t know….”, Dan began.

“Sir”, the official hissed, “Think of the publicity! There are representatives from the national press and all the big  magazines for the slave-owning public…. Having your slave featured can add thousands to his value…”

Dan nodded, and my fate was sealed – not content with the humiliation of being in the show ring, I now had to stand there with flashbulbs going off all the time, and under the glare of the TV lights, as Dan was interviewed.  And then he stood there and “Showed” my fine points for the cameras, holding up my arms, resting his hand on my nip, and stuff like that.  It all seemed to go on for ages, as they seemed to take to Dan – well, he was young and personable, and he answered lots of questions about his job (“No, I work in construction – slave showing is only a hobby”) and his family (“My darling wife Julie will be so pleased I’ve won, but my little son is too young to know, and the new baby’s not due for another three months”) and his other hobbies (“I don’t have much time, with my family coming first, so I just kick a ball around with the lads in the park on Sunday mornings”):  I guessed he was just the sort of bloke they’d want to write stories about, rather than, for example, Trent’s bloated owner.

It was almost over at last, until I heard one of the reporters call out “Can you strip the slave for us, please Dan?  The readers of ‘Modern Slave Owner’ like to see the full picture of the slave.”

“Well, no…. I don’t think…”

“Oh come on, Dan!  Don’t disappoint the readers…”

Dan was wavering, still inclined to say no, when a reporter went up to him and told him he was a staff reporter from “Modern Slave Owner” and that he’d been on his mobile and they wanted to do an article on Dan – for which they’d pay – as he was just the sort of new owner people were interested in, him being a proper family man.  And of course it would have to be illustrated….  So for the second time that morning Dan reached down and almost tore off my G-string.

He left me in front of the photographers whilst he went off to talk terms with the reporter, and those blokes just wouldn’t leave me alone.  They had me sit down in a chair, stand up again, raise my arms, and then prop one foot on a chair “so we can get a better view of your balls hanging in free space”, and then started to shout that they wanted me erect!  I was blushing with embarrassment anyway, and furious with Dan for putting me trough this, and I just shook my head in refusal.

One of the show officials was standing there, and he came over as the reporters’ demands got more strident.  He held up a slave prod, and snapped “Do you know what this is, boy?”

Well I did, as we had one of the site, although it was never used.  “It’s a slave prod, sir.”

“Yes, indeed.  And we don’t tolerate disobedient slaves here at the Show – we have our reputation to think of!  It does little for our credibility as the best slave show in the world if one of our champions is disobedient.  So get that cock of yours hard, and get it hard now, before you find out what a slave prod does….”

Well, what choice did I have?  I stroked my cock, and it sprang to life:  I suppose ther are some advantages of having been aroused all morning.  The cameras flashed and snapped again, and they wanted several poses, of course – from  the front, from the side, and then with my hand on the shaft, gripping it, and then with my cock just lying in my palm.  And of course I had to ‘skin back as their readers were, apparently, interested in that sort of thing!  Actually, it’s not all that bad:  once you’ve got over the initial shock, it’s somehow a bit sexy to be showing your cock off to other blokes. Well, if you’ve got a good big one like I have it is, I suppose.

Dan could see I wasn’t all that happy as he led me back to the rest and preparation area,  but said “Come on, Steve!  Where’s the harm in it?  It doesn’t hurt to have  a few pictures….”

“I’ll remember that, if I ever get a chance to strip you and put you on show, Dan…”

He just smiled.  “I don’t think there’s much chance of me becoming a slave, or of you getting to strip me… Look, I think you’re making too much of this, Steve. Just remember that you’re a slave, and a slave ought to feel no shame in anything he does, if it’s at his master’s command.”

“That’s easy to say… But fucking hard to do…”

“Steve, watch your language!  You’re a champion now, and you’d better start to behave like one.”

I never thought I’d be glad to get those tiny shorts on, but I felt so much better just a little more covered, and then Dan said he’d take me to lunch, as that migt calm me down.  As we walked across the centre it hurt, though, as Dan insisted I wore my “best in breed” rosette, and it tugged at my nip very painfully.  It took a long time, too, as the public was very knowledgeable, it seemed, and kept stopping Dan and asking for his autograph, and requesting him to pose with me for pictures from their cameras.

When we got to the restaurant at last,  Dan said “I really ought to get you a dish of slave chow after that performance this morning….”

“Hey,  I won….”

“No, not that… I meant that disgraceful performance with the photographers – an official told me that I needed to keep you under much tighter control, as he’d almost had to prod you.  It would do you good, and help you to start thinking more like a slave, if perhaps you ate slave food, like Trent and Joe…”

I shrugged defiantly, as if to say “see if I care!”, and Dan snapped “That’s your problem, Steve – you’re not reconciled to slavery yet.  A proper slave would be grateful his master fed him at all.”

Still, it was only talk, as when we were in the queue Dan pushed a tray at me and muttered “You did do well actually, and you’ll make the boss and me a lot of money – and Christ knows, I need it!  So eat up, whatever you like… There won’t be much more of it, as those other owners are right: it is so much cheaper to feed slaves on chow.  When we get back I’m going to suggest  to the boss that he changes the site over – we could just have a big sack of it in the corner of the mess hall, and it would save us a small fortune on paying the caterers for all the proper food you slaves eat.”

I shuddered to think what my mates on the site would say – or do – once it became known that it was my attendance at the Slave Show that had resulted in them having to eat that disgusting stuff all the time – the proper food we got was, after all, just about the only pleasure we had in life at all,  as I’ve told you that life on the site was pretty kind of stripped down, with no luxuries or comforts.  Still, that didn’t prevent me from enjoying my big plate of Irish stew, with roly-poly and custard afterwards.  I’d just have to handle the problems that would arise when it happened –  don’t worry too much about what might happen, I reckon, and wait and deal with it when it does.

Dan took me to see one of the heats of the agility competition after lunch as we had time to kill, and as luck would have it I got to see Trent perform, as it was “pups” performing that afternoon.  It was, I suppose, quite exciting to watch:  the arena was filled with stuff like vaulting horses, and hurdles, and a big set of squares was suspended about  six feet above the floor.  It was a timed running of the course – the young lads (this seemed to be exclusively for male pups) had to sprint across a starting line, which began an electronic timer, then go all around the course in a particular order, vaulting  over the horses, jumping the hurdles, then climbing a rope to get access to the big set of squares in the air, and threading their bodies in and out of them before leaping down onto a trampoline, and leaping a couple more hurdles to cross the finishing line. You lost points if you disturbed a hurdle or stuff like that, but most of them seemed to get “clear rounds” and it was time that really counted.

Poor Trent didn’t do very well at all!  He got around the course all right, but he was slow in comparison with the others – I didn’t think it was all that fair, as most of the competitors were pups  that their owners had probably chosen specially for this event as they certainly couldn’t compete in those where their bodies were being judged – they were all mostly small, slight, verging on the starved, and thus very agile indeed and able to hurl themselves at the apparatus and really do it quickly.  Trent, though, was after all a potential Mid-European champion in years to come, so he was nicely muscled, big boned, and quite tall.  Even though you could see he was more than strong enough to haul himself over and through the obstacles on the course, and his legs and thighs moved nicely as he raced between them, there was just no way he could hope to do it quickly.  And like all us slaves chosen to have our bodies judged, Trent was well hung with a good set of loose balls and a thick cock, unlike most of the other entrants who still looked a bit “boyish” with tiny cocks mounted on top of small sacs:  it was a real disadvantage for him when he came to things like the rope he had to climb. You know how you have to wrap your body around it to make progress… I  think I wasn’t the only bloke in the audience who winced in sympathy with Trent at the thought of that rough hemp rope scraping against his tackle!

Still, the audience seemed to like him, and he got a big round of applause even though he came last – probably they were enjoying seeing such a well-built young slave, rather than the weedy specimens who were otherwise taking part.  The winner was really scrawny, and you could see all his ribs sticking out, and there was no way they could clip the winner’s rosette to his nips as they were almost non-existent.  I felt really sorry for him, as I could see him almost shivering with the cold, in spite of the heat from the lights, as he stood there:  there just wasn’t enough weight on him to keep him warm.  His owner was a big brute of a guy – about the same height as me, I reckon, but really heavy set, turning to fat, and when he reached out his arm to put it around the lad, I think we all saw the kid flinch:  you just knew that the owner probably only usually reached towards the kid to hit him.

I didn’t see Trent again, though, as his bench was empty when we got back to the rest and preparation area, and the Captain was just finishing putting Joe’s grooming stuff into his bag  in preparation for leaving, too.  Joe was sitting there in his “normal” clothes – his owner evidently kept him pretty much on display, as it was basically a loose vest, exposing a lot of his shoulders and allowing you to see his pecs as he moved, and loose-cut shorts, with very short legs so as he sat there I thought I could almost see his cock up them.

“See you around, then….”.  Joe stuck out his hand as he said this.  “You did well, for a novice.  But I’ll thrash you next time – is he gong to enter you in the Great North Show?”

“I shouldn’t think so – this was pretty much a one-off, as he needed the money….”

“Steve, get wise!  You’re a champion, best of breed. And you might even win the Caucasians group, or even be best in show yet…. But being best of breed is pretty good – your owner will want to exhibit you again, as there’s a lot more rich pickings in the prize money.  Let alone endorsing advertisements, and that sort of stuff – he’s a pretty good looking guy, and I saw the reporters mobbing him, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t some offers coming his way to appear on chat shows and stuff like that, and of course they’d want to see you, too.”

Actually, I hadn’t thought about all this stuff continuing at all, and I really didn’t like the idea at all.  But you can’t let another bloke know you’re a bit scared of things, can you, so I made a bit of a joke of it.  “Well I hope I get to wear more than that fucking G-string!  I don’t fancy flashing my bum on TV!”

“How do you feel about this afternoon then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well in the Group championship you don’t wear a G-string – it’s a loin cloth.  A little tiny thin one that they hang from a string around your waist.  They had a problem a few years back in that the TV people objected to the group entries appearing totally naked, but on the other hand most of the actual spectators had come to expect it.  So they had one of those great British compromises – this loin cloth thing.  When you’re standing still the cameras can show you as your cock is covered – just.  But when you’re running around the ring with your owner, it’s basically all on display.  You know how it is when you run naked – your cock bobs up and down….”

“No, I don’t…”

“I thought you were a pretty sporty type…”

“I was, in the army.  But we always wore a jock strap, or running shorts….”

“Well it will be another new experience for you, then – it feels funny at first, especially for us blokes with low-hangers as your balls slap into your thighs too.  But I expect you’ll get used to it.”

At that moment the Captain came over and Joe obediently got to his feet, and the Captain led him away.  Dan came over to me, and told me it was time to start oiling up for the Group championship, and added “He’s a nice guy, that Joe.  His owner says he works well, and isn’t a bit of trouble.  You got on with him well, didn’t you?”

“Yes.  He seems to know a lot about these slave shows.”

“It’s his owner’s hobby, really.  They don’t do a whole lot of things other than travel around.  They’re off to the USA next week for a big thing in Las Vegas…. Who knows, Steve, if you do well we might get there.  I’ve always wanted to go to the States, but I couldn’t afford it, getting married as soon as I left university – but if we were sponsored so that someone else picked up the bills…  You’d like to go there, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve been.  Twice.  Once on a training course and ‘exercises’ with the US Marines… We had a great time.  And then a couple of years later me and some of my mates took ourselves off for a week of sun in Florida after we’d been all winter doing exercises in Norway.”

“How did you afford that?”

“Dan, I was a soldier, and the pay’s not bad at all. I lived in the barracks, which is subsidised, and I didn’t have a mortgage, or a wife, or kids…. Other than beer on Saturdays I didn’t have many expenses. In fact I had quite a bit of savings – until they enslaved me, and they took it of course, as slaves don’t own things.”

Dan looked wistful for a moment.  “It sounds as if you had a better time than me… I’m always broke, and I don’t know how Julie gets through to the end of the month sometimes.”

I shrugged.  “Don’t get me wrong, but it’s your own fault, isn’t it?  You should have gone out and enjoyed life a bit before you had kids…”

Dan kind of glared at me, so I knew I’d struck home and was right.  “I wouldn’t be without Julie for the world, I….”

“So you made your choice, so stop complaining.  And after one kid, why did you stick her with another one?”

“You slaves think you’re the only horny blokes around”.  Dan was grinning now. “But even though I’m dog tired most of the time from work and commuting, I’ve still got lead in my pencil!  We went to her parents for Christmas and her dad took me down to the pub and wouldn’t let me buy a round or anything… Then when we got back to their place Julie had almost to help me up stairs…. And with one thing and another…. Well… She didn’t  want to fuck as she didn’t like her parents listening to us at it through the bedroom walls, so we didn’t take any precautions… But once I was next to her, well….. And now we’ve got the second one on the way.   I can still remember the look on my mother-in-law’s face the next morning, as once I got started I think it was one of my more memorable performances….”

He was really smiling now, and for a moment it was just as if we were two normal blokes talking about sex down in the pub, and bragging about our achievements, as you do.  But then Dan changed and became businesslike again.  “Anyway, enough of that!  We have to get you ready, as you can see why I need the money.  And I have to split it all fifty-fifty with the boss….”

Dan watched me as I rubbed the slave oil into my body, and them muttered “I’ve got to do all over your back again, Steve, as it’s a pretty minimal costume…. Lie down….”

It wasn’t quite so bad somehow to have his hands all over my bum this time – well, he clearly wasn’t a homo, so I reckoned I could put up with it.  But when I stood up and he handed me my “costume”, I at once saw that Joe had been right:  this tiny strip of white cloth can’t have been more than three inches wide, and I looked at it helplessly.  Dan looked a bit embarrassed, too, and I think he was flushing slightly as he handed me a thin gold chain.  “Put this around you, Steve – they say you have it as low as possible at the front, but it’s good to have it pressing into your bum a bit, about two inches below the start of your crack – it kind of ‘ adds emphasis ‘ they say. Then the cloth just hooks over the chain…”

“Please, Dan… Sir… Please don’t make me wear this.  It’s fucking humiliating….  It won’t cover my cock, hardly….  It was bad enough this morning with that G-string…. Can’t I wear that, at least…?”

Dan looked really sheepish.  “Steve, I agree with you, mate.  If it was up to me I wouldn’t make you go around like that – I reckon a bloke ought to be allowed to keep his cock to himself.  But it’s the Show regulations – all Group entries must be dressed the same.  Now come on – it’s not that bad really: you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of….”

“I wish people would stop telling me that they think I’m well hung…”

“Well you are, but that’s not what I meant.  I’ll remind you again that you ought not to be ashamed as you’re just obeying orders.  You are a slave, remember, and slaves do what their owners tell them. So if I told you to walk out into the centre of the site and take off your jeans and wank in front of all the other blokes, you oughtn’t to be ashamed of doing it, as you’d be showing them that you were a proper slave, obeying even when he’d rather not.   But anyway, all this is getting us nowhere.  Just put the fucking thing on, and let’s go….”

I stood there stark naked then for a couple of minutes, watched by a little crowd who’d seen that one of the Group entrants was being groomed, as I fiddled to get this chain “right” – it had to sit really low in front but not obstruct the movement of my bum cheeks as I walked. Although, as Dan reminded me as he inspected me, having it cut into the muscle slightly did really emphasise what a fantastic arse I had as it flared from the base of my spine.  Then when the little strip of cloth was hanging down, Dan held a mirror up so I could see myself – it was true that  I was covered, I suppose, as standing still like that you couldn’t see my cock or balls.  But even as I moved slightly to hold the mirror at a different angle,  I got a glimpse of my balls as the fabric moved.

I looked pleadingly at Dan again, but he just shrugged.  “Come on, Steve.  It will all be over in half an hour, try thinking of that…. Pretend it’s just like going to the dentist and will soon be over – that’s what my mom says when I’ve got to do something I’d rather not”

Well that thought wasn’t a whole lot of help to me as I followed Dan, on my leash, with the flashbulbs popping from all the cameras of the crowd as we made our way to the very biggest judging ring in the centre of the hall.  And it wasn’t true that it was only half an our, either!

Us Caucasians were a funny lot – a real mixture.  I was tall, dark and well built.; the “Scandinavian” was, as you’d expect, craggily handsome with blue eyes and a well-muscled body: he was a “stud”, so younger than me.  The “Slav” was older, though, and carried his thin athletic body well;  but when the “Mediterranean” came in, we all, I think, knew we’d lost – she was a dark-skinned stunner, flaunting her breasts and not seeming to care at all that her loin cloth barely covered her cunt. She smiled at us all and even came and touched us – causing the poor Scandinavian stud to lose it totally, and his cock came soaring up from behind his loin cloth.  She told us she was only a pup – but you know how it is with some girls of that age, they look as if they’ve had a lifetime of experience even though they might only be on their second or third bloke!  The Celt was the last to arrive, and he was, as you’d expect, pugnacious and bounded around telling us all that “the Taffs” were going to show us all how to do it.

There was the usual flurry of activity as the officials lined us up and checked our collars against their records – it’s funny how over those couple of days I’d got used to wearing a collar and now didn’t even feel the tag banging against my skin as I walked – and then we stood there as the announcements were made.

The lights dimmed, and the first of us was led into the arena.  They made a big thing of it, with each of us being walked by our owners right around the ring, with a spotlight playing on us and the lights otherwise dimmed, and with our particulars being read out again.  When it was my turn I found it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, as although the audience could see me quite clearly, I couldn’t really see them, and it was almost as if I was just walking across a room with my cock bouncing around.  And it was quite good, I suppose, to hear myself described as “Champion Steve, winner of the Mid-Europeans, who at twenty six obviously has a long and successful career in the show ring to look forward to.”  I liked that, “Champion Steve”, and in one of those odd thoughts that come to you from time to time, I wondered if my mates on the site would start calling me “Champ”, as we’re great ones for nicknames.

The inspection was totally thorough, as you’d expect, and a new element was introduced at this level:  after the general feeling of my body and arms and stuff, I had to climb up onto a small table and kneel down, with my legs apart and my head pressed down onto the table.  If you could have seen my face you’d have known it was beetroot-red from the shame of having my arse right up in the air (and the TV cameras looking right in to it!).  They spent a whole lot of time then really fondling my balls as they hung there, kind of “jiggling” them up and down between my thighs as if testing to see just how lose I hung.  And then I had to come up so my palms were on the table, as that’s a very good test of stomach tone:  the judge ran her hands underneath me from my pecs down over my ribs and along my belly as I knelt there, and I heard her muttering to herself “Very good, excellent muscle tone, not a trace of lose skin or fat.”

I didn’t win, though: as I expected, the Mediterranean bitch stole the show: but I was the reserve champion (i.e. second), and the Scandinavian bloke was third.  Outside the ring, Dan was really pleased, though “That’s fantastic, Steve!  Your first show, and to be reserve Champion in the Caucasians….  And we still get a big prize, so the boss will be pleased.”

One of the officials told us though that for the Group championships the first, second and third were all needed in the press room, so we went there and I stood around a bit, with the young Scandinavian next to me, as we watched the bitch flash her tits for the cameras, toss her hair and pout, and do all those things that women who are very aware of their sexual powers do.  Then the press decided they wanted to photograph all three champions together, as “those men would make a nice contrast with the woman”, and so I was made to stand on one side of her, and the Scandinavian on the other.

Look, it’s one thing to stand there and watch a woman flaunt herself, but quite another to stand right next to her with your bare skin touching hers!  There were hoots of laughter from the pressmen as they asked for our loincloths to be taken off “as they’re not doing any good anyway, with both of those guys hard as hell”.  I must have been getting used to having people commenting about my cock by now, as although I was really uncomfortable as my erection was so hard, it hadn’t occurred to me that the whole room could see it.

They wanted us to “pose”, then, and I could tell it was as bad for the Scandinavian guy as it was for me: I had to cup one of her breasts in my hand whilst he cupped the other, and we looked at each other across her as we did this, and I wondered if he hated the way his cock must be pressing into her skin as much as I did mine, as we were all three so close together. Then us two blokes had to kneel on either side of her and look at each other – and that was truly awful, as our faces were right down by her cunt, and we both got that scent that says “female”:  our response is programmed into us somewhere, I think, by millions of years of evolution, as I could feel my cock twitching in frustration at being this close to sex.  It was even more humiliating, though, when they called out to her to put her hands on our heads, “To show she was superior”.  Well, I mean, it’s not right to photograph a bloke making it look as if some woman is controlling him, is it?

Most of the press went away then, but there were a couple of cameramen left and one “reporter”.  He sidled up to Dan and the owner of the Scandinavian guy and pointed at us. “Your guys are pretty fired up, I see – really good, solid erections.  And they’re both leaking pre-cum.”  I blushed as I heard his, as although I hadn’t reached down to touch my cock, I knew it must be true as I was so stimulated.

“Seems a pity to waste it – would you gentlemen be prepared to let them take part in a photo spread for ‘Slaves At Play’?  We pay a very good rate for those articles as they’re syndicated around he world, and it’s rare to get three such beauties as these all together…. “

The owner of the Scandinavian nodded, but Dan asked “What’s involved?”

“You’re not a reader of ‘Slaves At Play’, evidently, sir!  The world’s premier magazine devoted to the beauty of the human form, showing how slaves perform uninhibitedly…”

“No.  I don’t buy porn…”

“It’s not porn, sir.  You’re wrong there!  We only show pictures of slaves, and then only to show owners in general what slaves are capable of.  We like to think that it’s educational.”

“I’m not sure I want Steve to take part in some sort of lewd display…”

“If you’ll look at the slave, sir, I’d say he was ready for it!  And the fees are exceptional…”  He turned away then so the rest of the sentence was lost to me, especially as the Scandinavian leaned closer to me and whispered “It looks as if we’re going to get to fuck the bitch.  My name’s Torsten, by the way….”

“Steve.  Are you really a Scandinavian, then?”

“Fuck no!  Born and bred in Streatham.  But when my owner started showing me, he renamed me as he thinks Scandinavians ought to have Scandinavian sounding names!  I’m really Matt, but I’m not allowed to use that now.”

I really felt sorry foe the bloke – I mean, not only was his freedom taken away, but he wasn’t even allowed to use his own name.  I whispered back “What do you mean anyway… ‘Get to fuck….’?”

“Haven’t you ever read ‘Slaves At Play’?”


“Well it’s one of those picture magazines that specialise in showing ‘slave life as it is’, they say.  What they mean is pictures of slaves fucking – it would be against the law to show men and women doing it, but it’s OK to show slaves as they’re not men and women, they say.  Not that I think that’s anything like life as a slave – my owner never lets me fuck anything normally.  I expect it’s the same for you.”

“Yes – I haven’t had a woman since I was enslaved.  I work on a construction site, and they don’t allow women into our barracks at night.”

“Well you’re OK anyway, with all the other slaves around you  – it must be fun in there once they’ve closed the doors for the night.  I’m the only slave my owner has, and for me it’s fucking the old five-fingered widow, or nothing.”

“Hey, we don’t fuck in the barracks!  What do you take me for?  Some sort of queer?”

Torsten just shrugged.  “As far as I know, all men who live together always fuck – it’s not being  ‘queer’ at all – it’s just normal.  That’s what blokes do.  But if you say you don’t, who am I to care?  Still, if you haven’t fucked for some time, you must be looking forward to it…”

“You bet I am.  But which of us is going first?  I don’t like ‘sloppy seconds’ as the Americans call it.”

Actually, standing there naked having this conversation with Torsten was really erotic.  I think blokes who are waiting to fuck do “bond”, and it’s as if seeing each others cocks straining in readiness really encourages you.  It’s only happened to me a couple of times before – I particularly remember one night in Berlin where we’d been sent as some sort of honour guard to take part in some celebratory parade or other.  That night we really hit the Bier Kellars, and by the time we realised we needed women, we were pretty broke.  So four of us decided to pool what cash we had left and hire one “reasonable” prostitute, rather than each risking his cock in some really cheap, old, vile, pus-scabbed whore.  We tossed coins to decide who went first, and the other three of us stood there stroking our cocks watching our mate go at it.  Well, this was a bit like that – the anticipation, talking to another bloke, was just heightened.

Dan and Torsten’s owner came over then and looked at us.  “So do you want my Torsten or your slave to fuck the bitch?”, Dan was asked.

“Go on, Dan!  Tell him you want me to do it first”, I wanted to shout out. “I don’t mind all you blokes watching – a man using a woman properly has nothing to be ashamed of, and that arrogant bitch needs to feel a real man’s cock in her, showing her what she’s for”. But I kept silent, and didn’t actually say anything.

But before Dan could reply, the guy in charge came over and said something to them.  Dan looked a bit doubtful, and there was some negotiation that resulted in a small roll of notes being handed over to Dan, who then shook his head in agreement.

“Right, you slaves.”, we were told.  “The young blond one is going to start fucking the woman.  And when he’s got started, the big hairy guy is going to start to fuck him.  It  will be just that bit different. And our readers are always after novelty.”

I was about to shout “No fucking way!”, when I saw Torsten grinning.  “So I get to fuck the bitch, Steve.  And you get to fuck me.  Wow – I get double the fun. But I expect you’ll have a good time – my owner never has anything to complain about when he fucks me.”

His sheer acceptance of this shook me to the core.  I felt as if I’d look like some sort of wimp if I protested now, and, anyway, I’d seen Dan taking all that cash, and I doubted I’d get him to change his mind.  And, for some reason, my cock, which was already rock hard and had been for some time, now started to throb and pulse, and I began to get worried that I might shoot there and then.

To be continued …

Click here to see all published chapters

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