A kinky story written by Pete Brown | Chapter 6
I watched Torsten, who was now perhaps excessively excited, start to fuck the bitch. She was lying on her back in the classic missionary position, so I could see his muscular arse and thighs driving his cock and out of her just as if it was a piston. Before he started, though, there was one more level of humiliation we had to go through – they made Torsten and I stand there side by side with our arms around each others shoulders whilst the bitch was on her knees in front of us rolling condoms onto our rock-hard cocks. Well that wouldn’t have been so bad – I didn’t object to the feel of Torsten’s skin against mine as I was used to a bit of body contact with other guys in the showers and stuff. And I didn’t mind her rolling a condom on to me either – that’s what all the prostitutes do usually, as they won’t let you have a decent bareback fuck. No, what made it awful was the fact that as well as the journalist who was “directing” this show, there were two cameramen with those cameras with long snouts on them, so they can get really tight close-ups, and they weaved and dodged around sticking the lenses in between us, and at us. The thought that all of this was being recorded and would appear in some fucking magazine made it truly dreadful.
Anyway, there I was, with a condom on and my cock rock hard watching young Torsten perform. It was really erotic, as I’ve told you she was a good looking bitch, and Torsten was a handsome bloke and knew what he was doing. There was that wonderful scent of sex in the air, and Torsten’s grunts and shouts as he pistoned away, and her screams and cries, were really turning me on. Mind you, you could tell she was like a lot of women, and faking it: every now and then one or other of the cameramen would shout “Give us a smile!”, or “Let’s see that he’s really hurting you”, and instantly her face would change. I’d thought she was really turned on when it first started, but soon saw that she was like a lot of prostitutes and could make you feel you were the most experienced lover in the world, or the next best thing to a rapist. Still, that’s typical of them, I reckon.
When he was well stuck in, and I thought he must be about to cum, they told Torsten to stop but to remain in her, as it was now time for me to mount him. When they’d first said I’d got to do this, I’d been really worried as I didn’t think I could give it to another bloke, but the sight of them fucking away had kept me hard, so perhaps it was going to be all right. The “director” came up to me and gave me a knowing grin, the sort that says “we’re men, and we know what to do!”.
I wasn’t so sure, but he snapped “I want a real good, hard fuck from you, so that the young blond really feels it, and it makes him go at her even harder than he has been, as he thrusts forward to try to get away from that cock of yours. Have you ever done this before?”
“No”, I muttered, blushing as I said it, as it’s not strictly true, and I hate lying. Look, I don’t want you to think I’m queer, as genuinely before this time I hadn’t fucked a bloke’s arse, or even thought about it. I don’t go for blokes, and I’d just the occasional mutual wank, which I’ve told you about. And of course sometimes I did let one of the blokes in my unit who liked that sot of thing suck my cock (after all, one set of lips is much like another). But I’d never even considered a bloke’s arse as something I’d want to do. No, I was blushing because I had fucked arse – well, if I was just a bit drunk and the woman I was with had been a real cow, I’d tell her I was going to fuck her doggy style. Then, when she was on her hands and knees and I was kneeling behind her, I’d slip my cock in her arse instead of what she was expecting. It was usually a real laugh, for me at least. If she’d been disrespectful to me all evening she’d now see how bitches deserved to be used. There was usually a lot of screaming at the time, and sometimes shouting and throwing things afterwards, but it all adds to the fun of a night out, I think.
I looked at Torsten’s arse and it wasn’t all that different from a bitch’s – well, he was shaved clean, and most of them didn’t do that. So I started to move in-between his legs, and the director shouted “No, get that stupid condom off first! Our readers like to see real sex when it’s between blokes, with none of that namby-pamby ‘protection’. Just raw cock on raw arse, that’s the way men do it.”
Well that was a good thing. I hate having sex with my cock wrapped in a plastic mac. I reached down and unrolled the condom and dropped it on the floor contemptuously, and was about to go for it when the director called again “Hey, we don’t want that slave damaged! For fuck’s sake lubricate him and stretch him a bit first or that monster of yours will tear his membranes! Are you an idiot or something? A big bloke like you ought to know how to fuck!”
I looked around helplessly, as we were doing this in the press room and there didn’t seem to be any containers of lube or anything around. “Get on with it, slave!”, he shouted again. ” A gob of spit should do it, and it will make a good picture to see you flobbing at his hole.”
Look, I’d never done this before, so I didn’t really know what to do. Well, I had stuck my finger up my own bum of course, as most blokes do when they’re wanking and are at a bit of a loss for inspiration, and I knew that it was easier to do this with a wet finger. But the problem was the angle – when you do it to yourself it’s one way, isn’t it? And now here was Torsten’s bum positioned quite differently. Still, I licked my forefinger well, and went and stood by the side of him as he lay there on top of the bitch, and pushed his bum cheeks apart with one hand and positioned my finger at his hole. It was really interesting, as you probably know – as soon as the tip of my finger touched his hole, it kind of contracted and Torsten shuffled his feet as if reflexively. I wiggled and pushed, and my finger slid into him quite easily – I reckon this wasn’t the first time young Torsten had had this done! I explored around inside him a bit and felt the little walnut of his prostate – I struck gold there, as he moaned appreciatively, and shuffled his feet even more.
They had to tell me the shot they really had in mind, though: I had to kneel down between his legs and use both hands to pull his bum apart, and then fill my mouth with spit and really flob it at him. My big gob started to roll down towards his balls that were hanging there, much to the delight of the photographers, and they told me to get my finger stuck in again quick, before it all ran away. I think the thing you don’t realise is that when you’re kneeling there like that you do have an amazing view of a bloke’s pucker – I’d never really seen one “up close” like that before, and it does show you how marvellous the human body is, doesn’t it? Something relatively small like that can keep all your shit and stuff in, and yet when it has to, can easily stretch to take even a big cock like mine.
For some reason the sigh of Torsten’s pucker, and the incredible scent that I’d been breathing in as I knelt there had really turned me on, and I had absolutely no problem in remaining hard and getting right up to him. Then as I stroked my cock up and down his ass crack I almost went wild – you ‘skinned blokes who are reading this probably don’t realise just how sensitive your cock head is when it first comes out to play, and having it rubbed up and down an arse crack is just so different, especially as you keep touching the pucker as you do, and a wholly different sensation floods through you.
They kept photographing me, but then they said “OK, slave, in you go!”
Well, I knew that it was going to be difficult, as I remembered from the bitches I’d taken that way that you had to push hard to get your cock head in – it’s not like that when you’re fucking a woman properly, and it was a long time since I’d taken one of them up the arse. But perhaps your body “knows” these things, perhaps it’s imprinted somewhere in our genes after millions of years of blokes fucking each other, because I found one hand “naturally” went to keep Torsten’s bum apart, and the other “naturally” held my cock shaft to stop it buckling, so that it would go in. I mean, when all those ancient hunters were away for days on end they must have done something at night, and I reckon the chief honcho would have simply used the young tribesmen as it would be his right; and that “racial memory” lives on in blokes.
It was so exciting after that that I completely forgot any feelings of shame that I might have had about fucking a bloke. Torsten had grunted and shouted a bit when I went in to him, and I started to “play” him, seeing how much of my dick he could take before shouting again for me to stop. And then when I was right t in and the front of my thighs were feeling the warmth of his legs , I started to fuck him. It wasn’t the same as fucking cunt. No, it was better – Torsten gripped my cock much harder and so it was fantastically good physically. But more than that, it was the feeling of total power and control that I had over him – by thrusting harder or slower, or by almost pulling right out and then slamming in, or by very slow, gentle strokes, I could make young Torsten shout or groan or cry out just as if he was some complex instrument. And I knew that this was how it was meant to be- hard, tough older guys like me ought to show their dominance and control over young studs like Torsten. The “tribal elders” presumably always had their management of the tribe reinforced this way, and so it was natural for me to enjoy doing it, wasn’t it? This is how we evolved, and there couldn’t be anything wrong with it.
The director kept calling instructions and Torsten started to fuck the bitch as I fucked him, and it was amazing how quickly we got into a rhythm so that as he pulled back my cock was pushed further in to him, and I reckon we were all enjoying it (well you couldn’t be sure, with that bitch, as I said). We went on and on and I was right on the edge, desperate to cum, but doing everything I could to hold back as I wanted it all to go on for ever. But then Torsten gave a great cry and his back arched up – again, those age-old human reflexes cut in and I grabbed his shoulders and pulled his body back against mine, to drive my cock just those few millimetres more into him. I could feel ripples of sensation going through his body as he pumped his cum into her (or, more accurately, into the condom). When he was done, I let him fall back and he lay there on her, caressing her tits and biting at her neck in a frenzy. It was too much – I felt myself begin to cum, and the director must have been watching for signs of this as he shouted “Pull out! Pull out! We want to see your cum all over his back!”
It must be my army training, as even when my brain is engaged elsewhere, as it certainly was then, I do tend to obey the orders of someone in charge. So I stood there then pumping my cum along Torsten’s sweating back. It was a really long, thick slick – I do tend to produce a lot of cum anyway, and I hadn’t wanked for over twelve hours and so I was even more prolific on this occasion. It lay there, milky white against his bronzed skin, and that special scent filled the air. I stood there, my chest heaving as I gasped for breath after the mammoth exertions I’d been making, the sweat running down me, as the last few dribbles of cum fell off the end of my cock, hung there for an instant, and fell to the floor.
It was all over then, except that they wanted a few more shots of me and Torsten, and Torsten and the bitch, afterwards. It was only then that I realised Dan was looking at me open mouthed with astonishment., I went over to him. “OK, Dan? Did I do all right?”
“Fucking hell, Steve! I thought you said you didn’t fuck blokes..”
“I don’t. I’ve never done that before. I guess I must be a natural!” I was smiling as I said this, trying to make a bit of a joke to lighten the atmosphere, but I didn’t understand the rather strange look that then flickered across Dan’s face .
There was a bit of a problem then because we were all covered in sweat, Torsten’s back was running with my cum, and my cock was covered in his arse juices. All the three of us slaves had were the tiny scraps of loin cloth that we’d been exhibited in, and there was just no way that we cold make our way back to the preparation and rest area in that state. It was easy for the bitch, as she just pulled a tablecloth off the table and wrapped that around her like some sort of exotic toga. Torsten’s owner must have been anticipating the possibility of this photo shoot as he had a lightweight tracksuit for him. So it looked as if it was going to be just me who was going to suffer total humiliation as the stink of my body and the obvious signs of sex were made obvious to the public.
“Dan, sir, please could you go to the rest area and get me some shorts or something – I can’t walk back through the crowds like this….”
Dan looked at me, and muttered “I suppose so. But I waned to get away now – we’re not staying for the rest of it, and we’ll lose a good twenty minutes if I have to go all the way there, and all the way back. Come on, Steve, it won’t matter – no one will notice.”
“Dan, you just noticed yourself! And you know how they all cluster around, and want to take pictures. I can smell the stink from my cock myself…. Of course they’ll notice….”
“Look, I’m not going to waste time. The traffic gets very bad on the motorways around here, as it’s nearly rush hour…”
He gave a shrug, and then, as I watched, unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans. Then he turned around so his back was to me, and pulled off his boxer shorts. It was fucking ridiculous, really – after all, I’d seen him naked in the showers, so why was he embarrassed now? But some blokes are like that in the changing rooms, I think, so perhaps Dan was one of those. It’s silly, really, as I think a bloke looks funny standing there with his shirt tails barely covering his bum, and his legs sticking out underneath, and there’s something a bit comical about it. Still, Dan had a nice bum and good strong thighs – so it wasn’t all bad.
I continued to watch as he pulled up his jeans, turning around as he tucked his cock in and buckled his belt. He picked up his boxer shorts off the floor, and tossed them to me. “Here! This should cover your modesty…”
“Dan, those are yours… I just saw you take them off…..”
“Steve, you’re the one whining on about not going around naked. Now I’ve gone to all this trouble, put the fucking shorts on!”
“I can’t wear your underwear. Your dirty underwear….”
“They’re not dirty! They were clean on this morning. Now, as I said, I’ve gone to all this trouble – put the fucking things on, or else on Monday I’ll tell all your mates that you really got turned on by fucking arse. I bet they don’t know that – you always seem to be telling stories about fucking women….”
“Try me! Now, do as I say. Or put your loincloth back on.”
Well I wasn’t going to risk it, was I? So gingerly I picked up Dan’s boxer shorts – they were of thin cotton, with pale blue stripes on a white background, with an open fly at the front. I held them open and looked in, and Dan was right – they were clean, at least in the sense that there were no obviously visible skid marks!
Look, have you ever worn another bloke’s underwear? We had to do it sometimes in the barracks when the laundry hadn’t come back and you’d run out of your own – you’d borrow a mate’s then, but they’d have been clean from out of his locker. Even so, it felt funny putting them on, and all the other blokes would laugh at you. But these were crumpled from where Dan had been wearing them, and warm from his body. And as I slowly stepped into them and pulled them up, I realised they were damp from his sweat, too – I felt I could almost feel the moisture in the crotch seam as I pulled them up high and it touched my balls.
Still, at least my cock and balls were out of public sight now – just! Dan’s a lot smaller than me so those boxers were really tight on me and I was worried that my cock would pop out of the fly at any moment. But they came up higher than the “show” shorts I’d been wearing most of the week, so at least my bum crack was now decently below the waistline (just!). Dan led me back to the rest and preparation area by the leash, and quickly threw the few things we had there into his sports holdall, and then it was back to the “reception” area where Dan gave them my show number and the box with all my clothes in it was produced.
It was such a relief to get back into proper clothes that I didn’t mind the fact that there were all the heads poking over the temporary screening that was around the changing area, supposedly to protect our modesty. And as I tugged my jeans on – fuck me, but it felt good to have cloth pressing against m thighs again – I realised I wasn’t even noticing an attractive bitch who was standing naked just opposite me as her owner held up several sets of panties, deciding which he would give her to wear. Dan had told me to keep his boxers on, as he thought my regular underpants made me look stupid, and he picked up the old fashioned things and simply dropped them into a litter bin. But one of the “heads” poking over the wall who had been watching me intently called out “Please….. If those are the champion’s old ones, can I have them, please?”
Dan looked a bit surprised and reached into the bin to pull my old underpants out. He went over to the bloke and said “Yes, Steve wore these – but they’re pretty rank, as he was sweating a lot when we arrived and they haven’t been washed….”
The bloke smiled at Dan, but looked a bit sheepish. “Yes… I know…. Actually, that’s why I like them…..”
Dan just handed the pants over and walked back to me, looking a bit disgusted. “Fuck me, Steve! He actually wanted your dirty stuff!”
“It’s like Japan, Dan. Quite a lot of schoolgirls there sell their panties to old businessmen! You can even get them from vending machines at the railway stations in Tokyo, a mate of mine told me when he’d been there. And they cost quite a lot of money, too. And, after all, every now and then you see blokes auctioning their underwear on e-Bay – there was a bloke in the barracks who had quite a nice little thing going doing that: every now and then they’d notice and block his auctions, but the prices of his ‘used’ stuff were about five or ten times that of ‘new’. He used to go off and buy twelve or more pairs of pants, use them day by day, (and, the rest of us reckoned, he wanked into them, too), and put them up for auction. He was making a tidy sum on it, but then we got posted to Germany, and it wasn’t as easy to get to the post office.”
“You are a mine of information, Steve. If I’d known all that before I gave away your old stuff I might have asked the bloke to pay for them: every bit of money is useful for me now.”
He was evidently in a good mood though, and as we walked out of the hall and towards the car park it was just as if we were a couple of mates out together for the day who’d decided to enjoy ourselves by coming to the Slave Show to look at the women. In my jeans and T and work jacket I didn’t look all that different to Dan, who was dressed much the same except that perhaps his boots were fresh and clean, not all scuffed as mine were from working in them. Of course if anyone took a second look at us they’d have known instantly, as the bright green show collar was around my neck still – at one time it used to be quite fashionable for blokes to wear chains and stuff around their necks, and you’d see young men with beads on leather thongs even. But since the introduction of Indentured Service no free man now ever wore anything around his neck, and so anything at all there was a sure sign that the bloke was a slave: I seem to remember now that at the time there were some stories in the papers about how some jewellers had gone out of business as people had stopped buying necklaces and stuff.
The Friday night traffic was all fucked up as usual as the lemmings all tried to get home, or away for the weekend, and it took hours for us to get out of the Centre, along the motorway, and then the main roads back to Steve’s place. I just sat there and relaxed, my feet up on the dashboard, as Dan cursed and swore at the time it was taking: I offered to drive, as the army had taught me, but Dan pointed out that only free men were allowed to be in charge of a vehicle, and that he couldn’t let me do it as his insurance wouldn’t be valid.
“What about all those delivery trucks and stuff then?”
“It’s part of the way they keep some employment for unskilled free blokes, Steve. They have to have a proper driver – although most of them now have a slave taken along to do all the loading and unloading. Don’t you remember there was almost rioting in London when the new laws were coming in? All the taxi drivers knew they’d be out of work, so they all formed up and just drove around and around Parliament Square and Whitehall and Trafalgar Square: hundreds and hundreds of them. The police couldn’t do anything as they didn’t stop or anything, just drove around and around – and the blockages as normal traffic couldn’t get along the Embankment or Piccadilly or anywhere soon spread, and the whole place was brought to a virtual halt for three days – until the government caved in, and changed the Indenture laws to make it illegal for slaves to do drive.”
“So what’s next?”, I asked him.
“Well really I ought to take you down to London tonight and lock you back in the slave hut on the site, as you’re supposed to be at work tomorrow. But I’m so fucking tired, so I’m going to take you home with me and call the Boss and explain. I don’t really want to have to go into London tomorrow, either, as weekends are the only time I get with Julie and little Shane… I think he almost wonders who this bloke is who appears at weekends, as he’s not awake when I have to leave in the morning and he’s asleep by the time I get back. But, if needs must, we’ll go up on the early train and I can be back for lunch.”
I nodded. “Couldn’t you live a bit closer?”
“Probably, but the prices…. It would be in a really dreadful area, living in a couple of rooms… The house we’ve got here is no palace, and it’s minute, but we’ve got a bit of garden which is nice for Shane, and the neighbours are all OK, mostly young families like us, in the same boat, scrabbling to get a foot on the housing ladder. Sometimes I don’t think you slaves realise how lucky you are, living on the job, with all that time to spare in the evenings….”
“Oh come off it, Dan – you can’t possibly believe that! What do you think we can do with all that fucking spare time? We’re not allowed out, and we’ve got no money even if we could leave.”
Dan looked a bit irritated that I’d questioned him. “Steve, I’ve told you before – I think you ought to call me ‘sir’! You were doing quite well at it until you won at the Show, and I think it’s gone to your head! It’s in your own interests, you know – I don’t mind the occasional lapse into over-familiarity for a slave, but some of the men on the site do, and they might order a punishment for you.”
“Sorry, sir.” I made the “sir” heavy with sarcasm, as I recognised that Dan was only using this to avoid debating with me the way that slaves were treated on the site – as I’ve told you it was pretty good compared with the way some slaves had to live their lives, but nothing at all like actually having freedom of choice and being able to do what you wanted.
“I don’t like that one, Steve! Now cut it out – I thought we were getting on well, and I was going to reward you with a nice homely evening tonight as I’ve called Julie on my mobile and she’s getting us supper.”
“Sorry, sir.” I was sarcastic again. “That was the problem with officers too, sir. Always thinking they hear something in what blokes say. Young guys, wet behind the ears, fresh out of Sandhurst and thinking they know everything, whereas it was us experienced men who’d been in for years, been in battles, done duty in all sorts of places….”
“Is that how you think of me, Steve? ‘Wet behind the ears’? I know I’m younger than you, but I do a responsible job, helping to manage the site, and I’m properly trained. For fuck’s sake, how difficult is it for slaves like you to dig trenches and stuff, provided the ‘officers’ like me have marked them out and everything?”
I lapsed into a sullen silence then and we drove on for about an hour without saying anything at all. Then Dan broke in. “Look, Steve, I know it’s hard for tough bloke like you who’s seen a lot of life to be turned into a slave, and have to obey orders from free men who are younger, and not as fit, and not as big, and who haven’t seen as much of life…. And you’re obviously clever – some of the slaves are as thick as two short planks, but you seem to know what’s what. So why don’t you just accept that things are different for you now, and try to make the best of it? Life may not be good as a slave, but it could be an awful lot worse if the other supervisors on the site decided you were one of those slaves with ‘attitude’, and that it needed to be beaten out of you….”
I just sat there in silence, as he was right of course. Seeing that he’d struck home, Dan lowered his voice and went on “So let’s have no sullen silences, or displays of petulance, shall we? Julie’s going to be pleased to see me home, we’ve got good news for her as she’s always worried about money, and I don’t want the evening spoiled, OK? Either you decide now to behave properly, or I’ll stop at the next garage, but a bag of slave chow, and you can spend the night locked in the back of the van.”
“Look, Dan…. Sir… I’m sorry, but you don’t appreciate how hard it is…”
“Yes I do, Steve! Do you think I have it easy? The Boss is an oaf, really. It’s the supervisors like me who really run the site, but at the daily update meetings we have to listen to him going on and on, not agreeing with our plans, all that sort of stuff. It happens all the time, and I just have to keep my trap shut as at the end of the day it’s going to be him who decides who gets promoted – and Christ knows I could do with a pay rise! It’s not so different, if you think about it.”
We stopped talking then, but now it was a kind of friendly, companionable silence, and it was just as if we were two mates going home after a hard day’s work.
I felt really envious when we got back to his little box of a house. As soon as we stopped in the drive (which was barely long enough to take the van, so closely were the houses packed together to save on the cost of land), Julie rushed out and he swept her off her feet, hugging her and kissing her as if they’d been separated for weeks, rather than days. I felt a bit envious, actually, as there’s never been anyone like that who had been so pleased to see me, even when I’d been away for months in some pretty dangerous places. Then they went in, squeezing through the narrow front door side by side as if they didn’t want to be separated.
“Move yourself, Steve!”, Dan called. “Get my bag out of the back, and get in here….”
Well this was one order I didn’t mind obeying, and inside the house it was kind of comforting – there was an appetising smell of cooking, and Julie said “hello” just as if I was a mate of Dan’s, rather than his slave, and Dan told me to sit down, and then brought me a beer out of the fridge! I hadn’t ad alcohol for I can’t remember how long, and that beer was fantastic, even though it was one of the cheap supermarket own-brands, and not a proper premium one as we’d al drunk in the army. They’d got the gas fire on in the tiny living room, and I stretched my feet out towards it as I sat on the sofa, and the world seemed a happier place all of a sudden.
Dan came out of the kitchen – well, not out, exactly, as there was only a half-wall separating the living room from the minute kitchen to try to make it seem bigger: there was no door as such, and I’d been able to hear he and Julie kissing and murmuring to each other. “Take those fucking boots off, Steve! Haven’t you got any manners? And I can’t afford a new carpet, you know, if you stain it with dirt or anything.”
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t think…. I’m not used to being a guest.” Well that was true – not just since being a slave, either. Blokes in the army don’t get invited into too many private houses either. I sat there and wriggled my toes in front of the fire then, and the effect of just that one beer made me feel sleepy as I was so unused to it. I must have been dozing as Dan had to shake me awake to tell me to get into the kitchen, and all three of us sat around the table and prepared to eat.
Julie had done a roast chicken – I suppose it’s the cheapest sort of meat – and it was a minute one at that. If I’d seen it in a take-away, I’d probably have bought the whole thing for myself. But Dan carved it and put the slices on three plates, and even left some of the thing “for tomorrow”. I helped myself to huge amounts of vegetables, but even so I was still hungry at the end of it, and looked hopefully at the remains of the bird, hoping that Dan might offer seconds – but he didn’t. Afterwards there was trifle, and even though Julie gave me almost twice as much as she and Dan had, I was still hungry at the end of the meal.
We went back into the living room then and Dan gave me another beer, and he and Julie sat close together with his arm around her as he told her about the Slave Show and how well we’d done. Then he pulled the big wad of cash he’d been given for the photographs, and gave it to her “to help out with the bills.”
“I thought the prizes would be in cheques”, she told him.
“They are. And I have to take them to the boss and split them with him. But this is a little extra, something I arranged for Steve to do, and what the boss doesn’t know about, he won’t care about…”
“What on earth could Steve do at the show, that produced this much money?”
Dan looked a bit shifty, and muttered “Oh, nothing much….”
“Dan! Nothing much? There’s a lot of money here! What did you do?”
“Oh I arranged for a photographer to take some pictures. Steve’s a champion, you know.”
“How exciting! Will he be in next week’s ‘Slave owner’? I’ll go down to the newsagent and get a copy….”
“No, not that one.”
“Which one then, Dan? I’d like to get a copy, as a souvenir.”
“Oh, I don’t remember…. I shouldn’t worry about it.”.
Julie looked at me. “Which magazine was it, Steve?”
Without thinking, I just said “Slaves At Play”.
Julie pushed herself away from Dan, looking very surprised. “Dan, that’s a disgusting magazine! One of the girls had a copy at that ‘party’ two weeks ago where they were selling all that soap and stuff – we passed it around and a lot of them were laughing at it, but I don’t think it was very funny…. Some of the things they made the slaves do was pure pornography.”
She turned to me then, looking concerned. “Steve, Dan didn’t make you do something awful, did he? You weren’t one of those slave s made to have intercourse with a woman, just to titillate the readers?”
I didn’t know what to say. So I mumbled “No, not exactly…”
“What do you mean? ‘Not exactly’? You men are really stupid sometimes. Surely you can remember whether you were made to go with some poor female or other…..”
I just at there, looking down in embarrassment. “Steve, answer me!”, she said, her voice getting sharper. Then, as I continued to be silent, she turned to Dan. “Dan, tell me at once! Did you or did you not make Steve go with some poor woman?”
I thought the crisis was over, as Julie relaxed, but after a few seconds she turned to him again. “So what’s all this money for, then? They didn’t pay you all that just to take photographs of Steve standing there, surely?”
It was Dan’s turn to be silent now, and Julie rounded on me next. “Now Steve, stop sitting there as if you’ve been struck dumb! What did Dan make you do? I insist you tell me if he made you have sex with a female for public display.”
I sat there silent again, and now it was clear she knew that something had happened. “Steve, answer me! Did Dan make you have sex?”
Well, what was I supposed to do? I was blushing, and shuffling my feet uneasily, and just sat there, hoping Dan would say something. But Julie cut in “You men! I can tell from Steve’s attitude that you made him have sex, Dan! You men are so stupid – you think that women mind what men do! It would be different if it was you, Dan, as we’re married. But Steve is single and unattached – there’s no problem with him having a woman, if he wants to! So why are you two so secretive about it?”
We both sat there in silence again. “Dan, tell me! I insist! Did you make Steve have sex, for the photographers.”
I could barely hear Dan as he muttered “Yes.”
“Daniel, I know that tone of yours. You’re trying to hide something from me. Now, tell me exactly what went on! You didn’t join in, did you?”
“Jules, how could you even think that….”. Dan was extremely animated. “I’ve been longing to get back to you, you know you’re the only one for me….”
“…and I know what men are like when they’re away, Daniel! Don’t think I haven’t heard from some of the other girls what you and your mates did when the football team went on that tour last year…”
“Please, Jules, don’t bring that up again! It was only one night of the tour, and I didn’t do anything – those four strippers would only do two of us each, and there are eleven in the team, and…”
“…and I believe you, Dan. But why are you being so secretive about this? Did you make Steve have sex? Tell me!”
“Jules….. Please…. Yes, he did have sex.”
“Well then! What’s the problem? Why are you two both being so secretive? I don’t understand why you don’t just tell me – it’s perfectly natural for a man like Steve to want sex, after all. But I’m surprised at you, wanting to watch him – it’s degrading to women, you know, to watch them have sex, even with a stud like Steve!”
Dan gave a sigh. “Look, Jules, there’s no mystery. Yes, Steve did have sex. And the photographer paid a lot of money for it. And I did watch – I’m in charge of him, remember?. But that’s all. I didn’t do anything. I love you, you know that…”
“But you like to see some poor woman being fucked, especially by a big man like Steve! Was she a tiny little thing, and she squealed and squealed as Steve went in her? Did it turn you on, Daniel?”
Dan seemed to lose it. “Jules, it really wasn’t like that! He didn’t fuck a woman at all – it was a bloke. So now you know. And I did watch it And it didn’t turn me on.”
Julie turned to me. “I’m sorry, Steve. I hadn’t got you marked down as a man who liked men – women can usually tell, you know, and I could see your eyes scanning me up and down when we first met, and again, tonight….. But it’s OK, I don’t have a problem with gay men.”
“I’m not gay!”, I snapped. “I like women.”
Julie’s expression changed and she really went at Dan “You bastard, Daniel! You made Steve have sex with another man, and he doesn’t like it…”
“Jules, I’m sorry. I was only thinking about you and Shane… The money… It will make a real difference. And it was no big thing for Steve really – he was hesitant at first, but it looked to me as if he was enjoying it at the end. It’s not unknown for men to go with other men, you know… And Steve was soldier, I expect he’d done it before.”
“Steve, I’m sorry…” Julie was looking at me now. “I’m sorry that Dan made you do that sot of thing. But it won’t happen again: you may be a slave, but you deserve some dignity even so.”
“Julie, keep out of this, will you?” There was a sharp tone in Dan’s voice. “Steve’s a slave, and slaves have to know that they do what their masters tell them. You don’t bargain with them, you don’t promise them things, and you don’t apologise to them! I’m in charge of him, and if I want him to fuck fifty women and a hundred men as that’s the best thing to do to make us some money, that’s the way it’s going to be.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, Daniel! I won’t have it….” Julie got up and flounced out – not that she could go very far in that minute. Dan sat there looking a bit shell shocked, and before he could say anything she came back in with two blankets and a pillow, plonked them down on the sofa and said to me “Here, Steve. You ought to be warm enough. If you’re not, just turn on the gas fire. I’m sorry the sofa’s not very long, and you’re such a big man…..”
“Oh that’s OK, thanks….”
She turned and went up the stairs, and Dan, after sitting there for a moment, just shrugged, and followed her.
I heard cross words being exchanged as I stripped off and wrapped myself in the blankets and tried to get comfortable on the sofa: you could hear the tone, and the volume, through the ceiling, but I couldn’t make out the words. Then silence fell, and a moment later there was squeaking and thumping and other “bed” noises coming through the ceiling, and I guessed that Dan and Julie had made it up – and Dan was making up for lost time, by the sound of it! The thought of it made me hard and I started to wank, but stopped in time as I realised I had nothing to catch the cum with, and the thought of having to explain to Julie the next morning that the blankets would need laundering to get the cum patches off was too much!
To be continued …
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