
THE SLAVE AND THE ELECTRICIANS


By Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


Read all of Pete Brown's  stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

FROM "JOURNAL OF CONTEMPORARY SOCIAL STUDIES"
PREFACE

The Sheikh and I have been close - no, intimate - friends for many years, since we first went up to Harrow together in the 60s.  At that time there was very little tolerance of foreigners, and his very pronounced Arabic looks with dark shiny hair and a swarthy olive complexion, caused him to be the but of comment and ridicule.  We shared a study together all the time we were there, and when he couldn't fly home for weekends off, my parents were always pleased to receive him at our Sussex home.   Our close friendship continued whilst we were at Cambridge, and although we now only see each other about twice a year, each time we meet it is just as if the intervening time did not exist:  we both count ourselves fortunate to have had a rock solid foundation on which to build a friendship which we know will last our lifetimes. 

His critics often accuse the Sheikh of being uncaring for his fellow men, and I would like to take this opportunity of redressing the balance somewhat by publicly acknowledging the extraordinary kindness and generosity he has showed to my family all his life.  When my mother's affliction with Alzheimer's got so bad that my father was at his wits end to know how best to care for her, the Sheikh stepped in.  He arranged for my mother to be flown to his palace in his private jet,  and for the rest of her life she received the most amazing care from a whole team of servants dedicated solely to her welfare.  As well as being extremely good for my mother, this relieved my father of all the stress and worry he had been under - there was no way that this level of care could have been paid for by the dwindling revenues from the Sussex farms, and my father had been terrified that my mother would have to end her days in a public institution.  This extraordinary act of kindness on the part of the Sheikh did, I believe, contribute to my father living for at least five years more than he would have done, and his dying words to me were about those happy Sussex days of our childhood and early adulthood and the golden weekends when the sun always seemed to shine, that the Sheikh and I spent there.

I say all of this in this preface because I know that some of my critics will accuse me of taking a far too lenient view of the practices in the Sheikh's kingdom that are the subject of this series of papers.  Whilst I am  his extremely close friend, and owe him more than I can ever repay, I wish it to be understood that this does not inhibit the impartiality that I have as a long-time researcher, and now Emeritus Professor, in the field of the social sciences.  

It is idle to pretend that slavery does not exist.  Its critics always roundly condemn it, but is it necessarily a bad thing?  Rather than rely on rhetoric and supposition, the purpose of these papers is to present findings on the way that slavery is practised today as an aid to researchers in the field.   No system of human organisations can ever be wholly bad, as some of slavery's critics would have us believe.  And whilst here are serious problems with the "human rights" aspects of the treatment of slaves, there is no doubt that many of them lead happy, fulfilled, contented lives - indeed, lives that are better for them than life as a "free" man would ever be.

Using my privileged access to the Sheikh's kingdom, I have interviewed many slaves, their owners, and their users.  Rather than pass judgement or voice criticism, at this initial stage of my work I am simply going to present the facts as I find them.  Later papers will then critically examine this evidence and present my conclusions.

As in all sociological research, it can be difficult to prevent the unconscious and deeply-buried prejudices of the researcher influencing the findings.  Consequently I have decided to present these papers as a transcription of the extensive notes I took during my interviews.  This first paper "The Slave And The Electricians", gives a good overview of the slave breeding system in operation, and of the way in which skilled workers can easily adapt their working methods to take advantage of available slave labour.

In addition to my thanks to the Sheikh, without whose co-operation these researches could never have taken place, I'd also like to thank my devoted typist, Mark, who has spent many hours transcribing my notes.
Pete Brown, London, January 2010      

Note:  As has been the practice for many years now, "bred" slaves are taught "Aralish", a mixture of Arabic and English.  This thus makes them easy to command either by the Arabic-speaking natives of the country, or by the many educated and cultured owners of slaves whose international lingua franca is English.  I have translated the comments in Aralish into standard English for two reasons:  firstly, the unfamiliarity of the majority of my readers with Aralish, whereas most of my readers will have at least a good working knowledge of English. And secondly, the deliberately limited vocabulary in Aralish prevents the slaves from expressing many of their thoughts simply, without long circumlocutions as they try to grasp ideas and ideals which Aralish - as primarily a "concrete" language -  is designed to prevent.  In this paper we do not hear the slave 403 ever discuss "freedom" or "escape", as there are no words in his vocabulary for that: the concept that Orwell foretold in "1984" has indeed come to fruition in standard Aralish.  But it is tedious, I believe, for my readers to keep hearing "bright red fruit with seeds that grows close to the ground" - Aralish has no need for "strawberry", as slaves are never allowed to eat food like that or even think of it as a food.  Consequently when these circumlocutions arise, I note them the first time and then use the English word - I do not think that this detracts from the underlying truth or meaning of the slave's narrative.        

Similarly, I have modified the English of the two Electricians.  They were honest, cheerful young workers from the East of London, and spoke with the common "Estuary English" dialect.  I do not like transcribing dialect, and so have not elided the words as they did, or strangled the end of sentences.  I have removed many tedious repetitive and irrelevant  "I'nnit?" and "You know" interjections.  But when a word that has a more precise shade of meaning was used, such as "geezer", I have not replaced it with "guy", "man", "bloke" or other synonym.  They freely interchanged words like "cock" and "dick";  "fuck" and "shag";  "masturbate", "jerk off", "wank" and "jack off"; and  "spunk", "jism", "load", and "cum".  It is not clear whether these meanings are differentiated for the electricians, or whether it is just sloppy thoughts and an excess of American influence in their language, so I have left the words just as they used them in their conversation with me.

Americans and those to whom English is not their first language may find the account of the two young electricians hard to follow, as they use many phrases and expressions not normally found in learned journals. If demand warrants it, I will consider preparing a translation of these more earthy expressions into "standard English".

We all know that in sociological work the words that are used often hide deeper meanings.  I trust that my editing of these transcripts leaves any underlying truths that there may be intact.
 
THE SLAVE AND THE  ELECTRICIANS, as told to Professor Brown

403

It's not often I can rest during the day, but the last part of the field, as it ran down towards the wadi, was a lot less stony than the top part.  So the plough just snicked along and we finished ploughing it a lot earlier than the Overseer had expected.  

He went off to find out what jobs we were going to be assigned to next, but he was very good as he allowed us to take off our harnesses.  So the six of us who had been dragging that big plough over the field all morning were able to sit on the narrow strip of grass beside the wadi, and the plough boy who had been guiding us joined us too.  It was really nice to feel the grass on my ass and back - it's rare that a slave gets to experience anything other than concrete and straw underneath him, when we're bedded down for the night.  

As we sat and talked, we all wished that we could go and frolic in the wadi.  It had been the usual very hot morning with the sun burning down out of the cloudless sky, and we were all hot and sweaty from the morning's work.  We're all used to working outdoors all day of course, and we're all tanned a very dark brown  so the sun isn't a real problem to any of us.  But it would have been really good to have been able to experience the water on our bodies and clean away the dust and sweat that was all over us, even though the wadi was now only a trickle in the middle of the hot season.  Unfortunately the Overseer had told us to sit and wait for him, so even though the water was there right beside us, we could not go into it.   

I'm 07016403, or 403 for short when there's no chance of confusion.  My slave fuck buddies just call me 3 of course.

My best friend, 806 - I always just think of him familiarly as 6 - was lying stretched out full length on his back, arms behind his head.  I wanted to lie on my side for a change, so I took the opportunity to use his belly as a pillow, and lay at right angles to him with my head resting on his navel.  6 is a really hairy guy - lots of short wiry black hair all over him, and his "treasure trail" is particularly thick and luxuriant - it was quite scratchy on my cheek as I lay there.

Although we're amongst the tallest of master's slaves (only the big Nubians he has for his formal pony carriage are taller) and extremely heavily muscled, 6 and I couldn't be more different in looks:  I'm dark blond, and not very hairy at all -   there's nothing on my chest, and the hair on my arms and legs is short and bleached almost white by the sun.  As I lay there looking at 6's nice cock, I thought that he was so hairy that if master didn't order all his slaves to have completely shaved balls and pubic hair trimmed down to a uniform one inch, you probably wouldn't see his cock at all.   That's one of the hallmarks of this estate - all the slaves are trimmed every three days:  Master requires us all to have short hair (no more than half an inch), shaved cocks and balls as I've mentioned, and of course our asses and ass cracks are clear, too.  We also get a regular trim under the arms, as master does not want to see unsightly longhair peeping out from under a slave's arms when he is working.


As we lay there we saw one of those things they call aeroplanes go overhead.  One of the Overseers once told us that the Masters go in them and travel to places that can be hundreds of days away if you had to walk there.  I'm not sure he isn't trying to joke with us - you wouldn't get people going in one of those things, would you - it might fall out of the sky!  And I don't think there are that many places to go anyway - and certainly not hundreds of days foot journey away. 

6 and I talked about the aeroplane a bit.  We decided finally that the Overseer must have been joking.  After all, both 6 and I have been to four places - five unique places, when you consider we were born on different farms - and that's almost the whole world.

My first five years were spent on Breeding Farm 27 - there were over 400 of us pups there, looked after by 20 of the brood mares.  We could hear the screams all the time as the mares in labour produced new pups, but we were never allowed to see this.  All we ever did see were the mares with huge stomachs looking after us - then, when they went into the delivery chamber to pup, they disappeared.  But there were always fresh ones who came along to keep us pups cleaned and fed.   

The constant crying of the tiniest pups was a bit of a trial for everyone, but once you could walk and run it was a great life - we ran freely around the exercise yard on the farm and played all day.  There was always enough to eat, and you always had another pup of your own age to snuggle up to at night. 

It was difficult to know the numbers of the other pups as we weren't then marked clearly - our numbers were on little medallions on chains around our necks.  If another pup wouldn't tell you his number, there was no way you could find out as we didn't know how to read the medallions.  You had to remember your own number as any of the guards could ask you at any time and would spank you if you did not remember it.  

I first met 6 when I was shipped along with seven other pups, who the guards said were now five years old, to Factory 30.  6 arrived on the same day in a batch of five other pups from the farm where he was bred.  Life was a lot harder at the Factory:  there were no brood mares to look after us, and we had to feed ourselves, and clean our dormitories ourselves.  We didn't get as much time for play, either:  we were much more regulated.  

Every morning we had to do an hours exercise, then we worked in the factory on the line.  It was really boring - these big boxes came along a conveyor in front of us, and we had to take empty plastic cases out of them, put a shiny disk in each one, and re-fill the boxes neatly.  If we broke any of the cases or - even worse, dropped any of the disks on the floor - the guards caned us! 

We did another hours exercise after we had been fed in the middle of the day, then more of the work in the factory, followed by another hours exercise before we were fed again and locked into our dormitories.  Every day was exactly the same.

As we had arrived at the same time, 6 and I learned a lot of lessons about life in the factory together - not to drop the disks, for example!  And how to make sure we both got locked into the same dormitory as the other every night - the guards just counted out 20 into each room, and if you didn't want to get split up, you had to make sure you weren't the 20th and 21st worker in line!

We were five years in the factory, and then moved on to something called "The Institution".  All farmed slaves spent the last five years of their training here, and life was much tougher.  For one thing, all the exercise sessions were now two hours long - I heard the guards saying that if we didn't lay down long, hard stringy muscles at this age, we would never develop properly later.  And in-between we worked in the fields.

All the fields at The Institute were worked entirely by gangs of slaves.  Every morning 20 of us would be marched to a field, and then collared to the work chain by lockable collars.  The work you did was very varied and depended on the season - digging, planting, weeding, and picking the crop.  We didn't know what the stuff was - it looked very dangerous, as it was bright red and had a funny smell.   In my first week when I was picking, I saw one of my fellow slaves going to taste one of the red things, but the guard knocked it out of his hand and caned him thoroughly.  The guard said that all the strange things - he called them "strawberries" - I don't know why, as they weren't a bit like the straw in our dormitories - were needed by  the masters who put them in the aeroplanes and flew them away.  The guard said that in addition to stealing from our master, taking the "strawberries" would make us ill as we were only used to eating slave meal - that is all we ever got, at our three  daily meals.

During our time at the institute our bodies all changed - as well as getting harder and stronger and bigger, we found hair growing around our cocks and under our arms and on our faces.  And our voices changed, too.  It was worse for 6 as he is so hairy - he was amongst the first to show these signs, and was always being inspected by the guards.  He was the first of our cohort to have to go for the regular weekly shaving with the older slaves.

It was also scary because our cocks were all acting strangely, too:  I remember the first time 6 shot a load during the night.  He hadn't been touching his cock or anything, although he was snuggled up close to me.  He shot all over me, and we were both worried that the guards would cane us both.  But when they saw us both covered in spunk, they just laughed.  We soon found out how much fun it was to wank each other, of course, and we still enjoy doing that today.  

During our second year there the entire complement of slaves was paraded on the exercise ground one morning, and two of the oldest slaves were brought out, hauled onto a platform in front of us so everyone could see, and then whipped.  This is the first time I had ever seen a whipping, as the Institute's guards usually only used canes, and it was rather shocking to see how the blood spurted from the slaves' backs.  The chief guard said that it was because the slaves had been found trying to get their cocks up each other's assholes - this was absolutely forbidden, he said, and we should all remember it if we wanted to avoid a whipping.  We would all be doing this soon enough, but it was up to our masters, not us, to decide when.


We were both in the same group that was sent off to the auction, too, in the month after we were told we had had 16 full years of growth.  

This was the first time for all of us that we had been any distance from The Institute or the farms and factories where we were bred and grew to maturity.  We were loaded into a cage on the back of a fearsome iron machine, that set off with a roar and a terrible shaking across the desert.  It was terrifying - it went at a speed that was incredibly at least three times as fast as a man could run.  I have since been in a "truck" again, when I have been taken to away matches as my master's champion wrestler, but this first time we were all sick with the unexpected motion and all the other eight lads and I clung together in misery for the whole journey.  A lot of us had erections as we went along, and I have since been told that "traveller's knob" is quite common.  But we were so miserable and terrified that we couldn't even be bothered to enjoy each other's hard cocks on this first journey.

We arrived at what I now know to be the auction house, where we joined 40 others from other slave farms and institutes also being auctioned for the first time.   We were all "novices", as this was a sale purely for first-timers:  lads who had reached 16. But in the cages we passed there were many other naked slaves waiting for an auction the day after.  Of course I'd seen other slaves whilst growing up, as there were few guards and any rough work around the farm and in the factory was done by the normal slave gangs.  But it was interesting to be able to compare our young bodies with the much harder, more mature muscles on these work slaves.  I hoped that mine would soon mature so that I could be like them, as I found the sight of these tanned, lean, work-hardened slaves exciting.

As we entered, an Overseer ripped off my medallion with my slave number on it, and checked me off against a list he as holding - I'd seen Overseers with lists and books and things before, but as a slave I was of course not able to read them as this was not something that slaves were taught.  He then marked my number across my belly and my ass with one of those "magic markers" and told me to join the line of slaves that was making its way across the room.

We went in long single file across the big room, with crowds of buyers watching us.  The line went slowly, so there was slots of opportunity for the potential buyer to see us all and to note down our numbers on their auction sheet.  Frequently the whole line would stop, as some slave's body was given a particular inspection:  my own nipples were tweaked on several occasions, my balls cupped and felt, and my foreskin rolled back so that the buyer could see my shining cock head.   It was funny for us slaves to see men dressed so differently - other than naked slaves, I had only ever really seen men in standard guard uniform before.  But here there were all types - the things I know as "suits", and the "robes" of Arab costume were much in evidence.

And some of the men were not men!  They looked very different, and wore brighter and lighter clothes.  These were women - I remember them vaguely from my first few years of life when the brood mares were supervising us young pups.  It was funny really - I had never seen a woman in clothes before as the brood mares were of course naked at all times.  I think that women should go around clothed - there's something wrong with a human body without a nice cock and balls hanging down;  and I don't think that the pecs should be allowed to get so obscenely large and jut out from the body, either.  So it's better it's all covered up.

The actual auction process was very quick.  After we had paraded around the room several times, we were held for a couple of minutes whilst the buyers took seats in front of a little stage.  Then one by one we mounted the three steps up onto stage, stood there with arms above our heads, rotated all around so that everyone could see us from all angles, then stood still whilst the auctioneer recited details of my current height and weight, and gave brief details of my sire and my dam (he said that my sire was a first-generation captured German, and my dam was a first generation captured American. He also said that the records of all my "siblings" and "half siblings" were available so that buyers could see that there were no congenital diseases, whatever they are) .  Then he called for bids and I was knocked down very quickly.  Then off the stage, whilst the next slave was already mounting.

From the stage I followed the line of slaves out into a holding area, were there were cages for the purchases of each buyer.  Looking at the number on my chest, the supervisor directed me to a cage with a couple of lads already in it, and we waited.  To my joy, I was joined by 6!  Our new master had bought us both so we were not to be separated after all - we had said goodbye to each other before the auction, as we did not expect to ever see each other again.   The cage filled, and there were soon eight of us novices, plus 10 other slaves who had been auctioned the previous day and had been awaiting shipment.  These slaves were all happy and laughing, as they were glad to have been bought by my Master - they told us that amongst experienced slaves he had a good reputation and was known to be fair - he was strict, expected total obedience, and lots of hard work, but provided the slave did his duty he was not ever punished arbitrarily. 

After some time we were herded out into the yard at the back of the auction house and into a cage on the back of one of those hateful trucks... It was a long journey to Master's estate, and I was sick again.  But a lot of the more experienced slaves seemed to enjoy it, and shouted to other slaves as we passed them on the road.  Of course with a lot of slaves together with no work to do there was a lot of play with each others bodies - the experienced slaves were even doing that thing that  we had been expressly forbidden to do, and were fucking each other.  6 and I wanted to join in, but one of them said that we were still not allowed to as it was our Master who was going to be the first person to push his dick up inside me.  It was forbidden for any slave to use a new "virgin" slave until after the master had had his fill.  

We arrived at our master's estate in the late afternoon, where I have been ever since - 12 years, I think as the master tells me I'm 28 years old.  And he is indeed a good master- in those 12 years I have only ever been whipped twice - and each time I deserved it as I didn't obey a guard or an Overseer  completely and immediately.  Of course I'm talking about a major whipping, one that draws blood, the sort that's done in front of all the other slaves as a warning to them as well as a punishment to the guilty slave, and not just the tiny cracks and lashes that all slaves get all the time to keep them working right up to the mark.  You expect the Overseer to use his cane, or his tawse, don't you, in the course of your normal work?

On the day we arrived the estate the Overseer told us how lucky we were as the Sheikh's policy was to own slaves for life.  Consequently we could be branded with our slave number and the Sheikh's ownership mark, and we wouldn't have to wear any medallions or anything around our necks with our numbers on.   The only exception was for two of the novices  - they were the type that the Overseers call "swimmers" - shorter than 6 and me, less heavily muscled, but good muscle tone all over.  They were destined for something called the Master's pleasure room, and he liked the slave's flesh unmarked.

Of course it hurt - when the white-hot branding iron was pushed into my left ass cheek I screamed and screamed before I fainted.  It was just as well that I had been securely tied down on the branding table, else I'm sure the reflex movements I would have made to try to get away from the iron would have spoiled the crisp, clean brand line I have ended up with.  But that was as nothing to the agony when my slave number - 07016403 - was branded, number by number, across my upper chest.  Poor old 6 had it worse - he was hairy even then, and he had to have his chest shaved before they could brand him as the Overseers said that otherwise there was a risk of his chest hair catching on fire and severely damaging him.

(Author's note:  3 was almost proud of his brands, and as he spoke he moved his body so I could indeed see the big circle containing the Sheikh's house emblem, with which I am so familiar:  it appears on everything he owns, being embroidered on to the pockets of his shirts, forming the mark on the underside of the palace china commissioned from Villeroy and Boch, stencilled into the coachwork of his cars, painted on the tail fins of his planes, and so on).

The branding hurt like hell as I said, but we were allowed two days to recover and the estate's physician smoothed healing cream over the sites to speed recovery.  But they were  still very sore when on day three we were cut.

A lot of the experienced slaves almost protested when the Overseer announced that the veterinary surgeon was coming later that day to do the operation on us all - they wanted to keep their foreskins.  But the Overseer said there were no exceptions - all the Sheikh's slaves were cut, as he believed that it was more hygienic as there was no possibility of your cum leaking and drying out under the foreskin to make an unpleasant smell.  He also thought that a slave should have absolutely no secrets from his Master, and did not like to think of us having our cock heads "concealed" - there's no other part of a naked slave's body that isn't completely exposed to view, after all.   I couldn't understand why some of the others are upset - although I was used to having a moist, concealed cock head and liked to feel my foreskin slide back across it when I jerked off, it was my Master's wish that I be cut:  if that's what your Master wants done, that's what gets done, after all.  It's not as if a slave has any choice in anything.  

The cutting itself was very quick.  I was told to jerk off as that would help me avoid getting an erection whilst the operation took place, and then I was securely lashed onto a frame held at 45 degrees, with straps around my belly and thighs so my cock was immovable.  The vet moved al little table in and placed my cock on it.  He pushed my foreskin back, and fitted a small metal cap over my cock head, then rolled the foreskin back over the metal. 

"OK, now I'm going to cut", he told me, and I actually felt the scalpel go all around my foreskin, pressing into the metal guard.  It didn't hurt that much, and I winced more than cried out.  But I had heard my predecessors scream, and I couldn't understand why - until he bought up a glass container of some fluid and quickly dipped the bleeding end of my cock into it.  It was a powerful antiseptic, disinfectant, and astringent to disinfect the cut and stop the bleeding - and that's what the screams were about.  My own joined them, I'm almost ashamed to say, as the harsh fluid bit into the raw end of this sensitive part of me.

So that's pretty much it.  I started working in the fields like all the other young slaves, and on the estate there's absolutely no slacking - the guards and Overseers see to that.  Obviously my body would have developed rapidly between 16 and 20, but the constant hard work and healthy diet gave me much what you see now....

(Author's note:  3 was clearly proud of his body, because as he spoke this he was gesturing at his magnificent musculature that sat so well on his tall frame)

At 20 there was some talk of me going to the quarries, or receiving specialised training as a pony boy or litter bearer.  For some reason, fortunately, I wasn't sent to the quarries.  And  the Master likes "matched sets" of slaves to pull his carriages and carry his litters, and there just weren't any others like me around at the time.  So I was assigned to work in the gang I'm still in - we're a heavy-duty gang, that gets to do all the really hard manual labour around the estate.  So we pull ploughs, load and unload trucks taking out the produce and bringing in supplies, mend the roads, dig the ditches: anything that needs real raw muscle power.

We're kept together much of the time, as the Master has found from experience that a gang gets to know its own "rhythm" of working, and the strengths and weaknesses of its own members.  That suits me fine - I'm still with 6 and it's good to work together as well as play together at night.  But the real advantage of this work gang is that we are all bred slaves like me - so much easier.  Some gangs are mixed with "captured" slaves, the ones they bring in and enslave when they're mature, and they can be a real pain.  They're always whining, and tend to argue with Overseer.  Then the whole gang might then get whipped, because the Overseer gets pissed off.   And they don't join in properly with our games at night - they say something I don't understand about "not being gay", or "not being queer".   I don't understand what they mean by this  -  I have always played with my fellow slaves ever since I could first jerk off - isn't it the best, most natural  thing you can do with your mates?

In a way I'm specially lucky as my Master has singled me out to perform two additional special services, so I can be of even more use to him.

One morning a week taken I'm taken to the breeding shed and have to jerk off into a metal cylinder that's fuming with something.  The first time I was there I went to touch it, and was told that it was so cold that it would stick to me, and I was not under any circumstances to let my dick touch it, although they wanted every drop of my jism to shoot into it.  That's all there is to it, really - nothing special, just jerking off.   Bit they told me it's really important for my Master as they want to capture my body type in the herd of master's slaves, as they want more of the tall, well muscled, blondes  with blue eyes.  Apparently my spunk is taken away in the cylinder and stored until they need it to fertilise the breeders.  I've been doing it for seven years now, so I expect there's a whole breeding farm somewhere full of little pups who look just like me!

6 and I were talking about this one night as we lay in each others arms - he's always a bit pissed off the night before I have to go to the breeding shed as I'm not allowed to cum that night or the next morning, as they say I have to "save myself" for the cylinder.  He used to believe this funny story that one of the "captured" slaves told us about new slaves coming out from the breeders when a slave's cock had gone up them and shot its load some months before. 

6 is a bit gullible, and believed the guy for some time.  I was always sceptical, because, as I said, breeders aren't built like proper slaves.  But once I was on the breeding programme I was able to put 6 right and tell him that the cylinders were involved - everyone knows that a slave's cock fits so well down another slave's throat, and up his ass, that it's ridiculous to think of them going anywhere else.  They wouldn't have been made the right length and thickness, would they, if you weren't meant to use them with your fellow slaves? 

In fact, although I love 6 and he's my best and oldest buddy, he is a bit of a worry sometimes.  Frankly, although he's a terrific guy and can work the balls off everyone else in our gang - me included - so he's a really good gang member when we have a big project on a tight time schedule, he's just not the brightest of guys.  Sure, he's always happy when some of the rest of us are a bit down some days.  But there's something missing, somehow - he just doesn't always grasp things first time around.  The guards told me that that's one of the reasons why he isn't on the breeder programme in spite of his fantastic body - they're concerned about his ability to execute complex orders first time, and get them right. 

 So I look out for 6, I suppose I always have, and make sure he does the right thing:  I can't bear to see him punished for fucking up.  And I know he respects me and would do anything for me - if we're fucking or 69-ing, he doesn't even mind if I break off because there's a new hot slave in our pen that night who has made me an offer - well, at least he says he doesn't mind.

It's the second additional job I like most, though.  Four years ago when  my body had really developed the mature muscles you only get in your twenties, the Master saw me working away one day and decided that I should be trained as one of his fighters. So when he has important guests and they have an after dinner entertainment, I'm one of the slaves who fights in front of them.  

Mostly the fighters are specially trained slaves like me - three afternoons a week I get tuition from a fighting trainer - but occasionally as a treat the Master arranges for newly "captured" slaves to fight:  they always seem to have a really wild streak in them. I don't think they like being made to strip naked for some reason, and then fight with me, especially as those fights are always "fights to the fuck" where the winner is determined by the slave who first gets his cock up the opponents ass.     

I guess that shows how difficult it is for "captured" slaves to adjust to the life here.  They don't seem to realise that they exist only for the Master's service.  Or it could be that they don't want to get naked because their bodies are all different colours all over - it's as if the sun was never allowed to get to their asses or cocks at all in most cases, as even a slave with a tanned chest can have a completely white ass.  I'm not surprised they're ashamed - I think a completely even tan, like I've got, is much better for the body.

Our little rest on the grass was over all too soon, though, as the overseer came back.  He made us line up according to height, then picked 6 and me and said there was a special job for us that afternoon as we are the tallest.  Of course, he might just have been being nice to us - he's one of our regular Overseers, and he knows I "look out" for 6, so if he picks one of us, he'd perhaps pick both.  

He was in a real hurry, as he'd come back in a pony trap - and it was one of the "express" ones with a pair of those big black Nubians with the incredibly long legs pulling it.  He tells 6 and me to run along behind, as he whips the pony slaves and we set off at a cracking pace back towards the palace.  Even though we don't have the trap to pull, 6 and I are soon sweating - it really is difficult to keep up with those Nubians when they're in full flight:  I suppose it's the special training they get, as well as their long legs, that enables them to run so fast whilst in the shafts of the trap.

It's amazing -we actually go up to the doors of the palace, and it looks as if 6 and me are going to go in!  I've never ever been in the palace itself before, as we are of course kept in the field slaves' quarters.  And when I fight, they area always held in the special fight pavilion that has the slightly sunken fighting arena in it.

After the two big slaves had opened the doors for us, we did go in.  It was so strange, I can hardly tell you about it.  The floor was smooth under my feet - not rough like the concrete in the slaves' quarters or the gravel of the estate roads.  And it was cold!  I've never been cold before - perhaps that's why the Masters always wear clothes.  I've never worn anything, of course, as it's only those slaves who have special duties who ever get any parts of their bodies covered.  But I can see why a covering would be an advantage here  - little pimples came up all over me, and all the hairs on my arms and legs were standing up!  It felt really strange, and when we were left for a moment outside the doors of a room whilst the Overseer went in, 6 and I hugged each other and rubbed each other all over to try to get warm.  When he came out the Overseer laughed - he said something I didn't quite understand about what he called "air conditioning" keeping "an even 21" - he said we were used to the more normal 30 to 35.  I've no idea what he was going on about.


THE ELECTRICIANS


I'm a London lad, born and bred in the East End.  But my mate John is "up from the country" - one of those sleepy towns somewhere in Dorset.  Like a lot of lads from outside, he got fed up with low wages and decided to chance it in the city.  But he still went "home" every weekend, and stayed in cheap lodging during the week.  I first met him when we were working on the fitting out of one of the new office towers in Docklands - in spite of being a bit of a country bumpkin at first, he's actually a real laugh.

When I saw that he was alone most nights and went back to some poky room, I asked him to come down my local and meet some of my mates.  He's a crack hand at arrows, and soon he was spending most evenings with us.  

I had a big bust up with my girl friend a couple of months later - she was really pissed off just because she found out I shagged one of her friends when I'd had a drop too much one Friday night.  There wasn't anything in it- just a quick in and out as far as I was concerned - but my girl friend took it really seriously and threw me out.   All my mates and the guys on the site thought it was a real joke -  after all, the quick screw wasn't the first, as even a bloke who's living with a regular girl needs a bit of variety, doesn't he?  They thought it was hilarious that I got found out - that was the real problem!   But it was a bit more serious for me - I'd had to move back in with my mom and dad, and as well as there being not enough room for all my gear in their poky 10th floor flat on the estate in Bethnal Green, dad kept on at me about being out all the time.  I think he's just jealous, really, as my mom only lets him give her one about once a week.

I really needed to get out, and thought it might be time to get a place of my own.  But prices and rents are just mad, even in the East End, especially as it has become fashionable.  Then I saw the perfect solution - I told John we'd find somewhere together.  It would be better than the lodgings he usually took and cheaper, and with him paying half the rent, I'd be quids in.  I'd also got my eye on the fact that he went down to Dorset every weekend, so on Friday and Saturday nights I'd be able to shag away as hard as I liked, without having him moaning on about the noise coming from me and the tart in the next room.  

We got on well together, and living in the flat wasn't  a problem - a couple of blokes can manage perfectly well with takeaways, the ready meals from Tesco, and pub grub.  The place was a bit squalid of course as we weren't much into cleaning, but after a few weeks we got the single mom from the flat below to clean up for us once a week to supplement her social. I even thought of helping her "supplement" it a bit more in exchange for an hour or so in my bed in the evening sometimes when I hadn't had any luck in picking up a bird and felt particularly randy - but when I told John I was going to do this he said I was a silly fucker, and that before I knew where I was I'd be saddled with her kid and her - single mums never just wanted to screw, they really want a meal ticket until the kids are grown up.  And, he said, she wouldn't do our cleaning as well if I was giving it to her.

John never had a bird during the week - he had a childhood sweetheart down in the sticks, and they were going to get married as soon as he had saved enough for the sort of house she wanted.  I told him he was a raving loony, to be working as hard as me and not having any fun.  

He didn't get to screw her on Fridays, as by the time he'd caught the last train to Dorset he was so late in arriving, and so tired, that all he could do was go to bed (he stayed at his mom and dad's, and she lived with her mom, and there was no way that they could get together when his train arrived at 10).  Then on Saturdays they went for long country walks -  and he didn't always get it then, as they had to do it in the fields as neither of their parents approved of sex before marriage.  And you know Dorset - it rains a lot, so half the time there was no dry place for them to bed down in!  Sunday afternoons he was back in the train to London, as it takes just under three hours and we start promptly at 7 on our site on Monday mornings.  I told him his pecker would drop off from under use if he wasn't careful!

John was always worried about money - me, I spent every penny I earned and was always skint by the next pay day.  But John was saving hard (at least I could always rely on him for a sub) for that bloody house, and I felt really sorry for him.

We'd lived in the same place for about a year, and he seemed no closer to getting hitched or anything, when he pointed out an advert to me in "Construction News" he was reading during our morning tea break - a bit of an intellectual, John is - he reads stuff with long sentences, not the tabloids with the page three girls the rest of us do!

Look, before I go any further, I'd better put you right on one thing.  You might think from what I've said about John not pulling birds during the week, not always getting his end away on Saturdays, and not looking at the tits in the tabloids, that he was gay:  there's no way I could share a flat with a poofter.  No, he's as straight as me, but, as he says, "I have different priorities to you, Steve". 

 Whenever I needed anything to jack off to, I could always find some real hard core under John's bed, usually with the pages stuck together on the real pussy shots!  And one night a week we usually hired a video from the man under the DLR track near our flat - he totally ignores those stupid video censorship laws, although he does charge a bit more than for certificated videos.  And, believe me, they're really hard:  it's difficult to imagine blokes and birds doing such degrading things together - I've never succeeded in getting any of my birds to do those sorts of things with me.

Anyway, as I was saying, John sees this advert where they're looking for qualified electricians for big contracts in the Gulf.  Not only are the rates of pay three times what we're getting in Docklands, but they say the salaries are tax free, and our flights there and back, and our accommodation whilst we're there, are all free a well.  John says that within a year he could afford to get married, and that if I saved hard, I could even buy a place rather than renting when I got back.  Then it occurred to me that he wasn't just thinking about going himself, he wanted me to go too!

I was having too much fun, so I told him no.  But he went ahead and made some calls, and went for an interview.  He had a lot of forms to fill out, but, as I've said, he's a bit of an egghead so that's no problem for John.  He kept on at me about going with him, but I kept saying no, and his departure day got closer and closer.

On his last night on the job in Docklands, we all went down to the boozer after work to say goodbye - and we all took a sack full.  There's one of those little rituals we always do when a mate is leaving - we pull his trousers and pants down in the bar, only for a moment of course, but it's a big laugh for all the other customers.  After we'd done this to John and he'd blushed deep red (although why, when he's as well hung as I am, I can't imagine).  Then they came over and did it to me!

I told them I wasn't leaving  - I called them a lot of queers, as they just wanted to take a look at my tackle - but everyone was so pissed no one took any notice.  But when we got back to the flat that night, John confessed:  he'd filled out all the application forms for both of us, and had sent in my notice to the site, too.  So I was unemployed, but had a plane ticket to the Gulf the following Wednesday.

I felt like thumping him, and shouted at him that he'd had no right to do that to me.  But he actually looked pretty sorry.  It was shitty weather, being February, and after a few minutes I thought "well, why not?"  So I told John that although he was still a complete bastard, I would go.

He looked really happy then - and must have been much more pissed than I thought because he told me he hadn't dared to go by himself - coming to London had been almost as much as he could bear, and there as no way he could go to a foreign country without "his one real mate" to support him.  

Blokes just don't tell each other things like that - that's what birds do, and it's why they're always so long in the ladies at clubs:  telling each other everything.  But I suppose I've always known John followed me - he never went into a pub by himself, but would always go if I suggested it.  And he tended to eat the same things at me in restaurants. I liked him as a mate a lot, and didn't mind this - it was a bit like having a younger brother to show the ropes to (although we're the same age - 28).

Well, to cut a long story short, we've been here six months now.  I've actually saved a phenomenal amount - not just because of the pay and lack of tax, but because there's no fucking thing to spend the money on!  There are no pubs or clubs (and no alcohol!).  And absolutely no birds to pull and show a good time to - all the women you see are covered totally in those long robes, and never go out alone, let alone speak to a man.

All we do is work - it's paid by the hour, so the more hours we work, the more we get.  We watch the TV at night - most of the channels are in Arabic so we don't understand them.  The only English channel is the dreadful BBC World with all those plummy voices going on about international crises all the time.  They don't even have Eurosport, as they say it's sinful.  We rent a film one night a week, but they're all heavily censored - not even the normal flash of a tit or bum you see in most movies these days - those scenes are all cut out, so it can make following the plot difficult.  And as for the suggestion that we might have one of the ultra-hard videos we used to have in London, well, it's a laugh:  one of the other blokes on the site said a trader was caught trying to smuggle them into the country, and was sentenced to having his hand chopped off.  No one else has even tried since then.

We have one day a week off, though - on Fridays, all work stops.  And then we just sit by the hotel pool and brush up our tans.

The hotel - oh , yes.  We have a big double room with twin beds, and a huge bathroom, right here in the centre just around the corner from the office block we're fitting out.  We can eat what we like in the restaurant, or have room service.  

We soon found out that the Arabs here are real lazy bastards - all the manual labour on the site is done by Indians or Pakis, and all the specialised trades like HVAC, electrical, marble fixing, and so on, are done by specialists like us on short-term contracts.  They really don't mind paying over the odds to get experts in, as the Arabs don't seem to work much at all - I think they all get very generous welfare benefits from the state, from the oil.     
        
So here we are - piling up the money, and living a good healthy life style.  It's a bit funny sharing a room for all this time with another bloke, but there's no problem.  It's not as if we're fucking each other or anything, as we're completely straight.  Paradoxically I think John gets more "sex" now than I do - he phones that girl friend of his every Saturday night - I go down to the lobby to give him some privacy.    I'm almost certain he wanks himself whilst he's talking to her as there's that distinctive smell hovering in the air sometimes when I get back to the room.

We both wank every day, of course, but only after we're in our own beds.  You know how it is when blokes share a room - you fuck the five fingered widow, trying to keep the slapping noise down as your foreskin slides over your cock head.  And you think your mate can hear you, because you think you can hear him!  You both know you're doing it, because all young guys do, and you both know the other one knows.  But you neither of you ever mention it at all, and you just pick up the screwed up paper hankies and throw them into the bog the next morning.

If I'm very horny, I can at least have a good wank in the morning completely uninhibited - I'm a bit of a morning person, and always wake up, whereas John would stay in his pit until midday if I let him.  I like to lie on my bed  totally naked and toss myself off whilst John sleeps on - it's much better than having the sheets banging into your hand all the time.

When I've finished, I shower and shave, and the lazy bugger still hasn't woken up, so I pull the sheets off him and slap his naked arse to wake him - that's the only way I can do it.  He always sleeps face down, and then he has to try to get to the bathroom with me watching him trying to hide his morning hard-on from me.  What a laugh - he's always embarrassed, every morning.  It's not as if I haven't seen an erection before, after all.     

We usually work on office blocks being built in city - there's a lot of new construction going on at the moment.  As soon as they have the frame up they put the glass walls on, then they can install temporary AC so that we can work in reason able comfort - it's not all that different from working in London, actually.  But one morning the foreman said we could go to do a special job at a palace in the desert if we wanted to. I wanted to stay put, as it was so easy to walk across from the hotel to the site, but John said we'd never really seen the desert, so we said we'd go.

I never realised how empty this country is - whilst we were in the city, provided we were inside, we could have been anywhere in the world .  But once we left the town it was so different - people think of desert as just sand, but actually it's a lot more like pebbles and boulders everywhere.  It was just as well we were in an air-conditioned Land Rover for the three hour journey, else we would have been boiled!

When we got there, it was a huge place - you could see it shimmering on the horizon long before we got there - I went to Las Vagas once and drove across the desert to get there, and it was just the same effect:  you think you're going to be there soon, but the air is so clear that your eye is deceived and it's a lot further away than you think, and an awful lot bigger as you eventually get closer.

We went inside and saw the foreman of works, who told us the Sheikh who owned it was having the whole place brought into the twenty-first century, with proper air conditioning, and modern alarm systems, phone service, smoke detection, and so on.  It was all being rewired as part of this, but our job on this occasion was to install those low-voltage spotlights in the ceiling of the Throne Room:   even though they have passed their peak in the UK, they're still the height of fashion there, apparently.  They're a big bore to have to install, as it's so repetitive:  lots and lots of fittings, each of which has to have a cable connection and so on, so lots of wiring to be pulled across the ceilings.

The Throne Room when we saw it was a huge place, and we were told that the design called for the installation of 700 of the spot lights!  Well, there was no way we were going to get all that done in one day, and we told the bloke so.  But he told us to get started, so we got stuck in.

The Throne Room had been done up once before, in the early seventies, I'd guess, and there was already a modern suspended ceiling which theoretically made the job a whole lot easier.  But the tossers who had installed the Air Conditioning at that time had done a terrible job - all the ducting was all over the place, and the blowers and chillers were placed everywhere - and the state of the cables leading to them was a disaster - they'd been badly installed in the first place, and were now badly frayed and corroded.

We told the foreman that it all needed ripping out and replacing, but he said there was no time for that now, just to get on with the lights.  The Throne Room was needed for some big ceremony in a few weeks time.  They might look at the AC after that. 

John was really worried - I've told you he's a bit of a thinker - and didn't want to go poking around in the ceiling with our cables when there was all that dangerous stuff up there already, especially as it was all 415V gear because of the power requirements.  He said there was no way he was going to work around that, so the foreman said if it would enable us to get on, they'd turn off the system whilst we were working.

It was a real bastard of a job - each light needs you to drill a hole in the ceiling tile, mount the fitting, attach the cable, and then run the wire across the ceiling to a junction box.  It's not difficult, but it's repetitive.  And by lunch time we'd only done about 30.  Part of the problem is that we had to keep moving ladders around, up to each new hole, then along to be able to thread the cables, then to the place under the junction box, and so on.... There was just no way you could speed it up with only two of us doing it.  And it was bloody hard work - I was up and down those step ladders like a fucking monkey.

We were soon sweating like pigs, as the temperature went up with the aircon switched off.  We took off our shirts, and our Ts, but we were still much too hot.  And working with your arms above your head for long periods is really tiring!   Our jeans were getting soaked in sweat from it running down our backs and chests and into them - you know how it is, when you see guys working and the waistbands of their jeans are all a darker colour with the sweat.  And as the damp spread downwards, it was really chafing (as both John and I like shaped jeans, not those baggies).  

I got so pissed off that I decided to take my jeans off, too - after all, my boxers were perfectly decent, and anyway there hadn't been anyone else around all morning.  It felt really good to be able  to move more freely, although it didn't really help us to get the job done any faster.  We left our heavy leather work boots on - as you know, you always need to wear protective footwear on building sites - and we still needed our leather belts around our waists to hold all our tools.  I suppose it looked a bit like one of those fetish things - guys in boxers, boots, and leather belts!

At lunchtime the foreman reappeared, and saw us working stripped down as we were.  

"Good idea", he said.  "There's only blokes here in the Palace anyway, as the Sheikh is really strict about allowing women anywhere near him."

He'd bought us some sandwiches with him, and we all sat around eating them.  He was from England, like us, and had been in the Gulf for four years now.  It was just the same for him - high wages, no taxes, and he sent all his money home to his wife and kids who were having a much better life now than they did when he was working on housing estates in Guildford. 

As we chatted he told us he preferred working on these jobs out in the rich Sheikhs' palaces rather than on he office blocks in the city, as the Sheikhs were usually very generous and as well as his wages he often got a big present as a reward at the end of the contract.  And he was able to use all the facilities of the palace - swimming pool, riding stables, and so on.  He'd even been allowed to go hawking, and was full of the thrill of seeing the huge birds tearing their prey out of the sky.  And, he said, in a confidential tone, "There are the pleasure rooms."

H e saw John and I looking at him questioningly when he said this, and lowered his voice.

"No, I've said too much.  You lads don't want to know about that.  Let's get you back to work...."

We then explained about how slow it was, because of the need to keep moving the ladders constantly, and that we couldn't see how we were going to get it done faster.

"I've got an idea", he said. "You lads start back to work, and I'll see if I can get someone to come and help you get up to the ceiling better."

So John and I started working again, but he was back an hour later.

Our eyes almost fell out of our heads, because he had these two big guys with him - and they were starkers!   Two,  big, tall completely naked guys.  Now look, I'm not queer or anything, but even I could see that these blokes were something special - big, strong-looking muscles, great big cocks hanging down over low-hanging balls, nice looking and handsome.  It was as if they'd stepped out of the front covers of the gay magazines you see on the top shelves of the newsagents, when you're trying to find a proper porno mag!  The only thing that spoiled their perfection was that each of them seemed to have tattoos on his chest - I'm not one for tats myself, although a lot of blokes on the sites do have them.

The two guys followed him into the room and stopped a couple of paces behind him.  They each at once stood with their feet about a metre apart, hands clasped behind their backs, and heads bowed. 

"These two are slaves from the field gangs", the foreman said.  "Just tell them what you want them to do.  They understand some English - or, rather, there are enough English words in the language they speak so they can understand you if you give them simple, direct commands.  But don't try anything complicated."

"You mean they're going to move the ladders for us?  I can't see there's much else they can do, unless they're skilled electricians.   And if they were skilled, you wouldn't have bought us out here...."

"Well, you could have them move the ladders.  But I picked these out as they are the tallest we have - tall enough so that if you two sit on their shoulders, you'll be able to reach up and work.  Then you won't have to keep getting up and down the ladders - just tell the slaves to move wherever you want, around the room."

"What do you mean... Slaves?  And why are these blokes naked?"

"Oh, coming from the city I suppose you don't know.  All  the heavy work around here is done by slaves.  And their owner, the Sheikh, always has his slaves totally naked - it saves all the expense of buying them uniforms and maintaining and cleaning them."

"Yes, but..."

"And in this climate there's no need of clothes anyway as it's always hot.  So the only real purpose is for modesty, and slaves have no right to that - their bodies are completely at the disposal of their masters, so why be ashamed of showing it?  And, as you've seen, it's only blokes around here - the Sheikh doesn't allow women.  So we're all lads together here.  You've seen enough men bollock naked at school and at gyms, haven't you?"   

"Yes..."

"And anyway, look at you two!  Just in those boxers, which are so soaked in sweat anyway that you can see your bums coming through the fabric. It's only a few square centimetres of difference between working in boxers and working naked.  Just ignore the slaves -  sit on them and treat them as moving platforms to help you get your work done.  They won't mind - it will be a change for them from doing the normal stuff they do out on the estate - almost like a holiday!  Standing here with you two on their shoulders will be a lot less effort than what they would be doing this afternoon out in the fields."  

"Well, I suppose we could try...."

The foreman turned around and looked at the slaves and just said "Kneel".  No "please" or anything, just the one word, and both guys obediently knelt down.

"So who's going to have the blonde, and who the dark one?", the foreman asked us.

I saw John standing there unsure of what to do, as usual, so I made up his mind for him.  I went over and stood behind the big blonde guy, straddled his shoulders with my legs, and sat down on his shoulders.  It's actually quite difficult - because you don't know where to put your cock!

The last time I sat on a man's shoulders was when dad took me to a big parade up in London.  But I was only a nipper then, and not only was my cock very small, but I didn't even think about it.  Now my good-sized cock was going to be a problem - especially as I was thinking about it!  And you know how it is when you think about your cock - it starts to go hard.  And as it got harder, it was more and more difficult to decide what to do with it.

I usually dress on the right, as they say, so as I got myself comfortable on the slave's shoulders I sort of hitched myself so my cock and balls went down the right side of his face.  It did feel strange - because my boxers were already so wet, and the slave's shoulders themselves were covered in his sweat, I could feel the heat of him striking through to my arse - it felt almost sexual, somehow, as the only time your arse usually gets warm like that is when you're astride a bird.

"Comfortable?" The foreman asked after I stopped wriggling.

"As much as I'm going to be."

"Stand up!", he snapped at the slave, who rose to his feet.  Now I'm about 11 stone, so I'm not exactly a light weight, but this guy was strong - he stood up so smoothly that it's as if I wasn't there.

"OK", said the foreman.  "Try and fix a light."

So I did - I told the slave things like "forwards" and "Back a bit" and "left" and "right", and it actually was quite good.  It was just the right height to be able to get up into the ceiling, and it was certainly a lot easier than shinning up and down the ladders all the time.

After watching me for a bit, John got up onto the shoulders of the other slave (who had remained stationary, just waiting) and he too started to ride the guy around the room to get a "feel" of controlling him.

I don't know whether you have ever tried riding a guy's shoulders, but it's actually more difficult than it looks as you need to keep your balance - if you go forwards, you bump your belly into his head.  But if you start to fall backwards, there's nothing you can do.  When you're little, on your dad's shoulders, you can always grab his hair, or put your hands around his forehead.  But neither of those things worked with this slave - his hair was just a brush over the top of his head, and  there was nothing to hold on to.  I needed both my hands to work of course, but even if I had a spare hand, I wouldn't have wanted to grip around the slave's head - if I had started to fall backwards, I might have broken his neck.

The foreman solved this, though, because after he had watched me wobbling around a bit, he came over and tucked my feet around behind the slave's back, and then moved  the slave's arms and instructed him to grip around my legs.  It was even more warm and sweaty like this, especially with the hairs on the slave's arms rubbing against the hairs on my legs,  but it worked - I felt a lot more secure.

The foreman stood and watched us fix a few more of the lights, then said  "You know, you're messing about unnecessarily trying to position these slaves as you want by telling them which way to go.  Why don't you just guide them with your feet and your knees, as you would if you were riding a horse?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you're on a horse as well as using the reins and bridle to control it, the rider gives a lot of instruction by pressing with the knees and kicking the flanks of the animal with his heels.  You could do the same thing with your slave - although he hasn't got a bridle - but that too could be arranged - you could press with your knees, and kick him in the ribs, to guide him.  Then you needn't keep shouting to tell him what to do.  You can talk to your mate as usual, with all the guidance of the slave just coming from your body."

So I tried it, but it didn't seem very successful.

"The problem is those boots", the foreman said.  "You lose all judgement about how hard you're pressing the slave.  Take them off, and just dig into his body with your toes - I think you'll find that then you will be able to have a much more precise degree of control."

"No, don't get down", he continued, "I'll slip your boots off."

And he came up beside me and unlaced my boots, and slipped each one in turn off my feet.  Then without stopping, he peeled my sweat-soaked socks off, too.  I felt so embarrassed by this - you know how vile your boots smell when you take them off at the end of the day - you can't help sweating, of course, and in the tight work boots there's nowhere for the sweat to go so it gets really rank and pongs something terrible by the end of your shift.  It's one thing to get a whiff of it when you're taking your own boots off, but another to inflict it on someone else - I don't really like it when John takes his boots off back in our hotel room, and he's my best mate!  Now the foreman got a lung full of my boots, and I knew the slave would be, too - especially as my sweaty fee were pressing into his body.

Once I'd got used to it, it actually was easier to drive the slave this way, and he soon learned that pressing my knees into his sides meant "stop", and a kick from one foot meant "go that way", and a kick from both, "forwards".  I could see John had got the hang of riding his slave, too, and soon it was just like normal - we chatted away to each other as we worked, and were able to cooperage on pulling the cables and so on as we didn't need to think about commanding our work platforms at all.

We made cracking progress, and the only problem was the temperature.  The room got hotter and hotter, and being on top of the slave and with my legs wrapped around his body, it felt even worse.  The sweat was absolutely running off me and I could feel the slave sweating underneath me, too.  Little rivulets of our combined sweat were trickling all down him... And you know how water after a shower runs down your belly then makes its way along your prick and drips of  the end, so it looks as if you're just finishing off after a leak?  Well, both slaves were like this, and the sweat was dripping from their pricks and you could see little drops of it all over the smoothly-polished marble floor.

We stopped for a rest after about an hour, as even though it was more comfortable working this way than using stepladders, our arms were still tired from having them above our heads almost constantly.  The slaves knelt down  to let us dismount - perfectly smoothly.  These guys really were strong, as it's more difficult to go down gracefully when you're carrying a heavy weight  than it is to get up.

John and I  were both dying of thirst after all the sweating, and we almost emptied a litre bottle of water each.  After we had dismounted, the slaves had remained kneeling just as we had left them, waiting for further commands, I suppose.

John said to me "What about those guys?  Do they get a drink, too?"

There were lots of the bottles of the mineral water standing on a table by us, so I picked up a couple, went over to the kneeling slaves, and said "Here - for you."

The looks on their faces can only be said to be of pure astonishment - it's as if no one had ever given them anything like that before.  They both tore open the bottles and downed the whole thing without stopping - their heads were tilted back, and you could see their Adam's apples bobbing up and down as they almost sucked the water in.

When they had finished, I gave them another two bottles, and they looked even more amazed.  They were able to drink this much more slowly, and looked as if they were really enjoying it.  Now I know we had sweat a lot, but the way these guys drank it was as if they hadn't had any water for hours and hours - surely they would have drunk before the foreman brought them to us, I thought.  And, if they were that desperate, why didn't they tell us so we could have stopped sooner and let them drink?

They had continued to kneel, and it was time to get back to work.  But my boxers were really chafing me now, they were so soaked with the sweat from me and the slave.  I looked at the two slaves, and they seemed to be so much freer and cooler entirely naked, so as I went to remount I just shrugged my boxers onto the floor and gave my cock a little "flick" to free it from where it had been pouched against my balls by the fabric of the boxers.  It immediately felt a bit cooler, and a lot easier without the damp fabric flapping around me.

Now before I had been very conscious of the warmth of the slave as I settled onto his shoulders, but without anything at all between my skin and his, it was even more apparent.  And there was still the problem of what to do with my cock - I went to push it to the right again, up against the slave's ear, but then thought I would try something else.

I reached down and moved my cock up against my own belly, then wriggled forward so that it pushed into the nape of the slave's neck - I realised at once that this was a mistake - being surrounded by warm, moist flesh, it started to have a massive erection!  I knew that the slave must have been able to feel my cock pushing into his neck, and was really embarrassed - I was blushing all over.  But what could I do now - even if I reached down and freed my stiffy from between us, the only place it could go would be to the right, or the left.  And I didn't want the slave to have to have my erection slapping against his cheeks.

So I just ignored it, and, as they do, after a few minutes the erection went away.  But in addition to the smell of the sweat wafting up towards my nose, I got the occasional whiff of cum - having my cock trapped like that had caused it to get a gentle massage due to the motion of me and the slave - not enough to cause me to cum, thank God, but enough to get the pre-cum flowing!  I suppose it's lucky the slave's hair was so short and neatly razored off quite high up at the back - It can't be nice to have a guy's cum in your hair! 

John had not  stripped like me - but, as I've said, he's a bit of a "follower" and after a few minutes more work when I could see that he, too, was getting more and more uncomfortable, he told his slave to kneel, got down, shrugged off his boxers too, and rode his slave totally naked, like me.

We worked away and were making good progress, and were surprised when the foreman came back.  The slaves knelt, and we dismounted.  The foreman took one look at us and started to laugh.

"What's so fucking funny, then?", I asked.

"I'm just thinking that you two have adapted so well to the normal dress codes for those who actually do work here!   You know, if you were both in better shape physically, didn't have those tan lines around your arses, weren't wearing those leather tool belts, and had your hair cut short, it would be difficult to tell you from the slaves.  Although I suppose you haven't been branded, either."

Up until now I'd thought that the stuff on the slave's chests were tattoos, and they'd both got some sort of design on their left arse, too.  But I now went up and looked more closely and saw that they were indeed not tattoos, but brands!  The flesh was grooved, and pinker than the rest of their deeply-tanned bodies.

"Yes", the foreman said as he watched me. "All the permanent slaves here are branded.  It's better than tattooing, as it's impossible to remove or go over with another design.  So once a slave wears his maser's brand, he knows that he is the master's property for the rest of his life."      

"We're finishing early, aren't we?  Me and my mate usually like to do a lot of overtime".

"Well, you've got to stop now, as it's a three hour drive back to the city....  Unless you want to stop the night here", the foreman replied.  

"Well, I don't know...."

"Suit yourselves.  But if I were you, I wouldn't want three hours of jolting back across the desert, then three more hours back here tomorrow morning - you will have to come back, after all, as the job isn't nearly finished. "

"But then, a couple of young guys like you, I suppose you have an exciting evening planned in the city.....", he continued.

I could see the sense in what he said, and of course we had bugger all to do, other than that dreadful TV.  I didn't need to ask John, as I knew he'd agree with anything  I wanted, so I said  "OK - is there a hotel here or something?"

"No need.  The palace has over 100 bedrooms, and they'll certainly put you up as guests of the Sheikh.  He really does want his Throne Room finished, you know."

"OK, so we'll go in working...."

"Yes, but I've got to take the blonde slave away now, as he's working at his other job tonight and he needs to get ready."

Progress was much slower with only one slave - naturally I took the dark-haired one, and let John haul the ladders around - he didn't mind.

When the foreman came back a couple of hours later John and I pulled on our clothes, and followed him along corridors, up a magnificent staircase, and down more corridors. Everywhere was marble, glass and gold - completely luxurious.  There wasn't a speck of dirt to be seen anywhere, and everything shone.  However much labour must it take, I wondered, to keep all this up to this standard?  You usually can't get cleaners at all, let alone those who can do work like this.

The bedroom we went in to was even bigger and more luxurious than the huge one in our hotel.  

"There's everything here you'll need", the foreman said. "Shaving gear and stuff in the bathroom, and clean clothes in the drawers - if you leave your sweaty stuff on the bathroom floor, the slaves will have it laundered and returned to you by tomorrow when you leave.  The stuff in the drawers should fit you - loose Ts, workout shorts, that sort of thing:  nothing too tight or size-critical."

"Order whatever you want from the kitchens on the phone.  And you'll find that the in-house TV service offers a few things you don't get in your hotel:  there's porno flicks on channel 10 to 19, and channel 20 has the available comfort slaves on display - prostitutes, I suppose you'd call them.  There's no charge, of course, as you're guests of the Sheikh."    

When he went out, I couldn't wait to turn on the TV!  Real porno flicks.  And maybe we'd even have a prossie - I've never paid for sex before (and I suppose I wasn't going to pay for it now as the Sheikh was picking up the bill), but after so long without a woman, anything would be better than nothing!  I wondered though how we'd get on - John is a bit of a prude, and I didn't think he'd like shagging away with me doing the same thing on the next bed!

But when I turned the TV on, all the flicks were of men.  Not a boob or a slit in sight - just cocks, balls, asses, throats:  men doing everything to each other in all combinations.  I couldn't believe it!   And, of course, the comfort slaves on channel 20 were all guys, too: pretty stunning, I'll admit:  all sizes and shapes from lithe lads to big muscled types like our slaves this afternoon.  And all handsome, I suppose.  They were all smiling as they stood around preening themselves and displaying their bodies for the camera - it was quite obvious they knew that people were watching, as they were all holding little signs that had big numbers on them, and a caption kept running along the bottom of the TV screen "Press the number of the slave you require on your TV remote, and he will be sent to your room immediately."

John and I just sat there and stared at it.  Well, one thing was certain:  we weren't going to be having a prossie after all tonight!   We were just talking about the whole amazing setup when the phone rang - it was the foreman calling to say that we should hurry up and order a meal as there was to be an entertainment in the Palace that night and hearing that we were there, the Sheikh had invited us.

"But we haven't got any clothes...."

"Just wear the Ts and shorts you find in the room", the foreman said. "We're very informal here.  And as you'll see, you'll be over dressed compared with some of the men there!"

So we decided to get going - I told John to order some grub for us - of course I had to spell out what we wanted - whilst I went to shower.  There didn't seem to be any point in modesty any more after the day's work naked, so I just dropped my sweaty clothes there in the bedroom, in full view of John as he was on the phone.  We'd never done that before - in our hotel room we always dressed and undressed in the bathroom.

In the huge bathroom there was a walk-in shower - a frosted glass door opening into a big area tiled from floor to ceiling and with a drain hole in the centre.  There was  one of those giant "deluging" shower heads in the ceiling, but no obvious way of turning it on.  I looked all round, and was just about to give up when an opening appeared in the wall opposite the door:  I saw that another door had been concealed there, tiled over.  Two men came out - like me, totally naked.  

I thought that this must be a bathroom shared with the room next door, and they were just about to try to shower too.  But then they dropped to their knees, just like the two slaves we were working with earlier on, and I saw they had those numbers tattooed on their chests as well.

If I liked men, these two would have been fucking gorgeous:  they were almost twins, about 5'10" tall, very well muscled (not hugely built up, but lean and lithe so you could see there was not an ounce of fat on them and all their muscles were sharply defined), tanned a deep honey brown all over, very short cropped hair, and bodies completely hairless except for a very small patch on top of their cocks - it looked as if their pubic hair had all been shaved off except for a strip about three inches long and an inch high, and this was trimmed short.  It seemed that you were  supposed to get he idea that they were fully mature with lots of pubic hair, without it actually spraying all over the place.  They were smiling at me, and the water suddenly started pouring out of the shower head.

One of the slaves got to his feet in a single smooth movement, and stood there feeling the water splash over his naked body, until he judged that it must be at the right temperature because he then came over to me and took me by the arm and led me under the water.

His companion joined the two of us as we stood there, and then the two of them started to soap me all over!  I nearly freaked out - two naked guys going all over my body with their soapy hands.  And I mean ALL over - they didn't seem a bit embarrassed about gently massaging my cock and balls, or sliding a soapy hand down my ass!  I'd never had anything like this before - you never touched the other lads in the showers at school or after a football match.  And most of the birds I'd been with didn't want to feel you like this either.

And when one of them reached up and started shampooing my hair, it was amazing.  His strong fingers massaged my scalp, and it somehow felt so natural, so right, that a man should be doing this intimate service for me.  And as he reached up, he had to get quite close because we were about the same height and he needed to be able to reach.  That meant that his cock, that was swinging around as he moved and soaped me, kept bumping in to me: it was somehow all very sensual, and my cock started to spring to life.

Fucking hell!  Was I getting to be a queer or something, to get a hard on when a couple of naked guys were massaging me in the shower? 

One of the two men saw my erection, and the next minute he was on his knees in front of me.  He washed the soap off my cock, and then he had it in his mouth!  Of course I've had BJs before - sometimes you can get a bird to blow you - but never standing up.  And never like this - I suppose that actually it's only a man who can really give a good BJ as he himself knows what it feels like as the tongue runs over your cock head, the teeth carefully nudge    the flange of your head, and that sensation as the tip of the tongue is flicked at your piss slit.  But there was a problem - as I reached my climax - amazingly quickly - I felt my knees literally go weak:  you know how it is if you try to wank standing up, because we're all used to doing it lying on a bed or slumped in an arm chair.   

I thought the slave would pull away as I thrust forwards towards him as I bent my knees slightly to ease the funny sensation in them, but he obviously interpreted this as my wanting to get more into him, because he reached his hands behind me, cupped one of my arse cheeks in each hand, and pulled me tightly into him.  I could feel his nose poking through my pubic hair and reaching my skin just above my cock, he was pulling so hard.  It was more than I could bear, and I felt myself starting to cum - and then shot a huge load out into his throat.  He made no attempt to pull away, and kept sucking - and then I was  in real problems, because you know how sensitive some men's dicks get when they've just come - well, I'm just like that!  After I've shot the first bit, I need to stop wanking or whatever and let the "after spurts" just happen naturally.  But the slave kept sucking at me and running his tongue all over my cock head, still buried in his mouth.  I cried out - not so much in pain as with an amazing ecstasy, and I could feel my second and third spurts going into him too.

My great shout - yes, it was pleasure - must have startled John because he rushed in, also naked as he was going to shower straight after me, and saw one of the slaves with my cock down his throat, and the other one standing right behind me with his arms around me to help me stand up!

I thought John's eyes were going to pop out of his head.  But, well, you know, I don't like to look like a complete idiot, so I said to him "Your turn now!", and pulled out from the slave.

"Go on, then, shower!", I told John as I stood there recovering.  And of course he did as I told him.  At once one of the slaves started to soap him, whilst the other one brought a big fluffy white towel over and wrapped me in it and massaged me dry through it.

I think John wanted to tell the slave to stop, but I carried on watching him and he knew that the slaves must have been washing me in the same way as they were now washing him, and so he didn't say anything (he always tries to do what I do!).  And he didn't even protest when the second slave stopped drying me to go over and start sucking him!

I though it best to give him a bit of privacy then, so went out into the bedroom.  He came out a few minutes later, and he looked as shattered as I had.

"Fucking marvellous BJ wasn't it?", I said to him as I thought it best to keep the thing out in the open and not try to hide it.  "But don't worry - I won't tell that girl friend of yours!".

"Christ!", John burst out - I knew it must be something important because he usually didn't swear other than to use "fucking", as we all do - "No one's ever done that to me before.  I can't believe it."

"You mean that girl friend of yours doesn't blow you?"

"No, of course not.  Never"

"But what about the girls you knew before her?"

"They didn't either.  One of them wanked me once."

"Well, now you know what it's like.  But, as someone who's had their cocks in a lot of mouths, let me tell you that you've been spoiled for the rest of your life.  It will all be down hill for you, as every other BJ you ever have will never be as good as that one.  It's just as if those two guys were specially trained to do it!"

Still naked, both of us decided to go back and ask the guys more, but when we went back into the bathroom, it was empty and the men had gone.  Surely it couldn't be possible that they hung around somewhere waiting to go into bathrooms whenever men wanted to shower?

We thought about phoning, but couldn't think who to phone.  So we looked at the clothes in the drawer, and found they were all as the foreman had said: Ts and shorts - but silk Ts, that clung to our bodies like a whisper, and those loose, tightly-knitted shorts you wear in gyms.  The only thing was there were no boxers or briefs or anything - John said he supposed it was because of the heat, and it was better to "hang loose" inside the loose-fitting shorts so that the air could circulate around your privates.

As we finished dressing, there was a a knock on the door, and without us having to say anything it immediately opened and two waiters came in with our meal on a trolley.  You could tell they were waiters, because they had black bow ties around their necks - but their only other item of clothing was a tiny black silk G-string that only just covered their genitals.  Both of them were impressively well hung, and the tiny pouch was strained to its utmost to contain them - you could see everything through it, including the fact that, like the rest of their bodies, they were totally shaved.  They didn't even have the little patch of pubic hair left above their cocks as the young slaves in the shower had.

Both John and I were too astounded to say anything, as they put the dishes out onto the table by the big window, then bowed deeply to us, and left.

We just sat there and eat - we couldn't think of anything else to say or do.  And the food was amazing.  We'd only asked for ordinary grub, but the chef they had at the palace had just done it differently, and we stuffed ourselves like pigs.  They'd even given us a couple of bottles of ice-cold lager each (the first alcohol we'd seen since we came to the country), and we drained those in double quick time.

We ate every scrap - and they really had given us a lot.  We sat down on the sofa afterwards belching away, and we even had another look at those porno flicks.  They didn't look so disgusting when you'd got a good meal inside you and were happy and content- you could see that all the blokes were really good looking, nicely hung, and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely!  John said he still thought it was disgusting, but I pointed out to him that if there had been a camera in our shower a short time ago it would have made a good scene for one of these movies, so he shouldn't go on about it too much.

There was another knock on the door, but this time it didn't open so I went to see who it was.  It was the foreman, and like us he was in a T and shorts.

"I just came for you lads to show you the way to the entertainment", he said.  "It's easy to get lost in the palace, as it's so huge.  And anyway it's across the courtyard, in the banqueting suite."

As we walked through the palace he went on "About 20 of the Sheikh's closest friends have been invited to a banquet this evening, which is just finishing.  His highness sends his apologies that you couldn't attend the dinner, but they were discussing their strategy for oil prices for the next five years over the meal, and it was inappropriate for Westerners to attend.  But he hopes you will enjoy the after-dinner entertainment."

"You lads are lucky, you know.  It's not many people get to see 'the real thing' as you will.  I had to spend a year here before he first invited me, and I wouldn't miss out on it for the world now."

We started to ask him exactly what this entertainment was, but we arrived at the doors to the banqueting suite - two ceiling-height doors each about four feet wide, and each with a naked black man standing in front of them.  

John and I gaped, but the foreman didn't slow down or even appear to notice much - as we got close enough, the blacks stepped smartly aside and pulled open the doors just as the foreman got to them: just like those electric door openers we are used to in big stores, but slave powered.

The room was huge, and basically square.  The walls were hung with thick hangings of silk in all the colours of the rainbow.  In the middle of the room the marble floor was lowered to a depth of about three feet, to make a sunken area approximately fifteen feet square.  There were steps leading up from this sunken area on all sides, so if you wanted to go to one part of the room to the other, you didn't have to go around it.  The area surrounding this pit was furnished with sofas, and on each one there was an Arab sitting or sprawling.

A naked slave (I was getting to recognise slaves now, just by looking to see if they were branded) came up and led the three of us to another sofa that was at the back of the room, behind the others.  

The Arabs on the sofas were all  being served food and drink by "waiters" who, like the slaves who had served us earlier, were all dressed in bow ties and tiny posing pouches.

"See", the foreman told us "Dinner is basically over.  The waiters are just offering sweetmeats and savouries, but they're mostly being declined.  The Sheikh insists that waiters, or anyone involved in food service or preparation here at the palace, is totally shaved - he found a pubic hair in the pastry he has for breakfast one morning, and said it was never going to happen again.  And the waiters have to wear those tiny pouches so that if they do get an erection, there's no risk of the food being contaminated by their precum.  

I looked around and just sat and watched the incredible scene - there must have been at least 40 of the near-naked waiters serving the Arabs.  Then I noticed that one of the Arabs - a big fat one - who was sprawling on a couch near us had beckoned a waiter over to him.  The man stood in front of him, and the Arab reached out and first fondled the slave's cock through his G-string, and, clearly finding it pleasing, then ripped the string off so that the slave was naked except for his bow tie.

He snapped something at the slave, who reached down into the Arab's robe and clearly was stimulating him.  The slave then moved so he was astride the lap of the fat Arab as he lay there sprawled, and lowered himself onto the Arab's cock!  The slave then started to move up and down and you could see all the muscles in his thighs straining as he did so, gently raising and lowering himself so that the Arab's cock slid smoothly in and out of his arse.

The Arab would say something to the slave from time to time, and each time the slave altered his pace - sometimes going slowly, sometimes fast, and clearly sometimes just having short "strokes" whilst at other times the Arab's cock must have been slamming into the poor chap.  It seemed like the ultimate way to be really humiliated:  being told exactly how you should move to cause the Arab the maximum pleasure as he fucked you.  The slave was obviously under great strain as he tried to maintain his straddled posture and obey the Arab in relation to how he was to move, and it went on and on.  It took about 20 minutes before you could tell form the look on the Arab's face that he had cum.

Then he snapped something else at the slave, who at once got off the Arab's cock, bent down, and we could see him licking the big fat cock clean!  Fancy having to clean a man's prick with your mouth and tongue when it's been up your arse, I thought, and it almost made me puke.

The foreman saw me looking disgusted, but said "Don't worry, as we make all the waiters have thorough enemas before serving.  So if a master does choose to fuck them, they can clean the master off as there will be very little shit on their cocks."

Well, ha bloody ha, that's all right then, I thought!

They might have been waiting for the Arab to finish - I think he was one of the guests of honour, because as soon as the waiter had finished with him, the lights in the room dimmed and spotlights above the sunken area came on.

Four big naked slaves then entered, hauling something  about four feet square and seven feet high on a small trolley - we couldn't see what it was, as it was covered with a big sheet of white cotton fabric. 

The slaves went and stood in that position I had seen our two adopt - hands clasped behind their backs, feet apart, and heads bowed, in the four corners of the area.  One of the "Overseer" types in full Arab rig went up to the fabric and with a big flourish pulled it off.  

We all gasped, because underneath there was a cage made of steel bars, and inside the cage was a Marine, in full military uniform.  The guy was clutching the bars and shaking them, as if trying to get out.  He blinked in the sudden light, then must have caught sight of the four big naked slaves standing there, because he abruptly stopped moving and his mouth fell open as if in shock. 

The Overseer went up to the cage, and I think he must have been wearing a concealed radio mike because even though he was clearly speaking quietly, all of us in the audience could hear every word.

"Welcome, Marine, to the entertainment centre in the palace of his Highness the Sheikh.  You are here tonight not to see the entertainment, but to participate in it.   Fully participate in it, I may say.  You were captured whilst on a secret infiltration mission to our country, and your comrades who were captured with you have all been dispersed to other Sheikhs by our gracious ruler as 'thank you' gifts for their loyal support of his regime.  You should abandon any hope of being rescued, as  your government is not even looking for you - your mission was secret, and when it failed, they can't admit to the world that it was even going on."

"You have been abandoned.  Totally.  Newspapers in your country have even reported the deaths of a small group of marines in a 'training accident'  at your home base. Your only hope now is to co-operate fully as a loyal 'servant' of our merciful Sheikh."

"Your first duty as his new 'servant' is to show off your fighting skills.  We have assembled here tonight a group of connoisseurs of hand to hand combat, and you are to demonstrate your art to them.  You will fight the Sheikh's chief wrestler, 403."

Then in a louder voice, he called "403, enter the arena."

Very dramatically, lit by a following spot, 'our' slave came out of the shadows in the corner of the room and walked serenely and proudly into the arena to stand in front of the cage.

"Now, Marine", the Overseer continued, "you have seen your opponent. Take off your clothes so that we can let you out of the cage and the contest can begin."

"FUCK YOU!", the Marine shouted, and the radio mike picked up his words and carried them all around the room.  

"I'm not stripping in front of a load of queers, or fighting in the nude as an entertainment for you.  In fact, I'm not going to fight at all, naked or clothed.  I'm a prisoner of war, and I demand my rights under the Geneva Convention."

"Marine", the Overseer replied in his calm voice, "I caution you to obey the Sheikh's wishes, as your future life will very much depend on his kindness.  You are not a prisoner of war, as there is no war.  And, as I have told you, your country no longer cares about you.  So get naked, so that we can all see what sort of a man you are.  Then come out of your cage fighting, and try to beat 403 here - although I have to warn you that he is an expert."

"AS I SAID, FUCK YOU!" The marine shouted, and shook the bars again in anger.

"This is your last chance, Marine.  If you do not voluntarily unclothe, we will make you, forcibly.  And you assuredly will fight 803 here - all our fights are what we call 'finish on a fuck', that is to say the fight is only over when one of the fighters gets his cock completely up the nether regions of his opponent.  If you do not fight, 803 here will have an easy time of it.  Whilst it will not be as entertaining as seeing a fight, 803 has a very pleasing body and seeing him take your virginity - I assume you are a virgin - and shoot one of his massive loads of cum up inside you will be almost as good.  Now, unclothe!"

The marine did not say anything, but in an act of sheer defiance simply turned around so that his back was to the Overseer.

"Very well... Slaves...." The Overseer said.  The four big naked slaves who had been standing in the corners approached the cage, and the door was unlatched.  They reached in and pulled the Marine out, and in spite of his violent attempts to prevent them from doing so, they quickly and efficiently stripped him completely naked.  I suppose that there's a point when a man knows he's beaten - these four slaves were big and tough, and had obviously done this lots of time before.  I suppose even the best fighter knows he can't hope to win against four opponents who are all trained to act as a team, so they don't get in each others way, and so conserves his strength and avoids getting damaged in the hope that he can face better odds later.

This certainly seemed to be the case for the Marine, who after his initial skirmish with the four slaves effectively became completely passive and let the four men take all his clothes off - they weren't at all gentle, and it looked as if they were tearing his shirt off  as buttons flew out, and they yanked his trousers and pants down together, and pulled them over his feet whilst one of them pinned his back down to the ground.  We were all treated to the spectacle of his arse hole as his legs came up as the trousers were pulled off.

A couple of minutes later he stood there, his hands held in front of his cock as if to hide it, glaring at our 403.

403

Well, what a day it turned out to be.  First, being taken into the palace.  And then working with those masters doing things with the ceiling.  It felt strange to have a master sitting astride my shoulders at first, and I could hardly keep up with all the shouting they did to get me to move around.  I was worried about 6, in case he understood less, and they ordered him to be whipped as they would think him to be disobedient.

But after the master who seemed to be in charge of the other masters spoke to them, they took their boots off too and then started to guide us by pressing into the ribs with their knees, and kicking into my back with their feet - it was a  lot easier.  I know it seems strange to some people that one master would be in charge of another, and yet the one master did seem to give orders to the others. Yet all three were masters, because as two of them were only wearing shorts,  I could see that they had no ownership marks on them.  

Compared to pulling the plough, carrying the master was really easy work.  And although it was hot in the palace so I was sweating all over, at least I was not out under the burning sun for a change.  

It was surprising to see how much like a slave a master really is when he is almost unclothed - the master on my shoulders looked just like me - very little hair on his body, nice pecs carried high, with good tits, a flat stomach, and long thin toes.  Of course he was not nearly as well developed as I am, and he was a lot shorter.  But a few weeks of heavy toil could easily turn him into a good-looking slave.

Late on, when he took off the shorts and sat his naked ass directly on my shoulders, I saw that he was even more like a slave - he had been cut.  This added to the mystery - why would a master be cut?  (although I saw that the other master, the one sitting on 6, had not been ordered to be cut as mine had).  

The master had an erection as he sat on me, and he tried to get comfortable by first sitting with his cock pressing against my left ear, and then the right one.  Finally, he pushed it up between his belly and the back of my neck, and I could feel its silky soft firmness nestling in the nape of my neck.  I always think a guy's cock feels lovely - it seems to have a completely different feel to it than any other part of his body.  I liked its warmth against my neck, and I must remember to do this to 6 when we next get a chance to play together - I've put my cock almost everywhere else on and in his body, but never there before.  It will be exciting for him, I know.

Master was sweating just like I was, but his sweat smelled different.  Most of us slaves have sweat that smells the same, as we're always fed on exactly the same food.  But I've noticed that masters' smells vary from day to day, and I think it depends on what they've been eating.  This master's sweat smelled excitingly different, and I longed to be able to lick my tongue all over his body so that I could savour it to the full.  With his cock and balls so close to my head, I also kept getting whiffs of the exciting "man smell" that comes from those areas - you know how it is, wen you press your nose up between your playmate's thighs, and then on and up between his cock and balls - there's that unique scent there that's found on no other parts of the body.  Some of the slaves in my gang like to suck at each other's arm pits, bit I don't think you can beat the good rich man-smell from cocks and balls that are sweating heavily.  I really wanted the master to turn around, so I could bury his cock deep into my mouth and really get the full taste as well as the smell.

When they stopped to have a drink, the masters did a quite extraordinary thing.  6 and I remained kneeling having gone down to let them  dismount from our shoulders ( they did not give us the command to allow us to rise).  We were both dying for a drink - it was hours since we had last had any water, and we had been sweating heavily all the time we were working.  The masters stood there swilling the water down, and I could even smell its sharp, clean smell, I was so desperate for it.  Of course we couldn't ask, as slaves do not beg masters for anything.  But it was as if the masters knew we were thirsty because they brought some of the water over and gave it to us!  No master has ever done anything like that for us before, no master has ever considered that we too might need watering.

I thought 6 and I would work for these masters all day, and if we were lucky and they saw we were hard workers, who knows, they might buy us from the Sheikh and take us under their protection - although the Sheikh is a considerate master, he does not think about his slaves in the same way as these masters thought about us.  Any slave would be grateful to be owned by these two.  I fervently hoped that if they were only able to buy one of us, it could be 6.  I can look after myself as well as any slave can, but 6 needs someone to look out for him, as I've said.  I'm always worried that we will be separated, but if it was to two masters like these, I could stop worrying. 

The fight that evening was going to be a special one.  I know most of the other masters' champion fighters because we have all fought each other several times, but an Overseer told me that tonight I was to go up against a "wild" slave, in fact a soldier who was a crack fighter and who had only been captured the day before.  I hate these fights, as the guys just don't know how to behave in polite society, and I'm always worried that they will upset the audience of masters and we'll both get punished - you know the sort of thing I mean, they stand their with their hands over their cocks, so the masters can't see them properly, and when we do get to fight they fight dirty, trying to punch and chop you, instead of just wrestling.  So I knew I was in for a bad time.

It was worse than I thought - first of all, he refused to take his clothes off in the cage - how did he think we were going to fight?  He was shouting and screaming obscenities, and the four arena slaves had to go in, pull him out, and forcibly strip him:  you'd have thought that would have been humiliating enough.  But then he stood there concealing his tackle from the masters with his hands, as if they had no right to get a good look at him!  It's stupid anyway, as well hung men, and he was well hung, can't really cover all of themselves with their hands and it just makes them look ridiculous.

Although they told me he was a freshly-captured slave, he must have been a master fairly recently as once he was nude you could see that the sun had not tanned him equally all over.  He was three different shades!  Very dark lower arms, hands and face.  Lighter body and legs, and pure white around his cock and ass.  It shows how sensible masters are to have us slaves naked in the sun - this guy really did look ridiculous with these kind of "stripes" of tan over him!

He wasn't shaved, of course, and his uncut cock hung down from a big forest of black pubic hair - it stretched right across from thigh to thigh.  He had quite a pronounced treasure trail, too, and a lot of hair all over his chest.  

He stopped his shouting when he saw me, but when I went over to him and wanted to help him oil up the parts you can't  easily reach yourself, he started again.  And it shows how he was uncivilised - he went to hit me when I poured some oil into the palm of my hand and went to rub it on his ass.  Fancy hitting out at your opponent when the fight hasn't started officially!  

Personally I don't like fighting all covered in oil, as you can't get a proper grip on your opponent as his body slithers away under yours.  But an Overseer once told me that the masters think it's better for two reasons - firstly, a slave's body looks nice when it's oiled and picked out by the spotlights in the arena;  and secondly, it makes the bouts last longer and there is more of a chance for a weaker fighter to overcome a stronger one, as the strong guy has less of an advantage.  Of course, as the masters want it that way, I fight that way.  And it does mean that your cock is already slicked up for your opponent's ass - it's difficult enough fighting to the fuck as it is, keeping the opponent subdued whilst you go up him:  if you had to try to slick your cock as well, it would be almost impossible.  And as a professional, I don't like to think of going up my opponent without any lube at all - the aim isn't to cause the guy pain, after all!

Anyway, I put an extra dose of oil all over me, and as soon as the arena slaves had pulled the cage away, the Overseer looked at us and told us each the traditional rules "Fight to the fuck.  One cock up one ass ends it."

The other fighter screamed stuff at the Overseer that I didn't understand.  But then I think he saw there was no escape as he saw the arena slaves and the guards all around the room, so he shut up.  I went into the normal crouching stance, but he held his hands out in front of him - I've had these captured fighters do this before - they try and strike you in a special way - and you have to be careful, because if their hard hands hit your neck, or one of your key pressure points, you can be out of it!  So to avoid this I did my special trick:  instead of continuing to circle around him, I just launched myself in the air and threw myself towards him, arms open wide.  I hit him square on in the middle of his body before he could lash out and hit me, and locked my arms around him.

The more he tried to escape from me the more the oil that was all over my body spread to his.  I probably could have carried on crushing him from this first move and finished the fight quickly, but I knew my master wouldn't consider that a proper evening's entertainment.  So I let up on the pressure, so he could wriggle out - and for the next half hour I wished I hadn't!

He might not have been as big as me, and he wasn't as powerful, but this fighter had stamina and guts.  He just didn't give up, and tried every move I've ever seen, and some besides, to beat me.  But in the end my superior stamina won the day, and I did manage to pin him to the ground on his back.  I lifted myself up a bit, then let my whole weight crash down onto his chest.  Whilst he was winded, I flipped him over on to his belly, and locked my arms under his and around the back of his neck - one of my trainers calls this a "Nelson" - I don't know why.

I'd got him then, as there was no way he could escape.  Try as he could, he couldn't get away from under me.  I got my knees down between his legs, then spread them by the sheer force that my thighs could exert.  The way was now open to his ass - but it's not that easy.  If the guy isn't co-operating, and if he doesn't pull his ass cheeks apart a bit and then guide you in, it can be really difficult to get your cock those first few vital millimetres into the asshole.

It wasn't easy - I had to stab and thrust away with my erect cock to try to locate his asshole, and it was more difficult because, unlike a proper fighter, he wasn't shaved down there and there was a whole lot of hair in the way.   But I did hit the spot eventually, and started to push myself in.

The stupid guy tried to resist!  Everyone knows that once the tip of the cock has found the hole it's just not possible to stop it being forced in further, so you might as well make it easy on yourself by doing that action you do when you crap, so the muscles around the hole relax and the cock can slide in.  But this guy seemed determined not to let me in, and I had to push harder and harder - of course I went in eventually, but I could feel his body spasming with the pain, and he was screaming and shouting words I didn't understand but which seemed to cause pleasure to the masters.

Once I was fully in, inserted up to the hilt, I did the ritual four or five thrusts that you do - they don't really expect you to stay at it until you cum, but they like to think that you could, if you wanted to or they ordered it.  Normally a fighter quietens down whilst this is going on, as it's much easier on both guys if you let the fucking take place without a lot of struggling and bucking - but this fighter didn't seem to know this and tried to stop me every inch of the way.  Of course this excited me to further efforts, as when your fighting spirit's up, it doesn't take much to drive you over the edge. Unusually for me, I came.  I could feel my cum pumping up his asshole.  And when I had finished I just slumped forwards so my body covered his, I was so exhausted!  

I pulled out, and saw that the "captured" fighter hadn't even done the right thing there, either - us professionals always clean ourselves out properly with an enema first, with at least three changes of water, but this dirty beast hadn't.  My cock was coated in his shit - it was absolutely disgusting.  As a mark of respect for your conqueror you usually clean up his cock after he has fucked you in a fight like this, and I had a good mind to make this one do so anyway - perhaps eating his own shit would teach him proper manners!

But the Overseer saw the problem, and gestured me to the side of the arena where another slave quickly made me sweet-smelling again with a warm moist towel, so that I could go to the Sheikh and be congratulated.  I went up onto the dais where he was reclining, knelt down, and respectfully touched my head to the floor as you do in his presence.  He must have been very pleased with my performance, because instead of just dismissing me as he usually did, he reached out and put his naked foot under my chin, and raised my head.  I was so surprised by this mark of his favour that I forgot myself and pressed my lips to his toes.  I realised my mistake at once, and thought that I would surely be punished, but he continued to raise my head with his foot so that I could actually look at his face ,and I saw that he was in fact smiling.

"Fetch me the other slave over here for inspection, 403", he said.  He'd actually used my number, instead of just referring to me as "slave" - he'd never honoured me like this before.

The slave was still lying on the arena floor, but as soon as I went to pull him to his feet, he went to hit out at me again - no manners, as I've said.  Everyone knows that once the fight is over slaves aren't allowed to strike out at each other as their masters don't want to risk damage to their property.  I went to guide him towards the Sheikh, but he wouldn't go.  I thought about dragging him, as he looked pretty exhausted, but remembered how he had struck at me - perhaps he might try the same thing with the Sheikh!  So I put him into a "Nelson" hold, and frog-marched him across towards the dais.  

My cock was nestled in-between his ass cheeks, and although I would normally try to control an erection in the presence of masters, no one could see and so I allowed myself the pleasure of going half-hard and feeling my cock push into that nice warm place between his cheeks.

He was struggling and shouting things as I pushed him along in front of me, and didn't stop when the Sheikh got down from his couch and gave him a thorough examination - well, as thorough as you can do when only the salve's front is available to the master's hands.  

The Sheikh of course wanted to feel his musculature, and ran his hands all over the slave's body.  He tested the sensitivity of the nipples by that little "tweak" that experienced masters, used to inspecting slaves, all learn.  But when he started to inspect the slave's cock, pushing the foreskin back to be able to view the head, the slave's shouts got even louder and more violent.  I felt certain that the Sheikh would order him to be flogged for this disrespect! 

But the Sheikh, as masters do, remained calm and simply ordered guards to take the slave away to await his enslavement processing the following day.  Of course the Sheikh then saw my semi-erection, and I was so embarrassed at the disrespect I was showing him that even I, used to being totally naked all my life, felt one of those "flushes" come over me.  But the Sheikh my master was obviously in a good mood, because he invited me to sit on the edge of his dais and watch the rest of the evening's entertainment, and at odd times he even caressed my cock and balls with his toes.  I was in heaven, to be so favoured by my master.

The remaining spectacle wasn't nearly as good as our fight, I thought.  The Sheikh's troupe of dancers performed one of their routines.  When they first come on it's interesting, as they all have identical bodies - same height, same lean shape with long, sinewy muscles, same sort of cocks and balls (all low-hangers, with none of those high tight little sacs that a cock rides on top of), and they'd even all got the same hair colour - or, at least as much as you could see in the arena lighting as their heads were very closely cropped and they did of course only have a tiny bar of short-cut hair above their cocks with the rest of them being shaved smooth.   The Overseers call them "almost like clones", and say that finding replacements of the same type is really difficult as they all need to have identically long cocks, and so on - the Sheikh has a standing order for any men of this type with all the major slave houses, they say.

But there's only so many things that 12 men can do together, although some of the combinations were impressive.  When we do it ourselves, I know how difficult it is to synchronise just a three-way to make sure you thrust in whilst the guy who's going in to you thrusts at the same time:  there was real skill here in their finale, when all 12 of them did a simultaneous group fuck in a long line.  They must have practised and practised for hours, as the 11 thrusters all managed to cum, and cum at he same time, and the guy at the head of the line  even shot his load at that moment as he was jerked off by the hands of the guy who was fucking him reaching around his body.

At the end of the evening, the Overseer said it was too late to take me back to the main field slave dormitories and so I wouldn't be locked in with my gang that night.  Instead they took me down a flight of stairs and into the holding area under the arena.  There's not a lot of  need for cages or anything here, as we're all fully trained slaves who take part in the entertainment.  But there is one cage, and it was occupied by the slave I'd fought.  He was sitting against the bars of the side, and he looked a picture of misery:  his knees were drawn up to his chest, and he had his arms clasped around his knees, and his head buried down.  Judging by the motions of his ribs that I could see on his side, I thought it looked as if he was crying, or, at least, tying to control tears.

"Sorry, 403, but you're going to have to spend the night with this wild slave.  Watch out - I know you've beaten him once, but I don't suppose he'll respect you", the Overseer said as he unlocked the door and I went in.

The holding area isn't meant to be used for long-term slave storage so the cage was  absolutely basic - there wasn't even any straw to lie on as you normally get, and it was just the bare cement underneath me.   It was cooler than usual down here, too, and the floor felt a bit cold to my ass as I sat down.

The cage wasn't very big either, and with him sitting against the side, I couldn't lie down.  If we were going to get any sleep, he was going to have to lie down alongside me.  So I moved across to be next to him, and asked him to do the right thing, so we could both sleep.

He looked at me and started to shout again.  Was he mad?  I was only making a sensible suggestion for the good of both of us.   

I think he realised I didn't understand what he was saying, because he stopped after a time, but still sat there, hunched up, the picture of misery.    

Using as simple words as I could find, I said "Look, it's not that bad.  Although you're a slave, you've ended up with a good master.  I've been here 12 years and I couldn't hope for a better master than the Sheikh."

"If you're worried about the branding that they'll do tomorrow now that you're the Sheikh's property, just don't.  Sure it hurts as the irons bite into you, but you're tied down completely immobile so you can't damage yourself.  And the pain dies away after three or four days."

He looked at me and said, haltingly, and reaching out and touching my brands, "You mean they're going to scar me like you are?"

"Of course.  If you're not marked with the Sheikh's brand, how could you be returned if you were lost?  And without your slave number on your chest, masters and Overseers wouldn't know how to command you separately from a group you're in."

"All the so-called slaves are branded.....?"

"Yes, of course, all us slaves here on the Sheikh's estate are branded.  And don't worry about losing that skin that conceals your cock head, either - that really doesn't hurt at all after the first couple of minutes."

"Losing the skin....?"

"Yes, haven't you seen?  All the slaves here are cut.  The Sheikh doesn't like his slaves to have little secret places not accessible to the eyes of masters, and so you are not allowed to have a concealed cock head and all new slaves here have that skin cut off."

"Jesus fucking Christ.... ", the slave said (that's the best ideas I have of his words... It seemed important to him), and now it really did look as if he was going to cry.

I put my arm around his shoulders as you do to comfort any slave who's in big trouble.  He tried to shake me off, but I persisted.

"Look", I said to him.  "You feel cold, and it isn't as warm in here as I'm used to either.  But you're not yet used to feeling the air on your body, or this cold floor on your ass.  So let's be friends...  Let me lie down, then you lie on top of me.  I can stand the coolness of the floor for the night...."

He started to say something that didn't sound like "yes" - the sooner he learns proper Aralish the better.  But I persisted, managed to stretch out and pull the guy down on top of me.  We shucked around a bit, and I lay flat on my back and got him to lie so that he was half across me so I wasn't taking his whole weight (although shorter than me, he was surprisingly heavy as his whole compact body was muscle).  His head was cradled in-between the top of my arm and my shoulder, and his legs straddled one of mine.  

He seemed to be shy at first - he didn't like his cock lying against my belly, and was worried about his face being on me.  What an idiot - as if I'd be worried about another slave's cock anywhere on me.  And I know I stank of sweat, so my armpit wasn't the best place, but it was still fresh sweat from our fight - and, anyway, he obviously hadn't smelt himself!

As he lay there, he asked me about slavery and I told him about my life and how lucky we were to be here.  He only asked me a bit about the branding and cutting - he was worried, I could tell, but like a man, didn't want to admit it.  I thought he needed cheering up, so I went on 

"You're really lucky, though.  When you shouted at the Sheikh like that I thought he'd order you to be fitted with false balls."

I had to explain to him then that particularly unruly or wild slaves were, as a last resort, fitted with false balls in order to clam them down.  Before that, almost the only thing the Sheikh could do with an unruly slave was to have him put to death:  he couldn't be sold on, because of his irradicable brands;  and he couldn't just have his balls cut off, because the Sheikh didn't like to see slaves without a nice looking set of tackle.  But now they could have their balls cut out and replaced with false ones, they were clamed down and still looked OK.

"However", I went on, "You pissed him off enough that he's ordered you to be ringed as well as cut."

"Ringed?"

"They'll pierce your nipples and fit big gold rings in them.  You may have them where you come from, as I've occasionally seen masters at the swimming pool with things through their nipples.  Slave rings aren't like those, which I think the masters wear for ornament - they're about 2" in diameter and quite heavy.  They have two uses:  firstly, as you move or run, their weight reminds you all the time that you're a slave.  And secondly, if you show any sign of disrespect, an Overseer can quickly jerk down on them to remind you of your proper place.  It's a lot easier for them as the rings are so big and accessible compared with your normal nipples."

"Of course", I went on, "It's a badge of shame as well, as all your fellow slaves will know that you were considered to be an unruly, disrespectful slave."

"And the third ring is around your tackle - they'll pull your cock and balls as far away from your body as possible, then fasten a thick, heavy ring around the place.  From then on, your cock will jut out in front of you, and you'll be erect most of the time."

"But don't worry about that - the slaves I've spoken to who are ringed like that say it doesn't hurt at all, and after you have got used to your cock being held out like that, you really wouldn't want to go back to the 'natural' way.  It does cause me to wonder what role you're going to have, though, as it's usually pony slaves, litter bearers, and message carriers who have that sort of ringing - it's easier for them to run long distances without their cocks and balls flying up and down all the time."

The slave said something like "Jesus Chris!" again, but he was obviously exhausted, poor guy, and was drifting off to sleep.      

I reached down and thought that I'd jerk him off, because even though he had been fucked, he hadn't had any relief himself.  And that seemed to set him off over again, forgetting that he needed to talk simply if was to understand what he was going on about.

Still, it was his loss - it's so much easier to sleep when you've shot a load - well, that's what I always find.

He tossed and turned a lot during the night, and was muttering and crying out in his sleep - obviously deeply troubled.  The sooner he was properly enslaved and working hard in a proper job, with no worries, the better it would be for him I thought.

In the morning he still didn't want me to jerk him off, and he wouldn't even put his hand on my erect cock, either, so I had to do it myself.  I hoped he'd soon get used to us slaves enjoying each other and helping each other, as it makes life so much more fun - but I knew he'd soon learn in the dormitories, as most slaves won't put up with guys who are stand-offish in their gangs.

He didn't even know the simplest thing, and I had to show him how to take the whole of the slave biscuits into your mouth at one time when they brought our breakfast, to avoid the crumbs going everywhere.

They took him away for processing when I was taken off to work later - do you want me to tell you what happened to him, and how our paths crossed again?  

(Author's note:  the story of the Marine, 3, 6 and the two electricians does indeed take a strange turn and their lives do intertwine in a most astonishing way.  But that narrative does not add to the understanding of slavery that is the subject of this first paper in the series, and so I have deliberately cut 3's narrative here.  I have full notes of what he said, and have heard the events from the lips of the Electricians, and the Marine  (properly, slave 35821897, or '7' familiarly).  I will consider publishing the continuation of their story in a later paper in the series, when examining the relationships between masters and slaves.  Readers who believe they need this material earlier should contact me privately). 

THE ELECTRICIANS

I know the Marine must have been fucking cross when they stripped him off, but "our" boy 403 was only trying to be helpful when he went to oil the marines' arse.  There was no need to attack him like that. Everyone in the audience was shocked, as it obviously wasn't protocol to fight before the "go" had been given.

I like to go and see boxing myself, especially the professional fights where their upper bodies are bare so you can see he sweat flying off as the gloves punch home (I've been to a lot of amateur bouts in the East End, but they're mostly the light weights - you don't tend to get heavy weights boxing amateur - and they're not as good to watch.  You need big strong blokes pounding away at each other for it to be fun).  Wrestling's a joke, of course - all those fakes, in those silly costumes, I can't see why anyone bothers to go and see it.  I suppose it's only old grannies, hysterical birds, big fat blokes with beer guts, and kids who do, anyway.

But  when they got stuck in, this was real fighting:  oiled and naked,  you could see  every muscle of both blokes as they pounded each other with bare fists and did all sorts of wrestling moves I can't even describe.  The sweat was flying off both of them, and you knew it was for real - nothing held back, and both determined to win.  If a promoter bought bouts like this to London, he'd make a fortune.

I think our "3" expected to  win - he looked very confident at the start.  But the Marine obviously knew a thing or two about fighting, because every time you thought that "3" had him down, he came back again.  "3" was a good 5" taller than the Marine, and a lot heavier, so if the fight had just been plain wrestling, he'd have won quickly.  But the Marine punched, kicked out, and did those sort of chopping things from the Japanese, and that almost turned the tables.

It went on for over half an hour, and they must both have been near exhaustion.  I've never seen anything so fantastic in my life - I was erect from the moment it started, and my dick was dripping precum all the time.  I could see John was the same, too, as his shorts were tented up just like mine.  Some of the waiters hovered around and I think they would have done something about my erection if I'd made any sign of wanting it - but I wasn't about to start letting a load of fags wank me; well, not in public!

Finally "3's" greater weight and strength won out though, and he had the Marine pinned on his back.  They lay there a moment or two, then "3" flipped the Marine over on to his belly and got him in a half-Nelson.... And the next minute he was fucking the Marine.  I've never heard a guy shout and scream like that, even though "3" was pulling his head back and it was difficult for him to speak at all.  It wasn't so much that the guy was in terrible pain,  or even anger - it was sheer bloody rage.  I know some expletives believe me, and this Marine went through the lot of them and then a whole lot more!

You could see from the look on 3's face that he actually shot a load, and then he collapsed on to the Marine, lying there across his  body as  I now know you do when you've just fucked.   

When he pulled out he had to have his cock cleaned - they didn't seem to be expecting this, as slaves had to come with damp towels to do it (although why they didn't expect it I don't know - if your cock has been up a man's bum, it must get coated with his shit!).  

3 went to take the Marine over towards the Sheikh, but there was more struggling and eventually he could only do it by holding him in a half-Nelson again.  The Sheikh didn't look all that pleased as he examined the Marine, as the guy kept F'ing and Blinding at him (and a whole lot more besides), and eventually he was taken away  by the guards.  I wondered at the time what was going to happen to him, but  of course now.....

(Author's note:  Steve's narrative cut here, as I did 3's, to go into a separate paper).

It looked as if our 3 had earned himself some favour from the Sheikh, because he was allowed to sit on the dais for the rest of the evening - although the Sheikh kept playing with 3's cock and balls with his toes.  Poor old 3 - to be humiliated like that, when he'd won the fight.     

John and I didn't stay to see the dancers - as soon as they came on we knew they weren't for us.  Although how they managed to get 12 men so much alike, I'll never know.  Or course with shaved bodies and cropped hair, and that little bit left on their pubes, I suppose it must be easier.  But they were so similar - even I, and, let me remind you, I'm not one to look closely at another bloke's body, could see that their cocks were all the same length even!  But you won't get me sitting through a load of dancing, however athletic the dancers look - sissy, I call it.  So John and I made our way back to the Palace and our room.

Even though we were both sweating we didn't bother to shower:  I don't think either of us wanted to see those slaves who came with it, in the excited state we were in.  I didn't even bother to wait until John had gone to sleep - I needed to wank so desperately after that fight that I just lay there on the bed and did it:  John was a bit surprised when he came out of the bathroom and saw me with my hands wrapped around my cock, jerking away for all its worth.  And I knew he must have been pretty much on the edge, too, as he did it as soon as he was in bed - although modestly covered by  the sheets - that's John for you - didn't he know I knew what he was doing?  He's a laugh really.

Slaves served us breakfast in bed the next morning - they didn't knock or anything, just came in with the food.  We could have been start naked, or anything - but then, the slaves were almost naked with just one of those tiny pouches on trying to restrain their cocks and balls, so perhaps they didn't mind seeing their customers like that.

As we lay there eating, John said how much fun it was - it didn't matter if the jam dripped on to your chest, or if you spilled the tea, as you were going to wash anyway.  He said that back in London he'd think about having me bring him his breakfast in bed every morning, the cheeky buggar!

We went along to the Throne Room straight after breakfast, and the slaves, 3 and 6, were already waiting.  They had been talking or something as we went in, but immediately stopped and went into that "holding" position we'd seen yesterday, waiting for us to make a move.

I went over to look at 3, and had him move around a bit - poor guy, he must have been sore as you could see bruises all over his upper body where the Marine had hit him:  the bloke was obviously trained well to get so many blows to strike home, as 3 seemed really good at dodging and weaving anyway.

I asked him if he hurt, and if he was able to work that day.  He told me he hurt like hell, all over.  But he didn't answer me about being able to work - it was as if he expected to have to work however he felt.  I suppose that's part of being a slave, on reflection.

It was obviously going to be hot again when the sun got high enough to come in through the big windows that lined one side of the room, so I decided not to fuck about getting my Jeans soaked, and then my boxers.

The two slaves watched me, and so did John - he looked a bit surprised - as I stripped off totally and buckled my leather tool belt around my waist so that it was just held up as it couldn't slip down over my ass.   I suppose I'd got so used to seeing naked men all around here that it didn't bother me as much as it would have done before to be stripping in front of other people.  Of course I was puny compared with the muscled magnificence of 6 and 3 - although I've never had any complaints about my body from any of the birds I've been with -  and I actually felt a bit ashamed of the way in which I was all white rather than having that dark tan all over as they did.  And I know that when your cock is resting, the size of it can vary enormously from guy to guy - it doesn't mean that much as once you're erect there's not a huge difference between them.  But seeing the magnificent tackle on 6 and 3 almost made me shrivel up totally when I compared my self to them - but then, I thought, having the balls shaved and the pubic hair trimmed did make theirs stand out better:  perhaps I'd try that myself.

I was really getting the hang of it now, and without hesitation I commanded my chosen mount, 3, to kneel so that I could get astride his shoulders.  He hadn't started to sweat yet, and he felt quite different to yesterday when we had both been slippery even before we began to work.

I looked down at John, and I told him to get a move on!  He took his T off, then hesitated.

"Look, mate, you've got to have your boots off, otherwise you can't guide your slave properly", I shouted down at him.

So he took off his work boots and socks, and I think that made it easier for him to take off his Jeans too.  But he was going to mount his slave whilst still in his boxers, until I told him I didn't want him buggaring around later on with having to stop work to strip when the sweat really started.  So, reluctantly I think, he dropped his boxers too and then told 6 to kneel - John was learning - so he could mount.

We made excellent progress that morning, with a couple of breaks only for water.  We made sure the slaves got some, too, as they were sweating.  I was surprised that they could carry our weight all the time, but although they had difficulty getting to their feet from a kneel, once up, they didn't seem to have that much of a problem.

At lunchtime the foreman brought us sandwiches, and stayed to share them with us.  I was going to sit on the floor, like the slaves who had already gone over to sit with their backs propped against the wall, when the foreman said "No!  A master can't sit down at the same level as a slave!" There was obviously more to being a master than I thought.

I was surprised when he shouted at the slaves who got up, came over, and then knelt down on their knees with their backs parallel to the floor, supporting their shoulders on their arms.  3 tucked his head down and under the bum and between the legs of 6,  and pushed his shoulders hard up against 6's bum. I guess 6's cock must have been lying on 3's head, but I couldn't see.

The two slaves' backs were now quite a long smooth length, with only a small join in the middle, and the foreman went and sat down on them and told John and me to join him.  

Well, sitting on a guy's shoulders because you're having to work is one thing, but sitting on the guy's back as a seat, just because you're a master and he's a slave, is another!  And remember, John and I were bare-arsed naked.  Their backs were sweaty under my bum, but as the foreman pointed out, it was easier than sitting on the floor.  And he said that on the occasional cold days when the winds came the wrong way in Winter, we should remember this as it was always good then to have a nice warm slave body under you.

We actually finished the job that afternoon, and were driven back to the city.  Work on the office block the next day seemed very routine after our time at the Palace.  There's no doubt that the use of the slaves made for a huge increase in our productivity - if we had had to continue to use ladders, we'd still be buggaring around there now.  I suppose you could have regular blokes, rather than slaves, carry you around.  But I haven't seen too many blokes built like those slaves, and even fewer working on sites - if you don't breed them specially, where do they come from?  And not too many blokes want another bloke's sweaty cock pressing into their neck and shoulders, either.


Author's Note:

That concludes the narrative content of this first paper.  As indicated earlier, there is more to the story of the electricians and the slave (and his companion 6), and the newly-enslaved  Marine.  But that will have to wait until a later paper in the series unless there are any readers who require immediate access to it for their own research, in which case they should apply to me privately.

I said in opening that my purpose was to say something about slavery as it is practised today, but that I did not intend to do so until the end of the series of papers presenting "the evidence".  There's too much prejudice against the practice, and this is made worse by the hysterical nonsense talked in the popular press about child slaves being shipped in to New York, or women being sold into clubs in London.  With  even a modicum of sense one can determine that these practices are simply not economically viable - a child slave can never do sufficient work in a major Western city  to justify his upkeep and training; and women slaves, probably to be used as sex objects, just are not worth much given the ready availability of sexual services of all kinds at very low prices.  No, slavery can only be practised properly where there is a society whose citizens are rich and do not want to work, but where there is still work to be done.  Such conditions exist in the Sheikh's Kingdom, rich beyond measure from its oil exports: as a means of ensuring that the basic work necessary to run a country gets done, slavery appears to be the answer.

It is interesting that our two pairs of men in this narrative are similar - all are 28, and in each pair there is a "leader" and a "follower", and the "leader" feels protective of, and concerned about, the "follower".  I would ask my readers to read the narrative again, and ask themselves questions such as which "follower" was the more closely protected by, and cared for by, which "leader"?  Was the focus of either "follower" on his condition, or was he more concerned with what his "leader" felt for him?  Was therefore the question of whether the "follower" was a free man or a slave his primary concern?

And which group of men was the happier?  John and Steve were "free", but had to work hard to make enough money just to live.  They did not have pleasant accommodation in London, and were often short of money.  Their diet of fast food and pre-prepared meals was certainly not healthy, and if they were sick, they would not have private medical cover and would need to rely on the UK's crumbling National health Service.  They did not seem to particularly enjoy life, or to be "happy".  The slaves on the other hand appeared to lead stress-free lives, and were properly fed and housed.  Whilst we do not hear what happened if they fell ill, I know from other information I collected during my study that they would receive the very best medical attention - they were, after all, expensive to buy and keep.  You don't buy a thoroughbred, expensive car and not maintain it properly is the analogy I like to use.

Finally, on a broader front, what is the long term effect on the human race of these policies?  As far as we can determine from the narrative so far, John will marry and breed.  Steve will continue to have a succession of "birds" but is unlikely to do so.  So the race will be deprived of Steve's ready wit and general native cunning as he will certainly ensure that he is not "stuck" with a child by any of his casual women encounters; whilst John's "slow" docile personality may well be passed on to his heirs.  The Sheikh's breeding programme will ensure that the magnificent body and steady sense of "3" will be perpetuated - probably hundreds of times;  but there is no chance that "slow" 6 will be allowed to detract from future excellence.

However the primary point of this paper is to illustrate how quickly two "ordinary" men, brought from "civilisation" in London can quickly adapt to seeing slaves as a regular part of everyday life, and of making good use of them.   Note how shocked Steve and John are when they first see the two slaves, but within two days Steve is "commanding 3 to kneel" and easily accepts that he can strip naked and "ride" the slave like a dumb animal, guiding him with his knees and feet, in order that his work can be done more easily.   Those who wonder whether slavery could be easily transferred from the Sheikhdom to the West should perhaps ponder the question of how many other "ordinary" Steves and Johns would find having a slave as a new tool to use at their workplace highly desirable.  And notice how Steve goes from being totally "straight" to enjoying the ministrations of the shower room slaves:  how many other men, given the opportunity, would regularly enjoy sexual services from highly trained and compliant slaves in this way?

Further papers in this series will explore these and other issues that affect slavery today.

THE END.   

 

           

