A SLAVE'S LIFE, Part 5
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
"Right", the doctor said. "I know you're sitting comfortably! I am actually a qualified doctor, and I do treat proper patients such as your master. But I am also his veterinarian, responsible for the good health of the slaves on this estate. So you will see me again if you are ill, or injured. It's much easier
to treat slaves, of course, as, rather like animals taken to a veterinarian, they can be given much larger doses of stronger drugs - drugs that are not necessarily approved for use on humans. And so you'll usually be back hard at work very quickly"
I knew what he meant - I was always amazed when my parents took our cats to the local vet - they could be almost dying, and one big shot of penicillin or something, and they were skipping around the next day.
Our local doctor buy contrast, always took weeks to cure us!
"However I also have another function. Like all good veterinarians, but not like most doctors, I also carry out other procedures on animals when their owner requires it. So if your owner decides that you should be circumcised, or castrated, I will do it. And I will of course 'put you down', as they say, just as I would an animal, if you were too sick or too injured to continue working. But all that is in the future. Today, I have to do another of those little veterinarian's tasks - heavy work group slaves are ringed in two places, and I do that."
"Please...."
"Silence, slave! I do hope you soon learn that rule - I hate it when the owner gets so exasperated with a slave constantly speaking that he orders the vocal cords to be cut. I really would advise you to get out of the habit of asking unnecessary questions. I expect you were going to ask me where the rings are going to go, or not to do it. It you stopped to think a moment, you'd know that, as a slave, both these questions are irrelevant to you. Firstly, you'll find out soon enough anyway where I am going to ring you. And what does it matter to you anyway, if your owner has ordered it? And secondly, what would be the purpose of asking me not to do it - your request is worthless, as your owner has ordered it and it is he who now owns and controls the piece of manflesh sitting in front of me, not you."
"But, as I'm a nice guy, I'll tell you anyway. Heavy work group slaves get a genital band, and a snout ring. The genital band is actually one of the ways in which you slaves are lucky that you have such a caring owner - you're going to be doing heavy manual labour, and with low-hanging free-swinging balls like yours, there's a potential problem: they can get in the way! You probably haven't experienced it yet, but naked slaves sometimes get caught out if they do something without thinking - something simple, like sitting down! Their balls can slam into the chair, or get trapped under their thigh, and they scream. It's much worse when you are working at a huge variety of unfamiliar tasks - the slaves are so concerned about their balls that they don't focus properly on what's going on. It's not a problem on normal construction sites and so on as the workers' balls are safely protected inside their jeans, and most of the very well hung also wear briefs, or even jockstraps. But nude, there's a risk to you, and you may not work as hard as you should."
"The solution is simple - a wide metal band around the root of your cock, stretching under your balls, lifts the balls up slightly and thrusts them and your cock forwards. It's much more out of harm's way when your legs are working hard. And, of course, incidentally it shows off your cock and balls to a much greater advantage - with them lifted up and thrust forward, they can't fail to be more noticeable - and you're not just here to work: your owner likes his men to be show objects, too.. We call it a cinch ring, as it cinches your balls up and out of the way. You'll find that once you're used to it you'll like it - you won't get those pains that you'd otherwise get when your balls slap your thighs as you run: a lot of guys are surprised about this, as they just aren't used to exercising or working in the nude - but think about it: when did you last run a mile without shorts, or a jockstrap? And, of course, you'll get even more erections than usual - or, rather, those erections that you get anyway as a virile young slave will last longer and longer. The cinch ring restricts the flow of blood flowing out of your cock a little, so once it's erect, it will be even harder than usual and some slaves even report it to be in the edge of painful, it's so hard - and the erection will last longer."
"The snout ring is just a comfort factor for when the owner has nervous guests - in spite of the fact that we've never had an incident here of a slave attacking a man - there's no point, after all, as the slave can never escape and will surely be punished - some of the owner's guests get all worried when they see exceptionally strong, vigorous, young slaves working near them. On those occasions when the master is entertaining, therefore, all heavy work slaves in the vicinity of the main house are secured - we can't chain your arms or legs, as you are working. We tried attacking the chain to your genital band, but it too can get in the way, and it is thought unwise to risk upsetting the electronics in your collar chain by attaching a security chain to it."
"Consequently all you heavy work slaves are fitted with a snout ring - a simple ring through the septum in your nose. It doesn't interfere with your eating, as it doesn't overhang your top lip, and once it's fitted, it isn't at all painful. But when we need to we can run a steel wire through the snout rings of all the slaves working on a project, and tether the end securely. It makes the owner's guests much happier, and it doesn't much interfere with your ability to work."
"Bear in mind", he went on, "That the owner has two purposes in keeping slaves like you. Of course he needs the work about the estate done, but he could, if he wished, use machines for much of it with much less expense and a lot less effort - machines don't need guards, slave barracks, and veterinarians, do they? However the real purpose is to please the eye - the owner and his guests like to see beautiful men with firm, strong bodies working hard. There's nothing so pleasing as watching the muscles of a naked man as he toils away at a task that is almost physically beyond him, to see him panting and gasping for breath, to see the sweat trickling off him, and then, just as he seems to be giving up, to watch as the guard's whip caresses his arse and to see the slave invigorated and almost redoubling his efforts! It's a fine spectacle, and that's why all you slaves are handsome, well muscled, have no major physical deformities, and, or course, are kept nude."
"Now.. .enough of this.... To work!"
He moved a little lever on his control panel and the chair tilted backwards and the base almost raised so that my knees were up in the air and my head was towards the floor. The veterinarian sat on a small wheeled stool and scooted over to sit between my legs.
His hand felt cold as he gripped my balls, and I almost winced.
"Relax, boy - this isn't going to hurt you", he said. "What I need to do is to stretch your balls down so that I can gauge the size of ring to fit - it needs to be big enough to ensure that the balls are raised properly, but not so big that you're in constant discomfort as your balls are under relentless pressure. Now, try to relax as I stretch your balls.... If you get extreme discomfort, you may say so. But I do need to pull them a little, to make sure I've got them fully extended....."
I was getting slightly sick feelings in the pit of my stomach as his relentless pressure on my balls increased, but he did seem to be trying to be gentle. And then he let go and I just sat there, although I noticed form the cool, clammy feeling that my body had broken out in sweat as he'd been working. And as I sat there I couldn't help reflecting on what a mad world I seemed to have landed up in: I'd been a normal guy, and now here I was sitting naked, my pubes and body shorn and shaved, and waiting for a "cinch ring" to be fitted to me!
"Right.... That's it.... Now all we have to do is fit you with the ring."
He went to a cabinet against the wall and opened the door. Inside I could see, neatly laid out on trays, lots of gleaming metal bands. The doctor reached in and selected one, and came back.
"Look, see.... Stainless steel, so there's no risk of getting an allergic reaction from your tender skin to it."
The ring was open so there was a gap in it, but even so it took a long time for the vet to position it and get my cock and balls through - he slopped oil over my cock and massaged it in to help, and I almost got used to having his fingers teasing and caressing my most sensitive parts as he worked away. Looking back on it I'm surprised I didn't spring an erection - now, when another man touches my cock it's absolutely instantaneous. But perhaps it was the thought that the was a "doctor", and you don't do things like that when a doctor's examining you, do you?
When he seemed satisfied that the ring was properly located, he coated the open ends with something from a tiny tube, then came over with an instrument that looked rather like a giant pair of pliers, except that the handles were about three feet long.
"Don't worry", he said jokingly "These aren't the castrating shears, just the thing to close up the ring and make it nice and secure. We got you into that ring because the ends are open, but once I squeeze it closed into a perfect tool, and the superglue sticks it, there'll be no getting it off." I shuddered inwardly - the fact that he could joke about there being a castrating tool presumably meant that, in his world, such a thing did indeed exist! I wondered how many men had sat where I now sat, just waiting to lose their manhood.
He closed the jaws of the instrument around the ring, and pulled the two handles together. I got a momentary twinge of pain as my balls felt crushed by the tightness of the ring, but it did subside quite soon. I was suddenly "aware" of my balls and cock in a way you normally aren't - not only ere they no longer "hanging", but they feel all tight and constricted - and then, o my horror, I found myself going erect. As my cock hardened and lengthened, a deep blush arose across my shoulders and neck and up over my face. I'd never really been erect in front of another man before, and I desperately hoped that the doctor wouldn't notice.
But he did! He reached down and actually played with my genitals, moving the ring around. "Yes, that's excellent. You don't feel any rough edges, do you?"
I shook my head, too embarrassed to speak.
"What you're experiencing now is a perfectly normal reaction to cinching", he went on. "As I said, you'll find yourself erect more often, and those erections will be harder, and will last longer. You'll soon get used to it, and to the way that the balance of your body is altered because all your tackle is shifted forwards."
"You'll need to keep the whole area shaved, of course, as if your pubic hair starts to re-grow it will be extremely painful for you if loose hairs get trapped under the ring. It's deliberately tight to cause the maximum protrusion, and to prevent it ever slipping off - and, of course, to make you erect more. But that very tightness would work against you if you get hairy again - not that there's much chance of that happening whilst you're here, as all the slaves in the heavy work squad are kept shaved anyway."
He started fussing around with my head then, moving clamps from the side of the back of the chair and tightening them so that my head was immobile. "This is going to be a little more unpleasant", he told me, and so I need you held tight. "Now, TRY to relax - the human body tolerates pain much better if it isn't quaking and shivering with fear, you know."
Well, I didn't know! No one had ever inflicted pain on me before.
The doctor rummaged in a drawer around behind me, out of sight, and came and stood beside me holding another instrument that looked like one of those things you can get for stoning olives - a pair of pliers with one end fashioned in the form of a spike, and the other in the form of a small circle with a hole in the middle.
"One quick squeeze of this to make a hole in your septum", he told me. "There'll be lots of blood, but don't worry - there are no serious arteries in the nose, and blood spilling out always looks much more dramatic than it really is. You can scream if you like - it will hurt - most slaves do, and there's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Please... Can't you give me something - a pain killing shot....?"
"No. You don't need it. The pain is only for a short time, and we don't like to waste money on pain killers for something inconsequential like this. And, in any case, your owner wants you to remember your ringing: every time you touch your snout ring in future you'll remember this morning just a little, and the memory of the pain you're about to experience will remind you that your owner has absolute power over your body. He can order all sorts of unpleasant procedures to be performed on you, and you are powerless to resist. So let this be a further lesson to you in what it really means to be a slave."
As he finished speaking he reached up my nostrils with the instrument, and I could feel the cold steel against my flesh. There was also that peculiar sharp "metallic" smell that you sometimes get from steel - I suppose it was because it was in such intimate contact with my nostrils.
He fiddled around, positioning the end of the device to his satisfaction, then, holding the handles gently together so that it didn't slip or change its position, he moved around. He changed his grip on the handles so that he could exert the full pressure of his hands and arms, then squeezed.
I did shriek. I felt the spike piercing my cartilage, and I'm sure I heard a dull sort of "scrunch" noise as the semi-brittle substance fractured. It hurt like hell. And blood started to pour out from my nose, to fall onto my naked chest and start to run down in a little rivulet across my belly and onto my newly-ringed cock.
I was sobbing now, I couldn't help it. But the doctor paid no attention, and said, calmly, "There. The worst's over. Punching the hole is the painful bit, and the rest is merely, shall I say... 'discomfort'."
He'd put the instrument down, and was peering into my nostrils intently, dabbing at the blood with a surgical wipe. The cupboard holding the rings was opened again, and he came back to me holding a stainless steel ring, again open at the ends, about an inch and a half in diameter.
It tickled, rather than hurt, as he manoeuvred the ring into the hole he'd punched in my septum, and then
a smaller version of the squeezing device was brought over, the open ends got a coating of glue, and the ring was squeezed closed.
"There, all done! Another success!" He fussed around, releasing my head clamps, and then the bands holding my wrists down to the chair. At once my hands flew up to my face, and I tentatively touched the cold ring hanging from my nostrils to fall across my top lip. It felt so odd to have this foreign appendage on me, and I fiddled with it, moving it around - I got little shooting, tickling pains as I did so.
"You should do that for the next few days", the doctor told me. "Every now and then move it around so that as the scar tissue forms inside your nose the ring isn't trapped by it - you want it free moving, else when they tether you by it, it will be intensely painful later if you tear away lesions that will otherwise form between you and the metal of the ring."
He finished freeing me from the restraints, and told me to get up. As I stood there, I felt so humiliatingly exposed - my cock jutted out obscenely in front of me, and my body was all out of balance. I took a couple of tentative steps, and it jus felt so odd - you don't really ever think of your cock and balls, do you, normally, but now I couldn't help doing it as they jutted out so prominently.
The doctor opened the door and called the guard in, and the last I saw of him, as the guard marched me away, was him sitting at a PC and typing something in - I supposed he was updating the medical records, to record his "operations" on me.
The guard led me trough the corridors of the building, then we exited into a courtyard in the centre. As we left the air-conditioned coolness, the heat hit me - it must have been in the high eighties, and it was humid with it. Sweat broke out all over me almost immediately, and I could feel it forming little rivulets under my arms and trickling down my ribs. I almost felt sorry for the guard - in his tight trousers and T-shirt, he looked much more uncomfortable than me!
He had one advantage, though: his boots protected his feet from the very hot ground and the many sharp stones it contained! Fortunately I'd been on a beach holiday relatively recently and had gone barefooted most of the time so I already had some tough skin on the soles of my feet, but, even so, it was almost painful to have to walk following the guard.
On and on we marched, and I couldn't help noticing that everything we passed was in immaculate condition - paths were freshly swept, ornamental shrubs were neatly pruned and tied, buildings gleamed with clean paint and had a freshly-washed look.
Eventually we arrived at a site that was in the early stages of a construction project - bricks and stuff were piled around ,but they were waiting for the foundations to be dug. There was an Overseer, in tight, high-cut shorts and a singlet, supervising a group of seven naked men - all big, tough-looking strong men, like me. The Overseer had what I assumed was a whip slung on his belt - a short handle, and an ominous-looking leather tail hanging from it., and one of the "cattle prods" was also slung there - it was clear he was in charge from the way he stood there arrogantly watching the naked men , and I guessed that the whip and prod were the ways in which he exercised his authority. The men were all using shovels to dig trenches - the sort that outline where the rooms are to go, so that concrete can be poured in to make a secure foundation. Some of the men had just started and were working almost at ground level,. But on the far side of the works the trench was already about four feet deep and the men in there were having to work extra hard to throw the soil and rubble up and out.
The guard who had been escorting me turned to the Overseer and said "This is the new slave for this squad. Just treat him like all the others from now on, but make sure for the next few days that he's properly covered in sun block until his pelt is tanned fully - we don't want any more incidents like that one a few months ago when one of the new field hands died from sunstroke. So keep an eye on him!"
The guard turned and walked off, and the Overseer looked at me. He took hold of my shoulder and turned it towards him, and read my "name" from the tattoo.
"Right, Jon, here are the rules of this work gang. One, I'm your Overseer, and if I tell you to do something, you do it! If I ask you a question you reply, respectfully, in the way you've been taught. And otherwise you stay totally silent - you are not allowed to talk to your fellows, or whistle, or sing, or anything like that: slaves in this gang work totally silently - after all, you may be doing tasks near where the master and his guests are, and the raucous noise of slaves would disturb them. So it's easier if you learn the 'total silence' rule from the outset."
"Is that clear so far?"
"Yes."
The Overseer reached for the whip at his belt, and snapped "You weren't listening, were you? You answer respectfully. Now, that's your last chance. Was that clear so far?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
"Good! Remember that. Now we operate a 'buddy' system here where it's 'all for one and one for all' as the Musketeers used to say. What that means is that you are all equally responsible for what happens, and all equally share the work, and the punishment. If your work rate falls below what I expect, I will punish 'you', generally with a light lashing with this whip. More serious errors result in a prodding. By 'you' I mean any one of the group who happens to be handy - if I were to hear you speak, but another of your fellow slaves was next to me, I'll prod him as it's more convenient for him. Likewise, you might be unfortunate enough to be whipped or prodded because you happened to be closest when one of your fellows misbehaved. It all evens out in the end, of course.... And we've found that if there's a classic shirker who tries to dodge his part of the work, or a very disobedient slave who constantly disobeys orders, his fellows will sort him out! Some stubborn slaves might refuse to work if they were being punished themselves, in a sort of macho 'I can take it' way. But when they realise that it's not them, but all their fellows, who are being punished, they soon change their ways."
"Is that still clear?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
I'd noticed that in spite of my arrival and the Overseer taking all this time to talk to me, the seven men had not slackened their pace, had not stopped to look at what was happening, had hardly glanced at us - they were so intent on working. Evidently this system they used did keep you toiling away.
"Provided you work hard, and obey the rules, you'll be all right", he went on. "You work from sunrise to noon, then you're allowed three hours rest in the shade, then work again from three until sunset. That's usually about fourteen hours work a day, but you're young, fit and strong, so that should not be a problem. You get fed in the morning, and at the noon break, and you may only eat the slave biscuits you are given - if you should be working in the fields or orchards, it is absolutely forbidden to take any of the crops for yourself: they are your master's crops, and he does not choose to feed them to his slaves. You may piss whenever you want to when we are on a site like this that is open and bare - indeed, you must do it without stopping work, as no break in the work is permitted. But if we are working close to the master's palace, or in an enclosed area, you will of course wait until you are allowed to do so. Crapping during the day is strictly forbidden - make sure you empty your bowels in the morning, and at nigh."
"And finally, I will remind you that you are not allowed to touch your own cock and balls. If you need sexual relief, it is from the hand - or mouth, or ass - of one of your fellows."
"Now, is that all understood? You will not be told again, but infractions of these simple rules result in group punishment."
"Sir, yes, sir." What else could I say? I wanted to tell him it was all unfair, that I wasn't a slave, that he must let me go.... But I knew it would be no use. And the instructions, as they had been given, were very simple even though they were grossly cruel and unjust.
"Right. Now, take a shovel, and get digging. Your break at noon is still two hours away, and there is much to be done."
Feeling rather foolish, naked, with my cock jutting out, I picked up a shovel from the pile of tools the Overseer had indicated to me, and walked over to where the excavations were going on at a rapid pace. I saw that the lines of trenches had been marked out in white paint on the ground, so I joined the other naked men in digging.
It was incredibly hard work! The sun beat down on my naked body, and I'm sure I could feel it burning me in spite of the sun block. I was covered in sweat almost instantly, and it pooled and trickled down me in little rivulets. But I soon realised that trying to shovel, naked, is a big problem - without shoes, you can't push the shovel down into the ground properly. Some of the others were doing so, and I guessed that this was because they were hardened and toughened to the life - would I get to be like this, I wondered, with such tough feet that I could drive a shovel into the earth? As it was, I had to use the power of my arms and shoulders to drive the shovel in as hard as I could, then bend double to pull it out loaded with spoil. It was excellent exercise, I soon realised - I could feel all my muscles straining and stretching as I toiled away, and It was giving me a harder workout than I'd ever had in the gym!
I'd only been working about ten minutes when I did what you always do when you're working hard, I stopped for a "breather". I stood upright, leaned on my shovel, and wiped my hand across my forehead to get rid of some of the terrible sweat. There was a faint cry from the other side of the site, and I saw one of my fellow slaves' bodies jerking - the Overseer had just struck him, hard, with his whip. The Overseer looked at me and motioned for me to continue working, and there was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realised that my fellow worker had been punished as I'd stopped working!
I redoubled my efforts, therefore, and as the morning wore on and the sun got hotter and hotter, I was in real difficulty. I'd thought I was fit and strong, but I began to realise the differences between "gym fit" and the ability to work - no, to toil, as that was what it was.
The only respite - and it was a very brief one, every twenty minutes or so, was when a young slave brought around water to us. It was clear that they knew the importance of keeping us well watered to replace the copious amounts of sweat we were losing, as there was a dedicated "water boy" assigned to our group and one of the groups of slaves toiling in a nearby field. The slave was young - he looked about 16 - and was naked like the rest of us and wore only the chain collar of the restraint system. In spite of his age, he seemed to be well muscled, though, and he needed to be - he had a big sack made of skins on his back, with a tube leading out from it. He stopped in front of each of us in turn and pushed the tube into our mouths, and we could suck a huge draft of water. It wasn't exactly refreshing, as it was warm from the heat of the sun through the skin sack, but I could tell that my body needed it desperately. It also tasted bitter and salty, and I wondered at first why they couldn't at least supply us with fresh, sweet water, but later I learned that in line with his policy of being a considerate slave owner, the owner ordered electrolyte salts to be added to it to replace all the stuff we were constantly sweating.
I don't know ho I made it through those first few hours - but perhaps it was the thought of my fellows getting punished for my low work rate that kept me going. And I experienced the pain of that punishment myself, too - I happened to be nearest the Overseer (who constantly patrolled the work site) when he saw that one of the other slaves had stumbled and fallen, and was taking some time to get to his feet. At once his whip lashed out, and I screamed as the sharp edges of the leather cut into my hot, burned back."
"Shut up, slave!", the Overseer snapped, "Unless you want more! Suppose we had been working near the Master and you made that disgusting noise! You may get punished at a formal punishment, when it will be so bad that you need to scream. But this little work whip is just to encourage you - it doesn't even break the skin, and so it must be endured in silence. Do you understand?"
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Good... Now...."
He lashed out again, and my whole body jerked as the whip slashed across my naked bum. I almost screamed, but gritted my teeth and managed to hold it in.
"That's to remind you!", the Overseer said. "Now, get on with your work, before I 'encourage' you again."
So I worked away, like I'd never done before. It was a huge relief when the Overseer at last told us to stop, and led us away to the shade of two trees. All eight of us just collapsed onto the ground, and I saw that it wasn't just me that was exhausted - even the experienced workers clearly felt the pace, too. The Overseer opened a box and handed out the slave biscuits that I now knew were our food, and we sat there, silently, champing away at them.
I went to speak to the others, but they quickly "hushed" me, and I realised that the "silence" rule applied even during this break period. In turn, though, they all came and took my arm and read my name, and rotated their arms to me so I could read their names.
I'd been bothered by one other thing all morning - the effects of my cinch ring and my natural frequency of erections had caused my cock to be rock hard for quite a lot of the time, and as I sat there, munching away, I felt that initial stirring you get when you know you're going to start a hard-on. I fought it, trying to think of "neutral" things like Christmas Day, or reciting the laws of thermodynamics, but it failed - I was hugely and obscenely erect, and it was almost painful as my cock was so hard. There was nowhere to hide, no way of concealing it from my fellows - we were huddled quite close together in the patch of shade out of the burning sun, and when you're totally naked, there's no way you can cover an erect cock, is there? I felt myself blushing, but then realised I wasn't alone - several of the other guys were in a similar state.
The man next to me leaned over and touched my cock - I almost jumped in to the air with the shock as his fingers first stroked me - and I realised by the way he was looking at me that he wanted to know if he should jerk me off! I shook my head vigorously, and he gave a little shrug, and moved his hand away. But sex was clearly something that did happen at break time, as a couple of the guys were lying full length on the ground, facing each other, and wanking away. None of the others even seemed to notice, or consider it in any way unusual. Oh God, I wondered, would this be me in a couple of months time, casually having sex with other guys fully exposed out in the open?
The water boy came around again, and we all gratefully sucked huge draughts of his water. He too stopped to read my name, and I in turn read his - tattooed into his firm biceps was "Stu". He let go of my arm, and I thought he was finished and was going to leave for the other group of slaves he looked after, but instead he sank to the ground and sat down with us - evidently he got to rest, too.
We were all sprawled around on the hard ground, but I quickly saw that all sorts of ways were adopted to make it more comfortable - it seemed to be OK to rest your self against another guy, or even to rest your head on a six-pack stomach if it was convenient! I couldn't believe that a group of men could be so relaxed about each others' bodies - even though we'd been a close rugby team, I'd never even thought that men could behave this way together.
One of the guys reached out and grabbed the water boy Stu's arm, and pulled him towards him. The big guy was lying on his back, fully stretched out, and I saw his cock jutting vertically upwards from out of his cinch ring. He pointed at it to Stu, and the young guy smiled, then went and stood astride the man. I watched in fascinated horror as Stu first crouched down, then reached under himself to pull his arse cheeks apart, and slowly - very slowly - lowered himself onto the erect cock! He began to raise himself up and down so that the cock was thrusting in and out of his firm young arse, and the slave who was lying down put his hands behind his head, stretched languorously, and broke out into a big grin!
Stu continued to ride up and down on the slave's cock and the slave joined in, arching his belly up and down to cause his cock to thrust deeper and deeper into the boy. It went on and on, with both of them making tiny moaning noises of pleasure - I supposed this didn't count as "speaking"! Then the slave's body subsided, and his mouth dropped open and he gave a big sigh, and young Stu stopped. He sat astride the slave for a minute or two, then raised himself again and I saw the slave's semi-flacid cock drop out of his arse.
The slave half sat up grabbed Stu, and pulled the boy's body down onto his. He wrapped his arms and legs around Stu, and I saw his hands rubbing up and down the boy's back and his legs raking the boy's bum and thighs. Stu seemed to really like this, and he and the slave were kissing passionately. It was so hot, though, and their bodies were so slicked with sweat that they stopped, and Stu just lay beside the slave, who kept one arm companionably around the boy.
I didn't know what to think - two men: no, one man and one boy, having sex, in full sight of all the others. And it was only me who seemed to have shown any interest, or even to have watched - all the others were now just lying with their eyes closed, and the only motion visible was the rise and all of chests and bellies as they breathed in the hot air. I too felt my eyes starting to close, and I slipped into a brief sleep in the heat.
End Of Part 5