Date: Thu, 1 Mar 2007 01:20:00 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Revolt, Part Four

THE SLAVE REVOLT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Four

Things didn't go all that well between Rob and me at
the start of the next week.  He seemed to be almost
lying ready to pounce on me, waiting for me to make a
mistake, or not to do something properly, so he could
"leap in" and say he was going to punish me, or, at
least, tell my owner to punish me the next weekend.  I
tried to avoid him as much as possible, but it wasn't
that easy:  I was, after all, supposed to be mainly in
the gym and leisure complex - primarily to work out
myself and keep fit and do my practice, but also in
case any of the guards, or my owner's acquaintances,
should want to come in and have a skilled person show
them how to use the apparatus, or to help them devise
an exercise regime.  Knowing this, Rob would come in
and ask a lot of questions, fool around a bit with
some of the apparatus, and try to trick me into giving
him inappropriate answers when he asked me if, for
example, he thought his father exercised enough.

There was something odd going on, though, as when I
was jogging around the demesne, it seemed as if there
were fewer and fewer slaves actually around:  not the
ones in the coffles, of course, but the guys who
tended the gardens, those who had semiskilled work in
the workshops, and so on.   By Wednesday Rob seemed to
have given up taunting me and was spending a lot of
time in the house, and I could see the TV flickering
almost constantly:  frankly, I decided he'd reverted
to the normal stage for idle sixteen year olds, and
had decided to spend all his days in idleness in front
of mindless TV programmes.

That night, though, I was woken up from a deep sleep,
at about three a.m., by the sound of gunfire, and
screaming.  I pulled on my shorts and T and went up
from the basement to investigate, and it was apalling!
 Someone had evidently let the field niggas out of
their coffles as they were racing around the house
destroying everything - tearing the curtains down,
using their huge knives which they had to cut the
sugar cane to slash at the furniture, and then, to my
horror, I saw them butcher one of the guards!  The
poor guy had no chance:   he stood there firing his
gun at them, but a mob of niggas simply engulfed him
and he screamed as the knives hacked at him.  I ran on
into the hall, and there, hanging from the railings
around the upstairs landing, were two more guards
who'd been hanged:  you could tell from the way that
their tongues were lolling out of their mouths and
from the way that their hands had been tearing at the
nooses around their necks that they'd slowly strangled
to death - it hadn't been a "clean" hanging where the
drop snaps the neck.

Looking out of the windows I saw more horrific scenes
- the crops in the fields seem to have been set alight
as there was a ghastly flickering glow stretching to
the horizon, and the lawns in front of the house were
covered with a motley collection of old cars and
trucks, many of which had niggas leaning out of them
brandishing and firing guns.  I guess I was lucky I
didn't get mown down myself in those first minutes
when I came up from the slave quarters - some of these
"foreign" niggas were about to attack me as a white
man (and presumably therefore a guard, or an owner),
when one of our house niggas called out that I was a
slave, too, just like them, and that they should take
a look at my collar, which proved it.  I grabbed hold
of one of them and asked what the fuck was going on,
and he said that they were "freedom fighters" who'd
come to liberate us from our slavery.  They were
driving across the South killing all the guards,
overseers and owners, freeing the niggas from their
coffles, and giving us back our liberty.

I ought to have been pleased, I suppose, but hearing
the continuing screams of some of my owner's guards,
most of whom were pretty decent guys, as they were
hunted down and butchered, wasn't a nice thing at all.
 Then suddenly it struck me - what about Rob?

I raced up the stairs, trying to ignore the stench
from the bodies that were lying around, and flung open
the door of my owner's private suite - it was in total
chaos, with everything wrecked and destroyed.  They'd
even ripped out the bathtub and flung it out of one of
the huge windows, and water was cascading out from the
torn pipe work.  The same situation seemed to exist in
Rob's suite, and in there all his books and CDs and
stuff were now strewn everywhere too, as clearly the
mob had rampaged trough there.  I began to get a sick
feeling in my stomach as I assumed that they must have
got Rob - well, I didn't like him, and I didn't like
his attitude to me and the way he treated me, but no
sixteen year old kid deserves to be hunted down like
an animal in his own home and butchered, does he?

Not really knowing what to do I made my way back down
stairs, and then on down to the slave quarters in the
basement - the mob had been through there, but there
wasn't a whole lot to loot and destroy, so it looked
mostly the same as usual.    I went on into the
leisure suite, which was also mostly untouched, and
sat down for a moment on a pile of gym mats as I tried
to sort through in my mind what I ought to do.  I now
understood the conversation that Rob and his father
had had last Sunday night when my owner wanted Rob to
go back to New York, and I began to feel almost sorry
for the poor kid - he was so headstrong that he hadn't
taken his father's advice, and now he was probably
lying dead somewhere - or worse:  I wondered if some
of the niggas might have taken him and crucified him,
or strung him up somewhere and cut his balls off, or
some of the other crazy things that angry men are
capable of when law and order breaks down.

I suppose  I was numb with shock at what was going on
around me, and I just sat there for a few minutes, my
head in my hands, trying to make sense of it all.
Then I heard a faint whimpering sound coming from the
big, heavy wooden horse that I used in some of my
displays, and I got up and went over to investigate.
As I pulled up the segments to peer inside, I saw Rob
cowering on the floor - how he'd managed to lift the
heavy top by himself, I don't know - but perhaps his
desperation gave him additional strength.

"NO, please....." He began to shout.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"NO, please, Steve, don't....."

"Listen you young fuck, shut up!  There are wild
slaves all over the house, and if they come down here
and find you, a white guy dressed like an owner,
they'll butcher you."

He lay there trembling, and I wondered what to do.  I
had no time for Rob as you know, and although his
father was a decent enough guy, he was my owner and I
was his slave and he had done some terrible stuff to
me:  he had, after all, fucked me, and no one has the
right to do that to another man against his will.  But
I guess my training started to come through:  in the
marines they drill into you that although you have to
really fight when it's needed, you also have a
responsibility to protect civilians, especially
youngsters.  I know it would have been easy to leave
Rob to his fate, and even easier to simply reach down
and snap his neck myself, but it just didn't seem
right somehow.  Instead, I found myself taking charge,
and leaned down into the interior of the horse to grab
his arm and haul him to his feet.

"Please, Steve, don't hurt me.... I'll get dad to
release you....."

"Listen, you young fuck, you'll be lucky to get out of
this alive.  Now shut the fuck up, don't say anything
- not anything - a s you don't even sound like a
slave.  And do exactly as I say:  exactly, do you
understand?"

He nodded agreement, and I told him to strip.
"Why.....", he began.

Look, I had no time to argue.  And I couldn't afford
to have Rob not obey me absolutely, if we were to have
any chance of escape.  So I backhanded him, hard,
across the face.  The force of the blow, coming as
unexpectedly as it did, knocked him off his feet and
he lay sprawled on the floor, whimpering faintly.

"I said to shut the fuck up, and to strip!", I
snapped.  "Now, do it, or else I'll save myself, and
leave you for the mob.  Have you ever seen a
crucifixion?"

Slowly he pulled himself together  and stood in front
of me.  He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, then
pulled his T up and over his head.  I stood there
impassively, watching him.  He looked at me
pleadingly, but I made o gesture of support, and
slowly and reluctantly he bent down to take off his
sneakers, then undid the belt on his jeans and let
them fall to the floor.

He looked at me questioningly, and I snapped "When I
said 'strip', what the fuck do you think I meant?  Get
those fucking boxers off now - and then you'd better
put your sneakers back as your feet aren't tough and
there's a whole lot of broken glass and stuff
around....."

He looked at me as if I couldn't be serious, and shook
his head.  I thought about slapping the other side of
his face, but instead grabbed him by the biceps, swung
him around, and before he could prevent me, I began to
tan his ass with my other hand.  As you know I'm
really strong, and the sound of the slaps as the palm
of my hand made contact with his butt retouched around
the room.  "Please....", he began to half shout, half
sob.  "Please, Steve, don't...."

I only gave him six slaps, then, still holding tight
to his biceps, told him again "Listen, you young fuck,
you're in dead trouble.  Don't you know that?  Your
only hope of getting out of this alive is to rely on
me.  And I'm only going to be able to do anything if
you obey me, and say nothing.  Total obedience, and
total silence, OK?"

He looked scared, worried, rebellious, and somehow
vulnerable as he stood there in front of me.  Then he
nodded, and, as I watched, put his thumbs into the
waistband of his boxers and pushed them down.  I
hadn't seen his dick before, but it was a good size -
nicely in proportion to the rest of him, and it hung
there in front of a set of what I thought must be
quite low-hanging balls - although the forest of his
pubic hair really obscured the view.

"Put your sneakers back, as I said", I snapped, "And
move it!  We haven't much time, I reckon:  one or more
of the house slaves are sure to tell them that you're
somewhere around here...."

As he bent over to tie his laces  I could see the red
imprint of my hand clearly on the milky whiteness of
his butt, and I realised that this would have to be
attended to - his torso and back were nicely tanned,
and the contrast between the darkness of the upper
part of him and the whiteness underneath at once
suggested that he was a free man, and not a slave.  I
mean, what owner would have a sixteen year old with a
pleasing body like that and not have the slave running
around naked?

"Follow me!", I snapped, and walked across the floor
of the gym towards the service door, that gave onto
the passage leading to some store rooms, and to a
small slave preparation area - newly-bought niggas
were treated down on the farm, of course, but new
"house" slaves tended to be processed down here, and
it was also where I trimmed myself and kept myself
neat and tidy as my owner liked.  At the door I looked
back and saw him standing there uncertainly - he was
looking wistfully at his clothes, as if still debating
what he ought to do.

"This is your last chance!",  I called out.  "Run over
here NOW, or once I'm through this door that will be
it - you'll be on your own...."

He jogged towards me, his dick bobbing up and down and
I gave a brief, small inward smile - I remembered how
it was the first time I'd had to run stark naked, and
how I'd hated having my dick and balls flopping around
as I did so.  He must be experiencing the very same
thing, as of course he'd always have worn shorts, or a
jock, or something, when he exercised at school and in
the gym here.

We went into the preparation room and I got the
electric clippers and turned them on - fortunately
they were rechargeable, as the power had failed and we
were in gloom as there was only one small, high-up
window in this semi-basement room.  As I held him and
began to stripe the clippers over his head, so his
long hair started to cascade over his shoulders, he
whimpered "NO, please...  My buddies will all
laugh...."

"Listen, you dumb fuck:  I don't think you understand
just how serious this is.  If those renegade slaves
see a guy who they take to be a free man, they're
going to butcher him.  Your only hope of staying alive
is to do exactly what I tell you, and to look as much
like a slave as I can make you....  So that hair of
yours has to go:  have you ever seen a slave around
the place with long hair, like yours?  Look at
mine...."

As I said this I ran my hand through the short stubble
on my head that was all  I was allowed (well, it was
no hardship to me as in the marines I'd always had my
hair buzzed short because of fighting and so on - you
don't want your opponent grabbing your hair, do you?).
 He shook his head dumbly, and as I finished, I
changed my grip so I was now holding his biceps
tightly again.  I flicked the clippers on once more,
and ran them down his belly to attack his pubes.

"No...", he whispered again, and now  I did feel sorry
for him: I remembered how utterly vulnerable and
exposed I'd felt when my pubes were first trimmed off
when I was enslaved.  It's one of those defining
moments, when you start to realise you're no longer
free.

"Hold still! If you don't want to get hurt... These
clippers are sharp, and your balls are soft....", I
snapped.  "We have to do this - slaves always have
their pubes trimmed so that free men can get a good
look at their dicks and their balls!  I can hardly
make you out through that forest you have!  But don't
worry - if we get out of this, it will re-grow."

I knelt in front of him, pushed his legs apart then
grabbed his dick and balls so that I could run the
clippers all over as best  I could - it would have
been better to trim the pubes mostly off and then
shave the balls, I know, but there wasn't time for
that.

Fortunately there was some of the sun cream and
bronzer used for new slaves - it protects the skin
whilst they're getting a tan from the sun, and at the
same time it dyes the skin temporarily so that the
salve can run around naked as quickly as possible
without looking a freak.  I slathered a lot of it onto
my hands, and began to rub it in vigorously to his
butt and thighs.  He didn't like it much, but only
protested when I told him to reach back and pull his
butt apart so I could coat the inside of his ass crack
- he'd obviously never had anyone else run their hands
down there before, well, not since he was a tiny kid
and had his ass wiped by his mom, I suppose.

I used more of the cream to do the front of this
thighs and the bottom of his belly, and then reached
out for his dick and balls.  "NO, please.... I'm not a
fag... Leave my dick alone....", he gasped.

"Don't be so fucking stupid - if I wanted to jerk you
off, I could easily do so.  This is just to get some
colour on it..."

I stroked it into his skin, massaging his balls (and
feeling them silky smooth now in my hands - there is
something good about smooth balls, especially when
they're covered in a layer of oil, I always think -
since I've been a slave, it's one of the things I've
enjoyed about my own body).  As I massaged is dick he
began to get an erection, and I looked up at him as I
knelt there and grinned.  "Ah, so even when there's
danger to life, you're ready for sex...."

"No.  No, honest, I'm not a fag...."

I grinned at him again.  "It's not being a fag to go
erect when another guy is stroking your dick!  It's
just the body's normal reaction to having a hand
exciting you.  Anyway, we're done....."

Well, not quite!  Lying on the side was the box
containing the variety of collars that had been sent
"on approval", so he could fit mine earlier in the
week.  I flipped it open and tried several around his
neck - none was ideal, as they were mostly too big,
but they were quite thin and so although there might
be some chafing, and it would be uncomfortable, it was
unlikely that there would be permanent scarring.  I
pushed the best one I could find closed, and snapped
the seal to let the superglue flow and  lock it
permanently into place.

Although there was a branding iron in one of the
cupboards it was an electric one, and so with the
power failure I couldn't brand his butt.  I was
worried about that as with a proper brand his
authenticity as a slave would be so much better.  But
fortunately I remembered there was one of the old,
temporary "markers" in the cupboard too - one of the
guards had shown it to me and had told me how much fun
it was in "the old days" when new slaves were marked
as soon as they arrived.  I don't know if you've ever
seen one, but it's a bit like a hairbrush, except that
where the bristles are there are just metal spikes
arranged in a big "S".  You use a small brush to rub
all over the spikes with indelible ink, and then you
slap the slave's butt sharply with the "hairbrush", so
that the spikes mark out the "S" into his skin.
Providing you hit hard, so the spikes penetrate
deeply, you get what is in effect a semi-permanent
tattoo that can be properly tattooed over later, or
which the brand can sear into.

Rob watched me as I inked the brush, and I judged it
best not to tell him what was about to happen.   I sat
down on a small chair, and called him over, and then,
as he approached, I grabbed his arm and before he
could react threw him over my knees so his butt was
high in the air.  Before he could protest or even
struggle, as he was so surprised, I brought the
"brush" down hard onto his left butt cheek.

He almost fell off my lap with the shock, and he
squealed loud and hard - well, the unexpectedness of
it was one thing, of course, but it must have hurt as
well, as there were a couple of hundred of the small
spikes  that had been forced into the tender skin on
his butt.

I stood up, and he was looking at me in amazement.  I
pointed at a big mirror by the door and said quietly
"Now, take a look at yourself - a few minutes ago you
looked like a free man, and now what do you look like?
 Short hair, pubes mostly trimmed away, collared,
tanned all over.... And take a look at your butt:
once it's stopped bleeding, there'll be a big 'S' on
it....."

I saw him looking at himself almost in astonishment as
he viewed the transformation that had come over him.
"It's a fine line between a free man and a slave...",
I ventured.  "Most people, taking a glance at you,
will instantly say 'slave'.  But you've got to act the
part as well - no more giving orders:  you're just a
young slave boy, and slaves of your age don't take
charge of anything, they just obey.  And remember to
walk with your head down, looking kind of humble....
And when you stop, assume 'slave rest':  feet spread,
hands clasped behind your back, head bowed... That way
folks will see that you're acting like a slave, too."

He nodded, and I pulled off my T as I reckoned it
would be safer to have my chest exposed as I looked
more like a slave then, in my tiny shorts.

I turned  to wall away and he muttered "Steve, please,
some shorts...."

"I don't think so!  Most young slaves like you go nude
all the time:  remember your pool boy?"

"Steve, please.... You can't expect me to go around
naked...."

"Well you and your father expected me to go around
naked.... Those shows for your guests.  And you made
me strip only the other day, at the pool...."

He looked so desperate though, that I relented:  I
remembered how embarrassed I'd been as a kid of his
age when I'd had to change for the gym at school:  it
was only when I'd lived in the marine barracks for a
couple of weeks that I really got used to having other
guys see me naked all the time.  So I threw him my T,
and said "Wear this...."

He held it suspiciously for a moment - it was damp
with my sweat - well, more than that:  really wet
under the pits, and with a big streak of sweat down
the front, and across the shoulders.

He shook his head slowly, and I shrugged.  "Look,
that's all there is - wear it, and on you it will be
long enough to be like a tunic.  Or go naked.  Suit
yourself.  But we need to be out of here."

Slowly and hesitantly he pulled it on and tugged
futilely at the hem as if to try to make it longer -
it covered his butt and his dick, but only just - as
he moved around you could catch glimpses of his dick
as the fabric moved.  And I smiled to myself as I knew
that young Rob was not going to be tempted to sit down
at all!

We went out via the door at the end of the service
passage, and heavy, choking black smoke was swirling
around everywhere now from the fires in the fields,
and I could see many of the farm buildings and barns
were also on fire.  They hadn't fired the mansion -
yet - as hordes of niggas were rushing around in a
frenzy, running in and out and grabbing anything
portable, and smashing the rest.  We just walked away,
as they were so intent on their destructive rampage
that they hardly noticed us.

I jogged off down one of the paths towards the fields
that I used for exercise so regularly, and as we went
past the pool Rob gasped - they'd found a couple of
guards and tied rocks to their feet and had thrown
them in, and now their lifeless bodies were floating
under the water, heads upright, feet on the pool
floor, like some exotic  kind of pond weed.  The water
was stained brown around them, as I guessed their
bowels had let go as they drowned.  "Come on, kid - we
can't help them", I told him, and we jogged on.

The fires were pretty terrible and the smoke was
dense, and it was hard to see exactly where we were.
But I realised we were going past the barn where the
drays were housed, and I heard shouting - not the
frenzied shouting of the renegades, but the terrified
cries of men who were in fear of their lives.

The flame were about to engulf the building - if
you've ever been in a forest fire, you'll know that
the thing can suddenly "jump", and things looked
pretty desperate.  I pushed open the door, and a
horrific sight caught my eyes:  my buddies the drays
were still chained in their stall.  They were all
standing up, heaving away at their chains, trying to
get free.  It was no use of course as the "tradition"
that meant that drays were chained at night also meant
that the shackling places were embedded firmly in the
concrete floor!    I rushed in to join them and added
my own strength to theirs, but it was no use.  I knew
they were going to burn to death in a few moments when
the fire leapt, and there was nothing I could do.  I
wondered whether to leave them - there was no hope for
them, but at least I could survive, and maybe I could
help Rob....  But where had the fucking kid gone?  The
smoke was almost choking now and we couldn't carry on
heaving at the chains, when Rob staggered up:  he'd
gone into the office, and had the keys  to the locks
on the drays' manacles!

We tore at the locks, desperate to get them all free,
and at the last moment managed to crawl out just as
with a noise like thunder the fire leapt into the barn
and engulfed it.

All eight of us jogged off now, and I was truly glad
we had the drays with us - a big band of rebels were
suddenly in front of us, brandishing their guns and
knives.  They would, I'm sure, have killed Rob and me
just because we were "whiteys" and therefore looked a
bit like the hated owners, had in not been for the
drays who stood there shielding us.  The rebels
shouted and cursed in that particular argot that only
nigga slaves use, and the drays were of course equally
vehement in their response, threatening to tear the
balls off any of the rebels who so much as touched us.

We ran on, and by midmorning were probably off our
owner's holding.  We collapsed on the banks of a
stream, and all of us were really glad to be able to
wash the stench of the fire off us:  the drays and me
plunged in completely uninhibitedly, but Rob stood
there on the bank in my T, now stained  with soot and
dirt.  "Come on, boy!", I snapped "Come and get
clean... And wash that T! "

"No...", Rob began, and the drays all started to
laugh.  "Who is this slave, Steve?"

"He's new.  Our owner only bought him last week, and
he isn't used to acting like a slave yet..."

"Come on, boy", one of the drays roared now, half
laughing.  "We can see your dick anyway, you know,
with you standing there on the bank and us down
here...."

"No..." Rob started to say again, and now I got cross.
 "Get down here in the water, boy!  Are you too proud
to be a slave, with your fellow slaves?  Anyone would
think you were still a free man....."

I saw Rob got the message, and reluctantly he stripped
off his T, and dived into the stream in the middle of
us.   We were a bit like kids together, then:  the
drays were so relieved at having escaped the fire, and
I was so grateful that we were, at least temporarily,
free from the danger of the reel slaves, that we swam
and splashed and joked and washed each other just as
if we were a load of college freshmen on a spring
break - and after a couple of minutes of standing
there hesitantly, Rob joined in, too.  Or, rather, a
couple of the big drays grabbed him threw him in the
air, and then stood there laughing as he splashed down
into the water and came up spluttering and laughing:
he threw himself on one of them and tried to wrestle
the guy down and duck his head under the water:
impossible, of course, given the power of the dray,
but it caused us all to laugh.

All eight of us lay naked on the bank then, letting
the sun dry us and warm our flesh, and one of the
drays said to me "You know, Steve, this is the first
time I've enjoyed myself for a long time:  lying here
in the sun, with my buddies around me...."

"You're always in the sun...."

"Yes, but not lying!  We're always working."  It
occurred to that what he said was true - I did get
some "free time" and my "work", keeping in perfect
shape, was hardly "work" at all.  But I remembered how
exhausted I'd been when I'd been working as a dray,
and knew that these slaves had it tough compared to
me.

We couldn't stay there all day, though, as the pangs
of hunger started to get to us.  We got up, and Rob
went to pull his T on until he saw that I was leaving
my obscenely tiny shorts to be more like the drays,
and we went to move off.  One of the drays grabbed Rob
and ran his big work-hardened black hand across Rob's
butt.  "What's this, then?" He demanded.  "This isn't
a proper brand...."

I saw a look of panic start to appear on Rob's face,
so I said smoothly "Oh, it's because he's new, and
sixteen.... He was bought as a sex slave, and the
current 'fashion' is to have young guys like him
smooth:  when his owner fucks him, he likes to feel a
nice smooth butt, and not the harshness of the brand.
When he gets a bit older, and his 'virgin' charms have
worn off, then they'll brand him properly."

"So are you a virgin, boy?  Has your owner fucked you
yet?"  The dray demanded of Rob.

"Yes, I mean no... I mean...."

The drays started to laugh, and one said "Boy, you
don't seem to know if your owner's dick has been up
your ass or not!  You'd remember it if it were
mine...."  He was holding his dick as he said this,
and stroked it a couple of times to make it  hard.  We
all stared at the massive organ, and began to laugh.

Rob was blushing violently, and stuttered "I mean that
yes, I am a virgin, and no my owner didn't fuck me,
sir....", he stammered.

The big dray, his black dick still jutting out
unashamed and hard, put his hand around Rob's
shoulder.  "Hey, boy, I reckon its your lucky day,
then!  The first time you experience dick it will be a
proper, big, nigga dick, not some asparagus thing that
a whitey has..... I reckon you and me should get
together...."

"No, please....", Rob stammered.  I saw the dray start
to squeeze Rob closer to him, and he said "What's the
matter, slave boy?  Too proud to go with  a proper
nigga?  You whiteys are all the same - still think
you're free men...."

"Hey!", I snapped "Leave the kid alone!  He's mine,
right?  Any of you who want to dick him have to ask
me, and I don't feel inclined to agree, not, at least,
until I've finished with him myself!  And mind what
you say about whiteys - I don't take kindly to those
references to asparagus!"

As I said this I stroked my own dick , which, given
the tension we were under, sprang to attention.  I was
in fact a bit bigger - not much, admittedly, but in
these things, when guys are comparing themselves to
each other, even a bit counts.  "See?", I demanded.
"Who's got an asparagus dick now?"

The laughter diffused the tension (well, at least for
the time being).  And I began to worry that Rob's
tender young ass might be a real problem for us with
the drays - although they were nice guys, as I've told
you, they led very constrained lives and really only
had themselves to play with.  The sight of a young guy
like Rob, especially one who had not taken dick, must
be a real temptation for them.

"If that T's dry, boy, I suggest you put it on", I
called out to Rob.  "Your skin's still a bit tender as
you're not used to the sun, like us."

He looked at me a bit curiously, as I think he'd
thought that by voluntarily agreeing to go naked he
was in some was showing "solidarity" with us, but
shrugged and dropped the thing over his head.  Somehow
seeing his belly straining as he did this, and having
the opportunity to look at his body without him seeing
us do it as the was temporarily covered by the fabric,
was extremely erotic.  I felt my own dick stiffen, and
noticed that some of the other drays were now
semi-erect, too.

End Of Part Four