Date: Wed, 29 Mar 2006 22:52:58 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Show, Part Two

THE SLAVE SHOW

By Pete Brown.   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Two

Dan led me through into a big enclosed area - well,
"enclosed" in the sense that there were some of those
portable five-feet high screens marking it off from
the rest of the huge space, and you could see heads
peeking over them from the idly curious.  As we went
in an attendant reached up and read my collar, and
used a magic marker to write five numbers on the lid
of a cardboard storage container.

"There, sir... Marked with the slave's show number....
Just ask for it when you're ready to take him away.
Get him to strip totally and put all his things in the
box, and then join the queue over there for the
photography and measurement stations."

I looked around, and there were some plain wooden
benches, much like you find in changing rooms at gyms
and so on, and several owners and slaves were standing
around as the slaves stripped.... But to my horror I
saw that this really was a communal facility:  it
wasn't just blokes taking their kit off, as the Show
was for females, too, and there were several women
getting naked.   I wondered if the heads poking over
the screens were there to look at them, or the men!

"OK, Steve.... Come on, let's get you naked...."

"Dan, sir... I can't... There are women...."

"Oh come on, Steve!  Are you shy?  Are you telling me
you've never appeared naked in front of a woman
before?  You were all right last night...."

"But this is so exposed -  look at everyone peeking at
us over the barriers.  And there are several of
them..."

"...and they're getting naked in front of you.  And
look at all the other blokes - they don't seem to
mind.  In fact that one over there looks quite
excited...."

I turned, and there was a young bloke, probably early
twenties, with a huge erection as he stood there
watching the women.  He didn't  seem to be worrying
about it, but it was odd - I mean, we all know we get
erections, we like them, and we're proud of them.  But
blokes don't show them off to each other, do they?  In
fact, some of my worst moments have come when I've
felt myself starting to stiffen when we've been
changing, or in the showers.   But this man seemed
totally unconcerned about having a hard-on with other
blokes around, and his owner didn't seem to be
concerned, either.

Dan saw me staring, and my look of amazement.  "Look,
Steve, you don't have any choice.  No one's going to
be looking at you, handsome though you are, when
there's that one there to look at!  I wonder if he's
one of those sex workers we were told about?  Anyway,
come on, get your kit off.... We haven't got all day,
and the queue's not getting any shorter...."

Very reluctantly, as it seemed I didn't have a whole
lot of choice, I bent down and undid my work boots and
put them into the box, and then stripped down.  I
hated all the other men, and the women, seeing me in
my horrible underpants, and in a way it was a relief
to get them off.

Dan handed the box to the attendant, and then I felt
somehow "cut off" from the rest of my normal world.
It was bad enough when I was first made a slave, being
made to live a very different life, but I guess I'd
kind of adjusted to it.  Now, with even my clothes
taken away and with this plastic collar around my neck
I felt that feeling of isolation from the "real" world
again.  This wasn't how men were meant to live.  They
didn't have the right to do this to men, I thought.
But here I was, "in the system", and the very
ordinariness of it seemed to make me need to conform:
the other naked slaves were standing there in a line,
waiting patiently, apparently unconcerned;  and  by
the side of them their owners were standing in small
groups chatting away, as if it were the most natural
thing in the world to be there talking about the
prospects for the Show, or the traffic on the journey,
or whatever.

Dan led me over to the queue, and I didn't know what
was the best thing to do - to kind of walk with a
carefree air as if I was used to going around naked in
front of a whole lot of other people, or to be a bit
modest and to try to cover my cock and balls with my
hands.  I decided not to do the latter, as I always
think blokes doing that when they're caught in those
"candid" photos you see look pretty stupid, and so
walked normally.  There were carpet tiles, I remember,
as their harsh scratchiness felt strange to my bare
feet.  And you know how it is in those huge
air-conditioned spaces - the air seems to blow
everywhere, and it can be refreshing when you're at an
exhibition or something.  But when you're naked, it
feels cold on you and it's not all that pleasant - and
it kind of reminds you that you're about to be the
exhibition!

The photography wasn't all that bad - well, I'd had a
set of "mugshots" done for the army, several times.
But it was a bit much to make you stand there in the
nude whilst they took a whole body shot of you.   And
not just one, either - I had to face them, then they
did me from the back, and then I was told to turn so
that they could do me from the side.  I asked the
photographer why they needed all these, and he said it
was for the show catalogue so that when we were in the
ring it would be easier for the spectators to be able
to tell who was who.

"So they get to see all of me, in the nude?"

"Oh yes, but it's only a tiny thumbnail, so they can't
really even see whether you're circumcised or not.
Don't worry about it - no one is going to be taking it
away to wank over when they can get full-sized
pictures of slaves in the booths in the merchants'
area."

So that was that - well, what was the point of
arguing?  And at least I could stand and watch the
women being done as I waited to be measured.  I've
seen acres of pictures of naked women, of course, as
all the barracks always have a lot of them lying
around (although the best pages  are often stuck
together as a result of blokes wanking on them!).  But
seeing the pictures actually being taken was different
somehow.  No, not different - much more erotic.  And
the photographer was a dirty fucker - he kept stopping
and going over to "rearrange" the women, as he called
it - moving their tits slightly, or getting them to
spread their legs a bit wider by putting his hands
right up the top of her thighs and nudging them apart.
 I noticed that I wasn't the only male slave who was
watching who found all of this pretty exciting,
however humiliating it must have been for the poor
girl concerned, and several of us looked slyly at each
other and grinned, as blokes do when you're watching a
stripper in a pub.

The measuring was pretty horrible, though:  they did
my chest, and my waist, and my biceps, but then they
did my inside leg!  Well we're all used to having that
done when you get measured for a suit, but then you've
got your underpants and trousers on, and you have to
remember that I was naked!  I hated the feel of the
guys hand as he pushed one end of the tape measure
right up to that sensitive bit behind my balls, and
the feeling of it against my balls themselves as they
hung there, but I suppose it was only for a few
seconds (and I suppose it was no worse, really, than
what the photographer had done to the women).  They
had one of those special things for measuring my
height where a little arm comes down a sliding scale
to the top of my head, and taking  my weight was easy
on a big scales.  I thought it was all over then, but
as I was about to walk off the bloke who was doing it
said "Not so fast, boy - we've still got the most
important ones to do yet."

He had this big pair of callipers with a scale between
the two "arms", and he used them to measure the length
of my cock, pushing one arm into my pubes and touching
the end of my cock with the other, before reading the
length off the scale.  I think I was blushing at
having my cock measured - not that I've got anything
at all to be ashamed off on that score, but it's not
something you ever actually do, is it?  I mean, on the
labels of sex DVDs you read that so-and-so has an
eight inch cock, and you look at the picture to
compare him with yourself, but you don't actually get
a ruler out and measure it, do you?  But if that
wasn't enough, I thought I was hearing things when he
said "One last one, and then you're all done - get
that thing cock hard, will you?"

"Uh?"

"Get it hard.  That cock of yours.  The public likes
to know how a slave is hung, so they need it flaccid
and hard."

"No... I can't...."

"Oh, you're one of those blokes who can only get it up
with a lot of stimulation, are you?  I'll call one of
the other slaves over and get him to give you a wank
then, shall I?"

"No... I mean I can't do it here, in public...."

"This isn't in public.  There's only me, and a few
slaves around."

"No...."

"First time is it, boy?  First time on show?"

"Yes."

"Look, stop worrying!  This is the worse you'll have
to do, providing you don't get really high up in the
competitions.  In the early rounds all the judging is
done with your shorts on.  And even if you do well,
you'll soon get used to it - just remember that a
slave has no right to feel embarrassed or ashamed of
his body:  if his owner wants him to appear naked,
then that's that.  It's the responsibility of the
owner, not the slave, so the slave need have no fear
of ridicule, or shame, or anything.. And by entering
you in the competition your owner took all that
responsibility on himself."

Well I still felt bad about it.  I'd never consciously
made myself go hard in front of another bloke before.
I suppose I had been erect in the barracks sometimes
but then I'd have had my underwear on, or could cover
it with a towel, or something - but blokes just don't
go around waving their hard cocks at each other, do
they?

He saw me hesitating, and snapped "Now come on, be a
good boy!  You're holding everything up!  Either get
hard, or we'll need to get one of the other slaves
over here to get you roused...."

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, I reached down and
started to stroke my cock.  There was probably still
the excitement of the naked women a few minutes ago in
my brain as it wasn't all that difficult, actually,
and I was actually quite pleased with the way my cock
jutted up there, way above the horizontal (even though
it is very thick and long.  I think it's because I
have such a muscular stomach, so all the muscles are
working together properly).  It didn't take the bloke
a moment then to touch the callipers to my pubes and
to my piss slit, and finally to use them to take the
width of my cock.

He was nice enough to allow me time to calm down
before sending me off, and there was Dan waiting a the
final "station" of this registration process - the
place where they issued the show shorts.  "Extra Large
for this one", Dan told the man.  "He's a big bloke,
as you can see.  Or perhaps even XXL."

"First time, is it, sir?"  The man disking out the
shorts asked.

"Yes."

"Well, sir, if you don't mind me giving you a little
advice.... Most owners choose show shorts that are
smaller than the slave really needs - for this one,
I'd say a 'Large' at the most, or perhaps he might
even be able to squeeze into a 'Medium'.  You must
remember, sir, that the slaves are here on show, and
the public wants to get a good look:  unless the
shorts are really tight they miss out on the muscular
definition of the backside, and, if  I may say so,
that would be a real pity with this slave!  And there
again, until they get to the higher levels, the slaves
don't have to appear naked - and so you want the
audience to be able to form their own view of his
tackle, don't you?  If the shorts are loose, then his
very impressive equipment just isn't even hinted at."

I saw Dan looking, and he grinned and looked at me.
"Hear that, Steve boy?  Even the expert here thinks
you've got a pretty good body.  So it would be a shame
to deprive the public of a bit of pleasure, wouldn't
it?"  He turned and went on "So let's try the 'Medium'
on him please."

I was handed a pair of white shorts which, even as I
took them in my hand, I felt were far too small.  They
weren't like work shorts, or leisure shorts, coming
down to the knee, but were more like those swimming
'trunks' with very short legs indeed, only coming at
most a couple of inches down my thigh.  They were made
of some sort of half-shiny artificial fabric with just
a hint of "stretch" in it, and as  I looked at them  I
could see that  they were not lined or anything - they
were more like an abbreviated version of boxer
underwear, I'd say.  I needed to hop around from foot
to foot to even try to get the dammed things over my
feet and up my long legs, and finally I stood there,
tugging at them, trying to make them a bit less
revealing.

Anyone looking at me would indeed be able to see the
outline of my cock and balls, I just knew, as the
fabric was really bulging at the front.  And I could
feel it stretched tightly over my bum - that part of
it which they covered, that is, as the waist just
wouldn't come up very high and I felt certain that at
least an inch of the top of my crack would be exposed,
even when I wasn't bending down.  And at the front,
there was a straggle of pubic hair peeking over the
waist, even allowing for the fact that I'd been
"trimmed".

"There, I told you", the guy said to Dan.  "He looks
really good, doesn't he?  Everyone can see him now,
and make a pretty good guess at what he looks like."

Dan smiled, and slapped me on the bum.  "He's right,
Steve!  Not that they have to guess very hard!  You'd
better be careful that you don't get an erection, as
those shorts are already so tightly stretched that any
more strain might burst them totally."  He looked at
the man and went on "You don't think we'd do better
with the next size?  These are a bit revealing...."

"Oh no, sir.  The judges like to see a man nicely
displayed like this.  The ones he's got on now are
really sexy, I think - he's kind of exposed, and yet
concealed... Many people think that it's more erotic
to see a man like that, with so many tantalising hints
of what lies underneath, than it is to see him
actually naked.  I think you might have a real winner
here, sir, if you take him into the ring like that..."

Dan thanked the guy, and said breezily "Well that's
that then, Steve.  All booked in... Let's go and find
the grooming and rest areas."

t seemed that the protocol at this place was that all
the different types of slaves  tended to cluster
together, and I learned later that this was because
the owners liked to chat and pass on tips to each
other.  It also made it easier for spectators: the
public could wander freely around the rest and
grooming areas, and if they wanted to observe just one
type of slave it was good for them as all the
Caucasians would be in one place, all the blacks in
another, and so on.  I never found out what happened
about owners who chose to show different types of
slaves, but, anyway, this didn't affect us.

The Caucasians' area tended to be grouped into their
subspecies, too, and the Scandinavians looked a pretty
snooty lot, standing there tossing their blond hair
around (even the blokes tended to have longer hair
than you expect to see on a slave, as  I suppose they
were not generally used for hard work, as I was, being
more for show and display.  Ultimately we found
ourselves in a reasonably quiet corner, not on one of
the main passageways, with a lot of other
Mid-Europeans.  In the space next to me there was a
"pup", a young lad who I learned had only just turned
sixteen, and on the other side a "mature" , who  I was
to learn had recently turned forty.

The young lad was owned by a big florid man who was
wearing a tweed suit and a bow tie, and who was very
overweight and, I would guess, in his early  fifties.
The Mature slave was owned by a thin old man, probably
about sixty or seventy, who had on an elegant
pinstriped suit and those kind of polished black shoes
that show off the wearer's long thin feet.  I saw Dan
looking rather nervously at them as he was in jeans
and a Polo shirt and a work jacket, but as they
started talking  I heard them reassure him that
although an owner needed to "look smart"  in the show
ring, as the judges couldn't help but be affected by
the sight of the owner as well as the slave, there was
no requirement to be very "formal".  It was generally
agreed that it was good to see new younger owners,
like Dan, joining in and starting to take part in "the
sport", as they called it.

The two owners asked Dan if he wanted to go off with
them for tea, and said it was OK to leave us slaves
there at the rest and grooming benches, provided we
were secured.  They showed Dan how to loop the chain
that was underneath the benches around my ankle, and
then use a small padlock to holds it there, just as
they were doing for their slaves.

"It's not necessary, of course", the florid man told
Dan, "as no slave can ever escape anyway with the
tracker chip inside him.  But it's a kind of
traditional thing  here - when they used to hold dog
shows an owner could not of course go off and leave
his animal, and the smaller ones were left in cages
and the larger ones tethered by the collar.  Leaving
the slaves shackled by the ankle like this does add a
certain old-fashioned resonance and nostalgic charm of
shows like this."

So saying, the three men went off and I was left there
with this chain around me - to tell you the truth, it
really did make me feel like a slave!  On the
construction site  I could almost fool myself that I
was a free man, as I worked away just as a free man
would.  Sure, I was locked in the barracks at night,
but that was about the only difference I suppose.  But
now, with this collar on, these ridiculous shorts, and
a chain around me, I began to imagine myself as back
in Roman times, as I'd read stories about how slaves
would be taken to the marketplace to be sold, collared
and chained up, just like we were.

The "mature" slave stuck his hand out and said  "Well,
that's rid of them for an hour or so.  I'm  Joe."

"Steve", I replied, shaking his hand.

"And you're a 'Prime', I can tell.  Nice body, Steve!
And what about our young friend here...?"

The young kid muttered  "Trent",  and we all stood
there for a moment, looking at each other.  You could
see that Trent was going to be a "Mid European" like
me as he got older, although for now he only had a
really thin treasure trail running over his flat belly
and a small patch of straggly hair on his pecs.  But
Joe was, to some extent, an older version of me - he
looked in great shape, but had a more lined face, and
his close-cropped hair was clearly starting to thin.

"I guess we're all in competition with each other",
Joe went on.   "If we win our classes, there's only
one 'best of breed'.... "   He looked at me and went
on "Have you got any prize certificates already?"

"No, this is the first time I've ever been entered
into things like this."

"...and you, Trent?"

"Fucking no!  I've only been a slave two weeks..."

"What did you do to get  an Indenture, then?"

"Fucking nothing!"

"Are you sure it wasn't for using bad language all the
time?"

"Screw you!  You're just like all the workers at the
Home.... Always prying, always going on at a bloke
about nothing...."

"Hey, young fellow, we're all the same here, you
know.... Now stop that.... And tell us."

"I was taken into care when I was ten as my mom died -
I'd never known my dad.  It's tough in those homes,
you know - the older kids can be real bullies, and the
staff mostly don't care.  They chuck you out when
you're sixteen, and I reckon they have an arrangement
with the police,  as the moment I was on my own, they
pounced.  I'd got nowhere to stay, no job or anything,
and so they immediately arrested me for being a
vagrant, and hauled me into court and I got ten years
indenture.  If you ask me they're in league with each
other to make sure there's a ready supply of young
guys like me coming on to the market - after all, a
lot of other stuff, like antisocial behaviour, nicking
cars, and petty theft has disappeared as no one wants
to be enslaved."

"Hey, that's really tough.", I cut in.  "Surely the
Social Services should have found you a place, made
sure that when you went out of their care you had
somewhere fixed up...."

"You're fucking right they should!  But, as I say, I
reckon it's all down to economics.  There just aren't
many sixteen year olds coming through the system at
all.  And you should see how they all pored over us
when I was sold - or my 'indenture was reassigned', as
they call it!  It was bad enough for me, having men
going all over my body.  But you should have seen how
they went at the young girls, trying to find out if
they were virgins.  Some hope, I can tell you!
Virgins, coming out of kids' homers?"

"So, Trent, this is your first show!  Still, you'll
get used to it.  And you, Steve.  If you ask me, this
isn't the first time you'll be back here.... You're
each pretty good looking."

"What about you, Joe?", I asked.

"Oh, this is my sixth time.  I was a 'mature' now,
although I used to be a  'prime' like you, Steve, and
then moved on as I got older.  I've got a whole lot of
prize certificates from other shows around the country
- best in class, bet of breed..... But never anything
from this show, which is the real creme de la creme!
My owner has high hopes this time, as the slave who
just pipped me to best in class last year isn't being
shown this season at all."

"You'll have to give us some tips then...."

Joe looked at me.  "As I said, we're all competitors!
Even if I win my class, and you win yours, we'll be
competing against each other for best of breed."  He
saw me look a bit oddly at him, and a grin broke out.
"...but of course I'll tell you.  Who the fuck cares,
anyway?   My owner is OK normally, but when these
shows are coming up he gets fanatical - I'm out in all
weathers exercising, he watches my food like a hawk
and I think he starves me to make sure my belly feels
flatter that it normally does - not that I'm not
pretty muscular there anyway.  If I did win here, I
think he would make life a whole lot harder for me -
he'd  want to put me in all the local shows and
everything, so he could show off the prize
certificate.

"It sounds as if you have been indentured a long time,
Joe", I added.

"You're right, Steve.  Eight years now.  And no
prospect of getting out of it, either!"

"How so?"

"Oh, the usual thing.... My wife found out I was
having a bit of a harmless fling with my secretary, so
she divorced me.  She got all the house and
everything, and a monthly settlement.... And then when
I lost my job as it was against the Company's policy
for bosses to have sex with their secretaries,  she
got me indentured to make sure the payments were made.
 And now of course there's no way out of it - even
when this term of indenture is up, I'll never be able
to do anything other than be indentured again, as I
used to be a banker - and which bank is going to
employ someone who's been indentured?   I reckon I'm
stuck for life.  Still, the  Captain isn't so bad, I
suppose..."

"Hey, you're the slave of a naval man..."

"No, he was a captain in the army.  But he retired
years ago, and now he keeps himself amused by
'drilling' me and subjecting me to 'proper discipline'
and treating me like the batman he used to have.  And
the fucking's not so bad, really - the poor old sod
can barely keep it up, and even with Viagra the best
he achieves most nights is a lot of waving it around
in front of me and then sliding it up and down my ass
crack rather than pushing it right in..."

I was shocked, and my voice sounded it.  "He fucks
you?"

Joe looked at me.  "So you haven't been a slave long,
have you, Steve?  Most owners fuck their slaves, you
know.  It's an almost irresistible temptation.  You're
totally under your owner's control, and the thought of
being able to do something like that to another bloke
is  overwhelming.  Even men who think they're totally
'hetero' end up by fucking their slaves, once they own
them - it's just the way men are made.  If you're
dominant, you like to show it.  And what better way is
there of proving your total dominance and control over
another man than to fuck him, especially if he doesn't
want to be fucked?  It's the ultimate turn on.  And
even owners who don't find it particularly sexy still
do it, really, I suppose, 'because they can'.   I take
it your owner hasn't fucked you yet, then, Steve?"

"Well he isn't my owner really - I'm owned by a
company, as I'm a construction worker.  Dan, the young
guy you saw, he's really a 'handler', I suppose."

"I bet you've been fucked, haven't you, Trent?  A cute
young lad like you is generally irresistible to older
men."

Trent shrugged.  "Sure.  But he's so fat it isn't a
problem  He hasn't got a big cock anyway, and by the
time his great belly has forced him away from getting
any closer, only the first inch makes it up my bum.
No, that's not the problem... He's seriously into
spanking and stuff like that, and most nights I get
spanked over his knee.  Even if I haven't done
anything wrong.  And if he can pin anything on me -
I've forgotten something, or if he says I've
'misbehaved', then it's with a hairbrush!   Actually,
coming here is a nice change - he hasn't laid into me
for three days now as he doesn't want any marks on my
bum,  for the judging."

"Well they wouldn't see those, would they....?"  I
asked.

Joe cut in "Oh yes, Steve.  In the 'pups' class the
slaves are always shown totally naked.  Poor young
Trent there is going to have to run around that show
ring flashing his cock for everyone who wants to see.
And there's always huge crowds when the pups are being
judged - a whole lot of men find really young blokes
like Trent very appealing, and they turn up in droves
to see them... And the women, too.  I think there's
something about a young man's cock that appeals to
women - it's not as threatening  as yours or mine, I
suppose!"

"Still", Joe went on, "Even though that Dan is only
your handler, I expect he'll want to fuck you."

"Hell no - he's married.  Got a kid, and another one
on the way... His wife's really nice...."

"That's got nothing to do with it, Steve!  As I said,
all men really want to fuck other  men.  It's just a
natural male thing.  Is she here with him?  I didn't
see her."

"No."

"And are you staying somewhere..."

"I don't know.  Dan is doing it on the cheap... He's
got one of the firm's vans, and I think we're going to
bed down in the back of it, in the car park."

"Hey ho, then, Steve.  Mark my words, he'll  be up
your arse tonight, for sure!"

"No!  Dan isn't like that."

"Steve, ALL men are like that.  It's just that most of
them don't have the opportunity."

"Well I'm not like it!"

"It's only because you never had the chance, then.
What did you do to get enslaved, anyway?"

"I just did my job properly!  I was in the army, and
an operation went wrong, and us blokes on the ground
got the blame."

"You were in the army, and you didn't fuck other
blokes?  Oh, come on, Steve.  We're all friends here -
you can tell us."

"NO, honest, I didn't..

"I bet you all wanked each other, at least..."

I just shook my head, knowing that I wasn't being
entirely truthful.  Look, I know I've told you that
you knew other blokes were wanking themselves in their
bunks and you just ignored it as you beat your own
meat, but sometimes we did do just a bit more.  If it
was near the end of the month and some of the blokes
were a bit short of cash,  instead of going into town
and drinking and screwing the local women, we'd put
one of the ultra hard porn DVDs on the TV in the
barracks and sit there and watch it.  Well, you know
how it is with good porn on the DVD - your cock really
hurts if  it keeps thrusting against your underpants
and uniform, so you get it out, don't you?  After all,
it's not as if you haven't seen all your mates' cocks
hundreds of times, in the showers and stuff.  And then
you all sit there stroking them.  Then, after a time,
some of the blokes start to wank themselves.... And
it's a short step from there and just leaning over and
starting to stroke your mate....   I can't say I
particularly like wanking another bloke, but I do like
feeling another bloke's hand on my cock - well, it
isn't all that different from having a woman bring you
off, is it?  Except that I think another bloke does it
better, as he knows from personal experience  which
bits of it are really sensitive.  But I wouldn't want
you to think that I was gay or anything - we never
went beyond that, never.  Well, except that there was
one guy in our barracks who'd suck you off, if you'd
let him, and most of us had given it a try - I mean, a
bloke's lips are just the same as a bird's, aren't
they?

Fortunately I didn't have to really lie, or indeed
answer any more potentially embarrassing questions, as
the three owners came back at that point.  Dan came up
to me and told me to lie down on the preparation
bench.  "The first heat of the prime Mid-Europeans is
this afternoon, and it's time to get you ready.  These
gentlemen have been most helpful, and given me a lot
of tips - it really is good of them, but it seems that
owners who come to slave shows to show off their
slaves are a nice bunch, very friendly.  They've even
loaned me some slave oil, as there isn't time to go
off down to the sales area and buy some."

"What's slave oil?"

"Steve, I thought we agreed that you'd speak properly,
as a slave should."

"...sir?"

"Basically, body oil.  To make your skin shine.  But
specially formulated so that it's not greasy, and to
be long lasting.... Provided it's rubbed in well it
won't stain your shorts, and you'll just kind of
'glow' under the arena lights, rather than looking
shiny as you would if we used olive oil or something
like that.  Here.... Get started....."

He tossed me a bottle with one of those pump things on
the top, and then stood and watched as I  rubbed it
into my legs and thighs, and then all over my arms,
and my belly and my chest.

I lay down then, and Dan pumped some of the oil onto
my back and began to massage it in.  I've never had
another bloke do things like that before - not massage
me, or anything, and I have to say it really is quite
sensual.  It was just as well I was lying on my front
as the feel of Dan's hands on my back and shoulders
started to make me go hard.

End Of Part Two