Date: Wed, 12 Apr 2006 15:00:42 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Show, Part  Eight

THE SLAVE SHOW

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

Part  Eight

I sat there afterwards, totally amazed at what Dan had
done.  And before I could say or do anything more, the
moment I let go of his head Dan got to his feet and
stumbled up the stairs.  I heard him cleaning his
teeth in the bathroom, and then make his way into the
bedroom, but there was no sound of lovemaking that
night.

The following morning Julie again woke me with a big
mug of tea, but this time I was prepared as I'd kept
Dan's boxers close to me so I could pull them on
before throwing the blankets aside.  Dan stayed out of
the bathroom when I was in there, and the first time
I saw him was when I was already tucking in to my
breakfast.  He sat there, glum and silent, and pushed
away the stuff Julie had prepared for him - which she
therefore promptly gave to me.

"You'll be late", she finally said to Dan, who had sat
there silently.

"I don't want to go this morning."

"Oh don't be so stupid!  You need the exercise - when
I look at you compared with Steve here, you need a lot
more, in fact!  And you can't let the team down -
you're always telling me how hard it is to get eleven
of them together.  So stop sitting there like a
pudding, and go and pack your sports bag."

"I don't want tot leave you here with Steve."

"So take him with you!  I expect he'd like to see a
bit of countryside as he spends all his time in the
city."

Dan looked a bit rebellious, but after a few more
similar exchanges he went upstairs, came back with a
typical sports holdall, and muttered to me "Come on,
then."

As we drove along there was a stony silence in the
car, and finally  I could bear it no longer.  "Dan,
about last night...."

"I don't want to talk about it, Steve."

"But Dan, you...."

"Shut the fuck up, OK?  I said we're not talking about
it.  I don't know what happened - it must have been
the wine.  But it won't happen again."

"Dan, you can't just ignore something like that...."

"Didn't you hear me?  I told you to shut the fuck up."

I shrugged.  After all, it was his life, it was him
who'd wanted my cock, and had gone up to his wife
straight afterwards.  So we sat there in a kind of
sullen peace.

You see lots of these amateur team games in parks up
and down the country, and I guess this was fairly
typical - a big collection of cars parked along the
road at the edge of the playing fields:  mostly five
or six years old, as the players were plumbers,
electricians, tilers and people like that who didn't
buy new, mixed with blokes like Dan who had not very
good jobs down in London, who couldn't afford to.
There was a changing block on the site, but it didn't
open early and so the players mostly arrived changed,
or stood there at the roadside a bit self-consciously
pulling their jeans off and their shorts on whilst
trying to hide their underpants with their shirt
tails.

One of the blokes hadn't turned up for Dan's team as
he was a gas fitter and had had an urgent call out,
and they seemed reconciled to playing with only ten
men, as it seemed that this was a fairly regular
occurrence.  I was standing there, and one of them
turned to Dan. "Dan, couldn't your mate play for us?"

"He's not my mate - he's a slave."

"Fuck me, Dan, have you come into money or something?
He looks expensive...."

"He's just borrowed, from work."

"Well, can't he play?"

"Yes, I'd like to", I cut in.  "I sometimes go to Hyde
Park and try to get a kick-around on a Sunday
morning..."

"Shut the fuck up, Steve", Dan snapped.  "I told you
to keep that trap of yours shut this morning."

His mate looked a bit surprised at hearing Dan like
that, but pressed on "Come on then, Dan.... Order him
to play, will you?  You know how awful it is with only
ten of us, and we need the points from this game...."

Several of the others chipped in then, urging Dan to
"do the right thing" and all that sort of stuff, and
he finally shrugged and said "OK, then.  But if
anything goes wrong, remember that it's you who
asked...."

The problem then was that I didn't have any kit, but
my work boots had pretty good soles to give me a grip,
and so  I said I would play in them (which is what I
did on Sundays in Hyde Park). And then Dan rummaged
around in his sports bag and found his dirty shorts
and shirt from the week before, and tossed them to me.

They smelled of his sweat and were obviously not very
clean, but there wasn't much choice, and so I pulled
them on (seeing the other blokes start to snigger as
they made exaggerated sniffing gestures at their
armpits, and telling me that they didn't want to be
too close to me... You know how blokes are like that,
always wanting to joke about things).  The scent of
Dan, stale though it was, didn't rouble me much -
after all, when a bloke's been sucking your cock and
that close to you, what does a bit of sweat matter?

It was a good game, actually.  I like football, and
I'm really fit - much more so than the other players,
so I can keep running and running.  And being
physically bigger than most of them, and wearing
sturdy work boots rather than light football boots, I
frequently got control of the ball as they didn't want
to take me on in a tackle.   So, unusually, it seems,
Dan's team won that morning, and we were all in a
pretty happy mood as we trooped off towards the
changing block at the end of the game.

It's funny, isn't it - perfectly normal blokes who
wouldn't even think of touching another bloke in the
showers somehow lose their inhibitions when one of the
men is a slave!  It was all good-natured and light
hearted and not serious, but once one of them had said
he wanted to "feel what a real slave was like" and had
felt my biceps as we stood under the showers, they all
began touching me... Cautiously at first, then finally
one of them had my cock in his hand and stroked me to
an erection so "they could see if I was as big there
as I was everywhere else".  And all this time Dan just
stood there, soaping himself and not intervening or
anything - and I didn't think I ought to protest and
stop them myself, as otherwise they'd think that Dan
wasn't very good at controlling slaves.

We went to the  pub afterwards, and Dan told me to
stay in the car, but one of his team mates came out a
couple of minutes later.  "Come on, Steve!  We only
won because of you, and the lads want to buy you a
drink...."

"Dan told me to stay here...."

"...and we told him not to be so fucking stupid! It's
OK... Come on."

It was a long time since I'd had the company of mates
in a pub like that... That proper companionable
atmosphere of blokes standing around drinking together
with a pint in their hands, and it really made me
think of what I'd lost - when  I was in the army and
not away, we always went out on Friday and Saturday
nights like this, and talked about the football, and
the TV, and racing, and, inevitably, sex!  Dan didn't
seem to be joining in much, though, and he kept
scowling at me.  And after I'd had three pints and the
talk was now all about sex, one of his mates slapped
Dan on the back and asked "So why have you got this
slave, then?  Julie's a real looker, isn't she - but I
guess she's pretty close now to popping your next kid
out?  So you've given up fucking her, and use Steve
instead?"

"Yes", another one added, laughing. "That's typical of
Dan.  Once they're close to it, most of us have to put
up with a blowjob, or even just a wank, from our
wives.  But Dan's found a better way..... "

They all laughed uproariously, in the way that men do
who are slightly drunk.  One of them came and stood
next to me, and ran his hand suggestively over my
arse.  "You're a lucky man, Dan.... This feels like it
could give a bloke a good time...."

Dan looked furious, and tried to stop them, but the
more he protested his "innocence", the more his mates
goaded him, suggesting all sorts of things that he
might have been doing with me, until Dan told me to
drink up, as we were leaving.

The drive back looked as if it was going to be in
silence, too, and I didn't want an "atmosphere" over
lunch, so I I said quietly "Dan, it's OK.... Last
night.... I won't tell Julie or, or anyone."

"Shut the fuck up, Steve...."

"Dan, if I'd wanted to, I could have joined in with
your mates back then and told them that although you'd
never tackled my arse, you were a pretty good
cocksucker!  But I didn't, did I?  I just stood there
and took all the jokes.  So stop worrying, OK?"

We'd stopped at a traffic lights, and he turned to me.
"Steve... I don't know what came over me.... I didn't
mean anything by it...."

"Sure.  It's OK.  Now, let's try and be cheerful,
shall we?  I bet Julie's cooked a smashing dinner, and
I really want to enjoy it... It's a long time since
I've had a proper roast on Sunday, as the canteen's
closed and all we get is some pizzas and stuff that
they leave for us to microwave."

I reckon it was a good thing to clear the air like
that, as it was indeed a fantastic meal - roast pork,
with proper crackling, and a big plum crumble and
custard afterwards.  By the time I'd had two portions
of both I was really bloated, and combined with the
effects of the three pints I'd had at the pub, all I
wanted to do was slump in a comfy chair and doze off!


Dan and I went to watch the football on the TV, and I
felt my eyelids closing even though it was a really
good European Cup match, and Dan was the same - so
much so that he did fall asleep, and lolled towards
me, ending up with his head resting on my shoulder.
Julie came in after she'd finished the washing up, and
I realised what it must look like, and tried to push
Dan off me.  "Shhhhh, Steve!  Leave Dan be, if it's
not bothering you:  he's always so tired on Sundays,
and he's got a tough week ahead of him - let him
snooze for a bit, it won't hurt.", Julie whispered.

I think I fell asleep then, as I came to with  Julie
shaking me, and Dan sprawled half across me.   In some
strange way it felt good to have a body in such close
contact with me.  "Come on you two!", she shouted
loudly, to make sure it got through to both of us.
"Time for a walk.  Shane needs to go out, and you two
do, too - it's not good for you to sleep away the
entire afternoon.  So come on, the sun's come
out....."

Dan got to his feet, looking a bit embarrassed, I
think, as he realised how he'd been lying across me,
and rubbed his eyes and stretched.  Then it took ages
to get everything together - Shane into the pushchair,
and all that kind of thing, and we went out.

There were lots of young families about, just
aimlessly walking, and it was really odd for me as I'd
never done anything like that before.  Some of them
had kids, some of them had dogs, and some had both.
But, as I said to Dan, I bet we were the only group
out that afternoon with a slave.

Instead of wandering aimlessly Dan thought it was a
good idea to head for the station, as I'd need a
ticket for the following morning and there were always
long queues on a Monday, so we headed down there - it
seemed a long way, and Julie said that Dan could do it
in twenty minutes- just - as he didn't want to leave
her without a car for the day, or make her get up and
take Shane there as some wives had to.  "He's so
considerate, Steve", she said as Dan was buying my
ticket.  "I'm so lucky to have such a good husband.
And unlike a lot of women, I don't have to worry about
Dan 'straying'  - he only wants me."  Well, I felt a
bit guilty then, knowing how Dan had gone for my cock
the previous night, but it seemed unlikely that it
would ever happen again, so I just mumbled something
in agreement, about how he "seemed like a nice bloke",
and left it at that.

Nothing "happened" that night, and I was shaken awake
by Dan at what seemed like an ungodly early hour the
following morning, told that there was not time for a
shower and that it didn't matter anyway as I'd be
working on the site all day, had a slice of toast
thrust at me, and told to pull my stuff on quick, as
we needed to leave!

Dan caught the  05:23 which got into Liverpool street
just before half past seven, and he had it down to a
fine art: we went out into the blackness of the
morning and he walked fast - very fast - down the
footpaths and bye-ways to the station:  even with my
longer legs I found it almost hard to match his pace!
We ran up the steps on to the platform just as the
train pulled in, and Dan smiled at me.  "Done it
again!  Julie always says that if my shoe comes undone
I miss the train as I have to stop for ten seconds to
do it up."

The train stopped two or three times, picking up more
passengers - mostly young blokes, like Dan, but a few
women - and it gradually got fuller and fuller.  Dan
slumped in a corner seat, dozing off, but as the sun
rose I was quite interested in sitting there and
seeing the scenery.  The last stop was Chelmsford, and
the train now filed up completely as this was the last
stop before London, and Dan half opened his eyes.

"On your feet, Steve!", he told me.

"What?"

"There are free men standing!  Apart from the fact
that it's bad manners for a slave to be occupying a
seat when a free man needs one, I only bought you an
'accompanying slave' ticket last night as they're
cheaper - but the rules requires that the slave is not
occupying space when  there are full-fare  passengers
standing.... So on your feet.... It's only fifty
minutes into town from here."

Another aspect of slave life I hadn't even thought
about, that was.  And when you've got a full day's
hard work ahead of you, having to stand there in the
swaying train for almost an hour isn't good - and I
was going to do tough physical graft, remember, not
sit at some comfy desk, like most of the people on the
train who looked as if they could do with using their
muscles a bit more and who would probably have
benefited from standing.

We strode across the City very fast as Dan said it was
quicker than the tube, and I was at the site, ready to
start work, before eight o'clock.   Dan just handed me
over to one of the foremen, and I got stuck in
straightaway with the other slaves.  Mind you, though,
throughout the day I was joshed by my fellows, as
someone had brought them in a tabloid which had
covered the Show, and there were big pictures of me in
the obscene little loincloth, with a headline of
"Handsome new slave sweeps the board", and a the story
about how it was the first time for me, and Dan.  And,
as I thought they would, they started to call me
"Champ".

I thought that would be it, really, and for the next
couple of days I only saw Dan when he was setting out
some work to be done and things like that.  But on
Thursday night, as the site was closing, Dan came up
to me.  "OK, Steve, come with me.... And get a move
on!"  We raced across the City again to Liverpool
Street, and just got in the train as the doors were
closing:  Dan and I both had to stand until
Chelmsford, and then he was able to sit down, but I
had to remain standing a bit longer.  Finally, as we
neared "our" stop, I slid into the seat next to him.

"Another show, Dan?", I asked.

"Well, yes.... Quite a lot, actually.  I've bought
you.  You're my slave really now."

I was stunned, but there wasn't time to talk about it
as we arrived just then, and we couldn't really talk
as Dan walked very fast home.   Julie was surprised,
too, and she had to scrabble around to find enough
food to feed me as Dan clearly hadn't told her.   I
went and sat in front of the TV as she and Dan washed
up, and I heard them arguing - well, not exactly
arguing, but there were sounds of strain, and  I could
only catch bits of the conversation as they were
keeping their voices down as they knew I could
probably hear in that tiny space.

"Dan, are you mad.... We can't afford it.... The
mortgage and everything...."

"...a bank loan.  That's why it took until today.  The
boss agreed to sell him to me at the 'book' price in
the asset register - but I've got to give him 25% of
any winnings for the next year..."

"... A loan...?  The payments!  There's no money.....
  I'm worried....."

"....he's a champion!  We can easily win enough to
really help out..... And he's working every day on the
site still.... That will cover the bank loan, so the
winnings are pure profit...."


"....except for his fares, and the food, and his
clothes...."

"....accompanying slave rates..... We could always
feed him chow, or at least supplement regular meals
with it.... And he can wear my old stuff...."

".... Mad, Dan!  .....totally mad!"

"....best for all of us, Jules.  Shane's a big
expense, and the new baby....  And, anyway, I've got
ideas for making more money from him.... Trust
me....."

They both came into the living room then, and Dan said
"I guess it's bedtime.  We have to be up early in the
morning, as you know.  You'd better go up and shower
now, as there won't be time then as I need to make
myself look smart for work.  And I'm sorry, but you're
going to have to sleep on this sofa for a bit - if we
do well at the shows and things, I'll buy a sofabed
for you, but until then, this is it."

He didn't apologise or anything, but I suppose you
don't, to a slave.

Friday was pretty tough on the site as I hadn't slept
well, and the commute really took it out of me -
especially as Dan insisted I stood up as soon as the
train got full, and on Friday night the train was even
more crowded as there were a lot of people going into
the country for the weekend.   And as I sat down after
supper in front of the TV, I began to miss my mates -
we'd have been locked up in  the slave hut, but we'd
have had a laugh about the crap on the TV, or played
cards, or something, whereas Dan and Julie sat there
holding hands, and I felt really left out.

On Saturday morning  I was deep, deep asleep when Dan
shook me awake, and told me to get up stairs and have
a proper soak in the bath, and to shave really well.
Julie had put my work jeans into the washer over
night, and we set out for the station shortly
afterwards, again with only a piece of toast for
"breakfast".  It was later than when we travelled
before, but being Saturday there wasn't the usual
bunch of commuters, and so I got to sit down all the
way in.

"What are you going to do all day, when I'm working?",
 I asked Dan, to make conversation.

"We're not going to the site, Steve.  I only
contracted for you to work five days a week instead of
six, as we need the weekends for showing you, and
stuff like that."

I cheered up a bit then, as not having to work
Saturdays sounded good.  "So are we going to a show
now, then?"

"Not exactly, Steve.  The guy who did the 'Slaves At
Play' photoshoot contacted me last Monday, and that's
why I talked to the Boss, and the bank, and bought
you.  He's set up a photoshoot..."

"Jesus Christ, Dan!  You're going to make me fuck a
bloke again...."

"No, actually.  Well, not today, anyway.  This is just
a plain ordinary 'handsome stud' shoot for some
website or other."

"What do you mean 'not today'?  You mean you are
lining up for me to have to fuck blokes?"

"Steve, be reasonable!  There's a lot of money to be
made in hard porn.  And there aren't so many blokes
like you around, you know - you're not just handsome
and well built, and well hung, but you've got that
'thing', that 'thing' that makes you photograph well.
 I reckon we'll make real money from you, especially
if one of the movie producers takes a fancy to you, as
there's even more money in movies than stills...."

"Dan, please.... I don't want to be in sex films...."

"Listen, I know you like women, and I'll try to fix it
so that they're 'straight' movies.  But if you have to
fuck a bloke every now and then, what's the problem?
You didn't look all that hesitant after the Show last
week.  But in any case, Steve,  and I keep having to
remind you about this:  you're a slave, and what you
like, and don't like, doesn't matter.  Just focus on
doing what I tell you, OK?"

I sat there, feeling a bit pissed off, I can tell you.

"Oh, and Steve... You're slipping again!  I thought I
told you that I was to be 'sir' when you speak to me."

I was really pissed off now, as I thought Dan and I
were getting along well.  So, almost without thinking
(I've got a bit of a quick temper!), I snapped "Does
that include when you've got my cock down your throat,
or can I call you Dan then, as we're just that bit
more intimate...?"

"You bastard, Steve!  I told you that was just a
momentary lapse.  It won't happen again."

The train was pulling in then, and we were too crowded
on the underground to be able to talk, and then we
walked through the streets in silence to the
photographer's studio which was somewhere down in
Notting Hill, so quite convenient on the tube, really.
 And the photographer was a nice bloke -  he seemed to
care about what I felt, as the moment we went in he
actually turned to me and said "I know it's difficult
for a lot of men the first time, but just try to
forget the camera.  You've taken your kit off in front
of other men before, haven't you?  I think Dan told me
you were in the army...."

"Yes."

"Well then, pretend you're in the barracks, or the
showers, or somewhere, and Dan and me, and my
assistant, are just your mates.  Forget about the rest
of it, and just be natural."

It's easy to say, or course, but difficult to do.  But
after I'd been naked for about twenty minutes, and
after the assistant - a thin young man in his very
early twenties - had "massaged" me all over with slave
oil, I did begin to forget about it.  It was all
pretty harmless stuff, really I suppose - lying on a
sun bed, standing there with a beach ball, flexing my
muscles, leaning against a wall, all that kind of
stuff.  I had to do about half the shots without being
hard, as the photographer explained that these were
for the women's magazines and women didn't like to see
erect slaves as it frightened them, and then go
through all the same poses and positions with the best
hard-on I could sustain, "for the gay trade", I was
told.

We'd finished by about two o'clock, and Dan got a
stack of money - in cash - and we left.  We stopped in
a pub for a pint, Dan had a sandwich, and he bought me
cottage pie and chips, and we might just have been two
mates out for the day in London to see us sitting
there.  But as we were finishing our beer, Dan
muttered "I may as well tell you now, as you're not
going to like it...."

"What?"  I was instantly suspicious.

"Look, we're travelling around and everything, and
people don't like it when they suddenly realise you're
a slave.  It's not that they're prejudiced and against
slaves generally, but they don't want to think that
they might have been dealing with you as if you are a
free man, and then find out you're not.  So the
easiest thing, to avoid arguments and stuff is to get
you a collar.  That way folk can instantly tell you're
a slave...."

"You mean like I had to wear at the Show?  So you can
lead me around by it...?"  My voice was rising now.

"Steve, calm down!  No, neither Julie or I want to
lead you around on a leash.  Of course not.  And it
won't be in cheap green plastic, either.  Now be
reasonable...."

"It's easy to be reasonable... Sir.... When it's not
you who's going to have to go around marked out as a
slave."

"For fuck's sake, Steve, stop being so dramatic.
We're only talking about a collar here!  It's not as
if I was going to have you tattooed across your
forehead with the word 'slave', as some owners do!
But anyway ,as I've said before, it doesn't matter
what you want:  I've decided."

"They don't collar us on the site!"

"...because you don't leave it much!  It's different
now we're travelling, in and out of London, going to
shows, that sort of thing.  Now stop arguing, will
you?  Or else I'll buy you a gag as well as a collar."

To tell you the truth, I didn't know whether he was
joking or not.  But I decided not to risk it, and it
sounded as if his mind was made up anyway, so I just
downed the last of my pint.

Dan took me to one of the big slave accessory shops in
Tottenham Court Road, which on a Saturday afternoon
was fairly full of owners and slaves, as well as a lot
of "hangers on" - I reckon it had become one of the
things to do for those sad blokes who used to collect
train numbers at one time:  hang out in the Tottenham
Court Road looking at slaves they couldn't afford to
own themselves.

The place was run by "foreigners", just like all the
electronic goods stores that made up the rest of the
businesses up there, and the moment we went through
the door Dan was pounced on by one of the assistants
who tried to immediately drag him off to the displays
of expensive slave uniforms and accessories towards
the rear, babbling on to Dan that a "big property like
me needed arm bangles, a snout ring, earrings, ankle
cuffs, a cinch ring....".  Dan insisted that he was
only interested in a collar, though, and "something
simple, at that".

With persistence Dan eventually got the jabbering
salespeople to shut up and only show us the slave
collars, but even then there was a huge variety:  you
had to decide on the height of them ("four inches will
keep his head up, sir, and stop him slumping...."),
the material ("gold plated is becoming more and more
popular, especially against a dark tan" and "metal is
so much more practicable than leather, which very
rapidly gets to look shabby after the slave's showered
in it a few times"), the type of fastening ("welding
the collar on permanently signals quite clearly to the
slave that his life has changed irrevocably"), and the
weight ("A really heavy collar tends to remind the
slave, every time he moves his neck, of his status").

I felt really depressed as I felt certain that Dan
would choose a big, stiff, heavy metal collar to keep
my head up, but he seemed to know what he wanted.
"Metal certainly, but in stainless steel - the 'gold'
and 'silver' look too effeminate for a masculine slave
like this one.  It needs to be thick and heavy, as a
thin one would look ridiculous in relation to his
musculature - but I don't want a rigid collar as all
the magazines say that however carefully they're
fitted there's always chafing, and I show this slave
so that's not acceptable as he needs to be in perfect
condition.  And although it has to be removable - show
slaves are not generally shown collared -  I don't
like to see fussy padlocks and things like that around
a slave's throat so the fastening has to be integral,
but secure so he can't take it off himself."

Dan didn't consult me at all.  He stood there
discussing it with the salesman, and looking at
numerous examples in the display cabinets, until he'd
made his choice.  They led me off to the "workshops"
at the back then, where there were several other slave
waiting to be "fitted" -  as I watched, some of them
had rings punched through their septums, some had
their nips pierced, and I even saw one poor bloke
having his cock pierced so a big PA could go through
the end of it.  When I got to the head of the queue
the fitter looked at his work sheet and muttered that
I was "simple" as there was no flesh to be pierced,
and ran a tape measure around my neck.

"Is he fully grown?", he asked Dan.  "Or are you
planning to put more muscle on him?"

"No, that's about it.  I think he looks well like
that...."

"Indeed, yes, sir.  But you never know - sometimes we
fit a collar nice and snugly, then in a few weeks the
owner decides to bulk up the slave and the poor man
begins to choke.  So I always ask.... But if that's
it, it's easy - I'll just take a couple of links out
of the chain, so it nestles snugly at the base of the
neck without hanging down over his chest...."

He worked away, and then came up to me and draped
something around my neck.  It was cold against my
skin, but at least it hung there and didn't feel
uncomfortable - I suppose I'd get used to the weight
after a few minutes.  It was a chain, well, not so
much as a a chain as a set of "links" like you see on
bracelets, made of stainless steel.  And he snapped at
me to kneel down then so he could show Dan how to get
it on and off me - there was a small key-like thing
that fitted into one of the "links" that was slightly
large than the others, which could lock and unlock the
ends together.

It only took a moment, really, and when Dan told me I
could get to my feet, he slapped me on the back.
"There, Steve.  That wasn't so bad, was it?  And I
think it actually makes you look even better - quite a
lot of blokes used to wear necklaces and stuff like
this before the Indentured Service laws came in, as
women thought they looked sexy, I suppose.  Still,
these days, as soon as anyone sees anything around
your neck they'll know you're a slave, so we'll avoid
any nasty confrontations."

"So I've got to wear this all the time...."

"Yes. It's stainless steel, so it won't matter when
you're in the showers and stuff, and it's not affected
by sweat.  I'll take it off when you're in the show
ring, but otherwise I think it would be a good idea to
keep it on you all the time.  It's not as if it's a
huge imposition, after all."

No, I suppose it's not a "huge imposition" if you're
not the one being made to wear this badge of servitude
in public.  Now everyone could see that I wasn't a
free man any more, but some sort of owned animal.

End OF Part Eight