Young Stud

YOUNG STUD

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Ten

Jeff was totally silent on the drive back to the motel. And in the room he just sat there on the edge of the bed, still dressed, his head drooping as he did nothing other than stare at the floor. The boss got ready for bed and I thought that he was planning to have us suck him as he often did, but then he looked at Jeff and beckoned to me to go over to him.

I assumed that the boss had decided that it would be only me sucking him that night - that had happened before occasionally, but, in some strange way, Jeff seemed to regard this as almost a privilege, and so it was rare, and if I did take part, it was always as an adjunct to Jeff. Still, I knelt at the side of the bed and reached for the boss's dick, but he put his hand out and stopped me. "No, Steve, not tonight. Jeff's got a problem, and you need to resolve it between you."

"Boss, what can I do....?"

"Do what seems right, Steve! I've told you before that Jeff sometimes needs a bit of looking after, and some guidance.... You're an intelligent, educated man:

go sort him out."

As I walked back across the room I was in a turmoil. What the fuck was I supposed to do? I sat beside Jeff on the edge of the bed, and put my arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to me. "Jeff, buddy... Come on, it's bed time.... The boss wants to put the light out..."

Jeff pushed my arm away, not violently, but kind of carelessly. I went into the bathroom and pissed and cleaned my teeth, and to my surprise, when I got back, Jeff had clearly undressed as his T and shorts were crumpled on the floor, and was lying in bed - right at one edge, facing outwards, and with his top arm almost covering his face. I got into bed and lay there, and it felt so odd - I was so used now to having Jeff's body curled around me, and somehow it seemed so unnatural to be lying there alone, with Jeff isolated on the edge, a few inches away. I lay there and thought about it, and then decided to risk it: I shuffled across the bed and spooned up to Jeff's body, then put my arm over him and let my hand lie on his belly, palm down. He felt warm and lovely, and I couldn't stop my fingers lightly scrabbling at his treasure trail overlying his hard muscles.

Suddenly, as I was letting my hand probe downwards as I thought I might at least jerk Jeff off, Jeff's hand gripped my wrist and held me immobile. "Fuck off, Steve", he whispered. He sounded angry, but I suppose he was still obeying the boss's prohibition about not making noise at night. By only whispering I pushed myself up slightly, so my body was in close contact with his (my dick shivered with excitement as it trailed across his back bone), and pressed my lips close to his ear. "Listen, Jeff, stop being so stupid! You can't change the past, you know - you have to learn to live with it. Come on, buddy - you can fuck me, if you like....."

"I'm not a fag.... I don't fuck guys...", he muttered, and tried to pull he covers over his face to shut me out, as if to hide from the world.

I wasn't having any of it, though. I tugged at the covers and pulled them back, and whispered again "Will you shut up about this fag nonsense? I thought we agreed that what we did together was natural, and right. And, anyway, when you fucked me the other day, you seemed to like it - both times. So don't tell me you don't fuck guys: you had to for the demonstration, but what we did afterwards was for your enjoyment...."

"..and that's what's so bad about it! I shouldn't like fucking ass, Steve."

"But you do, Jeff. And so are you going to waste the rest of your life not doing something you enjoy? Now you've found out you like fucking a guy, surely you're not going to let prejudice stop you from doing what men have the right to do?"

I felt his grip on my wrist relax a bit, so my hand was free. I let it slide further down over his belly, and began to tease his pubes. Jeff just lay there, but somehow I thought his body was relaxing, and I slid my fingers down a little further - he was erect!

I pushed my face to his ear again, and teased his ear hole with my tongue, something he always found sexy, and whispered "All this talk of fucking, Jeff... Right or wrong, your dick seems ready.... Come on, buddy, you'll never get to sleep like that: let me at least jerk you off..."

He remained silent, but I just knew he was relaxing. So I put my hand on his shoulder and pulled and tugged at him, so that he rolled over on to his back, albeit rather reluctantly. At once I half lay across him, pressing my chest to his and thrusting a leg in-between his - I felt his rock-hard dick pressed against my waist. I kissed his nip and teased it with my tongue, then turned my face towards his. "Come on, Jeff... You're ready, you know you are...."

He still lay there though, so I changed positions, and tunnelled down under the bedclothes, something which again we used to do and found rather sexy, and began to kiss his dick. I remember thinking to myself that this seduction business was hard work - normally I never had to bother, as Jeff was always more than ready for it, and it was more a case of keeping him off me, rather than encouraging him!

His hands reached down for me, and he pulled me back up to lie beside him. "No, Steve. I'm not going to... I'm not going to let you tease me, and lead me on, and get me to fuck you..."

"You enjoyed it the other night...."

"Yes..." He sounded very, very sad. "Yes, I did, Steve. It was one of the best things I've ever done. And that's why I'm not going to do it again - I don't want to enjoy fucking guys!"

"You really are a stupid idiot, Jeff! No wonder they didn't want to keep you in the marines! A guy who can't do the things he enjoys because he's got stupid prejudices...."

The moment I'd said it I knew it was wrong. It was not fair of me to taunt Jeff about being a marine, as it was a very important part of the way he thought about himself.

He sounded almost bitter as he responded "Well I'm not a marine any longer - I'm just a slave. A slave, like you. And I'll always be a slave now. And slaves aren't supposed to enjoy themselves. So that's OK, then... No more sex, unless the boss orders it."

Oh, fuck me, this was turning out pretty disastrously.

I lay there wondering what to do, and finally made up my mind on a "do or die" strategy. "Well that's good, Jeff - because the boss ordered me to come and have sex with you tonight, as he was worried about you, sitting there all forlorn... And as you don't want to fuck me, I guess I'd better fuck you again."

Jeff lay there silently, and I knew him well enough by now to know that he was thinking, thinking hard. It takes a long time, with Jeff!

"OK, Jeff, turn over, on your belly... I think you're probably still slicked up from earlier on, so I can start straight away...."

He still lay there, and so I changed tone to a sort of "command" one and quietly and calmly issued my order again. "OK, soldier! Over on to your belly. Right now! Are you going to disobey an order from the boss?"

I thought it had still failed, but slowly, very slowly, after a delay that could only have been a few seconds, but which felt like long, long minutes, Jeff rolled over and cradled his head in his crossed arms.

"Right, buddy.... This is going to be fun.... For both of us.....!", I told him, trying to sound confident and in charge.

Well, I've told you how I really like lying right on a guy and sliding my dick into his ass as he lies there flat, and how I liked Jeff doing that to me in particular: the method has its critics, I know, as it's not possible to get all that much of your dick inside him for really deep penetration. But, after all, most of the nerve endings are in your dick head; and you can certainly tease his ass quite enough, I find. But, more importantly, a whole lot of your body is in contact with his, and your mouth is ideally placed to bite his neck and shoulders, to nibble his earl lobes, to lick his ear hole, and to whisper all those little nonsense things that you want to say to a guy you really like. And, of course, your hands are free - you're not holding his legs or anything, so you can slide them under his body and play with his nips, or hold his dick, or just stroke and caress him.

This wasn't rough, it wasn't forced, it was gentle and loving, and I felt so close to Jeff. And as I worked away, Jeff began to respond, shifting under me and sliding his body against mine, then even raising his ass gently to meet my insistent dick. And at some point, when his ear had been tickled so much with my tongue that he'd had enough, he turned his face up and reached forward almost hungrily for mine. I held his head tenderly, pressed my face down towards his, and let the action of my tongue into his mouth mimic the action of my dick in his ass.

I don't know how long this session lasted - I'd have been happy for it to go on all night. But even when your dick is only just "teasing" the other guy, you do reach a limit, don't you? I felt myself starting to cum, and now I didn't pull out, but allowed my seed to pump up into him so I could remain lying there, resting, on top of him. After some minutes, minutes in which Jeff was totally silent and simply lay there, I slowly slid out of him, then lay beside him.

To my surprise, he turned on his side to face me. There were tears on his face again, and I suddenly felt terrible as this was how he'd been earlier, when I'd force fucked him. I pressed myself close to him, and whispered "Jeff, I'm sorry, buddy....."

His strong arm went around me and he pulled me close to him. Our faces were side to side, and I just couldn't help it - I licked gently at his tears again, letting the tip of my tongue flicker over his eyeballs behind his closed lids.

"Steve.... It's OK, buddy...."

"But you were crying, Jeff...."

"Marines don't cry, Steve. Not even ex-marines who are slaves. And especially not slaves who know they have a real buddy.... It must be something in my eye...." He was silent for a few seconds, as if challenging me to refute his obvious lie, then went on "Thanks, Steve.... I've always wanted a real buddy, someone I could be really close to, someone like you, Steve..."

I felt the tears flooding down my face now as we lay together in that totally intimate closeness you only get after truly great sex with a guy you love. He noticed, of course, but, being Jeff, made no attempt to lick them away, or even mention them. Instead He now pushed himself up on one elbow and I saw that characteristic Jeff smile spreading on his face. "So, buddy, this is what buddies do together, is it? Real buddies, that is?"

"I guess so, Jeff...."

"Well then, little buddy, it's my turn now....."

Ever so gently Jeff turned me over, put his arm under my waist to haul my ass into the air, and began to stretch me and lube me with my cum which was now sliding out of his hole. It might not have been great sex then, but afterwards we fell into a deep sleep, with Jeff still buried inside me. And that's how the boss found us the next morning, with Jeff spooned so tight to me that I suppose we looked almost like one, as it was only Jeff's ass that he could get to to slap to wake us up. Somehow I still find it a bit erotic to have the covers pulled off me and to have another man slap my naked butt to get me to wake up.

The boss knew that something had happened - I suppose it was obvious, as Jeff and I could hardly keep our hands off each other: we showered with a lot of laughing as we soaped each other, whereas we were normally pretty silent and grumpy in the morning, and when the boss said we should go for a run before breakfast, Jeff was leaping around like a frisky lamb before we set off, and when we got back and the boss said we could choose what we wanted for breakfast as a treat, Jeff walked to the restaurant with his arm around my shoulders, then sat so close to me on the banquette so that our bare legs and things were touching that it was difficult to actually eat. And all the time he was smiling, as I suppose I was, too. It was almost magical, and one of the best days I've ever spent in my life.

Once that barrier had been broken, Jeff and I almost began to resent the studding sessions where he, and occasionally I, had to fuck the bitches. We enjoyed performing for the ladies, when Jeff's "vigorous" fucking of me was now mostly false, and in turn he hammed it up when I used him roughly at the various gay clubs and bars the boss booked us in to. And, in-between, we had night after night of the most wonderful, intimate sex that you can imagine.

I began to think that life as a slave wasn't all that bad - here I was, seeing the South as we drove from place to place, having lots of sex with a guy I loved, and with absolutely no responsibilities: no studying to do, no tests and exams to bother about.... In some curious way I felt as if I was more free than when I'd been a student, and at home with mom and dad in New Hampshire.

The "real world" came crashing in on me one morning though, when after breakfast when Jeff and I were standing in the morning sun by the SUV waiting for the boss, just generally enjoying the morning, the boss came over and handed me his cell which showed a call already in progress.

It was so long since I'd held phone, it felt really strange. "Hullo...", I said cautiously.

"Stephen? Is that really you?"

I recognised the voice of course, but even so I knew who it had to be, as only my parents called me Stephen - everyone else always called me Steve. "Dad..... Yes....."

"Happy birthday, son....."

"Dad?"

"Your twenty first birthday, Stephen..... Are you having a good day?"

"Dad... I'm a slave! Slaves don't have 'good days'..."

"Son, I'm sorry, but you did bring it on yourself...."

"Dad....!"

The boss took the phone off me then. "As we were discussing, I think you'll find Steve has changed a lot. But he's no longer your son, you know: when he was enslaved, all family ties were broken. Your former son Stephen is now my slave Steve, as I said."

He walked away then, still talking animatedly into his phone, but I couldn't hear. Steve put his arm around me, looking anxious "Buddy, are you OK?"

"Jeff, that was my dad...."

"As the boss said, not really, Steve. You only have an owner now - no moms or dads, or brothers and sisters...."

The boss came over then and ordered us into the SUV. He turned to me and said quietly "Your father tracked me down, Steve. I'm sorry... He seems to have upset you.... And I wanted you to have a special birthday...."

As it turns out, it was an utterly fantastic day after that. We stopped at a market and bought a mass of stuff for a picnic, and a crate of beer, and then drove to a secluded part of the countryside on the banks of a river. The boss settled himself with a book under a shady tree, and told Jeff and me the rest of the day was ours! Well, we threw off our clothes and dived into the river and swam, and then we did utterly childish things as guys do in the water: diving through each others legs, wrestling, splashing each other, shouting, laughing... All that sort of stuff. We got out in almost a frenzy of desire and in the shade of another tree, well away from the boss, fucked - at first, hard and urgently, but then when the first fire of our passion had been spent, slowly and languorously, exploring each others bodies, kissing, nuzzling and generally making out. Then we swam again, and after that the boss told us to make lunch and we had beers, and then we fucked again and fell asleep in the warm afternoon sunshine..... All in all, it was absolutely the best birthday I could ever have imagined. Whether that's because having so little usually, the beer and the picnic was extra special, or whether it was because I spent the entire day doing great things with Jeff, it wouldn't be fair to say.

After that amazing day, though, it was back to work as usual. There seemed to be even fewer genuine studding slots available now, and when there were, I was almost never selected even though the boss gave owners a choice of Jeff or me. There were a lot of "demonstrations", the boss seemingly to have cornered the market there, probably because there weren't a whole lot of owners who had two big white studs like us available. Well, that went for the "lunch ladies" market, anyway: I seemed to get fucked by Jeff at least once, and often twice, a week (and although we talked about it endlessly, these public fucks seemed to turn into really tough, hard ones that made me cry out with the pain and discomfort he caused - although not perhaps as hard as the first time. All Jeff could say afterwards was "Sorry, Steve, but you know how it is - a man's got to prove himself to be a real man when there's an audience. And real men fuck hard." Still, I always got a lot of tips afterwards - tips which the boss always pocketed. I was less fortunate, I suppose: we had relatively fewer demonstrations in gay clubs and bars, and so I had fewer opportunities to fuck Jeff hard (in bed, we always did it very gently and lovingly). I kept complaining to the boss about this, and he just shrugged. "It's the market, Steve! Gay guys usually want to see white studs really giving it to niggas". His face broke into a faint smile "....or, I suppose, to see a big buck nigga really reaming the ass of a young white guy. Would you like me to get you an engagement like that? Would you like some big buck big nigga buck reaming you? I bet you'd squeal then, even more than when Jeff does it."

"NO thanks, boss!", I said hurriedly. "But how about getting one where I fuck some nigga?"

"That's difficult - suppose we arranged it so that you got to fuck the nigga, then when we got there the bar manager decided his customers wanted it the other way around? Are you willing to take the risk?"

"I guess not."

The boss just smiled again. "You boys just do what you're supposed to, then - just act like slaves, and let me do the worrying about bookings and all that stuff. I'm not making a lot of money from you two currently, but we are certainly covering costs, so we can carry on like this for eve, and I don't think I need to sell either of you."

That send a shiver of fear through me - I knew, of course, that the boss could do that - sell Jeff or me, at any time. And, if he did, what would happen then? I'd probably never see Jeff again.

"Boss, you're not going to do that, are you?", I blurted out.

"What? Sell you?" He hesitated a bit, shrugged, and continued "Only if I absolutely have to, Steve. I know you and Jeff are really close, and I won't split you up unless I absolutely have to."

I suppose that's the only "guarantee" you can get from your owner, isn't it? Nevertheless, I felt uneasy about it, and all I could do was to try and ignore the little worries that occasionally tugged at my brain.

We had another joint studding at the factory where I'd started out, with Jeff and me being put with fifteen bitches with the big nigga stud Coon. I remembered how timid I'd been the first time this had happened, and now I actually enjoyed it: I mean, there's not a lot of guys who get to go to an orgy at all, are there? But as I was fucking my third or fourth bitch, I couldn't help looking across at Coon and seeing his big black butt pumping away, and wondering how I'd feel if it was me lying on my back under him at some gay club. On the other hand, the sight was pretty erotic, and even as I fucked away at the bitch, something inside me was telling me that it would be a whole lot more fun to have the hard muscle of Coon under me, and to have my dick forcing its way into Coon's tight ass. But then, it wasn't up to me, was it?

I did try, though - in the showers afterwards, I stood next to Coon and offered to soap his back, and in doing that I of course let my hands stray down to caress his butt. He didn't seem to mind at first, until I tried to force a finger in-between his cheeks, when he called out, kind of jokingly, "Hey, Jeff, have you got some faggot for a buddy here? I reckon young Steve fancies my ass!"

Jeff looked vaguely uncomfortable as he shouted back "Who, Steve? No - you saw him in action last night!", as if he was ashamed to admit to what he and I did together.

The next day, though, the boss drove us back to the gay club where I'd first fucked Jeff. As we got there he told us that he had business in New York, and he clearly couldn't take us with him as slaves were not allowed to leave the South. And instead of paying boarding fees at the slave kennels at the airport, he had instead hired us out to the club for three nights, and that part of the deal was that we could sleep at the premises - there was some accommodation there for the bar staff. He added "I suppose it can be a bit of a holiday for you two - you can go for a run in the city, but I don't want to pay gym fees, so most of the time is your own. Go to a museum, or an art gallery, or whatever...."

We went up into the owner's office when we arrived, as we had before. Jeff and I stood there at "slave rest", as the boss liked, but I was interested to see that at the other side of the room there was a young guy standing with his back to us who was making coffee at a little combined sink and hotplate. His back to us and he was totally naked, and I looked with interest at him: unlike Jeff and me, he was one of those thin, wiry guys with "snake hips" and a tiny butt. He must be a Mexican or something, I thought, judging by his skin colour, and, again unlike Jeff and me, he was very hairy: his back, butt and thighs were covered in that kind of black hair that lies flat along the skin. It was interesting, I suppose, to see the club owner had a friend or buddy like this who wasn't ashamed to be naked in the room with us, because the guy couldn't be a slave: his little butt was smooth, and there was no sign of the big "S" with which Jeff and I were marked. I knew that some slave owners made their slaves wear collars instead, but above the boy's wide shoulders, his long neck was clear, too. I say boy, because the more I looked at him, the more it made me think that it he was not a mature guy like me and Jeff, but probably only sixteen or seventeen.

I was about to nudge Jeff to get him to take a closer look, when the boy turned around to carry two mugs of coffee over to his owner and the boss. To my utter astonishment I saw that his face was horribly disfigured: there, on his left cheek, stretching form the jaw up to the eye, was a livid red "S" brand! Yes, the bastards had actually branded him on the face, and I could only imagine how it must feel - not only must it have hurt even more than being branded on the butt, but everywhere he went he'd be conscious of guys staring at him, disfigured as he was.

The club owner saw the boss was staring at the boy, too, and in conversation said "Nice, isn't he? Just sixteen - he was one of three brothers caught trying to enter the country illegally. I wish I'd had enough money to buy all of them, as there was him, an eighteen year old, and a twenty year old, alike as peas in a pod. I hated to see the set of them broken up, but what can you do, the prices young males are these days? I was lucky to get him, I suppose - and he's really good: he works in the bar at night, and he's a cracker in bed...."

"I was looking at his brand...", the boss muttered.

"Oh yes, the dealer advised that. It's becoming quite the fashion for slaves who will be used for sex: the traditional brand on the butt is OK for workers and manual slaves generally, but when you've got a slave underneath you ready for fucking, a lot of guys prefer to see a butt without a brand on as it lets them fantasise that they're fucking a free man. But the slave has to be branded, of course, and the same considerations apply almost everywhere else on the body - you wouldn't want to play with his nips if they were surrounded by a brand, or stroke his belly with the feeling of it across the ridges of his muscles....

And I certainly would never have the cock branded, as some owners do to slaves who are only to be used as the bottom in a fuck session - I mean, you never know, do you? The next owner might want a stud slave, and a big "S" on the cock would lower market values...."

I listened with utter amazement. These commercial considerations being applied to disfiguring a guy's body - it was outrageous, but there was nothing I could do, after all: that was the law for slaves, and owners could do what they liked, mostly.

Jeff wasn't too pleased about the prospect of me fucking him hard three nights in a row, but I promised him that after each show he could "make up for it" when we were alone. And, I suppose, he'd got used to, or at least reconciled to, our life. The club owner told us that we were not needed until the club opened at five, and so Jeff and I set out to explore the city: we soon discovered, though, that life for a slave there was a lot less agreeable than anything we were used to with the boss, and began to understand how truly considerate he really was and how lucky we were to have such a good owner. For one thing we had no money, so we couldn't use the subway or buses - it wasn't a particular problem for Jeff and me as we could walk or jog, being very fit: but then we found out that the sidewalks were reserved for free men, and we had to make or way along the narrow "slave tracks" on the side of the streets - it seemed so ridiculous when Jeff and I wanted to jog, the slave track was full of walking slaves, and the sidewalk was mostly empty. But when we tried sneaking on to the sidewalk, we were spotted by a traffic cop who called us over and told us that if we were seen doing that again he'd call the SP!

The boss's idea of us going to a museum or art gallery was also out - slaves were only admitted "When serving as an aid to their owners" and unaccompanied slaves, or slaves not acting as assistants or helpers, were strictly prohibited. I don't suppose it mattered all that much to Jeff, who wasn't really the gallery or museum type, but it would have made a change for me. Anyway by noon we were back a the club, and the young Mexican slave, who told us then his name was Juan, showed us our quarters - not bad, actually: a big room, with some mattresses on the floor, next door to a shower. Jeff asked him about life at the club, and he shrugged. I won't try to reproduce his accented English, but he said, more or less, "It's better than at home, I suppose - I get enough to eat, and I don't get hit or anything... Well, mostly I don't... But I miss my brothers very much."

"Why were you trying to get to the USA?", I asked.

"We were poor. And after my mother died my dad drank, so we got poorer and poorer. There's was no work, and dad hit us all the time in his rage. So when I was sixteen, my eldest brother said we ought to try for the better life here in the USA.... He took me and my middle brother, and made for the border. We were caught, of course - I've heard from some of the guys here at the club that they make it look easy at first to cross the border, and then they pounce on you and enslave you once you get across: it makes for a good supply of fresh slaves. I miss my brothers, though, very much...."

"Well perhaps you'll meet again, one day", I said, trying to sound cheerful even tough I knew this was unlikely.

The boy shook his head. "I don't think so. I don't know who bought them....", but then said "It will be nice having you and Jeff here to help out, though ....Towards the weekends when we get busy there's a lot of work, and it's more than I can cope with, and my owner gets cross and threatens to cane me."

"Hey, no way!", Jeff said. "We're here for the demonstration".

"My owner said to your boss that he'd like to use you two to help out in the bar, and your boss agreed......"

Jeff brightened. "I always waned to be a bartender... And I reckon I can have a drink or two...."

"Oh no, senor. State law prohibits slaves from working behind bars - that's a job reserved for freemen. We just clear the tables of bottles and used glasses, that sort of thing."

"I'm not a waiter!", Jeff almost exploded. "That's not the kind of work big guys like us do...."

"No, senor. Not a waiter. The customers have to fetch their own drinks to prevent us slaves from taking a sip. But we clear away, to encourage them to go and buy more.... And, senor, you would not wish to steal a drink anyway: my owner would beat you, as he beats me...."

"So you clear away the empties", I cut in, anxious to get off the topic of beatings and so on. "What else do you do?"

"Sweep the floors in the morning and clean the place, carry in the supplies when they arrive....." The boy paused for a moment, and I thought I detected a faint glow of embarrassment under his dark skin. "...and, well, you know, for my owner.... But I do not like that."

"You mean he fucks you?"

"Yes, I suppose all slaves get fucked. But he is not a nice man. He hurts me, not like my brothers did".

"Your brothers fucked you?"

"Miguel says that's what brothers do, brothers who love each other. And I miss them...."

The lad looked so sad that I put my arm around him. "Well perhaps you'll meet them again one day, as I said...."

"I do not think so. Once you are sold, how can you meet again?"

My job of comforting him wasn't going too well, but at that moment a bell rang and Juan told us that it was the weekly beer delivery, and he had to go and unload it. I told him I'd help, and Jeff too. I saw Jeff scowling at me a bit, but I slapped him on the butt playfully to encourage him.

"Hey, Steve, leave me out of this - the boss said it was a bit of a holiday...", Jeff retorted.

"Don't be so fucking lazy! We need some exercise, a bit of hard work.... And it's not fair to leave it all to young Juan here...."

Reluctantly Jeff got up and followed us out, down to the back door. The dray slaves from the delivery company had already made an impressive pile of crates in the back alley, and Juan pointed at them. "It's a lot of work for me, senor Steve, thank you...."

"You don't have to do all of that yourself usually, do you?"

The lad blushed again. "Well the dray slaves will help.... If they are ahead of time a bit.... They will carry the crates upstairs.... But then.... You know...."

He saw me looking quizzically. "Well senor Steve, they must be paid...."

I looked at him again "And I am a slave, I have no money.... "

One of the dray slaves, a huge nigga, came over then and put his arm around Juan, his other big hand reaching down and grabbing Juan's dick through his shorts! "Hey, Mexican boy, are you ready to suck my nigga cock?", he asked cheerfully. "...mine and my buddies' here?"

"Hey, nigga, that's not on the cards today!", Jeff barked. "And get our filthy hands off the kid...."

The big nigga turned. "Who are you calling a nigga, whitey?" And mind your own fucking business - this Mexican kid is one of the best cock suckers I've ever known...."

"Better than your nigga buddies, anyway, I suppose", Jeff called back, his tone challenging. Jeff's a bit like that - he wants to have things his way, and if anyone stands up to him, he tends to "bid things up" rather than trying to resolve it. He went on, his tone now sneering "In fact, I bet you and your buddies are really good at sucking cock yourselves. So why don't you let go of the boy, and get down on your knees in front of us studs here, and let us see your skills?"

There were eight of the dray slaves - not all of them were as big as the chief one, but they were all bulky, powerful men. Well suppose you only get to be a dray slave if you've got a strong body: pulling the dray when it was fully laden would be tough, especially uphill. And then there would be all the unloading and stuff. They were all beginning to form a menacing cluster behind their leader now, and glaring at Jeff.

"Who are you calling a cocksucker?", one of them called out.

"Not all of you, anyway", Jeff retorted. I suppose that living together all the time, pulling that dray, some of you get to be real pussy boys for the others. Does this big chief nigga here ream your ass instead?"

It was insane! We'd never met these guys before, and, who knows, they might be really nice people. And because the conversation had started off badly, here we were about to get beaten up, I felt sure, by them. I mean, I suppose it was true, what Jeff said, that living together and working together like that they would obviously have sex, wouldn't they? I don't suppose they were given bitches or anything. But it was wrong of Jeff to make an issue of it - and he could hardly talk, could he? I mean, think about how we were together!

Look, I know Jeff was a marine, and a trained fighter.

And I guess marines are taught to be challenging and everything and not to be afraid of confrontation, but the odds were totally wrong! I'd never fought anyone, and Juan was only a kid. So there was really only Jeff, and, as I said, these niggas were all very big, tough, muscled guys with a lot of power in their bodies. And they were used to working as a team, all together: all eight of them would presumably fight us.

I stepped forward, getting in-between Jeff and the chief nigga. Frankly, I was terrified - there was such tension between them. "Now, guys, let's calm down, shall we? None of us want a fight - whoever wins, there's bound to be some damage to the other, and our owners will probably have us beaten, or even whipped...."

"Keep out of this, Steve!" Jeff's tone was tense, and angry.

"Yes, whitey! Mind your own fucking business - your buddy there has insulted us, and is going to pay..."

"Loo, there's been some misunderstanding....", I stammered. "It's not worth fighting over! We're all slaves, and we ought to stick together. It's our owners who are at fault, keeping us away from women.... You wouldn't have been talking like this, any of you, if you'd just got out of bed after fucking some nice warm cunt...."

"He's right", one of the dray slaves called out. "If I had a bitch, even occasionally, we wouldn't need guys to suck our cocks...."

"....or to have to take it up the ass sometimes", another added, laughing. "Is it the same for you whiteys?"

I laughed, as best I could. "Look, guys, Jeff here is just pissed off because he fancies the Mexican kid himself... We're in the same position as you - your owner won't give you a bitch, not even one between eight.... Well, how do you think it is for us? Do you reckon our owner will give us a woman. Shell out the new dollars for one between two? And white women cost one hell of a lot more than nigga bitches, or so I'm told."

"He's right", one of the drays called out. "We're all the fucking same! It's the fault of the owners...."

"....so when we get here and find this lad... well..... It would be a bit of a change for us, wouldn't it? So if you gentlemen don't mind, how about leaving him alone.... Leaving him for us?"

There were mutterings of agreement from the drays, and, like a good leader, the chief one seemed to think that it was better this time to go along with his men.

"OK, whitey", he said to Jeff. "You live, this time!

But we've got no more time to waste - you and your buddy can wear yourselves out carting this stuff up to the bar today."

I have to say I breathed a sigh of relief as the drays put themselves between the shafts of their cart, and dragged it off down the alley, breaking out into one of the popular slave work chants as they did so.

End Of Part Ten