That Summer

"Good evening noble gentlemen," I recited. "I am your slave for the night. How may I serve you?"

"Oh, what a darling sweetheart! Where did you get this one from?"

"Our slave for the night? I can hardly wait."

"You can be as hard as you like, ducky. I saw him first."

"I'm glad you find me pleasing, kind sirs." I replied, playing along to the script.

"Pamphilos, take these gentlemen to table seven and make sure they have everything they want."

"This way, please," and I led them towards their table.

I got them all settled in and, as I was doing so, another slave came over holding an amphora in each hand.

"Red wine or white," he asked and, while he was pouring, I started to inch away thinking to return to my place at the wall of the marquee.

"Oi, where do you think you're going?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I thought you had finished with me."

"I'm a long way from finished with you. You're our slave for the night and if you think we're going to let a pretty little thing like you run away then you've got another think coming. Now come and stand next to me."

I did as I was told and, as they raised their glasses in a toast, I felt a hand snaking up my thigh, my upper thigh, my inner thigh, my...

"Here's to C______ and all who sail in her!" and, as they raised their glasses, so I felt his hand grasp my prick. That was too much; I leapt back and I squirmed away.

"Please, Sir!"

"Ooh, look, he's shy! How sweet."

I just stood there blushing bright red, doubled up with my hands clamped over my groin. Ever since Sam had clued me up as we were waiting for the bus I should have known this moment was coming but I'd been so deep in denial that I had managed to persuade myself that it was going to be all show and not touch, well, except for, as Andy put it, a little light groping. The guests had barely taken their seats and I had already been disabused of that delusion. They couldn't wait to take advantage of my availability and, if that was the start... Now it was clear to see exactly what being a 'bunny boy' was going to entail. I didn't know what to do. I could, of course, have refused, I could have stormed out; I'm sure no one would have stopped me except, and this was the big one, were I to do so then I'd show Andy up and my chance of getting an Equity card would go right out of the window. Stay or go? Stay or go?

"You've never done this before, have you?" one of the others asked.

"No sir."

"Nor anything like it?"

I just shook my head and bit my bottom lip.

"And it's a bit much when scary men grab your balls without asking?"

It was such a relief to find someone who understood. I smiled nervously at him and he smiled back.

"Why don't you come and sit over here," he patted the edge of the bench he was lying on, "and let me look after you?"

"Oi! Sandy! I saw him first."

"Yeah, you did, and you scared the poor child half out of his wits. Can't you see how nervous he is?"

"I didn't pay for nervous, I paid for accessible."

"George, you didn't pay at all. Now, there are plenty of other pretty little slave boys ready and waiting and more than willing to indulge your every fantasy." He pointed at the slaves waiting patiently along the walls of the tent. "That one there, the one with the six pack, he's far more your sort. Why don't you and Harry go over and take your pick."

There was a bit of a pause while George and Sandy just stared at each other and then George got to his feet.

"Come on, H, let's go and see what's what before all the best ones are taken."

As George and Harry made their way to the slaves standing around the edge of the marquee Sandy rearranged himself so that his body was propped up and he was half sitting, half lying. This left a sliver of bench for me to sit on and, knowing that I had little option to do otherwise, I perched nervously on the edge, pulling down the hem of my tunic as far as it would go.

"There, that's better. Now, my name is Sandy. What do I call you?"

"I'm called... Philemon sir."

"Philemon? If I remember my Greek correctly that means 'One who kisses'. Is that right?"

"I couldn't say, sir."

"Well, let's see if it's right. How about giving me a little kiss. Do you think you can manage that?"

I wasn't at all sure about that but at least he wasn't grabbing for my prick. Tentatively I turned and leant towards him and our lips touched. Not much, just the mildest peck but I'd kissed another guy for the first time in my life.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it? How about another?"

This time, as we kissed, he put his arm around me and gently pulled me into him. It was still scary but it was nice scary and, for the first time in a while, I started to relax. Maybe this Greek slave gig wasn't going to be all that bad.

"Bloody hell, that didn't take you long, did it? We've only been gone a couple of moments and by the time we return you're seducing the virgin. Doesn't look so shy now, does he?"

Sandy and I broke from our kiss and I, blushing beetroot, sat up straight again. George and Harry had returned and each had a slave in tow. They sat back down and their slaves knelt on the floor next to them.

I glanced about. Practically every table was now taken and most of the guests had selected a slave to attend to them personally. I seemed to be the only slave showing any sort of reluctance and there was a fair amount of enthusiasm for taking advantage of the sexual license implied by our tunics. I even saw one slave who was down on his knees with his hand deep beneath his master's garments. While the loose folds of cloth hid the exact details and the guest was doing his best to appear unconcerned it wasn't hard to guess what was happening. I wondered if Sandy would want the same from me later and, if so, how I would feel about it. With someone like George it would have been hard to get up the courage; he had made no concessions to my nervousness. Sandy, on the other hand, was a real gentleman. Maybe I'd do it as a way of saying thank you.

And then the music was turned down to be replaced by a fanfare of trumpets.

"Noble gentlemen of Greece, please welcome our special guest tonight - C______!"

The music changed to KC and the Sunshine Band's That's the way I Like It and there were wild cheers from the assembled guests as a litter, carried on the shoulders of four slaves, made its way through the entrance of the marquee. There, on the litter, was indeed, C_____ dressed, like the rest of the guests, as a Greek from ancient times. He made the most of his entrance, waving imperiously as the litter made a complete circuit of the tent before ending up at the stage where it was lowered and C______ leapt off, took the mic off its stand and gave a sweeping bow.

"Ooh, I've just been given a ride by four fit young men; I think I've died and gone to heaven! And look at you all. Thank you so much for coming. It's like all my birthdays have come at once!

"But this is a wrap party and I'm sure we'd all like to thank all those who have worked so hard towards making 'Bride' such a success. I've had so much fun with you all that there are too many to thank individually but I'd like to say a special thank you to Charles for being such a sweetie and once again offering a part to an old war horse like me. Here's to future successes!

"OK, that's more enough of that bollocks. The night is young and there are there are so many beautiful boys it's a shame to waste time talking. Let's get on with the party!"

"I never knew C______ was a queer," I whispered to Sandy.

"You still don't. He's not here, you're not here and none of this is happening. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good lad. Now, you slaves are supposed to be bringing us our food. Off you go."

I looked up to see that all the other slaves were busy fetching the food and laying it on the tables so I hurried off to help.

I've no idea how authentic the food actually was. Mind you, I didn't get to eat that much of it. My job, as a slave, was to feed my master. It was all finger food and, along with the other slaves, I knelt down on the floor and, under Sandy's direction, would load up a plate with morsels and then hold it up for him. Occasionally he would pass me a tidbit.

On the occasions that I was sent to fetch more food I could see that, after the initial enthusiasm over being attended by an all but naked slave, most of the guests were now indulging their appetite for food rather than their appetite for young men. There was quite a bit of sexual tension in the air and the sexual availability of the slaves led to a certain amount of groping but, for the main part, the guests were getting on with the eating and the slaves were getting on with the serving.

It was when the food was finished and the tables were cleared away that the mood began to change. The lighting became more subtle, the music slower and quieter and, as I was carrying the used dishes back to the kitchen, I noticed that one or two of the slaves had shed their costumes and were now completely naked. There was quite a bit of heavy petting and, in one case, I saw a slave's head busily bobbing up and down in a guest's lap. I wasn't a complete ingénue, I recognised a blow job when I saw one but this was the first time I had seen one outside of the pages of one particular hardcore porn mag me and my friends had giggled over behind the bike sheds at school.

As I made my way back to Sandy I wondered again what I had got myself involved with. Earlier I had worried about giving Sandy a wank and now it looked more like a blow job would be the norm. If it came to that would I be able to? I'd never, ever, done anything like that before and was nervous about starting now. Would I really be required to take another man's prick into my mouth? Would it taste of pee? Would I gag? Would I make a fool of myself?

And, when I got back to the table, I found that Harry had pushed the folds of his garment aside and his slave was busy wanking him off. George's slave was naked and lying in George's arms, gently kissing whatever exposed flesh he could get to. I dithered at the edge, not sure what was expected of me.

"Hello, the shrinking violet's back. Come on, darlin', get down on your knees and get your laughing gear around Sandy's chopper; that's what your here for."

"Never mind George," Sandy cut in, "he's not your master, I am. Just come over here and sit next to me."

Once again I perched on the edge of the bench. However Sandy shifted so I had more room and then put his arm around me and pulled me into him. Relieved to have been let off the immediate hook, I sort of snuggled into his arms and looked around me. I was both appalled and fascinated by what I saw. Both Harry and George were being quite specific in what they wanted from their respective slaves, Harry going as far as to say "easy, darling, not too fast. I don't want to pop my cork too early. I want something left to poke up that pretty arse of yours."

But, much as I was nervous over such rampant and open sexuality, it was also immensely liberating. No one here was shy about what they wanted; they all knew what they liked and saw no reason not to get on with it. What is more, although we slaves were technically subservient, it was quite clear that no one was under any duress to do other than what they were happy with and the only one not fully into it all was me.

All of which rather raised the question: if full on sex was expected then was that what Sandy would be demanding of me before the night was over? So far the most we had indulged in was a little cuddling along with a little light snogging; could I really expect him to be satisfied at that? And what would be my response when he demanded more?

And I was still pondering this when Sandy put his hand on my thigh, my bare upper thigh. My very bare, very upper thigh. My heart was racing; the light touch of his hand seemed to be charged with electricity. If either of use were to move so much as a millimetre then he would touch my prick but, crucially, that millimetre gap still remained between us. We both knew he was asking the question; how was I going to respond?

In the end it was my prick that answered. The electricity from his hand seemed to flow straight to the tip and I could feel it hardening, Whatever I might want my prick wanted to be touched and that millimetre gap was more than it could bear.

I moved, not much, but enough to effectively push my prick into his hand, enough to tell him what I wanted. He didn't hesitate a moment but gently took it with the tips of his fingers and started stroking it up and down.

How different from George's clumsy groping. This was the first time anyone other than myself had stroked my prick and it felt like heaven. The fact that it was a guy doing it didn't bother me at all; in fact it just made it all the more delicious. I snuggled into him more and kissed him on his neck.

"You like that?"

"Can't you tell?"

"You're certainly nice and hard for me."

We had a bit of a snog as he continued to stroke me. I wondered whether I ought to reply in kind but that would have involved rather awkwardly reaching behind me and, as he wasn't pushing for it, I let it pass. Anyway, I was rather enjoying things as they were. A little tongue action as we kissed and all the while being wanked off by an expert. I wasn't going to do anything to break the mood.

We were still like this when then the lights were dimmed even further leaving just a follow spot focused on the stage and, from out of the wings, came Andy.

"Gentlemen! I see you're enjoying all the tasty treats we have on offer. Just remember, we're here to help and if there's anything else you need, just let us know and we'll find you a pretty young slave boy to satisfy your every desire whatever that might be!

"But if our slave boys weren't distraction enough, tonight, for one night only, we have for your delectation, the one, the only, the fabulous, the divine Suzy the Floozy!"

To a cacophony of cheers, jeers, and applause a completely outrageous drag queen made her way out onto the stage, took the mic from Andy and set off into her act.

I'd seen Danny La Rue on Saturday Night at the London Palladium so I thought I had some idea of what to expect. However, what they allow on television and what's allowed at what can only be described as a nascent orgy are two completely different things. The jokes started out as blue and then got worse. Despite this, or maybe because of this, she was outrageously funny and had us all in stitches.

With all the light, and attention, on the stage there was a subtle but significant increase in the activity off stage. While no one had been exactly shy, under cover of the increased darkness the guests were getting bolder and, halfway through Suzy's set, there was a massive groan as one of the guests reached orgasm. Suzy, of course, played up to this and we all had a big laugh at his expense.

But the point was clear. Under cover of darkness we had moved from heavy petting to full on sex.

And, all this while, I was sat, almost innocently, well, as innocently as you can be when someone is gently stroking your prick and, nice as it was, I began to feel a little guilty. After all, Sandy had been so nice to me and was getting nothing back in return. If I were any of the other slaves he wouldn't be stroking me, it would be the other way around.

But it wasn't just guilt I was feeling. Although having Sandy stroke my prick was nice, really nice, I had this feeling that it wasn't just Sandy who was missing out. By being prissy, by limiting the things I would do, I was missing out on half the fun. When George had urged me to get my 'laughing gear' around Sandy's 'chopper' it had seemed coarsely vulgar and I had baulked at the idea. However, in this more erotically charged atmosphere my definitions of what was and was not permissible was changing and I wondered what it would be like to take another man's prick into my mouth. It couldn't be that bad. After all, most of the other slaves were doing it.

This temptation only increased when Suzy finished her set and was replaced by a crooner. Whereas Suzy's comedy had demanded my full attention now I was lost in the music and the combination of guilt and curiosity was nagging at me. The crooner started in on a version of Herb Albert's 'This Guy's In Love With You' and it just got to me.

I gave Sandy a little kiss, slipped off the bench, got down on my knees and pushed aside the folds of cloth and, even in the subdued lighting I could see he was big, strong and hard. I held his prick with the tips of my fingers and eased his foreskin back from the tip.

I wasn't exactly sure what to do. OK, so I knew the basics - all I had to do was put his prick in my mouth - but, beyond that, I'd never thought about it. After all, I'd never, in my wildest dreams, imagined that it I would be me who was doing it. Still, there was only one way to find out. I leant forward and, feeling ever so daring, gently brushed the tip of my tongue across his glans. This produced a groan of pleasure from Sandy so I knew I was doing something right.

At first I just explored the tip of his prick with my tongue but, from what I'd seen the other slaves do, I knew I had to actually take it into my mouth. I leant further forward, opened my mouth and swallowed.

Naturally I was aware of the film Deep Throat and all the fuss that surrounded it and, as such, was under the impression that I had to completely swallow Sandy's prick. Of course, when I tried, it wasn't that easy and I nearly gagged as he hit the back of my throat. Sandy must have picked up on this because he leant forward and said quietly "easy, take it easy. Here, let me."

He gently cradled my head in his hands and, holding it still, started to ease the tip of his prick in and out of my mouth. He was slow and easy and not too deep so I was able to pick up the rhythm and respond, timing my sucks to coincide with his pushes. It was almost as if I were milking him with my mouth and it must have worked because, although he kept the slow rhythm, I could feel the growing tension in his body as he responded.

Bit by bit the urgency of his pushing increased and it was clear he was approaching orgasm. I wasn't sure what he would want me to do; the limited porn I had seen had suggested that he would pull out and squirt all over my face. That made me panic a little; I wasn't at all sure how that was going to work. If I pulled off too early then he wouldn't come and I'd ruin everything. The only thing to do was to keep going, to take my cue from him and hope he'd pull out when he was ready.

And then I found that pulling out was the last thing on his mind. In fact it was exactly the other way around. He thrust deeper than before, as deep as I could take it and, suddenly, my mouth was full of his thick creamy semen. I expected it to taste disgusting but it wasn't; warm, salty and not bat at all. I heard him groan with pleasure as, time and again, he pumped his load into me. I was so pleased to have made him come that I never thought for one moment to do other than continue to milk his prick with my mouth, swallowing every drop he gave me.

Of course it couldn't last. He gave a massive sigh and relaxed back and I knew it was all over. I, however, still wanted to taste every drop he could give me so, as he got his breath back I held his prick in my hand, licking the tip, savouring it all. I felt like the cat who had swallowed the cream - in more ways than one.

In the end it was Sandy who gently pushed my head away and rearranged his robe so as to be decent again. He then reached down, pulled me back up to sit next to him and kissed me long and hard. It was funny how quickly being kissed by another man was becoming normal; it was funny how much it turned me on.