THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE - PART 11 By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com) THE SECOND AND THIRD TIMES In spite of not being milked, that night was not to be a repeat of the previous one. Covering a breeder three times during the afternoon had properly de-spunked me, and even though I was not as tired as I normally was after a normal day's work, I had a long, exhausting sleep. The next morning I was unclamped as usual, and joined the other ponies in the morning rituals. Then I was manacled into the rickshaw, and led by my cock around to the Overseer's bungalow, to be tethered outside his door to wait for him. I could hear voices through the open window, and see several naked bodies outlined in the curtains and in the bathroom. When the Overseer and his friend emerged, earlier than usual, they were accompanied by two of the most handsome men I have ever seen. They would be about 22 I think, just over 6' tall, and very nicely muscled, but not overly so. They had the usual all-over tan, and were neatly trimmed and shaved, although one had been allowed to keep a gentle thatch of straight black hair on his chest and belly. The other was a natural redhead, and I knew that it must have been a real effort for him to tan. All four came down the steps, and the Overseer and his friend slapped the two slaves on the backsides in a cheery gesture of parting. The slaves put their arms around each others shoulders, and set off with all that confidence that only young guys who are supremely proud of their bodies have, back towards the Club. Their lovely 10 cm cocks bounced up and down as they strode out. They had obviously enjoyed their night, and didn't have a care in the world. The Overseer and his friend were in a good mood, and they chatted happily together as I was commanded to run at a medium pace out into the estate. The friend was talking to the Overseer about the night, and said "So was I right? Didn't that exotic redhead really turn you on? You told me to pick something for you that I thought you would like, and I've always had the thought that you went for something a bit unusual". "Aw, come on", replied the Overseer, "You were up him a great deal more than I was. I thought you had secretly chosen the red head because you've never had a bit of ginger before, but wanted to pretend it was for me. The conventionally handsome stud was OK, though, although there are so many of that type here I am a bit bored with them. If that was the one you really chose for yourself, I suppose it's because you were fulfilling a fantasy - you could fuck a real 'Playgirl Centrefold' type to your heart's content, and have him respond so eagerly. There's no way you'll get that back in the USA, and you'll have to wait for your next visit here to have that much delicious, toned manflesh in your power again." "It did make a change, though, from the night before. I usually prefer to have unwilling partners like those from the quarry, as it's so much more energetic as they buck around trying to avoid the inevitable. But the need for handcuffs to keep them under some sort of restraint is a bit of a damper. It was really nice to have those slaves last night put their arms around us - you don't get that with handcuffs. I suppose I mean you don't get that unless your partner is willing - and those 'comfort' slaves have been trained for it. When you've gone home, I think I might visit there more often - perhaps it's not always as boring as I thought." "Well," said the friend, "They certainly seemed happy enough this morning. Not a care in the world. It must be good to have no worries or responsibilities like that. All they have to do today is exercise and amuse themselves, whilst you, my friend, have all the cares of the Sheik's estate. Sometimes I wonder who has the best deal - those happy slaves, with great sex all the time, or us who have to work and worry." "It won't last ", said the Overseer. "You know I told you we only kept 'comfort' slaves for a few years - well, those two are almost past their sell-by dates. They're 22 years old, and so have been in the Club longer than usual, and most of their regular users are saying its time they went and we brought some fresh, excitingly new blood in. So next week a couple of 18 year olds that I have been watching will be reassigned as 'comfort' slaves, and those two are both going in to the quarry. Then they'll see the difference between well-proportioned gym-trained muscles, and the real power ones you get from day-long hard toil. They'll certainly know what it is to work, and they'll worry constantly about the lash." I realised that the Overseer was guiding me towards the breeders compound, and, sure enough, we shortly arrived there. The Nubian, and Hans and Mike, were already waiting, and we spent the next two hours again covering three times the breeders that we had first serviced the previous day. The Sheik and his entourage did not appear for this session, and the Overseer told his friend that it was usually only the first time that a 'buck' went to stud that he bothered. Mike and Hans obviously hugely enjoyed their sex, especially as without the Sheik there the Overseer seemed willing to let them spend longer over it than straight 'breeding' demanded. He wasn't insistent that they started thrusting hard immediately, and let them start slowly. And after they had shot their load, they were allowed to remain for a few moments inside the women whilst their breathing slackened and their cocks returned to normal. The Nubian had clearly learned the lesson from the day before and now knew what was expected, although it seemed to me that he thought nothing at all of it. And me - what about me? I didn't know what to think, and I was confused. In the USA, I'd been a real 'stud', fucking ever woman in sight at every opportunity that presented itself. Now I really was a 'stud' - in the other sense. I got absolutely no pleasure from my three bouts with the breeder, other than the usual wonderful scrotum- tightening sensation that you get whenever you shoot your load. I might as well have been masturbating - the sensation would have been the same. Certainly there was no 'desire', and I even felt slightly repulsed by the breeder lying supine under me. If I hadn't been made to do it, I certainly would not have voluntarily chosen to fuck this woman - or was that now any woman? The best bit of the morning for me was the comradeship I felt with Hans, Mike, and the Nubian (whose name I did not know, although I could see his number, 15866, tattooed on his arm). We obviously could not speak, but as we squatted down together in the hot sand, our hands manacled behind our heads, sweat running down our chests and forming a little rivulet down onto our cocks still wet with the woman juices, it seemed as if we had some special mutual attraction for each other. I though I knew how it must feel for soldiers in combat to have carried out difficult orders in a battle, and then afterwards relaxed with their buddies. You didn't need to speak about it or discuss it, the shared experience bonded you automatically. I felt as if we were truly brothers. But our brief moment of happiness was soon over, and after the third session I was manacled to the rickshaw again and the rest of the day was spent in its usual grueling round of running from place to place whilst the Overseer carried out his other duties. On the third day on which we were all taken for the last bout of sex in the current 'round', I was really looking forward to seeing Hans, Mike and 15866 again. As we waited for the women to be brought out, that special feeling of 'togetherness' started immediately. After the first session, I felt that Hans and Mike hadn't enjoyed the sex as much as they had on the previous day, and in spite of the Overseer's generosity in not making them withdraw as soon as they had shot, both of them did. I think they wanted to get back to the other three of us, crouching there watching. When we had finally completed the morning's activities and had all 'covered' three times, the Overseer had some business to discuss with the veterinarian who had been watching that morning, too. We were left crouching together for about ten minutes - the massive Nubian, hard-muscled Hans and Mike, and me, all sweating and still panting slightly. They all obviously felt the same way as I did about the comradeship that had sprung up between us, because we all shuffled closer to each other and we managed to get our arms (which were of course running parallel to our shoulders because of our wrists manacled behind our heads) overlapping each other. That meant that we could get our thighs and rib cages touching each other, and I believe that this is the first time in my life that I have ever had a genuine feeling of excitement - sexual excitement - from another man's body. I don't know whether it was because we were nude, whether it was because we were manacled and muted, or whether it was the common shared experience of being used publicly as 'studs', but as the sweat running down my ribs mingled with that of Hans and Mike who were on either side of me, I felt sexually aroused. Even though it was only moments since I had climaxed in the breeder, I had an erection. Looking down at Hans and Mike and across to 15866 on the other side of Hans, I saw that they too were all becoming aroused. We stayed crouching there, our erections proudly jutting out and up from between our thighs, enjoying the moment. If only we could have spoken, I wonder what words we would have used? But then, if I hadn't been a slave, I wouldn't have been in that position and would not have started to experience my true feelings for other men. Eventually the Overseer was finished, and came over to retrieve me for the rickshaw. He burst out laughing when he saw us and called out to his friend "Come over here and see this. These slaves really are stallions. It's only minutes since they finished fucking, and already they're hard again. Perhaps they're hoping we'll let them go for another round". If only he knew, I thought. There was nothing I wanted less than another thrust up the woman's cunt. All I wanted was to be left alone to enjoy the unspoken comradeship of my fellows, and the warmth of their bodies pressed close to mine. But it was not to be, and we were soon running, hard, as the Overseer made up for lost time and needed to complete his rounds. When we got back to the stables that night the Overseer chuckled and said to his friend "Well, it's back to normal for this pony now until we see how his sperm have performed. After that massive erection this morning after it was all over, he's been up and down all day. He's obviously excited about something, and I shall need to tell the stable lads to make sure he is specially relieved in the shower this evening. We know how he almost sprayed the Sheik with his spunk at almost no provocation, and I don't want that happening to me tomorrow! After all, it's your last day, and I have laid on a surprise for you." With that, I was led into the Stables, and I could see the Overseer and his friend walking back towards their bungalow. A WRESTLING MATCH, AND A PRIZE The following morning I was expecting to be led over to the Overseer's bungalow again, and was interested to see what kind of 'comfort' slaves they had chosen for the last night of the friend's visit. But instead, they came over to the Stables, and were carrying towels. We set off, and I understood from overhearing their conversation that we were off to the water-hole again for a morning's swimming, and "the surprise". I dreaded this, as I knew exactly how much effort was needed from me to pull the rickshaw across the several hundred meters of very loose sand before we got there. When we got to the turning from the estate track, the farm cart with its eight muscular cart-horse slaves chained to it, was waiting there. The Overseer got down, and spoke to the groom accompanying it. He clearly didn't know the answer to the Overseer's question, and then I heard the Overseer say, in English, loudly to the slaves, "The two South Africans raise their hands." Hans and Mike were on different sides of the central shaft of the cart, and in different rows, but put up their hands. I was surprised that the groom did not know something of the history of his charges, and also perhaps that the Overseer could not identify Hans and Mike for himself. But then, the groom had no interest at all in the personalities of his slaves- why should he? And the Overseer saw so many slaves, and they were anyway chosen to be near-clones, that perhaps he could not tell the differences between them. The Overseer barked some commands, and the slaves behind Hans and Mike reached up and took the hook out of the ring that formed part of the back of their "harnesses", so that they were no longer attached to their lengths of chain towing the cart. The Overseer had a further discussion with the groom, who then lashed the remaining six slaves lightly, and they dragged the cart away, down the track. "I'm in a good mood today", said the Overseer to his friend, "So I've told the groom that he doesn't need to haul full carts with only six slaves. We're going to have a happy day, and so I've told him he only needs to fulfill three quarters of his quota". Then, turning to Hans and Mike, he said "Now, you two - I shall use English for the rest of the day, because I have some complex commands for you to carry out, and you have not been taught the Arabic for them. Don't think that I will be any less merciful if you fail to obey me absolutely just because the words are in English." "Get between the shafts, and help my pony drag us over the loose sand. I'm being generous to him, too, at least at first!". My pulling position was in the middle of the shafts, and there wasn't room for both of them either in front of me or behind me. So Mike slipped in the front, and Hans ducked under the shafts and came up in- between me and the rickshaw. It was a tight fit, and I was sandwiched between Mike and Hans. We were all three covered in sweat, and it was almost like a reenactment of the last few minutes of the session in the stud farm the day before - I had intimate, body to body contact, with Hans and Mike. But it was more - whereas the previous day it was only our thighs and ribs that had touched, now my whole chest was pressed into Mike's muscular back, and Hans was pressed against mine. Although we at first tried to hold our bodies back, as we moved off there was simply no way that I could prevent my cock from rubbing up against Mike's hard buttocks, and I could feel Hans's thick cock starting to mould itself between my ass cheeks. It was a poignant reminder, too, of our first days of slavery, when Hans, Mike and I had been pushed together in the delivery truck bringing us to the Sheik's estate. Then I had been embarrassed about being nude, sandwiched between Hans and Mike. Now it felt somehow good, and right. But the sweat didn't help - we were all slick with it, and in spite of the fact that we were only exerting ourselves gently, even more started to pour out from all three of us. I knew that this was a sexual effect for me, and thought that it was probably the same for the other two. Now I was really in trouble, because the friction of my cock against Mike's ass, rubbing and sliding in the sweat that was lodging all over it, and especially in the crack, made me go into a helpless, hard erection. Poor Mike, he could obviously feel it pressing in to him, and there was nothing either of us could do. But I soon experienced the same problem from Hans, and this was even more difficult for me. Hans's prick was enormous even when not erect, and my ass cheeks were very firm and tight and bunched together. There was no way his erect prick could find a resting place between my cheeks, as mine had somehow managed to do between Mike's. As he got harder and harder, it was impossible for us to maintain our pace - he tried to move back from me but was prevented from doing so by the rickshaw behind him, and I tried to move forwards away from him, but then only pressed my own cock even harder in to Mike. We must have looked a comical sight - three big naked guys, desperately trying to run in step with each other, and all trying to get our cocks and asses away from each other when there was no possibility of this happening! Fortunately, with the power of Hans and Mike, the sand presented absolutely no problem and we arrived at the water hole before the pain from our cocks and asses had got too bad. Although it was a sort of 'happy' pain - I don't know when I had last felt such pleasure from the press of flesh on flesh. As soon as we stopped, the Overseer unclamped my wrists from the shafts. Fortunately with the stopping of the motion causing us all to rub together, our erections had almost subsided. The Overseer said "All you slaves are welcome to go in to the water. Enjoy yourselves! But I am going to swim in there soon, so do not piss in it - if you want to piss, do so into the sand as usual". Hans, Mike and I looked at each other, and almost without thinking, and certainly without touching our cocks to direct it anywhere else, simply let our piss stream out where we stood, as we had become used to doing whilst working as ponies. The water was amazing after the heat of the day, and we all three swam and frolicked in it. Again I felt the glorious sensation of the water sliding over every part of my body, and my cock bobbed up and down as I floated and swam. I thought how lucky we were to be nude, and not have the confines of Speedos as I had had to have in the USA when I went swimming. Hans and Mike had to work hard at their swimming, as the weight of their chain harnesses meant that they could not float naturally. A shout from the Overseer soon terminated our few minutes of escape from everyday life, however, and we got out of the water. We were ordered to "display" and then hunker down, and we crouched together at the water's edge. The Overseer dropped his cutoffs, revealing again the brilliant white where the tiny micro-bikini he wore whilst swimming at the Pool had prevented him from tanning, and he ran with his cock bouncing up and down, over the hot sand, and executed a perfect dive into the water. He swam a few strokes, and then stood up and called to his friend to hurry up. The friend seemed to have come on a lot since our first visit to the water hole, as he no longer stripped shyly. Even though the three of us hunks were watching him, he proudly pulled his T- shirt over his head, then dropped his pants, and pushed down his boxer shorts. He stood there for a moment, naked under the hot sun, and reached down to free his cock from where the sweat had caused it to stick to his sac, tenderly jerking it a little, as if about to masturbate. He reached behind with his other hand, and casually scratched his ass. This casual touching of his genitals and his ass obviously meant he was relaxed - it's the sort of thing a group of guys in a locker room will do quite unconsciously when they're with their team mates who they know well. He laughed to himself, and then let go a stream of piss into the sand - I felt certain that this was the first time he had ever pissed in front of other guys before, as even had he been out with a crowd of mates, he would have turned away before letting go. Was he really overcoming his inhibitions, or had he learned that the three of us watching were slaves, and as such simply did not count at all? He too then ran off over the sand and joined the Overseer in the water. They swam, held each other in the water, and played splashing games. They were obviously having a great time, two old friends, totally at ease with each other's bodies. When they finally tired and stood up, it was very erotic - they were just at the depth where their cocks were almost out of the water, so they were semi-floating in front of each of them. The Overseer cupped his friend's jaw in his hand, moved his head towards his friends, and as their lips touched they fell into a passionate kiss with their tongues deeply down their throats. Hans, Mike and I still crouched there, hands behind our heads, and we all saw the beauty of the moment. We were all erect, and I could see a drop of pre-cum starting to appear from my piss slit. Instinctively we maneuvered our bodies closer to each other, without of course daring to stand up, and I could feel the heat from their skins adding to that from the desert. Both Hans and Mike had been allowed to retain the hair on their legs, and as our thighs brushed against each other as we crouched there, there was a tingle of excitement from that lovely sensation that you get when your body hair is ruffled. The Overseer and his friend got out, spread their towels on the sand, and lay there drying in the sun. "I'd better be careful", said the Overseer, "or I'll go brown in the ass. Then when I'm changing after going to the gym or the Pool, the other guys won't be able to tell me apart from the slaves without getting close enough to see if I have been branded!" "Here ", he said, reaching for a tube and looking at his friend, "Let me put this complete sun block on you, as you're not used to this sun and we're going to be here for some time." He was soon enthusiastically rubbing the cream all over his friend's back, paying particular attention to the ass, where he was careful to get it far enough into the ass crack where the fierce sun could penetrate. But I noticed that he made no attempt to stick an oiled finger anywhere near the friend's anus. Then he told his friend to turn over, and repeated the process down the front. The massaging of the cream into the friend's tits was done slowly, as he could see it caused his friend exquisite pleasure, and he leaned over and they kissed again whilst he was doing this. And of course when he got to the cock and sac, it was impossible to proceed with creaming these without the friend becoming erect, and the Overseer then slowly jerked him off, with exquisite tenderness. "Now it's my turn", said his friend some minutes later. "I don't want you thought of as a slave - someone might sell you, and I want you here when I make my next trip Let me do something about those white areas of yours." "Ah - very convenient. The white parts are those I like the most! " He started to rub cream into the minuscule white area in the middle of the Overseer's ass cheeks, and was laughing at his friend. "How do you stop the fabric riding up into the crack? The white stripe here is so narrow that it can barely be a string up the back of that bikini of yours. I know you're a strong swimmer and you do it for exercise - surely it's uncomfortable, if not painful, to have that little strip of fabric constantly slipping off one cheek or another and down into the depths of your lovely ass!". The Overseer replied "It's simple, really. Before I go swimming, I take a plastic food bag and rub it lightly all over with oil. Then I roll it up into a solid tube, about the size of a pencil. I stuff that between my cheeks before I put the bikini on, and then the sharp edge of the fabric can't get down where it doesn't belong. Pushing my ass cheeks apart a bit also helps me to swim, I find - because the bag's oiled, the cheeks slide over each other better than if they were dry and pressed closely together. You know as well as I do that I'm very hairy down there, and after a lot of swimming I was getting very sore before I learned this trick - I'm told most Olympic swimmers shave their ass cracks, as the constant friction of the hair can otherwise lead to inflammation. I don't want my ass shaved, as again it's one of the things that sets me apart from the slaves, and, anyway, I know you like me 'natural'". "Yes", said the friend. "You need a hairy ass because otherwise it would look freakish compared with all that other hair on your back. I love this little tuff especially!" The Overseer wriggled his ass as whilst the was saying this his friend had caught hold of the little tuft of hair growing in the small of the Overseer's back, at the top of his ass crack, and was pulling it playfully. "Now turn over", said the friend. "I know you have just a few white bits on the front, too, and they are going to get extra special attention". The Overseer rolled over, and he must have been lying on an erection because his cock was jutting hard into the air even as he turned. "You're making it too easy", said his friend. "I was going to have to make you hard in order to ensure that the cream was rubbed into every minute fold of your prick. But you've beaten me to it". So saying, he flicked the end of the Overseer's penis playfully with his fingernail. Astonishingly, the Overseer detumesced immediately. "It's an old hospital trick", said the friend. "One of the first things that student nurses are taught on male wards is that if the men get erections whilst any genital procedures are being carried out, a quick flick of the fingernail on the cock head causes them to go soft almost immediately. Now I've got all the fun of making it hard again, as I rub in this cream." So saying, he began to rub his hands all over the Overseer's cock and sac, and, sure enough, the Overseer responded as you would expect. "Looking at you", the friend continued, "I can't see how that bikini of yours works in the front. The tan line is so close to the top of your cock that all this pubic hair must be spreading out from it. And I know you're very likely to get an erection the moment that cock of yours goes into water - doesn't it hurt, if the tight fabric constricts you much? The bikini is obviously so tiny that it has to be a very strong fabric to hold you normally, so with an erection, it must be painfully tight." "Not at all", the Overseer replied. "You know that when you buy Speedos, or any bikini-type trunks like that, they're of elastic fabric. They stretch quite tight over your ass, and that's OK. But because of the sensibility of some people to seeing the outline of a guy's cock, the front always has an extra lining of a stronger elastic fabric, to smooth out the contours. All you have to do is take out that lining, and then the looser elastic of the basic material is very comfortable. You can't have a complete erection, but you can go semi-hard quite easily, without any discomfort." "Of course everything you've got is always clearly outlined, and people can see the size of your cock, whether you're circumcised, whether it hangs over your balls or sticks out on top of them and so on. And as for the pubic hair, who cares? I have my bathroom slave shave my sac anyway: as you know I think it's cleaner, and it makes it easier to suck them without anyone getting a mouthful of wiry hair. And I'm very hairy down my stomach, so there's no strong delineation between that and my pubes." "But we're not in the prudish USA here, having to wear voluminous bathing shorts in case anyone should see that a man has in front of him what everyone knows he's got anyway. I'm really only going clothed into the Pool because there's so many of those 'comfort' slaves in there, totally naked, and I need to be different. Sometimes I have the place cleared of the slaves, then a number of us Overseers and guards can swim as nature intended - after all ", and here he raised his head to look along his body at his genitals which the friend was holding lovingly, "I've absolutely nothing to be ashamed of in that area!". The two men continued to lie there for about half an hour talking, kissing, and stroking each other, and we three slaves continued to press against each other for physical, and, I now realise, emotional, support. The Overseer suddenly sat up and said "But time is getting on. That plane won't wait for you tonight. You haven't asked what my surprise is yet". "OK ", said the friend, "surprise me. But I can't see how, out here in the middle of the desert. There's nothing in the rickshaw, you don't have any pockets or anything in your cut-offs, and the slaves re all totally naked so they can't be hiding anything". "That's just where you're wrong", replied the Overseer. "All of the slaves form part of the surprise, in different ways." "I researched the background of the two big South Africans, and learned they were both in that country's Marine Corps. Everyone knows the South African Marines are one tough bunch, and they are both trained fighters. Whilst they have not of course been allowed to fight since coming here, they are now even stronger, healthier and fitter than when they were in the Corps, and I doubt they have forgotten their basic skills." "In the USA you're always buying those wrestling tapes, where almost attractive guys wrestle each other in bikinis. Sometimes they 'rip and strip', I think, and just occasionally you see a couple of guys rolling around the ring naked. My surprise is that you're going to have your very own erotic wrestling performance, mounted for you right here." "We're going to have the South Africans wrestle each other just for you. And they're going to do it until one succeeds in fucking the other - that's how we will judge the winner. It would have been better to have done this months ago when they first arrived, as they were then, I think, virgins. They might have played around a little with mutual masturbation, and with sucking each other off, but as big, brave tough marines, I don't think they had been up each others asses, or allowed anyone else to do so! It would have been extra erotic for us to have known that they knew that one of them was going to have to lose his virginity to his comrade." "But here's no going back in time. You weren't around then, and in the meantime they have fully integrated with the other horse slaves in their team - that means they all fuck each other, every night. So fighting until one of them fucks the other will have lost the edge slightly, as this is now 'business as usual' for them." "I had thought to tell them that I would have the loser castrated, as then they would have had a real incentive to fight hard. But as they have now entered the breeding programme, that option's not open to me. So I'm going to have to be a bit more conventional, and offer the winner a prize." Mike and Hans were listening to all of this, and I could tell that what the Overseer said was true - they knew they were fighters, and I think that they realised that by now that by engaging in constant orgies with their fellows, they had lost something special - that special bond that holds strong, brave men together, without the need for anal sex. "What sort of prize can possibly appeal to them?, asked the friend. "They're naked slaves, for god's sake. You can hardly offer them a bottle of Scotch, or an extra day's vacation, a designer shirt, or even a $100 bill!" "Ah, said the Overseer, "and that's the second part of my surprise. The key to that is in my pony. You know we were talking the other night about you fucking him, as the Sheik had decided he did not want to, and, as far as we know, he is a virgin - I seem to remember you found the idea of that strong, firm, virgin ass very appealing. Well I think those fighters will, too. The prize is to be allowed to be the first one to rape the pony slave." His friend punched the air with excitement, but I felt sick. Suddenly, the day had all gone wrong. I was dreading any prick pushing up into my rectum. Whilst I had come in these few short hours to love Hans and Mike as brothers, I has thought it would be just some silent moments we would share when our lives crossed on the estate as we had at the Stud Farm yesterday, and here today. Each of them had a huge cock, and the thought of it entering my body was completely repugnant. I had wanted love from these guys, and I was going to get sex - forced sex. Unable to stop myself, I tried to shout out in protest, but of course only strangled mumbles came out because of my tongue restraint. The Overseer looked in our direction in amazement. "This is better than I thought", he told the friend. "Another element to the surprise. My pony, who I thought had now truly understood what it was to be a slave, turns out still to have an opinion about his body. It really will be 'rape', I think." "So you and I can enjoy the sight of these two superb South Africans fighting, and fucking. Then when he has rested, the winner can have the pleasure of being the first up that pony slave. And we can have a second bit of fun as we watch a real rape." "It's a pity you have to go home tonight. I think you would have enjoyed some things I am now planning for that pony later in the week. He has revealed himself still to be thinking of himself as a man, and not as a slave - otherwise he would have been glad to take one of those South African cocks up his ass as it would be pleasing to his master. I really can't have that, and when I had a slave before whose mind did not become properly subservient, even though we had of course completely overcome his body, I devised an effective crash course to correct his errors. I'll start it off again with my pony tomorrow." "Now, let's get started. You're the guest, so you can help. First, are there any rules we want the fighters to obey? Do they wrestle, or box, or both, or do they do really vicious 'marine' fighting? - although perhaps we'd better not have that, as they're valuable property and we don't want either of them permanently damaged" Wrestling, definitely", said the friend. "I used to do that in High School, wearing those absurdly long lycra wrestling suits that come down to your knees and cover most of your chest. I couldn't understand why us lads weren't allowed to wrestle in Speedos, or even in the nude if we wished. Seeing these two wrestling naked will be like a dream come true." "You know me so well - I only mentioned those tapes in an e-mail once, and you've remembered. And you're right, too, that they're not all that good. Sure, a lot of the guys are fairly handsome, but when they do the 'semen' ones, it's obvious they have guys in from porn films, and not proper wrestlers. But perhaps I'm being too harsh - seeing it on film can never be as good as seeing it live, in front of you". "So it's wrestling", said the Overseer. "Is everything allowed, or should we set some limits? Are we going to have 'rounds', or is it fight straight through to the final fuck? Are they allowed to eye gouge? Are they allowed to grab each other's cocks? Can they twist each other's ball sacs? And do we specify how the final fuck is to be performed - must it be 'doggy' fashion, or with the back on the sand and the guy's legs on the shoulders of the one doing the fucking, for example." His friend thought for a few moments, and said "As few limits as are absolutely necessary, I think - this is to be a real fight between two proper men. So no rounds, they are to fight until one vanquishes the other. I think you'd better forbid anything that causes permanent damage, like eye gouging, as I don't want you to get into trouble with the Sheik if his property is damaged irretrievably. Of course they must be able to grab cock, and twist balls - otherwise it will be as tame as those wrestling tapes. And as we're saying it is to be a 'proper' fight, we obviously can't lay down rules about the method of entry for the fuck - they must be allowed to do it in any way they can. We don't want them jockeying for position in order to do something pre-specified - we want to see how real fighters respond to the challenge of fucking their opponent". With that, the Overseer commanded them to begin, and Hans and Mike faced each other on the sand, then cautiously moved closer to each other. Then with a blur of motion, Mike made the first move - he went for Hans's legs. But the sand did not give him a good purchase, and he slipped as he dove for them. Hans was able to move to the side and Mike temporarily lost his balance. As Mike turned around to face Hans, Hans had wrapped one arm on top of Mike's shoulder. He managed to get Mike down on one knee and was trying to use this advantage to get Mike face down on the ground. Both wrestlers were of course sweating profusely, and Hans's hands slipped over Mike's wet body, and Mike then was able to gain the advantage. He gave Hans a chop to the midsection that stunned him. He then grabbed Hans by the balls and squeezed them so that Hans fell to the ground - it was clear that Hans would have been screaming from the pain of this savage attack had he been able, but only strangled gasps came out from him. Mike had clearly learned fast about doing whatever it takes to win, and any thought that they were 'comrades', and would treat each other with respect, had clearly been lost. Mike soon got behind Hans and was able to get on top of his back and push him face down into the sand. He then mounted Hans and wrapped his arms round Hans's waist, clasping his hands together on Hans's hard stomach, and scrabbling his fingers backwards to try to grab Hans's cock. He couldn't quite reach, and could not even yank at Hans's pubic hair to try to inflict pain, because this had recently been freshly trimmed and he could not get a purchase. Both the Overseer and his friend were wildly excited. They leapt up and down, and circled the two nude wrestlers in order to get a good view. They were shouting encouragement to both slaves, and there was no sign that either of them favoured either wrestler. They were just keen to see each man do the utmost to vanquish the other. Hans tried to fight Mike off and for a while it looked like a cowboy riding a wild bronco. But Mike was determined and held on, until Hans fell back down fully exhausted by his efforts. The match had already lasted at least ten minutes, and was much more exciting than anything that the Overseer, his friend, or I had ever experienced. We were all erect, and pre cum was oozing out from me. I assumed the Overseer and his friend were the same, but as they weaved and danced around the wrestlers their cocks were bobbing up and down so hard that it was impossible to see. All that was now left was the climax to the match. Mike was able to position his cock which now was a hard 20 cm at Hans's anus, and after a futile effort by Hans to keep his hole closed by squeezing his sphincter muscles hard, Mike's animal strength prevailed and his cock buried itself deep inside Hans. Although I had seen Hans and Mike have sex with each other, and with the other cart horse slaves, this was no gentle entry to a willing partner. Both men has clearly become completely taken with the fight, and their old Marines' instincts to utterly beat the enemy had broken through. Mike's forced entry to Hans was as brutal as anything I could imagine. Hans was clearly trying to cry out as Mike began fucking him, and Mike, too, would have been screaming his victory had he been able. Both of them had to settle for groans and shrieks from deep down in their throats, and the only triumphant cries came from the Overseer and his friend who had screamed a raucous "Yes!" as Mike had first brutally thrust home, and were now chanting "yes, yes, yes" in time to Mike's insistent thrusts up his comrade's ass. The back and forth, in and out motion of his cock and the pendulous swinging of Mike's balls as they smacked against Hans's ass aroused the Overseer and his friend even more, and I could see that they had indeed now got pre-cum streaming from both their cocks; they had stopped moving around in favour of a stationary position where they could see Mike's shaft gliding in and out of Hans. After about five minutes of hard, determined pumping, Mike finally came with an ecstatic cry in his throat and an arching of his solid muscular back, and he kept his stomach pressed firmly against Hans's ass as the semen pumped out of him and up into Hans. Hans seemed utterly defeated. He seemed to visibly lose his muscle tone, and lay sprawled on the sand looking completely exhausted. Mike let go from around Hans's waist, and got to his feet. His detumescing cock was slimy from his semen and Hans's ass, and he stood there, jabbing one arm up and down in the air in a victory salute just as Olympic athletes do, whilst his ribs went up and down as he sucked in air following the enormous exertion. But some of the old comradeship soon started to reassert itself, and he stopped his victory celebration, looked down at Hans, and extended a hand to help him to get to his feet. Hans stood there, sand sticking to his wet body, the picture of misery. Mike looked into his eyes, and mouthed "sorry, mate" at him. Hans seemed to straighten and regain his old style and swagger - he was, after all, a fine slave, and proud of his body. He brushed between his thighs, where Mike's cum was trickling slowly down from his anus, smelled his fingers to get a scent of Mike, grinned, and went and hugged Mike to congratulate him on his victory. The sight of these two muscular slaves with their arms wrapped around each other in complete understanding of the position they had been put in brought a lump to my throat. They moved their hips from side to side slightly, so their cocks rubbed against each other, and it was clear that their bond of mutual affection was again established. Whilst Mike had been enjoying his moment of exhilarating victory, stabbing the air with his fist as if he was a free spirit, the Overseer and his friend had been completely overcome with the sight they had just witnessed of the two hard bodies pumping together. I'm sure they could have ordered any of the 'comfort' slaves to enact a fuck any time they wanted, but the combination of the use of English, the knowledge that the two slaves had once been Marines, and the sheer energy of their fight, had all made this a unique occasion. They clearly had needed to relieve their aching erections, because both were masturbating furiously. This was no gentle, loving, mutual masturbation as they had had previously, but each was wanking himself, brutally and hard, and they each shot their loads with uninhibited cries of "fuck!" and "oh, sweet Jesus!" renting the air. Now the Overseer saw Hans and Mike in their comradely embrace, and was outraged. "You are slaves", he barked at them, "not lovers. Get over there, go to 'display', squat down, and wait for my next order." Hans and Mike came over to where I was already in position, and did as they had been commanded. They crouched close together in comradeship, and I was bitterly disappointed that they did not again take up position on either side of me, and instead were a little to one side. It was as if they wanted to continue to enjoy that shared moment together, and the few centimetres between them and me was all the privacy they could as slaves enjoy for their intimacy. We all crouched there, hands behind our heads, with Hans and Mike still breathing deeply from their exertions. The air was still, dry, and very hot, and I could smell the sweat and the distinctive ammoniacal smell of semen coming from their bodies. The Overseer and his friend decided to go for a swim whilst Mike "was recovering before claiming his prize", so they stood up and ran, hand in hand, cocks bobbing up and down, into the water. The three of us remained crouching, of course, and Mike and Hans exchanged many meaningful glances. Even without speaking, they could communicate. Small grunts, the soundless pronouncing of words with bold gestures of the lips, and tiny meaningful nudges of the elbows where they were touching was allowing them to 'talk'. I realised how lucky they were to have been part of the cart-horse team since enslavement, as they could develop such nonverbal communication. I was isolated, alone, in my shafts all day, and in a solitary stall all night. Finally, Mike turned towards me, and mouthed something. I could not at first understand him, but after a couple of attempts I thought I could make out "I'm sorry", and this was coupled with little shrugs of his shoulders indicating that there was nothing he could do about events. I realised that he was trying to tell me that he knew that, as the winner, he was going to have to rape me whenever the Overseer decided to move on to the next stage of the surprise he had laid on for his friend. I think that this was one of those moments that really defined my slavery - here we were, three naked guys, crouching in the sand with our hands behind our necks. The only two masters anywhere within a couple of kilometres were naked and helpless, in the water. We were not chained up, and were all fit and active - indeed, I could outrun anyone there, and any of us could easily overpower the Overseer and his friend. The Overseer's stun gun had been left in the rickshaw, a few metres away, and it was certain that any of us could get to it before the Overseer would realise that there was even a problem and get out of the water to go to it. There were no mobile phones or radios to call for assistance, as the Sheik used his system of slave sprinters. The two ex-Marines had just carried out a degrading wrestling match, having been forced to misuse their skills and strength for the mere pleasure of the masters, and had not enjoyed it. And I was waiting to have my last shred of humanity torn away, as my ass was going to be invaded in a brutal rape. But none of us did anything - we just crouched there, waiting patiently for our next orders. We had, even in a few short months, become accustomed to the ideas of slavery, and that we were slaves. We simply did not have the free will to do anything other than wait there patiently. Finally, Overseer and his friend came out of the water and lay on their towels, discussing the match they had seen. "Now it's time for the second part", said the Overseer. "The winner gets to rape my pony." "Are you sure you don't want to go up there first?", he asked his friend, "It'll be your last chance, as you're off home tonight. I know I suggested it might not be such a good idea when you wanted to the other day, but none of the constraints then apply now. He looks eminently fuckable, and I'd do it myself except that, as you know, I leave those I need to serve me every day out of my sex plans. But I'd enjoy seeing you enjoy yourself. He's got a magnificent body, and that butt must be a delight to force your way through to find his anus - all the running he does has given him the best 'bubble' I've ever seen. Go on, give yourself something to remember the desert by". "But you promised him to the winner of the match", his friend said. "For Christ sake", the overseer exasperatedly explained, "Haven't you understood anything yet? The winner was a slave. I don't make promises or contracts with slaves. Slaves are only here to serve me, not to be 'rewarded'. If I choose to give the pony to the slave, that's my choice. If I don't, that's also my choice, and neither the slave who won or the pony has any say in the matter - and certainly shouldn't have any interest or concern one way or the other. If you'd like the pony, just say, and he's yours." "No", the friend said "I really don't. I'm sure he'd be a great lay, and it would be exciting to rape a helpless young guy like that, but it's you I want. This is the last day, and we ought just to enjoy each other. What I'd really like you to do is to take me gently up the ass, whilst we both watch that young guy being raped by the Marine. It will add something extra to our lovemaking, as I contrast your gentleness with what I see in front of me". "You're always so wonderfully considerate, and inventive. That's what makes me love you", said the Overseer. "OK. We'll just lie here and enjoy the afternoon, stroking and kissing a bit to really get in the mood, before we start." .....to be continued. THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE, PART 12 By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com) RAPE The three of us slaves continued to crouch together, and the Overseer and his friend were oblivious, or uncaring, of our gaze as they lay on their towels in the sand, just as if they were on a sunny Californian beach and not in the middle of the desert. They kissed and stroked each other, and muttered small phrases to each other in low voices, in that intimate way that lovers do. Eventually the Overseer sat up, and said "Time's getting on. That plane of yours won't wait. Let's have the grand finale of the afternoon, so there's still time to get back and shower and change before you have to leave." He then commanded us three slaves to get up, and come over and stand in front of them, and we of course did, automatically resuming the "display" position. Hans and Mike seemed unaffected by what was about to happen, but my breathing had become shallow and rapid, and sweat was beading my body. "Now", said the Overseer, "Which one was the prize winner?. OK. You " (pointing at Hans) "stand in front of the pony. And you " (pointing at me), "Put your arms over his shoulders". We meekly obeyed, and I was once again treated to the intimacy of Hans's warm muscled body touching mine. "Now grasp the pony's wrists, and pull them down ", Hans was commanded, and as he obeyed, I was of course squeezed even closer to him. He was then ordered to bend over from the waist, and this had the effect of causing my feet to lift slightly off the ground. Our nude, sweating bodies shuffled and slid a little, and I ended up with my head pressed into Hans's with my nose ground into the base of his neck, my armpits on his shoulders, my chest and stomach lying on his muscular back, and my legs lying down the outside of Hans's. Even though I was slightly taller than Hans, and had longer legs, because I was effectively straddling his waist, I could barely reach the ground now, and my toes scrabbled in the sand to get some purchase and relieve the pressure on my chest from being pulled into this unnatural position. The position pulled apart my legs and the effect of Hans now having his body almost at right angles to the ground had of course exposed my anus. My cock was trapped under me, lying upwards between my stomach and the little hollow that was in the middle of Hans's muscular spine, but fortunately my balls had been hanging well down when Hans had hoisted me off the ground so I was in no real discomfort, and these were now exposed to view, in between my opened legs, lying in the small hollow at the top of Hans's ass crack. "OK ", said the Overseer to Mike, "Now go to it. Don't spare the pony. I want to see you fucking his ass as enthusiastically as I saw you mating with the breeders earlier this week. Even though this is his first time, we're in a hurry and there's no time for gentle stretching and manipulating of his passage. A quick thrust in, then solid, continuous hard fucking is what we want to see." Although Mike was by now fully expert and experienced with other men, he didn't immediately respond to the Overseer. The Overseer was obviously getting cross, because he snapped "Don't just stand there with a limp cock! Get an erection, and go at the pony at once." Time seemed to stand still. I could feel Hans's body moving under mine, as his steady regular breathing moved his chest up and down, and I had the delicious scent of his strong sweat in my nostrils as they pressed into his neck. My own cock ached from being compressed, and I could feel it start to harden as it lay in the warm, damp space between my stomach and Hans's lovely spine. We all stood there, and there was no sound. Then after a few seconds the Overseer shouted in rage "OK. You all asked for this. I will not be disobeyed". I heard him scramble to his feet, and the next minute I had the acute sharp pain of the Overseer's carriage whip fall across my stretched ass. The Overseer thrashed me 10 times, and each stroke was viciously hard - I was used to being "encouraged" to run faster with the whip, but usually these were just light strokes whose sharp pain subsided after a moment or two. But my ass was now in agony, and I knew that the Overseer must have used uncustomary force in whipping me. Then I heard the swish of the whip coming down again, and I involuntarily clenched my buttocks for the blow, but nothing happened. Instead, Hans's body bucked under me, and I realised that the Overseer was whipping his exposed ass now, and that it must have been really painful for Hans because his muscular cheeks were stretched with the bending. But I didn't escape after all - after 10 strokes the Overseer was still striking Hans, and I supposed he was going to get at least 20. This must have been tiring for the Overseer, because his aim faltered, and the tip of the whip caught my exposed balls. Of course I couldn't scream, but the shock caused me to jerk forward and squirm on Hans's back. Had my armpits not been locked on Hans's shoulders and my arms not being held rigidly by him, I would have fallen off his back. My thighs spasmed, and my toes, which had only just been able to take some of my weight, scrabbled futilely as they lost all contact with the sand. My own body weight crushed my chest harder against Hans's back, and I don't know whether it was this, or the terrible searing pain from my balls, that caused me to stop breathing so that my breath came in short, sharp pants across Hans's neck. Seeing that he had potentially damaged valuable stock, the Overseer paused, and said "Now you see how I have whipped the pony and your buddy. Now do as I say - get that prick of yours erect now, and start fucking the pony. I'm not going to tell you again, and I'm not going to whip you. But if you continue to disobey me, both the pony and your mate will get another thrashing". I then heard his friend say something, and the Overseer said "But wait - perhaps you are not properly in the mood. Your buddy there has not shot his load today - before you start, go over and wank him. Don't let any of his spunk go to waste - we'll need it." Hans started to stand up, and my feet touched the ground. The Overseer roared "Did I tell you to move? You're only going to be milked, and that doesn't need you standing upright. Get back to where you were". Hans bent again, and I was pulled off the ground. Mike came over and Sat down on the sand underneath Hans's horizontal body, and facing his cock. He reached up and started to masturbate his friend, and I could feel Hans's breathing change as he quickly came to climax, It was too much for me to bear, and in spite of the discomfort, my cock went rigid in sympathy with Hans's, and to the sweat between us I knew there must be added a load of pre-cum. "Now get back into position behind the pony", Mike was commanded, "and be careful not to spill that palm-full of spunk you have collected." Then a few moments later "Coat a finger well and slick the Pony's anus - that might turn you on anyway! And I suppose it might be a good idea not to go in completely dry first time anyway." I lay there, and started to quiver. Then I felt something poking experimentally to locate my most intimate place, and reflexively clenched my ass to tighten it in resistance. Mike's finger found the spot, and pushed harder, and I clenched tighter - but it was no use. I could not keep my anus tight from his insistent pushing, and his finger slipped up into me. He moved it around, and in and out a few times, and I knew he must be lubricating me with Hans's spunk. Then he withdrew totally, and the Overseer said "Well, that didn't work. I would have thought you should have been aroused by fingering a virgin ass. So we'll resort to mechanical means. Use the rest of your buddy's jism to grease your cock, and stand there wanking until you do go rigid". I knew how humiliated Mike must be - it's one thing to be nude all the time and have erections that are natural. But even slaves surely deserve some dignity, and shouldn't be made to massage themselves to rigidity, especially not with using another man's semen as a lubricant. But now of course I see that I was still exhibiting some vestiges of my former life - why should it be humiliating for Mike, as he was obeying a master's orders? The mechanical manipulation id however obviously do the trick, because I now felt Mike's cock move between my cheeks. It nudged closer and closer to my sphincter and finally found the mark. I tried to move, but there was no place to go. Mike thrust hard, and in spite of all my desperate clenching and tightening, was rewarded with about 2 cm of penetration. I tried to shout "NO" as I felt my asshole stretching to accommodate the invading cock, but of course nothing came out. Mike grunted and as he shoved again, his cock slid further into me. I just knew that Mike's cock head must be inside me, and with one last desperate attempt to stop him, I clamped down as hard as I knew how. In retrospect of course this was the wrong thing to do - Mike almost exploded with pleasure as my ring of muscle gripped and relaxed just under his glans. He paused while savouring the sensations, then as I couldn't maintain my grip for long, he pressed forward, pushing the widest part of his cock past the tight ring. From then on, it was easy for him, just sliding deeper and deeper into my body until finally I could feel his pubic bone, with it's little strip of hard, wiry pubic hair, making contact with my ass that was still stinging viciously from its whipping. "Ahhhhhhhh" I could hear him moan in his throat as he backed out to the glans. Grip, relax, push, pull... he began to time his thrusts to extract the most from each tightening of my muscles. He was going wild, as the sensations sped from his cock to his brain; He had never been gripped like this during a fuck before, and I think he thought that I was enjoying it and signalling to him to make the most of my body. But now I was really in trouble. Mike's cock head was riding back and forth over my prostate, and I had never experienced a sensation like this before. In the midst of the pain from my ass and from my battered anus, a wholly new "something" flowed over me. Mike's cock riding my prostate was almost more than I could take. My ass was doing things I'd never felt it do before, and I seemed unable to control its reflex-like clamping as Mike moved in and out. Every time Mike hit my prostate, I could feel my own cock leak pre-cum, and it was as if this made me clamp down on Mike. As Mike slid back, I felt my ass relax, and his cock dipped down. Then wham, he thrust again, another poke to my gland, another surge of pre-cum, and another swelling of my own cock trapped between my stomach and Hans's back as the pre-cum surged out I could hear Mike's breathing become laboured, and his hands went around my waist as he bent his magnificent body to give even more power to his thrusts. Then I felt his whole body go rigid and arch backwards as his orgasm came, and a strange but wonderful sensation as an enormous load of his hot semen pumped into me. Mike collapsed forward onto me, and I was sandwiched between the two Marines. He was covered in sweat, and he just lay there panting as I could feel his cock start to shrink inside me. He stood up, and drew back to pull his cock out totally, and as his wide cock head came out from my anus, my own orgasm took over. My chest and Hans's back were already sliding over each other, lubricated by our sweat and what felt like litres of pre-cum which had been pumping out from me as I was being fucked. But now I was totally unable to control myself, and my cock spasmed eight times, forcing my spunk between us and firing it along the vhannel of Hans's spine. I think the Overseer and his friend knew what had happened, as he then commanded us all to come and stand in front of he and his friend again and assume "display". Mike and I were told to face them, and Hans to turn around to have his back to them. I stood there under the sun, and found that tears were flowing uncontrollably down my cjheeks - they went on and on, and dripped down from the edhe of my jaw onto the sand. I know these tears were not from the pain of the whipping, or the pain from my anus which was spreading a hot, angry glow throughout my lower body, as I had often borne much worse pains than that since becoming a slave. And although I had been affected by the closeness and intimacy with Hans's and Mike's bodies, they weren't the kind of tears you sometimes share with your very closest comrades. They were, I think, tears of shame - shame at being so violated as an amusement for others. Because of my feelings for Hans and Mike and the pleasure I had found with them, I knew I was no longer "straight". But there's a huge difference between the joy of two guys experiencing each others bodies aesthetically as they work out together and look at each other's muscles, or that which you get from loving mutual masturbation with close friends, and rape. Some how I could not accept that the invasion of my most intimate inner self, the core of my maleness, was yet part of me. I felt violated, even though I knew that Hans, Mike and me had no choice. The Overseer and his friend lay there for a few minutes talking and joking with each other, watching my spunk flow down Hans's back to collect in the little hollow at the top of his ass, and then trickle down between his cheeks. My own cock was slick with my spunk, and Mike's was slowly oozing out of my anus and wetting the inside of my thighs. Mike's prick was covered in his own cum and was brownish from the contents of my rectum, because of course I had not had an enema before this bout of uninhibited man sex. They could see the tears on my cheeks, but did not comment. We all desperately wanted to jump into the cool, cleaning water of the water hole and wash away all these traces of our experience, but this was not to be. The Overseer and his friend got up, the friend dressed, the Overseer pulled his cut-off on, and we were told to get between the shafts, as we had when we arrived. The Overseer manacled me into the shafts, and roughly pushing Mike's head back out of the way, quickly fitted my bridle. Going back across the deep sand was just as disturbing for me as when we had arrived, as I felt the hard bodies of Hans and Mike sandwiching me close between them. I found myself loving their warmth, the firmness of their flesh, their intoxicating smells of sweat and spunk, and the sheer animal maleness of us all as we ran nude across the desert. I don't think I had really appreciated other men's bodies in this way before. But at least the experience at the water hole made it easier for us to run - neither Mike nor I could now manage even a tiny erection. At the edge of the sand, back on the estate road, Hans and Mike were told to slip out of the shafts as the Overseer wanted to run me as usual. He told them to follow behind us, and that he expected them to keep up, even though they were not trained runners as I was, as they did not have the weight of the rickshaw to contend with. He slapped the reins on my ass as normal, then started to lash my shoulders lightly with his riding whip to get me up to top speed. Although my ass was painful from Mike's entry, and my ass was still stinging from the brutal whipping, I wanted to show the Overseer that in spite of his brutality in ordering my rape I was still a good pony for him, and I threw my shoulders and head back and ran faster than I had ever done before. Over the haze of pain from my tortured lungs after a few kilometres, I was conscious of my ass cheeks sliding over each other - this was strange, as of course you're not normally conscious of the motions of your butt muscles, unless there's something wrong. I realised it was Mike's spunk greasing them and making them slide, and this was at least a small help to getting me back to the central complex in spite of my overly-ambitions speed. The Overseer guided me back to the Bungalow, and he and his friend got down from the rickshaw. I was of course then tethered, but he left Hans and Mike, who had managed to keep up with my wild run, although obviously at huge expense to themselves, simply collapsing with exhaustion on the sand. They looked a pitiful sight - their fine muscled bodies simply could no longer even stand up, and their chests were heaving as their breath rasped out and they desperately tried to suck in enough air to damp the fires in their lungs. After a few minutes, they had recovered enough to sit up, and they simply sat there, their knees drawn up to their chins, their heads slumped forwards on to their kneecaps, and their arms locked around their bent legs. They looked a picture of misery, and the sight of their sacs and cocks poking out from between the ends of their thighs and scraping the ground as they sat there was truly pathetic. FAREWELLS The Overseer and his friend emerged about an hour later, and we set off down the long straight road leading from the central complex area to the estate's boundary with the state road. Hans and Mike were simply left sitting in the sand - the Overseer had no more need of them, and did not give them another thought. I supposed that sooner or later someone would come and take them back to the stables. At the boundary there was a fine gate house, where the Sheikh's guests, and the goods coming in and out of the estate, were transferred from slave-powered vehicles to the normal trucks of the outside world. The gate house had a luxurious waiting room for travellers, and at the back, shielded from the state road so that passers-by could not cast envious eyes on the Sheikh's ponies, was a large yard where us ponies could wait and where goods could be transhipped. The Overseers was telling his friend to smell the air as we approached the state road. "Can you smell that stench of diesel and pollution?" he asked. "Now you know why the Sheikh does not allow anything other than slave power on the estate roads- when you live with it every day, you get used to this vile stench of industrial pollution. But when you've been living in a totally clean slave- powered world, you get very sensitive to it and notice it immediately." "But they haven't invented the slave-driven jet yet, so I suppose we have to continue to make some use of this vile technology. You couldn't get back to the USA, then come and visit me again, if we had to rely on galleys to row you across the Atlantic! Although, looking at those kitsch "ancient Greek" movies that Hollywood used to make, I think a few months on a galley with all those sweating, muscled galley slaves chained to their benches and oars might be quite fun. Even though Hollywood had no real idea of how to portray slaves, some of those films were quite fun!" As we arrived at the gate house they were discussing the next visit, and I understood that it would not be for a year because the friend only had four weeks vacation, like most Americans, and simply could not visit the Overseer again because he could not get more time off from his job. Who was the real slave, I wondered? As the time came for the limousine to take the friend away to the airport, they stopped talking, and had that sort of longing, embarrassed silence that lovers often have before a long separation. They hugged each other, then kissed passionately, and finally the friend was driven off in the limo. The Overseer got up in to the rickshaw, and I saw the glint of tears in the corner of his eyes. He pointed me back to the central complex, and I set off at a light jog. I was expecting to be commanded to go faster, but the Overseer was obviously wrapped in his thoughts, and allowed me to continue at an easy pace back to the Bungalow. He got down from the rickshaw, and tethered me outside the bungalow door. I wondered what other trips he had in mind for us that evening before I could go back to the stables, but instead of just bounding up the steps as he usually did, he turned to me and said "You disgraced me today. You protested when I was describing your planned rape, and those tears at the end were unforgivable. You almost spoiled the last day of my friend's vacation". "Slaves do not protest. Slaves do not have emotions, causing tears. I know I had your body tamed, and I believed I had your mind to the point where you had accepted that you were a pony slave, and no longer a man. But yesterday proved me wrong." "Perhaps I am a little at fault, because you have been constantly exposed to English this week, and it has probably brought back some thoughts of your previous life that you had started to bury. But looking back on your whole time here, I think I can see little flashes of independence asserting themselves, or trying to assert themselves." "You'll never be happy as a slave until you completely accept that you are just an object, here to do whatever your master commands. You do not have opinions about anything. Your only concern is that you fully obey your master's every wish, to the slightest degree. Your body is not 'yours', it's the Sheikh's. And if I order your body to do something, you should be proud to do it - no, I'm wrong - being 'proud' means that you experience some thought. You should do it because it is inconceivable that you should not do it." "You are not at this point in your slavery, and not even as far along the road as I thought you were. Starting tomorrow, I will be adopting a more rigorous training regime for you. When you first came, we used a harsh physical regime to fashion your body into the proper state for a thoroughbred pony ,that would be a credit to its driver. My new regime will be equally rigorous, but it will train your mind and shape it so that it is appropriate for a thoroughbred pony." "The last time I had such a wilful pony, it was the whip that enabled me to train him. I subjected him to continuous bouts of harsh punishment, each morning and evening, even though he had behaved perfectly during the day. He had to learn that there was nothing in his performance that could in any way affect whether he was punished or not - he would be punished just because it pleased me to have him punished. It took seven weeks before he broke down and since then he has been a model slave. He still bears the whip lash marks in many places of course - this was not the light whip I used on you today, but the heavy bull whip that is guaranteed to break the flesh and is truly agonising - and if he was still capable of being 'proud', I think he would be 'proud' of the scars because they are a symbol of his new inner mental freedom as a slave." "But I'm not going to use the lash on you. Your problem is not physical, its a mental one, that gets expressed physically. And I suspect it's tied up with your sexuality and your perception of yourself as a man. You still think of yourself as having some control over your body, and that there are some things that 'a man' does and some things 'a man' does not. But that's wrong, as firstly you are a slave, and secondly there is nothing that a slave does or does not do if it pleases his master. I know that before you were enslaved you were a 'stud', proud of your prowess with women and disgusted at the thought of relations with other men. I think I detected over these past days that you became less and less pleased with fucking the breeders as time went on, and were trying to bond with those other slaves. I expected you to relish being used by the two South Africans, and that's why I arranged for them to be the ones who first took your ass." "But I'm wrong - somewhere, deep down, although you can touch another man's body now, and don't mind them jerking you off, there's a sticking point - there are still some things 'men' don't do as far as you are concerned. Well, let me tell you, there aren't!" "I'm going to use your notion of your own sexuality as the key to remaking your whole personality, and turning you into the perfect slave." "I'm going to leave you tethered here tonight, and don't expect anything to keep you warm like last time! I want you to have an uncomfortable night, so you stay awake and think about what I have said. Tomorrow I will start to reshape you, and so this is the last chance you will have to enjoy your own thoughts." With that, he went up the steps, and I was left there, tightly tethered so that I could not move more than a metre or so, and certainly could not sit down. It was going to be a long night. ...to be continued. In the next installment, our poor pony will suffer dreadful abuse, to break his spirit. In part 14 we will find out more about the Overseer, in an usual twist to the plot, and finally, in part 15, various plot lines will be resolved and we will see how the characters we have been reading about will live out the rest of their lives. THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE, PART 13 By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com) A SECOND ROUND OF TRAINING The night was cold in the desert, and unlike the only previous time I had not been in the stables over night, this time there was no sweat shirt to cover at least the top half of my nude body, and I was tethered so tight to the bungalow that I could only stand relatively immobile, and could not crouch down to minimise the body area exposed to the air. My wrists were shackled to the shafts of my rickshaw, and I could not even rub my body to try to generate a bit of warmth. The only way I could stop the terrible waves of shivering that kept passing through me was to "run on the spot", keeping my legs active to generate a bit of body heat. It was impossible to sleep. As dawn broke, I was wretched. Cold, tired, and hungry - I did hard manual labour all day, and had not been fed the previous night as usual. And I was filthy - I had not been showered the previous evening, and my skin was covered in a layer of dried sweat and semen from the previous afternoon's activities. And during the night I had had to crap where I stood, because the previous careful program regulating my feeding and use of the piss and shit hole had been disrupted. There was of course no way of cleaning myself up, and because I had not been able to crouch, as I did at the crap hole, I knew my ass was disgustingly dirty. It had been three days since I was last shaved, and my face was itching with the growth of my beard. The Overseer came out of his bungalow very early, and without saying anything, unhitched me and gave me the command for "off". I set my weary legs in motion, and we headed towards the stables. This was good news - he had obviously relented, and I was going to be showered and fed. But when we arrived at the stables the stable-lad slaves who came out were not allowed to take me in. The farm cart, with Hans, Mike and the other six slaves chained to it, came out, and the Overseer started to bark rapid commands in Arabic to all the lads and to them. I was unshackled from my rickshaw, and led by my cock over to the cart. It's back was dropped down and I was pushed back onto the floor of it, to lie on my back with my ass over the edge. One of the cart slaves jumped up into it, and then sat down on my chest, facing my face, so that his cock was in my face and his balls hung below my chin, touching my throat. His massive buttocks ground into my pecs, and I was unable to move or get up. He shuffled his knees down onto my forearms, so my arms were immobile. He had been freshly showered, and I could smell the faint antiseptic smell from the special washing solution that was used for us slaves overlaying the musky scent of his genitals, as they hung near my nose. My legs were lifted off the ground, and bent backwards over my body towards my head, and the farm slave lifted up his arms and tucked my legs under them, one on each side of his body. I was now curled like an egg, with my genitals and dirty ass totally exposed and vulnerable, hanging over the back of the cart. I was deeply ashamed, as I knew the other cart slaves, including Hans and Mike, would be looking at my anus soiled by the crap I had had to do earlier. It was impossible to control my reflexes, and I could feel a hot, deep flush spreading from my chest and up over my neck and face. A hand curled around my exposed cock, and started to wank me. This was not the normal hand of one of the stable lads, but one of the large, work-worn heavily calloused hands of a cart slave. He was brisk and rough, allowing his hand to cruelly catch the head of my cock on the up stroke, and slamming it into my pubic bone as he wrenched the loose skin of my cock downwards. Fortunately I soon became hard, and felt myself start to climax. Suddenly, the slave squeezed my balls - hard - and pushed my cock down onto my stomach. These actions triggered my stream of cum, which spurted so hard that it hit the ass of the slave sitting on my chest, and trickled down to lie in the little hollow between my pecs. There was a lot of what would have been the sound of laughter had the slaves been able to make that sound properly, and they obviously thought I looked funny, lying there under one of their mates whilst another one wanked me. I felt someone scrape my cum off my chest, and the next minute a long rough finger was probing my anus, using my own juices to slick the entry. Without any finesse, the finger forced its way in, and slid in and out once or twice to make sure I was thoroughly greased. And then, or course, the horror of the previous day started all over again, as I felt the unmistakable sensation of a hot cock head probing my anus. The slave raped me, taking less time than Mike the previous day, and I lay there shuddering and sobbing. I realised that even though I had not thought it at the time, Mike must have been as careful as he dared with me yesterday, because this second rape was very painful and my anus and rectum felt as if they had been hit with a hammer. The slave on top of me knew what was going on, because he had been turning around to see his mate fucking me, and had become aroused. His engorged cock stuck out over my face, and drips of pre-cum fell down on to me. At last, I thought, it's over. But no - another cock presented itself to my anus, and forced its way in. Seven of the cart slaves used me before it was the turn of the guy on my chest. He was in a frenzy by now, and my face was covered in the slime of his pre-cum. He got up off me as one of his fellows neatly vaulted into place, and now I had not the antiseptic scent of the washing liquid and a musky male odour, but the stench of my own rectum on the new slave's still-wet cock. Because he was so aroused, number eight's time up my hole was mercifully short, and I was at last allowed to get up. I stood there in front of the cart slaves, my face covered in pre- cum, my chest sticky from my own cum and the sweat from a slave's ass, and with the results of their rape trickling down the insides of my thighs as my anus clenched and unclenched as it tried to gain some small measure of comfort and relief from the battering it had taken. I felt tears start to course down my cheeks again. I could see Hans and Mike amongst their fellows and knew that theirs were two of the cocks that had so cruelly violated me. But I did not blame them - I knew that they had no choice, as the Overseer had ordered it. Now at last I was going to be cleaned and fed, I thought, and I desperately needed to collapse into a stall as I had been on my feet for many hours. But the Overseer ordered one of the stable lads to lead me back to the rickshaw and manacle me between the shafts. He gave me the order to start, then, without even waiting to clear the stable yard, to race at maximum speed out into the estate. With no hint of slowing down or the usual gentle way he commanded me to stop, my head was suddenly wrenched backwards as he hauled hard on both reins. I stopped as best I could, as we drew level with a field gang of 30 digging one of the fields. The Overseer got down, unmanacled my wrists, slipped the bridle from over my head and said "Breakfast time! You must be hungry, as you were not fed last night and missed this morning's allocation of food in the stables, too." I was indeed ravenous, but there was no sign of any slave meal. The Overseer went to the solitary guard standing at the control box attached to the wire running through all the field slaves' collars, and after some discussion, the guard shouted to all the slaves to stop digging and stand still. Then he came to me, marched me over to stand in front of the first field slave in the line, and said "This is your breakfast. Down on your knees, and suck him off. Then when you have done him, do the next one. You're going to take the cum from all 30 of these slaves down your throat - if there's any spilled, I won't whip you, that would be too easy. But I will order the slave whose cum you wasted to be flogged tonight. If you care at all about these slaves, you'll be very careful. From now on you'll be getting only one feeding of slave meal a day, and the rest of your protein requirements are going to come from your fellow slaves' cocks." I sank to my knees, not daring to disobey the Overseer. I had never taken another man's cock into my mouth before - yes, a group of us at High School had had a 'circle jerk' after a football game, and I had got used to having my own cock masturbated every night in the stables. But apart from the rape yesterday and today, I had had no other experience of another man. I looked at the cock in front of me, and it was flaccid, about 7 cm long, cut, and dirty! I remembered that the field slaves were only washed about once per week to save water, and I could see little grains of dirt in the tiny folds of skin along its shaft. I reached out to touch the cock, but the Overseer shouted "No. Get your hands behind your head. You've got a mouth, and that's all you need. And get started - you've got 30 to do, and I don't want my morning wasted whilst you eat a leisurely breakfast. 'Fast food', as you Americans say, is what we're after!" I moved my face closer to the slave's crotch, and his raw, musky smell assailed me. I opened my mouth, and turning my head sideways, managed to get the end of the cock into my mouth. My tongue was restrained, of course, so I could not use it to tease the cock. I had to rely on my lips to start arousing him, and fortunately the cock responded rapidly. With it hard and solid, it was much easier to move my mouth up and down the shaft, and after only a few strokes I felt the slave's pre-cum on the back of my throat, shortly followed by the hot spurt of his semen. I almost choked, because I had no prior experience of sucking cock, and could not predict the power with which the salty fluid hit the soft area at the top of my throat. The next slave was a big black, and had a big cock to match. And the next was a shorter, swarthy guy whose prick characteristically jutted out almost at right angles to his body, even when it wasn't erect. I worked my down the line of slaves, and saw every variety of size and shape of cock imaginable. Only one of the slaves was not circumcised, and his cock tasted foul - without water, he had been unable to clean himself properly, and the rim of stale smeg behind his cock head when his foreskin peeled back flaked off into my mouth. I went to spit to clean my mouth, but remembered the Overseer's threat just in time - I did not want my fellow slave to be punished because of my carelessness, and so did manage to swallow his load, in spite of retching as I did with the taste. At the end of the line the Overseer simply took hold of my cock and let me back past the slaves. He put my bridle back in, shackled me into the rickshaw, and off we went. The day got worse and worse, if that can be imagined. Without proper food and rest, my job would have been difficult because my energy use was so high that I needed proper sustenance. But unlike 'normal' days, when the journeys passed in a mixture of walking, jogging, and light running, every journey to day was done at high speed, and the lash fell constantly on my shoulders, back, and buttocks if I dared slacken the pace. We got back to the Stables at last, and, in spite of myself, I fell to the ground as soon as the Overseer had alighted. My legs were trembling and my chest was heaving. The Overseer barked orders, and a stable slave appeared carrying a ration of slave meal in his cupped hands, and another with a water feeder. The Overseer nudged me in the ribs with his trainer, indicating that I should stand, and I tried as hard as I could to get to my feet. I stood there, swaying slightly, and the stable slave came over, stood in front of me, and held his cupped hands up just below my head. The Overseer took off my bridle, and I was allowed to bend forward and nuzzle the food up out of the slave's hands. I was of course used to eating out of my own hands as the ponies in the stables did not have any plates or cutlery, but eating from someone else's is somehow very degrading. Then the water feeder was offered, and I stood there greedily sucking the water from its nipple. I thought that then, at least, I would be taken indoors, but to my amazement the Overseer put my bridle back in and I was made to run to his bungalow, where he again tethered me outside the door on a tight rein. "Another cold one tonight, I think", he said. After a couple of hours, I was desperate. I could not move to keep warm without moving my legs, and I had been on my feet for over 24 hours without break. And I had run at least 20 kilometres that day - my legs simply were like sacks of lead, and I could hardly find the energy to move them. I did not see how I was going to survive the night. And, if I did, how could I run the following day? But it must have been just before midnight, and the Overseer opened his door and came out. He ran his hands over my body, painfully pushing his strong thumbs in between my ribs as his hands moved down my stomach. He cupped my balls in his hands, and then moved on to rub his hands up and down each thigh in turn. He squeezed my ass cheeks in turn, hard, again trying to dig his thumb into the solid muscle I had there. "Mmm", he said to himself, "Cold. Too cold, probably." He cupped my balls again, and cracked the two of them as he clenched his fingers together. I writhed in agony. "Yes, definitely cold". He reached up and undid the reins holding me close to his door post, and let out a couple of metres, then he turned, casually mounted the steps to his door, and went inside. At least now I could sink to the ground, and I lay there, shivering uncontrollably, as I curled my body into a tight foetal position to try to get warm. We were off again at dawn, and there was some little strength left in my legs as they had had some rest during the night. It was straight to the fields again, where I was again allowed to "breakfast" off another gang of field slaves. This was to be the new pattern of my life - I never saw the inside of the stables, and spent all 24 hours in the open. Only one meal a day of slave meal, and one of cum. Most days my ass was also given to whatever group of slaves the Overseer saw when he had a few spare minutes - sometimes it was the eight cart slaves, and sometimes a random group of slaves in the quarries. I got to particularly hate the Sheikh's four polished matched carriage blacks, as their cocks were so long that it felt as if my diaphragm was being hit as they thrust into me. I was cleaned only about once a week, and only then in the open, from a hose pipe. The bad treatment and irregular food upset my stomach dreadfully, and I frequently had bouts of diarrhoea - but it made no difference - the Overseer kept me running, even when my own shit trickled down my legs. The Overseer never used English in my presence, and used only a minimum set of orders in Arabic - after the first explanation of what I was expected to do with a field gang, he simply pointed at them when we stopped in a field and used the single Arabic word for "Suck". URINAL My wretched existence continued for some weeks. until one evening, in the stable yard, the Overseer ordered me to be cleaned because I stank, and had them bring out hand clippers and trim my pubic hair, and a razor to shave me. He unshackled me from the rickshaw, and led me by my cock into the forge. The massive naked blacksmith was there, and the Overseer rapped out a series of commands. The blacksmith led me over to his anvil, and gestured for me to lie on it, face down. I started to tremble, because the last time I had lain there it was for the blacksmith to brand me, and my memory was still able to dredge up the terrible pain as the white-hot branding iron seared into my flesh. I could also not forget the smell of my own flesh cooking under the hot iron. But there was nothing I could do, and I lay on the cold iron, with the pointed end of the anvil sticking out from between my legs. I waited for the blacksmith to bring the webbing straps out to secure me before he could begin branding again, but instead there was just the sudden feeling of his cock at my anus. The Overseer had obviously decided that this was another slave who could be given the use of my ass. The blacksmith was massive, and had no pretence of gentleness. No effort as made to lubricate me, and it was extremely painful to have the friction of his massive cock on my still delicate anal passage. At least during my other rape sessions there was usually a preliminary wank of me, so that my hole could be slicked. However the blacksmith was soon finished, and I was allowed to stand up. I could see the blacksmith was pleased with his performance, and I guessed that, like most slaves on the estate, he was never allowed sex except for being masturbated, and so it was a special occasion for him. The Overseer said something else, and the blacksmith got out callipers and measured my legs just above the ankles, and my arms just above the wrist. I was made to crouch down whilst these measurements were being taken, so that the muscles in my shins were flexed. Finally, he used the callipers to measure my neck, and my head was forced back, making the strong muscles there stand out, whilst this was being done. The Overseer ordered me to "Display", and I stood there, whilst he went off and the blacksmith started work at his forge. When the Overseer came back, the blacksmith had finished whatever it was he was working on. The Overseer ordered me to stand on the anvil, and to crouch down, and then I saw what the blacksmith had been making - a rigid bar of stainless steel, with two stainless ankle cuffs at each end, and two other cuffs in the middle. The ankle cuffs were attached to my legs as I crouched there at a convenient height, and I still could not understand what the other pair of cuffs was for on the bar. But the overseer then told me, using English as he now rarely did, to take my hands from behind my head and put them down between my legs. I now understood, and the cuffs were snapped tight around my wrists. I was immobile, with my feet about 80 cm apart, and the tips of my fingers just touching the floor in-between my feet. My back was almost horizontal, and with my head at rest, I was looking at the floor. The second of the blacksmith's pieces of work was then produced - a stainless steel collar, which seemed a loose fit when it first went around my neck. But then a second piece of steel fitted into a little ratchet mechanism on the front of it, and racked upwards until it met my jaw. The blacksmith put his huge forearm around my forehead, and wrenched my head backwards as far it would go, and the steel piece racked up to hold it there, My head was then at about 45 degrees to my body, and I was looking upwards. I could understand now why the collar had been loose at first, because now, with my neck muscles straining, it was a close fit and my Adam's apple caught on it as I tried to swallow. The Overseer seemed pleased to see me like this, and walked around inspecting me from all angles. He looked at my cock and balls hanging down from between my thighs and almost scraping the top of the anvil, and nodded to himself, pleased with what had been achieved. The Blacksmith then reached under my arms to grasp me around the waist, clutching my ass close to his chest as his massive arms locked around me, and he carried me out of the forge, following the Overseer who was striding across the yard. I was carried into the veterinarian's office, and stood to rest on his examination table. The Overseer and veterinarian were chatting away about their latest racquet ball game whilst the veterinarian was fiddling around with something on a side table, totally ignoring my rigid, naked body behind them, looking now like some bizarre piece of pornographic sculpture designed to appeal to the most depraved tastes. Then the veterinarian came over to me and said "open wide". I hesitated for a moment, and he bought a hand up underneath by sac, slapping my exposed balls sharply. I would have been screaming had my tongue not been held, but of course my mouth opened automatically. The veterinarian pushed something between my upper and lower teeth on the left hand side of my mouth, and when I tried to then clamp it shut, I found I could only half do so. The same thing was repeated to get something between the teeth on my right hand side, and then the veterinarian went over to his work table and came back with a screwdriver. He poked it into my half- open mouth, guiding himself with a small dental mirror. As he turned the screwdriver, my jaws were forced apart. I realised that he had put some sort of screw jacks between my teeth, and he continued to turn until my jaws were stretched painfully apart. The Overseer came over to inspect the work, and felt around inside my mouth with his finger. I found this strangely erotic - in spite of all the hundreds of cocks that had now been in there, there was something tender about the way in which the Overseer felt between my teeth and the flesh of my cheeks and lips, to ensure that nothing was caught, or was pinching, on the clamps. "OK, now catheterise him", he said to the veterinarian. "Are you sure?", the vet asked. "Yes, absolutely" said the Overseer. "We are going to have to control his pissing, and a catheter is the best way of doing it." The veterinarian went away, and came back from a store room a couple of minutes later with a shiny stainless steel catheter, about the diameter of a pencil and about 25 cm long. He looked at me, crouching there, and said "I can't get to work properly on his cock whilst he's like that. Getting these catheters in is a tricky business, especially when it's the first time, and when we need to use a good thick one like this." The Overseer called out to the blacksmith, who came over and neatly flipped me over on to my back. My cock, balls and ass were now fully exposed, and the veterinarian came over to me. He stood there, rubbing oil on the end of the catheter, and said "I won't pretend this is not going to hurt. I've got to push this all along your cock, and up into your bladder. Your piss hole and urethra are not used to having things pushed up them, and although they're flexible and can indeed take the diameter of this rod, they don't like it! Whatever you do, lie still - don't squirm about. It's a tricky thing to do, and if your body moves, I may poke the catheter through your urethra, which would do you no good at all". I can't describe the agony as he fed the catheter, centimetre by centimetre, up my cock. He finished when there was still about a centimetre protruding, and then went away and came back with a small circular device with a valve wheel on it. He bent down, and fiddled for a few minutes, and I could feel him manipulating my foreskin. Finally, he stood up and said to the Overseer "There, he's done. Neat, aren't they, these new Japanese catheter valves? See, it's a combined fitting. You fix the valve assembly to the end of the catheter, then the circular loop goes around the cock head - you can't quite see it, because I pushed back this one's foreskin to fit it, and now it's rolled back, it's covered. But the ring prevents the catheter being forced out by the pressure of piss, and it holds the catheter in place in the cock without any ugly straps or ties around the waist or anything." "Do you want me to plug his butt whilst he's in this convenient position?" "No", said the Overseer. "But give him a good enema to empty his bowel. He's not going to be eating anything, so providing he starts empty, he won't need to crap for a number of days". I lay there wondering what in earth was in store for me as the customary four changes of water were pumped up my ass. Finally, the degrading procedure was finished, and the Overseer got the blacksmith to pick me up and carry me out. We headed across the courtyard, out through the arch, and on into the Club. We went along several corridors, and I could smell that familiar "man" smell of good sweat got from healthy exercise, overlaid with the chlorine smell of a swimming pool. I could hear the "thwack" of racquet balls, and the squeal of rubber soles on the court. It was just like being back in the sports complex at college, except that I was shackled into a totally helpless position, and was being carried along tucked under the arm of a giant blacksmith. Finally, we went through a door and entered what was a typical locker room - there were rows of metal lockers, slatted wooden benches running down the middle, and an arch at the far end opening into a large tiled shower area. I knew this must be a place frequented by masters, because there were clothes hanging from pegs, sports bags lying around with kit hanging out of them, and a couple of guys sitting around talking, with towels around their waists. No slave on the Sheikh's property would ever use a towel, let alone wrap it around his waist! The Overseer greeted the two guys, then told the blacksmith to set me down by the entrance to the showers. I was facing out into the locker room, with my mouth open and my head forced cruelly backwards from my nearly horizontal upper body. My stomach and thighs were starting to complain from being held cramped in such a position for a long time - I was of course quite used to crouching and squatting for long periods, but having my body pulled right down, and then having my head held back, was very tough indeed. The overseer went to a locker, opened it, and got out what I knew must be his micro bikini. He shucked off his trainers, and dropped his cut-offs. He scratched his balls nonchalantly, and then stepped into the bikini and did that peculiar struggling motion that everyone does as they pull tight Speedos on - you pull them a little way up one leg, then a little way up the other, then as you get to your crotch, you need to wriggle your hips to get them higher. Most guys turn their asses towards their fellows whilst they're doing this, but the Overseer kept his front towards me, watching me, and I could see his cock swing from side to side. When they were finally on, he reached down into the front pouch and adjusted the position of his cock. I saw now what he had been talking about the previous day, because his cock and balls were clearly visible through the thin elastic fabric. "No time for the plastic bag today", he said. "I'll just have to put up with the fabric slipping up my ass". He went to go out, towards the swimming pool, but as he got to the door, turned back and came over to me. "I almost forgot", he said. "I really must piss before I go into the pool. It's not fair on the other guys if I do it in there". "It's so inconvenient, though, as the urinals are in the next room. Or, rather, should I say, were in the next room. I'm going on a trip to the city, to look over some fresh slaves, and for the next four days whilst I'm away I'm giving the fellows a little time saver - you're their urinal." So saying he pushed down the front of his bikini, pointed his prick at my open mouth, and let a stream of piss shoot out into me. I couldn't of course do anything to stop this. I was completely physically immobile, and my jaws were locked open. But I decided not to swallow, and let the piss start to fill my mouth. The Overseer saw this, and, with the usual difficulty, stopped his stream in mid flow. "Naughty", he said. "You know how it pains a guy to have to do that. And you know what I want you to do, so why are you defying me? Swallow!". I did nothing, and he went back to his locker and returned with a swimmer's nose clip, which he fitted over the end of my nose. With my nose blocked, I had no option but to swallow the mouth full of piss if I wanted to breathe, and, seeing this, the Overseer let fly again until he was finished. He stood there in front of me, shaking the last few drops of piss out of his cock so that they fell into my hair. "Now", he said, "See how you can be of service to the masters even whilst I'm away. They won't have to walk to the urinal before pissing, and won't have to stand there in the showers doing it, either - when it mixes with hot water, it can stink a bit and some guys don't like it. You're at just the right height, and your mouth is at just the right angle with your head held back like that." "I'll be gone four days, and you will be here all that time. I can guarantee you'll be very uncomfortable. I've seen you trying to ease your thighs and back a bit even in the last two hours, but by the end of four days you will have gone beyond normal pain and will simply not be able to think of anything else other than trying to release your muscles- but, of course, you can't". "It would be completely unacceptable for you to make a mess in the locker room, so following your enema, you won't be fed - not that you could eat anything, anyway. But if you do get the urge to crap, don't - the last time we did this, some of the masters were so enraged by the slave's action that they stuffed his turd back down his throat. It's really not good to eat crap, and he got a serious infection, and died. Incidentally, don't worry about the piss - although it may taste foul, it's almost completely sterile". "The catheter will prevent you from pissing on the floor. Twice a day a slave will come in, place a tray under your cock, and release your piss with the little control valve. You ought to be able to survive for twelve hours between being emptied, as this locker room is not used all that much. But I think you'd better hope that a lot of masters don't decide to have a few beers brought in to the sauna here after a game, as then they'll piss gallons, and you'll be in serious trouble before your next emptying. But we've never lost a slave yet with a burst bladder, but I think some wish theirs had, to put them out of their misery!". So saying, he tucked his cock back into his bikini, and went out for his swim. When he came back, the Overseer stripped and went into the showers behind me, then came back out, towelling himself off quite unselfconsciously. As I stood there, I realised that he was himself a handsome man - previously it had not occurred to me that his hairy body could be as exciting as those of the 'comfort' slaves and the ponies I was used to seeing, who were mostly shaved smooth. I had only ever seen him in cut-offs up until now, but in preparation for his trip he pulled on a polo shirt, then stood there with the tail of it just touching his cock and covering his ass whilst he had a brief conversation with one of the guards who had just come in to change. He was not in any way embarrassed by his nudity, or the slightly erotic sight of his cock and sac poking out from under his shirt. Next he took a pair of small bikini-style briefs, wriggled them up over his legs, and settled his cock and balls comfortably in them by pushing his hand down inside. Finally, a smart pair of linen trousers, socks, and loafers completed the ensemble. I was astounded by the change that these clothes had made to him - he had looked like a rough type, with his deeply tanned skin, and wiry hair covering most of his body. But the clothes transformed him into a handsome man-about-town, and that very same dark tan, and the "five o'clock shadow" on his cheeks and firm jaw now made him look like those stunning types you sometimes catch a glimpse of in the street, usually in the company of a young starlet or pop singer. He cast me a glance, and without saying anything, left. I was already in severe pain in my legs from having been clamped immobile for several hours, but it got worse and worse. I tried everything I could to give my thighs, calves, butt and stomach muscles some relief, but the manacles joining my wrists and ankles were such a snug fit following the blacksmith's careful measurement that absolutely no movement was possible. And my neck and shoulders, too, were screaming for relief as my head was forced back at such an unnatural angle. I tried everything I could to lessen the agony. I tried concentrating on getting through the next hour, then rapidly shortened that to trying to get through the next five minutes. But I could see a clock at the far end of the locker room, and then saw to my horror that only two minutes had passed. It's normally only my emotions that get the better of me and cause tears to break out, but now I felt tears flowing caused by the sheer physical agony I was in. There were only a few masters using the facilities that night, and I was not used as a urinal again. At about midnight, a house slave came in and turned out the lights, and I was left there to my thoughts and my pain. As dawn broke, a house slave came in and turned on the lights and started to tidy the locker room, presumably in preparation for the masters who were going to work out before going to their shift. When he had finished sweeping the floor and clearing away items of kit left there the previous night, he came over to me and slipped a plastic container, about the size of a USA ice cream carton, under my cock. He reached down and unscrewed the valve at the end of the catheter, and I could hear - and smell, as the scent of my own urine came up to me - my bladder emptying. He reached down and turned off the valve, removed the carton, and took a piece of paper towel to dry the end of the catheter and polish up a few drops of urine that had fallen out. After a night of agony, I now knew that I could endure - the pain had reached a crescendo, and then in that way that it does, my body and brain had done the only thing they could do to keep me sane - they had dampened down my perception of that pain. I remained locked there, and gradually the locker room started to be used by a number of guards and other masters before their morning shift. They chatted to each other in the way that guys in locker rooms do about their work that day, the state of the workout equipment, and even the attributes of one or two slaves who were obviously well-known lays. But it was as if the sight of a nude man, locked in the most outrageously servile position, immobile in the corner, was completely normal to them - they never mentioned me or made any reference to me at all, except that one or two of them sometimes commented that the Overseer was good to provide additional facilities for them. As the guards and other masters came back from the gym or pool, they needed to shower before the start of their shift. It was just like a normal locker room at any big-city gym back home - some guys in their workout clothes, some naked going to and from the showers, some towelling-off, and some partially dressed, almost ready for work. The only difference was that, unlike in the USA, before they went into the shower, they stopped and pissed into my open mouth. I could taste the differences between men, and after a time began to dread the guy s who would have dark, heavily-coloured urine. It was relatively easy to swallow the piss of the men who had been chugging beers the night before, as there was a lot of it, but there was a very 'light' taste. But the urine of one or two guys smelt and tasted positively vile. I remembered hearing that there are some guys who are particularly sensitive to a chemical that appears naturally in asparagus - one tiny piece of asparagus, even on a cocktail canapé, is enough to cause those guys piss to stink of rotting vegetation. I was one of those guys, and always knew when I had eaten asparagus, even when it was disguised in a dish on the menu - in a fancy restaurant, if I went to piss in the middle of the meal, I could always tell if asparagus had been an ingredient in the food I had just eaten as there would be a characteristic stench rising from the urinal as I pissed. From my new perspective, I thought that some of the guys had been eating asparagus the night before! After the morning rush, I was basically alone for most of the morning, and could just crouch there with only the occasional spasm of pain from my body. But just before lunch time, a new horror started to arise - all the piss I had drunk earlier in the day was working it s way through me, and now needed its natural relief. As the initial mild sensation that normally tells you '"start to look out for a men's room" started, I wasn't worried. But when it got to "you need to find a men's room now", I started to become concerned. And, of course, by the time I got to "you must fin a men's room NOW", I was terrified. No piss could leak past the catheter, and I had no idea how long it would be before I would next be drained. In spite of all my other pains, I started to sweat with tension. But then the lunchtime rush began, and my position was made worse. New users flooded the locker room, and almost all of them chose to use me before entering the showers. My brain was receiving constant, urgent, desperate messages from my bladder, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Had I been able to, I would have been sobbing in agony. I discovered during the afternoon that my brain's ability to "turn off" the acute muscle pain in my body did not extend to the more primitive, basic signals from my bladder. I thought I would die, so bad was the pain. Just before the evening rush, the house slave came in and started to tidy and clean the locker room again. I crouched there in my corner, willing him to come over and give me some relief, but he continued on his normal round of sweeping and tidying. I began to wonder if he would come and collect my piss, and was in sheer abject terror that he might just leave me there. I was obsessed. Nothing else mattered. I simply had to get relief to my bladder somehow. But I was in luck - after finishing his normal tasks, the plastic container was placed under my cock and the piss was allowed to flow out of me. I filled the container, and, to my horror, the slave closed the valve to prevent any more piss flowing. Would he come back and let me do more? Although the pain had subsided little, my bladder was still screaming for relief. But I guess he sensed my problems, because he replaced it with another container, and I was allowed to drain away until no more flowed. But losing the bladder pain only restarted to he pain from my body. Was there to be no letup to this torture? I have never known such acute misery and agony as I experienced in those four days. But late in the evening on the fourth day the Overseer came into the locker room, having returned from his trip. He glanced at me, then proceed to strip out of his "city" clothes. Totally naked, he went out to swim - I guess he simply couldn't be bothered with the bikini, now that he was back from the city, amongst his co-workers and friends. After the Pool, he pissed into my mouth, and went into the showers. When he came out, he did not get dressed, but stretched out full length on his stomach on the locker room benches, facing towards me. He cradled his chin on the backs of his hands crossed in front of him, and just lay there, looking. A 'comfort' slave, a smoothly- shaved 'jock' type, came in, and without a word proceeded to give the Overseer a long, slow, deep massage. The Overseer's shoulders, back, thighs and then his butt were kneaded and rubbed by the slave, as the Overseer lay there without taking his gaze from me. Without shutting my eyes, there was no way I could avoid the Overseer's stares, and I just had to stay there, wondering what he was thinking. Then the Overseer turned over, and the 'comfort' slave proceeded to give the Overseer's front the same type e of deep massage his back had had. And, of course, inevitably, the Overseer told the slave to suck him off at the end of the session. The Overseer then got up, and, still looking at me, went to his locker, took out the familiar cut-offs, pulled them on, and left. Another night of agony, but morning did break eventually. The Overseer was the first '"customer" that morning, and slowly and deliberately pissed into me. I knew from the taste that he must have got straight out of bed and come to the gym before pissing, because the stream was long and rich. The Overseer shook his cock dry into my hair again, then opened the door and called out something. The blacksmith came in, and simply picked me up in his arms and carried me out. We left the central complex, and went across the yard into the veterinarians. The Overseer was already there, chatting to the veterinarian just as an owner would who was about to bring a favoured pet in. I was plonked down on to the examining table, and the veterinarian fiddled with my cock, and started to withdraw the catheter. I hadn't been emptied that morning, and as it cleared the end of my cock, I wan unable to control my own reactions - a long, heavy stream of piss flooded out of my cock, and I was completely unable to stop it. The veterinarian was horrified and said to the Overseer "Can't you exercise even the most basic control over the slaves? Look at this mess - it will take the slaves hours to get the place properly clean." The Overseer took out a small key, and unlocked the collar holding my neck up. As I went to bend it to get relief, a new agonising pain shot through me. Muscles spasm when first constricted, but the spasms you an get on release can be even worse. Then the Overseer unshackled me, but even when my arms were free, I was totally unable to straighten myself. "Good god", cried the veterinarian "What have you done? if this valuable pony is permanently damaged, the Sheikh will be really angry with you!" The Overseer commanded again, and the blacksmith, who had been standing there watching, picked me up again, still rigid, and carried me into the next room where he lowered me gently into a bath of warm water which was maintained there for hydrotherapy of ponies with mild strains. After a few minutes floating in the water, I was able to gradually stretch my limbs again, and was in exquisite agony as the muscles tried to regain their normal sense of being. About half an hour later, I was able to stand, just, and climb out of the warm bath. The veterinarian listened to my heart with his stethoscope, and told the Overseer that I sounded fine, and that he should just be careful for the next few days to avoid the possibility of me getting muscle damage - ham string injuries and the like, that athletes get who return to fierce exercise without adequate acclimatisation. The Overseer commanded me to "display", grabbed my cock, and angrily strode from the veterinarian's office, with me stumbling behind. I had heard the veterinarian's warning, and was amazed to be immediately manacled into my rickshaw. And with his usual flick of the reins on my butt, the Overseer commanded me to run. I could only just stumble, and running was simply beyond the capabilities of my abused muscles. The next 20 minutes was a whole new experience as far as pain was concerned, as cramped muscles demanded blood, and then, when they got it, shrieked at my brain to stop the exercise. But my master drove me on. FUGUE We were making some progress along one of the estate roads when the farm cart passed us in the other direction. My master jerked me to a halt, and called to the cart, that then backed up to stop parallel with us. With horror, I saw the cart-horse slaves uncoupling themselves, and the back of the cart being opened. I had assumed that my time as a urinal in the central complex would mark the end of my punishment of daily rapes, as the Overseer had "forgiven" me when I was released from the locker room. But it was not to be - Hans, Mike and the other six muscled slaves again held me down and fucked me in turn I was of course wrong - the Overseer was not "punishing" me at all, and the fact that I thought that showed that I was still not a proper slave. He was trying to teach me that my body was there to serve in whatever way he chose, and that I should have no thoughts of any kind on the matter. But I had been living in hope, and the release from the locker room was I thought a new beginning. But now I saw this was not to be. Was I to be subject to an endless round of cold, semi-starvation, and brutal sexual torture? I think that this was the beginning of my total breakdown, of what is I believe technically termed "fugue". Later that day the Overseer said something to me , and I did not understand him. I saw a slow smile start to spread across his face, and he said something else, that I still did not understand. Then he came to the shafts and unmanacled me, and I distinctly heard him say "wank". Absolutely without thinking, my hand reached down and started to rub my cock into climax. A feeling of unreality spread over me throughout the rest of the day. At times, things my master said made no sense at all - it was if he was speaking in an alien language. And at other times, I heard clear, definitive orders, that I of course obeyed. Later I learned that the "alien language" was English, and my brain was retreating from a reality that it found too unpleasant by simply no longer acknowledging that I understood it at all. And the commands were of course that small, basic set of Arabic ones that had been drilled into me since I became a slave. It seemed as if I was no longer there. There was a body, that had been me, and it went through the motions of running and so on, as if on autopilot. "I" was a small disinterested observer, sitting somewhere in the corner of my brain, watching the antics of my body but uninvolved in what it was doing. As an experienced slave controller, I later knew that the Overseer had seen this change in me, and knew that I was now properly a pony. I had lost all traces of my former persona as free American. I no longer wanted to hold back in any way from obeying the Overseer's orders, and I could be completely trusted to obey absolutely every command given. I was at last a proper pony slave. ... to be continued. By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com) TIME PASSES Knowing I was now his pony slave completely, the Overseer immediately reverted to using me just as his animal to pull him around the estate. Life became a simple round of running, working out in the Training Room to keep my upper body in the same perfect condition as my ass and legs, being washed in the showers and then "milked", sleeping in a stall in the stables, then starting the next day again. Compared to the first months in the stables, there were a few differences in my routine, and I now knew them to be important, because they signalled the understanding of my change in status. My wrists were no longer locked in to the top of my stall at night, because I had been ordered not to touch my own genitalia, and it was now inconceivable that I should. I was milked each night, and this was sufficient to keep my balls in perfect working order. A new rickshaw was provided for me, without the manacles built in to the shafts. I no longer needed these, as from the time I left the stables in the morning until the time I returned each night, I would never let go of the shafts anyway now. Overlaid on this regular daily routine were a few occasional changes: the Overseer would leave the estate for a couple of days, to go on slave buying trips, and then I would simply spend the entire day in the Training Room. Every two or three weeks my hair would be cut and my pubic hair neatly trimmed - the Overseer liked to see "hard edges" where hair joined flesh, and did not like to see new hair growing too long. Every two or three days my face, chest, sac and ass-crack were shaved. Every month I went to the veterinarian, who carried out a detailed examination to ensure there were no problems building, and to take blood, semen, and urine samples. Every three months I had an X-ray and ECG. My diet never varied - the totally bland slave meal, and water. I was now properly in balance again, and the masters knew exactly how much slave meal I was to be fed each day to make up for the energy I had expended the previous day, and the feeding machine measured this out precisely as my tattooed number was keyed in. I always felt hungry and my stomach felt "hollow", but things were exactly right because after I had reached my optimum weight to give the best mix of power for pulling, speed, and endurance, it then never varied by more than a few grams from one veterinarian's exam to the next. The invariance of my diet and the constant routine allowed my guts to fall into line properly, and I never crapped again except at the morning and evening crap-hole session. My masters knew of course of the importance of drinking a lot to replace the copious amounts I sweated in the desert heat and to compensate for the dry slave meal, and never stinted me on water. Often when the Overseer had halted me whilst he conducted his business, a slave would run up and let me nuzzle my fill from a water feeder. I therefore pissed copiously, and did this whenever I needed to during the day, simply standing there between the shafts. The Overseer worked seven days a week, but on one of them he finished at lunch time. It became his habit to go to the water hole to relax away from the cares of the estate, and even though it was very hard for me, I found that I could pull just one man in my rickshaw through the loose sand. For the rest of the afternoon he would then lie of his towel, or float in the water hole. He usually commanded me to leave the shafts during these sessions, and allowed me to squat in the sand, in "display" position. Very occasionally I was allowed into the water, but it brought me no particular pleasure now - I half remembered at one time feeling the joy of the water flowing over my naked body, and comparing it with other experiences in swimming pools somewhere, but now it was "just water". I was very far away, almost observing my superb body being used every day for the Overseer's convenience. I was sort of proud of my physique, I think, and was glad that it could be of service to the Overseer. One day the Overseer came out of his bungalow with a familiar figure - I say "familiar" because it seemed as if I had seen him before. The figure came up to me and spoke to the Overseer, but I could not understand what he was saying - it was in a "foreign" language. This second man could not be a regular on the estate, as he was pale and not sun-tanned, but he recognised or remembered me and was puzzled when I did not respond to him. The second man stayed with the Overseer for about three weeks, and during that time accompanied him on his rounds, and to the water hole for the Overseer's afternoon's off. The two of them clearly enjoyed the water together, and also lay entwined on the sand, masturbating, sucking, and fucking each other. Then the second figure disappeared again. I was given a particularly thorough examination by the veterinarian shortly after this, and the next day the Overseer drove me to the Sheikh's stud farm where I covered three breeders. I remembered this happening to my old self the year before, and looked for Hans and Mike, but they were not there. The session I was at was for eight slaves, and although some of them seemed to be enjoying the task, I did it with mechanical precision. As had happened the previous year, I covered the same three breeders again the next day, and the day after that. My routine continued, and time slipped by without any perceptible changes. The Overseer, the veterinarian, and the third man who came to stay with the Overseer spoke some incomprehensible foreign language. The Overseer used Arabic when commanding me and I had a good knowledge of the 100 or so words he needed to use for this. My time for covering the breeders came again, and then the next time I was used for this and I had covered the three breeders on three consecutive days, there was another change: three more were presented to me for covering on the next three days, and then another three, and another three, and another three. I think it was the breeding that somehow set a time base for me. I "remembered" an explanation of the Sheikh's stud policy : four years for the slave to cover three breeders per year, and the progeny to be tested. Then in the fifth year he was used for covering breeders to bring the total of his progeny in the herd to about 25. Had I now therefore been on the Sheikh's estate for five years? The little of the old me that remained realised that I had. I had gone from being a 23 year old American jock to a 28 year old pony slave. As my body went about its daily round on autopilot, I had lots of time to reflect, and my mind started to return. I once again started to regain control from the total "dumb pony" persona that been in charge for five years. There was no struggle, and I was neither sad nor elated - I simply got back some of my memories and faculties from the past. But this was strange - the returning "me" was as content as the "dumb pony persona" had been. I did not feel even the tiniest degree of rebelliousness or shame at anything my body did now. And I even got some language facility back, and started to understand parts of that foreign language - English - that I had not been able to comprehend. I was in the veterinarians for one of my regular monthly inspections, and the veterinarian and the Overseer were discussing me. They did not know that I could again understand them, and I had not the slightest desire to indicate in any way that I was still anything other than the perfect "dumb pony" - the Overseer had detected the change that had driven the "me" away following my use as a fuck toy and a urinal, and thought that it would never come back. But he need not have worried - it did not matter. I was a slave, and I now knew it. It was as if my flesh had had the slave habits so ingrained in those five years, that they had spread to my brain in some mysterious way. "Look at him", said the veterinarian, "he really is magnificent. I remember when you first brought him in here five years ago as a 23 year old. He had a good 'college jock' American body then, and I know he was bought specially for the length and potential strength of his legs. And it's all been borne out in practice - if he was back in the USA, he would be in every nudie magazine for women, and for men! Half the gays in the country would be creaming themselves if he did a photo-spread!" "I didn't think his body would improve all that much, but he is now so magnificently 'in proportion'. We really have got that feeding regime right now." "There's not an ounce of fat anywhere on him, and that deep, all over tan really suits him. His balls have, if anything, got even better - I know Americans are supposed to jerk themselves off a lot, but 'milking' him, expertly and regularly every 24 hours, keeps them in first class condition. And letting them hang free gives that extra elasticity to his sac, that makes him a pleasure to look at when he's running." "Well", said the Overseer, "I don't see them much myself. That's a pleasure for the passers by, as from the driving seat I only see his ass pumping up and down." "Mind you, I'm still not convinced that I have the hair as good as it could be, even after five years. Maybe this year I will do what I have been thinking about for some time, and have him totally stripped of all his hair. You told me there's a new skin oil, didn't you, for slaves, specially formulated so that they can sweat through it. I'd like to have him really sleek and glossy - that rash of hair from his navel to his cock, and the fine covering on his arms and legs are bleached very well by the sun and provide a nice contrast to the deep brown of the skin, but a change might be nice. On the other hand, the sand will stick to the oil, I suppose. And sometimes I do enjoy seeing the sun just catch the hair on his legs - it looks really nice, out there in the desert". "Yes, there is a new oil", replied the veterinarian, "but I usually only recommend it for the 'comfort' slaves, and for ponies that are going to be used around here in the central complex on the paved roads. You could indeed now oil him all over, and it wouldn't affect his performance at running and he wouldn't overheat. But you take him all over the estate, on rough roads and tracks, and he'd soon be covered in a layer of sand. You could of course have all the hair removed and not oil him - it is becoming fashionable to have the 'totally naked' look on slaves now, at least in the Capital!". "No", said the Overseer, "I've always thought a slave totally without any hair looks like some sort of child still. There's no doubting this one's attributes, of course, 'hung like a horse' seems particularly appropriate in this case. But if I can't have him glossy, then I think I'll stick with this minimum hair covering on him". "He's performed well at the stud", said the veterinarian. "We never had a failure to conceive in the first coverings, and he never had to go back for a revisit the next month because he failed to inseminate properly. And he's had an astonishingly good record in his progeny - over 76% of them were slaves, and so they were allowed to go to term. We have no recorded birth defects, and he has now sired a total of 25 slaves who all appear to be progressing well". "He's out of the programme on this estate now, of course, as we don't want too many slaves from one sire. But I wonder if the Sheikh will now sell him on to one of the national stud farms, where he can spend the rest of his life just inseminating breeders. He'd fetch an excellent price, with this record." "No", said the Overseer. "The Sheikh had some friends here a month or so ago and they saw the pony pulling me around. They offered the Sheikh quite a lot for him, but the Sheikh turned them down. I think it's because he doesn't want other herds getting too good - providing this one's progeny continue to do well, he has long term plans for breeding some really exciting crosses from the next generation. If he ever does sell this pony, he will have him vasectomised first. Incidentally, do you know why all the ponies don't have vasectomies once they are past breeding?" "No", said the veterinarian. "It might be a good idea. On average the sac increases in size by about 5% after a vasectomy, and that would certainly improve the 'look' of some of our animals - although not this one - if his balls were any bigger, they'd be too big, I think. It's a really simple operation to do, with no risk. But the Sheikh is for some reason against it." "You know", the Overseer continued, "some people think that the slavery we practice here is cruel and wrong. But look at this pony. When he came here as a 23 year old, he was in a dead-end job in the USA. Sure, he earned a lot of bucks, but he needed them for his car, his apartment, his new stereo, to pay for his girl friend, and so on. And his life could only get worse - sooner or later he'd get one of those women he spent his time chasing 'in the family way', then there'd be a kid, and a house and a mortgage.... By the time he was 28, as he is now, he would be worried sick at the end of each month, he would probably have divorced and be paying alimony. He would be working harder and harder to pay all the bills, and he would not have the time and energy to chase the women he felt he needed. He'd have first given up sports, and then stopped going to the gym. And so his body would have lost tone. And all the junk food he eat would have started to lay down layers of fat everywhere, and you probably would not be able to see his six-pack any more. He'd be the typical suburban man, no longer a jock, and worrying and working himself into an early grave." "But here, as a slave, he's in absolutely perfect health. He gets much better medical attention than he would in the USA - what American has check ups every month? And if there's the slightest thing wrong with him, I know you'd ship him off immediately to the animal hospital because the Sheikh believes in getting the last ounce of benefit out of his slaves." "His food is specially formulated not to make him fat, and the heavy work and exercise keeps his heart and lungs in great shape. But best of all, he has absolutely no worries! He simply does not have to think, and providing he obeys every order without question, he won't be whipped or treated cruelly in any way." "And finally, what American now has the chance to pass his genes on to the next generation as prolifically as this guy has? 25 sons, and he has none of the expense or worry of raising them. He can be certain that his characteristics will form an important part of the gene pool." "You're right of course", said the veterinarian. "but I don't think the climate is right yet for spreading slavery to the USA. It works excellently here, and the crime rate, which always used to be low, is now almost non-existent. Compare that with any of the big American cities! But look at the numbers of distinguished US visitors the Sheikh has here all the time - if they were just discussing the oil, they'd stay in his palace in the City. But I think they all angle for an invitation to come out here to see the system at work - the US ruling class must be thinking of trying to do something like this there soon. I wouldn't be surprised to see recidivists sentenced to slavery in one or more states within five years, rather than being constantly in and out of prison". "Fascinating", said the Overseer. "If only that were true. I might be able to go back on a visit then. But if you've finished, I've got work to do. See you on the racquet ball court at eight tonight." He muttered the Arabic for me to leave, and we went outside. I slid between the shafts and gripped them, the Overseer refitted my bridle, leapt up into his seat, and with a gentle slap of the reins on my butt, we went about the rest of the day's work. SLAVERS As a properly integrated pony slave I was happy. I gloried in the feeling of my body as I strode along with the Overseer in my rickshaw. Even the times when he was in a great hurry and had to whip me to ensure I continued to run absolutely flat-out, at the limits of my endurance, were good. As I collapsed at the end of such a journey, over the pain of the fire in my lungs and the cramping of my muscles, I felt happy - I knew what it was to really exercise, to drive my body to its absolute limits. How many men can ever know the feeling that they are using their bodies to its maximum capability? And when I thought on about what the veterinarian and the Overseer had been saying about life in the USA, I knew they were right. Had I not escaped from the Call Centre, I would by now be past my peak, with my body sliding into idleness and my muscles wasting away from lack of use when I took my car on even the most trivial journeys. I had found the stress and tedium of the job bad, even when I was fresh to it - how would I now be, five years on? I think I would have taken to drinking too much every evening to help me relax, to smoking to overcome the constant nervous tension of waiting for the next call, and probably even to soft drugs as I knew so many of my contemporaries at College already had when I was there. My life on the Sheikh's estate had everything I wanted. Good, healthy exercise, all day and every day. A proper diet, adjusted to my body's needs. No responsibilities or worries - even though the Overseer used the whip to drive me fast most days, this no longer worried me, as I knew that he was only doing it so that I could achieve my full potential as an athlete. Whilst the pain was unpleasant as he did it, it was not long-lasting, and did me no permanent harm. And of course I had no fear of impotence or embarrassing failures in the bedroom - the stable-lad slaves 'milked' me every evening, and their ministrations were so expert, and my body so used to the regularity of the experience, that I spurted a thick rope of cum every time. I have now read a scientific report that guys who exercise regularly and hard experience more erections than those who lead a sedentary life - they say it's because their blood is flowing fast around all their arteries and veins from their strong hearts, and that this helps their cocks to engorge rapidly, too. This was certainly true in my case, and I was usually erect at least ten times a day. But of course I knew of the Sheikh's prohibition on slaves touching their own cocks, and even though I was no longer manacled to the shafts, did not even consider giving myself any relief. The Overseer had noticed my erections and sometimes pointed out to people the magnificent equipment on his fine stallion. Fortunately a spell of hard running usually caused the erection to subside, as trying to race along with your cock stuck rigidly out in front of you upsets your balance. I never had any problem sleeping a deep, dreamless sleep all through the night in my stall, and even the groans, sighs and other low animal-like noises of the other ponies in the stable did not keep me awake. Not for me the constant tossing and turning in bed as my mind futilely relived the cares and worries of the world, to be followed by the brain-numbing effects of a sleeping pill. So I was happy. The Overseer was a good master, and looked after me well. He never forgot when my regular veterinarian's appointments were due, and if he ever saw any incipient signs of distress in my body (save of course for the usual effects of total exhaustion), he would examine me closely and take me off to get treatment at once if necessary. As part of his duties as an Overseer, he carried out regular inspections of the stables, and I liked to think that he checked the details of its operation so thoroughly because he knew that it would affect my care. As usual now on his afternoons off, the Overseer ran me towards the water hole. He had taken to going there a lot, and I think he relished the total silence and emptiness of the desert. Constantly monitoring and checking all the myriad details of the Sheikh's many operations on the vast estate was a huge responsibility for him, and I felt he needed to "get away from it all". Even though I waited for him many evenings outside the Club where I knew he must be using the "comfort" slaves, and he often took one back to his bungalow for further activity overnight, I knew this could be no real relaxation for him. He was after all responsible for the correct functioning of the Club too, and even as the "comfort" slave pleasured him, I knew that as a conscientious employee of the Sheikh one part of his mind would always be monitoring the slave's performance to make sure it was worthy of his employer. The only time when he was really able to be away, free from his responsibilities, was on these afternoons at the water hole, and I was happy for him as he swam and relaxed. The afternoons fell into a regular pattern. I was always extremely tired when we arrived from the additional effort of running across the loose sand, and I was allowed to leave the shafts and squat in the sand to recover. Then he would sometimes tell me to go into the water to cool off for a few minutes before he entered it, and I would run across the sand and dive in. It seemed strange running without a rickshaw behind, as I could pump my arms in synchronisation with my legs. I used to extend the sheer pleasure this gave me by running around the water hole to jump in from the other side - I don't think the Overseer knew this was why I did it, and I was glad that I was not causing him to worry that running holding the shafts was not absolutely right for me. I never abused the Overseer's kindness, even though I was a strong swimmer and gloried in the feel of the sparking water all over my nude body. After no more than five minutes I would stoop down to have my fill of the clear water to slake my thirst, then run out. I think the Overseer thought that this was because I was tired of the water, but of course I could have stayed there for hours taking my own selfish pleasure. I came out because I did not want to deprive the Overseer of his own enjoyment any longer - he really needed to relax after his work. And it would not have been right to have him swim at the same time as his pony slave. Although I knew that the guards and the Overseer often swam in the Pool at the Club with the "comfort" slaves, that was different - the "comfort" slaves were there to pleasure the masters, and that was their function. Swimming with a sex toy is different from swimming with your pony. I then stood on the edge of the water hole and never made any effort to scrape the excess water from my body with my hands - I just stood there and let it trickle down, enjoying that special sensation as the last drops of water drain down your chest, run along your cock, and drip down from the cock head. There's also something good about the little ticklish sensations as the water flows between your ass cheeks and runs down the backs of your thighs and legs. Of course I assumed "display" whilst I was doing this, with no need for a command from the Overseer. I knew by now that he liked me to "display" when not grasping the shafts of the rickshaw, as I had heard him tell his friend on the previous visit that allowing slaves to stand with their hands at their sides encouraged them to make gestures to each other to try to communicate. Of course I would not have attempted to do this, but I had heard the Overseer's views, and would not dream of going contrary to them. This particular afternoon the Overseer allowed me to hunker down, as he often did - another mark of how he was considerate of me. He then dropped his cut-offs, and walked into the water. As I usually did, I watched his cock bounce up and down, free of the restraint of his cut- offs, then, as he went past me, the movement of his muscular ass and thighs. It was good to have a master who kept himself in shape, and I knew he worked out regularly in the gym at the Club. I was grateful that he had not let himself go to seed, and there was no discernible thickening of his waist, which was a trim 30" tapering down from wide shoulders, before his bubble butt flared out again. Without all the fat that guys in their 30s put on, he was much lighter and I could pull him faster and further, as he needed. When he came out of the water, he pulled on his micro bikini and lay on his towel under the hot sun. I remembered that he wore the bikini not because he was ashamed of his nakedness in front of his slave - I knew he never even considered me as another male guy who might be comparing his equipment with my own - but because he liked to retain the brilliant streak of white across his backside and around his genitals. And he did not have to protect these sensitive areas with sun cream, which he would otherwise have had to do. There was no one there to rub it in for him as his friend did when he was visiting, and the Overseer could hardly do it himself - it really is not seemly for a guy to massage his own ass, and there was of course no question of commanding me to do it, even though I would willingly have done so; I was a pony , not a slave to render intimate personal service. After an hour or so he got up, pushed the bikini off, freed his cock and balls after their confinement with that little "flip" that most guys do when undressing, casually scratched his ass, and went back in for another swim. After that, he got out and pulled on his cut-offs, and commanded me to get back between the shafts for the journey back to the central complex. Just as we were leaving, we saw a cloud of dust in the distance. He commanded me to stop, and waited to see what it was. As it got closer we could see - and hear - that it was a light four wheel drive truck, being driven fast. The Overseer was of course angry, as no motor vehicles were allowed on the Sheikh's holdings, and he waited to see who was daring to trespass so flagrantly. The truck ground to a halt near us, and four Arabs got out, carrying rifles. The Overseer reached for his own gun from the stun-gun and rifle holder on the back of the Rickshaw, but as he went for it, a warning shot caused him to stop. I could understand a lot of Arabic, as well as English, by now, and I heard one of the Arabs command the Overseer to stand quite still. The Arabs came over, and commanded me to get out from the rickshaw. I did not know what to do, but the Overseer snapped at me "Do what these men say. They are masters, even though they are not your master". So I came over and stood next to the Overseer, and, by reflex, assumed "display". The Arabs started to laugh, and one said "We have a properly well trained slave here, I see. As well as being a muscular pony, he's been taught good manners." They walked around, inspecting me as I stood there, and another of the Arabs said "He'll fetch a good price in the slave market. It's a pity about the brands, though, as we won't be able to put him through the government's system where we'll get the absolute top price. Even though we can get his slave number tattoo removed, these brands are so deep that they'll always be there. The Sheikh who owns this place has obviously thought things through - no possibility of escaping slaves, or of theft, with property markings like this. So we'll have to discount him, through a 'fence'. Still, a satisfactory bit of flesh to start with." "There's always a demand for properly trained pony slaves as this one is - look at the ass and thigh muscles on him. They usually command very high prices, but we won't be able to sell him for that, as no one will be able to use him in his proper role. Those brands will always mark him as stolen property! " "If we sell him just as a worker, so he's not on such very public display as he can be kept deep in the middle of a labour gang, we won't do as well. So I think we'll offer him as a sex slave - he's a European, and a blond, and they always fetch good prices. Once his hair and his pubic hair has grown a bit, he'll be a mouth-watering morsel for those who like the exotic, although it will have to be in a brothel where the lighting is, like the clientele, discreet so the brands are not so obvious". "Perhaps he could be tattooed all over", said another. "If he's working as a sex slave, some people find that even more exotic. And with a good all-over design, the brands would be much less visible". "Don't be so stupid", said the first one. "This slave's value is entirely in the body. Look at his skin, and how it's that special brown that only blondes, and Europeans, go. If we cover that with tattoos, we'll cut his value in half. No, he can go to a brothel where the clientele like a bit of spice - fucking stolen property will add that extra bit of fun to fucking a European. Put him in the box". They led me towards the truck, and I thought how I had changed. At one time, I could not understand how men could discuss my body in front of me, but now I truly understood that the discussion of slaves was entirely proper for masters, wherever they wanted to do it. On the back of the truck was a cage, about the size of a domestic chest refrigerator, with the bars made of thin rods of steel. When I had been caged before, it was generally in a cage that was upright, like a phone booth, but I guess this one was horizontal so that it did not stand up above the open sides of the truck. One of the Arabs opened the top, and commanded me to get up onto the truck bed and get in. As I was doing so, another told me to halt, and said "No. I think we should stop here all night - there's water after all, and it's going to be dark soon. If the slave is going to be caged all night, we'd better put it down on the sand so that when he pisses it doesn't go all over the truck." I was commanded to help one of the Arabs lift the cage down, and it was quite heavy. Obviously once inside there could be no escape. The lid was lifted, and I was commanded to get in and lie down, which I did, and the top was lowered and secured. Although the cage was long enough so that I could stretch out fully lengthways, it was quite narrow and my shoulders were pressing into both sides of the cage. I rolled over on to my stomach, and lay there looking out through the bars, wondering what was going to happen next. The Arabs were examining the Overseer, saying "This is a real bonus. Another European. Get naked!" The Overseer made no move, and the lead Arab commanded again "Get naked." Still the Overseer stood there. The Arab went across to the rickshaw, got out the Overseer's stun gun and suddenly jabbed at him with it. The Overseer of course screamed as the tip discharged through him, and fell writhing in agony onto the sand. He was pulled roughly to his feet, and the Arab said "Now you see how it is for the slaves. We have captured you, and you're our profit for this trip. We shall be selling you as slave, and you had better learn to act like one quickly - you've obviously seen enough of how cruel masters can be if slaves do not obey them. Now, get naked, as I want to inspect you properly and I can't do that whilst your best parts are covered." Still the Overseer made no move, and I could see him bracing himself for another jolt of the stun gun. An Arab was just about to do it when the leader said "No - some slaves do get damaged by those things, and this is a potentially very valuable one for us. And a lot of masters like 'spirit' when they first buy a new European slave, and don't want them broken-in first." The leader gestured to one of the others, who was behind the Overseer, and that Arab simply reached around the Overseer's waist, unbuttoned the top of his cut-offs, and yanked them down to the ground. The leader then ran his hands all over the Overseer, probing the strength of his muscles as they resisted the sharp pressure of the fingers that tried to dig into them. Then the Overseer was told to bend over, and, when he did nothing, one of the Arabs caught his left arm, twisted it up behind his back so much that the Overseer screamed again, and forced him to bend from the waist. The leader then rubbed his thumbs on the Overseer's ass cheeks with his hands on the Overseer's thighs, as he gauged their strength. Following this, he put one hand on each cheek and pushed them apart, to see into the Overseer's crack. As a final indignity for the Overseer, I could see the leader pushing one of his fingers up the Overseer's ass, and probing around. The Overseer was allowed to stand upright, and I knew that the probing must have touched his prostate because he was now very stiffly erect, and there was some pre-cum dripping from his cock. "He's not particularly tight down there", the leader told his men, "but that's not a problem. No one buying him will expect a virgin at his age. He's got a good cock, though, when it's erect. We probably ought to make sure he's erect when the presale inspections are going on - the fashion this season is for cocks that hang down over elongated ball sacs, and whilst this one's sac is filled with good balls, it's a tight one, held high up, and as a consequence his cock lies on it and juts out a bit." "Now I want to see you cum", he told the Overseer. I could tell the Overseer was not going to comply, because the leader almost immediately said "If you don't start wanking yourself, I can easily get one of my men to do it, or I can do it - we all like slave cock. But I warn you - it will be rough. If you don't want to end up with a cock chafed sore from a hand used very harshly, do it yourself!". Whilst the Overseer was obviously unhappy about having to jerk himself off in front of these guys, I saw him reach down and start to rub himself. It wasn't just the shame of a master being forced to masturbate in front of other men, but because he simply wasn't used to trying to jerk off standing up. It was only after I had become a pony slave and was 'milked', standing, every night in the showers that I had got used to this position. After all, most guys jerk themselves off lying down, or sitting in a comfy chair. But he did manage it, and a ribbon of cum was soon hanging from his detumescing cock. "OK so far", said the leader. "We don't know whether he's fertile, for breeding, but at least his balls are genuine and he does an acceptable amount of spunk". Now the Overseer spoke, and said "You'll not get away with this. You will never be able to sell me as s slave, because I'm too well known in the markets - I go there regularly, to buy on behalf of the Sheikh. And even if you're on the black market, it's a very small world in the Capitol, and it will soon be known if I am for sale anywhere." "Don't you believe it", said their leader. "We will have you stripped of all your body hair, and experience shows that even a guy's best friend doesn't recognise him easily the first time he appears in the locker room with his body shaved, especially if we have your pubic hair off, too. Even people who know you well will have doubts. And we'll make sure you can't say anything, with a good tight ball gag in your lovely mouth." "And even if you do protest through the gag, and squirm and wriggle and make like a free man, the buyers will expect you to do that - most of the Europeans and Americans put through the sale room for the first time do that anyway, so there'll be nothing special in your behaviour. And you know yourself that even the most persistent protesters can be silenced in an inspection by a good tight grip on the balls!". "So don't expect to escape being auctioned. And when you have been sold, even if you can tell your master who you really are, will he care? He will have spent a lot of money on you, which would be lost if he were to admit you were a free man. And, in any case, what is a free man to someone who purchases slaves? Not some nude guy standing in front of him - that's a slave, and his past history is of no concern. All the slaves were free men once, except for those bred on the farms, after all. No - your new master will simply order you to be properly trained, so you forget all that nonsense." "Don't think this is just theory. We have captured lots of free Americans and Europeans recently because the price of 'wild' slaves is going so high. You'll just be another one". "Sure it's illegal to enslave a free man unless he has broken the law, or heavily in debt. But who cares?". "Now, put him in the cage, too. Let's go and swim and enjoy the evening and make a meal". The Arabs grasped the Overseer's arms and half dragged, half carried him over to the cage where I was lying. They opened the top, and pushed the Overseer in down on top of me. I felt the Overseer's hot, warm chest push into my back, and a slippery sensation from the top of my ass told me that the Overseer's cum had now finally dripped off the end of his cock. It was impossible for us to move now - I had been able to roll over onto my stomach in the empty cage, but the closeness of the sides and the top with two of us in it meant that we were both immobile. We lay there, as close as two men can be unless they are actually fucking each other, but we did not speak. I couldn't of course, but even though the Overseer knew that I was, like him, an American, it simply did not occur to him to address me about anything that is not the proper concern of a pony slave. Time passed. I could not sleep, because my breathing was very restricted and I needed to focus on keeping my chest moving. The weight of the Overseer, who was quite a heavy guy because he was so well muscled, pressed down on my back, and even though I gloried in the feeling of his moist, hairy body against mine, I wished it had been possible to move so that I was more comfortable. As ever, the Overseer was sensitive to my needs, and he must have been having the same kinds of thoughts. He wriggled backwards as far as he could, commanded me to position my legs so that he could get his left leg against the bars of our cage, then have his right leg in- between mine. This had the effect of allowing his feet to drop down a little, and as he was as far back as he could go, some of the pressure was relieved from my back. He was, in effect, straddling my left ass cheek and thigh with his body. After a few minutes this became uncomfortable for him because his cock had no freedom to move, pressed as it was into the muscles of my ass cheek and thigh, hardened by their many hours of running. He squirmed a bit again to give himself the most comfort that could be gained in our very close confinement, and after some experiments to get settled, ended up with his cock nestling in my ass crack. I was pleased he was happy with this, and he gave a little snuffle of pleasure, and was obviously drifting off to sleep. Even though I was more comfortable, I still could not sleep, however. The sensation of the Overseer's body pressing into mine was simply so overwhelming. The wonderful softness of his cock in my ass, the spiky bristles of his pubic hair pressing into my ass cheeks, and the animal warmth of his hairy body pressing along me were all too much. His warm breath fanned across my shoulders, as he lay his head against my spine, below my own. Although it was not seemly, because I knew it was as a result of my feelings for the Overseer, I had a massive erection. The power of my cock pushing into the sand felt as if it was going to raise us both up, like some sort of car jack. But there was nothing I could do about it - even had I been able to reach underneath myself and wank, I could not do this because I would disturb the Overseer, and I wanted him to be able to enjoy his last night of sleep as a free man as much as possible. I lay there in silence, enjoying the closeness of the Overseer and the wonderful sensation you get when an erect cock continues to strain to make itself free of confinement - it was like the feelings I used to get when I had an erection at work, and my cock pushed desperately against my tight bikini underwear to have release, only more so. As the Overseer drifted into sleep, the inevitable happened. He was a fit, virile guy, and those last minutes as he drifted into sleep brought him erect, and his cock started to make its way further into my ass crack as his erection strengthened. I did not even give myself the illusion that this was because the Overseer wanted me for sex - although he took his pleasure with many "comfort" slaves, and I had seen he and his friend performing the most joyous sex together many times in this very spot, his erection was not from desire for me. It was simply the reaction of any healthy male as he sleeps. I was a pony slave, and a master could not fuck an animal. But my own needs were now acute. Whereas before my own cock had at least been controllable as it tried to escape from its confinement beneath me, it was now unbearable. As the Overseer's cock buried itself deeper into my ass, it touched my anus and it was as if an electric shock had run through me. I had become almost insensitive to the feeling of fingers and cocks being forced up into me during the period when the Overseer was breaking me down, and so this wonderful erotic sensation as the tip of his cock, surely moistened with pre-cum, I thought, touched me ever so gently. Without being able to stop myself, I reached backwards and put my hands on the Overseer's ass cheeks, then ever so timidly tried to manoeuvre him over my ass so that his cock could slide into me. I was well practised in taking cocks in, of course, and relaxed my anal sphincter so that the Overseer's cock head would meet no resistance. I proceeded infinitely gently, as I was terrified of waking the Overseer. I had not been ordered to do this, the Overseer obviously did not want to do it as he would have done it for himself, and I felt wickedly ashamed that I was planning to violate the Overseer in this way. I had never before felt that I dare touch a master without being commanded to do so, and my feelings as I continued to nudge and move gently to get his cock into me were I supposed like that of an uncle who tries to violate the virgin hole of an adolescent nephew who is staying with him and who has innocently agreed to sleep in the same bed because the house is full of relatives, without waking the boy. But of course here the roles were reversed - it was the nephew attempting to get the uncle's cock up him, without waking the uncle! But it was no use. Even though the Overseer was obviously at full erection, only the tip of his cock head could reach into me. My ass muscles were simply so big from all my exercise, that lying on top of me the Overseers' cock, large though it was, simply could not reach. Only if he moved his body further down, so he could enter almost from below my ass cheeks, would it be possible. What was I to do? The thought of waking the Overseer, and trying to encourage him into me, was shocking. He needed his sleep before the horrors of the coming day. And my next thought was worse. I was big and powerful - if I suddenly pulled hard on his buttocks and pushed him down and in, I could have him inside me before he woke. This was monstrous - I was planning to violate my master. How could I even contemplate such a thing? He would lose his freedom of choice about sex soon enough, and he deserved this last night of freedom. Was it so important to me? I was after all used to being a slave and being used and abused in every way possible, but the Overseer was not. I curbed my lustful desires, and moved my hands off his delightful backside. But even though my will had overcome my consciously- controlled body, the deeper, more primitive reflexes controlling my cock were not so easily conquered. With aching, jerking spasms, I shot a massive load of cum quite involuntarily down into the sand. I had not had an involuntary ejaculation since I was 12 - the first and only one. After I had told a friend and he had whispered to me about jerking off, I never again went for so long without doing it that an involuntary release of cum ever happened again. And, after all, in "normal" life, if you were on an aeroplane, or in the office, or at a party, or wherever, there was always a bathroom that you could quickly retire to if an erection got particularly painful, and give yourself relief before ejaculation happened of its own accord. I lay there panting slightly, but the Overseer did not wake. But something of my spasming must have transmitted itself through our bodies to his unconscious mind, as I felt his cock ripple slightly, and could feel more pre-cum trickle on to my hot anus. We lay like that until dawn, when the Overseer awoke naturally. He was stiff and up my ass crack of course, with the morning erection you always expect. He made no comment on this, in fact he made no comment at all. But he reached down underneath him, freed his cock from my crack, wriggled his ass slightly to position himself better, and then, as his erection died, pissed down between my legs into the sand underneath us. The power of his pissing was so strong that I could feel little splashes bouncing off the sand and hitting my balls, and I almost had another involuntary ejaculation with the exquisite sensation this caused me. We continued to lie there , waiting for the Arabs to wake, and his bristly face rasped across my back as he occasionally moved to adjust his position slightly. Eventually the Arabs awoke, went and drank at the water-hole, and made their desert breakfast of dates and bread. We both lay there watching them, but were offered nothing. They packed up their kit and loaded it into the truck, and then it was our turn. One of the Arabs came over and said "We're not going to feed you, but you need to drink. It's a long, hot day ahead of you." So saying, he pulled up his robes and crouched down at the head of the cage, in front of us. He pointed his penis at me, and said "open wide". I obeyed, and a stream of his piss shot into my mouth, which I swallowed greedily as I was by now very thirsty. Another Arab came up to emulate his companion, and it was now the Overseer's turn to drink. He was ordered to open his mouth, but I could tell that he must be refusing because the Arab leader came up, looked down at him, and said "My friend, you are being very stupid. If you do not drink now, you may die later today as we have a long way to drive across the desert. Remember, whilst there's life, there's hope, and whilst you may not enjoy your new status as a slave, it is better than being dead of thirst". I think the Overseer must have agreed, because the Arab started to piss, directing the warm golden stream over my head. Of course droplets sprayed down on to me, as most guys' piss stream is not completely smooth because of small irregularities in the piss slit, and this one's was no exception. And, of course, as he finished and the pressure dropped, the last few CCs fell over my back, neck and head. The Arabs were all laughing at the way we had drank our rations of piss, comparing me to the Overseer. But I knew what he must be going through - I was used to the warmth, the smell and the taste of all kinds of piss from those fatal days when I was used as a urinal whilst being broken. But the Overseer had no previous experience, and I knew it must be deeply humiliating for him to have to drink in this way. The Arabs then needed to load our cage onto the truck before setting off, but the four of them could not easily lift the metal structure with both of inside it - we were, as I have said, both big, heavy slaves , packing all the muscle we did. So they opened the cage lid, and told us to get out. The Overseer stumbled to his feet, followed by me, and stood there flexing his cramped body. I of course immediately assumed the "display" position, as I had been given no other orders and my reflexes as a trained slave took over. The Arabs were lulled by my obvious subservience, and focussed their attention on the Overseer, with all four of them having their guns pointed at him to make sure he did nothing foolish - everyone knows that slaves are at their most dangerous in the first few days of slavery, before they have been given any training in subservience. We were commanded to pick up our cage and load it into the truck, and as the Overseer bent to obey, I saw what was probably our only chance - I knew that once we were back in the cage and were driven to the slave market, the Overseer's life as a freeman would be over as there would be no opportunity for him to escape. So I flung myself at one of the Arabs, hitting him hard in the back. My momentum sent him cannoning into one of the others, sending them both sprawling to the floor My body crashed down on top of them, knocking the wind out of them and temporarily rendering them incapable of action. This so startled the other two that their attention was diverted, and the Overseer snatched the gun from one of them. Everything is now confused, as after my initial decision to act, when I had time to "observe" my action, everything went with a blur. They say that you see everything in a time of crisis, however brief the interval, and this belief is encouraged by the prevalence of "slow motion" inserts into movies, where the characters have endless time to review what is going on and then do the right thing. But it's not like that in practice, and everything happened so fast that I'm still not sure what went on. And certainly I did not "think" or "plan" - if I did anything, it was entirely by reflex. It seemed to me that the leader of the Arabs started to turn his gun towards the Overseer, who got in first and shot him before the leader had finished aiming. This gave the other Arab time to swivel his gun towards the Overseer, and take aim. I saw this, and "thought" that there was no way that there would be time for the Overseer to turn the gun around and save himself. I felt my body spring up from on top of the Arabs I had downed initially. With a huge push from my powerful legs I was flying through the air towards the Overseer and the Arab who was about to shoot. There was a terrific bang, and my world exploded into pain. I had stopped the bullet intended for the Overseer, who now shot the rifle out of the Arab's hands. The leader, lying on the floor after being shot, was screaming in pain and shouting commands to his men. The Overseer pointed his gun as the disarmed Arabs, but then decided not to shoot them. The Arabs got their wounded leader into the truck, and drove off, leaving the cage in the desert. To this day I do not know why the two Arabs on the ground did not release their guns and attack the Overseer. At the time, I did not know why the Overseer did not shoot the Arabs, either, but I was to find out later. The Overseer was whooping with glee and exultation, but then he turned and saw me. I was trying to get up off the sand, but could not. One arm had forced my body almost upright, but there was blood pouring out of my left thigh in a rich red fountain. I must have looked like that famous Roman bronze of the dying gladiator that's in one of the world's great museums. "Oh my god", he shouted, "that's arterial blood". He rushed over and pinched my leg, hard, so hard that I could feel it even over all the other pain in my body. "Lie still and stick your thumb there", he commanded pushing my free hand into the hole in my leg. He looked around, saw his cut-offs lying in the sand where they had lain since being stripped off him the previous afternoon, leapt up, got them, and with maniacal frenzy, tore them into strips. Then he rushed over to the rickshaw to get something, and came back to me. He made a tourniquet from the strips of cut-off, and used my stainless steel bridle to twist it so tight that the blood flow from the hole stopped spurting. "First Aid 101 ", he said "Stop arterial bleeding at whatever the cost, else the patient dies within two or three minutes. Then get immediate medical help, before the stopping of the blood flow to the affected limb causes irreparable damage". "Well, the first part has been done, but the 'immediate medical help' is a bit of a challenge. I assume you don't want to die, though, and if there is to be irreparable damage, there's not much I can do - but I'll do my damnedest!". He half dragged me, half carried me to the rickshaw, and somehow got me up onto the seat. He slipped between the shafts, and started running across the sands. As I lay there, only half conscious, I thought what a topsy-turvy world it seemed. Yesterday I had been pulling the Overseer, like the good pony slave I was. Last night we were both slaves together. And now he was pulling me, as if he were the pony slave and I was the master! As I saw his strong, hard buttocks pump away, straining as we went across the loose sand, I felt nothing but love for the Overseer. When we got to the road he ran on, faster and faster. I knew from seeing Mike and Hans earlier in the week that the pace was impossible, even for slaves in the peak of condition if they are not trained runners. Even though the Overseer kept himself in good shape, there's a difference between that and the kind of work you can do when your body has been trained to do nothing but that, day in and day out. But somehow he did go on, a tribute to what the body can do if absolutely essential. I could do nothing, but lie there and watch the two white patches on his ass rise and fall as he pounded along the road. .....to be continued. THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE, PART 15 By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com) ANIMAL HOSPITAL We arrived at the entrance to the veterinarian's clinic and the nude Overseer flung open the door and rushed in, shouting. He came out a moment later with the veterinarian, who took one look at the blood still oozing out copiously from me in spite of the tourniquet, and told the Overseer to get me inside. They lifted me between them, and I was laid onto the leather examining table. The veterinarian rushed around, connecting me quickly to a saline drip, and examining the wound before daring to touch the tourniquet. I heard him say to the Overseer "There's not much hope - he's lost too much blood, and the wound is too deep." The Overseer was standing there, with his chest heaving from the effort of the run, and with sweat running down him that mingled with my blood that was covering his chest and crotch - I don't remember things all that clearly, but I do remember his penis being stained that very dark red of arterial blood. He made a Herculean effort and shouted at the veterinarian "This slave is to be saved. I don't care what it takes. Just make him live." My pain was indescribable, and as the veterinarian started to probe the wound it got even worse than anything I had ever known before. I knew I would be screaming and shouting had I been able, and I was unable to stop my body starting to thrash around. "Hold him still, if there's to be any chance at all", the veterinarian shouted to the Overseer, who came around behind the head of the table and pressed my shoulders down, whilst one of the slaves from the office grasped my ankles to stop my legs kicking. In spite of everything else, I remember looking up into the Overseer's face as he pressed down on me with all his strength, and seeing genuine concern in his eyes. The veterinarian pricked me arm with a needle, and I felt the pain begin to lessen, and my consciousness start to slip away. The Overseer was able to let go of my shoulders, came around to stand by the side of me remote from where the veterinarian was working, and took my hand between his two. My last waking thought was one of calm reassurance as he squeezed my hand in that universal gesture of support that people can only manage in times of great crisis. His bloodstained naked body was shaking with emotion. I could no longer summon the effort to keep my eyes looking up into his, and as my eyelids started to close, my gaze fell down and my last waking sight was of the Overseer's lovely cock riding high on his tight, rounded balls. I came to, and was looking at a white ceiling. I hurt all over, but it was a gentle dull pain from all over my body, unlike the cruel, sharp pain following my gunshot wound. I tried to move a hand, but it seemed stuck in some way. I couldn't move my legs, either. I lay there in terror - probably I wasn't thinking straight as I awoke from the anaesthetic the veterinarian had administered, but for many long moments I thought that I had lost all control of my muscles. I knew that injury to the spinal chord could leave a person completely paralysed, and this is what must have happened to me. I was unable to control myself, and tears for my lost body coursed down my cheeks. Then I realised that the tears were being gently wiped away, and tried to turn my head, and succeeded. At least some of my body could still move. I desperately tried to focus my eyes, as things started to come into focus, I saw that it was the Overseer, sitting in a chair beside me, who was so gently stroking my face with a tissue to dry away the tears. "Don't fret", I heard him say. "You're going to be OK. It was a close call, but the veterinarian did a heroic job and you survived." As my senses started to recover more and more, I moved my head around, and experimentally tried to move my arms and legs again - yes! - there was some motion, but I could only move them for an inch or two. But if I could move then a little, surely that meant that there was life in the nerves, and I wouldn't be a paraplegic? I tried again, and then saw my true predicament. I was lying on a leather-topped hospital bed, nude, and my ankles and wrists were chained to the four corners of the bed. A broad webbing strap around the bed and my waist held my trunk immobile. The veterinarian came in, and the Overseer said "Is it really necessary to have him chained up like this? After what he did for me, there's absolutely no possibility that he has any thought of harming a master. Keeping him chained whilst he's in a hospital is just barbaric". The veterinarian gave a wry smile and said "You've changed your tune a bit! Who was always on about slaves being animals, not needing any consideration. Why does it matter if he's chained or not - it's only a human who should be in the slightest bit concerned about his predicament, or so you are always telling me! But in any case we don't have any choice - the Sheikh's orders are that all slaves in here in the treatment ward must have their wrists chained. And as far as his legs go, it's a matter of necessity - it is absolutely essential his left leg is kept immobile to avoid disturbing the stitches and dressings, and I don't want his right leg being able to thrash free either and inadvertently disturb them when he's asleep. The trunk strap stops him moving from the top of the legs, and that's also necessary." "How long will he be here?" asked the Overseer, "and will he be all right - is he going to be able to run properly again?" "For god's sake!" the veterinarian exploded. "The slave saved your life, from what you have been telling me, and you want to know if he will be able to run again! Have you no more concern for him than when he'll again be able to pull you around in that rickshaw of yours?" "But yes, the leg will recover. If he's then trained properly, and allowed to exercise gently to rebuild his strength gradually, he will be as good as before at running. His appearance will be spoiled a bit, as even though I have been very careful, the wound was so bad that there will always be some scarring visible. I'm afraid that the Sheikh's investment will have gone down in value somewhat - it will still be able to fulfil it's purpose, but it won't look as nice. It'll be like when a car has had its first accident - it's never quite the same afterwards, and it always looks slightly damaged, no matter how good the repair shop is." "You've got me wrong!", the Overseer snapped. "I care about whether the slave will be able to run not because I want him back between the shafts quickly, but because I know that, to him, running is very important. Indeed, I think his whole personality is defined by his own perception of his body. During the last five years I know 'he' wasn't there after I finally tamed him by forcing on to his body endless acts that he found repugnant. When he 'came back', in these last few weeks, it has been a very special sight to see - he has been glorying in his body, running harder and faster than ever before, and it has been clear from the way that he has been holding himself and generally disporting his body that he admires, respects, wonders at, loves... I don't know.... 'he' is his body. If he was not to recover it in all its, to him, perceived glory, I think it would drive him over the edge into catatonia and we would never get him back again. So that's why I am worried sick - I have seen how completely and amazingly loyal this pony is, and I want to repay that loyalty in some way. Isn't there a famous Christian passage that begins 'Greater love hath no man than this than to lay down his life for his friend?' He was prepared to lay down his life for mine, and I never even thought of him as a friend, only as a piece of property." The veterinarian shrugged, unable to reply, and I saw him preparing a needle which slid into my arm. I drifted back into sleep. Each time I woke over the next few days the Overseer would be sitting there, patiently watching me. On about the fourth day as I came out from sleep, I was aware that I had an erection - you can always feel that little sensation in your balls when you know your cock is ready to fire, and I lay there in a half-doze enjoying it for itself, and also for what else it was - another sign of my return to full health. I must have stayed in that wonderful semi-awake state for about twenty minutes, and it was like being back at home again when I was at high school. Back then I tried to lie there, just enjoying my erection without touching it or anything, just feeling it there, feeling it stretching my skin, feeling it tugging at my balls, and feeling that general 'sex' sensation throughout my genitalia and the sensitive area down to my anus. Of course, as soon as I did touch it, that was that - normally the moment my hand reached out for the engorged cock, I couldn't stop my self from wanking, and after a very few strokes my cock would be spasming, my balls jerking in my sac, and a huge jet of cum would leap into the air. Then I had problems - I always knew afterwards that I should take a tissue first, but I never did - I always went straight from blissful contemplation of my erection to complete flying cum, and then had to leap about and do something about the bed. Even though your mom knows that you are mature and therefore are masturbating, there's a difference between 'knowing' and 'saying', and I don't think any adolescent lad likes to leave cum stains all over his bed sheets. But as I now came fully awake, there was no possibility of moving to the second stage, as my hands were manacled. The Overseer was there as usual, watching me, and of course saw the erection. He thought nothing of it, because he had seen me erect many times before whilst I was shackled in the rickshaw, and knew that this was perfectly normal for a healthy young slave. (Indeed, had I not had regular erections during the day, I think he would have taken me to the veterinarian to make sure I was not coming down with some illness). But now he obviously recognised it as a sign of my returning health, and looking between it and me, grinned and said "Great. I like to see you doing that again. That's the first time since you were shot, five days ago." Then, and I think this shows what a considerate master he was, he continued "Of course, though, your balls must be aching. You normally get 'milked' daily, and now you've got five days' worth in there. I think you'd like relief, wouldn't you?" This was the first time he had ever asked me a direct question, and I was so nearly overcome with emotion that found it difficult to nod my agreement. "I'll go and check with the veterinarian that it won't do you any harm, then. We don't want to set back your recovery just for a few moments of passion. If he says it's OK, I'll bring a slave back to 'milk' you.", he said, and got up and went out. I lay there thinking about this. My master had shown genuine concern for me. He had understood what I needed. I felt so grateful that it was difficult not to cry. But when the door opened, he was alone. I wasn't going to get relief, but I didn't care - what was the small ache in my sac compared to the fact that my master had thought about my needs? The Overseer sat down again by my bedside, and said "The good news is that the veterinarian says that letting you purge all that old semen would be good for you. The bad news is that I am going to do the milking!. Although there are lots of slaves around, I want to perform this service for you. It's bad news because I am not an expert - I only have experience of wanking two cocks, my own, and my friend's - and he always complains and says I am not as gentle with him as he would like!" He spat into his palm and made sure his hand was moist all over, reached out for my cock and started to stroke it slowly and gently. It was the most wonderful experience I have ever had. Of course physically one hand wanking you is much like another, and the only differences are the speed, the pressure they exert, and whether they keep your cock straight or move it up and down with the strokes. But an awful lot of sex is in the brain and is really about feelings and emotions, and whatever the Overseer's wanking may have lacked physically, the other components were there in force. After a much too short interval of the most pure, exquisite pleasure, my cock jerked and jerked and spewed out ropes and ropes of thick cum. I was horrified to see that the Overseer had not been expecting me to reach a climax so soon, and had not moved out of the firing line. His beautiful hairy forearm was dripping with my cum, and some was trickling down the top of his chest, too, getting stuck on the thatch of hair between his wonderful pecs. He wasn't angry at all. He looked at me, smiled, and bent over and touched his lips to the tip of my detumescing cock in an ever so gentle, tender, kiss. This moment of silent communion between us was broken when the veterinarian then came into the room. We both knew that there had been a special moment of bonding between us, but it was still too fragile, and the presence of another caused the bonds to snap. The Overseer covered his emotion by saying to the veterinarian "Look, even though he has to be chained, does he have to lie here nude like this? Get him covered with a sheet or something." But the veterinarian would have none of it. "Stop that", he said, "You're going down that path that you always tell others to avoid. You're starting to think of a slave as a man. I can't cover him, because we have no sheets here - this is a slave medical facility. And if you sent sheets over from your bungalow, I wouldn't cover him - we have to make sure slaves are treated as slaves. I suppose, though, you're going to tell me that the sheets would be a safety measure, to prevent you becoming inadvertently covered in the slave's cum when, quite without warning, he had a massive involuntary ejaculation!". He smiled as he said this, and I knew he must know something of the Overseer's real feelings. The Overseer bent over me again and said "I have to go to the city for a couple of days, but I can do so now that I know you're really recovering. The veterinarian tells me that you're going to be got up and started walking tomorrow, and so by the time I get back, I will expect to see a massive improvement in your condition". It was indeed so - helped by a couple of slaves, the following morning I took my first faltering steps, and then more in the afternoon. The veterinarian was amazed at my progress, and ascribed it to my superb physique and fitness before the shooting. But I knew it was because I wanted to please the Overseer. He was in fact away four days, and I was growing steadily more worried about him. Suppose those slavers had set upon him again on the road, and he was even now strapped on his knees on some pedestal, being displayed for potential new owners? I was chained by the wrists to the bed as usual when he did come back, although my ankles and middle were now free as there was no longer any danger of the stitches breaking loose, and I could lie there flexing my muscles as an aid to keeping them in shape. He was accompanied by the veterinarian, who snapped at me "open wide!" This command was usually the prelude to something unpleasant, but I obediently opened my mouth. He took out his dental mirror and an instrument, and fiddled around in my mouth for a bit, then said "all done", and left the Overseer and me alone. The Overseer said "Steve?" , and I was so amazed at hearing my name for the first time for over five years that, absolutely by reflex and instinct, I said "Yes?". The Overseer burst out laughing, and then, when I realised what had happened, so did I. My tongue restraint had been removed by the veterinarian, and the Overseer had used a clever psychological trick to get me to use a word. I learned later that, after many years of silence, some slaves never spoke even when unrestrained, and the Overseer wanted to give me the best chance he knew how. Your name is so much a part of you, that losing it in favour of a number when you become a slave is one of the most dehumanising parts of the experience. Hearing it again and rapping out the reflex answer had convinced my brain that I could again speak. I was still chained, of course, and the Overseer told me that he had gone to the City to see the Sheikh to try to convince him that I should be freed. The Sheikh would not agree, saying that it was belief that "once a slave, always a slave". But in reward for saving the Overseer's life he was prepared to give me back speech - but only on pain of only using it between the Overseer and me, and then only when it was clear that there were no other slaves or masters able to hear us. "We won't talk much at first", said the Overseer, "as it's important your speech comes back naturally. Let me tell you about me, and how I came to be here." I lay back of the bed, and started to listen. THE OVERSEER'S STORY "I grew up in a small town in Wyoming. I was always a rebel at school. In Junior High I gave up working, and had a terrible reputation with the teachers. My grades were at the bottom. My mom didn't care, as all she wanted was a good time and provided she could go out with my step dad every night, that was OK. I never knew my real dad, and I think my step dad was jealous of the small amount of affection my mom actually did have for me. He hardly ever spoke to me, and if I offended him in any way - any way at all - he hit me." "I supposed it's 'compensation', but as I worked less and less I exercised more and more. I tried to spend all my time in the gym. If I couldn't get in to the gym, I ran through the countryside, and swam in the local river. I didn't get much food at home, so I grew up skinny, but I had good muscles from all the exercise. I was waiting to blossom, and as soon as puberty hit, I started to gain muscle power. Then I used to steal money and buy food with it - not candy, like the other kids, but fruit, and cheese, that I could eat without anyone seeing me." "By the time I was sixteen I had a hard body. I was always in trouble, and could defend myself in a street fight against kids two or three years older than me. My mom had totally given up on me, and told the school counsellors that 'I was beyond control'." "I knew about sex, of course, and had been getting it up various girls - usually a bit older than me - since I was 14. There was a girl in school who was gorgeous, and the whole football team as trying to get into her pants. I was always telling her that I was willing - but she thought I was an obnoxious little brat. I was too young, she said, and she liked being seen with the school's top jocks not some junior troublemaker." "But one day I came across her when I was out running. She was sitting in her car, crying. I stopped, and she told me that the captain of the Football Team had just raped her - it wasn't a complete rape, I suppose, as everyone knew she had been sleeping with him for weeks. But on that day she hadn't wanted to go all the way, but he had, and so instead of stopping when asked, he had simply gone on, and he was so powerful there was nothing she could do." "I listened, and thought 'so what?'. But I said 'there, there', and put my arm around her. One thing led to another, and I ended up the afternoon fucking her too. She must have been a real cock teaser, thought, because although we had had a really great bout of foreplay, just as I was going to stick it in her, and was straddling her, really stiff and hard, she told me to stop! Of course I didn't - when a guy is at that point, there's no stopping! And what was good enough for the Football Team Captain was good enough for me!" "She told her parents she had been raped by me. There was no mention of the Football Team Captain. They came around to see my mom and step dad, and when I got home that night my step dad beat me up. I was so badly bruised I couldn't go to school the next day in case they thought my parents were child abusers. I lay in bed, groaning, and then my step dad came into the house unexpectedly early - my mom was not home yet." "He came up into my bedroom, and started screaming and shouting at me again. He was worried about the legal bills if the girl's parents sued, and about the costs if she did have a kid and we had to bring it up. And, he said, you're only 16 and it's illegal still at that age in this state. Your mom and I can be fined." "He got more and more irate, and I never said a thing. Finally, after it had been going on for about 15 minutes and I was hearing the same old crap over and over, I told him to shut the fuck up". "He went berserk. He slapped my face very hard on both sides several times, and grabbed my shoulders and banged me up and down several times on the bed. I always slept in boxer shorts and so my shoulders were bare - I could see marks appearing on my skin where his fingers dug in to me." "He was beside himself as my beating continued. His fists slammed into my belly. He hit my head again. Then I heard him say 'you need a real lesson. We've put up with you for too long. You never learn. Perhaps this will teach you'.". He grabbed me and flipped me over on to my stomach, and pinioned me down to the bed with one arm and his heavy body. I felt his other hand scrabbling at my boxers, and then they were torn form me in a frenzy." "As I lay there, with my face pushed in to the bed, I could hear him fiddling with the belt on his jeans. Then he started to hit my naked ass with it. It went on and on. In books they suggest that it's the leather of the belt that hurts you. It does, but the most painful part is the buckle, and the spike thing in the middle. That's the bit that draws blood first." He couldn't stop, and the belt hit me in the back, and over my shoulders. I was being seriously hurt, but there was nothing I could do - I just had to lie there until his passion burned itself out. When it did stop, I was crying. And he was sobbing, too, those deep sobs from the bottom of the diaphragm that only big men do." "I heard him say 'This is for your own good'. And from the corner of my eye saw his jeans hit the floor, followed by his boxers. Over his sobs he was saying 'An eye for an eye', the bible says. 'You raped that girl - see how you like it'." The next moment the pain I had experienced whilst he was beating me was as nothing as his heavy body crashed into my bruised and bleeding back and ass. He was fumbling around, and then I felt something I had never experienced before - something shoving at my asshole." "I won't go on. It's still too awful to think about. It was a disgusting, brutal rape of a virgin 16 year old by a forty year old man." "When he had finished and I was left alone, I lay there sobbing on my bed. Some time later he came in and said 'If you ever tell your mom what I just did to you, I'll do it again, and again. And she won't believe you anyway - parents never believe that their partners can be abusing their children.'" "When mom came home she was appalled when she saw the state of my body, but I knew my step dad was right, and she wouldn't believe me if I told the truth about what had happened. So I told her I had been beaten up by a gang at school who had heard about me raping the girl." "She wanted to call the police, but my step dad craftily persuaded her that it was best to let sleeping dogs lie - if we made no more fuss, all the rape stuff would die away." "All of this would have been bad enough, but a couple of weeks later my mom went away to visit her sister for the weekend. My step dad was in a foul mod, and I kept out of his way. I was in bed when he came back from the bar, and I heard him stumbling up the stairs. He came into my room, and pulled the covers off me. I watched in horror as he pulled off his T-shirt, dropped his jeans, and pushed his boxers to the floor. He was erect, of course." "He threw himself down on top of me - I was lying on my back, and his face was pushed into mine. He forced his mouth over mine, and tried to kiss me. I kept my mouth closed, but his hand reached down between us into my boxers and gripped my balls. He said 'open your mouth you little fucker, if you don't want me to rip your balls off', and gave me a hard squeeze to show he meant business. I opened my mouth, and his tongue went deep into my throat - it was repulsive. I could taste the stale beer, and the pizza he had had earlier." "Still with his tongue down my throat he let go of my balls and used the hand to pull off my boxers. Then he wriggled on top of me completely, and I was almost completely suffocated by his weight. His hand forced my legs apart, and his finger felt for my anus and then pushed in. He found my prostate, and then I had an erection, which jabbed in to his balls as his own cock was flattened between my stomach and his." "With both hands he grabbed my ankles, pushed them up and over towards my shoulders, and thus exposed my ass so that he could fuck me again with his fat prick." When he had finished, he stood up and pulled on his boxers. He looked at me lying on the bed snivelling, and said 'You're a better fuck than your mother. I'm going to have you every week as a special treat'." "I quit the house that night. He passed out in a deep alcoholic sleep after he had drunk a few more beers, so I went through his pockets and took the remainder of his week's wages that hadn't already been spent at the bar. I went to the bus station, and used most of the money to buy a ticket to Dallas - not because I wanted to go there especially, but because there was a bus about to leave, and I wanted to get away as far as possible." "I never saw my mom or step dad again." "In Dallas late the next night I had no money, and I was hungry. There was a cold wind in the bus station, and I tried to huddle on a bench in the corner until morning, but a cop turned me out saying that they liked to keep the bus station for decent people." "As I was trailing out, slowly and miserably into the night, a guy came up to me and said 'hey, kid, are you lost?'. I told him no, I was just waiting for someone, and he said 'Well, whilst you're waiting, come and have a pizza with me'. I followed him to an all- night pizza place, and he bought me a pizza, which I wolfed down. I could see him watching me with interest, and he asked 'Run away?'. I told him to fuck off, as it was none of his business, and he just smiled." "We left the pizza place, and he said 'My car's down there', and I followed him and got into a big black Lincoln. We drove to the suburbs, and went into his house. I think he genuinely wanted to be kind, but as he was showing me into a room where I could spend the night, he rubbed a hand over my ass, outside my jeans." "I went berserk. Even though I was only 16, I was tough and strong. He was in his late forties, I guess, and overweight. He was no match for me, and I flailed at him with my fists, knocking him to the ground. I punched him in the head many times. There was blood everywhere, and I broke his glasses. I left him crawling around his house, blood streaming from him, sobbing." "But before I went, I had a good look around. In his study I found a lot of really hard pornography - really young boys, you know the kind of thing. And $500 dollars or so. I left with the money and some of the magazines - he never reported the theft, because I suppose he was scared of the magazines coming to light in evidence." "I got a really grungy room downtown. I spent my days at the YMCA gym and pool. Whenever my money started to run out, I hung around the Convention Centre waiting for delegates from out of town looking for a boy for the night. There were usually about 10 of us there, and it was known locally as 'the meat rack'. Most of them were 18 to 20 years old, and I was the youngest. But most of the others were on drugs, and were 'weedy' - I was the only one with a nice-looking body, and was usually the first choice of a guy looking for a trick." "But I only ever went off with older, fat guys, who I knew couldn't defend themselves. In their hotel room, I would usually take off my shirt to show them a promise of what they could have, then the moment they started to undress and were relatively helpless, I would lay into them and beat them into a pulp. I usually got four or five hundred dollars from their wallets, as being at a convention they had a lot of cash for drinks. And I guess those that came looking for boys on the meat rack knew they needed cash to pay them off anyway." "I was 17 and after those two times with my step dad I had never let a man touch me seriously again. But I had lost all interest in girls. I just spent my time working out and watching TV, with the occasional night where I robbed some old faggot." "My mistake, however, was to go off one night with a really fat Arab. He didn't seem to know how to work the meat rack, and was trying to feel the muscles of the guys as we stood there! Of course, I now know that this was normal behaviour for someone from this society, being used to slaves as he was, but I didn't know that then, and went off with him. I took over $2000 from his room as I left him gasping in a pool of his own blood and vomit." "I thought I had it made - I wouldn't need to 'work' for several weeks. But as I left the room, there were four Arabs standing in the corridor. They grabbed me, and went into the room. The game was up, I thought - the cops would be called, and I'd be jailed. And I had heard a lot of stories about what happens to good-looking young boys in jail." "The fat guy was recovering, and was obviously in charge, because the four other Arabs were rushing around obeying his orders. I didn't know what they were saying, as it was in Arabic and I couldn't speak the language then. One of them was on the phone, and another was helping the fat guy by sponging the blood and puke off his clothes." "One of the two others held on to me - he had my arm twisted behind my back, but wasn't pushing it up too high, so I could stand there relatively comfortably, but couldn't escape. After some further conversation, the fourth Arab stood in front of me and in perfect English said 'We are the Sheikh's body guards. Unlike our master, we are all fit and tough. If you make one false move, any one of us can break every bone in your body. Ahmed is now going to let your arm go, and you are going to stand there, quite still'." "My arm was freed, and the Arab then said 'Now get naked. The Sheikh was disappointed not to see you earlier on , but wants to look now.' I said 'Fuck you', and the next minute was sprawling on the floor. Without a moment's hesitation the Arab had whipped his arm across his body to smash into my face, and the sheer power knocked me flying." "I was hauled to my feet. My ears were singing, and it was difficult to hear. The room was flicking up and down as my eyes tried to adjust. The Arab said 'No more games. I can hurt you more than you can imagine. Now get naked." "I saw I had no choice, and started to undress, watched by the Sheikh and the four other Arabs. I was of course used to getting changed at the YMCA in front of lots of other guys, but this was different - it was only me taking off my clothes, and all the others were concentrating on watching me. I stood there in my boxers." "The next minute I was sprawling on the floor again, after another hard, fast blow to my head. Again I was pulled to my feet. 'Perhaps you don't understand', the Arab said, 'When I tell you to get naked, I mean you to do it. Totally nude. Not half covered, in boxers. Now, for the last time, strip'." "I could see there was no choice, so put my hands in the waistband of my boxers and pushed them off down over my hips. I saw their eyes watching me, and moved my hands down to cover my genitals. 'Hands behind your head', the Arab said, 'We want to see exactly what we have - or, should I say, exactly what you have!', and when I hesitated, he raised his forearm ready to strike me again. I put my hands behind my head, and stood there, feeling a dreadful hot blush start to creep up my neck and face." "'Very good', said the Arab. 'Now turn around.' And then, a few minutes later, 'Keep you r hands behind your head and bend over so your head is between your knees'." "I did as I was told, and felt the muscles of my ass and the backs of my thighs stretch and extend as I did. 'Now reach behind you, and spread your ass cheeks', I was told. This was probably the most humiliating thing I had ever done in my life, but I had no choice." "I was made to stand there like that for a couple of minutes, and there was some more discussion amongst the Arabs. Then, without any warning, a couple of them simply picked me up and carried me into the bathroom. My hands were cuffed and the cuffs looped around the shower rail, and I was left standing there, naked, in the bathtub. After an hour or so I was cold - the room's air conditioning was fierce - and I needed desperately to pee. So I called out. One of the Arabs came into the bathroom. He was naked, and I had a tanned muscular body with lots of straight black hair all over it. When I told him I needed to pee, he said 'Do it. You're standing in the tub, so you won't make too much mess for us. And don't disturb us again. This is the body guards' bedroom outside, and we need our sleep." "I hung there all night, shivering to keep warm. Then the door opened and one of the other Arabs, also naked, came in and casually peed into the toilet, simply ignoring me standing there. Through the open door I could see that two of the bodyguards had been sleeping in each of the two double beds in the room - one still had both occupants, and the other had just been left by the guy peeing. His companion was lying there, exposed from where the covers had been thrown over, and I could see a massive erection." "Could it be, I wondered, that these four guys always slept with each other, and shared beds? Just thinking about it made me feel strange, and I started to erect. But then all four came crowding into the bathroom, as they needed to get ready for the morning. They turned the shower attachment on, and in spite of me hanging there, took turns to shower. Just as the last one was finishing, he said something to the others who were shaving and cleaning their teeth at the sinks, and they obviously agreed because one went into the bedroom, came back into the bathroom, and unlocked my handcuffs. Before I could get my arms properly down to relieve the cramp I was feeling, the Arab who was still showering grabbed me around the waist and pulled me under the jet with him. He shampooed my hair, and soaped me all over - and I mean all over; up the my ass crack and everything. It didn't seem sexual at the time - but it was more than just two guys having fun in the showers together. At the end we were both sporting big hard-ons." "They dressed, and I was roughly towelled dry, and my arms cuffed my back. I was asked if I wanted to crap, and said no, as I couldn't believe I could perform in front of those four guys." "Then, totally naked, and without being to cover myself in front at all, I was marched out of the room, along the hall, and we waited for the elevator. When it came, we all got in, and it started down. I wondered what on earth they would do if someone else got in - it was still relatively early in the morning and the breakfast rush was not yet started, but even at that early hour surely there would be some people around?" "Sure enough, ten floors down the elevator stopped and an old couple started to get in. They looked in astonishment at my nakedness, and quick as a flash one of the Arabs said 'Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen. This is just a frat hazing. I'm sorry if we startled you - if you find the pledge offensive, we'll get out and let you folks go on down'. The guy then laughed and said 'You remind me of my days at College. We all did wild things. It's not a problem', and he and his wife got in and stood facing the doors, as people always do in elevators, as if nothing unusual had happened. I thought about crying out for help from the couple, as surely the Arabs would not harm them, but as the doors closed and the couple were no longer looking at me, one of the Arabs reached down and grabbed my balls. He turned towards me, and smiled, meaningfully." "We went down to the parking garage, where I was bundled into a limo, taken to the airport, and flown out on a private jet." "I think you experienced the same things after that - I was taken to the government slave centre because I had made the mistake of hitting an important guy in the country's ruling class, and had been judged and found guilty under their laws even thought I was an American and the offence took place in the USA. I was shaved and so on, and put on display for the next auction." "I was almost never off the 'special inspection blocks'. Every day one or more buyers would want me on my knees, and would shake my cock and probe my ass. They were all looking at me for various brothels and sex clubs - it was rarer in those days to get an American at all, and getting a 17 year old boy, in good shape, was a real exception. They all knew they could sell my ass every night for huge sums to their clients." "The first time I was probed up the ass and they hit my prostate it was dreadful. I had never had another man see me with my cock dripping pre cum before. But after the first few, I got used to it and almost ceased to notice as they pushed their prying fingers up my hole. I did lie awake at night in the cage, though, worrying about how I could take a cock up there - my step dad's cock had really freaked me out. I had several tussles in the cage, as some of the other slaves tried to fuck me, and they needed to learn that although I was young, my body was hard and I was used to punching guys out." "One of the inspections was different, though. The guy didn't waste any time in probing my ass, squeezing my balls, or trying to jack me off. He carried out a minute inspection of my musculature, again and again squeezing my biceps and my thighs, and probing his thumbs down into my lats to see how I reacted. I couldn't imagine what sort of perversion he had in mind for me." "On the day of the auction, the bidding went higher and higher, and it was apparent that here were several of the sex show owners bidding for me. When I was finally delivered, though, I was surprised to be bundled out of the van and into a gym. It was full of strong, good looking guys working out on the usual sort of exercise machines, and in one corner there was a big boxing ring where a couple of guys were knocking the hell out of each other. They were in the usual sort of kit guys wear to the gym, but none of them seemed to look much at me as I was led, naked, through their midst." "In an office in the corner was the man who had inspected me so minutely. He told me to assume the 'display' position, and when I just stood there, he told me what was expected. He said that even though it looked like a pretty normal gym, it was in fact a slave training facility and that slaves were expected to 'obey the rules'. So I stood there with my hands behind my head and my cock jutting out whilst he explained that he ran a sort of 'gladiator school', to train slaves to fight for the pleasure of masters." "Provided I behaved myself, I would have a better life than I could have hoped to have if I had been sold as a sex slave. I would be trained to fight, and would normally have one bout a week. Training was done in this gym wearing 'western style' gym kit mostly, because some masters also liked to attend, and they did not want to expose their bodies to us hard slaves because they were envious of our development. So everyone wore 'the same', and in the showers there were some open areas, where we were expected to shower, and some private cubicles the masters who were just customers could use if they wished". "Fighting training was usually done in bikinis, or G-strings. Although we were expected to fight naked, he allowed us to train with our cocks and balls contained because it could be painful having our genitalia scrape on the floor as we fought, and he wanted to 'save' us from that, until there was a real fight. The masters who used the gym as a gym were allowed to come and watch us training for fights if they wanted, and this was one of the reasons why his gym was so popular." "We were in the middle of the Capital, and so there was only limited space for his gym. He needed to be central, so that masters could come out from their offices for a quick work out if they wanted to. But his slaves lived in a dorm about 4 KM away, and we would wear running shorts to run to and fro each day. He cautioned me against trying to escape, even thought I would not be branded or marked visibly and would be crossing the Capital twice a day, as the police kept a special watch out for his slaves on their journey. Any attempt to speak to westerners would be severely punished." "He then took a tiny G-string out of his desk drawer, and told me to put it on. I had never worn anything so provocative before - even though my genitals were covered, it was with a very thin, almost transparent elastic fabric. You'll know that I'm a very hairy guy anyway, and my pubic hair sprayed out from around the pouch. I couldn't get used to the sensation of the thin string going up my ass crack, particularly as it cut into my anus - I'd always worn boxers and so on before, and had never had fabric in my ass crack, let alone a thin string. He told me to go off into the gym and get training - I would get other kit later, but he knew that the other slaves and the masters in there would like a chance to have a good look at me on my first day." "I thought I would die of embarrassment. Being naked is one thing, being dressed totally provocatively is another. But I did as I was told, and ran on the running machines, pumped iron, and so on. Very late in the afternoon there was a note from a klaxon, and all us slaves - there were 10 of us - went off into the locker room and changed into high-cut satin running shorts. Then we set off, running at a fair pace, through the city streets to our 'dorm'." "The dorm was just a building where there was a room with a table where we were fed, a big communal shower room, and a big communal bed room. As we went into the dorm, we dropped our shorts and handed them to a guard on the door. He then locked it, and we were left to ourselves until the morning. There was absolutely no privacy, as in the showers there were no walls, and the two crap holes were just along one wall. And the communal bedroom was just that - an empty room, with a soft-ish floor. You just lay down, anywhere there was a space." "I had been used to my own room at home, and had always locked the bathroom door since I had sprouted my first pubic hair. So getting used to this totally open communal life was at first difficult But the other guys had all been there a long time, and were totally used to it. They showered, shat, slept, and fucked together. With nowhere to hide, I got used to having erections in public, and to jacking myself off with other guys looking on. Although all the guys were fully sexually experienced, there was never any coercion to fuck unless you wanted to - I guess that this is because they were fighters, and any attempt at 'rape' could be damaging to the guy trying it on. Initially of course they were all curious about my body - anything 'new' always attracted attention - and I was specially interesting as I was a young boy of 17. But they didn't try to fuck me, and I slept as best I could, surrounded by the snoring, farting snuffling bodies of my companions. Had I not been naked, I could have been in a barracks room in any army camp in the USA." "The following morning we all showered, and most of the guys jacked off to get rid of their morning hard-ons, then we had breakfast, still in the nude. We lined up in the hall, and the guard opened the door and handed out our running shorts, and we ran of to the gym. I didn't understand how he managed to get the same shorts back to the same guy, as they were unlabelled, but I soon learned that they didn't bother - what difference did it make if you got some other guy's shorts anyway?" "I went on like this for about three months, and my body got harder and stronger. Then I started 'proper' training to be a fighter. I was to be a wrestler, and my master told me I should be glad about that as the boxers and 'rough housers' tended to get badly beaten and soon lost their looks, as their noses were broken and their ears were torn. Wrestling training consisted of putting on my tiny G-string and fighting with a trained wrestler - no proper instruction was ever given, I was just told to attack the other fighter and he would throw me, just hard enough to hurt. Then we'd do it again, and again, and again, until I was hurting so much that my body learned how to fall, or how to do the throw better, or whatever. Real 'learning by doing'." "I had a natural aptitude for wrestling, and after about another three months I was ready for my first fight, my master said. One day I was called into his office in the middle of training and there was a young couple sitting across from my master at his desk. 'This is the new boy I was telling you about', he said, 'If you're looking for something unusual for your party, this is it. He's only just 18, and, as you can see, he has the proper white skin of a European. He's been well trained, and I think he's a natural fighter. His first time in the ring might produce fireworks'. The woman whispered something to her husband, who in turn leaned over and whispered to my master. 'Of course', he said, smiling at them. Looking at me he said 'Take off those gym clothes so the customers can see you properly." "Living naked with 10 guys, and training in a skimpy G-string was one thing. But stripping in front of three properly dressed people, one of whom was a woman, was something else. I remembered something one of my colleagues had said about how to strip in front of customers, and instead of taking off my training vest and then dropping my shorts, I instead dropped my shorts, then pulled my vest off over my head, which gave them a chance to see my cock without needing to look into my face at the same time. I stood there naked in front of them, but felt so embarrassed that I started to blush; and as I blushed harder, to my horror I felt my cock start to go erect. There was nothing I could do, as at my master's prompting by a small gesture, I had assumed 'display' and my hands were behind my head. Moving them down to try to do something about my erection would have drawn attention to it, and made it worse." "The woman started to giggle in embarrassment, but her husband only leaned closer for a better look at my nude body, and I could see his tongue moistening his lips in little flicking movements. Obviously he was interested in me." "Suffice it to say that I was hired for the evening, and two days later I was delivered to a house in the city here a wrestling mat was set up in the middle of the garden, as an entertainment for the party guests. There were about 100 guests standing around, sipping champagne, and I met my opponent - a guy of about 24, Arab, with a thatch of black hair over his stomach and chest. Like me, he was wearing only a brief G-string." "An announcement was made to the guests saying that this was to be an unlimited time fight, with no rounds break, ending 'in the usual fashion'. We faced each other across the ring, and started to wrestle. He was much more experienced than me, and much more powerful - in spite of my heavy training, I was, after all, still only 18. We grappled away, and in the hot night air our bodies were slick with sweat and slid over each other. It became difficult to get a grip on each other, and our hands scrabbled for anything they could. After about 10 minutes his hands got behind the string around my waist holding up my G-string, and he tore it off. I had no time to be embarrassed at the 100 people now looking at my totally naked body, and we continued to grapple." "With my cock and balls now exposed, his advantage became the greater. Not only did I have to be careful how I fell, but his hands were always trying to get a hold of my private organs, and I knew that if he succeeded, the fight would be over. I did the only thing I could think of - I scrabbled at him, and succeeded in ripping his G- string off, too. The crowd cheered, as his large thick cock flopped out, and we carried on fighting." "I didn't know what 'the usual fashion' was for ending the bout, but I knew I wasn't going to be the winner. I was tiring rapidly, faced with this stronger, much more experienced fighter. Then I found out - 'the usual fashion' of ending the bout was for the loser to utterly succumb to the victor, by being fucked by him. The Arab managed to get me on my stomach, then he got one of his arms under me so that my ass was raised slightly, and before I knew what was happening, or could even try to summon up some small part of my remaining energy, his cock thrust itself into me. The crown shouted in unison and he pumped in and out of me, and cheered when he came. He then stood up, and went around the mat giving victory salutes (and the crown an opportunity to look at his cock slimed with cum, so they could know it was 'for real'). I just lay there, utterly defeated, and with my worst nightmare come true - I had vowed never to be taken up the ass again after being raped by my step dad, and now I had been. And it was clear that this was to be my life in the future." "But, to cut a long story short, it wasn't. From 18 to 20 I lost a lot of fights and took a lot of cock, but all the time I was gaining in experience and I exercised like mad to pile on muscle power. And, of course, my body was going through the normal changes that all guys go through as they leave their teens and go into their twenties, and my muscles were naturally hardening and growing in endurance. From about 20 onwards, I sometimes won a fight, and in spite of not really liking my cock up another guy's ass, this was part of my 'job' as a gladiator slave, and I simply got in there and fucked them. Between 21 and 22 I almost never lost - I was becoming famous, and there was a string of bookings for me to appear at parties and receptions. The rich set in the Capital liked looking at my European body, and it had now filled out so that I was a real 'centre fold' type." "My master had lots of offers to buy me, but he refused them all. He told me that I was the best investment he had made for some time - although I had been fabulously expensive to buy as a 17 year old and had cost a lot to train and feed, I was now really pulling in the appearance money and was repaying his investment handsomely. I was proud of this, and, in truth, I liked the life. I had a group of good guys to work out, train and live with, and there was no bitching or jealousy about possessions, or the other guy's girl, or all the other things that I already was having arguments about before I was enslaved. I guess living totally without privacy, and with no possessions (I didn't even own my running shorts, or the G-strings or gym clothes) with a group of guys really makes that impossible." "But when I turned 24, I started to lose again. Newer fighters were coming along all the time, and 22 to 23 is about the 'right' age for this type of fast, skilful fighting. My master told me one day that this was normal. I should expect to go 'downhill' until I was about 25 or 26, and I would be fucked almost every fight. But then he would sell me on, and I would be out of the fighting game. He told me that he usually managed to get his fighters a good spot, being the workout buddy or fuck toy for some rich Arab." "In truth, this was profoundly depressing. I wondered if I could somehow get a message to the US Embassy, and for a few months watched and plotted how I might accomplish this - I ran every day past the embassy compound, but there were Arab police guarding it, and I guessed they knew not to let slaves in. But my hopes were dashed when, one night, my bout was actually in the embassy grounds. Half the crowd were Arabs, and the other half American and European diplomats. There was no discernible difference in the behaviour of the two groups in the crowd, and they all seemed as turned on by the sight of us guys grappling naked in front of them and being forced to fuck each other." "At the end of my bout I was going to run up to the Ambassador and beg him to tell the US Marines on guard inside the compound to protect me. I won, and was getting ready to leap up and confront him, when my master took me by the arm, together with the opponent I had just fucked, and led us up to the Ambassador and his wife, and their most important guests at the top table. I stood there in front of them, dripping with sweat and with my cock drooling the last of my cum from its end, and my master said 'This is the young American I told you about, Ambassador. He does well, don't you think?'. 'Yes' the Ambassador replied. I have read his file in 'missing persons' from back home, and he was a real trouble maker. You have succeeded in turning him into a real man - he'd have spent most of his life in prison by now in the USA, and he would have been fucked even more often by the other prisoners'." "I knew that my master had arranged this interview with the Ambassador to show that he knew about the American slaves in the country, and that any attempt on my part to flee to the Embassy would be futile. As I lay with my mates that night in our communal bedroom, I was as depressed as I had even been. There seemed to be no escape, and at some point I would be sold on as a rich man's sex toy." "A couple of weeks later, though, I was booked to appear in a grand 'knock out' tournament. 16 fighters were going to take part, with eight first-round matches to 'fight to the fuck' Then when the winners had had time to recover, four matches would be fought, again 'to the fuck', then two matches, and, finally a grand last bout to decide the winner. When we arrived, all of us were lined up and lectured to by the master running the tournament" "He said that this was to be a special night, and they really wanted to see good, hard fighting. There were to be no G-strings or anything, we were to be nude all night, whether fighting or watching. If any fighter was seen to be simulating his fucking, or if the crowd decided any fighter was not fighting hard enough, he would be bought from his master, go into the service of the fight arranger, and would then be castrated. But the fabulously wealthy man for whom the evening was being arranged had offered a special prize - he would buy the winner from his master, and set him free!" "None of us slaves could believe our ears. A chance of freedom! But I knew, deep down, that I was not well placed. I only won about 50% of my bouts now, and there were some very good, young, fast fighters amongst us 16." "That was probably the most amazing evening of fighting and fucking the Capital has ever seen. Each of us desperately wanted to win our bouts, and no one dared let up in case he was selected for castration. I won my first round bout, and sat crouching at the edge of the mat with my fellow winners. Amazingly I also got through the second round, and the semis, and ended up in the final. I think it was sheer desperation - I was going to get free!". "And I did win. But the final fuck was a real challenge. Both my opponent and I were already exhausted when we started the final bout, but we summoned up reserves of strength from I know not where to fight like devils. We were slick with sweat, and the ammoniacal smell of cum was everywhere - on our winning cocks from the earlier bouts, and on the surface of the mat. Normally our bouts only lasted at most 15 minutes, and I had already had three that evening running to 25, so desperate were all the fighters. Now this final went on and an, and neither of us had the strength to gain an advantage. I felt my strength ebbing, and my opponent was gaining the upper hand, and I knew I had lost. But luck must have been on my side, because suddenly my opponent slipped slightly on a patch of still-wet cum, and this seemed to strain his groin. He was now much more feeble, and could no longer hold me off as I forced him down, pushed his legs apart - he screamed as I did this, because of his groin injury - and rammed my cock home. I was in trouble, though, because I could only just manage an erection, and it took me about 8 minutes of solid humping before I could actually force a trickle of cum out." "But that was all I needed. I was presented to the Sheikh who had organised this special event and who was hugely pleased with it, and he talked to my master, and I was told I was free!" "But my troubles now began in earnest. I was standing there naked, and what was I to do? I had no money, and no clothes. My master said I could not go back to the dorm that night, as it would be bad for the other slaves. He also said that that was my last fight, as the laws in the country only allowed slaves to fight, as it was considered unseemly for free men to do so. And finally I was told that even though I was free, the law also did not permit a freed slave to leave the country. He cautioned me about begging or anything, as that was illegal, and I would quickly be arrested and enslaved again." "I stood there, feeling utterly helpless, and bone weary. I di not even have a G-string to cover my genitals." "There was an Arab of about my age standing there listening to all this, and after the Sheikh's party had left, and I was just sitting on the grass in despair, he came over and said 'There is one way you can earn a living. Come back with me now - you're a free man and you can do what you please - and I will pay you $1000 dollars to experience your body.'" "I couldn't believe my ears - I was being offered a prostitute's fee. But there was no choice, so I followed him to his car. I was still naked, and he had not offered me any covering - I thought that he could, for example, have loaned me his sweater to tie around my waist. He opened the doors, and I was about to get in when he snapped 'What do you think you're doing - I don't want to get the upholstery covered in sweat and cum. You'd best lie in the trunk'.". "So that's the way I went to his apartment, which turned out to be a vast, western-stlye one in the most exclusive residential area. In the apartment I followed him in to a bedroom, then he sat on the edge of his bed and looked at me. He sat there for a couple of minutes, as if inspecting me, and I did not know what to so. Then he stood up, and stripped off his clothes. He wasn't in bad shape - nothing like me, of course, and nothing like the flesh I was used to being surrounded with. But at any country club in the USA he would have cut an acceptable figure around the pool." "'So come on, then', he said. 'Come on what?", I replied. 'You're the expert - come and do to me whatever two guys do together.' I listened in astonishment, as he then broke down and explained that he was a virgin. He had had to marry a girl at his father's command, because that was the done thing in their rich family, but they had never slept together. His brothers all laughed at him, all the time, because they knew he had never taken any of the estate slaves into his bed. And so he was determined to buy some experience. He had chosen me because he had seen my superb body, and had been really turned on by the brutal fighting and seeing me fuck four guys that night. He had mistakenly thought that I was a skilled sex slave, rather than one who just took it up the ass, and gave it the same way, as the demands of the ring required." "After that honesty, what could I do but put my arms around him and comfort him. We both sat on the side of the bed, talking. Then I told him I simply couldn't fuck again that night, and, anyway, as a free man I was resolved not to do it for money. But why didn't I treat him as if he was one of my buddies in the slave dorm? This seemed to turn him on, so we went together into his marble shower, and stood there washing each other (I told him that slaves generally did not wash their own bodies). He seemed to find this arousing, because he had a gentle erection as my hands were soaping his ass. So as I would with any of my buddies that way in the shower, I knelt in front of him and jacked him off with my soapy hands, whilst the warm water sprayed over us." "Then we towelled each other off, and he particularly enjoyed gently patting my shaved ball sac dry, and went back into the bedroom. I stripped the covers off the bed, and told him that in the slave dorm we just slept on the floor, without covering. He said he always felt cold in the air conditioning, but I said not to worry, as the mutual warmth of our bodies would counter that. We slept all that night twined together, and in the morning he was 'spooned' up against my back. I could feel his breath over my shoulder blades, and he had one arm around me, lying just below my rib cage. I lay there awake, not wanting to disturb him, but knew he must soon wake up because his morning hard-on was pushing against my ass. His hand started to stretch, then touched my cock, which sprang to attention. He was still half asleep, I know, and perhaps he thought it was his own cock, because he started to stroke me gently. Just before I came, I took his hand away and turned over to face him. I think he realised what had been happening by then, but we lay there facing each other, and it seemed only natural to jack each other off." "Over breakfast he seemed pleased, and told me that was the first time he had ever slept with another man all night, except for his brothers. And he had never mutually masturbated with anyone before. He suggested a swim, and said he would find me some trunks, but I asked him why he was bothering. A mischievous grin spread over his face, and we both ran out to the rooftop pool outside his penthouse, and dived in. It was fabulous, high above the city, with the water running over my naked body. We raced, 'bombed' each other from the pool edge, tried to swim between each other's legs, and generally played around. We were at our games when two of his brothers arrived and stood by the pool looking down at us. We both got out, and stood there naked. His brothers were astonished, and told him they had never known him to swim naked before, and certainly not with another guy. 'But then', said the other brother 'it's only a slave, and swimming and playing with a slave isn't the same'." "I broke in at this point and said 'Hey - who are you calling a slave? I'm an American, and I met your brother last night. Why don't you guys fuck off, so we can get back to our fun. We only have a day or so, and there's lots of positions we need to get through. I don't want to have my vacation wasted listening to you talking about slaves when I can be in your brother's bed.'." "My friend thought it was hugely funny as his brothers left, and thanked me for what I had said. 'They'll tell everyone now about the fabulous, exotic, foreign hunk who really wanted my body', he said. 'And did you notice that they were both so turned on that they had erections as they looked at us?'." "We had a week of genuine fun, and he took me and showed me some of the Capital, and we went out into the desert to watch camel racing. We did fuck, but only because we both wanted to after we had got to know each other a lot better. But I knew it couldn't last, and one day I said to him 'We have to face the facts. I need a job. I know you want me to live with you permanently, but it won't work - our worlds are too different, and after we have exhausted all the combinations of sex, and got in slaves to do sex with, and whatever, we'll be tired of each other. We must break it off now, whilst we still have this amazing week to remember for the rest of our lives. And if I'm not living with you, I won't take money from you - that would be just a lesser form of slavery.'." "He cried at first, but as we talked, it became clear that I was right. He used his influence with his uncle the Sheikh to get me a job here, on the estate, as a lowly guard. I didn't like guarding the slaves at first, and when I was put on the duty that processed any new American or European arrivals because I could speak their language, that was particularly difficult. I kept myself in good shape in the gym, but I never used any of the 'comfort' slaves." "Over time I discovered I had a talent for spotting things out of line before they caused a disaster, and for quickly fixing cock-ups. This surprised me, because I had never been any good at school when I was a kid, but now I could easily see where paperwork was out of line, or where someone was trying to fiddle the books. I stopped being a guard, and went to work in administration, and soon the Sheikh got to hear of my talents. I stopped one particularly big fraud before any money had left the country, and the Sheikh had the guys who had almost got away with his money enslaved. As a reward, he made me his Overseer." "So I've gone from punk kid, to rent boy robber, to slave, nude wrestler, guard, and Overseer! I like the life. It's never boring. In most things, I'm in absolute command here over 100 workers and 2500 slaves. Life is funny, isn't it - had my step dad not raped me, I'd have been a high school drop out , and would probably be working in a meat packing plant or something!" "But I've tired you. I have to go to the City again tomorrow, but I'll be back in a few days. Go back to sleep now, and continue to exercise to get well." He bent over, and kissed me gently on the closed lips, and left. To Be Continued. THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE, PART 16 DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS By the time the Overseer got back several days later, I was almost completely recovered - I could run, although not for long. In spite of the large dressings being replaced by only a sizeable adhesive plaster, I had not returned to the Stables - I still slept on the leather-covered bed in the veterinarian's hospital. He came through the door, shouting for the veterinarian, and was annoyed that the guy was not there. He stormed out, and when he did come back with the veterinarian some time later the veterinarian was saying "Look, don't go on. I know I have the only key. But I couldn't wait around all afternoon for you as I was called out to an accident at the quarry. One of those big Nubians had got his legs crushed by a rock fall, and I had to put him down. And before you start in at me about that - yes, I know it's a waste of the Sheikh's money to lose a slave like that, but there was very little chance of him ever being able to walk again, and whilst he could have gone on living, what would have been the point? You know the standing orders say that any irretrievably damaged slaves are to be terminated, and that's what I did - a simple, swift injection." However the Overseer couldn't retain his anger, and he came over to me, smiling. "Sorry I've left you for so long, Steve, but my business in the Capital took longer than I expected. I went to please with the Sheikh again to let you go free, but he wouldn't even consider it. So I offered to buy you from him." "I get a god salary by USA standards here, and I don't spend most of it as all my housing is found, and the Club is free. I don't have to run a car (he grinned at me), and you know I don't spend much on clothes!. Although I can never be as rich as the Arabs with their oil wealth, I have quite a bit put by. I offered him all my savings - about $800K - but he just laughed. He said you were worth $1.2M, and would not sell you for less. We dickered a bit, and he looked at the books to see how much you had cost, how much you took to train, and so on. He came down to $1.1M, but wouldn't go any lower. I don't think he really wanted to sell you at all." "So I then played a master card. I said I was quitting my job as his Overseer. I was going to take my $800K and buy a little apartment in the Capital, and take up guiding tour groups around the historic sites. I could easily make enough to live on, and maybe even enough to own a couple of house slaves for all my chores". "We was worried by this, as this place only ticks as smoothly as it does because of me. It's not wise to make a threat to the Sheikh, and I saw he was thinking that I was going to blackmail him into selling you at a low price. But when he heard what I had to offer, he was delighted." "He agreed to advance me my next five years wages in a lump sum now. So then I had enough to buy you. Of course, I can't now leave here for another five years, as I would then be in breach of my contract with the Sheikh and any court in the land would order my enslavement again. But you're mine now." "And you're free to leave - just come back and visit me sometimes!". And with that, he took the key from the Overseer and reached up and undid the chains holding me to the bed. He then gave me the parcel he was carrying, and said "Open it. It's a present!". I tore off the paper, and inside there was a white cotton T-shirt, a pair of white cotton bikini briefs, and a pair of khaki shorts. The Overseer told me to get dressed, as I couldn't go around naked now I was a free man again. I pulled the bikini briefs on, and even though they were the right size, I couldn't bear the constriction on my cock and sac, and took them off again. I pulled on the khaki shorts, and they felt OK as they were relatively baggy, but because of my long legs and long cock, I though I would need to be careful if my cock head was not to start poking out of the short legs. I went to pull on the T-shirt, but thought that this, too, would be stifling, and said "You're a free man too, and I've never seen you wear anything other than cut- offs. I'll skip the T-shirt. But thanks for being so considerate, and thinking of such a great gift." I believe that was the first real decision I had made for five years, since I had been enslaved. I hadn't asked the Overseer's permission to go bare chested, without a T-shirt, I had just decided to do so. The veterinarian shook my hand - another "free man" gesture, and the Overseer said we should go over to his bungalow, as I was welcome to stay there as long as I liked, whilst I got sorted out. We walked out of the veterinarian's office and through the complex to his bungalow, our arms around each other's shoulders, we were both so happy. I had never of course seen inside he bungalow, as I had always been tethered outside. We went up the steps, and there was a cool marble hall with two doors opening off it. The Overseer pointed at the right hand one and said "That leads to the house slaves' quarters. I don't know what's down there really, as I have never been". We went through the left hand one, and were in a large square marble- floored living room, with big windows at the back opening onto a private terrace with a pool. "This is the living room", said the Overseer. "I have a great stereo, a big TV, and a satellite installation that can pull in almost any channel from the USA you want to watch. But I don't much use it myself. The pool is kept sparkling clean by the slaves, but I don't use it much, either. I prefer to use the pool at the Club, as there are always some other guys to talk to, or I can exercise better by ordering one of the 'comfort' slaves to race me - they never know whether to really beat me, in case I'm angry, or go slow so that I can beat them, when I might be angry because I saw they were not trying. It's fun to see them wonder what the hell to do!" "Those two doors" - he pointed to two doors on our left - lead to the bedrooms, one for you, one for me. He took me through the left-hand door, and there was a massive bed with crisp white linen sheets, and a row of closets along one wall. An arch opposite the door was, he said the entrance to the bathroom, and we went over to look at it. "There's no actual bath", he said, as I know that every drop of water has to be pumped with slave muscle, so there's only showers". In fact, though, there didn't seem to be much of anything - the room appeared to be totally empty, just a marble space sloping down slightly to a hole in the floor. "Of course, when I said 'bathroom', you were expecting something different, weren't you?", he said. "Let me explain. The hole in the floor is of course the crap hole - you're familiar with that. So much better for you to squat down, rather than using a western lavatory. Everything else is carried in by the bath slaves, when you need it. So if you're going to shower, they'll run in a flexible hose and wash you with it. If you just want a shave, or to brush your teeth, they'll carry in the mirror, water, and so on - although I usually have the slaves shave me, as it's so much easier. You don't have to stand up whilst you're shaving or towelling dry - one of the slaves will kneel down, and you sit on his back. If I've just had a really cold shower, I quite like the feel of the warm slave back under my ass." "Although you can do exactly as you like, and they're there for the taking, I personally don't fuck the house slaves. Of course I have them masturbate me if I'm feeling horny and I haven't had a comfort slave in over night, but I don't think it's a a good idea to stick my cock up a slave who I am going to have showering me every day." "The arch over there, opposite the one we came in from your room, leads to my room, which is identical to yours. There are no doors, but I'm used to living with relatively little privacy after my initial period in the gladiators' dorm, and I know you are, too, in the Stables, so that's not a problem." "Why don't you have a good look around whilst I shower". With that, he clapped his hands, and two bath slaves entered. They were both about 18, I would think, and were twins. They were of half Arab, half European stock, and their skins were a pale olive brown. Their black hair was cut very short, and their pubic hair was of course neatly trimmed in the way that the Overseer liked. One of them was carrying a shower head on the end of a pipe, and it was already spraying water. The other went over to the Overseer, dropped to his knees in front of him, and opened the button at the top of his cut-offs and helped him out of them. The Overseer was not at all concerned about having me watch, and before starting to shower, squatted down and dropped a giant turd into the crap hole. Then he stood up, and the two bath slaves started to shower him - one expertly directing the water spray, and the other soaping his body gently. When he had finished showering, one of the slaves knelt down, and the Overseer did indeed sit on the boy's bare back - he took a towel handed to him by the other slave, and started to dry his feet, paying particular attention to getting between the toes and so on, as you see guys do all the time in locker rooms, unconcerned by the sight of other bodies around them. I wanted a shower, too, so whilst the Overseer sat there watching me, I dropped my shorts and allowed the one remaining bath slave to both soap me and wash me with the spray. When he had finished, it was as if my body still knew that the end to a shower was 'milking', because my cock sprang to attention. The Overseer saw this, and told me that he would move and let me sit on the slave, if I wanted the other one to jerk me off whilst I was sitting comfortably. But I was used to being 'milked' whilst I was standing, and said no - in fact, I didn't want to be 'milked' at all, in spite of the ache in my sac, whilst I was being watched by the Overseer. I thought he sensed this, because he said "You know, I've watched you dozens of times being 'milked' in the stables. You must need it after lying in that hospital, so why don't you go ahead - if it will make you feel any better, I'll shut my eyes!". I realised I was being foolish, and signalled to the bath slave to wank me. It only took a few quick shakes to climax me, and my cum spurted out onto the shower floor. Then I stood there whilst the slave expertly removed the slick of cum still coming out of my cock, and used a huge, soft towel to dry me. The Overseer was handed a fresh pair of his habitual cut-offs, and the slaves handed me the shorts I had got out of when entering the shower. But I found them so constricting, and hesitated in putting them on. The Overseer told me that I didn't need to wear anything if I didn't want to, and I decided I was more comfortable naked. We went out, through his bedroom (which was indeed the same as mine), and into the large living room. We sat down next to each other on a large leather couch (and I loved the sensation of the cool, smooth leather on my ass and back), and the Overseer said "Well, we'd better plan for tonight, your first one of freedom. I can't take you to the Club until I have fixed for your temporary membership, so we'll eat here. What kind of slave do you want in your bed tonight, so I can have one sent over for you from the Club - they have all sorts - blacks, whites, and some Asians; tall ones, short ones, and thin ones; blondes, dark haired ones, red heads, straight hair, curly hair, totally stripped of hair.... tell me what you fancy for your first night as a free man, and we'll see what we can do". But I didn't want a slave that night - all I wanted was to be left alone with my thoughts - the day's events were so amazing. So I mumbled my apologies for turning down his hospitality, and he simply ordered a couple of steaks and some beer to be sent in. One can of the beer was enough to make me feel very light headed - I hadn't had any alcohol for five years, and my body was not used to its effects. As we sat there on the couch, my arm, which had been resting along the back, simply fell off, across the Overseer's shoulders. He obviously thought this was the start of a pass on my part, because he turned to me and smiled. I didn't know what to do, as although I really wanted the Overseer, I didn't think it was seemly for me to approach him. So I mumbled "Sorry, master". The Overseer looked at me and said "I'm not your master, remember?." I then had to explain to him that I did not know what to call him - "sir", or "master", or "Overseer", or what. "Steve ", he said, "we're equals now. I call you Steve, and you call me Stu." I had another beer then, and it had such an effect on me that I had to go into the bathroom to pee. I realised I was so tired, and poked my head back into the living room to say that although I really did want to talk more with him, I was exhausted. He understood completely, and I went off to my room. I tried to sleep between the luxurious linen sheets, but my body was not used to being covered at night, so I stripped all the covers off. But still I couldn't get to sleep, as the bed was too soft. So I lay down on the floor, and started to fall into a deep sleep. But then I heard noises, and realised that they came from the open arch into the bathroom, and through that, from Stu's room. I listened, and realised that he must have sent to the Club for a slave for himself. I heard him say something, then there was a sharp 'slap' sound, and another, and another. I thought I could hear muffled grunts - presumably Stu was slapping or paddling the slave, and it was so hard that the slave had not been able to restrain himself from trying to cry out. Then after a few minutes of this I heard Stu shouting "Yes, Yes, Yes... ", and I knew he must be riding the slave hard, followed shortly by "Jesus!" as I imagined him climaxing. There was no more noise, and then I went to sleep. I woke with a start, as someone slapped me hard on my ass - I had been sprawled out, face down, on the floor. Stu was standing over me, laughing. He said he had never seen anything so strange as a guy sleeping on the floor when there was a luxurious bed. But it must suit me, as he had come into the room several moments before and tried to wake me, and had had to resort to a slap on my ass to get me to stir. I climbed to my feet, conscious of my morning hard-on jutting out, and saw that Stu was in much the same position. "Come on", he said, "Shower time. You have a busy day." We went through into the shower, and as well as the two bath slaves there was a guy about my age, completely smooth except for a patch of dark black hair over his cock, and about 6'3" tall, like me. I realised that his must have been Stu's companion, and saw that the slave looked quite red around the ass were he had been paddled. Stu said to me "We've both got that morning problem - let's have a bit of fun. I challenge you to come last!", and he commanded the 'comfort' slave to kneel down in front of us, and wank us both. I didn't have time to say "no" before the tall, lithe slave fell to his knees and took my cock in one hand and Stu's in the other. I realised what Stu meant, and as the slave rubbed us both simultaneously, keeping each hand in synchronisation with the other, I tried to hold back. Stu was doing the same, and we were both equally hopeless - we both came at the same time, squirting our ropes of cum over the slave kneeling in front of us. We laughed a lot at our inability to control our reflexes, then the bath slaves washed us, and we sat down to be shaved. Stu sat on one of the bath slaves, and the 'comfort' slave was told to kneel on all fours, like a dog, so I could sit on him. I had never done this before, and his hot back under my ass was a new sensation. It wasn't a particularly comfortable seat, because he was well muscled and there was not an ounce of fat on him, and his back bone stood out from his muscles. So I had a hard bit running across under my ass, and shuffled from time to time as one of the bath slaves rubbed shaving cream into my chin. Stu saw me and said "Those muscle jocks can be hard on your ass. I should sit astride him, if I were you, so you get his spine between your cheeks, rather than across them - you'll find that more comfortable." I swivelled around, so I was sitting astride the slave, and it was indeed better. My balls and the tip of my cock now also touched his warm back, and I found this mildly erotic. After the bath slave had finished shaving my face, Stu said "Have you decided how you want your body done? I always kept your hair very short and the bottom of it cropped in a straight line. I see that after a couple of weeks lying in the hospital it has grown a bit - you're free of course to do what you want, but even if you do decide to grow your hair longer, can you have the back of your neck shaved in a tight line, please? Do that as a favour for me, as I think it makes a man much more sexy". "And what about your chest? I seem to remember that when I first had you had a pleasant thatch there - not too much. There's a stubble I felt there already yesterday, as you haven't been shaved properly for a couple of weeks. Whilst you're free to be shaved all over if you want, letting your pecs have a nice covering of hair again would be a nice change." "And please, do continue to have your balls shaved and your pubic area kept in some sort of control! Again, you can do what ever you like now, but most of us here shave our balls and our ass cracks - for one thing, you'll find it's a lot more comfortable because you sweat constantly." I agreed with him, and the bath slaves trimmed my hair, shaved my neck, and then took great care to give me the most gentle shave over my balls, around my anus, and up my ass crack. Unlike my time in the stables, where this was of course done regularly but it was always quite rough with no consideration for me, the bath slaves proceeded cautiously and slowly, so that I should suffer no inconvenience. We then went and sat by the private pool, nude, and breakfasted. Stu said that he had to work that day, but would break off at lunch time. He wanted me to go back to the veterinarians for a check up that morning, and for a "special treatment", and then he thought I would like to spend the rest of the morning exercising in the gym to complete my recovery - he would call in on his rounds and fix my membership at the Club. He offered to take me over to the veterinarians, but I reminded him that I knew my way around! So he clapped for a slave, who came holding his cut-offs, pulled them on, and I followed him to the door to say goodbye. I felt a pang of acute jealousy, because tethered to the post at the bottom of the steps was a new pony - Stu had chosen a slave who was quite like me in build (not surprising, really, as you needed our legs to get he speed he needed), but who was black haired - well, at least the 5 mm stubble left on his head was black - all the other hair on his body had been totally removed. He had a good cock and nice balls, but I thought they looked faintly ridiculous sticking 'raw' out of his pubic bone without even a neat patch of pubic hair to set them off. I made my way to the Veterinarians, and went in. The veterinarian was carrying out some treatment on a slave, but as soon as I went in he commanded the office slaves to remove the slave under treatment off to the cages, as it was of course more important not to inconvenience me. He came over, extended his hand, and said "You must call me Bob now. Welcome to freedom!". "You can go off to hospital in the Capital for the rest of your treatment now, but, if you like, I would be happy to carry on with it here. Although I'm known as the veterinarian, that's really only because I treat slaves - I am a proper MD, and actually would not have the faintest idea what to do if a cow, or a chicken, or even a pet hamster was brought in!" "You might want to carry on your treatment with me because I am most familiar with your wound, and, of course, I have checked out your body regularly every month for five years." I told him I was happy to continue, and he inspected my wound, which had now healed to the point at which it did not even need the surgical plaster covering. We both examined it closely, and I could see a line of scar tissue running down the inside of my thigh, from about 10 cm below my crotch for about 3 cm. "Sorry about that ", said Bob, "But it was a messy wound. Deep tissue wounds always result in some scarring, and I did my best to minimise it. Still, now you're not going to be sold again, it doesn't matter so much." "Thinking about your regular check-ups, one is due - shall we do it now, whilst you're here? Although it's not compulsory for men as it is for slaves, quite a lot of the guards and so on do come in regularly, as you can never be too careful with your health in this climate." I agreed with him, and was then taken aback when I realised he was doing exactly the same things to me as he had when I was having my slave inspections. He listened to my chest with his stethoscope, took a blood sample, then told me to stand up and drop my shorts. I did, still acting on autopilot almost and obeying a 'master' without question, and he reached down to start to masturbate me. "Hey!", I said, "I can do that myself, now!", and I quickly brought myself to a climax, so he could take a semen sample in his little collecting jar. "Sorry for that ", I continued after I had cum, "but it's one of the little pleasures of being free. I can shake my own cock whenever I want to. At least I'm not embarrassed at jerking off in front of you - you've seen me in action so many times, after all!". Then I gave him a urine sample, but there was no getting away from the normal rectal exam - I couldn't do that my self, and I had to bend over as always so that Bob's finger could probe me. Then Bob told me that he had a little surprise for me - he was going to remove my slave number tattoo from my arm. He asked me to go and sit on his examining table whilst he got out his equipment, and I went over and sat there. It was only as the cool leather touched my ass and balls that I realised I had not bothered to put my shorts back after the examination - I was so used to being naked that it simply never occurred to me to think about dressing. Bob brought out a complicated piece of equipment which, he explained, was a new laser gun for tattoo removal. He had it to help out the guards - some of the newly-employed guards came to the estate with prominent tattoos which they had unwisely had done when young, or drunk, or both, but when they realised they could spend their leisure time in the Club and gym naked, they now found them embarrassing. "Some of the young guards who have come out of the armed services have tattoos that they now find vulgar and inappropriate", he said "you know the kind of thing - naked women. Every one likes a good tattoo on a guy, and a strategically placed design can really enhance a guy's body. But we don't want pornography here, and they are glad I can help them get those designs off them without the need for constant trips to and from the city." I saw him get out a needle, and come towards my arm. I shied away, and Bob said "Oh come on, don't be silly. It's only a little needle, with Novocain. The laser is a constant series of little stings as it burns the dark ink away under your skin, and you'll also get some very hot sensations. This will stop you being in any pain or discomfort." "No!", I replied. "I've had a lot of pain sedation recently, and I don't want to risk getting hooked. Just carry on - I'm used to the sting of the whip, after all - Stu was always a considerate master, but he used the whip a lot to keep me running at top speed when he needed to be somewhere and I was flagging because I was tired. And don't worry about the burning sensation - it can't possibly be worse than the branding; I can still remember that, five years after!" So Bob and I chatted for about an hour, whilst he painstakingly (and painfully!) erased my slave number from my arm. He told me how he had become a doctor in the US Forces, because when he was in general practice he found that having to treat a huge mixture of patients was unacceptable to him - he wanted to specialise in men's medicine, and although you can have doctors specialising in women's complaints, it was "politically unacceptable" to have doctors specialising in guys' bodies. So he had joined the Army medical corps, and had been enjoying it when they, too, changed their policies and he had to start treating women soldiers and soldiers' families on the base. He had heard about the new order in this country and the reintroduction of slavery, and had come to see for himself whilst on leave. He liked what he saw, had applied for an honourable discharge, and had come back and entered the Sheikh's employ. He explained that apart from the small number of breeders, he now could devote himself exclusively to studying and fixing men's bodies. As he finished, Bob then asked me if I was going to the Club, and I said that I was - I was going to continue my workout sessions, and he said he would come along with me. He had only been dealing with minor problems with the slaves that morning, and they could wait in the cage whilst he was away. At the Club they knew about my membership, and we went in to the locker room where I had spent those four fateful days years ago. Bob pointed out that the Club made a variety of kit available to its members, so you didn't have to take any with you. Neatly arranged on the side were a selection of T-shirts, singlets, running shorts, tennis shorts, jockstraps, swim costumes, and so on, in several sizes. Bob said he would join me in working out, and selected a T- shirt, jock strap and shorts, and proceeded to strip to put them on. I felt strange - here I was seeing the naked body of the man who for so long had had intimate knowledge of my own. I took a singlet and shorts, deliberately choosing the largest size so that they constricted my body as little as possible. There was no way I could subject my cock and sac to the constriction of a jock strap, though. We went into the gym, and started to exercise - Bob ordered some of the 'comfort' slaves already in there to leave - I don't know why, as he had nothing to be ashamed of in his own physique, which, in spite of his 45-or-so years, was still in good shape as he had carried on looking after himself having learned good practice from his early years in the Army. We pounded away on the exercise machines, and after about 30 minutes when we were changing exercises, Bob looked at my sweating body and saw that my singlet and shorts were soaked - they were sticking to my skin as they do when you exercise hard. He said that I should go and change, as I didn't want my skin to be chafed from the wet fabric, and there were always plenty of fresh clothes in the locker room. But, frankly, I was so uncomfortable that I didn't think it would make any difference - I was used to working out nude, and the clothes were a dreadful restriction, whether wet or dry. Bob said I could do just as I liked - although most men wore conventional kit in the gym, there was absolutely no need to, and if I wanted to exercise naked, I should as it was healthier to do so. He explained that most guys had to wear clothes because they were used to having their cocks and sacs supported by their clothes during the day, and if they tried to use the running machines without anything on, they would get ball ache from having their unsupported cocks and sacs jogging up and down. Some of the guards exercised only in jock straps therefore, he told me, and some preferred just the very minimum covering of a posing pouch - although, he said, that always made him feel a bit queasy when he saw it, as during the harsh exercise the guys did, he knew the string underneath must be cutting into the soft tissue of their anus. He suggested I simply exercised nude, if that was what I found best After all, in ancient Greece, all the athletes did. So I let the damp clothes fall to the floor, and went to restart my exercise. "Not so fast", said Bob. "One of the reasons why I wanted to come with you today is to see whether you are doing too much too soon. Let me see if your heart is OK", and he came over to me and probedt my chest sensitively with his hands. I felt as if it was just as if I was a slave again for a moment - the veterinarian, clothed, feeling the nude slave. But I knew I was a proper free man, and in an instant that feeling was replaced by the slightly erotic feeling every guy gets when a doctor starts to handle his body. But Bob said I was OK, and we passed another hour together in the gym, stopping for brief chats in-between exercises. Bob reminded me that although he and Stu knew the full story, there were a lot of guards and other workers who would not. I had a potential problem, because although he had removed my slave tattoo, there was nothing that could be done about the brands on my ass and my pec - they were designed to be ineradicable, so that the Sheikh could always identify his property in case of escape, or theft, and I was stuck with them now. Some of the other gym users, seeing the brands on me as I exercised and not knowing my new status, might think I was a 'comfort' slave, the only slaves allowed in there, and command me to perform some sexual service. If only for that reason I might want to wear some kit in the gym, as anyone clothed could not of course be a slave. I told him not to worry - if the guard was good looking, I might anyway consider helping him out! And the rest would be told to fuck off! We finished our morning's session with a deep massage from a couple of slaves - Bob and I lay head to head so we could talk, whilst a couple of muscular trained masseurs probed our muscles and relaxed us. Bob had his masseur wank him as part of the treatment, but even though I had an erection whilst he was massaging my thighs, I commanded the slave not to touch my cock. We met up with Stu for lunch afterwards, and all three of us sat around the Pool whilst we eat a light snack. I told the guys that I wanted to do something for Hans and Mike, and the Nubian that I had met on my first outing to the stud. They found it very touching when I recounted how, as still new to being used for breeding I had been affected and ashamed of it, and how I had felt a mutual bond with the other three slaves in the same position. Bob asked me for the number of the Nubian, and summoned a messenger slave to go and fetch his files from the central registry. The lad came back about 10 minutes later, and Bob read the strip of paper he unrolled from the messenger's capsule slung around his neck. The lad stood there, his skinny flanks and chest heaving from his run, waiting to see if there was another service Bob required. Bob read the details that had been copied from the central computer files on all the Sheikh's property for him, and said "Like you, he was very successful at covering the breeders, and we have been able to breed some of his great body strength and physique into a couple of good lines. In the next generation, we'll breed back some lighter colour, as the Sheikh really only allows those very black blacks to be used in the quarry - he won't have them around the estate generally, and usually only has lighter toned blacks here. But let's see... oh yes, he was so good and his progeny tested so well, the Sheikh was going to sell him on to a stud farm, but earlier in the week he had an accident in the quarry, and I had to terminate him". He saw I was visibly upset by this, and said "It's for the best, you know. If you had not recovered from that gun shot, what life would there have been for you here? As a slave who can't work properly, the only duties are as urinals and things like that - and you know for yourself that a slave who is proud of his body and revels in working it hard finds being used in those sorts of ways intolerable." I suppose I agreed, but told Stu I would still like to do something for Hans and Mike, and he agreed. But, he said, he wanted to show me something later. Stu and I spent the afternoon at the Pool and in the gym, working out together as real buddies, and enjoying helping each other keeping track of our reps, and so on. When he saw that I was exercising in the nude, Stu did too - we're buddies now, he said, and that's how buddies treat each other. As the desert night started to fall, we showered and put on our shorts and cut-offs, and Stu took me towards the stables. The ponies were all in for the night by now, and had been showered, milked, and fed, and were in their stalls for sleep. Stu led me up to the observation gantry overlooking the stables where the guard paced, keeping an eye on the slaves. I could hear the familiar snoring, farting and breathing of the ponies as they lay beneath us, deeply asleep following their day's exertions. We looked down at the large stall holding the cart-horse slaves, and saw all eight of them lying together, intertwined in a touching, tender way. A lump came to my throat when I saw how those eight slaves were treating each other - some were 'spooned' into the backs of others, arms were casually flung around the bodies of their fellow slaves, one of them had another's cock lying in his open palm - they were all totally at ease with each other, just enjoying the pleasure of sleeping with their fellows. Stu pointed out that I probably could not tell him which was Hans and which was Mike now, from the other six, as they were so completely acclimatised to their role. I had to agree with him, and he said "Would it be kind, do you think, now to signal them out for some special treatment that the others did not get? Or do you think they would like to be taken away from their fellows totally, and given a new job on the estate?" Looking at them, happily curled up with their comrades, sleeping peacefully, without a care in the world, I had to admit he was right. "Don't feel sorry for them", Stu continued. "Had they stayed in the Marines in South Africa they probably would have been dead by now from fighting terrorist groups, or they would have been dying of AIDS from having used women out in the country areas where it is endemic. They have a good life here - and I think you know that, as you did, they enjoy using their bodies to their maximum potential." "I will mark their files , though, to make sure they are not sold on, and that they therefore can continue to live their lives out here under the Sheikh's benevolent rule. And, of course, when the time comes and they really can't work any more, you know that Bob will terminate them peacefully, and they won't suffer any of the indignities of an old age with a failing body." We left the stables and went back to our bungalow, and the slaves served us a delicious dinner of chicken stew, vegetables, and fruit, which we washed down with a couple of cold beers. I didn't want a 'comfort' slave that night either, and neither did Stu, he said, and we retired to our respective rooms relatively early. But I couldn't sleep - I realised I wanted Stu. I wanted his body next to mine. In the middle of the night I tiptoed through our shared bathroom to go and look at him - I thought that being able to gaze on his body whilst he slept would take away some of my longing. I saw him spread-eagled in his bed, lying on his back, and moved stealthily towards it. I pulled back the corner of the fine linen sheet, and looked down at wide shoulders that I had now exposed. In a fit of madness, almost, I pulled the sheet off the bed entirely, and could then see him in all his lovely nakedness. He was in a classically unconcerned sleeping pose - on his back, with one leg turned at right angles to the other, One arm was resting on his flat stomach, and the other was lying casually by the side of his head. I couldn't stop myself, and leaned over and kissed his eyelids, ever so gently. I thrilled as I felt his eyeballs fluttering away under the lids, and knew he must be in a deep sleep, dreaming. I moved my face lower, and pressed my lips to his half-open ones. I smelt the warm yeast smell of the beer we had drunk coming out from him, and as he breathed out, my cheek was warmed by his moist breath. I ddid something I had never done before then, and moved my head down so that my tongue could play across his nipples. They went stiff as I did this, and he uttered a tiny, contented sigh from the depths of his sleep. I was by now trembling with excitement, and my tongue next moved to lick up the tiny moist patch of the sweat sheltering around his navel. Although I had tasted another man's sweat before, there is always something very special about the taste of that that has formed in the navel - an indescribable flavour of man. I was very careful to lap just with the tip of my tongue, oh so gently, as all guys are sensitive to any pressure in their navels ( and, indeed, Stu had told me that some masters on other estates tortured their slaves by pushing a sharp pencil into the slave's navel, whilst the slave was ordered to remain at "display"). How could I stop now? I moved down and bent over his genitals. I gently kissed the tip of his lovely penis, lying there at rest sticking up above his balls. Then I started, ever so slowly, to let my tongue massage all around his fretum, and, as he started to respond and became hard, I got access to his sac and continued by teasing his balls with my tongue. I moved my head just a little lower and to the side, and because of the way his legs were splayed on the bed, I could see his lovely tender anus. The tip of my tongue explored it eagerly, and I was rewarded with that delicious taste that only a man's ass has when he was freshly showered before going to bed but has had time to accumulate his own special strong man-odours since. I was scared of waking him, as he was now obviously very pleasured in his dream, and I moved my attention back to kissing his cock head again. He was completely, magnificently erect now, and little sighs were escaping from him as my ministrations on his body were obviously breaking through into the strange world of his dreams, and causing them to move in ever more erotic directions. I wanted to take his cock completely, and moved my mouth down over it so that I could suck him to a climax. I wanted his cum to spurt down my throat. But what was I doing, another part of my mind demanded? I was taking advantage of Stu in the most deplorable way. I was thinking only of my needs, my pleasures, and was not considering his right as a man only to have sex with whom he wanted. Whilst I was not up his ass, what I was contemplating was morally just the same as rape. So I stopped, and instead lay my body alongside his on the bed, and returned to kissing him on the lips. His lips parted more, and I could kiss him fully, with our tongues together. He started to wake up, and as he did, whilst keeping my mouth locked onto his, I drew my legs up and knelt beside him on the bed. Awakening fully, he reached out for me, but I moved my head away from his, and pushed it, and my shoulders, down on to the mattress. My ass was now sticking up, and I moved my hands back to prise apart my ass cheeks. Stu knew, or probably felt with all his senses and understood what I intended, and rolled up and over on top of me so that his cock was pushing into my exposed ass crack. Ever so gently he positioned his chest on top of my back, and wrapped his arms around my waist. As his cock had entered my ass crack, I had let go of my butt cheeks and now tried to guide his cock closer to my anus. Suddenly it was there, and I could feel Stu gently pushing to gain entrance. It was an almost superhuman effort for me, but I willed my sphincter to relax to let him in - previously, I had always resisted wildly all those cocks that were trying to rape me, and it took every ounce of my longing and desire for him to get my conscious mind to override the panic reflex that my body was otherwise using. He was already spurting pre-cum, caught up with the eroticism of the moment, and was able to slide gently in. Then I saw what a wonderful, considerate lover he was, as he rocked back and forth, letting his cock massage my anus and rectum, whilst his warm body pressed down on top of mine and he whispered little lover's words into my ear, whilst gently nuzzling at my earlobes. We continued like this for what seemed like an eternity, until he could no longer control himself and I could feel his hot cum spray up inside me. I wondered why his hands, which could have easily reached, had not been massaging my cock whilst we had been making this exquisitely sweet love, but now I saw why. He rolled off from on top of me, lay sideways on the bed, and raised one leg in the air. He drew my body towards his, so that we were facing, and started to kiss me, passionately. I wriggled closer to him, and our legs intertwined. I then saw that by both lying on our sides in this way his own anus was exposed to me, and he moved a hand down behind my ass and urged me forwards into him. So that was why he had not been playing with my cock - he had intended to give himself to me, and wanted me to be able to experience my own pleasure to the full as I entered him for the first time. I could not believe this was happening to me. I was lying in my lover's arms, sliding my cock into his ass which was welcoming me. It was surreal. I, his slave for so long, was fucking my master. I knew now that he felt for me as I did for him, and I felt tears in my eyes. As I looked at him, I saw that he, too, was overcome with emotion. We spent the rest of the night in each other's arms. In the morning my head was pressed into his chest, and he had one leg resting companionably across my hips. We woke simultaneously, and I though we would fuck again. But he whispered to me "No, not this morning. Let's have our memories of last night kept fresh for the rest of the day. If we fuck now, it will not be as good as I am already thinking about work, and it would spoil that perfect harmony we had last night". With that, he suddenly slapped me hard on the ass, and said "Come on! Into the pool. I'll race you - best of 20 laps". We both sprang up off the bed, and ran across the room laughing hysterically, to fling ourselves into the warm, clear water. I don't remember who won. It didn't matter to either of us. THREE ARABS When we got out of the pool, there was a messenger-slave waiting with a message in the little canister around his neck. It was still quite early and the sun had not yet taken the chill off the desert, and without a lot of muscle to keep him warm, the lad was standing shivering whilst he waited for us. I knew he would have liked to rub his protruding ribs with his skinny arms to try to get warm, but of course he had been well trained, and was standing at "display" with his hands behind his neck and his legs apart. I glanced at his cock, and saw that the cold had had its effect here, too, because it was shrivelled up. These tall, thin lads usually had long cocks, but there was not much to look at this morning. Stu read the message, and said that we needed to go over to the "welcome centre" straight away, as a consignment had just arrived from the slave market and he knew I would be interested. We didn't eat any of the delicious breakfast that the house slaves had laid out for us, but just grabbed a cup of coffee. Only pausing to pull on our skimpy shorts and cut-offs, we strode out. The "welcome centre" was Stu's ironic name for the place where all the new slaves from the auction houses were processed. It was well guarded, as in general the estate only bought in "wild" stock, because it could breed for itself all the "farmed" slaves it needed. "Wild" stock was always at its most dangerous in the first few days, before it had begun being trained and conditioned, and, of course, before it was branded and micro-chipped. An escape at this point might just have been possible, and it would have been difficult to get our property back. We went in, and standing in the centre of the room, which had a guard with a stun-gun in each corner, were three of the Arabs who had attacked Stu and me at the water-hole. They were no longer wearing Arab dress, and were dressed in T-shirts and jeans. Stu said "As soon as Bob had got you out of danger, I called the military and they sent in helicopters to scan the desert near here looking for their truck. It was a good exercise for them, and they soon targeted it. A group of soldiers was sent to arrest them, but their leader had already died from my shot - he bled to death in the truck. Without him, they were like headless chickens, and surrendered without a fight. I deliberately did not shoot them in the dessert, even though I could have, as I knew we could capture them and it would make for a better punishment." "The three slavers thought they would be in no danger, because they are all the sons of wealthy and influential families in the Capital. They thought that once they had got there, their families would pay the fines, dish out a few bribes, and they would all be set free. But they had not reckoned with the incredibly severe slavery laws in this country, and with the Sheikh's influence." "They went to court, thinking it was just a formality, but were sentenced to enslavement. They had broken one of the fundamental laws of the country - you must not take away a man's freedom!". "By trying to illegally enslave me and deprive me of all my human dignity and rights, they were now miserable slaves themselves." "They then thought that their families would simply buy them at the auction - they had all been to lots of auctions in their time as customers, and knew the form. But they had forgotten that under the law, the victim owns the enslaved assailant - so they were mine. Or, rather, would have been if I could own slaves. Only citizens can do this, and I am not a citizen, I'm an American. So instead their ownership bounced up to my 'owner', or employer, the Sheikh." "The Sheikh asked me what I wanted to do, because, like me, he thinks it's entirely wrong to try to enslave men who are not criminals. And we devised a plan." "The Sheikh called in the heads of the families, and told them that they could buy slaves from him. They laughed at him, until he had their sons shown to them and pointed out that he was now the owner of these prime pieces of meat. Each family offered $1M immediately, and rapidly went to $5M before the Sheikh stopped them. I know all this because he had allowed me to watch it from a small gallery overlooking his audience room." "He told them that they needed to understand the importance of keeping their unruly children in check. Paying $5M meant almost nothing to these wealthy families, he pointed out, and that therefore if they wanted their sons back, the price would be 20% of everything they owned. The Sheikh's own auditors would go through their assets, to make sure he got every penny" "The families tried to argue, but the Sheikh was not interested. One of the families tried to brazen it out, and said he would not pay that much, even for his son. So the Sheikh had that slave dragged into the room, and in front of his father, another very large slave was summoned who pulled down the slave's jeans, put him across his knee, and spanked the slave 20 times, very hard. Before the father could even try to comfort his son after this, the large slave dragged the boy out of the room. Then the Sheikh just sat there, waiting to see what they would say." "Faced with the awful reality of the Sheikh's rights over their sons, they all eventually agreed to pay up. But the Sheikh was still not finished. He railed at the families and told them that as they had failed to teach their sons the meaning of citizenship, he would do it for them. The 20% payment was only to buy their sons from the Sheikh AFTER he had had them for training, and he was convinced that really understood what slavery was all about. They had tried to deprive a man of his freedom, and now they would learn what that means." "So ", he continued, turning to the three slaves, "Get naked, so I can inspect you properly and decide where you will be most use on the estate.". When they hesitated, and when one of them tried to say something, he was poked with a stun gun. Having seen the utter futility of resisting further, they all slowly took off their T-shirts, jeans and trainers, and stood there in shorts. This was like my own induction to slavery all over again, and one of them was arbitrarily chosen by Stu with a casual gesture, and the stun gun knocked him to the floor with pain. After that, they all pushed down their shorts, and just stood there. Like men do when they are uncertain about their surroundings and they are nude, they all had their hands sort of cupped in front of their genitals, but of course Stu gave them their first lesson in slavery. He said "Understand this - on the estate, you are always totally naked. The guards and masters like to be able to see all of you, all of the time. You have no right to privacy, and, indeed, no rights at all. When you are not doing any service for him, in the presence of a master you will always assume the 'display' position - you must be familiar with this from when you owned slaves in your former life. Now - 'display'." He then went on to reveal his plan. He told them that normally 'comfort' slaves could only be 'farmed' slaves, as it was too risky to allow 'wild' slaves to be in intimate contact with a master's body unless they were properly restrained, and it was of course impracticable to restrain 'comfort' slaves all the time. 'Wild' slaves were used in the fields, quarries, stables, and so on. However he liked the look of all their bodies, and had decided that the entire staff should share his pleasure by making the slaves available as 'comfort' slaves. But first, they needed toughening up a little. Their bodies were too soft and 'citified' for the tastes of most masters, who liked their 'comfort' slaves to be hard-bodied. So they would all be sent to the quarries for three months. At the end of that time, they would be 'comfort' slaves for three months, then they would go back to the quarries for three months to top-up their muscle, and then there would be a further three-month spell as 'comfort' slaves. At the end of that year he would review their behaviour, and if he thought that they were truly reformed, he would release them to be sold back to their families. However if any of them was in the slightest was still insufficiently servile, the cycle of quarries and serving as 'comfort' slaves would be repeated for a second year, when a decision would be made again. They had therefore to serve a minimum of one year, with one year increments served in full if all was not well. And, of course, it would be a case of all three being kept as slaves if any one of them was not to be released that year. So, Stu explained, you slaves had better work hard at being good at your job when you are servicing us masters as 'comfort' slaves. I think there are a lot of men here who will appreciate having a fiery 'comfort' slave who is having to keep his temper completely under control, rather than the usual run of extremely handsome, but rather dull, 'farmed' slaves. There will be a complaints book kept in the Club, an if any master registers a complaint, that will be it - you'll all be there for another year." Stu asked them if they understood, and they all nodded meekly. "Now we come to the important part", said Stu, "as you have understood me so well so far, continue to listen carefully. It is really important that you do truly experience what it means to be enslaved - you'll have to work hard in the quarries, so hard that you will think your muscles cannot continue. And you will experience every form of humiliation possible when you're being use as sex toys in the Club. But it is essential you experience the whole thing - you were ready enough to deprive me of my freedom, and you need to get a deep understanding of what that actually means." "So after you leave here you will be examined and tested by our veterinarian. Then you will have your hair cut very short, most of your body hair shaved off, and your pubic hair neatly trimmed. And then we will take you and brand you." The slaves all looked uncomprehendingly at this. There were no slaves in the room other than the three, and Stu decided to demonstrate. He called for a slave, but inside the heavily guarded "welcome centre" there were none. He whispered to me and asked if I would mind demonstrating, and of course I didn't, as I had long since lost any inhibitions about displaying my body, even to a room full of guards. So I dropped my shorts, and went and stood in front of the slaves, and went to 'display'. "See ", said Stu, "He has short cropped hair, unlike yours which is almost down to your shoulders Note how the hair under his arms has been neatly trimmed away so his armpits have just a short, bristly crop - no danger of hairs sneaking out from a T- shirt's arms for him, unlike you. And look down at his cock, and see how his balls have been shaved clean, and his pubic hair trimmed away to leave just that little patch on top of the cock. " Then to me he said "Would you mind turning around and showing them your ass, please?". So of course I turned my back to them, and bent from the waist, reached behind myself and pulled my ass cheeks apart. "See how there's no hair in there at all", said Stu, "and how his anus is perfectly visible. That's how you three will all be when you have been to our barber, unlike your very hairy state now." "But look most carefully at the brand on his ass. That was burned in by a white-hot branding iron, and even though he is now a free man, he will bear that mark for the rest of his life." "You, too, will be branded and it will be the most exquisite pain you have ever experienced. But best of all, if you ever are released form slavery, every time you examine your body in the mirror as you bathe, you will be reminded that you were once a slave". I stood up - I no longer needed to stay being displayed until commanded otherwise, as I was a man, not a slave - and saw that all three were trembling." "Take them away!", Stu told the guards. "Now let's go about my work for the rest of the day", said Stu. "Will you come with me in my rickshaw? I'd value your comments on my new pony". I laughed, and went to leave with him. "Pick up your shorts and cover your gorgeous cock", Stu said, "I have to work today. It will be bad enough having the distraction of your body next to mine all the time, without seeing your constant erections!". THE MARINES I spent the next few days continuing to get myself back into shape using the excellent facilities in the Club, accompanying Stu as he went around the estate supervising the Sheikh's many enterprises, and, of course, spending the evenings and nights with my lover. I was blissfully happy. One morning after our swim - which had by now become a regular morning habit for us - a messenger slave was again waiting, shivering slightly, by the pool. Stu read the message, and told me that something very unexpected was about to happen - there would be a truck arriving at the estate, and the Sheikh had given orders that it should be allowed right in, and not be required to tranship at the gate house. We breakfasted, and after eating walked across to the "welcome centre" just as a large Army truck pulled up. A group of soldiers got down, exchanged greetings with us, and then hauled out from the back of the truck four US Marines, who were cuffed with their hands in front of them, and chained together with chains joining their ankles. They looked dirty, and tired. I could see that one was a sergeant, and the others were grunts. Stu ordered them to be led into the "welcome centre", and they shuffled off behind the soldiers, who then came out, and drove their truck away. It seems that the US had decided to have a small "punishment raid" against the country, and a whole company of marines had been sent in, clandestinely, to blow up one of the oil refineries. But a patriot of ours in the State Department had warned the ruler, and so his troops were ready to intercept the Marines as they landed. They had all been captured, without a shot being fired - they had walked straight into the most carefully laid trap that could be devised. The ruler had decided that he did not want to kill the Marines, as he was not in favour of cruel punishments, and did not like an unnecessary waste of man flesh, but that he also did not want to return them to the USA as he wanted to send a signal to the US Government that such action against his country was unacceptable. So he had decided to say and do nothing, and make no fuss internationally. He knew that the US knew what had happened, and he thought that if he made no international complaint, the US Government would try a "cover up". The ruler had decided to reward his key Sheikhs by giving them a present, and several of them had received a "parcel" of marines, like ours. The Sheikh had decided that his should work as slaves, of course, and so he had sent them to the estate for processing. But Stu was uneasy - he could not use these wild, tough marines as 'comfort' slaves, and it seemed a waste to use their bodies for hard labour in the quarries or fields - they were , after all, fit young Americans, and potentially more valuable than this. He had thought of training them as ponies, but currently the stables were full, and we had all the ponies that were needed. Stu needed time to think, and look at the estate's resourcing plan, so he decided to keep the Marines in ignorance of their fate as slaves. We followed them in to the "welcome centre", to the familiar bare room that now contained the four, and our guards. Stu commanded the marines to be unshackled, and then spoke to them in English, explaining that there was a potential diplomatic problem, and that they would therefore be held, temporarily, as prisoners of war. He said to them that they must be in need of a shower after being chained up after their captivity, and that they would then be held in the cells pending their final disposition. The Marines must have been reassured on hearing him speak English after being herded by Arab guards before, and one of them - who I now saw was a Sergeant, said "Sir, thank you. We sure do need to shower, as we've been living in these clothe for three days. And my men could do with a meal. Could you also get a message to the US Ambassador for us, telling him where we are, so that our families will know we're OK?" Stu nodded, and said "Strip off, and the guards will l take you to the showers." The Marines proceeded to do that, and Stu and I went out and up into the viewing gantry overlooking the showers area. Stu told the slaves that would normally wash new slave meat to stay out. He told me he did not yet want to alarm the Marines, as they were potentially dangerous fighters, and the simplest thing to do for the next couple of days was to make them think that they were indeed prisoners of war. We stood and looked at the Marines, as they showered. They were obviously at home with showering together and were not at all bashful about exposing themselves to each other, but did not actually touch each other's bodies. "Typical", said Stu, "They live together and are used to seeing each other naked, but the Marine training has not yet progressed to the point where it makes them really intimate - the US forces really miss out here - think of the Spartans, where a small number of them could hold off the mass of the Athenians. It's well known that's because they were all lovers, and none of them wanted to be anything other than totally brave in front of those with whom they shared their bodies intimately. Although the US Marines are brave, and fight ferociously, they would be at least twice as good if they were all gay. Far from encouraging comrades to enjoy the splendours of each others' bodies, the US Military hierarchy actually throws them out if they are found in bed with each other!". We stood there and watched, sizing the men up and trying to think how they could be used most appropriately. At that moment, a messenger slave arrived, and Stu read his message. "It's from the Capital", he told me. "They have got the men's records from hacking the military computers in the US." "The sergeant is 26, and comes from Texas. He is married, and has two kids.". We focussed on the Sergeant, and I thought that he fitted the stereotype of a Texan - tall, over 6', with a tanned, rangy body. His cock was about average for his build, and he had a light thatch of medium-brown hair over his pecs and stomach. "That one there", he said, pointing at a guy with darker skin, liberally covered with black wiry hair, "Is 24, and from Brooklyn. He is known as a bit of a trouble maker in the files, as he tends to drink too much then breaks up the bar! He is of Jewish stock, which probably accounts for his general build and complexion. He is not yet married, although there are also reports of incidents said to be related to women, in his file". "The next one " - indicating a very well muscled guy about 5'11" tall, with abs, pecs and traps, all standing out as he bent to vigorously soap his well muscled thighs, "is from San Diego. He entered the service straight from school there - it was just like crossing the road for him, to go from High School into the Marines training base. He got married six months ago, and his wife is just about to give birth." "And the young little piece of meat is 20 and from Florida. He has only been in the Marines for 18 months, and this is his first mission." I looked and saw a typical Florida "beach boy", about 5'8" and only about 150 lbs. He was deeply tanned, with a very visible bikini line around his slim hips. He had a nice V-shaped body extending down from well-muscled shoulders, to flare out above a good bubble but. "He's a bit like you", Stu remarked as we looked closer at the men, "As, unusually, they didn't cut his foreskin off at birth. The file doesn't give us any clues about his sexual interests, although I expect that as he hangs around with these four studs, he's probably screwing some little chick around the base" I looked down again at the four marines, and saw that he was indeed the only one not circumcised. Otherwise they were all much as you would expect - hard bodies, from the training. Natural body hair, except for on the head, where they all had typical "flat tops". They were finishing up in the showers, and planing the water off their bodies with their hands in that way that guys do in communal showers before they go to towel themselves off. Stu went down from the gallery, and I saw him enter the tiled shower area with towels for them. As they stood there drying themselves, Stu said "I have had your uniforms taken away to be cleaned, as they were pretty sweat- stained. After you are dry, the guards will bring you T-shirts and jeans to wear until your uniforms are ready. You'll need to be kept in the cells here whilst we sort out your status, but I'll see you get some food, and, of course, water." "Sir, thank you, sir", said the sergeant. "Can I ask one favour for the guys. Can you let us use a phone to call our folks back home in the USA, so they know we're all right?" "I'm sorry", Stu said, "But we have to keep you incommunicado for the time being. As prisoners of war you are not allowed unrestricted access to communications. Just wait in the cells, and I'm sure everything will be resolved soon." With that , the guards brought in clothes for the Marines, and I watched them dress and be led off to the holding cages in the "welcome centre". Stu then said that he needed to spend the rest of the day working on Admin in the central complex, and thinking about how he was best going to be able to use these new slaves. So I went off and spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and working out. My body was now almost totally recovered, and apart from the scar on my thigh, I could no longer detect that I had been shot. That evening after we had had dinner, Stu said that he thought it was time we did something about the Marines. During the afternoon at the office he had read on the Internet that the US had said that there had been a "troop ship accident in the Gulf", and that a company of Marines "had all been killed". Clearly, he said, the US was going to forget all about the captured Marines to avoid embarrassment, and was now concocting this cover-up to conceal the loss of so many fine young men. Unusually, we switched on the TV, and watched CNN. There were the usual reports in cases like this, with the reporters across the US interviewing the folks of the Marines "lost in this tragic accident". Stu then told me he had thought long and hard during the afternoon, and had come up with a plan to use the Marines most efficiently. He summoned a slave, and arranged for the four to be brought to the Bungalow, well guarded - they were, after all, trained fighting machines, and we did not want any accidents! When the four arrived, you could see that they were relieved to see us Americans in a "Western" setting. But their relief turned to shock the moment Stu told them to strip, The Sergeant said "Sir, why do me and my boys need to do that?", and with a small gesture Stu indicated to one of the guards that he should be felled to the floor by a bolt from a stun gun. "That's why, sergeant, or, should I say, slave!", said Stu. "You men are no longer Marines. You are no longer men. You are now slaves. If I command you to strip, you will. When I command you to suck each others' cocks, you will do that too!" The Sergeant glared at Stu and said "We're not slaves, we're US Marines. We're not going to be part of any filthy perversion. The US Government will hunt you down if you cause us any harm and you'll be hung as a traitor when you're hauled back to the USA!" "Don't raise your hopes, slave", said Stu. "Now, I am going to tell you one last time to strip. If you don't, I won't have you prodded with the modified cattle prod we use here to control slaves. But I will have it pushed up the ass of your young little guy there! Now, strip!". After a few glances at each other, and a little nod from their sergeant who clearly saw they were not in a good position, the four of them did. Although before, in the showers, they seemed unconcerned about their nudity, now they were clearly embarrassed - probably because they were in a familiar, "western" style room. Stu then told them to go and sit on the leather couch, as he wanted to show them something, and they gingerly sat down next to each other. I remembered the erotic sensation I had felt when I first sat naked on that very same leather couch, and I think they all felt much the same thing. It was made worse for them, because there was only just room on the couch for all four of them, and their bodies were pressed closely together. Stu turned on the TV again, and we saw they were doing one of those "documentaries" on the crisis - State Department officials, and generals from the Pentagon, lamented "the terrible tragedy that had taken our men's lives". Then there were endless interviews with the parents, wives, and children of "those brave boys lost overseas". The Sergeant burst into tears when he saw his wife and kids lamenting the loss of their daddy, and one of the others had to sit and watch as his heavily pregnant wife told how now "her husband, who she loved dearly and only married six months ago, would now never see their little baby grow up". "So you see, slaves", said Stu as the programme finished, "the US has abandoned you. It doesn't want to risk looking foolish, if it had to reveal that our army here captured the whole lot of you the moment you landed. You'd better stop thinking of any hope of rescue, as none is on its way. And even if you escape, the CIA will probably kill you if you do get to a US embassy, to avoid the Administration being shown up as liars." He then went on to explain to them that their position was deadly serious. They were slaves, because they had broken the laws of the country. By coming clandestinely to destroy community property, their freedom was forfeit. He went on to say that these four were however lucky, as the Sheikh was a merciful owner, and provided they obeyed orders they could expect to live long lives, and keep their balls. The slaves were shocked on hearing this, and Stu had to explain that some owners, but fortunately for them not the Sheikh, castrated soldiers as a matter of course, in order to control their fiery tempers. Stu took the time to explain to them that he didn't want to waste them in the quarries or fields, and that they could not really be 'comfort' slaves, as they were too 'wild', and in any case the sergeant was too old. So he revealed his plan to them. "The Sheikh get s a lot of visitors here now", he said, "as more and more foreigners want to come and see our slave-driven society at work. If they come for the weekend, it can be a bit dull for them in the evenings, as after they have inspected all the facilities during the day and have had a sumptuous banquet, there's nothing to do. Of course the visitors can make full use of the 'comfort' slaves and the Pool and gym, but many of them are not in the best of health and certainly not in the peak of condition, and even though they like looking at the slaves on view in the Club, they are embarrassed about exposing their own bodies. Some of them are all right, of course - we had a party of US Senators here a month or so back, and although they did not want to fuck any of the 'comfort' slaves themselves, they had a lot of fun instructing a number of them to carry out the most amazing group sex so they could watch it. But I can't rely on that, so I need something to entertain the Sheikh's visitors." "A few years back nude wrestling was the fashion in the country, and there were big audiences for naked slaves fighting each other until one fucked the other. It died out, as a new rage took over, but I'm going to revive it. Whereas some guests might be offended by a straight orgy, I think everyone will enjoy an after dinner entertainment where nicely muscled fighters, slicked with oil, grapple with each other until one gets fucked." "You four are going to be the start of a new fashion. You all know how to fight, and after a bit of training, some adjustment of your body hair to make you less offensive to decent folk, I think you will be a hit. Our American visitors will, I think, be particularly amused because you can always tell an American body - your skin tone is different from that of the Arabs we would otherwise have." The four slaves were now looking stunned. Stu told them that the following morning they would be taken to be branded, but as a mark of respect, they would be allowed to keep their Marine Corps tattoos - each of them had one, on his upper right arm. He also did not propose to have them "muted", as the crowds liked to hear the fighters shout and groan as their bodies were hurt and fucked. The Sergeant started to argue about not being a slave and it being "wrong", and Stu shouted at him in anger and said "Shut up. You don't realise that you are in big trouble. I could order you to be executed here and now, and that's probably what you deserve. You were coming here to attempt to destroy our way of life - a way that is much better than that in the decadent USA. We have no crime, no delinquency, no drugs, no unemployment. And when the oil does run out, this society will keep on, driven by slave muscle, whereas the USA will be in big trouble." The Sergeant ignored Stu's warning, and went on that he was not going to be a slave, his "boys" were not slaves, and they were not going to fuck each other! In fact, he was not going to fuck any man, as he was a "proper" guy, with children! Stu was very cross, as he was not used to having slaves argue with him. He said to the Sergeant "OK. That's it. I was going to give you one last night of 'freedom' to be alone with your comrades, but now I am going to show you what being a slave really is, subject to my every whim. I am going to fuck you myself tonight. And my friend Steve here is I know really turned on by the neat little one, so he'll fuck him. The other two of you will be strung up to watch the first humiliation of your buddies." He rapped out orders to the guards in fast Arabic, and the naked Marines were manhandled out of the room. Steve and I sat and chatted for a bit, and then it was time to turn in. "I hope you don't mind fucking that little marine for me", he said, "But I do need to teach them a lesson. If they learn now that their bodies are no longer their own, life will be much easier for them - it will be a kindness, really." I didn't know what to say. I was not gay, and had always been a real womaniser back in the USA. Although Stu and I were now lovers, that was different - we really did love each other, and fucking each other was natural and right. I was not certain that I could overcome my inhibitions against sex with men and actually fuck another guy, even if he was a slave. But Stu had asked me, and he went on to say "Yes, I know it must be difficult for you. But do try - masters have to assert themselves in the interests of the slaves sometimes. And I don't think you actually find him totally physically repulsive - I thought I saw that cock of your stirring this evening, even though it was buried in those shorts!" He was right, of course, and I agreed. We went into Stu's bedroom, and the sergeant was lying on the bed with his hands cuffed together and attached to the bed head. The Jewish guy was cuffed, too, but he was standing in the middle of the room with a chain leading from his cuffs to a hook in the ceiling. Steve went over to a dresser, took out a ball gag, and gagged the Jewish guy. "I want him to watch his sergeant and me", said Stu, "not give a commentary!". Then I went through the bathroom in to my own room, and found the same arrangement - the young Marine was lying there on his back looking scared, and the fourth marine was standing there, chained and unable to move, watching. I dropped my shorts, and went and lay by the side of the marine. I told him not to worry, as I knew what it was like to be raped, and I was going to be gentle. I asked him if he had ever had another man up his ass before and he told me "Certainly fucking not! I haven't even wanked any of the other guys in the platoon". I started to stroke his body, running my hands gently down his arms first, and then resting my hands under his arm pits whilst my thumbs stretched out and rubbed his nipples quite hard. He started to shout in protest, so I stopped and reached down and took his balls in my hand. I whispered to him to be quiet, as I did not want to hurt him - in truth, I didn't like feeling his balls ,as he had not yet been properly shaved, and their rough hairiness was not to my taste. He calmed down, but the next minute his whole body went rigid as we heard Stu slapping the Sergeant's ass. We could tell it must be hurting, because the Sergeant was crying out between each blow - that must have cost him a lot of self respect, as I did not think he was the kind of man who had ever before admitted he could be hurt to the extend hat he wanted to shout about it. My marine's body was so light that I had no difficulty in turning him over onto his stomach, and then with one of my arms wrapped around his waist to control his body movement I pushed his legs apart with the other. I raised the centre of his body up, so I could see his cock and sac through his spread legs, and was pleased to see that it was not all terror for him as he had a reasonable erection. I decided he needed to be treated gently as this was his first time, so I stopped what I was doing, got up, went over to the Marine suspended from the ceiling, and jacked him off. That marine called me obscene names as I started to touch his cock, but soon quietened down after a good hard squeeze on his balls. The little marine on the bed was looking on in amazement, as I came back to him, with a big blob of his mate's cum in my hand. I held it under his nose, and invited him to smell the gift his mate had given him that was going to make his life easier, then flipped him over again onto his stomach, and hauled his ass into the air using my arm around his waist. I probed for his anus, and as my finger touched the warm, smooth spot in the midst of all his ass hair, I gently pushed it in so that the marine's cum would thoroughly lubricate the area. I took him then, doggy fashion, being very slow and gentle as my cock pushed into him. I tried to be as helpful as I could, telling him to relax his sphincter, and I think it made some difference because he stopped bucking and allowed me to rock gently in and out, until I climaxed. I was kind to him for the rest of the night, wrapping his body in mine so that he should not be cold - I was used to sleeping nude in the air conditioning, but he was not and I did to want him to get a chill. He was crying gently, as he finally fell asleep in my arms. In the morning, I went into Stu's room and saw him in the middle of vigorously - and I mean vigorously - fucking the sergeant again. He looked over his shoulder at me as he heard me come in, grinned, and said "Cant stop now!". He thrust on for a few more strokes, then climaxed, pulled himself out of the sergeant, and come over and kissed me. I could smell and taste the dried sweat and cum on his body, and knew that he must have had quite an energetic night breaking the sergeant in. We had the bath slaves take all four marines into the shower, still cuffed, and Stu and I showered each other for a change, rather than allowing the bath slaves do it, so that they could masturbate the four marines. The two slaves took one marine in each hand, and quickly brought them to climax - I guess they were all embarrassed about the situation. Although they were used to being in communal showers, they had, I assume, never been masturbated in a group before by two naked slaves, whilst two masters watched! Whilst we were eating breakfast Stu had the nude marines stand at "display" in front of the table, whilst he re-emphasised their position. "You see, he said, you are totally in our power here. I counsel you to forget your own life, and enjoy what you have. This morning you will be taken to the veterinarian to be examined and given your shots - I say veterinarian, because he specialises in slave medicine, but he is in fact a proper MD. After that, if your tests are all OK, we will shave you properly and trim your hair - although you have good 'marine' crews on your head, none of you shaves his testicles or ass crack, and it would be offensive to our guests whilst you were wrestling if they could not properly see you. After that you will be branded, and it will hurt. It will hurt VERY much. Normally our slaves are muted by this time, and as you will not be, I do not want your screams to disturb the peace of the complex. I hope that, as you probably still think of yourselves as marines, you will try to uphold the honour of the corps by showing that you can remain silent in the face of physical agony - although the sergeant here soon screamed when I was paddling his ass last night and the paddle 'accidentally' hit his exposed testicles!". "Finally, you will be taken to your new home. I have had a special training quarters constructed for you with exercise machines, and you will live there, naked of course, training hard every day. There is no privacy of any kind there, and of course you need none, but even though you are used to a life in the marine barracks, you will find it strange at first to be able to see every inch of your mates' bodies, every moment of the day and night." "I expect your first fight will be in about one months time, and you will need to be very fit as I will be inviting a set of my old fighting buddies over, and your first opponents will be us. Although I'm 35 now, I'm a skilled wrestler and I keep in shape - I warn you, I will fight hard, and if you do not respond properly, I will rip your balls off!" He then commanded the guards to take the Marines away, and we carried on with our breakfasts. TRUE FREEDOM A couple of weeks went by, and my 'idyllic' existence continued - I worked out, lived with Stu, and completely recovered my health. We had a little trip into the Capital, and Stu took me around and showed me the sights. But, ultimately, I was bored. Stu worked every day, except for the half day he had off each week, and I found myself waiting for him to come back to the Bungalow. Even when he was tired and irritable after some fuck up on the estate, I wasn't, and I wanted him to focus on us, and "play". I took up racquet ball again, and worked my way up the leagues, but this didn't satisfy my desire to be "doing" something, either. Of course I enjoyed beating the guards, and Bob, on the court, but then I was fitter and stronger than they were, and I expected to win. And whenever I played Bob, I took an unfair advantage by playing in the nude, with just racquet ball shoes on to stop my iron-hard feet spoiling the court floor. Even when he might have played a winning shot, he would see me racing to intercept it, and would be distracted by the sight of the muscles in my long legs stretching, or my cock bouncing in the air. And after showering, he was completely unable to concentrate on enjoying his massage - even though the massage slave would of course pleasure him in any way he wanted, he just lay there and watched me being massaged. It was me he wanted, but I did not want him - I was not gay. Stu and I started bickering sometimes in the evening. I wanted to talk, and hear all about his day, and he just wanted to flop down on the couch and relax. On one fateful evening we even quarrelled so badly that I went and slept in my own room, to "punish" him. We both realised this couldn't continue, and one afternoon, at the water hole, we seriously discussed what was going wrong. We knew we both loved each other still, but why couldn't we live together? Only after a long period of picking over why we had been quarrelling did we realise it was because I was bored, and, he finally admitted, Stu was envious of my freedom to spend the days as I liked whereas he had to work. So it was simple - I got a job. The Sheikh gladly employed me on the estate, and as I did not want to be a guard, I worked in Administration. I gave Stu the money I earned, as I wanted him to be free of the obligation he owed the Sheikh from buying me as soon as possible. But I found I could not settle to office life again, and each day was like torture for me. I went in the morning, pounded my PC, and came back each night. Fortunately I had the gym, Pool and racquet ball court to provide some physical relief, but I sometimes thought I would explode with frustration. I started running, seriously, again, and most mornings would slip out from Stu's warm embrace in bed, pull on a little pair of running shorts, and pound around the estate roads for about 8 km. Then I would go back and wake Stu, by throwing my sweaty body on his as he lay there, still innocently dozing. On one of our afternoons off we had decided to lunch at the bungalow, and then go to our favourite water hole. But when Stu came in, he was cross and said that he had to complete an urgent report, and then he needed to go to the gate house to collect a parcel that was there - this was a special gift for him from the Sheikh, and it would be impolite to send a slave to fetch it. I watched him working on his report for some minutes, then suggested I went to the gate house to collect the parcel - surely, his free lover could do this without fear of causing offence to the Sheikh. Stu thought this was a great idea, because we could get out earlier then. I was going to walk, or run, there and back, but Stu said I should take the rickshaw, in case the parcel was heavy. I went outside, and unhitched Stu's pony. As I got into the driving seat, I felt strange, and as I cracked the reins on the pony's ass to get him moving, I realised it was exciting to be in charge of a pony slave, with him pounding his muscles in my service. I watched the pony's strong ass pump his longlegs up and down as he jogged along, and then decided he should go faster, as I wanted to get back to Stu so we could enjoy our afternoon out. Before long, I was lashing the pony with the whip, because I thought he could go faster, if he "tried harder". On the way back from the gate house I was getting pretty pissed off with the pony - when I did this journey, I knew I could go faster than he was, and in spite of spreading the area of my whipping from his ass to his back to his shoulders, the pony didd not seem to be as swift as I thought he should be able. When we got back, it was obvious that he was absolutely exhausted, as I could not tether him properly - his legs simply gave way, and he half lay on the ground, between the shafts, as he was manacled. Stu had finished, and the present from the Sheikh was not very interesting - just a rare old book that he had found, and that he wanted his Overseer to have as a particular mark of esteem. We were therefore free to set out for the water hole, but could not do so because the pony was unfit for further work that afternoon. Stu sent to the stables for a replacement ,but there was none available. We talked about going to the Club, but then I said that I would pull Stu. He was appalled - he wouldn't have me pull him now I was a man, not a pony slave, but I laughed and said it would be good exercise. Anyway, I was fresh, and it wasn't that far. So we set out, and, laughingly, Stu flicked my shoulders lightly with his whip. Running in my shorts was very uncomfortable, and after a couple of minutes I stopped and dropped them, leaving them lying in the road as I ran on, naked as the puller of a rickshaw should be. We had a fabulous afternoon, all the tensions in our relationship had disappeared and we made languorous love many times in-between bouts of fun in the water. I was so elated thinking about the enjoyment I was going to have from using my body in the way it was intended on the journey back, that I insisted Stu put the bridle into my mouth - I wanted to feel him gently guiding me, and the "slap" of the reins on my bare ass. That night in bed I told Stu the solution to our problems - I should become his pony again. I really loved the feeling of running between the shafts, and I wanted to serve him. His current pony was not nearly as good as I was - not as fast, not as willing, and without the stamina I had for long journeys. I pointed out that Stu must be slowed down by this, so he couldn't serve the Sheikh as well, and that I thought he was sometimes frustrated at night because he had had to spend so much time whipping the pony in an attempt to get where he needed to be, fast. I was determined, but Stu was equally determined that he would not use me as a pony. So for three days I ran alongside Stu, wherever he went. He could see that I could run harder and faster than his pony, even when the pony was being whipped and I was running free. There was only one way that I could get him to change his mind. I went to the forge, and gave orders to the blacksmith. I arranged to meet Stu in the forge, and, when he entered, I threw myself down on the anvil and shouted "now" to the blacksmith. Before Stu could stop him, the blacksmith had executed my order and pushed a white-hot branding iron, with a new design, across the site of the Sheikh's brand. In spite of myself, I did scream. And my bowels let go. Stu rushed over and cradled my head. Gasping through my pain I told him that I had chosen to be re-branded with a new mark - I was not a free man any longer, I was again a slave, Stu's slave. And as his slave, he could of course use me in any way he wanted. And I begged him to want to use me as his pony. Stu was almost overcome with emotion, especially when I insisted on turning over to have his slave brand placed over the Sheikhs on my pec. I would not be dissuaded, and he held me tight as the white hot iron bit home. Now my life is perfect. I live entirely naked, pulling Stu around as he works for the Sheikh. He has overcome his initial inhibitions on using the whip, as he knows that, especially in the afternoon, I need "encouraging" if he is to get the best out of me. We spend our evenings in the Club, but we never need the services of the 'comfort' slaves - we have each other. How boring my life would have been had I not been enslaved. I would have lived a suburban life in the USA, and would never known the twin joys of realising the full power of my body, and worshipping my master with my body and my mind. THE END