THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE - PART 6


By Pete Brown.  Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


IS THIS LIFE?

Every day was the same, and every night I fell into an exhausted
sleep. I completely lost track of time as there was no way of even
recording the passing of the days. Not for me was the old tried and
trusted method of scratching a mark on the prison cell wall - I was
in a different stall in the stables every night, and my wrists were
anyway clamped. The only way I knew one day was different from the
next was that every third day - and sometimes I thought it might be
every fourth day - in addition to the normal showering and milking
session in the evening, I was also shaved; the stubble was scraped
from my chin, and then my chest and balls were given a quick "once
over" too, to keep them smooth. Occasionally clippers were also
taken to my head, so that my hair was kept at a short fuzz, and these
were also the times when my arm pits and pubic hair were clipped back
to their now familiar short, wiry patch.

The exercise regime never let up - every day the machines were set a
notch higher, or the session was longer. And I was soon a rich, dark
tan all over from standing tethered under the sun in the yard. I
could see that my body, which had always been quite lithe and
muscular from my workouts and games playing, had changed too -
everywhere was now rock hard, the skin was taught all over my body
and there wasn't any trace of a layer of excess fat anywhere, and my
leg and ass muscles in particular had grown to be even sleeker and
firmer than before.

I had got used to being able to crap only once per day, and I guess
the regime of feeding me at the same time each day with the same food
had something to do with that. And I found that I was becoming
uninhibited about pissing when I needed to - left for hours tied in
the middle of the stable yard, all I could do if I needed to relieve
myself was just to let go. And at night, lying on the peat in my
stall with my hands immobile, my only option was to just pee and
ignore the damp and smell for the rest of the night.

After being "milked" the first few times, I had also got used to
having another guy jerk me off. I had never had another guy touch my
cock before, and I had never had any interest in even looking at the
cocks and balls of other guys in the locker room. The first time I
was "milked" it was terrible as I was so powerless to prevent it -
but it was completely asexual, really: the stable-boy slaves in the
shower had no interest in using me for sex. To them I was just
another animal that they were processing through the showers that
night, and the sooner they were done with me, the sooner they could
do the next one, and the sooner their work would be finished. At
first I hadn't been used to coming when I was standing up in the
shower - on those occasions when I had decided to masturbate myself
in the shower at home, I had usually sat down in the corner of it.
And of course I usually jerked off lying in bed, watching a movie on
TV, or with a magazine. So it was strange at first to have a man's
insistent hands bringing me to climax whilst I stood upright, but it
soon became routine, and the only difference, I realised, was that
the backs of my thighs went especially taught as the semen spurted
out of me.

Probably the hardest thing to bear was the complete lack of the sense
that I was anyway a person. I was never spoken to, except to receive
orders from a short set of Arabic commands that I soon learned.
There was no music or laughter. There was nothing to read. And, of
course, I could not speak - even had I understood enough Arabic to be
able to do so, my tongue restraint meant that I was restricted to
inarticulate noises from deep in my throat.

It was obvious that, to the stables staff, I was just an animal - one
of many in their charge. I was probably an expensive animal, because
they took good care of me - during the nightly shower and milking
session, I was inspected carefully all over for any sign of wounds to
my flesh, or any indication that I might be getting sick. And I was
well fed, and had enough to drink, even though the food I was given
never varied from day to day - always the same slave meal, metered
out into my hands from the dispensing machine once my number had been
keyed in.

I think I really almost lost my mind - for almost 24 hours a day all
I had were my own thoughts, and the constant pain from my aching
muscles. My life back in the USA became like a dream, it was so far
removed from my present reality. Was the rest of my life going to be
like this, with no variation in routine from day to day?

ANIMAL HOSPITAL

I really don't know how long this first phase of my life in the
Sheikh's stables lasted. It was probably a couple of months.

One morning I wasn't fed - this was the first change from the routine
I was experiencing, and I broke out into a sweat. Such a small
thing, and yet I had been so conditioned to having every day the
same, that any change made me acutely nervous.

I was instead led out from the stables by one of the guards with a
stun-gun, across the yard, and into the "veterinarian's office"
(which, had it not been for slaves ,would have course been an
extremely well equipped doctor's practice). The same veterinarian as
before was waiting for me in his green scrubs, but unlike the first
time he had dealt with me, he did not speak (I later learned that
this was part of my conditioning - English was no longer used in my
presence). He went through the normal series of tests you would do
at a regular check up - blood and urine samples, listening to my
chest through a stethoscope, taking my blood pressure, and so on.
And then the examination went further - ECG, and chest X-ray. And
finally he expertly "milked" me to get a semen sample into a small
glass tube.

He said something in Arabic to the guard, and I was taken down a
narrow corridor and locked into a cage-like cell just off the
office. I saw that there were two or three other cages, and each was
occupied. The one next to me had a slave in it with his leg in
plaster, and the next one had a slave with his head bandaged. I
realised I was in the "animal hospital" attached to the
veterinarian's practice. Of course we could not speak to each other
as we were all fitted with tongue restraints, so the only thing to do
was just to sit on the floor in the corner of the cage, waiting to
see what would happen next.

Time went by, and the normal life of the veterinarian's practice went
on around me. The slave with the leg plaster was taken out at some
point, and returned later with new plasters. And a couple of other
slaves were brought and locked into other cages along the corridor.
I wondered how long I was going to be kept there, but there was way
of knowing, and no way of asking.

After what must have been a couple of hours, the guard came along,
unlocked my cell, and took me back into the veterinarian's office.
He was reading through pages of computer-generated test results, then
he looked me up and down, and said - and this was amazing, because it
was in English - "You're ready now to take up your proper life in the
stables. After all the hard exercise, all your body parameters are
fine and you're in better health now than you have ever been
before". With that, he gestured and I was led out of the office by
the guard.

BETWEEN THE SHAFTS

Instead of returning to the exercise room or a stall in the stables,
I was taken around the front of the building. Standing there was a
rickshaw - a hi-tech one! Unlike the iron and wickerwork ones you
see in South-east Asia, this was a sleek machine made of aluminium
and stainless steel. It had large wheels, and a small, leather-
covered seat mounted in-between them.

The guard led me over to the rickshaw, gestured for me to stand
between the shafts, and then cuffed my wrists to two wrist restraints
that were part of the shaft. I was then left standing there,
wondering what was to happen next.

After some minutes, the Overseer who I has seen in my first week at
the farm came out, still clad only in a brief pair of shorts, and
carrying what seemed to be a number of leather straps. He walked
across the hot sand towards me, and stood and looked at me standing
there naked, cuffed to the rickshaw. It was obviously a pleasing
sight, because he nodded and smiled to himself, and came right up
next to me. He ran his hands over my chest, obviously feeling for
any stubble, and then over my hips and down my long thighs - he was
inspecting me in the same way that a new owner would inspect any
thoroughbred horse on its first outing.

He barked the Arabic word I now knew meant "open your mouth" from the
feeding sessions, and I complied. Immediately he thrust a stainless
steel rod, about the diameter of a pencil and 25 cm long, between my
jaws, and snapped a couple of elastic fastenings onto it where it
protruded on each side of my mouth. One fastening went around the
back of my head, and the other down under my lower jaw. He fiddled
with the rod for a moment, and I realised it was then seated down
into the space at the back of my teeth, where the two molars had been
extracted on my first visit to the veterinarian. The elastic straps
then held it there, immobile, and with my tongue restraint already
holding my tongue down, there was nothing I could do to get it out.
It was so far back in my mouth, and the elastic straps were so
strong, that the corners of my mouth were stretched to accommodate
it, and it was very painful. I couldn't close my mouth at all, and I
stood there with my mouth half open, waiting to see what would happen
next.

The Overseer attached two leather reins to the ends of rod, led them
around behind me, and leapt up onto the seat of the rickshaw. He
snapped a new word at me, which I took to mean "go", and I started to
walk forward. I felt a tug on the left of my mouth, and, when I
continued walking, there was a sharp jerk on that side that was so
strong it caused my head to wrench to the left - it was clear that
the reins attached to the bar in my mouth were to be used to steer
me, and so I went left. Then a tug at the right, and I moved to the
right, and so on. We spent about an hour, with me walking around in
a seemingly crazy ransom series of right and left turns, as I learned
to respond to pressure on the reins to control the direction I was
going in.

In spite of my fitness, an hour walking in the hot sun pulling the
overseer in the little cart was very hard work, and I had broken out
in a sweat quite early on. It was trickling down my smooth chest,
then collecting and running down from my belly to the top of my
cock. And because I could not close my mouth, and the corners of it
were pulled backwards and downwards by the elastic straps around the
rod, my saliva was trickling out to make two stalactite-like streams
of drool down from my jaw.

The Over seer got out, stepped back to look at me again, and called a
slave over. He had a water bottle with a teat on the end of it, and
offered it into my mouth so that I could suck greedily on it to
replace all the moisture I had lost. I quickly emptied the litre
bottle, making loud slurping noises in my desperation to suck the
water through the teat, whilst my mouth was obstructed by the tongue
restraint and the rod - or bridle, as I realised it was.

The Overseer leapt up to his seat again, and pulled on both reigns so
that they slapped gently against my naked backside - having seen
horses pulling carts when I had a holiday on a horse farm once, I
realised that this was the gesture jockeys used when they
meant "start off, straight ahead", so I walked off. I had walked for
a minute or so, when the Overseer called a new word in Arabic, and,
when I did nothing - because I did not know what to do - there was a
swishing noise, and a sharp, stinging pain from my ass cheeks. I
realised I had been whipped, and the word must mean "trot" or
something, so I broke into a light jog. A couple more minutes, and
another new word - again followed by the swish and the stinging pain,
and I leapt forward, into a run. I ran on and on, responding to the
pull to the left or right of my bridle, to carry the rickshaw along a
series of the farm roads. Then both ends of the bridle were pulled
simultaneously, and I slowed down to a jog, and, finally, came to a
complete halt after further pressure.

We were beside a field, and the Overseer got down from my cart to
talk to the guard supervising the slaves working in it. There must
have been about 30 of them, all naked of course. They were digging
the field, and each had a conventional shovel. The 30 progressed in a
line across the field, a shovel's length at a time. Each slave had a
length of chunky stainless steel chain permanently welded into a
collar around his neck. I was told later that this was another of the
Sheikh's "merciful" innovations - a solid metal collar chafes and can
cause sores on the neck and upper shoulders, whereas the greater
flexibility of a collar made of chain helps to avoid this (so the
slaves can work longer, and harder). There was a stainless wire
passing through one of the loops on each collar to the next, so that
the slaves could not move away from their line and, whilst they could
to some extent vary the distance between them and their fellows,
there was no way that any one of them could move too far out of the
line. It seemed a simple solution, and one guard could easily
supervise all 30 or so. I looked at them again, and realised they
had some similarities to me, and some differences: each of them was
branded with the Sheikh's mark, as was I, but they all had a variety
of hair. Some of them were cropped almost smooth, like me, but some
had hair down almost to their shoulders. And their chests, stomachs,
and pubes sprouted the whole variety of hair covering you see in any
locker room, from almost none, to a thick, curly mat of dense black.
They were a mixture of "whites" and "blacks", and there didn't seem
to be any Asians or Indians. I learned later that the Sheikh thought
that only blacks and whites could work at the pace he needed for long
periods, and therefore tended not to buy other racial groups in the
slave market.

After he had talked for some minutes, the Overseer mounted on to the
seat again, slapped the reins on my naked backside, and we were off
again. I ran on for a mile or so, and the road started to go uphill -
this was a real strain! It's one thing to race on a running-machine
that's slightly uphill, and quite another to run up a steep gradient
when you have already run for a few miles, and you're towing a cart
behind you carrying a heavy guy. Even the weeks of training had not
prepared me for this, and the breath was rasping in and out of my
open mouth as my lungs strained with the agony of keeping running. I
tried to slow down, but each time my speed dropped even slightly, the
Overseer flicked his whip and my ass stung to spur me on.

At the top of the hill there was a stopping place, and I looked down
into a pit that was obviously a quarry. Below, on the quarry floor,
there were about 50 naked slaves toiling away. I could see that they
were doing it all manually - there seemed to be none of the
mechanical equipment you would normally expect in a quarry, such as
jack hammers and drag lines. In a rare moment of using English, the
Overseer, seeing me looking , said "See how the Sheikh cares for the
environment. There are none of the diesel-belching machines so
common in the USA here. Just good, honest sweaty labour! This is
the way to run a quarry - 50 men get the chance to really work and
exercise their muscles in the way nature intended. We have none of
the nervous breakdowns, asthma, and heart disease usual in the USA
from people running quarries from behind a desk or the cab of a
machine. The workers are all out in the open air and sunshine, and
it's completely natural!" I think he was being sarcastic, as even
from the top of the slope I could see that the "workers" were being
encouraged to continue in their toil by the guards who each carried
the usual stun-gun, and a whip.

Coming up the track towards us from the bottom of the quarry was a
cart loaded with the stone that had been dug. It was a full-sized
farm cart, about 4 metres long, and it was obviously a huge effort to
drag it up the hill. The motive power was eight slaves, and as it
got closer, I could see that it was the gang of "cart horses" who had
occupied the stall opposite me in the stables one night. I now saw
why they had chosen shorter, extremely muscular slaves for this duty,
as their chests were heaving with the exertion and the muscles in
their calves and thighs were taught with the effort needed to pull
the heavy cart up the incline. Of course Hans and Mike were part of
this crew, and I looked to see if I could identify them.

I pulled my rickshaw by grasping the shafts in my hands, and my
wrists were locked to the shafts to prevent me from moving out from
between the shafts. But I now saw why Hans and Mike had had a sort
of "waistcoat" of heavy chain welded across their shoulders and
across their chests on that first day. The ring in the back of the
chains now carried a hook, attached to a short chain coming from the
single thick shaft from the front of the cart. Each of the eight
slaves, four to each side of the shaft, could move relatively
independently at the end of his short chain so he could struggle to
get the best footing on the loose shale of the path. And his arms
were free to "pump" as he pulled, to get the best leverage as he
struggled against the load.

I had to look really hard to see which of the eight slaves was Hans,
and which Mike. Their skin was burned to a uniformly dark brown like
all the slaves, and I remembered that they had been chosen because
their body-type was so much like that of the others. The uniform
very short hair, and the absence of body hair except for the brief
strip across the top of their cocks, all contributed to making the
crew look like clones, and it was hard to pick them out. I think
Hans was second from the front on the left side of the shaft, and
Mike at the back on the left, but I couldn't be sure. A groom was
urging all eight on to ever greater efforts as they neared the top of
the hill, by walking up and down and flicking his whip casually onto
an ass, and then onto a straining back.

When they got parallel to us, at the top, the Overseer started to
talk to the groom, and the sweating, straining cart-horse slaves were
allowed a brief rest. I searched the faces of the men with my eyes,
looking for a flash or recognition from Mike and Hans, but there was
none - I felt certain I recognised them, but all eight of the slaves
just stood there, with sweat dripping off them, and with their heads
flagging with complete exhaustion. A couple of them were taking the
opportunity of the break to piss, and even though they had some
freedom of movement and could have turned away, and their hands were
free to guide the stream of piss, they didn't bother. As I had had
to earlier in the day, they just stood there, letting it run to the
ground immediately in front of them and making no effort to shake the
last drops from their cocks when they had finished. I realised that
they truly were slaves, in their minds as well as in their bodies -
pissing meant no more to them than the need to get rid of body water,
and there was no shame or shred of human dignity involved any longer
at all.


When the groom and Overseer had finished, the cart started off down
hill, the way we had come, and the Overseer hauled on my reins to get
me, too, to turn around and head back. His cries for me to go
faster, and the sting of his whip on my ass and now on my naked back,
too, encouraged me into a fast run, and I soon overtook the cart. I
saw now some of the reasons why the slaves were attached by short
chains - they had turned around, and were preventing the cart from
running away down hill by bracing themselves into the hill and
walking slowly backwards.

I ran on and on, thighs aching, lungs near to bursting, until the
farm complex was at last in sight. Instead of going to the stables,
the Overseer guided me to another building and dismounted from the
cart. He pulled a short length of chain away from the wall by the
door, and wrapped the free end of it twice around my neck before
clipping the loose end to the chain with a spring clip. I realised I
was "tethered" to the building, and although there was no lock on the
chain, the spring clip completely prevented me from moving beyond the
short reach of the chain, as without my hands free, there was
absolutely no way that I could undo it. I simply had to stand there,
and wait.

I estimate it was about two hours before the Overseer came out, and
by this time the sun had gone down and it was pitch black. It goes
cold in the desert at night, and I had started to shiver from having
to stand there relatively motionless, completely naked. He
untethered me, and with the usual "start off" command, I was allowed
to walk for a few hundred yards back to the stables.

When I got there, stable-lad slaves came out and uncoupled my wrists
from the shafts, and led me inside. Unlike all the other nights when
there had been a lot of pony slaves being processed through the
showers, I was alone except for the lads, and they were obviously
peeved at having been kept waiting. They were not as gentle as usual
is soaping and cleaning me all over, and when I was "milked" the
slave's hands were very rough and pulled my cock up and down without
any care. But I did get fed, and was led off to a stall.

For the first time in a long time I was again in a stall opposite the
large one used by the cart-horse slaves, and I could see all eight of
them huddled together in the straw. Unlike the first time I had seen
them, Mike and Hans were no longer sitting forlornly at the side of
the stall watching the others at their sexual play. As earlier that
afternoon, it was now impossible to tell Hans and Mike apart from the
other long-time slaves, and they were completely integrated into the
squirming mass of bodies getting their sexual relief before falling
into the exhausted sleep that all the pony slaves experienced.

.....to be continued

THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE - PART 7


LIFE GOES ON


So this, then, was my new life. I was the Overseer's means of
transport around the Sheikh's very extensive holdings. Each day I
was shackled into my rickshaw, the bridle was clamped into my mouth,
and I was led out to wait for the Overseer to begin his daily rounds.

He was always in a hurry, and I had to run hard and fast between the
various fields he needed to visit, the quarry, and various
outbuildings on the estate. He never spoke to me in English, and I
was directed solely by the bridle, the slapping of the reins on my
ass, and the light driving whip he used which stung my ass, back and
shoulders when he thought I was not moving fast enough.

In fact not only did I not get spoken to in English, but I hardly got
spoken to at all. The Overseer used the short, guttural Arabic
commands to tell me to halt or get going, and in the stables there
was almost no words of any kind used. All the stable-hand slaves
were of course, like me, muted by their tongue restraints, and they
took me through the daily round of showering, milking, feeding, and
grooming by routine. Only rarely did the guards on duty in the
stables intervene, and then they, too, just barked a short command
before using their stun guns if necessary to get obeyed.

Weeks passed, and the lack of language really got to me. I could not
speak. I heard no conversation, just a few barked commands. And I
was unable to use any private, non-verbal communication because every
night I was shackled alone into a stall in the stables. Some of the
pony slaves, like the team of eight with Mike and Hans who pulled the
heavy wagon, always slept together, as did a group of four tall,
lithe black guys who pulled a four-wheeled carriage with four seats
around the estate for parties of visitors. But as a "thoroughbred",
specially trained to pull a light rickshaw fast, I was very valuable
and kept apart from other ponies. With no means of communication, it
became easy to think of myself as a pony, because that was what I now
was, and my former life in the USA seemed like a strange dream.

I just ran and ran around the estate, and there was nothing new in my
life. The initial shock of seeing lines of naked men chained
together tilling the fields had passed, and I was used to seeing the
other pony-slave vehicles around the estate.

The Overseer - I never knew or heard his name - was always dressed in
the same way, too, when he was working. Just the denim cut-offs that
he had been wearing on the day he arrived, and his feet in trainers.
He was obviously proud of his physique, because he never covered his
chest with its crop of curly brown hair bleached almost blond by the
sun, and he was of course, like me, tanned a very dark brown by the
constant exposure to the strong desert sun whilst he was outside
inspecting the Sheikh's holdings and slaves.

One morning, though, was different - half way through our rounds of
the estate the Overseer looked at his watch, and pulled me sharply
around and flicked his whip against my ass to make me run faster than
usual back towards the central complex. We went back to the
Veterinarian's office, where the Overseer released me from the
shackles and led me in for what I realised was a regular inspection
to make sure I was keeping in first-class condition. My bridle was
left firmly clamped into my mouth, though, because we were obviously
going back as soon as I had been examined.

The veterinarian took the familiar blood, urine and semen samples,
weighed me, and ran his hands all over my body feeling for any welts,
scratches or wounds. And then for the first time in I don't know how
long, I heard English again! The shock of it was almost more than I
could bear, and just hearing a few spoken words made me feel so alone
that a tears started to well up.

The Veterinarian told the Overseer that although my ass, thigh and
calf muscles were in great shape, he was concerned that the
development of my arms and pecs was falling away. "After all, " he
said, "this is a valuable pony, and if the Sheikh wants to sell him
on, the next owner might want to use him for some other task and his
value would be severely reduced. I think you should schedule him
through the training room every day, not on the treadmill, but just
on the other apparatus to keep him in tip-top condition all over".

"Can he stand it?" the Overseer asked. "I work him pretty hard
running around the estate, and if he then has to do a major session
in the training room, will it be too much for his heart and lungs?"

"No.", was the reply. "You have a tough, young pony there. There's
absolutely no sign of heart strain, and his lungs are in excellent
condition from the running. Our diet is designed to keep him
healthy, and he's currently only 23. I would expect him to be able
to run as a pony until 45, and if you work him hard in the training
room too, that might reduce by a couple of years. But the Sheikh
will still have got over 20 years of work out of him, so he will have
more than repaid his purchase price."

He went on to say "Best schedule him starting today. The Sheikh is
coming down for the stud sessions next month, and we don't want him
displeased with any of the manflesh on the estate."

The Overseer then led me out, re-shackled me to the rickshaw, and I
had to run even harder than usual to make up for lost time during my
exam.

When we got back to the stables that evening I was led off to be
showered and milked as usual, but just as my semen spurted out as I
was being finished, a stable-lad slave came in and gestured to the
grooming slaves . They pointed at me, and the stable-lad came over
and grasped my still-rigid cock and using it as a handle, let me to
the training room. I was familiar with this from my first weeks in
the stables, and I saw other ponies in training using the treadmill
and the other apparatus just as I had.

I was taken to the first weights machine, and my number was keyed in
and I had to start a tough programme of reps. I was already
exhausted from my normal day's hard work, and my usual routine after
being milked was simply to eat down the slave meal and collapse with
total exhaustion into my stall. So this new exercise was a horror -
it needed every ounce of my strength to avoid the needle falling into
the red sector on the dial I could see, with its awful electric shock
to keep me at it!

This was now to be my new routine, then. Running with the Overseer
around the estate all morning and most of the afternoon, then a very
extended session in the training room until late into the evening,
when I could finally collapse.


A VISITOR

One morning I was shackled to my rickshaw with my bridle in as usual,
waiting outside the stables for the Overseer to arrive, when a stable-
lad slave came out instead. He took hold of my cock, and used it to
lead me off to a part of the complex here I had not been before.
Arriving outside a small one-storey house, he wrapped the loose ends
of my reins around a tree at the edge of the path, and left me
tethered there whilst he went back to the stables.

I stood patiently under the hot sun, thinking it was a nice change
from having to run. As usual the flies were a real nuisance as they
incessantly buzzed around my head, and there was little that I could
do to stop them - my hands were shackled, and the only way to keep
them out of my eyes and mouth (which was of course half open, because
of the bridle I was wearing with its steel rod forced down into the
back where my rear molars had been) was to keep flicking my head
constantly. After about an hour, I wanted to pee, so I let go as
usual where I was standing - this now seemed such a natural thing for
a naked pony to do, I didn't give it a second thought.

The morning went on, and I wondered what was happening. I became
apprehensive - I couldn't imagine what I had done to warrant this
change of routine, but I was so used to having my life pass in an
absolutely standard way, with no freedom of choice, that any
alteration seemed threatening. Was I going to be punished in some
new or unusual way? What had I done to deserve the Overseer's
displeasure? I broke out into a nervous sweat as I contemplated some
awful unknown that might be about to be my fate.

Eventually the door to the house opened and the Overseer appeared,
followed by another guy about the same age. This second man was
pale - it was unusual to see anyone without a deep, rich, tan on the
property. Normally only freshly-arrived slave stock was pale, and
one of the first things that had to happen was that they had to get
tanned so that they could toil in the open all day.

The second guy was chatting to the Overseer, and suddenly stopped in
the middle of his sentence. He had seen me standing there, naked in
the shafts of the rickshaw, and was obviously so surprised that he
did a "double take". He stood there on the steps of the house,
checking that it really was a tall, naked, branded man coupled to
the cart. It was as if he couldn't believe the evidence of his eyes!

"Get up on the seat", said the Overseer to the man. "It's really
only designed for one, as I use it to get around the estate quickly.
But the pony is young and strong, and he's been resting all morning
so he'll be quite easily able to pull us both for the rest of the
day."

The man looked in astonishment at the Overseer. "You mean that the
man in the shafts can pull you around?", he said.

"Yes", said the Overseer. "He's a well trained pony, and he can
easily do the 10K or so a day I usually cover in my work. I've had
him for about four months now, and he's one of the best I have had -
very responsive to commands, and with a good endurance. The Sheikh
saw him in a sale earlier in the year, and thought that as he had
long, well-developed thighs, he'd make a good pony where speed and
endurance were more important than raw pulling power."

"No ", said the guy, "I didn't mean could he do it, I really meant to
ask whether you do actually use men for jobs like that. Surely a
motor cycle would be better!".

"No ", said the Overseer, "A bike would be quite contrary to the
Sheikh's philosophy. He wants to show the world that it is possible
to run a large estate, and provide a good living for its master,
entirely without the use of oil. We all know that the oil is running
out, and of course that's where the Sheikh got his fortune from in
the first place. But as oil gets scarcer and scarcer, we're going to
have to find some other solution to the problems of getting work
done - especially hard, manual work - and so the Sheikh is conducting
this large-scale trial with using men instead of machines. I told
you all about this before you decided to come and visit, and warned
you that your sensibilities might be offended at first. You didn't
see anything last night because it was dark on the way from the
airport, but I'm going to take you on a guided tour today, as your
introduction to life on the Sheikh's estate, so you can see the full
range of uses we can put slaves to."

"In any case, I've found a pony slave like this one much better than
a bike. It's quiet, there's no smell of gasoline, and it's semi-
intelligent. I can leave him trotting along between stops, and don't
have to concentrate on the road constantly to avoid pot holes, and to
steer! I can get a lot of valuable thinking done during the day
because my mind is freed-up from having to bother about trivia."

"But surely you could use a real pony", the guy replied. "Man has
been using horses for centuries, and it's degrading to make a man
perform like a pony".

"No, you're wrong there ", said the Overseer. "When the Sheikh first
set up the estate to run without machines, he got horses, ponies and
cattle in to pull the carts, drive the ploughs, and power the various
treadmills and capstans that provide us with the small amount of
electricity we need for our hi-fis and PCs. But there were endless
problems - they need a lot of training, you have to look after them
well, and they can't work unsupervised. We needed almost as many
cowboys, cattlemen, and general hands to manage the stock as we now
need to control the slaves, and it simply wasn't economic. You
couldn't make the place pay with all the staff overheads and the
expenses of keeping animals."

"Once the law changed so that slavery was the punishment for most
crimes in this country, the Sheikh realised that he could get slaves
to do the work that the draft animals were doing. Now the only non-
slave animals you see here are those we're rearing for food. All the
physical work is done by slaves, and it's much cheaper. Once you've
paid the one-off cost at the auction, there's no more ongoing
expenses for wages. And we're working on eliminating that, too -
we're breeding our own slaves now, from healthy slave women and
working male slave stock that is performing well at work. There's an
added bonus that the bred slaves don't come with any preconceived
notions of their 'rights', and they're much easier to manage. Within
about 30 years we probably won't even need guards, as all the slave
stock will know its place, and will not even be able to conceive of
doing anything else except toiling on the estate".

"The Sheikh likes to feel he's doing his bit for the planet. Unlike
conventional farms with their huge energy inputs and greenhouse gases
being generated from all the engines, it's completely non-
polluting. It's rather like going back to those older times where
there was a real peasant economy, and everyone simply worked on the
land. The only updating the Sheikh has done is to change the ratio
of men to women - in a peasant economy, there's about half of each,
and the women and children tend to consume all the surplus
production. The Sheikh needs the surplus for himself, to trade to
make money to keep him in the style he deserves, and so we can't
afford a lot of relatively unproductive female slaves. 95% of the
slaves here are men, and we work them intensively. The only women
are in the breeding herd. It works out well, really - most of the
new slaves as a result of the laws are men anyway, as they tend to
break the law more often than women. And the advances in biology
these days mean that we can easily test the sex of the foetuses in
the breeders at an early stage, and abort any that won't be men."

"Anyway, we can't stand here talking all day. I've got work to do.
Do you want to come and see the estate, or are your sensibilities so
offended by the sight of my pony that you'd rather stay here, and go
to the Club and the Pool?".

With that, the guy climbed into the seat, the Overseer untied my
reins from the tree, and got up beside him. With the usual sharp
command in Arabic and the flick of the reins on my ass, we were off.
It wasn't so difficult to pull two men in the rickshaw, and as the
Overseer was pointing out the functions of the various buildings as
we set off for the fields, we were going only just at a light jog and
I did not have to run flat-out.

We came to the first large field, and the field slave gang was about
halfway across it, turning over the sod with their spades. The guy
looked truly astonished to see the 30-or-so naked slaves, joined
together by the wire that ran through the links of their neck chains.

"See how economical this is.", said the Overseer, "We have 30 slaves
in this gang, and we only need one guard. And he has nothing to do
most of the time. They can't escape, because of the wire and we use
advanced technology to keep up the work rate. If the gang does not
keep up the right pace, the guard only has to touch that switch, and
a sharp shock goes along the wire to all 30 of them, to remind them
to keep working! If we had two teams of horses pulling a plough,
we'd need ploughmen, grooms, and so on, and this is so much easier."

"But why are they naked? ", the guy asked. "Surely they could be
given shorts or something!".

"Don't be so sensitive", said the Overseer. "You're still thinking of
slaves a people. Only people need clothes, for protection from the
weather, display, fashion, and sexual modesty. The sun always shines
here, so there's no need for weather protection. Display and fashion
isn't an issue - these are slaves. And as for sexual modesty - what
have they got to be modest about? They're all males working
together, and other than their owner the Sheikh, the guards, and the
occasional visitor like you, there's no one looking at them. Think
of a football team in the USA - they all change together in the
locker room, then put on special costumes to play; but after the
game, they all shower together and there's no talk of 'sexual
modesty' then. Indeed, when I used to play at college, most of the
guys were always trying to take a sly look at each other's cocks."

"Once they're used to being naked, there's no problem. And anyway,
what else would clothes achieve? - they would have to be bought, they
would wear out, and they would need changing and washing - all extra
expense for the Sheikh. We could only justify the costs if the
clothes made the slaves work harder, and we know that's not so. We
drive them so hard already, there's no way that they could possibly
work any harder!"

"Observe ", he continued, "the differences between this field gang
and my pony. We only wash the field slaves once a week, primarily to
keep lice and so on down - it doesn't really matter if their skins
are dirty. And water is an expensive problem here - it all has to be
pumped up from underground, and we need slave power to do that.
Similarly we only cut their hair every few months - it doesn't really
matter how long it is, providing it doesn't get in their eyes and
hinder them from working. We also don't bother to trim their body
hair - out here in the fields, it really doesn't matter if they're
smooth or hairy as we're not expecting them to be looked at closely."

"But my pony is a thoroughbred animal, and is kept in excellent
condition. He is washed every day, and shaved every three or four
days. In between, I think the 'designer stubble' on his chin is
quite fetching, but of course I don't like beards so it's never
allowed to get any longer than that. I also have his chest shaved,
as I like to see the definition of his pecs properly, and I keep his
head hair at about half an inch as I think it makes him look 'hard' -
as a blond, he might look a bit less masculine if it was longer. And
of course I like his pubic hair trimmed neatly - his balls are shaved
whenever his chest is, as I personally don't like to see wispy hairs
growing from a guy's sac. And don't you think that trimming away the
rest, except for that small area directly above his cock really
emphasises that he's different from you and me?"

The Overseer's companion nodded, and said "I suppose you're right.
What about that mark on his ass - I'm surprised you want your perfect
pony disfigured in that way".

"Au contraire, mon ami", the Overseer said. "That's one of his
brands. The Sheikh insists that all his property is properly marked -
it serves two purposes. Firstly if the slave ever did escape, we
can indisputably prove that the Sheikh is his owner. And secondly,
it emphasises to the slaves that they are owned property. In the
early days we didn't brand slaves, and we found it took them much
longer to settle in to their new lives. Now they are branded on
arrival, and we find it really emphasises to the new stock how their
status has altered. This one came almost directly from the USA, and
he probably thought it was some kind of exotic adventure, or even a
dream, until the white-hot branding iron seared into his flesh. That
really gets a slave to understand his new status! You'll also see on
his arm we have his number tattooed - the Sheikh doesn't like slaves
to have names, as he thinks it gives them too much dignity and might
suggest they are really men like us. A number is much less personal,
and we also use it for the feeding and exercise machines, to identify
this slave uniquely".

After exchanging a few words with the field guard, we were then off
again, and above my laboured breathing I could hear the Overseer and
his companion continuing to talk.

At the next field the Overseer and his companion got down from the
rickshaw to inspect one of the pumps raising irrigation water out of
the small canal that brought water onto the estate, discharging it
onto the crops. The pump was a conventional Archimedian screw, so it
could cope with some silt and muck in the water, and was powered by a
black slave on a small treadmill at one end of the apparatus.

"This is what I mean about 'conservation' ", said the Overseer. "On
the other farms around here in the desert, this would have an
electric motor, There would be wires disfiguring the landscape, and
back at the main buildings we'd have to have a huge diesel generator
to generate the power. It's much more environmentally friendly to
have this slave simply do it, and it costs almost nothing."

"This slave was one of the first raised here on the farm, and because
we buy our slave meal in very large quantities, the cost of feeding
him is minimal. We don't have to guard him, because he has no
conception of 'freedom' or 'running away'. Since he was 16, the only
life he has known has been to stand here driving the Sheikh's pump.
And in any case, his neck chain is secured to the pump housing so he
can't move more than three metres from it. It's a really low-cost
solution, because we don't even have to provide an escort every day
to and from the central complex - we simply leave him here next to
the pump all the time. At night, he just lies underneath it, and
then he's ready to start again in the morning. As he's a black, his
hair doesn't grow much, and a monthly visit from the barber keeps his
hair trim. He can wash himself as often as he likes in the canal
water."

Whilst they were talking, the farm carriage pulled by the four
matched blacks drew up, and the Overseer and his friend went over to
talk to its occupants for a while. When it went on its way, they
came back and climbed into the rickshaw, still talking. This was the
first time I had heard a lot of English for months, and it was a real
experience for me - I realised how much the silence that had
surrounded me, except for a few commands, was taking away my ability
to think.

"That's another example of the care the Sheikh takes with his
slaves", the Overseer continued. "Notice how they were all the same
height, and build. Getting four the same height is relatively easy,
but sometimes you find that two slaves who are the same height in the
catalogue before the sale are quite different in practice. One can
have a long body and shorter legs, and the other can have wonderfully
long legs, but a short body. If you're only concerned about the
overall height, you won't have a good match - to some extent if they
are wearing clothes it doesn't matter as much, as the clothes tend to
hide those differences. But when they're going to be naked, you have
to pay attention - especially if they're doing work where the
Sheikh's reputation is on the line. Those carriage slaves are seen
by most of the Sheikh's guests, and he takes a pride in having
everything 'just so' . He doesn't want the cock of one to be
pressing into the small of the back of one of the others, if they're
standing close. He wants cock to ass, the same for all."

"They looked in good condition ", ventured the Overseer's companion.

"Yes ", he replied. "They are Nubians, so they're handsome stock to
begin with. Then they have been trained long and hard, so that their
muscles are at peak tone. Every scrap of hair is shaved off them
every day, so they are always completely smooth, and they have oil
rubbed in to their bodies before they set out so they have that
wonderful sheen. It's actually not that good for them, because it
can interfere with their sweating. But usually they don't have to
run very hard, or very far, as they are only taken out when visitors
are being given a short tour. That's why I didn't book that carriage
for us today, and used this one - my pony is used to longer and
harder journeys, and he isn't oiled so he can sweat properly".

"Although perhaps I should consider having him completely smooth -
but perhaps not. Without any hair at all, I think slaves can end up
looking rather as if they haven't fully matured. It's not so
important with those very big blacks as they have less body hair
anyway and we're kind of used to not seeing it, but with a blonde
slave like this one, I think it is important to avoid the 'schoolboy
look' That's one of the reasons why I choose to have the little line
of hair running down from his navel to his cock left - it adds just
that little extra touch of maturity to him. Have a close look next
time we stop, and tell me what you think. I'd value your opinion as
someone who is seeing him with a 'fresh eye' - I can easily order him
to be shaved clean if you think it would make him more pleasing tothe
eye."

"I've also had his foreskin left, for the time being, as it's a bit
unusual. Most of the slaves we buy in are from this country, and as
Arabs they are already circumcised when we get them. And a whole lot
more are from the USA, where it's increasingly rare to find a man not
circumcised. Strangely, we don't seem to get many Europeans, and I
think that's a pity as many of them are uncut. Whilst you're looking
him over, tell me what you think - should I have him cut? I've
watched him being milked several times, but it's always difficult to
try to judge the effect of circumcision until after the event and
it's too late then! If he had that type of foreskin that extended
well beyond the cock-head, I'd have had it removed by now. But I
think it's kind of interesting to see how the cock head and piss slit
just poke out from the foreskin in his case.".

I couldn't believe I was being talked about like this, in front of
me. The Overseer clearly did not even consider that I might have a
view, or even that I could understand what they were saying. I was
no more 'there', as part of their conversation, than a dumb animal
would have been. But then, to them, that was what I
was.



....to be continued



THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE - PART 8

THE VISIT CONTINUES

The Overseer's friend's visit continued for several more days. Each
morning the friend accompanied the Overseer on his rounds, and I ran
pulling them from site to site on the Sheikh's estate, inspecting the
various operations. And it was fun for me, too - although perhaps
that's not quite the right word for it - because I could listen to
their conversations and hear more about the reasons behind some of
the ways in which slaves' bodies were used. Hearing English again
started to make me feel almost human.

In spite of the heavier than usual load in the morning, overall it
was a kind of holiday for me, too, as most afternoons the two men
went to the luxurious Club in the grounds, or the large Pool. I of
course pulled them there, and then was left tethered outside to wait
to take them home. The Overseer was kind enough to tether me to the
posts conveniently provided outside the Club and the Pool by a longer
length of chain than he needed to, and this enabled me to squat down
whilst I was waiting, rather than having to stand. This was a rare
luxury, as normally from the time I was unclamped from my stall in
the morning until the time I returned there at night, I was
constantly on my feet. And there was less time to spend in the
gruelling sessions in the Exercise Room in the afternoons, and that
was a real treat!

Each morning now the stable-lad slave led me to the Overseer's
bungalow to wait for him and his friend to emerge, whereas previously
the Overseer had come to the Stables to take me out for the day. I
didn't usually have to wait long, as the Overseer needed to get off
on his rounds, but one day there seemed something strange when I
arrived and was tethered to wait - the place seemed somehow to be
quieter than usual. Eventually, through an open window in the
bungalow, I heard an alarm clock go off, and then the Overseer and
his friend talking to each other in muted voices. I couldn't make
out what they were saying, but from the tone of voice and the little
laughs that punctuated the conversation, it was obvious that they
were engaged in a very friendly, close, quiet conversation. The
voices dropped away, and then there were the unmistakable sounds of
love making - the little cries of ecstasy that you make as you
climax, and the throaty grunts of satisfaction. I thought that they
must have a couple of women in there, and they were staying in bed
late to pleasure themselves before starting work.

However as the morning went on, I realised that it was the Overseer
and his friend who had been fucking each other - I saw their bodies
silhouetted against the filmy fabric of the curtains as they got out
of the same bed, and then their pink and brown outlines in the
frosted glass of the bathroom window next door as they shared a
shower. There were only two people in there and clearly not a woman
in sight.

They came out of the front door some time later, laughing and talking
with each other, and carrying towels. As we set off, it was clear
that the Overseer was not planning to work at all that day, as they
discussed plans to "do something different". We set off down
familiar tracks across the estate, but eventually turned off into raw
sand. The pulling was now very hard indeed, as not only was it more
difficult to get a proper grip with my feet, but the wheels of the
rickshaw were sinking into the sand and hugely increasing the load on
me. The Overseer "encouraged" me as usual with the light carriage
whip, but it was just impossible for me to keep up the pace, no
matter how many times it stung down onto my back and backside.

The friend told the Overseer not to be so harsh on me, as it was a
lovely day and they were having fun, and "it would be nice to give
the pony a break, too", but the Overseer just snorted and told him
that he had still not realised that I a not a man, with feelings and
aspirations, but a slave. Slaves did not "need breaks", as their
only purpose was to serve their masters. However the friend's words
did have some effect, as I was allowed to slow down and drag the
rickshaw across the loose sand as best I could. I now felt rather
like Hans and Mike in the large wagon, as my body strained almost
horizontally as I tried to get a purchase with my feet and drag the
rickshaw through the sand. Every muscle and sinew in my legs and
thighs was pushed to its limits, and gallons of sweat were pouring
off me.

However the ordeal did not last that long, as the sand started to go
firmer, and then even damp. After a few more yards we were at a
small stretch of open water - a water-hole in the midst of the
desert, an oasis. Whooping with surprise, the Overseer's friend
leapt down, and ran to the edge of the pool and scooped some of the
water over his head.

"Let's swim", said the Overseer. "It's better than the Pool, as it's
completely fresh water. No one else ever comes here, and not many
people know about it."

"So that's why you told me to bring a towel", his friend
replied. "But you didn't tell me to bring my Speedos".

"Aw, come on", laughed the Overseer. "We've just spent the night
naked in each other's arms. You're not going shy on me now, are
you?".

"It's him", said the friend, pointing at me. "I don't like to strip
in front of other guys. With a lover, it's different."

"Will you cut that out?", the Overseer responded. "Once and for all,
get it into your head that that is not a 'guy' - it's a slave. You
should no more concern yourself with stripping in front of a slave
than you should in front of, oh, a sofa. They don't have feelings,
it doesn't matter what they see or feel, and, in any case, with the
tongue restraint he's in no position to tell anyone about what he
saw!".

So saying, the Overseer dropped his cut-offs and for the first time I
saw his whole body. His upper body and legs were always on show, of
course, as he never wore anything else other than the brief denims,
and all those visible parts were tanned a deep, deep brown by the
sun. And they were covered in tough, dense, wiry brown hair,
bleached by the sun. But underneath the cut-offs he was also brown,
except for a small, dazzlingly white strip across his ass and at his
crotch. It was obvious that he usually wore a very, very brief
bikini with string sides when he went to the Pool, of the sort you
usually only see on "Europeans", not on regular guys from the USA.
To go with his generally muscular build, he had a thick-ish cock, and
this was mounted on top of the sort of ball sac that is crammed tight
with large balls and doesn't hang down. The cock was almost
horizontal, lying on top of the balls, even though he wasn't erect.

He ran across the sand, and plunged into the water hole, shouting
encouragement to his friend. After a moment's hesitation, the friend
bent down and shugged off his trainers and socks. He dropped his
jeans, and stood there in a T-shirt and boxers. Then, without
looking at me, he pushed the boxers down to join the jeans on the
sand, and peeled off the T-shirt over his head, to stand there
naked.

It's curious, isn't it - I remembered from the locker rooms back home
that the shyest guys usually take their clothes off in the most
provocative way. You'd think that if you were embarrassed about
appearing nude in front of other guys, you'd take off your T-shirt
first, then drop your jeans, and then your boxers. Taking off the T-
shirt last causes you to stretch your arms up, your stomach goes
taught, and your cock tends to be pulled upwards. And whilst your T-
shirt is covering your head, everyone else can take a good, long look
at your apparatus, without you knowing.

He ran off over the sand, and joined the Overseer in the water. They
frolicked and shouted with pleasure, and it was obvious they had a
deep and intimate knowledge of each other's bodies, as they embraced,
moved apart, dived and swam between each other's legs, and generally
did all the things that a guy does with a woman when they think
they're alone in a warm pool with no one watching!

I was desperate - it was extremely hot under the desert sun, and
there was absolutely not a drop of shade. I had sweated gallons,
pulling the rickshaw over the loose sand, and unlike our normal trips
around the estate, there was no slave anywhere near with a water
bottle to let me replenish my body. I could feel myself continuing
to dehydrate, and I wondered how I was ever going to pull the
rickshaw home.

After some time, the Overseer and his friend walked out of the water,
and flopped down together onto the sand, embracing and kissing.
Obviously the Overseer's advice to his friend seemed to be taking
effect, as neither of them even thought about my presence any
longer! They lay there, looking into each other's eyes, and
languidly jerked each other off in a very tender way.

Then the friend said something to the Overseer, and they both got up
and came over to me. "Come on", said the friend, "Let him in to the
water. He looks very hot, and he anyway needs a drink - he must have
sweated buckets with all that running."

The Overseer thought for a moment, then came right up to me and went
to open the shackles around my wrists.

"No!" said the friend. "I meant let him walk into the water hole.
Won't he escape if you undo him from there?".

"There's no escape", the Overseer said as he turned the catches
holding my wrists. "In the first place, we're in the middle of the
desert, and without a water supply, or a car or helicopter, he'll
never make it to the nearest town. And in the second place, he's
microchipped. If we lose him, we only have to send a signal to the
satellite and we can pick him up when it next transits the area. And
all the slaves know the penalty for an attempted escape is a painful
death."

"So why is he shackled?", asked the friend, "if escape is so
impossible?"

"Just for show, really", said the Overseer. "Think of it as a chrome
strip on the front of your car at home. It doesn't make any
difference at all to the way the car runs, but it makes it look
better. He doesn't need to be shackled, but most pony owners think
that seeing them helpless and unable to use their hands for anything
other than gripping the shafts makes the whole thing look better.
You will have noticed that on the big farm cart, where the horse-
slaves need to use their hands to load and unload, they aren't
shackled - the chains joining their harnesses to the cart are only
hooked on, and they can hook and unhook themselves at will. They
know it's useless to try to escape."

"We only tether the field gangs together because with so many of
them, even a tiny percentage trying to escape amounts to about one a
week, and it's just boring. And a waste of the Sheikh's money, when
we catch and execute them."

With that, he released my wrists, and came up even closer and
unhooked the reins from the end of my bridle bar.

"Don't be so mean", said the friend "Take that bar out of his mouth,
so he can swim properly. With his mouth open all the time like that,
he'll drown!".

The Overseer was obviously trying to please this friend, because he
released the elastic holding the bar down in to my tooth sockets, and
slid it out of my mouth. I stood there for a few moments, rubbing my
wrists with my hands and working my jaws up and down - it was amazing
to feel my body free. I think this was the first time that I had not
been chained to something, except when the stable-lad slaves were
washing and milking me at night (when I anyway had to hold my hands
above my head) since I had arrived at the Sheikh's estate!
Then, as the Overseer nodded towards the water, I ran across the sand
and threw myself into it.

The warm water was bliss on my hot dry skin, and I put my head down
and drank what seemed like gallons to slake my devastating thirst.
Then I experienced again the sheer pleasure of being able to swim
free, and thrashed up and down the small water hole. I'd always been
a good swimmer at school and college, and it was something I had
enjoyed hugely. Now to experience the silky water again all over me
was ecstasy. And after months of hard, hard exercise, it was sheer
joy to be able to relax and swim up and down, with the water taking
most of the strain from my aching limbs. It was particularly nice to
be able to swim naked - at home, I'd only been able to do that once
or twice taking skinny dips in rivers and so on, as there were
no "men's nights" at the local pool and so you always had to wear a
costume. I liked having my cock float as I stood in the water, and
seeing it bobbing freely up and down when I did the backstroke.

The Overseer and his friend then came back into the water and we all
three swam around together. To an outside observer, it would have
looked just like three regular guys having an illicit dip in the
middle of a Summer's afternoon. But we were in the middle of the
desert, I was a slave and my tongue was still held firmly down and I
couldn't speak, and one of the guys in the water next to me held
absolute power over me.

But while it lasted, it was fun. The Overseer and his friend left me
in the water whilst they went onto the sand again, and this time it
was no gentle mutual masturbation - they fucked each other in turn up
the ass with great shouts of pain and pleasure, then lay in each
other's arms for a few minutes whilst they recovered.

The friend saw me standing there in the water watching them, and
laughed. He said to the Overseer "And to think I was concerned about
undressing in front of the slave. I've just fucked you, and taken
you up my ass, and all the time he's been standing there like a
voyeur at a peep show. Shall we teach him a lesson, and give him a
good fucking now?"

I was horrified by this, because I have never been with a guy in that
way, but I was saved, at least for a time, when the Overseer told his
friend that it was not possible. I was being kept in reserve until
the Sheikh had visited the estate next and inspected me. He liked to
be the first to fuck new slaves, and until he had inspected new
arrivals and decided whether they were to be taken to his bed, no one
else was allowed to.

"Of course you can have him give you a good blow job", the Overseer
continued, "but I don't find that very pleasurable. I don't like the
way my cock sometimes catches on the tongue restraints as I try to
get down the throat. It doesn't seem very natural, somehow. Or you
can suck him off, but why would you want to take his sun-browned
prick into your lovely mouth when there's mine here willing and
waiting?"

This discussion of me as a potential sex toy was again very
disturbing. It's probably the ultimate form of slavery to make a man
perform sex when he doesn't want to. And as usual they were talking
about me as if I simply wasn't there. My cock seems to have a mind of
its own sometimes, and to my horror I felt a massive erection
building as their conversation continued. As my hands were free, I
moved them down loosely to my side, then inched them around to try to
hide my erection - this was so different from anything I had been
able to do for months, as I had never been able to touch my own cock
because I was always clamped or manacled.

"Well", said the friend, "He's been watching us, and I'd like to
watch something to entertain me before we head back. Look, he's
trying to hide an erection!".

The Overseer was clearly very angry, because he roared at me to
assume the display position, which, almost by reflex, I did as my
feet moved apart and my hands went behind my head. "I won't have
slaves feeling false modestly in front of a master", the Overseer
said. "What gives you the right to try to shield your cock from
view? Slaves must always be instantly accessible for masters. I
keep your body trained to a peak of perfection and your hair trimmed
away because I like to look at a man showing his muscles - all of
them!"

"An erection is part of the show, and there's something still
clearly lacking in your training if you even think of covering it.
You're still living back in your former life, when your body was your
own, and your cock was a secret between you and your lovers. I know
American men usually don't have erections in front of each other, and
there's a whole genre of erotic fiction about guys trying to cover
themselves when they feel a hard-on in the locker room. But you're
no longer a 'guy', you're a slave. And this isn't the USA, it's the
Sheikh's estate. "

"Now, squat down."

I obeyed, with my toes curling into the sand. My long thighs caused
my knees to spread wide apart as I hunckered down, but in spite of my
hands still being behind my head I was able to do this from standing
up because I had very good muscle control. I crouched there, waiting
for what would happen next. My erection wouldn't go away, though,
and my cock stuck up, reaching for the sky, jutting out from between
my two horizontal, long, lean, smooth thighs.

"Now milk yourself".

I was amazed by this, and ashamed. But I didn't dare disobey, as I
knew the Overseer always carried his stun gun in the rickshaw with
him. I took a hand away from behind my neck and reached down to
grasp the rigid shaft of my cock. Although I was used by now to
being milked by other slaves in the shower each night, with several
other ponies and stable slaves watching, not to mention the guards,
somehow jerking myself off in the middle of the desert with two other
handsome men watching me, was quite different. It was so arousing
that it only took about five strokes to cause me to climax massively,
and my jism shot out to leave a long, rapidly-drying seam on the hot
sand.

After that, the afternoon seemed over. The Overseer pulled his cut-
offs on, and his friend dressed. I then had my bridle replaced, and
went back between the shafts. The Overseer shackled me in as usual,
saying to his friend as he did, "See, it does look better with him
like this, doesn't it!".

I was fresh when we set off across the loose sand again, and the
return journey didn't seem quite so bad. But when we reached the
first estate track and I expected to head for home, the Overseer
instead pulled on the reins to guide me in the direction of the
quarry. I heard him say to his friend that perhaps they both
deserved a bit of variety that night, and I wondered what he meant.

We went right down into the quarry, and I was made to walk up and
down through the operations whilst the Overseer and his friend looked
at the various slaves tethered crushing stone, or drilling into the
solid rock with hand drills. Finally, we stopped in front of a pair
of slaves who were using heavy hammers on long shafts to pound a
chisel into a small fissure in a massive boulder, to try to split
it. They stood on each side of the boulder, and pounded away in
turn. Each swung his hammer high in the air, then brought it
crashing down onto the chisel, raising the hammer again instantly, as
his companion's hammer descended. They were obviously very skilled
at this, as the timing necessary to ensure neither was hurt was very
precise and they needed to work together with the same rhythm.

The Overseer was describing the process to his friend, pointing out
what almost perfect exercise it was for the two slaves. They didn't
just use their arms for swinging the heavy hammers, but their asses
and thighs flexed as the motion of their bodies raised and pounded
the tools up and down.

Each of the slaves was indeed clearly well exercised and muscled -
they were the sort of guys you usually only saw in gay magazines in
the USA - not huge muscle hunks taking part in Mr Universe
competitions, but good quantities of hard, sinewy muscle, got from
continuous hard work, rather than from artificial exercise in the
gym. They were about 6'1" tall, and I guess about 30 years old.
They were grimy from the dust and dirt in the quarry, and their hair
was unkempt and long-ish. Each had a very good seven-inch cock, and
each was circumcised. They had about a five day growth of stubble
covering their cheeks, and they had moderate amounts of body hair.

I'd noticed in the locker room that in the USA guys with hairy legs
quite often have very little on their asses, and I always thought
that this was natural. But since coming to the Sheikh's estate, it
seemed that guys were either hairy, or they weren't. If a guy had
hairy legs, then the same amount of hair generally covered his ass.
I don't mean in their ass cracks, but over the rounds of their cheeks
generally. I had come to suppose that in the USA this is because the
hair on the ass wears off from friction against trousers and chairs,
and here, where the slaves were nude and did not sit down at all, it
simply grew naturally. These two were no exception to this general
rule, and there was a light covering over their legs, arms and asses.

"How about these two", said the Overseer.

The friend didn't seem certain, and said "Well, their muscles look
good. But they're filthy. I like their cocks, and they have great
asses, and I particularly like the little dimples at the base of that
one's spine where his butt starts to flare out. But aren't they a bit
hairy for you - you've almost got a hair fetish, and are always going
on about pubic hair straggling all over the place. These two suffer
from that - it goes almost from one side of them to the other t
crotch level, and there's a lot of it hanging down from their balls".

"We can have all that fixed quickly and simply ", said the
Overseer "If you're happy with their basic body type, let's stop
wasting time and go with these two. Unless you'd like to look around
some more. There are some blacks at the other end, who are about
6'6" - that might be a different experience. And if you'd rather go
for something more compact, we can find a couple of 5'10" slaves
almost anywhere, with almost any musculature that you like - body
builders, swimmers or athletes - take your pick!".

"No, these two have great bodies, and providing they can be cleaned
up, they'll be good sport", said the friend. "It's been a long day,
and I'm tired after all that swimming, Let's head for home, and
relax a little with each other before the evening's exertions."

The Overseer then called out to one of the guards, and gave him a
string of Arabic instructions. The guard went away, and soon came
back with handcuffs, and the strong wires that were used to tether
slaves. He barked at the hammering slaves ,who had not been allowed
to stop work whilst all this was going on, and they stopped work and
had their wrists cuffed behind them. He undid the wires that had
been holding them at theri work positions, leading from their heavy
neck chains to anchors in the floor of the quarry. Then he threaded
a new wire through their neck chains, looped it around the back axle
of my rickshaw, and coupled it back to the neck chains so that the
two slaves were tied loosely behind us.

The Overseer barked at me to start off and flicked his whip to
encourage me, and I started to jog up the steep incline out of the
quarry, followed by the two slaves who had in turn to jog to avoid
being dragged off their feet.

The Overseer was clearly in a hurry, because he kept urging me to go
faster, even though we were going uphill, and when we got to the top
I was made to run in "top gear"! It must have been agony for the
slaves behind, because it doesn't matter how fit you are, medium-
distance running at high speeds is very specialised and if you're not
trained to it, your muscles simply can't cope.

We did however get back to the central complex, and I was tethered in
front of the main building by my reins whilst the Overseer and his
friend went inside. I could hear the two slaves at the back of the
rickshaw gasping for breath, but I couldn't easily turn around to see
them as my head was held firmly by the tether - this time the
Overseer had not been his usual considerate self and allowed me some
slack. Eventually two guards came out and took the slaves away, and
I was left standing there.

The sun went down, and I got colder and colder as the desert night
advanced. It must have been about two hours later that the guards
came down the steps in front of me, with the two slaves, now
transformed! They were obviously beautifully clean, and their bodies
gleamed softly under the lights with that sheen you only get on a
slave's body when it has been lightly oiled. Their hair had been cut
short, like mine, and I could see that their pubic hair had been
trimmed down to the simple, small bar on top of the cock that the
Overseer favoured in his slaves. I heard the guards again fastening
them to the back of the rickshaw by wires, and we then all three
waited in the cold night air.

The Overseer and his friend then appeared, got into my rickshaw, and
I was driven back to the bungalow. The Overseer tethered me at the
front door as usual, and said to the friend that he was giving me a
long leash as I would have to stay there all night as the Stables
closed at 10 p.m.. They undid the slaves from the back of the
rickshaw, and the two nude adonises were led into the bungalow, with
their cocks being used as a convenient handle to guide them.

A few minutes later the Overseer's friend came out with a sweatshirt
in his hand. He unshackled one of my wrists, and threaded my arm
through a sleeve. Then I was re-shackled, the other wrist was
unshackled, and my other arm guided into the second sleeve before my
wrist was again shackled. Finally, the friend untethered me, and
struggled to pull the sweatshirt down over my head, before re-
tethering me.

I stood there in the sweatshirt, and the friend looked pleased. "I
don't care what the Overseer says. It's dammed cold out here at
night, and you would certainly give a real pony a blanket in weather
like this. I'm sorry I can't help with anything for your legs, but
the Overseer won't allow me to use any of his stuff from the house,
and you have such long legs and huge thighs, and such a great ass,
that I simply couldn't get any of my trousers on you. But at least
the sweatshirt will keep your top half warm".

I felt both ridiculous and erotic standing there in the sweatshirt,
shackled to my rickshaw. The sweatshirt just came down to the top of
my pubic hair in front, so that my cock and balls were still
completely exposed. But instead of being "naturally" exposed as I
had got used to, they now looked faintly obscene, I thought, as they
jutted out below the fabric. Rather like some of those "candid"
shots you see on the internet of guys half-dressed in hidden-camera
locker room shots, half naked seems worse than totally nude. And at
the back, a couple of folds of fabric were lying on top of my ass. I
had got the perfect "bubble butt" from all the exercise and running,
and there was no way that the normal sweatshirt could stretch over
it. It's funny how such a small part of the trappings of normal life
had changed my opinion of myself from a proud, naked pony slave, into
a simple sex object.

Still, it was cold, and it did help. I crouched down and tried to
minimise my body areas exposed to the night air.

But it proved impossible to sleep. Throughout the night I heard the
Overseer and his friend laughing and yelling, and the "swish" of
whips and "slap" of paddles. They were clearly abusing the two
slaves, who themselves could make no sound because of their tongue
restraints.

I was glad when the sun rose, but then I had a problem. First thing
in the morning I usually crapped, as this was one of the only times
in the day that I was allowed to position myself over a shit hole.
And I was conditioned to this - the regular feeding, at the same
time, with the special slave meal had trained my guts to let go at
the same time each day. What could I do? Pissing in public had
become the norm, but could I leave a pile of faeces on the Overseer's
doorstep?

Ultimately, I had no choice, and I crouched in the grass to deposit
my load. I then had no option but to stand by it, because there was
no way I could move away, and no way of moving it, whilst I was
tethered and shackled.

At about the usual time for our morning's work, the Overseer and his
friend came out, dragging the two slaves behind them by their cocks.
They looked very different from when I had seen them last night -
there were whip lash marks all over their stomachs and backs, and
their asses were glowing redly, in spite of their tans.

The Overseer was telling his friend not to worry - they had taken
care not to break the skin with the whips, but, even if they had, it
wouldn't have mattered as they were only low-grade quarry slaves.
But on the whole it was better not to break the flesh, as it could
lead to infections and loss of the slave's labour for a few days.
And, he added, it also made the bed clothes dirty!

The friend was laughing, and congratulating the Overseer on a great
night. "I never realised what a difference a good sauna and a barber
could make to a man's body", he said. "Although I liked the
underlying body style and musculature when we picked them in the
quarry, I really didn't fancy fucking them at first as they were so
unclean. And guys with long hair don't really turn me on. But those
slaves you got to work on them whilst we had a drink really did the
trick - they were absolutely fantastic male beauties when they came
back from their treatment".

"I've never had an unwilling partner before, and it was a real
experience to push my prick up an ass that didn't want to receive
it. The way mine bucked around I thought he would throw me off his
back, and I'd never get it up. If you hadn't told me the trick of
reaching down underneath, grabbing his balls, and squeezing them
until he stopped moving too much, I couldn't have climaxed. I really
don't know how male rapes usually take place - even with my hand
around his sac, I wouldn't have felt confident unless his wrists had
been cuffed, too. And then when we whipped and paddled them before
their next fucking - man, was that something else! I've never had a
body like that slave's to whip before - usually the men that want to
be whipped are rather older, and flabby, and whipping hard, young
flesh is really fun."

"When we pick our partners for tonight, though, can we have a bit of
variety? When I took your slave and you had mine, there wasn't much
of a difference. If his ass hadn't already been slicked with your
semen, I could have been starting all over again with 'my' slave! It
was probably a mistake to choose two of the same build and
height. 'Variety is the spice of life', as they say, and tonight I
think I'm going to have one of those big black 6'6" bucks you told me
about, and I hope you will pick a wiry, small cute blond. Then when
we change over, it really will be different. And if we get bored
with fucking the slaves ourselves, it will be fun to watch the big
black getting it up the little blond!".

The Overseer then saw me, standing there with my cock jutting out
from under the sweatshirt, and he began to laugh. "Oh really,", he
said to his friend "Did you have to dress him up like that! It's
degrading to a slave, in the same way that it is when you put a hat
on a donkey with holes cut for its ears to go through. Animals
aren't meant to wear human clothes.". Then, seeing his friend
beginning to look dejected, he went on "But still, it was a nice
thought to protect the Sheikh's property in case it got really cold.
But we don't usually bother - it rarely goes below freezing in the
desert, and a healthy slave can survive the night naked provided he
can move around a bit and exercise to keep warm. All those slaves
who man the pumps to irrigate the fields are permanently chained in
position, and they spend every night out."

The Overseer then saw my faeces, and looked at me. I thought I saw
rage breaking out, but it stopped almost as soon as it started, as he
said "I'll have to get that cleaned up. I forgot that these ponies
are trained in everything, including when they have to crap!".

With that, the Overseer called a slave to take the two quarry slaves
away, another was commanded to move my mess, and he and his friend
mounted the rickshaw so we could begin our day's work.

....to be continued

THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE - PART 9

By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)

THE SHEIKH'S INSPECTION

As I ran off, the Overseer and his friend continued their
conversation about the types they were going to pick for their
pleasure that evening from the various groups of field slaves on the
estate. But it was not to be.

I had only been running for a few minutes towards our first call,
when one of the messenger slaves overtook us and I was pulled to a
halt. The Sheikh's desire to run his estate without most of the
trappings of an oil-fueled society extended to things like mobile
phones and pagers, too, and if anyone on the estate needed to be
contacted urgently, a slave-based solution had been found.

A group of young slaves, normally just out from their first training
and so about 18 or 19 years old, were kept and specially trained to
be sprinters. Slightly-built, tall, long-legged lads were chosen, as
the requirement of the job was to be able to sprint at full speed
from the central complex to the farthest reaches of the estate
without stopping. This lad had been lucky, as his very fast run had
only to be for a kilometre or so before he caught up with us. Never
the less, he was panting deeply, and I could see all his sharply-
defined ribs rising and falling. These special messenger slaves were
kept very short of food, so their bodies were semi-emaciated and
their bones stood out in sharp relief from their tightly-stretched
skin. It had been judged that a low body-weight allowed them to run
faster and further than if they were well fed and heavily muscled.
There was a price to pay for this, in that they had no stamina and
could not keep going for long periods as I could, but for their
specialised purpose, which was simply to get to any point n the
estate very quickly, it was ideal. After two or three years
sprinting, they usually ended up in a field gang, as it was no use
trying to build proper long-distance running muscles later in life.

The Overseer beckoned the messenger over to the side of the rickshaw,
and the young slave dropped to his knees to make it easy for the
Overseer to reach the message capsule that was around his neck. The
lad was very well hung, and like so many thin, long-limbed slaves,
his cock was also very long and almost touched the ground as he knelt
there waiting for the Overseer's orders. Even though he was a
messenger, the slave was of course muted like me, as the Sheikh still
felt that hearing slaves speak was improper.

The Overseer read the note contained in the capsule, and turned to
his friend and said "That's our plans for today on hold, I'm afraid.
The Sheikh is arriving for his inspection visit unexpectedly early,
tomorrow, and I have a massive number of things to do to make sure
everything is in first-class order. Do you mind going to the Club
and Pool by yourself today? And do you mind walking back there - I
know it's not far, but I do need to go off straight away if I'm going
to get through everything in time, and I will need all the pony's
energy to get around all the places we have to go. Even taking ten
minutes to take you back will really cause me a problem."



The Overseer's friend did not mind, and got down. The Overseer
dismissed the messenger slave, saying "no reply", and the lad got up
and sprinted off back to the central complex for his next errand. He
then gave me the signal to start, and quickly increased my speed to
maximum. It was to be like this all day - I had never run flat-out
all the time before, as usually there were some periods when I had
been allowed to slow to a jog. And we usually confined out
inspections to one sector of the estate, whereas it soon became
apparent that we were going to go everywhere today! After an hour, I
was already exhausted and my legs and lungs were on fire. But I only
had a chance to halt for a minute or two at each stop, whilst the
Overseer got down, made a quick inspection of what was going on, and
barked orders to the guards.

By the time we eventually did get back to the stables, I was
absolutely done in. When we stopped outside I could not remain
standing, and fell to the ground, still coupled to the shafts, with
my legs trembling in uncontrollable spasms. The Overseer called for
stable-lad slaves to come and take me away, and gave a lot of other
orders in Arabic, that I did not understand.

I was as usual washed and cleaned in the showers, and stood there
waiting to be milked. But just as one of the lads started to jerk me
off, the guard shouted something, and he stopped. I was given the
customary slap on the ass to say that I was finished with, and went
off down the corridor to the feeding machine.

It was really good to collapse into my stall that night, as my legs
were still aching with exhaustion, and my wrists were clamped to the
top of the stall as usual. I knew I was going to fall into a deep,
deep sleep because of the tiredness, but somehow it just wouldn't
come.

The problem was that I had a hard, insistent erection, that would not
go away. Every night I was used to being "milked" in the shower, and
my cum-filled sac was aching for its customary relief. There was
nothing I could do about this, as my hands were immobile, and I just
had to lie there with the ache of my balls, and that special tight,
pleasurable pain that you get in a stiff cock that's not going to get
relief, adding to all the other general aches from my overworked body.

Not being able to sleep was such a problem that in desperation I even
tried to rub my cock into the peat I was lying on, in the hope of
being able to generate enough friction to cause me to spasm. But the
peat was only about 1 cm deep, as it's purpose was only to absorb any
piss during the night and not to produce a deep, comfortable bed for
a slave. When my cock-head rubbed against the rough concrete
underneath the peat, it hurt too much to be able to continue, so I
just had to lie there, unsatisfied.

The night had started strangely, without milking, and I noticed
something else, too: I could just see the stall where the eight cart-
horse slaves normally bedded down and frolicked together, and tonight
there were only six. What had happened to the other two, I wondered?.

Although you think you have lain awake all night, I suppose you
don't, really, because morning light came into the stables and I knew
that I had at least been dozing a bit. The usual unlocking of the
slaves from the other stalls was going on, but when the stable-lads
got to my stall, they bypassed me and went on to my neighbour. I
could see all the ponies lined up down the centre aisle as usual,
most still sporting their morning erections, and then they were led
out for their showers and feeding.

After half an hour or so, the stable-lads came back and unlocked me,
and I was led out to the showers, which were already occupied by Mike
and Hans. I had seen then often, in their team of eight, as we all
toiled around the estate, but not usually in the intimate confines of
the showers as they tended to be washed all together in their team.
The stable-lads took a great deal of time and trouble washing all
three of us, much more so than usual, and even though I had been
shaved the day before, they went through the ritual of shaving my
face, chest and sac again. My hair was clipped, even though it had
only been done a few days before, and my underarm and pubic hair re-
manicured. Mike and Hans were getting the same intensive treatment,
and then they, like me, stood there still waiting to be milked.

But, incredibly, we were finished - no milking again. What was going
on?

And there were further surprises in store for us. We were just going
to leave the shower, when the stable lads motioned and gestured to us
to bend over and grip our ankles with our hands. The guard of course
added encouragement to their pantomime, and waved his stun gun at
us. We stood there, with our asses in the air, and the stable-lads
took the hose pipes which were used normally to hose down stray sand
off us before our shower proper, fitted shiny stainless-steel nozzles
to them, and proceeded to push them through our exposed anuses deep
into our rectums, to give us each an enema.

I'd never had my ass cleaned out before, and my stomach cramped and
spasmed as warm water was forced up into me. I could feel my
stomach extended beyond its normal limits, and, indeed, by looking
upwards, I could see a visible bulge in my normally flat, tight six-
pack.

We were all three then allowed to stand upright, and we all looked
very uncomfortable. Then we were motioned to crouch down, and let go
of the enema from our asses. Of course I was used to crapping over
the shit-hole, and I was used to the stench of other men's crap in
the close confines of the Stables' wet areas, but this was different -
three streams of foul liquid crap running over the shower floor. It
seemed inhuman.

Then we were told to bend over again, and the whole cycle was
repeated. It took four repetitions before the water ejected from our
asses was totally clear.

After our showering and cleaning ,we expected to be fed, but this
didn't happen either. We were all three taken to a room I had never
been in before, containing only a small, leather-covered table. In
turn, each of us was told to lie back on the table, and one of the
stable-lad slaves rubbed an odourless body oil into our chests,
necks, arms, legs and underarms. He then paid particular attention
to giving our cocks and sacs a coating of the oil, but was careful
not to excite us to the point at which we might have spasmed. They
in turn we lay face down on the table, and the process was repeated
on our backs and asses. Just as he was finishing, the slave took
extra oil onto one hand and ran it slowly down between my ass
cheeks. An oily finger probed my anus, but didn't venture in,

We all three stood there, gleaming under the morning sun that was
streaming in through the window. We looked magnificent, and I can
see now why the Sheikh liked his four black carriage ponies to be
oiled every day. But how was I going to run during the day? I had
heard the Overseer say that the oil was not good when you had to
sweat a lot, and my usual duties always resulted in that.

The Overseer and his friend appeared, and asked the stable lads
something in Arabic. When the lad shook his head, the Overseer
rapped out something else, and the lad took the oil container and
dribbled a few drops on to the palm of his hand. He approached me,
and dropped to his knees. He reached for my cock, and rolled back
the foreskin so that my cock-head was completely exposed. He then
used his oily palm to coat my cock-head very heavily with oil, then
rolled my foreskin up and down over it several times so that it was
completely lubricated inside. I was completely, hopelessly erect
after this, and my sac, which had already been aching for release,
was screaming at me to be allowed to shoot out its load of semen.
But it was not to be. The Overseer barked a command, and us three
sleekly oiled slaves followed him and his friend out from the
Stables, towards the main building of the central complex.

When we arrived, we went along several marble corridors lined with
offices where "normal" people were holding meetings, entering items
into ledgers, and so on - obviously this was some sort of
administration building where Slaves were not employed, as everyone
was clothed. I had a flashback to the last time that I had been
taken into a building with clothed people, at the Government slave
auction house, and I remembered how I had felt. I was embarrassed
and ashamed at being naked in front of so many people in
an "everyday" working environment. Now, I felt none of this. Even
thought my massive hard-on had mostly subsided, I was still semi-
erect, but I was not at all embarrassed: I was a slave, and slaves
always went nude on the Sheikh's estate. Functions like pissing and
having erections were normal for slaves, and I had learned that there
was nothing for me to be ashamed about in displaying myself doing
these things in front of masters.

The Overseer halted us outside a massive wooden door, and gave us the
commands to "display" and "wait". We stood there against the wall in
the corridor, our legs apart and our hands clasped behind our necks,
wondering what was to happen next. The friend had not gone in with
the Overseer, and he sat on a chair next to us, picked up a news
magazine off a low table next to it, and began to read. Most of the
people passing never gave us even a second look, even though it must
have been bizarre to see three nude guys standing there next to a man
unconcernedly flipping his way through a magazine.

The Overseer came out some minutes later, and motioned us to enter
the room. He told his friend to come in, too.

The room was thickly carpeted, and for the first time, I began to
feel "naked" - as my toes curled into the long, luxurious pile, I
realised that this was the first soft thing I had felt under my feet
for months. Usually it was the desert, or the rough estate roads,
the concrete of the stable floors, or the marble in the showers. The
feeling of strangeness was heightened because the room was furnished
in a conventional "western" way, with sofas, curtains at the windows,
and, against one wall, a table laid with a coffee urn, cups, and a
plate of pastries. The only slightly strange note was that in the
centre of the room there was a very large chair, almost a throne, and
in front of that a small platform, perhaps 0.5 m high, made of wood.

The three of us slaves and the Overseer and his friend waited,
standing, and then another door opened and a huge Arab came in. He
must have been over 6' tall, and was of impressively large girth. He
was the oldest man I had seen for a long time, and he must have been
in his early sixties. Behind him came the two Arabs I had last seen
at the slave auction house, who had inspected Mike, Hans and me so
closely.

The huge man sank into the throne-like chair, and at once the
Overseer approached, then to my astonishment knelt down on both knees
and bowed forward to touch his forehead three times on to the floor
at the Arab's feet. I felt ashamed that an American was paying
homage to an Arab in such a demeaning way.

The Arab said something, and the Overseer stood up, and started to
speak in his rapid Arabic, gesturing at us three every now and then
as he did so.

The Arab motioned for him to stop, and said, in English, "I don't
think we're being very courteous to your friend who is visiting us
who is not as fluent in our language as you are, I suspect. Let's
continue in English, for his benefit. It will anyway do me good to
practice, as I find that if I don't speak it for a month or so it
goes rusty, even though I received twelve years education at an
English public School and three years at their Oxford University".

The Overseer nodded slightly, and began "Your highness, these are the
three 'wild' purchases we made at the last Government auction. As
you will recall, the policy now is to use slaves bred on the estate,
but from time to time it is desirable to bring in fresh stock to
revitalise the herd. Even when we buy in, we usually only buy
criminals from this country, because Europeans and Americans, like
these, command very high prices and our usage is normally only for
very rough work. However in this case, these were exceptional
specimens with all the qualities the stud needs currently".

"Yes, uncle", one of the two Arabs standing behind his chair
said, "When we saw these three, we knew they were exactly what is
required. The two with the chain harnesses are almost perfect
physical clones of our chosen cart-horse strain so they can work
without making the team look out of balance, but at the same time
they will introduce new vitality into the herd, which is now entering
its third generation of farm-bred stock. They have been fully
tested, and their sperm counts, even for Europeans, were very high at
the time of the auction. Since then they have been working naked,
and their balls have been exercised every day, so we can be confident
that they will be exceptionally fertile".

"The long-limbed blond was obviously the perfect type for a general
rickshaw pony. You need those long thighs if they are to run fast,
and you also need a fair amount of body bulk that can be trained for
endurance. We see a lot of tall, long-limbed slaves at the auctions,
but physically they are more like our sprinters - there's no way you
can get the stamina we need for a full day's work in the shafts.
It's usually only the American 'jock' types who have the right
combination of long legs and muscles, and they don't come up for
auction very often. The USA won't trade its young men with us, even
secretly in exchange for our oil, and we have to wait for the odd one
or two to be captured and exported clandestinely from the country.
This one particularly took our attention, because he's a natural
blond in addition to his other merits. We have been thinking that
the herd is getting too black, and we expect that his light genes can
be bred in to several lines to counter that. He, too, is a real
stallion - the US male in particular normally suffers from an
abominably low sperm count, but even at the auction this one's was
acceptable. And at his last check up by the veterinarian, it has
climbed higher because he no longer keeps his balls overheated inside
those American trousers."

The Sheikh thought for a moment, and asked "How old are they?"

"The two cart-horse slaves are 27, your highness, and the blond is
24", said the Overseer. This was news to me - I was 23, I knew. But
then it occurred to me that the Overseer would not be wrong,
especially in front of the Sheikh, and so that meant that I must have
been a slave for over five months now!

"Good", the Sheikh said, "so lots of time to get my money's worth.
I'd better inspect them."

The Overseer gestured at Hans, and made him stand on the low platform
in front of the Sheikh's chair so that his lower body was at a more
convenient height for the Sheikh. The Sheikh leaned forward, and
rubbed his hands down one of Hans's massive thighs. He gestured for
Hans to turn around, and dug his fingers as far as he could into
Hans's solid ass. Then Hans was made to kneel down at the Sheikh's
feet, and the Sheikh leaned forward to feel Hans's pecs.

He gestured, and the same 'examination' was performed on Mike.

"They are satisfactory", said the Sheikh. "I don't want them bought
to climax now so that I can inspect their sexual functioning, as the
carpet is new. And even though we whip them, the slaves seem
incapable of masturbating big men like this without some of their
juices escaping. Now let me see the blond".

The Overseer motioned for me to mount the low platform, and I
automatically assumed the 'display' position. The Sheikh's
examination of my thighs and legs was much more thorough - I could
feel this fingers really pushing as they tried to penetrate the hard
muscles I had. Then when I turned around, he really tried to grip
and squeeze my ass, to determine the strength of my musculature
there. I was then made to kneel, and he felt my shoulders. I was
told to stand, and he put one hand on each side of my waist and ran
his thumbs up and down over my taught stomach muscles.

"I like the way you have had that line of hair left from his navel
down to his cock", said the Sheikh. "It makes him look properly
mature. And I see that you have obeyed my wishes and have kept his
upper body in proportion to his legs - the last one we had who could
run had such scrawny arms that it spoiled my pleasure in seeing him."

"Have him bend over now, so I can inspect his anus", he continued.

The Overseer gestured to me, and I realised that amongst masters
there was a hierarchy of importance - the Sheikh was so grand, that
he used non-slaves to transmit his orders to slaves.

I bent over double, to hold my ankles, and the Sheikh's jewelled
hands again gripped my ass cheeks, but now he had one in each hand
and it felt as if he was trying to rip me in half. Then one hand let
go, and a moment later I felt one of his large fingers probing my
anus. He pushed harder and harder, and it started to slip in. Now I
realised why I had been so thoroughly cleaned out inside and oiled -
it would not have been very nice for the Sheikh to have my crap on
his finger. He continued to push, and I was wincing with pain as his
finger went higher and higher up my rectum - I had never had anything
up my ass before, but there was nothing to be done about it, and so I
stood there, bearing the mixture of agony and itching that his hairy
finger caused.

His finger slid out, but I continued to stand there, bent over in
front of him, as I had not been ordered to straighten. "It's a nice
tight ass ", said the Sheikh, "and I can see that he's probably a
virgin. There's no bruising up there, or any sign of entry. The new
policy of keeping the slaves tied up at night seems to be paying off."

The Overseer then coughed politely and said "Majesty, shall I reserve
this slave for you tonight, or will you have him later during your
stay? "

"Neither", said the Sheikh. "I'm getting tired of these young men,
and even though he's a very exciting sexual offering, I can't be
bothered any longer. You can use him as you will."

"Tell me more about the two cart-horse slaves, though - they might
make a change, and I could have them both in my bed at once".

The Overseer looked slightly panicky, and said "Majesty, I'm sorry.
These slaves have not been preserved as virgins since they came
here. In fact, although our enquiries revealed that they usually
fucked women in South Africa, they were both Marines and we suspect
that on training camps, or on patrol in the jungle, they may have
played around with other men in their platoon. After all, we know
that virile Marines need constant sexual satisfaction, and away from
the company of women they will normally turn to their fellows."

"On the estate they are of course in the cart team, and our policy is
to allow all the eight slaves in that team to have uninhibited sex
with each other, so that they are properly bonded and work together
well. The other six slaves on the team are from the farm here, and
so they grew up knowing nothing of sex with women, and have only ever
had sex with their fellow slaves since they became mature. When we
added these two into the six, we were concerned at first because they
did not join in the nightly sex games, but they soon learned and are
now fully integrated."

"Can I venture to say that your Majesty has not expressed an interest
in the past in these heavily muscled slaves, and so I am afraid that
it did not occur to us to keep them separated and awaiting your
pleasure."

"It's not important", said the Sheikh, "Don't feel badly about your
failure, as you are correct that I have not been interested before,
and, indeed, I did agree the policy of free sex for teams of slaves.
It might be interesting to have them anyway one night, as a matched
pair, one on each side - one does get so bored with fucking virgins,
and they squirm and wriggle so when you go up their asses. Having
two properly mature men, who are used to taking other men up their
asses and pleasuring them fully, would be different. I can see from
the size of their cocks that their asses will be well stretched if
all their team fuck each other all the time, and so they will be able
to accommodate my own splendid member with only a little extra
effort."

One of the Sheikh's nephews leaned forward and whispered something in
his ear.

"In any case", the Sheikh went on, "I have other plans for tonight.
I may send for them later in my stay on the estate."

He obviously then remembered me, and said to the
Overseer "Straighten the slave up, so I can have another look at him".

The Overseer came over, put his hand under my chin and showed by this
that I was to stand upright. The Sheikh continued to stare at me,
and then said "My nephew told me about this one on our way here. He
remembered him because in addition to his build, his blond hair, and
being an American, he's also not circumcised. Now I can see what he
was babbling on about - seeing a slave like this with a foreskin is
different. And, I suppose, it adds to his scarcity value as there
are not many uncircumcised Americans! He gave orders, I believe, for
the foreskin not to be removed until I had had a chance to consider
it".

"Yes, Majesty", said the Overseer. "It certainly is unusual. Even
when we get a slave with a foreskin, it's usually one of those that
makes his cock look like a pea-pod, with a little tail on the end.
But this one is exceptional - the way the tip of the cock-head with
the piss-slit just poke out is unusual, and you can clearly see the
outline of the fretum ring through the skin. I think it enhances the
overall look of the slave."

"What about his functioning in the stud?", the Sheikh asked, turning
towards the veterinarian who I now realised had been standing in the
far corner of the room.

The veterinarian advanced, kneeled down and touched his head to the
floor three times, as had the Overseer, and waited for the Sheikh to
motion him to rise. Again, I was astonished that a highly-educated
American like the veterinarian would demean himself in this way.

He scrambled to his feet and said "Majesty, it makes little or no
difference. The tradition of removing foreskins probably arose as a
mark of distinguishing between one tribe and another: it was not done
for any practical purpose. There has been some medical work done
recently that suggests that men with foreskins might be less liable
to get some sexually transmitted diseases, but it's only a very small
percentage difference. Anyway, here on the estate, that would not be
relevant. As we test all incoming stock to make sure it's disease-
free, and then do not allow any sexual contact outside, all our
slaves remain totally free of sexually transmitted diseases."

"As for sexual performance, there's absolutely no difference that has
ever been scientifically reported between circumcised and
uncircumcised males as far as fertility is concerned. Men with
foreskins are said to have more sensitive cock heads, and are thus
more easily aroused, but this is difficult to prove scientifically.
If it is true, I suppose that having a slave with a foreskin in the
breeding herd might be an advantage - if he's more easily aroused, he
could perhaps service the breeders slightly more often, with a
shorter recovery time between them".

"The important thing is that there should be no objectionable
smells. Some males with foreskins are said to neglect to properly
clean the insides of them, and just wash the surfaces of their cocks
as 'normal' men so. But semen can collect behind the fretum, and of
course during the day it starts to go rancid and there can then be a
distinctive smell of an uncircumcised male. And even if the man has
washed his foreskin properly and pulled it back to get right behind
the fretum, if he is aroused during the day - and, after all, all
young men of his age are, several times - pre-cum can leak out and
similarly lodge and go off. These deposits of semen and pre-cum even
have a name - 'smeg' - in the literature. But this is not really an
issue here: field slaves smell anyway, as we only have them washed
once a week to save water. And in the Stables the stable-lad slaves
are of course trained to properly pull back the foreskins and wash
any uncircumcised cocks we have. Another factor......"

"Enough!", said the Sheikh, "It seems to me it makes no difference
from the point of view of keeping the slave healthy and having him
perform properly. So it comes down to what pleases me."

"I really don't know. It might be amusing to have him circumcised
now - have you got a scalpel with you, doctor?. But then, we'd have
blood on the carpet."

Turning to the Overseer, he said "Have his foreskin pulled back, so I
can try to imagine what it would be like if I ordered it to be
removed".

I thought that the Overseer would do this himself, but we were
obviously in this "hierarchy" thing again, because he clapped his
hands, and a slave came in who was given orders to display me to the
Sheikh. The slave was a trim blond, about 5' 8" tall, with a light
covering of hair on his chest and stomach. He came and knelt in
front of me, and proceeded to take my cock in his hand and very
gently start to tease my foreskin back.

This was more than I could bear, and all the frustration of not
being "milked" the previous evening overcame me - I instantly went
very hard, and even without the slave actually touching me much, my
cock started to pump on its own. Fortunately, the slave holding my
cock had the presence of mind to move quickly in front of me, so the
stream of semen that erupted from me caught him full in the chest.
Had he not moved, I would have splashed the Sheikh's magnificent
white robes!

The room seemed frozen for a moment, then there was action : The
Overseer came over and hit me, hard, on the side of the head, and
caused me to fall over. "How dare you show such disrespect for our
master the Sheikh", he raged.

The blond slave, with his chest hair dripping with strands of my
semen, fell backwards at the Sheikh's feet.

The Sheikh leapt to his feet, and was clearly furious. Turning to
Hans and Mike he commanded them to come over to me and the blond,
and "Make sure that not one drop of that semen escapes onto the
carpet. It's a priceless antique!".

Hans and Mike seemed unsure what to do, until with a combination of
words and gestures the Overseer made them understand that they should
lick my cum off the blond, and suck my cock properly to make sure
there were no lingering drips that might emerge. They quickly got
down onto their knees to reach us where we were on the floor, and set
to, eagerly. Hans was tonguing my semen of the blond slave, and Mike
gently took my cock into his mouth. It was subsiding after the
blessed relief I had experienced, and Mike tenderly sucked at me to
get the last drops of semen out.

I thought the Sheikh would be continue to be extremely angry, and
wondered what punishment I might receive. But the sight of the two
very muscular slaves in their chain harnesses eagerly lapping at the
cock and chest of two blond guys, with all four sprawling in front of
him started to please him, and his anger subsided.

Turning to his nephews he said "Yes, I think you spent my money
wisely, But, we'll see!", and then to the Overseer "In spite of this
unfortunate loss of semen, he looks virile enough to perform this
afternoon as planned, so we'll go ahead at 14:00 at the stud. Have
all three of them there, so I can see them make their first covering."

The Overseer bowed in obeisance, and he, his friend, Hans, Mike, and
me, all backed out of the room from the Sheikh's presence.


...to be continued.



THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE - PART 10

By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)

TO THE STUD

We left the Admin building, and walked back to the stables. Once
there, Hans and Mike were led away and I was shackled into my
rickshaw. The Overseer and his friend came out, and we set off,
obviously much later than usual, for one of the Overseer's inspection
trips.

I was worried about my oiled body, because of the need to sweat as I
ran, and the Overseer must have read my mind because he started
talking to his friend, saying "It'll be a bit slower than usual this
morning, as I can't work the pony hard because of all that oil. It
really needs washing off his skin thoroughly, else he can't sweat
properly and he might overheat dangerously and suffer irreparable
damage. I don't want that to happen to him because he suits me well -
he knows most of the estate routes, and I hardly have to think at
all about driving him once we have set out. He's quite a 'willing'
runner, too, and although I have to lash him most days to keep him up
to the mark, it's rare that I have to thrash him very hard. My last
slave was so lazy that I had to whip him almost the entire journey,
and it wasn't relaxing for me. I really don't want to lose him
because he's so good to look at, though - they don't come like this
very often. Long limbs, a good chest, blond, well hung, a great
ass. Whenever I get bored, I only have to watch those thighs
pounding away and that ass working hard, and I get an instant
erection."

His friend said "Now that the Sheikh has said that he doesn't want
this slave's ass, are you going to fuck him? And if you're not, can
I? Or shall we both do it, instead of getting a couple of those
field slaves in? Three in a bed can be just as much fun as four, and
he's so different from those muscle hunks we had last night that I
think it would be really exciting".

The Overseer obviously thought for a few moments, and then I heard
him say "Well I'm not going to fuck him myself. He excites me, and I
think it would be good to be first up that tight virgin ass. And I
always have quite a liking for the all-American college jock type.
But as a matter of general policy I don't fuck the slaves that I use
for services every day. You'll notice I never touch my bath slave
sexually, as I like him just to be a 'piece of the furniture' in my
bathroom. And if I use my pony, he'll cease to be just an animal to
drive me around and I will start to see him as something else.
Before you know where you are, I'd be having feelings for him, and
thinking about his comfort rather than my own. When he's tired, I
might slacken the pace a little, even though that might make me a
couple of minutes late home. That wouldn't be right, as the only
reason for having slaves is that you can completely disregard their
needs in favour of your own. I don't want to start off down the
slippery slope of giving a slave even a moment's consideration."

"But go ahead yourself, if you want. You'll be going home in a few
days, so it doesn't matter if you start to develop some kind of
relationship with the pony. I can arrange for him to be bought to
the Bungalow tonight after he's been cleaned up and showered,
securely manacled so that you can do whatever you want with him. I
can even have his tongue restraint taken out for the evening, if you
want to hear him scream as he experiences his first rape. I'll go to
the Club and use one of the regular 'comfort' slaves, and I'll bunk
down there so that I don't have to see you in bed with my pony."

His friend started to say that he didn't want to do this if it was
not absolutely OK with the Overseer, and he was told
that "Honestly, it's absolutely no problem with me. You're on
holiday, you're the guest, and you should do everything you can to
make it a memorable time. I can fuck a whole variety of manflesh any
time of the day and night that the fancy takes me, but once you're
back home you'll have to do the usual trawling around bars to try to
pick up something for the night. And I remember from when I used to
be in the City, that can be pretty depressing - you never ever find
anyone who's completely 'sub', and even those who say they are want
to impose 'conditions' on a master. And as for their condition -
when did you have a really good well muscled body under you before
you came here? So make the most of it whilst it lasts!"

"Tell me, did you ever actually rape a virgin before?", he
continued. "I guess that has to be the ultimate experience, knowing
you've gone where a cock has never been before, and having a
completely unwilling male totally subservient to your needs. You
can't get that experience in the City, and you can't buy it anywhere
in the USA as far as I know. I'm offering you a once in a lifetime
experience with my pony tonight - feel free to enjoy it!".

The sweat that was breaking out all over by back and chest was not
just from the running - hearing these plans for me was absolutely
horrific, as I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be raped.
Having the Sheikh's finger right up my rectum had been bad enough,
but the thought of the friend's cock terrified me - at the swimming
session at the water hole I had seen that he was well endowed, with a
medium-length thickish penis. I had seen the size it grew to when he
and the Overseer had masturbated and then fucked each other, and my
ass muscles clenched and unclenched involuntarily as I tried to
imagine what it would be like to have that warm rod thrust deep
inside me. But my real terror was the humiliation thing - all my
life I had jeered at 'queers' and I had spent my time as a school and
college jock trying to push my prick into as many of the ladies as I
could.

I had never understood what a guy saw in another, and I couldn't
understand why anyone should think a man's hands, a man's mouth, or a
man's ass was in any way desirable when you could have "the real
thing". I had been jerked off by many girls when I had started
having sex, and of course we soon graduated to them giving me blow
jobs. I had even tried giving it to one of my girlfriends up the ass
for a change, after a weekend of heavy vaginal sex, but even though
she squealed with pleasure it wasn't as much fun for me as her tight
pussy, so I hadn't bothered to do it again.

Of course I had got used to being jerked off by the stable-lad slaves
every day, but I didn't really regard that as "sex" - it was really
just a welcome relief, and part of normal life now. Hearing the
possibility of my ass being abused for the first time was somehow
shaming, and I detested the thought - but, deep down, I knew there
was nothing I could do to prevent it. Even if I was not securely
bound tonight, as I knew I would be, there was ultimately no way of
avoiding my master's wishes. I was a slave now, and there was to be
absolutely no regard for my feelings, rights or concerns about this.
If my master or his friend wanted to pump their semen up my ass, they
would.

The Overseer spoke again, and said "But maybe you'd better hold fire
on your plans for tonight with the pony, as we're heading for the
Stud now. He'll be pretty spent after his afternoon there, and
whilst that won't stop you fucking him, if you want to play with his
cock and balls and tease a lot of cum out of him, he might be a
bit 'spent'. And anyway, I find holding a man's cock when it's been
inside a woman a few hours before is distasteful - I like to let the
fresh air get at it, and let it have a few sessions being jerked off
by the bath slaves before I feel completely happy with it again. And
that's especially true if I'm going to suck it - I know it's silly,
but I always think I can taste a woman on the cock, even though
objectively I know it has been scrubbed clean."

I couldn't really understand what the Overseer meant by all this talk
of cocks inside women, as since I arrived I had never actually seen a
woman - every slave on the estate was male. But I was relieved to
hear his friend say "OK, I think you're right. Tell me more about
these 'comfort' slaves at the Club - are those the slaves always in
the gymnasium there, and in the Pool?"

"Yes ", said the Overseer. "We select the best-looking, most
handsome slaves as they come into maturity and are brought onto the
farm, and assign them to the Club. They have to exercise constantly
in the gym, but not so that they overdevelop muscles like some of the
working slaves do - we want nicely firmed, handsome guys, with great
bodies. In fact, part of the reason for keeping them mostly in the
gym and around the pool is because it's a real pleasure for the eyes
when you're working out yourself or going for a swim - they don't
need to be in there all the time, but it makes a good,
convenient 'meat market' at one central location. And, as I said,
there's a general feeling that you shouldn't have sex with 'domestic'
slaves who clean the place or who service you in the bath, and so
on. These slaves are not in the 'domestic pool', they're just there
for sex, and only for sex."

"Of course there are no wild slaves in the 'comfort' pool, they're
all farm bred so they only know about servitude and sex with men.
They regard it as the height of luxury to be allowed to train and
swim all day, shower whenever they want, oil their bodies, play with
each other, and generally lead what is to them the 'high life'.
After about three years, though, we usually tire of seeing the same
flesh week after week, so we put them out into the field gangs and
choose new ones from the farm. We always try to get a good mix of
blacks and whites, tall and short, stocky and thin, so whatever your
preferences, there should be one or more there that will turn you
on. Look them over, pick one out, and tell him to come to the
Bungalow this evening. Pick one out for me, too - I'd like to know
what you kind of body you imagine I secretly desire! They're all
fully experienced in every way of having sex you can think of, and
then some, and you're guaranteed a great time - they know that if
they don't please you, you can order them to be flogged, and that's a
great incentive to them to make sure you get every ounce of pleasure
from their bodies."

"But don't limit yourself to one or even two - if you like, why don't
we have an orgy tonight? Pick out five or ten, and we'll fuck them
all, or we could lie there together, just you and me, whilst we
instruct the slaves to enact our wildest fantasies!".

"No ", the friend replied, "I came here to see you, and we've been
having great sex. It's just like the old times - no, it's actually
better than the old times. We've little enough time together as it
is, and I don't want to waste it on a lot of other bodies - yours is
enough for me, it's everything I want. I think I was just indulging
a fantasy when I thought about raping your pony slave, but that's not
what I really want, when I can cuddle up to you tonight. Just the two
of us. I know it's fun to fuck the slaves, and those two from the
fields last night were something else - but I want something more,
that only you give: you love me, you don't just fuck me."
When I heard this, I started to relax, and suddenly the day seemed a
whole lot better. I was not going to have to lie under the vast old
Sheikh, and , at least for the time being, my ass remained my own.

A swift tug on the reins turned my head slightly to the right, and I
turned off down a track we had now been down before in my months of
pulling the Overseer around. We continued, and soon came to a large
compound, surrounded by two high fences of wire mesh, topped with
razor wire. A shorter wooden fence inside the two outer high fences
hid the contents of the compound from view completely.

We drew up at a gate in the outer fence, which swiftly opened for us
as they saw it was the Overseer. We went through the second fence,
and then the gate in the wooden fence opened and I ran on into the
compound.

The sight was incredible! There were scores of children running
around playing, and women walking along, and they all obviously lived
in a row of huts inside the fence. Each hut had a neat garden around
it, growing fruit and vegetables, and they were mostly being tended
as we ran past by the women and older children. I hadn't seen a
woman literally for months, and these, or course, were all totally
naked, as was I.

Although I was completely used to being naked by now, I had felt
something akin to shame when I had gone into the Sheikh's western-
style room that morning, and now I began to feel the same kind of
emotion. It's one thing to live your life as a naked pony slave when
all you see is other ponies, field slaves, guards, and the occasional
master; it's another to be running along, with your cock bobbing up
and down, naked in front of a lot of naked women!

The women were obviously interested in what they saw, because they
stopped what they were doing as we went past and waved and called out
to us - here again was something different - these women were
presumably slaves as they were naked, but they had voices! I felt a
blush start to rise in my cheeks, and as usual, my cock took off on
its own and I felt a massive erection rise.

COVERING

The Overseer guided me along through the huts, until we came into a
small square. On one side there was a canopy to provide shade, under
which was a large throne-like chair similar to that I had seen
earlier for the Sheikh, and several others. A table held
refreshments, and there were pitchers of juices and water with ice
cubes clinking in them - that was the first time I had even thought
about ice for I could not remember how long, as all the water I was
ever given came out of the wall nipples in the Stables, or from the
drinking bottles with which I was sometimes refreshed as I ran. In
front of the canopy, but in the sun, was a low table, and on two of
its legs were foot rests about 8 cm below the table top.

Standing by the side of the canopy, but in the sun, was one of the
enormously tall, lithe, muscular Nubians that I knew worked in the
quarry, and Hans and Mike in their chain "waistcoats". We stopped,
and the Overseer unshackled me and motioned for me to go over and
join the other slaves. Like me, Hans and Mike were experiencing
erections having to stand there naked with a small crowd of women
gathering around, but the big Nubian seemed unaffected (although his
cock was on the same massive scale as the rest of his body, and it
was bigger than some guys' cocks are even when fully erect).

All four of us stood there, whilst the Overseer went into a hut and
emerged with four collars. He ordered us to "display", and we all
four obediently put our hands behind our necks. The collars had
cuffs attached to the back of them, and the Overseer came along
collaring each of us and securing our wrists into the cuffs. I
couldn't understand why he did this, as I would have stood there
at "display" with my hands behind my neck without the need for any
artificial restraint, so used had I become to obeying orders.

We all stood there in the sun, and the Overseer and his friend went
and sat on the chairs under the shady canopy. They started to talk,
and the Overseer was explaining things to his friend.

"We're in the Stud now, and waiting for the Sheikh to come and start
proceedings. Look at those four slaves who are going to cover the
breeders this afternoon - the Europeans are the ones we bought in,
and they know about women - in spite of themselves, they're erect!
But the big buck Nubian is bred here, and he only knows about men.
He's standing there perfectly normally, as he's obviously not excited
by the Europeans, and he doesn't see anything in the women's bodies
to turn him on - when you think about it, if you're used to hard
men's bodies all the time, the women look pretty disgusting with
those layers of subcutaneous fat smoothing them out and those
repulsive breasts jutting out in front."

"The pony and the two cart-horse slaves are here because we want to
introduce their strains into the herd, and a degree of 'wildness' We
have picked the Nubian because he's the biggest, blackest, hardest-
worker of them all, and we want to try to capture that."

"This breeding business is a big problem for us. We have to do it to
ensure a satisfactory supply of slaves as the market price in the
auctions is getting higher and higher as more estates turn over to
slave labour. With his usual thoroughness, the Sheikh insists that
the breeding is properly planned and controlled. He has a master
plan for improving the herd, and it's really important that we use
the right sires to cover the right mares. On some estates the slaves
are left to their own devices, and the breeding takes place randomly,
just as it does back home, and there's chaos! Not only is there no
control over what slaves are produced, but there are all sorts of
jealousies and tensions between the male slaves and the breeders, and
between male slaves competing for breeders, and so on, just as you
get in US society. It really lowers efficiency."

"But as I have explained, we keep only a very few breeders on this
estate compared to the number of workers, because we don't want a lot
of potentially unproductive mouths to feed. So it's very important
that we make the most of the available opportunities to get the best
possible genetic mix in the herd. And, of course, we need to know
which sires the breeders have got pregnant by so that we can track
the offspring - we don't want unfortunate inbreeding in the next
generations, not because of any moral problem as it's only slaves,
but because breeding a brother and a sister, or a father and
daughter, can produce disastrous genetically-caused problems in their
offspring."

"The long gestation period of the slaves is the biggest problem,
though. It takes us a long time to ensure that the stock we have
selected for breeding is right. Even thought those four there look
good, it's only when you have had time to see their progeny that you
can be sure you have selected a good line. So we have to play a
waiting game"

"First, there's the problem of ensuring the breeders are impregnated
properly. We have selected the breeders for these four so that they
are in their fertile period in the month. And of course we know
from their regular semen tests that all these four males have masses
of live sperm, even though they're past their best ages for breeding -
the slave male is at his most fertile around 16. We don't breed
from them that early as we need to make sure the slaves are properly
developed, so 24 to 30 is about the age range we can use, once we
have seen how they work. They're past their peak of fertility, but
there's still a very high chance of them impregnating successfully".

"Even so, they'll cover the breeders three times this afternoon, and
we'll repeat the whole thing tomorrow, and the day after. Then we
have to wait at least a month to see if the breeders have been
properly impregnated. And then we have to wait another month to
determine whether they're carrying a male. If they're not, the
breeder has to be aborted and we need to start the whole cycle over
again - the first progeny of a slave is always another male slave,
and we only occasionally breed another breeder when we want to
capture a particularly important slave characteristic. And we
normally won't do that until a slave's progeny have been fully
certified over a number of years."

"Assuming all has gone well so far, it's still another seven or eight
months before we can actually see the progeny, and we then usually
wait another three or four months whilst it develops to see that it
has indeed got all the signs of the characteristics we're looking
for."

"If that first one seems as if it's going to be OK, then we start
again, with the slave covering a different breeder, and with any luck
in about a year after that we can again decide whether to continue.
And the same in years three and four."

"After four years, we have four progeny to observe and test, and the
first is of course quite developed so we can be reasonably certain
that we have it right. If all is still well, and the slave's
characteristics are coming through into his progeny from four
different breeders, then in years five, six, seven and eight he
covers many breeders. From a particularly fine slave we usually take
about 25 progeny, to strengthen the characteristic that we are
breeding for in the herd. Of course we keep observing and testing
all the progeny all the time, and if it looks as if a problem is
developing, we stop using the slave in the programme. It's exactly
like what farmers do back home, to improve a herd of dairy cows, or
the wool from a flock of sheep."

Just then there was the sound of carriage wheels approaching - it
was the farm carriage, with its four matched black pony slaves
pulling it, and in it were the Sheikh, his two nephews, and the
veterinarian. This was obviously a huge load for them, as the Sheikh
himself was a giant of a man, and his nephews, too, were big guys,
and the ponies were clearly straining to make a reasonably fast
progress. But as they got closer I could see over the heads of the
crowd that the most astonishing thing was that they were all wearing
leather hoods over the tops of their heads, which completely obscured
their eyes. As they got closer still, I saw that the hoods also
covered their ears. They were having to run "blind", relying
entirely on the directional commands given by one of the Sheikh's
nephews, but he was obviously an experienced and confident carriage
driver as he showed no signs of difficulty in manipulating the four
sets of reins simultaneously.

The carriage pulled up into the empty square space in front of the
canopy, and the royal party alighted and took chairs - the Sheikh, of
course, taking the large throne in the centre. The Overseer had
risen as the Sheikh approached, and then performed his obeisance as
he had earlier in the day - again, I felt this demeaned an American.
He went to the front of the carriage, grasped the metal rods of the
two leading pony slaves that were protruding out of their mouths, and
led them away. I wondered why he was not guiding them by their cocks
as usual, until suddenly I could actually see all of their bodies as
they came around the crowd.

It was shocking! These four proud ponies, who were always gleaming
shiny-smooth in the sunlight because they were completely hairless
and oiled, now had their cocks confined. Each of them was wearing a
cup-shaped triangular metal device which completely covered their
cocks and balls. These were held on by a stainless steel wire around
the waist, with another passing from the bottom of the cup and up
between the slave's ass cheeks to join on to the wire around the
waist just above the top of the ass. There was a padlock at this
point, holding all three wires securely in place.

I had never seen these ponies anything but completely nude, and they
were so well hung, and so perfectly matched each other, that it was
almost like looking at a great work of art to see them. They were
now somehow "disfigured", with this scrap of metal covering their
genitalia. They had been turned from proud slaves into something
that resembled one of those sex pictures in American magazines.
Being partially covered is often more erotic than total nudity, I
knew, and I thought it was wrong that they should be forced to
disport themselves in this way. But I saw that even though they were
temporarily blinded (and I supposed deaf) from the hoods, there had
been some consideration given to their animal needs. The metal cups
were perforated with a few small holes, and so it was possible for
them to piss whenever they needed to. On reflection, this seemed to
be another example of how the Sheikh's organisation really did think
through the needs of its slaves.

The Sheikh spoke to the Overseer, and he rapped out commands in
Arabic. A small white woman, aged about 22 I guess, came out of the
crowd and lay down on her back on the low table, putting her feet
onto the foot rests so that her pudenda were fully exposed. The big
Nubian was motioned forward, and stood between the woman's legs. He
clearly didn't know what to do, and so the veterinarian came over and
worked the Nubian's cock into a massive erection. He then pushed the
Nubian in towards the woman.

There was laughter from the Sheikh and his nephews then because the
Nubian had tried to push his cock up the woman's ass. I heard the
Overseer tell his friend that this was fairly common - the farm-bred
slaves only knew about sex with other men, and then only very
infrequently as it was forbidden to them. So the Nubian had
naturally assumed that he was meant to be doing the only thing he
knew.

However the veterinarian soon corrected things, and guided the
Nubian's cock into the woman's cunt. Then he went behind the Nubian
and, resting his hands around the giant's waist, pushed him backwards
and forwards. The slave obviously got the idea, because he was soon
fucking properly, and came after only a few seconds. He was then
motioned away, off the woman, and sent back to join us other three
slaves. The Overseer commented that the veterinarian was earning his
money today - he was doing a proper job, just as a veterinarian would
who was in attendance at a racing stud would when the pedigree
stallions did not know what to do!

The Nubian stood next to us, breathing hard, with his cock rapidly
returning to normal but still slick with the woman's juices.

It was then the turn of Hans, who was led up to service a breeder who
I guessed was an Arab of some kind, judging from her colouring. Hans
obviously knew what it was all about, and he needed no encouragement
to ram his stiff rod home and fuck away enthusiastically. His hard
ass went in and out, and he was emitting satisfied grunts from his
throat in time to the flexing of his massive thighs. But he, too,
climaxed quickly, and came back to join the rest of us.

Mike was next ,"covering" - as I now knew it was called - another
Arab. And then I knew it would be my turn.

A slim, tall black girl, about 19 years old, was lying on the table
as I was called forward. I was in turmoil - although I'd had a lot
of women in my time, I'd never fucked in public. Even when we were
at those wild parties when a lot of couples were getting it off, I
had always taken my woman off to a private room. It's not that I
have anything to be ashamed of - I have always had a nice body and
am very well hung - indeed, that's one of the reasons why the
Sheikh's nephews bought me at the auction. But fucking in public was
not just my thing.

But here I was, with the sun beating down on me, a crowd of naked
women watching, and the fully-dressed party under the canopy waiting
expectantly for me to begin. I didn't think I could do it, but
reflex took over. My cock went so hard it was actually painful for a
moment, and once it was inside the woman I forgot all my inhibitions
and rammed in and out enthusiastically.

There was to be no real pleasure for me; this was pure sex for
breeding. And I soon joined the Nubian and Hans and Mike again. The
Sheikh and his party sat around whilst drinks were brought to them,
and the Overseer and his friend came over to us. He commanded us to
hunker down, and the four of us squatted there with our hands behind
our necks and our cocks still moist from our activities.

"They rest for about 45 minutes", said the Overseer, "then they do it
again. Young slaves like this can easily recover in that time, and
the Sheikh does not want to waste his entire afternoon."

"Why don't they use AI?", his friend enquired.

"Well Artificial Insemination is never used in the racehorse world",
said the Overseer. "The Sheikh has a world famous string of race
horses in training in England, and stud fees are a very important
part of the racing business. The rules of the international horse
racing fraternity specifically forbid the use of frozen semen and AI,
and always require a stallion to be taken to cover a mare. I guess
we follow the same practice because the Sheikh knows it works well
for race horses, and therefore thinks that it will be good for
slaves. In fact it's probably just as well we do it this way,
otherwise we'd need much more complex medical facilities and so on."

"Besides, even though you and I don't want to watch the disgusting
spectacle of a man fucking a woman, some of the Sheikh's guests get
quite turned on by it. There was a party of US senators here about
six months ago, at the time of the last oil talks, and naturally the
Sheikh offered to show them his prize stallions in action. The
senators could not believe it - they told the Sheikh it was the best
entertainment they had ever been offered anywhere in the world. One
of them said that the last time he had been at a live sex show it had
cost him over $250 to get into a sleazy club in Amsterdam and have a
couple of drinks. Even then, he thought the performers were faking
it, whereas it was clear it was for real here".

They carried on chatting, and the Overseer continued "There's only
one thing that I think is a bit unnecessarily cruel in all of this -
I don't like to see the slaves with their wrists shackled like that.
I'd allow them to continue to 'display' naturally. But about a year
ago there was a problem when in a sexual frenzy one of the slaves
started to caress the breasts of the breeder whilst he was covering
her".

"He had to be pulled off, of course, and it upset the whole
afternoon. It's not a problem for the farm-bred slaves, but the
Sheikh has decided that we won't risk it, especially when we have a
number of wild slaves who might be habituated to sex with women
before they came here. They might think that it's acceptable to do
all kinds of disgusting things whilst fucking, whereas all they are
required to do is shoot their semen high up into the vagina. Some of
the American and Europeans simply can't understand that this covering
of the breeders is a simple necessity if our way of life is to
continue, and they think sex with a woman is in some way 'special'.
I guess we still have not convinced all our slaves that they are
animals. Animals breed, humans have sex."

At that point, the Sheikh clapped his hands as he was evidently tired
of waiting, and the afternoon's performance began again, as the
Nubian was led out to cover the small white woman for the second time.

When it was my turn again, I tried to think about what the Overseer
had said. It did seem faintly disgusting, to be here over a soft,
black body. It just wasn't the same as when fucking women had been
surrounded by society's expectations. It had seemed 'natural' then,
and fun. And when I was still a teenager, it had been spiced with
that whiff of illegality, with the risk of being caught by my parents
or hers! Now I saw it for what it was - just a mechanical act to get
my sperm to the right place for breeding.

This made me feel much better. Freed of the mystique with which sex
with women had been surrounded, and all the taboos of privacy and
intimacy that I now saw were completely false, I could just stand
there and do it. The Sheikh wanted to breed from me, and that made
me feel proud. Why shouldn't he and his party watch me - it was
perfectly natural for a slave to inseminate a breeder if that is what
his master wanted. A slave has no rights or privacy, and pumping my
semen into a woman was not different from pumping it over one of the
stable-lad slaves, and I did that every night without thinking now.

The four of us hunkered down in the sun again, and waited for our
third performance, which went off without incidence.

After the Sheikh had left in his carriage, the Overseer shackled me
to the rickshaw and he and his friend mounted for the drive home. As
we went through the huts towards the entrance, the Overseer was
saying "See how the young slaves enjoy life. We let the mothers
bring them up, as we've found that without a proper childhood, the
slaves don't last well in later life. It's a false economy to go in
for child labour - although you can get them working from the age of
six or seven, they're burned out by the time they're thirty. They
stay here, with the mothers, until the first sign of sexual maturity -
that's usually about the age of 13. Then we take them off and they
live in a segregated part of this compound, getting their first phase
of training - light gym, running, and other good healthy exercise to
get their bodies tuned to the idea of physical effort."

"That's the first time we have to spend any money on education and
training. Up until then, the breeders have totally looked after the
young slaves. From maturity, though, they have to be schooled to
make sure they do all the exercises and so on we need, so two or
three slaves have to be used full time for this. We usually choose
real 'physical' types for this work - the sort that in the USA might
end up as coaches at high schools. I think they have a great life -
they do of course inevitably 'educate' the slaves into sex as well.
They don't need to be intellectual, as of course we don't teach the
slaves to read or write, or anything like that."

"On their sixteenth birthdays, the slaves are considered to be ready
for work proper, and they come out on to the estate. Any that have
not matured and still don't have a proper growth of hair, deep
voices, and constant erections are traded out - the Sheikh is
merciful here, and doesn't have them put down. He doesn't want them
spoiling the general tone of the estate, but he can get a modest
price for them at the auction. I suppose people buy them to turn
them into proper eunuchs, or in the hope that they will suddenly
mature, and they can then make a profit".

" During the next two years, we give them light-ish jobs - stable-
lads, bath slaves, kitchen hands, and so. We mute them at this point
of course, as we don't want their chatter spoiling life for the rest
of us. And we trim their pubic hair, and shave the body hair of any
who are very objectionably hairy and who are going to do sensitive
work - we don't want a slave's chest hairs falling in to the food
being prepared for us in the kitchens, for example."

"We watch them carefully during this time, and on their eighteenth
birthday we can make a decision as to what is to be their future
life. The very handsome ones, who have been seen to be playing
around a lot sexually with each other, might be assigned to
be 'comfort' slaves. There are a few obvious choices for 'sprinters'
for the messenger service, who need to be starved a bit and trained
hard. Some with outstanding bodies will go for specialised service,
such as a general pony like mine, or into a cart team. And the
Sheikh will sell some - for example, if he has a very fine black, but
his carriage team does not need a replacement, he might send the
slave off for auction. But the majority simply then join one of the
field gangs, or go into the quarries."

"We only occasionally have a breeder growing up here, and it's a
potential problem for us. As I said, it's only generally when
there's some very special characteristic of the breeder and sire that
we want to retain in the herd, as generally it's simpler to buy
mature breeders in from the auction. However carefully we watch the
young slaves, some will mature precociously early and then try to
experiment with a young breeder - we simply can't have that
uncontrolled sort of breeding going on, as the Sheikh likes
everything done properly and the stud books maintained accurately.
Young breeders have to be kept strictly segregated therefore from the
young slaves, and it all adds to the costs of running the place
efficiently."

His friend then interjected and asked "Why was the Sheikh's team
blindfolded?"

"If only they were simple blindfolds", replied the Overseer "They're
custom-made helmets of finest Moroccan black leather, to make them
look as much like skin as possible. As well as covering the eyes
totally, they also have special ear flaps with sound insulation, to
cut out noise. They cost a fortune to have specially made - another
expense!"

"We had a problem a few years ago when a pony team of
previously 'wild' ponies went almost into a frenzy when they saw the
breeders being covered by the chosen slaves that afternoon. The
Sheikh was furious, and said it should never happen again. So the
pony teams have their eyes and ears covered so they can't see or hear
what's going on. And, just in case any of the breeders try to
interfere with the ponies whilst they're waiting for the Sheikh -
some of them seem to want to try to thrust themselves onto a slave's
cock - he has decreed that they should be protected by wearing those
genital covers."

"It's all very annoying. You saw how I had to lead the carriage away
after the Sheikh arrived - you get used to leading a pony by its
cock, and having to grab the bridle like that is not convenient.
What's worse is that I have to do it myself - the Sheikh will not
allow any slaves at all into the breeding compound normally, so I
have to do these things that are properly the work of slaves. Still,
it's only when the Sheikh's actually here that I usually attend:
frankly, the sight of those breeders and the things the slaves have
to do to them disgusts me - most of the time the veterinarian runs
the breeding programme, as he's often over there anyway, checking up
on the breeders and the young slaves."

We were then at the gate, and went out, back onto the estate proper.
The Overseer slapped the reins and told me to head for home, and I
jogged along because he did not seem to be in a particular hurry,
whilst he and his friend resumed their conversation from earlier
about the 'comfort' slaves, and how they might spend their evening.

I was told to drop the friend off at the Club, and the Overseer drove
me around to the stables himself. He needed to give the guards
orders that the stable-lads were not to milk me again that night, as
he wanted to conserve my semen for the second day's breeding.

.....to be continued.


