THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE - PART 11

By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)


THE SECOND AND THIRD TIMES


In spite of not being milked, that night was not to be a repeat of
the previous one. Covering a breeder three times during the
afternoon had properly de-spunked me, and even though I was not as
tired as I normally was after a normal day's work, I had a long,
exhausting sleep.

The next morning I was unclamped as usual, and joined the other
ponies in the morning rituals. Then I was manacled into the
rickshaw, and led by my cock around to the Overseer's bungalow, to be
tethered outside his door to wait for him.

I could hear voices through the open window, and see several naked
bodies outlined in the curtains and in the bathroom. When the
Overseer and his friend emerged, earlier than usual, they were
accompanied by two of the most handsome men I have ever seen. They
would be about 22 I think, just over 6' tall, and very nicely
muscled, but not overly so. They had the usual all-over tan, and
were neatly trimmed and shaved, although one had been allowed to keep
a gentle thatch of straight black hair on his chest and belly. The
other was a natural redhead, and I knew that it must have been a real
effort for him to tan.

All four came down the steps, and the Overseer and his friend slapped
the two slaves on the backsides in a cheery gesture of parting. The
slaves put their arms around each others shoulders, and set off with
all that confidence that only young guys who are supremely proud of
their bodies have, back towards the Club. Their lovely 10 cm cocks
bounced up and down as they strode out. They had obviously enjoyed
their night, and didn't have a care in the world.

The Overseer and his friend were in a good mood, and they chatted
happily together as I was commanded to run at a medium pace out into
the estate. The friend was talking to the Overseer about the night,
and said "So was I right? Didn't that exotic redhead really turn you
on? You told me to pick something for you that I thought you would
like, and I've always had the thought that you went for something a
bit unusual".

"Aw, come on", replied the Overseer, "You were up him a great deal
more than I was. I thought you had secretly chosen the red head
because you've never had a bit of ginger before, but wanted to
pretend it was for me. The conventionally handsome stud was OK,
though, although there are so many of that type here I am a bit bored
with them. If that was the one you really chose for yourself, I
suppose it's because you were fulfilling a fantasy - you could fuck a
real 'Playgirl Centrefold' type to your heart's content, and have him
respond so eagerly. There's no way you'll get that back in the USA,
and you'll have to wait for your next visit here to have that much
delicious, toned manflesh in your power again."

"It did make a change, though, from the night before. I usually
prefer to have unwilling partners like those from the quarry, as it's
so much more energetic as they buck around trying to avoid the
inevitable. But the need for handcuffs to keep them under some sort
of restraint is a bit of a damper. It was really nice to have those
slaves last night put their arms around us - you don't get that with
handcuffs. I suppose I mean you don't get that unless your partner
is willing - and those 'comfort' slaves have been trained for it.
When you've gone home, I think I might visit there more often -
perhaps it's not always as boring as I thought."

"Well," said the friend, "They certainly seemed happy enough this
morning. Not a care in the world. It must be good to have no worries
or responsibilities like that. All they have to do today is exercise
and amuse themselves, whilst you, my friend, have all the cares of
the Sheik's estate. Sometimes I wonder who has the best deal - those
happy slaves, with great sex all the time, or us who have to work and
worry."

"It won't last ", said the Overseer. "You know I told you we only
kept 'comfort' slaves for a few years - well, those two are almost
past their sell-by dates. They're 22 years old, and so have been in
the Club longer than usual, and most of their regular users are
saying its time they went and we brought some fresh, excitingly new
blood in. So next week a couple of 18 year olds that I have been
watching will be reassigned as 'comfort' slaves, and those two are
both going in to the quarry. Then they'll see the difference between
well-proportioned gym-trained muscles, and the real power ones you
get from day-long hard toil. They'll certainly know what it is to
work, and they'll worry constantly about the lash."

I realised that the Overseer was guiding me towards the breeders
compound, and, sure enough, we shortly arrived there. The Nubian,
and Hans and Mike, were already waiting, and we spent the next two
hours again covering three times the breeders that we had first
serviced the previous day. The Sheik and his entourage did not
appear for this session, and the Overseer told his friend that it was
usually only the first time that a 'buck' went to stud that he
bothered.

Mike and Hans obviously hugely enjoyed their sex, especially as
without the Sheik there the Overseer seemed willing to let them spend
longer over it than straight 'breeding' demanded. He wasn't
insistent that they started thrusting hard immediately, and let them
start slowly. And after they had shot their load, they were allowed
to remain for a few moments inside the women whilst their breathing
slackened and their cocks returned to normal. The Nubian had clearly
learned the lesson from the day before and now knew what was
expected, although it seemed to me that he thought nothing at all of
it.

And me - what about me? I didn't know what to think, and I was
confused. In the USA, I'd been a real 'stud', fucking ever woman in
sight at every opportunity that presented itself. Now I really was
a 'stud' - in the other sense. I got absolutely no pleasure from my
three bouts with the breeder, other than the usual wonderful scrotum-
tightening sensation that you get whenever you shoot your load. I
might as well have been masturbating - the sensation would have been
the same. Certainly there was no 'desire', and I even felt slightly
repulsed by the breeder lying supine under me. If I hadn't been made
to do it, I certainly would not have voluntarily chosen to fuck this
woman - or was that now any woman?

The best bit of the morning for me was the comradeship I felt with
Hans, Mike, and the Nubian (whose name I did not know, although I
could see his number, 15866, tattooed on his arm). We obviously
could not speak, but as we squatted down together in the hot sand,
our hands manacled behind our heads, sweat running down our chests
and forming a little rivulet down onto our cocks still wet with the
woman juices, it seemed as if we had some special mutual attraction
for each other. I though I knew how it must feel for soldiers in
combat to have carried out difficult orders in a battle, and then
afterwards relaxed with their buddies. You didn't need to speak
about it or discuss it, the shared experience bonded you
automatically. I felt as if we were truly brothers.

But our brief moment of happiness was soon over, and after the third
session I was manacled to the rickshaw again and the rest of the day
was spent in its usual grueling round of running from place to place
whilst the Overseer carried out his other duties.

On the third day on which we were all taken for the last bout of sex
in the current 'round', I was really looking forward to seeing Hans,
Mike and 15866 again. As we waited for the women to be brought out,
that special feeling of 'togetherness' started immediately.

After the first session, I felt that Hans and Mike hadn't enjoyed the
sex as much as they had on the previous day, and in spite of the
Overseer's generosity in not making them withdraw as soon as they had
shot, both of them did. I think they wanted to get back to the other
three of us, crouching there watching.

When we had finally completed the morning's activities and had
all 'covered' three times, the Overseer had some business to discuss
with the veterinarian who had been watching that morning, too. We
were left crouching together for about ten minutes - the massive
Nubian, hard-muscled Hans and Mike, and me, all sweating and still
panting slightly. They all obviously felt the same way as I did
about the comradeship that had sprung up between us, because we all
shuffled closer to each other and we managed to get our arms (which
were of course running parallel to our shoulders because of our
wrists manacled behind our heads) overlapping each other. That
meant that we could get our thighs and rib cages touching each other,
and I believe that this is the first time in my life that I have ever
had a genuine feeling of excitement - sexual excitement - from
another man's body.

I don't know whether it was because we were nude, whether it was
because we were manacled and muted, or whether it was the common
shared experience of being used publicly as 'studs', but as the sweat
running down my ribs mingled with that of Hans and Mike who were on
either side of me, I felt sexually aroused. Even though it was only
moments since I had climaxed in the breeder, I had an erection.
Looking down at Hans and Mike and across to 15866 on the other side
of Hans, I saw that they too were all becoming aroused.

We stayed crouching there, our erections proudly jutting out and up
from between our thighs, enjoying the moment. If only we could have
spoken, I wonder what words we would have used? But then, if I
hadn't been a slave, I wouldn't have been in that position and would
not have started to experience my true feelings for other men.

Eventually the Overseer was finished, and came over to retrieve me
for the rickshaw. He burst out laughing when he saw us and called
out to his friend "Come over here and see this. These slaves really
are stallions. It's only minutes since they finished fucking, and
already they're hard again. Perhaps they're hoping we'll let them go
for another round".

If only he knew, I thought. There was nothing I wanted less than
another thrust up the woman's cunt. All I wanted was to be left
alone to enjoy the unspoken comradeship of my fellows, and the warmth
of their bodies pressed close to mine. But it was not to be, and we
were soon running, hard, as the Overseer made up for lost time and
needed to complete his rounds.

When we got back to the stables that night the Overseer chuckled and
said to his friend "Well, it's back to normal for this pony now until
we see how his sperm have performed. After that massive erection
this morning after it was all over, he's been up and down all day.
He's obviously excited about something, and I shall need to tell the
stable lads to make sure he is specially relieved in the shower this
evening. We know how he almost sprayed the Sheik with his spunk at
almost no provocation, and I don't want that happening to me
tomorrow! After all, it's your last day, and I have laid on a
surprise for you."

With that, I was led into the Stables, and I could see the Overseer
and his friend walking back towards their bungalow.

A WRESTLING MATCH, AND A PRIZE

The following morning I was expecting to be led over to the
Overseer's bungalow again, and was interested to see what kind
of 'comfort' slaves they had chosen for the last night of the
friend's visit. But instead, they came over to the Stables, and were
carrying towels.

We set off, and I understood from overhearing their conversation that
we were off to the water-hole again for a morning's swimming,
and "the surprise". I dreaded this, as I knew exactly how much
effort was needed from me to pull the rickshaw across the several
hundred meters of very loose sand before we got there.

When we got to the turning from the estate track, the farm cart with
its eight muscular cart-horse slaves chained to it, was waiting
there. The Overseer got down, and spoke to the groom accompanying
it. He clearly didn't know the answer to the Overseer's question,
and then I heard the Overseer say, in English, loudly to the
slaves, "The two South Africans raise their hands."

Hans and Mike were on different sides of the central shaft of the
cart, and in different rows, but put up their hands. I was
surprised that the groom did not know something of the history of his
charges, and also perhaps that the Overseer could not identify Hans
and Mike for himself. But then, the groom had no interest at all in
the personalities of his slaves- why should he? And the Overseer saw
so many slaves, and they were anyway chosen to be near-clones, that
perhaps he could not tell the differences between them.

The Overseer barked some commands, and the slaves behind Hans and
Mike reached up and took the hook out of the ring that formed part of
the back of their "harnesses", so that they were no longer attached
to their lengths of chain towing the cart. The Overseer had a
further discussion with the groom, who then lashed the remaining six
slaves lightly, and they dragged the cart away, down the track. "I'm
in a good mood today", said the Overseer to his friend, "So I've told
the groom that he doesn't need to haul full carts with only six
slaves. We're going to have a happy day, and so I've told him he
only needs to fulfill three quarters of his quota".

Then, turning to Hans and Mike, he said "Now, you two - I shall use
English for the rest of the day, because I have some complex commands
for you to carry out, and you have not been taught the Arabic for
them. Don't think that I will be any less merciful if you fail to
obey me absolutely just because the words are in English."

"Get between the shafts, and help my pony drag us over the loose
sand. I'm being generous to him, too, at least at first!".

My pulling position was in the middle of the shafts, and there wasn't
room for both of them either in front of me or behind me. So Mike
slipped in the front, and Hans ducked under the shafts and came up in-
between me and the rickshaw. It was a tight fit, and I was
sandwiched between Mike and Hans. We were all three covered in
sweat, and it was almost like a reenactment of the last few minutes
of the session in the stud farm the day before - I had intimate, body
to body contact, with Hans and Mike. But it was more - whereas the
previous day it was only our thighs and ribs that had touched, now my
whole chest was pressed into Mike's muscular back, and Hans was
pressed against mine. Although we at first tried to hold our bodies
back, as we moved off there was simply no way that I could prevent
my cock from rubbing up against Mike's hard buttocks, and I could
feel Hans's thick cock starting to mould itself between my ass
cheeks.

It was a poignant reminder, too, of our first days of slavery, when
Hans, Mike and I had been pushed together in the delivery truck
bringing us to the Sheik's estate. Then I had been embarrassed about
being nude, sandwiched between Hans and Mike. Now it felt somehow
good, and right.

But the sweat didn't help - we were all slick with it, and in spite
of the fact that we were only exerting ourselves gently, even more
started to pour out from all three of us. I knew that this was a
sexual effect for me, and thought that it was probably the same for
the other two.

Now I was really in trouble, because the friction of my cock against
Mike's ass, rubbing and sliding in the sweat that was lodging all
over it, and especially in the crack, made me go into a helpless,
hard erection. Poor Mike, he could obviously feel it pressing in to
him, and there was nothing either of us could do. But I soon
experienced the same problem from Hans, and this was even more
difficult for me. Hans's prick was enormous even when not erect, and
my ass cheeks were very firm and tight and bunched together. There
was no way his erect prick could find a resting place between my
cheeks, as mine had somehow managed to do between Mike's. As he got
harder and harder, it was impossible for us to maintain our pace - he
tried to move back from me but was prevented from doing so by the
rickshaw behind him, and I tried to move forwards away from him, but
then only pressed my own cock even harder in to Mike.

We must have looked a comical sight - three big naked guys,
desperately trying to run in step with each other, and all trying to
get our cocks and asses away from each other when there was no
possibility of this happening!

Fortunately, with the power of Hans and Mike, the sand presented
absolutely no problem and we arrived at the water hole before the
pain from our cocks and asses had got too bad. Although it was a
sort of 'happy' pain - I don't know when I had last felt such
pleasure from the press of flesh on flesh.

As soon as we stopped, the Overseer unclamped my wrists from the
shafts. Fortunately with the stopping of the motion causing us all
to rub together, our erections had almost subsided. The Overseer
said "All you slaves are welcome to go in to the water. Enjoy
yourselves! But I am going to swim in there soon, so do not piss in
it - if you want to piss, do so into the sand as usual". Hans, Mike
and I looked at each other, and almost without thinking, and
certainly without touching our cocks to direct it anywhere else,
simply let our piss stream out where we stood, as we had become used
to doing whilst working as ponies.

The water was amazing after the heat of the day, and we all three
swam and frolicked in it. Again I felt the glorious sensation of the
water sliding over every part of my body, and my cock bobbed up and
down as I floated and swam. I thought how lucky we were to be nude,
and not have the confines of Speedos as I had had to have in the USA
when I went swimming. Hans and Mike had to work hard at their
swimming, as the weight of their chain harnesses meant that they
could not float naturally.

A shout from the Overseer soon terminated our few minutes of escape
from everyday life, however, and we got out of the water. We were
ordered to "display" and then hunker down, and we crouched together
at the water's edge.

The Overseer dropped his cutoffs, revealing again the brilliant white
where the tiny micro-bikini he wore whilst swimming at the Pool had
prevented him from tanning, and he ran with his cock bouncing up and
down, over the hot sand, and executed a perfect dive into the water.
He swam a few strokes, and then stood up and called to his friend to
hurry up. The friend seemed to have come on a lot since our first
visit to the water hole, as he no longer stripped shyly. Even though
the three of us hunks were watching him, he proudly pulled his T-
shirt over his head, then dropped his pants, and pushed down his
boxer shorts. He stood there for a moment, naked under the hot sun,
and reached down to free his cock from where the sweat had caused it
to stick to his sac, tenderly jerking it a little, as if about to
masturbate. He reached behind with his other hand, and casually
scratched his ass. This casual touching of his genitals and his ass
obviously meant he was relaxed - it's the sort of thing a group of
guys in a locker room will do quite unconsciously when they're with
their team mates who they know well.

He laughed to himself, and then let go a stream of piss into the
sand - I felt certain that this was the first time he had ever pissed
in front of other guys before, as even had he been out with a crowd
of mates, he would have turned away before letting go. Was he really
overcoming his inhibitions, or had he learned that the three of us
watching were slaves, and as such simply did not count at
all?

He too then ran off over the sand and joined the Overseer in the
water. They swam, held each other in the water, and played splashing
games. They were obviously having a great time, two old friends,
totally at ease with each other's bodies.

When they finally tired and stood up, it was very erotic - they were
just at the depth where their cocks were almost out of the water, so
they were semi-floating in front of each of them. The Overseer
cupped his friend's jaw in his hand, moved his head towards his
friends, and as their lips touched they fell into a passionate kiss
with their tongues deeply down their throats.

Hans, Mike and I still crouched there, hands behind our heads, and we
all saw the beauty of the moment. We were all erect, and I could see
a drop of pre-cum starting to appear from my piss slit.
Instinctively we maneuvered our bodies closer to each other, without
of course daring to stand up, and I could feel the heat from their
skins adding to that from the desert. Both Hans and Mike had been
allowed to retain the hair on their legs, and as our thighs brushed
against each other as we crouched there, there was a tingle of
excitement from that lovely sensation that you get when your body
hair is ruffled.

The Overseer and his friend got out, spread their towels on the sand,
and lay there drying in the sun. "I'd better be careful", said the
Overseer, "or I'll go brown in the ass. Then when I'm changing after
going to the gym or the Pool, the other guys won't be able to tell me
apart from the slaves without getting close enough to see if I have
been branded!"

"Here ", he said, reaching for a tube and looking at his friend, "Let
me put this complete sun block on you, as you're not used to this sun
and we're going to be here for some time."

He was soon enthusiastically rubbing the cream all over his friend's
back, paying particular attention to the ass, where he was careful to
get it far enough into the ass crack where the fierce sun could
penetrate. But I noticed that he made no attempt to stick an oiled
finger anywhere near the friend's anus. Then he told his friend to
turn over, and repeated the process down the front. The massaging of
the cream into the friend's tits was done slowly, as he could see it
caused his friend exquisite pleasure, and he leaned over and they
kissed again whilst he was doing this. And of course when he got to
the cock and sac, it was impossible to proceed with creaming these
without the friend becoming erect, and the Overseer then slowly
jerked him off, with exquisite tenderness.

"Now it's my turn", said his friend some minutes later. "I don't
want you thought of as a slave - someone might sell you, and I want
you here when I make my next trip Let me do something about those
white areas of yours."

"Ah - very convenient. The white parts are those I like the most! "

He started to rub cream into the minuscule white area in the middle
of the Overseer's ass cheeks, and was laughing at his friend.

"How do you stop the fabric riding up into the crack? The white
stripe here is so narrow that it can barely be a string up the back
of that bikini of yours. I know you're a strong swimmer and you do
it for exercise - surely it's uncomfortable, if not painful, to have
that little strip of fabric constantly slipping off one cheek or
another and down into the depths of your lovely ass!".

The Overseer replied "It's simple, really. Before I go swimming, I
take a plastic food bag and rub it lightly all over with oil. Then I
roll it up into a solid tube, about the size of a pencil. I stuff
that between my cheeks before I put the bikini on, and then the
sharp edge of the fabric can't get down where it doesn't belong.
Pushing my ass cheeks apart a bit also helps me to swim, I find -
because the bag's oiled, the cheeks slide over each other better than
if they were dry and pressed closely together. You know as well as I
do that I'm very hairy down there, and after a lot of swimming I was
getting very sore before I learned this trick - I'm told most Olympic
swimmers shave their ass cracks, as the constant friction of the hair
can otherwise lead to inflammation. I don't want my ass shaved, as
again it's one of the things that sets me apart from the slaves, and,
anyway, I know you like me 'natural'".

"Yes", said the friend. "You need a hairy ass because otherwise it
would look freakish compared with all that other hair on your back.
I love this little tuff especially!"

The Overseer wriggled his ass as whilst the was saying this his
friend had caught hold of the little tuft of hair growing in the
small of the Overseer's back, at the top of his ass crack, and was
pulling it playfully.

"Now turn over", said the friend. "I know you have just a few white
bits on the front, too, and they are going to get extra special
attention".

The Overseer rolled over, and he must have been lying on an erection
because his cock was jutting hard into the air even as he turned.

"You're making it too easy", said his friend. "I was going to have to
make you hard in order to ensure that the cream was rubbed into every
minute fold of your prick. But you've beaten me to it". So saying,
he flicked the end of the Overseer's penis playfully with his
fingernail.

Astonishingly, the Overseer detumesced immediately. "It's an old
hospital trick", said the friend. "One of the first things that
student nurses are taught on male wards is that if the men get
erections whilst any genital procedures are being carried out, a
quick flick of the fingernail on the cock head causes them to go soft
almost immediately. Now I've got all the fun of making it hard
again, as I rub in this cream."

So saying, he began to rub his hands all over the Overseer's cock and
sac, and, sure enough, the Overseer responded as you would expect.

"Looking at you", the friend continued, "I can't see how that bikini
of yours works in the front. The tan line is so close to the top of
your cock that all this pubic hair must be spreading out from it.
And I know you're very likely to get an erection the moment that cock
of yours goes into water - doesn't it hurt, if the tight fabric
constricts you much? The bikini is obviously so tiny that it has to
be a very strong fabric to hold you normally, so with an erection, it
must be painfully tight."

"Not at all", the Overseer replied. "You know that when you buy
Speedos, or any bikini-type trunks like that, they're of elastic
fabric. They stretch quite tight over your ass, and that's OK. But
because of the sensibility of some people to seeing the outline of a
guy's cock, the front always has an extra lining of a stronger
elastic fabric, to smooth out the contours. All you have to do is
take out that lining, and then the looser elastic of the basic
material is very comfortable. You can't have a complete erection,
but you can go semi-hard quite easily, without any discomfort."

"Of course everything you've got is always clearly outlined, and
people can see the size of your cock, whether you're circumcised,
whether it hangs over your balls or sticks out on top of them and so
on. And as for the pubic hair, who cares? I have my bathroom slave
shave my sac anyway: as you know I think it's cleaner, and it makes
it easier to suck them without anyone getting a mouthful of wiry
hair. And I'm very hairy down my stomach, so there's no strong
delineation between that and my pubes."

"But we're not in the prudish USA here, having to wear voluminous
bathing shorts in case anyone should see that a man has in front of
him what everyone knows he's got anyway. I'm really only going
clothed into the Pool because there's so many of those 'comfort'
slaves in there, totally naked, and I need to be different.
Sometimes I have the place cleared of the slaves, then a number of us
Overseers and guards can swim as nature intended - after all ", and
here he raised his head to look along his body at his genitals which
the friend was holding lovingly, "I've absolutely nothing to be
ashamed of in that area!".

The two men continued to lie there for about half an hour talking,
kissing, and stroking each other, and we three slaves continued to
press against each other for physical, and, I now realise, emotional,
support.

The Overseer suddenly sat up and said "But time is getting on. That
plane won't wait for you tonight. You haven't asked what my surprise
is yet".

"OK ", said the friend, "surprise me. But I can't see how, out here
in the middle of the desert. There's nothing in the rickshaw, you
don't have any pockets or anything in your cut-offs, and the slaves
re all totally naked so they can't be hiding anything".

"That's just where you're wrong", replied the Overseer. "All of the
slaves form part of the surprise, in different ways."

"I researched the background of the two big South Africans, and
learned they were both in that country's Marine Corps. Everyone
knows the South African Marines are one tough bunch, and they are
both trained fighters. Whilst they have not of course been allowed
to fight since coming here, they are now even stronger, healthier and
fitter than when they were in the Corps, and I doubt they have
forgotten their basic skills."

"In the USA you're always buying those wrestling tapes, where almost
attractive guys wrestle each other in bikinis. Sometimes they 'rip
and strip', I think, and just occasionally you see a couple of guys
rolling around the ring naked. My surprise is that you're going to
have your very own erotic wrestling performance, mounted for you
right here."

"We're going to have the South Africans wrestle each other just for
you. And they're going to do it until one succeeds in fucking the
other - that's how we will judge the winner. It would have been
better to have done this months ago when they first arrived, as they
were then, I think, virgins. They might have played around a little
with mutual masturbation, and with sucking each other off, but as
big, brave tough marines, I don't think they had been up each others
asses, or allowed anyone else to do so! It would have been extra
erotic for us to have known that they knew that one of them was going
to have to lose his virginity to his comrade."

"But here's no going back in time. You weren't around then, and in
the meantime they have fully integrated with the other horse slaves
in their team - that means they all fuck each other, every night. So
fighting until one of them fucks the other will have lost the edge
slightly, as this is now 'business as usual' for them."

"I had thought to tell them that I would have the loser castrated, as
then they would have had a real incentive to fight hard. But as
they have now entered the breeding programme, that option's not open
to me. So I'm going to have to be a bit more conventional, and offer
the winner a prize."

Mike and Hans were listening to all of this, and I could tell that
what the Overseer said was true - they knew they were fighters, and I
think that they realised that by now that by engaging in constant
orgies with their fellows, they had lost something special - that
special bond that holds strong, brave men together, without the need
for anal sex.

"What sort of prize can possibly appeal to them?, asked the
friend. "They're naked slaves, for god's sake. You can hardly offer
them a bottle of Scotch, or an extra day's vacation, a designer
shirt, or even a $100 bill!"

"Ah, said the Overseer, "and that's the second part of my surprise.
The key to that is in my pony. You know we were talking the other
night about you fucking him, as the Sheik had decided he did not want
to, and, as far as we know, he is a virgin - I seem to remember you
found the idea of that strong, firm, virgin ass very appealing. Well
I think those fighters will, too. The prize is to be allowed to be
the first one to rape the pony slave."

His friend punched the air with excitement, but I felt sick.
Suddenly, the day had all gone wrong. I was dreading any prick
pushing up into my rectum. Whilst I had come in these few short hours
to love Hans and Mike as brothers, I has thought it would be just
some silent moments we would share when our lives crossed on the
estate as we had at the Stud Farm yesterday, and here today. Each of
them had a huge cock, and the thought of it entering my body was
completely repugnant. I had wanted love from these guys, and I was
going to get sex - forced sex. Unable to stop myself, I tried to
shout out in protest, but of course only strangled mumbles came out
because of my tongue restraint.

The Overseer looked in our direction in amazement. "This is better
than I thought", he told the friend. "Another element to the
surprise. My pony, who I thought had now truly understood what it
was to be a slave, turns out still to have an opinion about his
body. It really will be 'rape', I think."

"So you and I can enjoy the sight of these two superb South Africans
fighting, and fucking. Then when he has rested, the winner can have
the pleasure of being the first up that pony slave. And we can have
a second bit of fun as we watch a real rape."

"It's a pity you have to go home tonight. I think you would have
enjoyed some things I am now planning for that pony later in the
week. He has revealed himself still to be thinking of himself as a
man, and not as a slave - otherwise he would have been glad to take
one of those South African cocks up his ass as it would be pleasing
to his master. I really can't have that, and when I had a slave
before whose mind did not become properly subservient, even though we
had of course completely overcome his body, I devised an effective
crash course to correct his errors. I'll start it off again with my
pony tomorrow."

"Now, let's get started. You're the guest, so you can help. First,
are there any rules we want the fighters to obey? Do they wrestle,
or box, or both, or do they do really vicious 'marine' fighting? -
although perhaps we'd better not have that, as they're valuable
property and we don't want either of them permanently damaged"

Wrestling, definitely", said the friend. "I used to do that in High
School, wearing those absurdly long lycra wrestling suits that come
down to your knees and cover most of your chest. I couldn't
understand why us lads weren't allowed to wrestle in Speedos, or even
in the nude if we wished. Seeing these two wrestling naked will be
like a dream come true."

"You know me so well - I only mentioned those tapes in an e-mail
once, and you've remembered. And you're right, too, that they're not
all that good. Sure, a lot of the guys are fairly handsome, but when
they do the 'semen' ones, it's obvious they have guys in from porn
films, and not proper wrestlers. But perhaps I'm being too harsh -
seeing it on film can never be as good as seeing it live, in front of
you".

"So it's wrestling", said the Overseer. "Is everything allowed, or
should we set some limits? Are we going to have 'rounds', or is it
fight straight through to the final fuck? Are they allowed to eye
gouge? Are they allowed to grab each other's cocks? Can they twist
each other's ball sacs? And do we specify how the final fuck is to
be performed - must it be 'doggy' fashion, or with the back on the
sand and the guy's legs on the shoulders of the one doing the
fucking, for example."

His friend thought for a few moments, and said "As few limits as are
absolutely necessary, I think - this is to be a real fight between
two proper men. So no rounds, they are to fight until one vanquishes
the other. I think you'd better forbid anything that causes permanent
damage, like eye gouging, as I don't want you to get into trouble
with the Sheik if his property is damaged irretrievably. Of course
they must be able to grab cock, and twist balls - otherwise it will
be as tame as those wrestling tapes. And as we're saying it is to be
a 'proper' fight, we obviously can't lay down rules about the method
of entry for the fuck - they must be allowed to do it in any way they
can. We don't want them jockeying for position in order to do
something pre-specified - we want to see how real fighters respond to
the challenge of fucking their opponent".

With that, the Overseer commanded them to begin, and Hans and Mike
faced each other on the sand, then cautiously moved closer to each
other. Then with a blur of motion, Mike made the first move - he
went for Hans's legs. But the sand did not give him a good purchase,
and he slipped as he dove for them. Hans was able to move to the side
and Mike temporarily lost his balance. As Mike turned around to face
Hans, Hans had wrapped one arm on top of Mike's shoulder. He managed
to get Mike down on one knee and was trying to use this advantage to
get Mike face down on the ground.

Both wrestlers were of course sweating profusely, and Hans's hands
slipped over Mike's wet body, and Mike then was able to gain the
advantage. He gave Hans a chop to the midsection that stunned him. He
then grabbed Hans by the balls and squeezed them so that Hans fell
to the ground - it was clear that Hans would have been screaming from
the pain of this savage attack had he been able, but only strangled
gasps came out from him. Mike had clearly learned fast about doing
whatever it takes to win, and any thought that they were 'comrades',
and would treat each other with respect, had clearly been lost.

Mike soon got behind Hans and was able to get on top of his back and
push him face down into the sand. He then mounted Hans and wrapped
his arms round Hans's waist, clasping his hands together on Hans's
hard stomach, and scrabbling his fingers backwards to try to grab
Hans's cock. He couldn't quite reach, and could not even yank at
Hans's pubic hair to try to inflict pain, because this had recently
been freshly trimmed and he could not get a purchase.

Both the Overseer and his friend were wildly excited. They leapt up
and down, and circled the two nude wrestlers in order to get a good
view. They were shouting encouragement to both slaves, and there was
no sign that either of them favoured either wrestler. They were
just keen to see each man do the utmost to vanquish the other.

Hans tried to fight Mike off and for a while it looked like a cowboy
riding a wild bronco. But Mike was determined and held on, until Hans
fell back down fully exhausted by his efforts.

The match had already lasted at least ten minutes, and was much more
exciting than anything that the Overseer, his friend, or I had ever
experienced. We were all erect, and pre cum was oozing out from me.
I assumed the Overseer and his friend were the same, but as they
weaved and danced around the wrestlers their cocks were bobbing up
and down so hard that it was impossible to see.

All that was now left was the climax to the match. Mike was able to
position his cock which now was a hard 20 cm at Hans's anus, and
after a futile effort by Hans to keep his hole closed by squeezing
his sphincter muscles hard, Mike's animal strength prevailed and his
cock buried itself deep inside Hans.

Although I had seen Hans and Mike have sex with each other, and with
the other cart horse slaves, this was no gentle entry to a willing
partner. Both men has clearly become completely taken with the
fight, and their old Marines' instincts to utterly beat the enemy had
broken through. Mike's forced entry to Hans was as brutal as
anything I could imagine.

Hans was clearly trying to cry out as Mike began fucking him, and
Mike, too, would have been screaming his victory had he been able.
Both of them had to settle for groans and shrieks from deep down in
their throats, and the only triumphant cries came from the Overseer
and his friend who had screamed a raucous "Yes!" as Mike had first
brutally thrust home, and were now chanting "yes, yes, yes" in time
to Mike's insistent thrusts up his comrade's ass.

The back and forth, in and out motion of his cock and the pendulous
swinging of Mike's balls as they smacked against Hans's ass aroused
the Overseer and his friend even more, and I could see that they had
indeed now got pre-cum streaming from both their cocks; they had
stopped moving around in favour of a stationary position where they
could see Mike's shaft gliding in and out of Hans. After about five
minutes of hard, determined pumping, Mike finally came with an
ecstatic cry in his throat and an arching of his solid muscular back,
and he kept his stomach pressed firmly against Hans's ass as the
semen pumped out of him and up into Hans.

Hans seemed utterly defeated. He seemed to visibly lose his muscle
tone, and lay sprawled on the sand looking completely exhausted.
Mike let go from around Hans's waist, and got to his feet. His
detumescing cock was slimy from his semen and Hans's ass, and he
stood there, jabbing one arm up and down in the air in a victory
salute just as Olympic athletes do, whilst his ribs went up and down
as he sucked in air following the enormous exertion.

But some of the old comradeship soon started to reassert itself, and
he stopped his victory celebration, looked down at Hans, and extended
a hand to help him to get to his feet. Hans stood there, sand
sticking to his wet body, the picture of misery. Mike looked into
his eyes, and mouthed "sorry, mate" at him. Hans seemed to
straighten and regain his old style and swagger - he was, after all,
a fine slave, and proud of his body. He brushed between his thighs,
where Mike's cum was trickling slowly down from his anus, smelled his
fingers to get a scent of Mike, grinned, and went and hugged Mike to
congratulate him on his victory.

The sight of these two muscular slaves with their arms wrapped around
each other in complete understanding of the position they had been
put in brought a lump to my throat. They moved their hips from side
to side slightly, so their cocks rubbed against each other, and it
was clear that their bond of mutual affection was again
established.

Whilst Mike had been enjoying his moment of exhilarating victory,
stabbing the air with his fist as if he was a free spirit, the
Overseer and his friend had been completely overcome with the sight
they had just witnessed of the two hard bodies pumping together. I'm
sure they could have ordered any of the 'comfort' slaves to enact a
fuck any time they wanted, but the combination of the use of English,
the knowledge that the two slaves had once been Marines, and the
sheer energy of their fight, had all made this a unique occasion.
They clearly had needed to relieve their aching erections, because
both were masturbating furiously. This was no gentle, loving, mutual
masturbation as they had had previously, but each was wanking
himself, brutally and hard, and they each shot their loads with
uninhibited cries of "fuck!" and "oh, sweet Jesus!" renting the air.

Now the Overseer saw Hans and Mike in their comradely embrace, and
was outraged. "You are slaves", he barked at them, "not lovers. Get
over there, go to 'display', squat down, and wait for my next order."

Hans and Mike came over to where I was already in position, and did
as they had been commanded. They crouched close together in
comradeship, and I was bitterly disappointed that they did not again
take up position on either side of me, and instead were a little to
one side. It was as if they wanted to continue to enjoy that shared
moment together, and the few centimetres between them and me was all
the privacy they could as slaves enjoy for their intimacy.

We all crouched there, hands behind our heads, with Hans and Mike
still breathing deeply from their exertions. The air was still, dry,
and very hot, and I could smell the sweat and the distinctive
ammoniacal smell of semen coming from their bodies.

The Overseer and his friend decided to go for a swim whilst Mike "was
recovering before claiming his prize", so they stood up and ran, hand
in hand, cocks bobbing up and down, into the water.

The three of us remained crouching, of course, and Mike and Hans
exchanged many meaningful glances. Even without speaking, they could
communicate. Small grunts, the soundless pronouncing of words with
bold gestures of the lips, and tiny meaningful nudges of the elbows
where they were touching was allowing them to 'talk'. I realised
how lucky they were to have been part of the cart-horse team since
enslavement, as they could develop such nonverbal communication. I
was isolated, alone, in my shafts all day, and in a solitary stall
all night.

Finally, Mike turned towards me, and mouthed something. I could not
at first understand him, but after a couple of attempts I thought I
could make out "I'm sorry", and this was coupled with little shrugs
of his shoulders indicating that there was nothing he could do about
events. I realised that he was trying to tell me that he knew that,
as the winner, he was going to have to rape me whenever the Overseer
decided to move on to the next stage of the surprise he had laid on
for his friend.

I think that this was one of those moments that really defined my
slavery - here we were, three naked guys, crouching in the sand with
our hands behind our necks. The only two masters anywhere within a
couple of kilometres were naked and helpless, in the water. We were
not chained up, and were all fit and active - indeed, I could outrun
anyone there, and any of us could easily overpower the Overseer and
his friend. The Overseer's stun gun had been left in the rickshaw, a
few metres away, and it was certain that any of us could get to it
before the Overseer would realise that there was even a problem and
get out of the water to go to it. There were no mobile phones or
radios to call for assistance, as the Sheik used his system of slave
sprinters. The two ex-Marines had just carried out a degrading
wrestling match, having been forced to misuse their skills and
strength for the mere pleasure of the masters, and had not enjoyed
it. And I was waiting to have my last shred of humanity torn away,
as my ass was going to be invaded in a brutal rape. But none of us
did anything - we just crouched there, waiting patiently for our next
orders. We had, even in a few short months, become accustomed to the
ideas of slavery, and that we were slaves. We simply did not have
the free will to do anything other than wait there patiently.

Finally, Overseer and his friend came out of the water and lay on
their towels, discussing the match they had seen. "Now it's time for
the second part", said the Overseer. "The winner gets to rape my
pony."

"Are you sure you don't want to go up there first?", he asked his
friend, "It'll be your last chance, as you're off home tonight. I
know I suggested it might not be such a good idea when you wanted to
the other day, but none of the constraints then apply now. He looks
eminently fuckable, and I'd do it myself except that, as you know, I
leave those I need to serve me every day out of my sex plans. But
I'd enjoy seeing you enjoy yourself. He's got a magnificent body,
and that butt must be a delight to force your way through to find his
anus - all the running he does has given him the best 'bubble' I've
ever seen. Go on, give yourself something to remember the desert by".

"But you promised him to the winner of the match", his friend said.

"For Christ sake", the overseer exasperatedly explained, "Haven't you
understood anything yet? The winner was a slave. I don't make
promises or contracts with slaves. Slaves are only here to serve me,
not to be 'rewarded'. If I choose to give the pony to the slave,
that's my choice. If I don't, that's also my choice, and neither the
slave who won or the pony has any say in the matter - and certainly
shouldn't have any interest or concern one way or the other. If
you'd like the pony, just say, and he's yours."

"No", the friend said "I really don't. I'm sure he'd be a great lay,
and it would be exciting to rape a helpless young guy like that, but
it's you I want. This is the last day, and we ought just to enjoy
each other. What I'd really like you to do is to take me gently up
the ass, whilst we both watch that young guy being raped by the
Marine. It will add something extra to our lovemaking, as I contrast
your gentleness with what I see in front of me".

"You're always so wonderfully considerate, and inventive. That's
what makes me love you", said the Overseer. "OK. We'll just lie here
and enjoy the afternoon, stroking and kissing a bit to really get in
the mood, before we start."

.....to be continued.







THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE, PART 12

By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)

RAPE

The three of us slaves continued to crouch together, and the Overseer
and his friend were oblivious, or uncaring, of our gaze as they lay
on their towels in the sand, just as if they were on a sunny
Californian beach and not in the middle of the desert. They kissed
and stroked each other, and muttered small phrases to each other in
low voices, in that intimate way that lovers do.

Eventually the Overseer sat up, and said "Time's getting on. That
plane of yours won't wait. Let's have the grand finale of the
afternoon, so there's still time to get back and shower and change
before you have to leave."

He then commanded us three slaves to get up, and come over and stand
in front of them, and we of course did, automatically resuming
the "display" position. Hans and Mike seemed unaffected by what was
about to happen, but my breathing had become shallow and rapid, and
sweat was beading my body.

"Now", said the Overseer, "Which one was the prize winner?. OK.
You " (pointing at Hans) "stand in front of the pony. And you "
(pointing at me), "Put your arms over his shoulders".

We meekly obeyed, and I was once again treated to the intimacy of
Hans's warm muscled body touching mine.

"Now grasp the pony's wrists, and pull them down ", Hans was
commanded, and as he obeyed, I was of course squeezed even closer to
him. He was then ordered to bend over from the waist, and this had
the effect of causing my feet to lift slightly off the ground. Our
nude, sweating bodies shuffled and slid a little, and I ended up with
my head pressed into Hans's with my nose ground into the base of his
neck, my armpits on his shoulders, my chest and stomach lying on
his muscular back, and my legs lying down the outside of Hans's.
Even though I was slightly taller than Hans, and had longer legs,
because I was effectively straddling his waist, I could barely reach
the ground now, and my toes scrabbled in the sand to get some
purchase and relieve the pressure on my chest from being pulled into
this unnatural position.

The position pulled apart my legs and the effect of Hans now having
his body almost at right angles to the ground had of course exposed
my anus. My cock was trapped under me, lying upwards between my
stomach and the little hollow that was in the middle of Hans's
muscular spine, but fortunately my balls had been hanging well down
when Hans had hoisted me off the ground so I was in no real
discomfort, and these were now exposed to view, in between my opened
legs, lying in the small hollow at the top of Hans's ass crack.

"OK ", said the Overseer to Mike, "Now go to it. Don't spare the
pony. I want to see you fucking his ass as enthusiastically as I saw
you mating with the breeders earlier this week. Even though this is
his first time, we're in a hurry and there's no time for gentle
stretching and manipulating of his passage. A quick thrust in, then
solid, continuous hard fucking is what we want to see."

Although Mike was by now fully expert and experienced with other men,
he didn't immediately respond to the Overseer. The Overseer was
obviously getting cross, because he snapped "Don't just stand there
with a limp cock! Get an erection, and go at the pony at once."

Time seemed to stand still. I could feel Hans's body moving under
mine, as his steady regular breathing moved his chest up and down,
and I had the delicious scent of his strong sweat in my nostrils as
they pressed into his neck. My own cock ached from being compressed,
and I could feel it start to harden as it lay in the warm, damp space
between my stomach and Hans's lovely spine. We all stood there, and
there was no sound. Then after a few seconds the Overseer shouted in
rage "OK. You all asked for this. I will not be disobeyed".

I heard him scramble to his feet, and the next minute I had the acute
sharp pain of the Overseer's carriage whip fall across my stretched
ass. The Overseer thrashed me 10 times, and each stroke was
viciously hard - I was used to being "encouraged" to run faster with
the whip, but usually these were just light strokes whose sharp pain
subsided after a moment or two. But my ass was now in agony, and I
knew that the Overseer must have used uncustomary force in whipping
me. Then I heard the swish of the whip coming down again, and I
involuntarily clenched my buttocks for the blow, but nothing
happened. Instead, Hans's body bucked under me, and I realised that
the Overseer was whipping his exposed ass now, and that it must have
been really painful for Hans because his muscular cheeks were
stretched with the bending. But I didn't escape after all - after 10
strokes the Overseer was still striking Hans, and I supposed he was
going to get at least 20. This must have been tiring for the
Overseer, because his aim faltered, and the tip of the whip caught my
exposed balls.

Of course I couldn't scream, but the shock caused me to jerk forward
and squirm on Hans's back. Had my armpits not been locked on Hans's
shoulders and my arms not being held rigidly by him, I would have
fallen off his back. My thighs spasmed, and my toes, which had only
just been able to take some of my weight, scrabbled futilely as they
lost all contact with the sand. My own body weight crushed my chest
harder against Hans's back, and I don't know whether it was this, or
the terrible searing pain from my balls, that caused me to stop
breathing so that my breath came in short, sharp pants across Hans's
neck.

Seeing that he had potentially damaged valuable stock, the Overseer
paused, and said "Now you see how I have whipped the pony and your
buddy. Now do as I say - get that prick of yours erect now, and
start fucking the pony. I'm not going to tell you again, and I'm not
going to whip you. But if you continue to disobey me, both the pony
and your mate will get another thrashing".

I then heard his friend say something, and the Overseer said "But
wait - perhaps you are not properly in the mood. Your buddy there
has not shot his load today - before you start, go over and wank
him. Don't let any of his spunk go to waste - we'll need it."

Hans started to stand up, and my feet touched the ground. The
Overseer roared "Did I tell you to move? You're only going to be
milked, and that doesn't need you standing upright. Get back to
where you were".

Hans bent again, and I was pulled off the ground. Mike came over and
Sat down on the sand underneath Hans's horizontal body, and facing
his cock. He reached up and started to masturbate his friend, and I
could feel Hans's breathing change as he quickly came to climax, It
was too much for me to bear, and in spite of the discomfort, my cock
went rigid in sympathy with Hans's, and to the sweat between us I
knew there must be added a load of pre-cum.

"Now get back into position behind the pony", Mike was
commanded, "and be careful not to spill that palm-full of spunk you
have collected." Then a few moments later "Coat a finger well and
slick the Pony's anus - that might turn you on anyway! And I suppose
it might be a good idea not to go in completely dry first time
anyway."

I lay there, and started to quiver. Then I felt something poking
experimentally to locate my most intimate place, and reflexively
clenched my ass to tighten it in resistance. Mike's finger found the
spot, and pushed harder, and I clenched tighter - but it was no use.
I could not keep my anus tight from his insistent pushing, and his
finger slipped up into me. He moved it around, and in and out a few
times, and I knew he must be lubricating me with Hans's spunk.

Then he withdrew totally, and the Overseer said "Well, that didn't
work. I would have thought you should have been aroused by fingering
a virgin ass. So we'll resort to mechanical means. Use the rest of
your buddy's jism to grease your cock, and stand there wanking until
you do go rigid".

I knew how humiliated Mike must be - it's one thing to be nude all
the time and have erections that are natural. But even slaves surely
deserve some dignity, and shouldn't be made to massage themselves to
rigidity, especially not with using another man's semen as a
lubricant. But now of course I see that I was still exhibiting some
vestiges of my former life - why should it be humiliating for Mike,
as he was obeying a master's orders?

The mechanical manipulation id however obviously do the trick,
because I now felt Mike's cock move between my cheeks. It nudged
closer and closer to my sphincter and finally found the mark. I
tried to move, but there was no place to go. Mike thrust hard, and in
spite of all my desperate clenching and tightening, was rewarded with
about 2 cm of penetration.

I tried to shout "NO" as I felt my asshole stretching to accommodate
the
invading cock, but of course nothing came out. Mike grunted and as he
shoved again, his cock slid further into me. I just knew that Mike's
cock head must be inside me, and with one last desperate attempt to
stop him, I clamped down as hard as I knew how. In retrospect of
course this was the wrong thing to do - Mike almost exploded with
pleasure as my ring of muscle gripped and relaxed just under his
glans.

He paused while savouring the sensations, then as I couldn't maintain
my grip for long, he pressed forward, pushing the widest part of his
cock past the tight ring. From then on, it was easy for him, just
sliding deeper and deeper into my body until finally I could feel his
pubic bone, with it's little strip of hard, wiry pubic hair, making
contact with my ass that was still stinging viciously from its
whipping.

"Ahhhhhhhh" I could hear him moan in his throat as he backed out to
the glans.

Grip, relax, push, pull... he began to time his thrusts to extract
the most from each
tightening of my muscles. He was going wild, as the sensations sped
from his cock to his brain; He had never been gripped like this
during a fuck before, and I think he thought that I was enjoying it
and signalling to him to make the most of my body.

But now I was really in trouble. Mike's cock head was riding back
and forth over my prostate, and I had never experienced a sensation
like this before. In the midst of the pain from my ass and from my
battered anus, a wholly new "something" flowed over me.

Mike's cock riding my prostate was almost more than I could take. My
ass was doing
things I'd never felt it do before, and I seemed unable to control
its reflex-like clamping as Mike moved in and out. Every time Mike
hit my prostate, I could feel my own cock leak pre-cum, and it was as
if this made me clamp down on Mike.

As Mike slid back, I felt my ass relax, and his cock dipped down.
Then wham, he thrust again, another poke to my gland, another surge
of pre-cum, and another swelling of my own cock trapped between my
stomach and Hans's back as the pre-cum surged out

I could hear Mike's breathing become laboured, and his hands went
around my waist as he bent his magnificent body to give even more
power to his thrusts. Then I felt his whole body go rigid and arch
backwards as his orgasm came, and a strange but wonderful sensation
as an enormous load of his hot semen pumped into me.

Mike collapsed forward onto me, and I was sandwiched between the two
Marines. He was covered in sweat, and he just lay there panting as I
could feel his cock start to shrink inside me. He stood up, and drew
back to pull his cock out totally, and as his wide cock head came out
from my anus, my own orgasm took over.

My chest and Hans's back were already sliding over each other,
lubricated by our sweat and what felt like litres of pre-cum which
had been pumping out from me as I was being fucked. But now I was
totally unable to control myself, and my cock spasmed eight times,
forcing my spunk between us and firing it along the vhannel of Hans's
spine.

I think the Overseer and his friend knew what had happened, as he
then commanded us all to come and stand in front of he and his friend
again and assume "display". Mike and I were told to face them, and
Hans to turn around to have his back to them. I stood there under the
sun, and found that tears were flowing uncontrollably down my
cjheeks - they went on and on, and dripped down from the edhe of my
jaw onto the sand. I know these tears were not from the pain of the
whipping, or the pain from my anus which was spreading a hot, angry
glow throughout my lower body, as I had often borne much worse pains
than that since becoming a slave. And although I had been affected by
the closeness and intimacy with Hans's and Mike's bodies, they
weren't the kind of tears you sometimes share with your very closest
comrades.

They were, I think, tears of shame - shame at being so violated as an
amusement for others. Because of my feelings for Hans and Mike and
the pleasure I had found with them, I knew I was no
longer "straight". But there's a huge difference between the joy of
two guys experiencing each others bodies aesthetically as they work
out together and look at each other's muscles, or that which you get
from loving mutual masturbation with close friends, and rape. Some
how I could not accept that the invasion of my most intimate inner
self, the core of my maleness, was yet part of me. I felt violated,
even though I knew that Hans, Mike and me had no choice.

The Overseer and his friend lay there for a few minutes talking and
joking with each other, watching my spunk flow down Hans's back to
collect in the little hollow at the top of his ass, and then trickle
down between his cheeks. My own cock was slick with my spunk, and
Mike's was slowly oozing out of my anus and wetting the inside of my
thighs. Mike's prick was covered in his own cum and was brownish
from the contents of my rectum, because of course I had not had an
enema before this bout of uninhibited man sex. They could see the
tears on my cheeks, but did not comment. We all desperately wanted
to jump into the cool, cleaning water of the water hole and wash away
all these traces of our experience, but this was not to be.

The Overseer and his friend got up, the friend dressed, the Overseer
pulled his cut-off on, and we were told to get between the shafts, as
we had when we arrived. The Overseer manacled me into the shafts,
and roughly pushing Mike's head back out of the way, quickly fitted
my bridle.

Going back across the deep sand was just as disturbing for me as when
we had arrived, as I felt the hard bodies of Hans and Mike
sandwiching me close between them. I found myself loving their
warmth, the firmness of their flesh, their intoxicating smells of
sweat and spunk, and the sheer animal maleness of us all as we ran
nude across the desert. I don't think I had really appreciated
other men's bodies in this way before. But at least the experience
at the water hole made it easier for us to run - neither Mike nor I
could now manage even a tiny erection.

At the edge of the sand, back on the estate road, Hans and Mike were
told to slip out of the shafts as the Overseer wanted to run me as
usual. He told them to follow behind us, and that he expected them
to keep up, even though they were not trained runners as I was, as
they did not have the weight of the rickshaw to contend with. He
slapped the reins on my ass as normal, then started to lash my
shoulders lightly with his riding whip to get me up to top speed.
Although my ass was painful from Mike's entry, and my ass was still
stinging from the brutal whipping, I wanted to show the Overseer that
in spite of his brutality in ordering my rape I was still a good pony
for him, and I threw my shoulders and head back and ran faster than I
had ever done before. Over the haze of pain from my tortured lungs
after a few kilometres, I was conscious of my ass cheeks sliding over
each other - this was strange, as of course you're not normally
conscious of the motions of your butt muscles, unless there's
something wrong. I realised it was Mike's spunk greasing them and
making them slide, and this was at least a small help to getting me
back to the central complex in spite of my overly-ambitions speed.

The Overseer guided me back to the Bungalow, and he and his friend
got down from the rickshaw. I was of course then tethered, but he
left Hans and Mike, who had managed to keep up with my wild run,
although obviously at huge expense to themselves, simply collapsing
with exhaustion on the sand. They looked a pitiful sight - their
fine muscled bodies simply could no longer even stand up, and their
chests were heaving as their breath rasped out and they desperately
tried to suck in enough air to damp the fires in their lungs.

After a few minutes, they had recovered enough to sit up, and they
simply sat there, their knees drawn up to their chins, their heads
slumped forwards on to their kneecaps, and their arms locked around
their bent legs. They looked a picture of misery, and the sight of
their sacs and cocks poking out from between the ends of their thighs
and scraping the ground as they sat there was truly pathetic.


FAREWELLS

The Overseer and his friend emerged about an hour later, and we set
off down the long straight road leading from the central complex area
to the estate's boundary with the state road. Hans and Mike were
simply left sitting in the sand - the Overseer had no more need of
them, and did not give them another thought. I supposed that sooner
or later someone would come and take them back to the stables.

At the boundary there was a fine gate house, where the Sheikh's
guests, and the goods coming in and out of the estate, were
transferred from slave-powered vehicles to the normal trucks of the
outside world. The gate house had a luxurious waiting room for
travellers, and at the back, shielded from the state road so that
passers-by could not cast envious eyes on the Sheikh's ponies, was a
large yard where us ponies could wait and where goods could be
transhipped.

The Overseers was telling his friend to smell the air as we
approached the state road. "Can you smell that stench of diesel and
pollution?" he asked. "Now you know why the Sheikh does not allow
anything other than slave power on the estate roads- when you live
with it every day, you get used to this vile stench of industrial
pollution. But when you've been living in a totally clean slave-
powered world, you get very sensitive to it and notice it
immediately."

"But they haven't invented the slave-driven jet yet, so I suppose we
have to continue to make some use of this vile technology. You
couldn't get back to the USA, then come and visit me again, if we had
to rely on galleys to row you across the Atlantic! Although, looking
at those kitsch "ancient Greek" movies that Hollywood used to make, I
think a few months on a galley with all those sweating, muscled
galley slaves chained to their benches and oars might be quite fun.
Even though Hollywood had no real idea of how to portray slaves, some
of those films were quite fun!"

As we arrived at the gate house they were discussing the next visit,
and I understood that it would not be for a year because the friend
only had four weeks vacation, like most Americans, and simply could
not visit the Overseer again because he could not get more time off
from his job. Who was the real slave, I wondered?

As the time came for the limousine to take the friend away to the
airport, they stopped talking, and had that sort of longing,
embarrassed silence that lovers often have before a long separation.
They hugged each other, then kissed passionately, and finally the
friend was driven off in the limo.

The Overseer got up in to the rickshaw, and I saw the glint of tears
in the corner of his eyes. He pointed me back to the central
complex, and I set off at a light jog. I was expecting to be
commanded to go faster, but the Overseer was obviously wrapped in his
thoughts, and allowed me to continue at an easy pace back to the
Bungalow.

He got down from the rickshaw, and tethered me outside the bungalow
door. I wondered what other trips he had in mind for us that evening
before I could go back to the stables, but instead of just bounding
up the steps as he usually did, he turned to me and said "You
disgraced me today. You protested when I was describing your planned
rape, and those tears at the end were unforgivable. You almost
spoiled the last day of my friend's vacation".

"Slaves do not protest. Slaves do not have emotions, causing tears.
I know I had your body tamed, and I believed I had your mind to the
point where you had accepted that you were a pony slave, and no
longer a man. But yesterday proved me wrong."

"Perhaps I am a little at fault, because you have been constantly
exposed to English this week, and it has probably brought back some
thoughts of your previous life that you had started to bury. But
looking back on your whole time here, I think I can see little
flashes of independence asserting themselves, or trying to assert
themselves."

"You'll never be happy as a slave until you completely accept that
you are just an object, here to do whatever your master commands.
You do not have opinions about anything. Your only concern is that
you fully obey your master's every wish, to the slightest degree.
Your body is not 'yours', it's the Sheikh's. And if I order your
body to do something, you should be proud to do it - no, I'm wrong -
being 'proud' means that you experience some thought. You should do
it because it is inconceivable that you should not do it."

"You are not at this point in your slavery, and not even as far along
the road as I thought you were. Starting tomorrow, I will be
adopting a more rigorous training regime for you. When you first
came, we used a harsh physical regime to fashion your body into the
proper state for a thoroughbred pony ,that would be a credit to its
driver. My new regime will be equally rigorous, but it will train
your mind and shape it so that it is appropriate for a thoroughbred
pony."

"The last time I had such a wilful pony, it was the whip that enabled
me to train him. I subjected him to continuous bouts of harsh
punishment, each morning and evening, even though he had behaved
perfectly during the day. He had to learn that there was nothing in
his performance that could in any way affect whether he was punished
or not - he would be punished just because it pleased me to have him
punished. It took seven weeks before he broke down and since then he
has been a model slave. He still bears the whip lash marks in many
places of course - this was not the light whip I used on you today,
but the heavy bull whip that is guaranteed to break the flesh and is
truly agonising - and if he was still capable of being 'proud', I
think he would be 'proud' of the scars because they are a symbol of
his new inner mental freedom as a slave."

"But I'm not going to use the lash on you. Your problem is not
physical, its a mental one, that gets expressed physically. And I
suspect it's tied up with your sexuality and your perception of
yourself as a man. You still think of yourself as having some
control over your body, and that there are some things that 'a man'
does and some things 'a man' does not. But that's wrong, as firstly
you are a slave, and secondly there is nothing that a slave does or
does not do if it pleases his master. I know that before you were
enslaved you were a 'stud', proud of your prowess with women and
disgusted at the thought of relations with other men. I think I
detected over these past days that you became less and less pleased
with fucking the breeders as time went on, and were trying to bond
with those other slaves. I expected you to relish being used by the
two South Africans, and that's why I arranged for them to be the ones
who first took your ass."

"But I'm wrong - somewhere, deep down, although you can touch another
man's body now, and don't mind them jerking you off, there's a
sticking point - there are still some things 'men' don't do as far as
you are concerned. Well, let me tell you, there aren't!"

"I'm going to use your notion of your own sexuality as the key to
remaking your whole personality, and turning you into the perfect
slave."

"I'm going to leave you tethered here tonight, and don't expect
anything to keep you warm like last time! I want you to have an
uncomfortable night, so you stay awake and think about what I have
said. Tomorrow I will start to reshape you, and so this is the last
chance you will have to enjoy your own thoughts."

With that, he went up the steps, and I was left there, tightly
tethered so that I could not move more than a metre or so, and
certainly could not sit down. It was going to be a long night.



...to be continued. In the next installment, our poor pony will
suffer dreadful abuse, to break his spirit. In part 14 we will find
out more about the Overseer, in an usual twist to the plot, and
finally, in part 15, various plot lines will be resolved and we will
see how the characters we have been reading about will live out the
rest of their lives.

THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE, PART 13

By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)

A SECOND ROUND OF TRAINING

The night was cold in the desert, and unlike the only previous time I
had not been in the stables over night, this time there was no sweat
shirt to cover at least the top half of my nude body, and I was
tethered so tight to the bungalow that I could only stand relatively
immobile, and could not crouch down to minimise the body area exposed
to the air. My wrists were shackled to the shafts of my rickshaw,
and I could not even rub my body to try to generate a bit of warmth.

The only way I could stop the terrible waves of shivering that kept
passing through me was to "run on the spot", keeping my legs active
to generate a bit of body heat. It was impossible to sleep.

As dawn broke, I was wretched. Cold, tired, and hungry - I did hard
manual labour all day, and had not been fed the previous night as
usual. And I was filthy - I had not been showered the previous
evening, and my skin was covered in a layer of dried sweat and semen
from the previous afternoon's activities. And during the night I had
had to crap where I stood, because the previous careful program
regulating my feeding and use of the piss and shit hole had been
disrupted. There was of course no way of cleaning myself up, and
because I had not been able to crouch, as I did at the crap hole, I
knew my ass was disgustingly dirty. It had been three days since I
was last shaved, and my face was itching with the growth of my beard.

The Overseer came out of his bungalow very early, and without saying
anything, unhitched me and gave me the command for "off". I set my
weary legs in motion, and we headed towards the stables. This was
good news - he had obviously relented, and I was going to be showered
and fed.

But when we arrived at the stables the stable-lad slaves who came out
were not allowed to take me in. The farm cart, with Hans, Mike and
the other six slaves chained to it, came out, and the Overseer
started to bark rapid commands in Arabic to all the lads and to them.

I was unshackled from my rickshaw, and led by my cock over to the
cart. It's back was dropped down and I was pushed back onto the
floor of it, to lie on my back with my ass over the edge. One of the
cart slaves jumped up into it, and then sat down on my chest, facing
my face, so that his cock was in my face and his balls hung below my
chin, touching my throat. His massive buttocks ground into my pecs,
and I was unable to move or get up. He shuffled his knees down onto
my forearms, so my arms were immobile. He had been freshly showered,
and I could smell the faint antiseptic smell from the special washing
solution that was used for us slaves overlaying the musky scent of
his genitals, as they hung near my nose.

My legs were lifted off the ground, and bent backwards over my body
towards my head, and the farm slave lifted up his arms and tucked my
legs under them, one on each side of his body. I was now curled like
an egg, with my genitals and dirty ass totally exposed and
vulnerable, hanging over the back of the cart. I was deeply ashamed,
as I knew the other cart slaves, including Hans and Mike, would be
looking at my anus soiled by the crap I had had to do earlier. It
was impossible to control my reflexes, and I could feel a hot, deep
flush spreading from my chest and up over my neck and face.

A hand curled around my exposed cock, and started to wank me. This
was not the normal hand of one of the stable lads, but one of the
large, work-worn heavily calloused hands of a cart slave. He was
brisk and rough, allowing his hand to cruelly catch the head of my
cock on the up stroke, and slamming it into my pubic bone as he
wrenched the loose skin of my cock downwards. Fortunately I soon
became hard, and felt myself start to climax. Suddenly, the slave
squeezed my balls - hard - and pushed my cock down onto my stomach.
These actions triggered my stream of cum, which spurted so hard that
it hit the ass of the slave sitting on my chest, and trickled down to
lie in the little hollow between my pecs.

There was a lot of what would have been the sound of laughter had the
slaves been able to make that sound properly, and they obviously
thought I looked funny, lying there under one of their mates whilst
another one wanked me.

I felt someone scrape my cum off my chest, and the next minute a long
rough finger was probing my anus, using my own juices to slick the
entry. Without any finesse, the finger forced its way in, and slid
in and out once or twice to make sure I was thoroughly greased.
And then, or course, the horror of the previous day started all over
again, as I felt the unmistakable sensation of a hot cock head
probing my anus.

The slave raped me, taking less time than Mike the previous day, and
I lay there shuddering and sobbing. I realised that even though I
had not thought it at the time, Mike must have been as careful as he
dared with me yesterday, because this second rape was very painful
and my anus and rectum felt as if they had been hit with a hammer.
The slave on top of me knew what was going on, because he had been
turning around to see his mate fucking me, and had become aroused.
His engorged cock stuck out over my face, and drips of pre-cum fell
down on to me.

At last, I thought, it's over. But no - another cock presented
itself to my anus, and forced its way in.

Seven of the cart slaves used me before it was the turn of the guy on
my chest. He was in a frenzy by now, and my face was covered in the
slime of his pre-cum. He got up off me as one of his fellows neatly
vaulted into place, and now I had not the antiseptic scent of the
washing liquid and a musky male odour, but the stench of my own
rectum on the new slave's still-wet cock. Because he was so aroused,
number eight's time up my hole was mercifully short, and I was at
last allowed to get up.

I stood there in front of the cart slaves, my face covered in pre-
cum, my chest sticky from my own cum and the sweat from a slave's
ass, and with the results of their rape trickling down the insides of
my thighs as my anus clenched and unclenched as it tried to gain some
small measure of comfort and relief from the battering it had taken.
I felt tears start to course down my cheeks again. I could see Hans
and Mike amongst their fellows and knew that theirs were two of the
cocks that had so cruelly violated me. But I did not blame them - I
knew that they had no choice, as the Overseer had ordered it.

Now at last I was going to be cleaned and fed, I thought, and I
desperately needed to collapse into a stall as I had been on my feet
for many hours.

But the Overseer ordered one of the stable lads to lead me back to
the rickshaw and manacle me between the shafts. He gave me the order
to start, then, without even waiting to clear the stable yard, to
race at maximum speed out into the estate.

With no hint of slowing down or the usual gentle way he commanded me
to stop, my head was suddenly wrenched backwards as he hauled hard on
both reins. I stopped as best I could, as we drew level with a field
gang of 30 digging one of the fields.

The Overseer got down, unmanacled my wrists, slipped the bridle from
over my head and said "Breakfast time! You must be hungry, as you
were not fed last night and missed this morning's allocation of food
in the stables, too."

I was indeed ravenous, but there was no sign of any slave meal. The
Overseer went to the solitary guard standing at the control box
attached to the wire running through all the field slaves' collars,
and after some discussion, the guard shouted to all the slaves to
stop digging and stand still.

Then he came to me, marched me over to stand in front of the first
field slave in the line, and said "This is your breakfast. Down on
your knees, and suck him off. Then when you have done him, do the
next one. You're going to take the cum from all 30 of these slaves
down your throat - if there's any spilled, I won't whip you, that
would be too easy. But I will order the slave whose cum you wasted
to be flogged tonight. If you care at all about these slaves, you'll
be very careful. From now on you'll be getting only one feeding of
slave meal a day, and the rest of your protein requirements are going
to come from your fellow slaves' cocks."

I sank to my knees, not daring to disobey the Overseer. I had never
taken another man's cock into my mouth before - yes, a group of us at
High School had had a 'circle jerk' after a football game, and I had
got used to having my own cock masturbated every night in the
stables. But apart from the rape yesterday and today, I had had no
other experience of another man.

I looked at the cock in front of me, and it was flaccid, about 7 cm
long, cut, and dirty! I remembered that the field slaves were only
washed about once per week to save water, and I could see little
grains of dirt in the tiny folds of skin along its shaft. I reached
out to touch the cock, but the Overseer shouted "No. Get your hands
behind your head. You've got a mouth, and that's all you need. And
get started - you've got 30 to do, and I don't want my morning wasted
whilst you eat a leisurely breakfast. 'Fast food', as you Americans
say, is what we're after!"

I moved my face closer to the slave's crotch, and his raw, musky
smell assailed me. I opened my mouth, and turning my head sideways,
managed to get the end of the cock into my mouth. My tongue was
restrained, of course, so I could not use it to tease the cock. I
had to rely on my lips to start arousing him, and fortunately the
cock responded rapidly. With it hard and solid, it was much easier
to move my mouth up and down the shaft, and after only a few strokes
I felt the slave's pre-cum on the back of my throat, shortly followed
by the hot spurt of his semen. I almost choked, because I had no
prior experience of sucking cock, and could not predict the power
with which the salty fluid hit the soft area at the top of my throat.

The next slave was a big black, and had a big cock to match. And the
next was a shorter, swarthy guy whose prick characteristically jutted
out almost at right angles to his body, even when it wasn't erect.

I worked my down the line of slaves, and saw every variety of size
and shape of cock imaginable. Only one of the slaves was not
circumcised, and his cock tasted foul - without water, he had been
unable to clean himself properly, and the rim of stale smeg behind
his cock head when his foreskin peeled back flaked off into my mouth.
I went to spit to clean my mouth, but remembered the Overseer's
threat just in time - I did not want my fellow slave to be punished
because of my carelessness, and so did manage to swallow his load, in
spite of retching as I did with the taste.

At the end of the line the Overseer simply took hold of my cock and
let me back past the slaves. He put my bridle back in, shackled me
into the rickshaw, and off we went.

The day got worse and worse, if that can be imagined. Without proper
food and rest, my job would have been difficult because my energy use
was so high that I needed proper sustenance. But unlike 'normal'
days, when the journeys passed in a mixture of walking, jogging, and
light running, every journey to day was done at high speed, and the
lash fell constantly on my shoulders, back, and buttocks if I dared
slacken the pace.

We got back to the Stables at last, and, in spite of myself, I fell
to the ground as soon as the Overseer had alighted. My legs were
trembling and my chest was heaving. The Overseer barked orders, and
a stable slave appeared carrying a ration of slave meal in his cupped
hands, and another with a water feeder. The Overseer nudged me in
the ribs with his trainer, indicating that I should stand, and I
tried as hard as I could to get to my feet.

I stood there, swaying slightly, and the stable slave came over,
stood in front of me, and held his cupped hands up just below my
head. The Overseer took off my bridle, and I was allowed to bend
forward and nuzzle the food up out of the slave's hands. I was of
course used to eating out of my own hands as the ponies in the
stables did not have any plates or cutlery, but eating from someone
else's is somehow very degrading. Then the water feeder was offered,
and I stood there greedily sucking the water from its nipple.

I thought that then, at least, I would be taken indoors, but to my
amazement the Overseer put my bridle back in and I was made to run to
his bungalow, where he again tethered me outside the door on a tight
rein. "Another cold one tonight, I think", he said.

After a couple of hours, I was desperate. I could not move to keep
warm without moving my legs, and I had been on my feet for over 24
hours without break. And I had run at least 20 kilometres that day -
my legs simply were like sacks of lead, and I could hardly find the
energy to move them. I did not see how I was going to survive the
night. And, if I did, how could I run the following day?

But it must have been just before midnight, and the Overseer opened
his door and came out. He ran his hands over my body, painfully
pushing his strong thumbs in between my ribs as his hands moved down
my stomach. He cupped my balls in his hands, and then moved on to
rub his hands up and down each thigh in turn. He squeezed my ass
cheeks in turn, hard, again trying to dig his thumb into the solid
muscle I had there.

"Mmm", he said to himself, "Cold. Too cold, probably." He cupped my
balls again, and cracked the two of them as he clenched his fingers
together. I writhed in agony. "Yes, definitely cold". He reached
up and undid the reins holding me close to his door post, and let out
a couple of metres, then he turned, casually mounted the steps to his
door, and went inside.

At least now I could sink to the ground, and I lay there, shivering
uncontrollably, as I curled my body into a tight foetal position to
try to get warm.

We were off again at dawn, and there was some little strength left in
my legs as they had had some rest during the night. It was straight
to the fields again, where I was again allowed to "breakfast" off
another gang of field slaves.

This was to be the new pattern of my life - I never saw the inside of
the stables, and spent all 24 hours in the open. Only one meal a
day of slave meal, and one of cum. Most days my ass was also given
to whatever group of slaves the Overseer saw when he had a few spare
minutes - sometimes it was the eight cart slaves, and sometimes a
random group of slaves in the quarries. I got to particularly hate
the Sheikh's four polished matched carriage blacks, as their cocks
were so long that it felt as if my diaphragm was being hit as they
thrust into me. I was cleaned only about once a week, and only then
in the open, from a hose pipe. The bad treatment and irregular food
upset my stomach dreadfully, and I frequently had bouts of diarrhoea -
but it made no difference - the Overseer kept me running, even when
my own shit trickled down my legs.

The Overseer never used English in my presence, and used only a
minimum set of orders in Arabic - after the first explanation of what
I was expected to do with a field gang, he simply pointed at them
when we stopped in a field and used the single Arabic word for "Suck".


URINAL

My wretched existence continued for some weeks. until one evening, in
the stable yard, the Overseer ordered me to be cleaned because I
stank, and had them bring out hand clippers and trim my pubic hair,
and a razor to shave me. He unshackled me from the rickshaw, and led
me by my cock into the forge.

The massive naked blacksmith was there, and the Overseer rapped out a
series of commands. The blacksmith led me over to his anvil, and
gestured for me to lie on it, face down. I started to tremble,
because the last time I had lain there it was for the blacksmith to
brand me, and my memory was still able to dredge up the terrible pain
as the white-hot branding iron seared into my flesh. I could also
not forget the smell of my own flesh cooking under the hot iron.

But there was nothing I could do, and I lay on the cold iron, with
the pointed end of the anvil sticking out from between my legs. I
waited for the blacksmith to bring the webbing straps out to secure
me before he could begin branding again, but instead there was just
the sudden feeling of his cock at my anus. The Overseer had
obviously decided that this was another slave who could be given the
use of my ass. The blacksmith was massive, and had no pretence of
gentleness. No effort as made to lubricate me, and it was extremely
painful to have the friction of his massive cock on my still delicate
anal passage. At least during my other rape sessions there was
usually a preliminary wank of me, so that my hole could be slicked.

However the blacksmith was soon finished, and I was allowed to stand
up. I could see the blacksmith was pleased with his performance, and
I guessed that, like most slaves on the estate, he was never allowed
sex except for being masturbated, and so it was a special occasion
for him.

The Overseer said something else, and the blacksmith got out
callipers and measured my legs just above the ankles, and my arms
just above the wrist. I was made to crouch down whilst these
measurements were being taken, so that the muscles in my shins were
flexed. Finally, he used the callipers to measure my neck, and my
head was forced back, making the strong muscles there stand out,
whilst this was being done.

The Overseer ordered me to "Display", and I stood there, whilst he
went off and the blacksmith started work at his forge.

When the Overseer came back, the blacksmith had finished whatever it
was he was working on. The Overseer ordered me to stand on the
anvil, and to crouch down, and then I saw what the blacksmith had
been making - a rigid bar of stainless steel, with two stainless
ankle cuffs at each end, and two other cuffs in the middle. The
ankle cuffs were attached to my legs as I crouched there at a
convenient height, and I still could not understand what the other
pair of cuffs was for on the bar.

But the overseer then told me, using English as he now rarely did, to
take my hands from behind my head and put them down between my legs.
I now understood, and the cuffs were snapped tight around my wrists.

I was immobile, with my feet about 80 cm apart, and the tips of my
fingers just touching the floor in-between my feet. My back was
almost horizontal, and with my head at rest, I was looking at the
floor.

The second of the blacksmith's pieces of work was then produced - a
stainless steel collar, which seemed a loose fit when it first went
around my neck. But then a second piece of steel fitted into a
little ratchet mechanism on the front of it, and racked upwards until
it met my jaw. The blacksmith put his huge forearm around my
forehead, and wrenched my head backwards as far it would go, and the
steel piece racked up to hold it there, My head was then at about 45
degrees to my body, and I was looking upwards. I could understand
now why the collar had been loose at first, because now, with my neck
muscles straining, it was a close fit and my Adam's apple caught on
it as I tried to swallow.

The Overseer seemed pleased to see me like this, and walked around
inspecting me from all angles. He looked at my cock and balls
hanging down from between my thighs and almost scraping the top of
the anvil, and nodded to himself, pleased with what had been achieved.

The Blacksmith then reached under my arms to grasp me around the
waist, clutching my ass close to his chest as his massive arms locked
around me, and he carried me out of the forge, following the Overseer
who was striding across the yard.

I was carried into the veterinarian's office, and stood to rest on
his examination table. The Overseer and veterinarian were chatting
away about their latest racquet ball game whilst the veterinarian was
fiddling around with something on a side table, totally ignoring my
rigid, naked body behind them, looking now like some bizarre piece of
pornographic sculpture designed to appeal to the most depraved
tastes. Then the veterinarian came over to me and said "open wide".
I hesitated for a moment, and he bought a hand up underneath by sac,
slapping my exposed balls sharply. I would have been screaming had
my tongue not been held, but of course my mouth opened
automatically. The veterinarian pushed something between my upper
and lower teeth on the left hand side of my mouth, and when I tried
to then clamp it shut, I found I could only half do so.

The same thing was repeated to get something between the teeth on my
right hand side, and then the veterinarian went over to his work
table and came back with a screwdriver. He poked it into my half-
open mouth, guiding himself with a small dental mirror. As he turned
the screwdriver, my jaws were forced apart. I realised that he had
put some sort of screw jacks between my teeth, and he continued to
turn until my jaws were stretched painfully apart.

The Overseer came over to inspect the work, and felt around inside my
mouth with his finger. I found this strangely erotic - in spite of
all the hundreds of cocks that had now been in there, there was
something tender about the way in which the Overseer felt between my
teeth and the flesh of my cheeks and lips, to ensure that nothing was
caught, or was pinching, on the clamps.

"OK, now catheterise him", he said to the veterinarian.

"Are you sure?", the vet asked.

"Yes, absolutely" said the Overseer. "We are going to have to
control his pissing, and a catheter is the best way of doing it."

The veterinarian went away, and came back from a store room a couple
of minutes later with a shiny stainless steel catheter, about the
diameter of a pencil and about 25 cm long. He looked at me,
crouching there, and said "I can't get to work properly on his cock
whilst he's like that. Getting these catheters in is a tricky
business, especially when it's the first time, and when we need to
use a good thick one like this."

The Overseer called out to the blacksmith, who came over and neatly
flipped me over on to my back. My cock, balls and ass were now fully
exposed, and the veterinarian came over to me. He stood there,
rubbing oil on the end of the catheter, and said "I won't pretend
this is not going to hurt. I've got to push this all along your
cock, and up into your bladder. Your piss hole and urethra are not
used to having things pushed up them, and although they're flexible
and can indeed take the diameter of this rod, they don't like it!
Whatever you do, lie still - don't squirm about. It's a tricky thing
to do, and if your body moves, I may poke the catheter through your
urethra, which would do you no good at all".

I can't describe the agony as he fed the catheter, centimetre by
centimetre, up my cock. He finished when there was still about a
centimetre protruding, and then went away and came back with a small
circular device with a valve wheel on it. He bent down, and fiddled
for a few minutes, and I could feel him manipulating my foreskin.
Finally, he stood up and said to the Overseer "There, he's done.
Neat, aren't they, these new Japanese catheter valves? See, it's a
combined fitting. You fix the valve assembly to the end of the
catheter, then the circular loop goes around the cock head - you
can't quite see it, because I pushed back this one's foreskin to fit
it, and now it's rolled back, it's covered. But the ring prevents
the catheter being forced out by the pressure of piss, and it holds
the catheter in place in the cock without any ugly straps or ties
around the waist or anything."

"Do you want me to plug his butt whilst he's in this convenient
position?"

"No", said the Overseer. "But give him a good enema to empty his
bowel. He's not going to be eating anything, so providing he starts
empty, he won't need to crap for a number of days".

I lay there wondering what in earth was in store for me as the
customary four changes of water were pumped up my ass.

Finally, the degrading procedure was finished, and the Overseer got
the blacksmith to pick me up and carry me out. We headed across the
courtyard, out through the arch, and on into the Club.

We went along several corridors, and I could smell that
familiar "man" smell of good sweat got from healthy exercise,
overlaid with the chlorine smell of a swimming pool. I could hear
the "thwack" of racquet balls, and the squeal of rubber soles on the
court. It was just like being back in the sports complex at college,
except that I was shackled into a totally helpless position, and was
being carried along tucked under the arm of a giant blacksmith.

Finally, we went through a door and entered what was a typical locker
room - there were rows of metal lockers, slatted wooden benches
running down the middle, and an arch at the far end opening into a
large tiled shower area. I knew this must be a place frequented by
masters, because there were clothes hanging from pegs, sports bags
lying around with kit hanging out of them, and a couple of guys
sitting around talking, with towels around their waists. No slave on
the Sheikh's property would ever use a towel, let alone wrap it
around his waist!

The Overseer greeted the two guys, then told the blacksmith to set me
down by the entrance to the showers. I was facing out into the
locker room, with my mouth open and my head forced cruelly backwards
from my nearly horizontal upper body. My stomach and thighs were
starting to complain from being held cramped in such a position for a
long time - I was of course quite used to crouching and squatting for
long periods, but having my body pulled right down, and then having
my head held back, was very tough indeed.

The overseer went to a locker, opened it, and got out what I knew
must be his micro bikini. He shucked off his trainers, and dropped
his cut-offs. He scratched his balls nonchalantly, and then stepped
into the bikini and did that peculiar struggling motion that everyone
does as they pull tight Speedos on - you pull them a little way up
one leg, then a little way up the other, then as you get to your
crotch, you need to wriggle your hips to get them higher. Most guys
turn their asses towards their fellows whilst they're doing this, but
the Overseer kept his front towards me, watching me, and I could see
his cock swing from side to side.

When they were finally on, he reached down into the front pouch and
adjusted the position of his cock. I saw now what he had been
talking about the previous day, because his cock and balls were
clearly visible through the thin elastic fabric. "No time for the
plastic bag today", he said. "I'll just have to put up with the
fabric slipping up my ass".

He went to go out, towards the swimming pool, but as he got to the
door, turned back and came over to me. "I almost forgot", he
said. "I really must piss before I go into the pool. It's not fair
on the other guys if I do it in there".

"It's so inconvenient, though, as the urinals are in the next room.
Or, rather, should I say, were in the next room. I'm going on a trip
to the city, to look over some fresh slaves, and for the next four
days whilst I'm away I'm giving the fellows a little time saver -
you're their urinal."

So saying he pushed down the front of his bikini, pointed his prick
at my open mouth, and let a stream of piss shoot out into me. I
couldn't of course do anything to stop this. I was completely
physically immobile, and my jaws were locked open. But I decided not
to swallow, and let the piss start to fill my mouth. The Overseer
saw this, and, with the usual difficulty, stopped his stream in mid
flow.

"Naughty", he said. "You know how it pains a guy to have to do that.
And you know what I want you to do, so why are you defying me?
Swallow!".

I did nothing, and he went back to his locker and returned with a
swimmer's nose clip, which he fitted over the end of my nose. With
my nose blocked, I had no option but to swallow the mouth full of
piss if I wanted to breathe, and, seeing this, the Overseer let fly
again until he was finished. He stood there in front of me, shaking
the last few drops of piss out of his cock so that they fell into my
hair.

"Now", he said, "See how you can be of service to the masters even
whilst I'm away. They won't have to walk to the urinal before
pissing, and won't have to stand there in the showers doing it,
either - when it mixes with hot water, it can stink a bit and some
guys don't like it. You're at just the right height, and your mouth
is at just the right angle with your head held back like that."

"I'll be gone four days, and you will be here all that time. I can
guarantee you'll be very uncomfortable. I've seen you trying to ease
your thighs and back a bit even in the last two hours, but by the end
of four days you will have gone beyond normal pain and will simply
not be able to think of anything else other than trying to release
your muscles- but, of course, you can't".

"It would be completely unacceptable for you to make a mess in the
locker room, so following your enema, you won't be fed - not that you
could eat anything, anyway. But if you do get the urge to crap,
don't - the last time we did this, some of the masters were so
enraged by the slave's action that they stuffed his turd back down
his throat. It's really not good to eat crap, and he got a serious
infection, and died. Incidentally, don't worry about the piss -
although it may taste foul, it's almost completely sterile".

"The catheter will prevent you from pissing on the floor. Twice a
day a slave will come in, place a tray under your cock, and release
your piss with the little control valve. You ought to be able to
survive for twelve hours between being emptied, as this locker room
is not used all that much. But I think you'd better hope that a lot
of masters don't decide to have a few beers brought in to the sauna
here after a game, as then they'll piss gallons, and you'll be in
serious trouble before your next emptying. But we've never lost a
slave yet with a burst bladder, but I think some wish theirs had, to
put them out of their misery!".

So saying, he tucked his cock back into his bikini, and went out for
his swim.

When he came back, the Overseer stripped and went into the showers
behind me, then came back out, towelling himself off quite
unselfconsciously. As I stood there, I realised that he was himself
a handsome man - previously it had not occurred to me that his hairy
body could be as exciting as those of the 'comfort' slaves and the
ponies I was used to seeing, who were mostly shaved smooth.

I had only ever seen him in cut-offs up until now, but in preparation
for his trip he pulled on a polo shirt, then stood there with the
tail of it just touching his cock and covering his ass whilst he had
a brief conversation with one of the guards who had just come in to
change. He was not in any way embarrassed by his nudity, or the
slightly erotic sight of his cock and sac poking out from under his
shirt.

Next he took a pair of small bikini-style briefs, wriggled them up
over his legs, and settled his cock and balls comfortably in them by
pushing his hand down inside. Finally, a smart pair of linen
trousers, socks, and loafers completed the ensemble. I was
astounded by the change that these clothes had made to him - he had
looked like a rough type, with his deeply tanned skin, and wiry hair
covering most of his body. But the clothes transformed him into a
handsome man-about-town, and that very same dark tan, and the "five
o'clock shadow" on his cheeks and firm jaw now made him look like
those stunning types you sometimes catch a glimpse of in the street,
usually in the company of a young starlet or pop singer.

He cast me a glance, and without saying anything, left.

I was already in severe pain in my legs from having been clamped
immobile for several hours, but it got worse and worse. I tried
everything I could to give my thighs, calves, butt and stomach
muscles some relief, but the manacles joining my wrists and ankles
were such a snug fit following the blacksmith's careful measurement
that absolutely no movement was possible. And my neck and shoulders,
too, were screaming for relief as my head was forced back at such an
unnatural angle.

I tried everything I could to lessen the agony. I tried
concentrating on getting through the next hour, then rapidly
shortened that to trying to get through the next five minutes. But I
could see a clock at the far end of the locker room, and then saw to
my horror that only two minutes had passed.

It's normally only my emotions that get the better of me and cause
tears to break out, but now I felt tears flowing caused by the sheer
physical agony I was in. There were only a few masters using the
facilities that night, and I was not used as a urinal again. At
about midnight, a house slave came in and turned out the lights, and
I was left there to my thoughts and my pain.

As dawn broke, a house slave came in and turned on the lights and
started to tidy the locker room, presumably in preparation for the
masters who were going to work out before going to their shift. When
he had finished sweeping the floor and clearing away items of kit
left there the previous night, he came over to me and slipped a
plastic container, about the size of a USA ice cream carton, under my
cock. He reached down and unscrewed the valve at the end of the
catheter, and I could hear - and smell, as the scent of my own urine
came up to me - my bladder emptying. He reached down and turned off
the valve, removed the carton, and took a piece of paper towel to dry
the end of the catheter and polish up a few drops of urine that had
fallen out.

After a night of agony, I now knew that I could endure - the pain had
reached a crescendo, and then in that way that it does, my body and
brain had done the only thing they could do to keep me sane - they
had dampened down my perception of that pain.

I remained locked there, and gradually the locker room started to be
used by a number of guards and other masters before their morning
shift. They chatted to each other in the way that guys in locker
rooms do about their work that day, the state of the workout
equipment, and even the attributes of one or two slaves who were
obviously well-known lays. But it was as if the sight of a nude man,
locked in the most outrageously servile position, immobile in the
corner, was completely normal to them - they never mentioned me or
made any reference to me at all, except that one or two of them
sometimes commented that the Overseer was good to provide additional
facilities for them.

As the guards and other masters came back from the gym or pool, they
needed to shower before the start of their shift. It was just like a
normal locker room at any big-city gym back home - some guys in their
workout clothes, some naked going to and from the showers, some
towelling-off, and some partially dressed, almost ready for work.
The only difference was that, unlike in the USA, before they went
into the shower, they stopped and pissed into my open mouth.

I could taste the differences between men, and after a time began to
dread the guy s who would have dark, heavily-coloured urine. It was
relatively easy to swallow the piss of the men who had been chugging
beers the night before, as there was a lot of it, but there was a
very 'light' taste. But the urine of one or two guys smelt and
tasted positively vile. I remembered hearing that there are some
guys who are particularly sensitive to a chemical that appears
naturally in asparagus - one tiny piece of asparagus, even on a
cocktail canapé, is enough to cause those guys piss to stink of
rotting vegetation. I was one of those guys, and always knew when I
had eaten asparagus, even when it was disguised in a dish on the
menu - in a fancy restaurant, if I went to piss in the middle of the
meal, I could always tell if asparagus had been an ingredient in
the food I had just eaten as there would be a characteristic stench
rising from the urinal as I pissed. From my new perspective, I
thought that some of the guys had been eating asparagus the night
before!

After the morning rush, I was basically alone for most of the
morning, and could just crouch there with only the occasional spasm
of pain from my body. But just before lunch time, a new horror
started to arise - all the piss I had drunk earlier in the day was
working it s way through me, and now needed its natural relief. As
the initial mild sensation that normally tells you '"start to look
out for a men's room" started, I wasn't worried. But when it got
to "you need to find a men's room now", I started to become
concerned. And, of course, by the time I got to "you must fin a
men's room NOW", I was terrified. No piss could leak past the
catheter, and I had no idea how long it would be before I would next
be drained. In spite of all my other pains, I started to sweat with
tension.

But then the lunchtime rush began, and my position was made worse.
New users flooded the locker room, and almost all of them chose to
use me before entering the showers. My brain was receiving constant,
urgent, desperate messages from my bladder, and there was absolutely
nothing I could do about it. Had I been able to, I would have been
sobbing in agony.

I discovered during the afternoon that my brain's ability to "turn
off" the acute muscle pain in my body did not extend to the more
primitive, basic signals from my bladder. I thought I would die, so
bad was the pain.

Just before the evening rush, the house slave came in and started to
tidy and clean the locker room again. I crouched there in my corner,
willing him to come over and give me some relief, but he continued on
his normal round of sweeping and tidying. I began to wonder if he
would come and collect my piss, and was in sheer abject terror that
he might just leave me there. I was obsessed. Nothing else
mattered. I simply had to get relief to my bladder somehow.

But I was in luck - after finishing his normal tasks, the plastic
container was placed under my cock and the piss was allowed to flow
out of me. I filled the container, and, to my horror, the slave
closed the valve to prevent any more piss flowing. Would he come
back and let me do more? Although the pain had subsided little, my
bladder was still screaming for relief. But I guess he sensed my
problems, because he replaced it with another container, and I was
allowed to drain away until no more flowed.

But losing the bladder pain only restarted to he pain from my body.
Was there to be no letup to this torture?

I have never known such acute misery and agony as I experienced in
those four days. But late in the evening on the fourth day the
Overseer came into the locker room, having returned from his trip.
He glanced at me, then proceed to strip out of his "city" clothes.
Totally naked, he went out to swim - I guess he simply couldn't be
bothered with the bikini, now that he was back from the city, amongst
his co-workers and friends.

After the Pool, he pissed into my mouth, and went into the showers.
When he came out, he did not get dressed, but stretched out full
length on his stomach on the locker room benches, facing towards
me. He cradled his chin on the backs of his hands crossed in front
of him, and just lay there, looking. A 'comfort' slave, a smoothly-
shaved 'jock' type, came in, and without a word proceeded to give the
Overseer a long, slow, deep massage. The Overseer's shoulders, back,
thighs and then his butt were kneaded and rubbed by the slave, as the
Overseer lay there without taking his gaze from me. Without shutting
my eyes, there was no way I could avoid the Overseer's stares, and I
just had to stay there, wondering what he was thinking.

Then the Overseer turned over, and the 'comfort' slave proceeded to
give the Overseer's front the same type e of deep massage his back
had had. And, of course, inevitably, the Overseer told the slave to
suck him off at the end of the session.

The Overseer then got up, and, still looking at me, went to his
locker, took out the familiar cut-offs, pulled them on, and left.

Another night of agony, but morning did break eventually.

The Overseer was the first '"customer" that morning, and slowly and
deliberately pissed into me. I knew from the taste that he must have
got straight out of bed and come to the gym before pissing, because
the stream was long and rich. The Overseer shook his cock dry into
my hair again, then opened the door and called out something.

The blacksmith came in, and simply picked me up in his arms and
carried me out. We left the central complex, and went across the
yard into the veterinarians.

The Overseer was already there, chatting to the veterinarian just as
an owner would who was about to bring a favoured pet in. I was
plonked down on to the examining table, and the veterinarian fiddled
with my cock, and started to withdraw the catheter. I hadn't been
emptied that morning, and as it cleared the end of my cock, I wan
unable to control my own reactions - a long, heavy stream of piss
flooded out of my cock, and I was completely unable to stop it. The
veterinarian was horrified and said to the Overseer "Can't you
exercise even the most basic control over the slaves? Look at this
mess - it will take the slaves hours to get the place properly
clean."

The Overseer took out a small key, and unlocked the collar holding my
neck up. As I went to bend it to get relief, a new agonising pain
shot through me. Muscles spasm when first constricted, but the
spasms you an get on release can be even worse.

Then the Overseer unshackled me, but even when my arms were free, I
was totally unable to straighten myself. "Good god", cried the
veterinarian "What have you done? if this valuable pony is
permanently damaged, the Sheikh will be really angry with you!"

The Overseer commanded again, and the blacksmith, who had been
standing there watching, picked me up again, still rigid, and carried
me into the next room where he lowered me gently into a bath of warm
water which was maintained there for hydrotherapy of ponies with mild
strains.

After a few minutes floating in the water, I was able to gradually
stretch my limbs again, and was in exquisite agony as the muscles
tried to regain their normal sense of being.

About half an hour later, I was able to stand, just, and climb out of
the warm bath. The veterinarian listened to my heart with his
stethoscope, and told the Overseer that I sounded fine, and that he
should just be careful for the next few days to avoid the possibility
of me getting muscle damage - ham string injuries and the like, that
athletes get who return to fierce exercise without adequate
acclimatisation.

The Overseer commanded me to "display", grabbed my cock, and angrily
strode from the veterinarian's office, with me stumbling behind. I
had heard the veterinarian's warning, and was amazed to be
immediately manacled into my rickshaw. And with his usual flick of
the reins on my butt, the Overseer commanded me to run.

I could only just stumble, and running was simply beyond the
capabilities of my abused muscles. The next 20 minutes was a whole
new experience as far as pain was concerned, as cramped muscles
demanded blood, and then, when they got it, shrieked at my brain to
stop the exercise. But my master drove me on.


FUGUE

We were making some progress along one of the estate roads when the
farm cart passed us in the other direction. My master jerked me to a
halt, and called to the cart, that then backed up to stop parallel
with us.

With horror, I saw the cart-horse slaves uncoupling themselves, and
the back of the cart being opened.

I had assumed that my time as a urinal in the central complex would
mark the end of my punishment of daily rapes, as the Overseer
had "forgiven" me when I was released from the locker room. But it
was not to be - Hans, Mike and the other six muscled slaves again
held me down and fucked me in turn

I was of course wrong - the Overseer was not "punishing" me at all,
and the fact that I thought that showed that I was still not a proper
slave. He was trying to teach me that my body was there to serve in
whatever way he chose, and that I should have no thoughts of any kind
on the matter.

But I had been living in hope, and the release from the locker room
was I thought a new beginning. But now I saw this was not to be.
Was I to be subject to an endless round of cold, semi-starvation, and
brutal sexual torture?

I think that this was the beginning of my total breakdown, of what is
I believe technically termed "fugue". Later that day the Overseer
said something to me , and I did not understand him. I saw a slow
smile start to spread across his face, and he said something else,
that I still did not understand. Then he came to the shafts and
unmanacled me, and I distinctly heard him say "wank". Absolutely
without thinking, my hand reached down and started to rub my cock
into climax.

A feeling of unreality spread over me throughout the rest of the
day. At times, things my master said made no sense at all - it was
if he was speaking in an alien language. And at other times, I heard
clear, definitive orders, that I of course obeyed. Later I learned
that the "alien language" was English, and my brain was retreating
from a reality that it found too unpleasant by simply no longer
acknowledging that I understood it at all. And the commands were of
course that small, basic set of Arabic ones that had been drilled
into me since I became a slave.

It seemed as if I was no longer there. There was a body, that had
been me, and it went through the motions of running and so on, as if
on autopilot. "I" was a small disinterested observer, sitting
somewhere in the corner of my brain, watching the antics of my body
but uninvolved in what it was doing.

As an experienced slave controller, I later knew that the Overseer
had seen this change in me, and knew that I was now properly a pony.
I had lost all traces of my former persona as free American. I no
longer wanted to hold back in any way from obeying the Overseer's
orders, and I could be completely trusted to obey absolutely every
command given. I was at last a proper pony slave.

... to be continued.

By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)

TIME PASSES

Knowing I was now his pony slave completely, the Overseer immediately
reverted to using me just as his animal to pull him around the estate.

Life became a simple round of running, working out in the Training
Room to keep my upper body in the same perfect condition as my ass
and legs, being washed in the showers and then "milked", sleeping in
a stall in the stables, then starting the next day again.

Compared to the first months in the stables, there were a few
differences in my routine, and I now knew them to be important,
because they signalled the understanding of my change in status. My
wrists were no longer locked in to the top of my stall at night,
because I had been ordered not to touch my own genitalia, and it was
now inconceivable that I should. I was milked each night, and this
was sufficient to keep my balls in perfect working order. A new
rickshaw was provided for me, without the manacles built in to the
shafts. I no longer needed these, as from the time I left the
stables in the morning until the time I returned each night, I would
never let go of the shafts anyway now.

Overlaid on this regular daily routine were a few occasional
changes: the Overseer would leave the estate for a couple of days,
to go on slave buying trips, and then I would simply spend the entire
day in the Training Room. Every two or three weeks my hair would be
cut and my pubic hair neatly trimmed - the Overseer liked to
see "hard edges" where hair joined flesh, and did not like to see new
hair growing too long. Every two or three days my face, chest, sac
and ass-crack were shaved. Every month I went to the veterinarian,
who carried out a detailed examination to ensure there were no
problems building, and to take blood, semen, and urine samples.
Every three months I had an X-ray and ECG.

My diet never varied - the totally bland slave meal, and water. I
was now properly in balance again, and the masters knew exactly how
much slave meal I was to be fed each day to make up for the energy I
had expended the previous day, and the feeding machine measured this
out precisely as my tattooed number was keyed in. I always felt
hungry and my stomach felt "hollow", but things were exactly right
because after I had reached my optimum weight to give the best mix of
power for pulling, speed, and endurance, it then never varied by more
than a few grams from one veterinarian's exam to the next.

The invariance of my diet and the constant routine allowed my guts to
fall into line properly, and I never crapped again except at the
morning and evening crap-hole session. My masters knew of course of
the importance of drinking a lot to replace the copious amounts I
sweated in the desert heat and to compensate for the dry slave meal,
and never stinted me on water. Often when the Overseer had halted me
whilst he conducted his business, a slave would run up and let me
nuzzle my fill from a water feeder. I therefore pissed copiously,
and did this whenever I needed to during the day, simply standing
there between the shafts.

The Overseer worked seven days a week, but on one of them he finished
at lunch time. It became his habit to go to the water hole to relax
away from the cares of the estate, and even though it was very hard
for me, I found that I could pull just one man in my rickshaw through
the loose sand. For the rest of the afternoon he would then lie of
his towel, or float in the water hole. He usually commanded me to
leave the shafts during these sessions, and allowed me to squat in
the sand, in "display" position. Very occasionally I was allowed
into the water, but it brought me no particular pleasure now - I half
remembered at one time feeling the joy of the water flowing over my
naked body, and comparing it with other experiences in swimming pools
somewhere, but now it was "just water".

I was very far away, almost observing my superb body being used every
day for the Overseer's convenience. I was sort of proud of my
physique, I think, and was glad that it could be of service to the
Overseer.

One day the Overseer came out of his bungalow with a familiar figure -
I say "familiar" because it seemed as if I had seen him before. The
figure came up to me and spoke to the Overseer, but I could not
understand what he was saying - it was in a "foreign" language. This
second man could not be a regular on the estate, as he was pale and
not sun-tanned, but he recognised or remembered me and was puzzled
when I did not respond to him.
The second man stayed with the Overseer for about three weeks, and
during that time accompanied him on his rounds, and to the water hole
for the Overseer's afternoon's off. The two of them clearly enjoyed
the water together, and also lay entwined on the sand, masturbating,
sucking, and fucking each other. Then the second figure disappeared
again.

I was given a particularly thorough examination by the veterinarian
shortly after this, and the next day the Overseer drove me to the
Sheikh's stud farm where I covered three breeders. I remembered this
happening to my old self the year before, and looked for Hans and
Mike, but they were not there. The session I was at was for eight
slaves, and although some of them seemed to be enjoying the task, I
did it with mechanical precision. As had happened the previous year,
I covered the same three breeders again the next day, and the day
after that.

My routine continued, and time slipped by without any perceptible
changes. The Overseer, the veterinarian, and the third man who came
to stay with the Overseer spoke some incomprehensible foreign
language. The Overseer used Arabic when commanding me and I had a
good knowledge of the 100 or so words he needed to use for this.

My time for covering the breeders came again, and then the next time
I was used for this and I had covered the three breeders on three
consecutive days, there was another change: three more were presented
to me for covering on the next three days, and then another three,
and another three, and another three.

I think it was the breeding that somehow set a time base for me.
I "remembered" an explanation of the Sheikh's stud policy : four
years for the slave to cover three breeders per year, and the progeny
to be tested. Then in the fifth year he was used for covering
breeders to bring the total of his progeny in the herd to about 25.

Had I now therefore been on the Sheikh's estate for five years? The
little of the old me that remained realised that I had. I had gone
from being a 23 year old American jock to a 28 year old pony slave.
As my body went about its daily round on autopilot, I had lots of
time to reflect, and my mind started to return. I once again started
to regain control from the total "dumb pony" persona that been in
charge for five years. There was no struggle, and I was neither sad
nor elated - I simply got back some of my memories and faculties from
the past.

But this was strange - the returning "me" was as content as the "dumb
pony persona" had been. I did not feel even the tiniest degree of
rebelliousness or shame at anything my body did now. And I even got
some language facility back, and started to understand parts of that
foreign language - English - that I had not been able to comprehend.

I was in the veterinarians for one of my regular monthly inspections,
and the veterinarian and the Overseer were discussing me. They did
not know that I could again understand them, and I had not the
slightest desire to indicate in any way that I was still anything
other than the perfect "dumb pony" - the Overseer had detected the
change that had driven the "me" away following my use as a fuck toy
and a urinal, and thought that it would never come back. But he need
not have worried - it did not matter. I was a slave, and I now knew
it. It was as if my flesh had had the slave habits so ingrained in
those five years, that they had spread to my brain in some mysterious
way.

"Look at him", said the veterinarian, "he really is magnificent. I
remember when you first brought him in here five years ago as a 23
year old. He had a good 'college jock' American body then, and I
know he was bought specially for the length and potential strength of
his legs. And it's all been borne out in practice - if he was back
in the USA, he would be in every nudie magazine for women, and for
men! Half the gays in the country would be creaming themselves if he
did a photo-spread!"

"I didn't think his body would improve all that much, but he is now
so magnificently 'in proportion'. We really have got that feeding
regime right now."

"There's not an ounce of fat anywhere on him, and that deep, all over
tan really suits him. His balls have, if anything, got even better -
I know Americans are supposed to jerk themselves off a lot,
but 'milking' him, expertly and regularly every 24 hours, keeps them
in first class condition. And letting them hang free gives that
extra elasticity to his sac, that makes him a pleasure to look at
when he's running."

"Well", said the Overseer, "I don't see them much myself. That's a
pleasure for the passers by, as from the driving seat I only see his
ass pumping up and down."

"Mind you, I'm still not convinced that I have the hair as good as
it could be, even after five years. Maybe this year I will do what I
have been thinking about for some time, and have him totally stripped
of all his hair. You told me there's a new skin oil, didn't you, for
slaves, specially formulated so that they can sweat through it. I'd
like to have him really sleek and glossy - that rash of hair from his
navel to his cock, and the fine covering on his arms and legs are
bleached very well by the sun and provide a nice contrast to the deep
brown of the skin, but a change might be nice. On the other hand,
the sand will stick to the oil, I suppose. And sometimes I do enjoy
seeing the sun just catch the hair on his legs - it looks really
nice, out there in the desert".

"Yes, there is a new oil", replied the veterinarian, "but I usually
only recommend it for the 'comfort' slaves, and for ponies that are
going to be used around here in the central complex on the paved
roads. You could indeed now oil him all over, and it wouldn't affect
his performance at running and he wouldn't overheat. But you take
him all over the estate, on rough roads and tracks, and he'd soon be
covered in a layer of sand. You could of course have all the hair
removed and not oil him - it is becoming fashionable to have
the 'totally naked' look on slaves now, at least in the Capital!".

"No", said the Overseer, "I've always thought a slave totally without
any hair looks like some sort of child still. There's no doubting
this one's attributes, of course, 'hung like a horse' seems
particularly appropriate in this case. But if I can't have him
glossy, then I think I'll stick with this minimum hair covering on
him".

"He's performed well at the stud", said the veterinarian. "We never
had a failure to conceive in the first coverings, and he never had to
go back for a revisit the next month because he failed to inseminate
properly. And he's had an astonishingly good record in his progeny -
over 76% of them were slaves, and so they were allowed to go to
term. We have no recorded birth defects, and he has now sired a
total of 25 slaves who all appear to be progressing well".

"He's out of the programme on this estate now, of course, as we don't
want too many slaves from one sire. But I wonder if the Sheikh will
now sell him on to one of the national stud farms, where he can spend
the rest of his life just inseminating breeders. He'd fetch an
excellent price, with this record."

"No", said the Overseer. "The Sheikh had some friends here a month
or so ago and they saw the pony pulling me around. They offered the
Sheikh quite a lot for him, but the Sheikh turned them down. I think
it's because he doesn't want other herds getting too good - providing
this one's progeny continue to do well, he has long term plans for
breeding some really exciting crosses from the next generation. If
he ever does sell this pony, he will have him vasectomised first.
Incidentally, do you know why all the ponies don't have vasectomies
once they are past breeding?"

"No", said the veterinarian. "It might be a good idea. On average
the sac increases in size by about 5% after a vasectomy, and that
would certainly improve the 'look' of some of our animals - although
not this one - if his balls were any bigger, they'd be too big, I
think. It's a really simple operation to do, with no risk. But the
Sheikh is for some reason against it."

"You know", the Overseer continued, "some people think that the
slavery we practice here is cruel and wrong. But look at this pony.
When he came here as a 23 year old, he was in a dead-end job in the
USA. Sure, he earned a lot of bucks, but he needed them for his car,
his apartment, his new stereo, to pay for his girl friend, and so
on. And his life could only get worse - sooner or later he'd get one
of those women he spent his time chasing 'in the family way', then
there'd be a kid, and a house and a mortgage.... By the time he was
28, as he is now, he would be worried sick at the end of each month,
he would probably have divorced and be paying alimony. He would be
working harder and harder to pay all the bills, and he would not have
the time and energy to chase the women he felt he needed. He'd have
first given up sports, and then stopped going to the gym. And so his
body would have lost tone. And all the junk food he eat would have
started to lay down layers of fat everywhere, and you probably would
not be able to see his six-pack any more. He'd be the typical
suburban man, no longer a jock, and worrying and working himself
into an early grave."

"But here, as a slave, he's in absolutely perfect health. He gets
much better medical attention than he would in the USA - what
American has check ups every month? And if there's the slightest
thing wrong with him, I know you'd ship him off immediately to the
animal hospital because the Sheikh believes in getting the last ounce
of benefit out of his slaves."

"His food is specially formulated not to make him fat, and the heavy
work and exercise keeps his heart and lungs in great shape. But best
of all, he has absolutely no worries! He simply does not have to
think, and providing he obeys every order without question, he won't
be whipped or treated cruelly in any way."

"And finally, what American now has the chance to pass his genes on
to the next generation as prolifically as this guy has? 25 sons, and
he has none of the expense or worry of raising them. He can be
certain that his characteristics will form an important part of the
gene pool."

"You're right of course", said the veterinarian. "but I don't think
the climate is right yet for spreading slavery to the USA. It works
excellently here, and the crime rate, which always used to be low, is
now almost non-existent. Compare that with any of the big American
cities! But look at the numbers of distinguished US visitors the
Sheikh has here all the time - if they were just discussing the oil,
they'd stay in his palace in the City. But I think they all angle
for an invitation to come out here to see the system at work - the US
ruling class must be thinking of trying to do something like this
there soon. I wouldn't be surprised to see recidivists sentenced to
slavery in one or more states within five years, rather than being
constantly in and out of prison".

"Fascinating", said the Overseer. "If only that were true. I might
be able to go back on a visit then. But if you've finished, I've got
work to do. See you on the racquet ball court at eight tonight."

He muttered the Arabic for me to leave, and we went outside. I slid
between the shafts and gripped them, the Overseer refitted my bridle,
leapt up into his seat, and with a gentle slap of the reins on my
butt, we went about the rest of the day's work.


SLAVERS

As a properly integrated pony slave I was happy. I gloried in the
feeling of my body as I strode along with the Overseer in my
rickshaw. Even the times when he was in a great hurry and had to
whip me to ensure I continued to run absolutely flat-out, at the
limits of my endurance, were good. As I collapsed at the end of such
a journey, over the pain of the fire in my lungs and the cramping of
my muscles, I felt happy - I knew what it was to really exercise, to
drive my body to its absolute limits. How many men can ever know the
feeling that they are using their bodies to its maximum capability?

And when I thought on about what the veterinarian and the Overseer
had been saying about life in the USA, I knew they were right. Had I
not escaped from the Call Centre, I would by now be past my peak,
with my body sliding into idleness and my muscles wasting away from
lack of use when I took my car on even the most trivial journeys. I
had found the stress and tedium of the job bad, even when I was fresh
to it - how would I now be, five years on? I think I would have
taken to drinking too much every evening to help me relax, to smoking
to overcome the constant nervous tension of waiting for the next
call, and probably even to soft drugs as I knew so many of my
contemporaries at College already had when I was there.

My life on the Sheikh's estate had everything I wanted. Good,
healthy exercise, all day and every day. A proper diet, adjusted to
my body's needs. No responsibilities or worries - even though the
Overseer used the whip to drive me fast most days, this no longer
worried me, as I knew that he was only doing it so that I could
achieve my full potential as an athlete. Whilst the pain was
unpleasant as he did it, it was not long-lasting, and did me no
permanent harm. And of course I had no fear of impotence or
embarrassing failures in the bedroom - the stable-lad slaves 'milked'
me every evening, and their ministrations were so expert, and my body
so used to the regularity of the experience, that I spurted a thick
rope of cum every time.

I have now read a scientific report that guys who exercise regularly
and hard experience more erections than those who lead a sedentary
life - they say it's because their blood is flowing fast around all
their arteries and veins from their strong hearts, and that this
helps their cocks to engorge rapidly, too. This was certainly true
in my case, and I was usually erect at least ten times a day. But of
course I knew of the Sheikh's prohibition on slaves touching their
own cocks, and even though I was no longer manacled to the shafts,
did not even consider giving myself any relief. The Overseer had
noticed my erections and sometimes pointed out to people the
magnificent equipment on his fine stallion. Fortunately a spell of
hard running usually caused the erection to subside, as trying to
race along with your cock stuck rigidly out in front of you upsets
your balance.

I never had any problem sleeping a deep, dreamless sleep all through
the night in my stall, and even the groans, sighs and other low
animal-like noises of the other ponies in the stable did not keep me
awake. Not for me the constant tossing and turning in bed as my mind
futilely relived the cares and worries of the world, to be followed
by the brain-numbing effects of a sleeping pill.

So I was happy. The Overseer was a good master, and looked after me
well. He never forgot when my regular veterinarian's appointments
were due, and if he ever saw any incipient signs of distress in my
body (save of course for the usual effects of total exhaustion), he
would examine me closely and take me off to get treatment at once if
necessary. As part of his duties as an Overseer, he carried out
regular inspections of the stables, and I liked to think that he
checked the details of its operation so thoroughly because he knew
that it would affect my care.

As usual now on his afternoons off, the Overseer ran me towards the
water hole. He had taken to going there a lot, and I think he
relished the total silence and emptiness of the desert. Constantly
monitoring and checking all the myriad details of the Sheikh's many
operations on the vast estate was a huge responsibility for him, and
I felt he needed to "get away from it all". Even though I waited for
him many evenings outside the Club where I knew he must be using
the "comfort" slaves, and he often took one back to his bungalow for
further activity overnight, I knew this could be no real relaxation
for him. He was after all responsible for the correct functioning of
the Club too, and even as the "comfort" slave pleasured him, I knew
that as a conscientious employee of the Sheikh one part of his mind
would always be monitoring the slave's performance to make sure it
was worthy of his employer. The only time when he was really able to
be away, free from his responsibilities, was on these afternoons at
the water hole, and I was happy for him as he swam and relaxed.

The afternoons fell into a regular pattern. I was always extremely
tired when we arrived from the additional effort of running across
the loose sand, and I was allowed to leave the shafts and squat in
the sand to recover. Then he would sometimes tell me to go into the
water to cool off for a few minutes before he entered it, and I would
run across the sand and dive in. It seemed strange running without a
rickshaw behind, as I could pump my arms in synchronisation with my
legs. I used to extend the sheer pleasure this gave me by running
around the water hole to jump in from the other side - I don't think
the Overseer knew this was why I did it, and I was glad that I was
not causing him to worry that running holding the shafts was not
absolutely right for me.

I never abused the Overseer's kindness, even though I was a strong
swimmer and gloried in the feel of the sparking water all over my
nude body. After no more than five minutes I would stoop down to
have my fill of the clear water to slake my thirst, then run out. I
think the Overseer thought that this was because I was tired of the
water, but of course I could have stayed there for hours taking my
own selfish pleasure. I came out because I did not want to deprive
the Overseer of his own enjoyment any longer - he really needed to
relax after his work. And it would not have been right to have him
swim at the same time as his pony slave. Although I knew that the
guards and the Overseer often swam in the Pool at the Club with
the "comfort" slaves, that was different - the "comfort" slaves were
there to pleasure the masters, and that was their function. Swimming
with a sex toy is different from swimming with your pony.

I then stood on the edge of the water hole and never made any effort
to scrape the excess water from my body with my hands - I just stood
there and let it trickle down, enjoying that special sensation as the
last drops of water drain down your chest, run along your cock, and
drip down from the cock head. There's also something good about the
little ticklish sensations as the water flows between your ass cheeks
and runs down the backs of your thighs and legs. Of course I
assumed "display" whilst I was doing this, with no need for a command
from the Overseer. I knew by now that he liked me to "display" when
not grasping the shafts of the rickshaw, as I had heard him tell his
friend on the previous visit that allowing slaves to stand with their
hands at their sides encouraged them to make gestures to each other
to try to communicate. Of course I would not have attempted to do
this, but I had heard the Overseer's views, and would not dream of
going contrary to them.

This particular afternoon the Overseer allowed me to hunker down, as
he often did - another mark of how he was considerate of me. He then
dropped his cut-offs, and walked into the water. As I usually did, I
watched his cock bounce up and down, free of the restraint of his cut-
offs, then, as he went past me, the movement of his muscular ass and
thighs. It was good to have a master who kept himself in shape, and
I knew he worked out regularly in the gym at the Club. I was
grateful that he had not let himself go to seed, and there was no
discernible thickening of his waist, which was a trim 30" tapering
down from wide shoulders, before his bubble butt flared out again.
Without all the fat that guys in their 30s put on, he was much
lighter and I could pull him faster and further, as he needed.

When he came out of the water, he pulled on his micro bikini and lay
on his towel under the hot sun. I remembered that he wore the bikini
not because he was ashamed of his nakedness in front of his slave - I
knew he never even considered me as another male guy who might be
comparing his equipment with my own - but because he liked to retain
the brilliant streak of white across his backside and around his
genitals. And he did not have to protect these sensitive areas with
sun cream, which he would otherwise have had to do. There was no one
there to rub it in for him as his friend did when he was visiting,
and the Overseer could hardly do it himself - it really is not seemly
for a guy to massage his own ass, and there was of course no question
of commanding me to do it, even though I would willingly have done
so; I was a pony , not a slave to render intimate personal service.

After an hour or so he got up, pushed the bikini off, freed his cock
and balls after their confinement with that little "flip" that most
guys do when undressing, casually scratched his ass, and went back in
for another swim. After that, he got out and pulled on his cut-offs,
and commanded me to get back between the shafts for the journey back
to the central complex.

Just as we were leaving, we saw a cloud of dust in the distance.
He commanded me to stop, and waited to see what it was. As it got
closer we could see - and hear - that it was a light four wheel drive
truck, being driven fast. The Overseer was of course angry, as no
motor vehicles were allowed on the Sheikh's holdings, and he waited
to see who was daring to trespass so flagrantly.

The truck ground to a halt near us, and four Arabs got out, carrying
rifles. The Overseer reached for his own gun from the stun-gun and
rifle holder on the back of the Rickshaw, but as he went for it, a
warning shot caused him to stop. I could understand a lot of
Arabic, as well as English, by now, and I heard one of the Arabs
command the Overseer to stand quite still.

The Arabs came over, and commanded me to get out from the rickshaw.
I did not know what to do, but the Overseer snapped at me "Do what
these men say. They are masters, even though they are not your
master". So I came over and stood next to the Overseer, and, by
reflex, assumed "display".

The Arabs started to laugh, and one said "We have a properly well
trained slave here, I see. As well as being a muscular pony, he's
been taught good manners."

They walked around, inspecting me as I stood there, and another of
the Arabs said "He'll fetch a good price in the slave market. It's a
pity about the brands, though, as we won't be able to put him through
the government's system where we'll get the absolute top price. Even
though we can get his slave number tattoo removed, these brands are
so deep that they'll always be there. The Sheikh who owns this place
has obviously thought things through - no possibility of escaping
slaves, or of theft, with property markings like this. So we'll have
to discount him, through a 'fence'. Still, a satisfactory bit of
flesh to start with."

"There's always a demand for properly trained pony slaves as this one
is - look at the ass and thigh muscles on him. They usually command
very high prices, but we won't be able to sell him for that, as no
one will be able to use him in his proper role. Those brands will
always mark him as stolen property! "

"If we sell him just as a worker, so he's not on such very public
display as he can be kept deep in the middle of a labour gang, we
won't do as well. So I think we'll offer him as a sex slave - he's a
European, and a blond, and they always fetch good prices. Once his
hair and his pubic hair has grown a bit, he'll be a mouth-watering
morsel for those who like the exotic, although it will have to be in
a brothel where the lighting is, like the clientele, discreet so the
brands are not so obvious".

"Perhaps he could be tattooed all over", said another. "If he's
working as a sex slave, some people find that even more exotic. And
with a good all-over design, the brands would be much less visible".

"Don't be so stupid", said the first one. "This slave's value is
entirely in the body. Look at his skin, and how it's that special
brown that only blondes, and Europeans, go. If we cover that with
tattoos, we'll cut his value in half. No, he can go to a brothel
where the clientele like a bit of spice - fucking stolen property
will add that extra bit of fun to fucking a European. Put him in the
box".

They led me towards the truck, and I thought how I had changed. At
one time, I could not understand how men could discuss my body in
front of me, but now I truly understood that the discussion of slaves
was entirely proper for masters, wherever they wanted to do it.

On the back of the truck was a cage, about the size of a domestic
chest refrigerator, with the bars made of thin rods of steel. When I
had been caged before, it was generally in a cage that was upright,
like a phone booth, but I guess this one was horizontal so that it
did not stand up above the open sides of the truck. One of the Arabs
opened the top, and commanded me to get up onto the truck bed and get
in. As I was doing so, another told me to halt, and said "No. I
think we should stop here all night - there's water after all, and
it's going to be dark soon. If the slave is going to be caged all
night, we'd better put it down on the sand so that when he pisses it
doesn't go all over the truck."

I was commanded to help one of the Arabs lift the cage down, and it
was quite heavy. Obviously once inside there could be no escape.

The lid was lifted, and I was commanded to get in and lie down, which
I did, and the top was lowered and secured. Although the cage was
long enough so that I could stretch out fully lengthways, it was
quite narrow and my shoulders were pressing into both sides of the
cage.

I rolled over on to my stomach, and lay there looking out through the
bars, wondering what was going to happen next.

The Arabs were examining the Overseer, saying "This is a real bonus.
Another European. Get naked!"

The Overseer made no move, and the lead Arab commanded again "Get
naked."

Still the Overseer stood there. The Arab went across to the
rickshaw, got out the Overseer's stun gun and suddenly jabbed at him
with it. The Overseer of course screamed as the tip discharged
through him, and fell writhing in agony onto the sand.

He was pulled roughly to his feet, and the Arab said "Now you see how
it is for the slaves. We have captured you, and you're our profit
for this trip. We shall be selling you as slave, and you had better
learn to act like one quickly - you've obviously seen enough of how
cruel masters can be if slaves do not obey them. Now, get naked, as
I want to inspect you properly and I can't do that whilst your best
parts are covered."

Still the Overseer made no move, and I could see him bracing himself
for another jolt of the stun gun. An Arab was just about to do it
when the leader said "No - some slaves do get damaged by those
things, and this is a potentially very valuable one for us. And a
lot of masters like 'spirit' when they first buy a new European
slave, and don't want them broken-in first."

The leader gestured to one of the others, who was behind the
Overseer, and that Arab simply reached around the Overseer's waist,
unbuttoned the top of his cut-offs, and yanked them down to the
ground.

The leader then ran his hands all over the Overseer, probing the
strength of his muscles as they resisted the sharp pressure of the
fingers that tried to dig into them. Then the Overseer was told to
bend over, and, when he did nothing, one of the Arabs caught his left
arm, twisted it up behind his back so much that the Overseer screamed
again, and forced him to bend from the waist.

The leader then rubbed his thumbs on the Overseer's ass cheeks with
his hands on the Overseer's thighs, as he gauged their strength.
Following this, he put one hand on each cheek and pushed them apart,
to see into the Overseer's crack. As a final indignity for the
Overseer, I could see the leader pushing one of his fingers up the
Overseer's ass, and probing around.

The Overseer was allowed to stand upright, and I knew that the
probing must have touched his prostate because he was now very
stiffly erect, and there was some pre-cum dripping from his
cock. "He's not particularly tight down there", the leader told his
men, "but that's not a problem. No one buying him will expect a
virgin at his age. He's got a good cock, though, when it's erect.
We probably ought to make sure he's erect when the presale
inspections are going on - the fashion this season is for cocks that
hang down over elongated ball sacs, and whilst this one's sac is
filled with good balls, it's a tight one, held high up, and as a
consequence his cock lies on it and juts out a bit."

"Now I want to see you cum", he told the Overseer. I could tell the
Overseer was not going to comply, because the leader almost
immediately said "If you don't start wanking yourself, I can easily
get one of my men to do it, or I can do it - we all like slave cock.
But I warn you - it will be rough. If you don't want to end up with
a cock chafed sore from a hand used very harshly, do it yourself!".

Whilst the Overseer was obviously unhappy about having to jerk
himself off in front of these guys, I saw him reach down and start to
rub himself. It wasn't just the shame of a master being forced to
masturbate in front of other men, but because he simply wasn't used
to trying to jerk off standing up. It was only after I had become a
pony slave and was 'milked', standing, every night in the showers
that I had got used to this position. After all, most guys jerk
themselves off lying down, or sitting in a comfy chair.

But he did manage it, and a ribbon of cum was soon hanging from his
detumescing cock.

"OK so far", said the leader. "We don't know whether he's fertile,
for breeding, but at least his balls are genuine and he does an
acceptable amount of spunk".

Now the Overseer spoke, and said "You'll not get away with this. You
will never be able to sell me as s slave, because I'm too well known
in the markets - I go there regularly, to buy on behalf of the
Sheikh. And even if you're on the black market, it's a very small
world in the Capitol, and it will soon be known if I am for sale
anywhere."

"Don't you believe it", said their leader. "We will have you stripped
of all your body hair, and experience shows that even a guy's best
friend doesn't recognise him easily the first time he appears in the
locker room with his body shaved, especially if we have your pubic
hair off, too. Even people who know you well will have doubts. And
we'll make sure you can't say anything, with a good tight ball gag in
your lovely mouth."

"And even if you do protest through the gag, and squirm and wriggle
and make like a free man, the buyers will expect you to do that -
most of the Europeans and Americans put through the sale room for the
first time do that anyway, so there'll be nothing special in your
behaviour. And you know yourself that even the most persistent
protesters can be silenced in an inspection by a good tight grip on
the balls!".

"So don't expect to escape being auctioned. And when you have been
sold, even if you can tell your master who you really are, will he
care? He will have spent a lot of money on you, which would be lost
if he were to admit you were a free man. And, in any case, what is a
free man to someone who purchases slaves? Not some nude guy standing
in front of him - that's a slave, and his past history is of no
concern. All the slaves were free men once, except for those bred on
the farms, after all. No - your new master will simply order you to
be properly trained, so you forget all that nonsense."

"Don't think this is just theory. We have captured lots of free
Americans and Europeans recently because the price of 'wild' slaves
is going so high. You'll just be another one".

"Sure it's illegal to enslave a free man unless he has broken the
law, or heavily in debt. But who cares?".

"Now, put him in the cage, too. Let's go and swim and enjoy the
evening and make a meal".

The Arabs grasped the Overseer's arms and half dragged, half carried
him over to the cage where I was lying. They opened the top, and
pushed the Overseer in down on top of me.

I felt the Overseer's hot, warm chest push into my back, and a
slippery sensation from the top of my ass told me that the Overseer's
cum had now finally dripped off the end of his cock. It was
impossible for us to move now - I had been able to roll over onto my
stomach in the empty cage, but the closeness of the sides and the top
with two of us in it meant that we were both immobile.

We lay there, as close as two men can be unless they are actually
fucking each other, but we did not speak. I couldn't of course, but
even though the Overseer knew that I was, like him, an American, it
simply did not occur to him to address me about anything that is not
the proper concern of a pony slave.

Time passed. I could not sleep, because my breathing was very
restricted and I needed to focus on keeping my chest moving. The
weight of the Overseer, who was quite a heavy guy because he was so
well muscled, pressed down on my back, and even though I gloried in
the feeling of his moist, hairy body against mine, I wished it had
been possible to move so that I was more comfortable.

As ever, the Overseer was sensitive to my needs, and he must have
been having the same kinds of thoughts. He wriggled backwards as far
as he could, commanded me to position my legs so that he could get
his left leg against the bars of our cage, then have his right leg in-
between mine. This had the effect of allowing his feet to drop down
a little, and as he was as far back as he could go, some of the
pressure was relieved from my back.

He was, in effect, straddling my left ass cheek and thigh with his
body. After a few minutes this became uncomfortable for him because
his cock had no freedom to move, pressed as it was into the muscles
of my ass cheek and thigh, hardened by their many hours of running.
He squirmed a bit again to give himself the most comfort that could
be gained in our very close confinement, and after some experiments
to get settled, ended up with his cock nestling in my ass crack.

I was pleased he was happy with this, and he gave a little snuffle of
pleasure, and was obviously drifting off to sleep. Even though I was
more comfortable, I still could not sleep, however. The sensation of
the Overseer's body pressing into mine was simply so overwhelming.
The wonderful softness of his cock in my ass, the spiky bristles of
his pubic hair pressing into my ass cheeks, and the animal warmth of
his hairy body pressing along me were all too much. His warm breath
fanned across my shoulders, as he lay his head against my spine,
below my own.

Although it was not seemly, because I knew it was as a result of my
feelings for the Overseer, I had a massive erection. The power of my
cock pushing into the sand felt as if it was going to raise us both
up, like some sort of car jack. But there was nothing I could do
about it - even had I been able to reach underneath myself and wank,
I could not do this because I would disturb the Overseer, and I
wanted him to be able to enjoy his last night of sleep as a free man
as much as possible. I lay there in silence, enjoying the closeness
of the Overseer and the wonderful sensation you get when an erect
cock continues to strain to make itself free of confinement - it was
like the feelings I used to get when I had an erection at work, and
my cock pushed desperately against my tight bikini underwear to have
release, only more so.

As the Overseer drifted into sleep, the inevitable happened. He was
a fit, virile guy, and those last minutes as he drifted into sleep
brought him erect, and his cock started to make its way further into
my ass crack as his erection strengthened. I did not even give
myself the illusion that this was because the Overseer wanted me for
sex - although he took his pleasure with many "comfort" slaves, and I
had seen he and his friend performing the most joyous sex together
many times in this very spot, his erection was not from desire for
me. It was simply the reaction of any healthy male as he sleeps. I
was a pony slave, and a master could not fuck an animal.

But my own needs were now acute. Whereas before my own cock had at
least been controllable as it tried to escape from its confinement
beneath me, it was now unbearable. As the Overseer's cock buried
itself deeper into my ass, it touched my anus and it was as if an
electric shock had run through me. I had become almost insensitive
to the feeling of fingers and cocks being forced up into me during
the period when the Overseer was breaking me down, and so this
wonderful erotic sensation as the tip of his cock, surely moistened
with pre-cum, I thought, touched me ever so gently.

Without being able to stop myself, I reached backwards and put my
hands on the Overseer's ass cheeks, then ever so timidly tried to
manoeuvre him over my ass so that his cock could slide into me. I
was well practised in taking cocks in, of course, and relaxed my anal
sphincter so that the Overseer's cock head would meet no
resistance. I proceeded infinitely gently, as I was terrified of
waking the Overseer. I had not been ordered to do this, the
Overseer obviously did not want to do it as he would have done it
for himself, and I felt wickedly ashamed that I was planning to
violate the Overseer in this way. I had never before felt that I
dare touch a master without being commanded to do so, and my feelings
as I continued to nudge and move gently to get his cock into me were
I supposed like that of an uncle who tries to violate the virgin hole
of an adolescent nephew who is staying with him and who has
innocently agreed to sleep in the same bed because the house is full
of relatives, without waking the boy. But of course here the roles
were reversed - it was the nephew attempting to get the uncle's cock
up him, without waking the uncle!

But it was no use. Even though the Overseer was obviously at full
erection, only the tip of his cock head could reach into me. My ass
muscles were simply so big from all my exercise, that lying on top of
me the Overseers' cock, large though it was, simply could not reach.
Only if he moved his body further down, so he could enter almost from
below my ass cheeks, would it be possible.

What was I to do? The thought of waking the Overseer, and trying to
encourage him into me, was shocking. He needed his sleep before the
horrors of the coming day. And my next thought was worse. I was big
and powerful - if I suddenly pulled hard on his buttocks and pushed
him down and in, I could have him inside me before he woke. This was
monstrous - I was planning to violate my master. How could I even
contemplate such a thing? He would lose his freedom of choice about
sex soon enough, and he deserved this last night of freedom. Was it
so important to me? I was after all used to being a slave and being
used and abused in every way possible, but the Overseer was not.

I curbed my lustful desires, and moved my hands off his delightful
backside. But even though my will had overcome my consciously-
controlled body, the deeper, more primitive reflexes controlling my
cock were not so easily conquered. With aching, jerking spasms, I
shot a massive load of cum quite involuntarily down into the sand. I
had not had an involuntary ejaculation since I was 12 - the first and
only one. After I had told a friend and he had whispered to me about
jerking off, I never again went for so long without doing it that an
involuntary release of cum ever happened again. And, after all,
in "normal" life, if you were on an aeroplane, or in the office, or
at a party, or wherever, there was always a bathroom that you could
quickly retire to if an erection got particularly painful, and give
yourself relief before ejaculation happened of its own accord.

I lay there panting slightly, but the Overseer did not wake. But
something of my spasming must have transmitted itself through our
bodies to his unconscious mind, as I felt his cock ripple slightly,
and could feel more pre-cum trickle on to my hot anus.

We lay like that until dawn, when the Overseer awoke naturally. He
was stiff and up my ass crack of course, with the morning erection
you always expect. He made no comment on this, in fact he made no
comment at all. But he reached down underneath him, freed his cock
from my crack, wriggled his ass slightly to position himself better,
and then, as his erection died, pissed down between my legs into the
sand underneath us. The power of his pissing was so strong that I
could feel little splashes bouncing off the sand and hitting my
balls, and I almost had another involuntary ejaculation with the
exquisite sensation this caused me.

We continued to lie there , waiting for the Arabs to wake, and his
bristly face rasped across my back as he occasionally moved to adjust
his position slightly.

Eventually the Arabs awoke, went and drank at the water-hole, and
made their desert breakfast of dates and bread. We both lay there
watching them, but were offered nothing.

They packed up their kit and loaded it into the truck, and then it
was our turn. One of the Arabs came over and said "We're not going
to feed you, but you need to drink. It's a long, hot day ahead of
you."

So saying, he pulled up his robes and crouched down at the head of
the cage, in front of us. He pointed his penis at me, and said "open
wide". I obeyed, and a stream of his piss shot into my mouth, which
I swallowed greedily as I was by now very thirsty.

Another Arab came up to emulate his companion, and it was now the
Overseer's turn to drink. He was ordered to open his mouth, but I
could tell that he must be refusing because the Arab leader came up,
looked down at him, and said "My friend, you are being very stupid.
If you do not drink now, you may die later today as we have a long
way to drive across the desert. Remember, whilst there's life,
there's hope, and whilst you may not enjoy your new status as a
slave, it is better than being dead of thirst".

I think the Overseer must have agreed, because the Arab started to
piss, directing the warm golden stream over my head. Of course
droplets sprayed down on to me, as most guys' piss stream is not
completely smooth because of small irregularities in the piss slit,
and this one's was no exception. And, of course, as he finished and
the pressure dropped, the last few CCs fell over my back, neck and
head. The Arabs were all laughing at the way we had drank our
rations of piss, comparing me to the Overseer. But I knew what he
must be going through - I was used to the warmth, the smell and the
taste of all kinds of piss from those fatal days when I was used as a
urinal whilst being broken. But the Overseer had no previous
experience, and I knew it must be deeply humiliating for him to have
to drink in this way.

The Arabs then needed to load our cage onto the truck before setting
off, but the four of them could not easily lift the metal structure
with both of inside it - we were, as I have said, both big, heavy
slaves , packing all the muscle we did. So they opened the cage lid,
and told us to get out.

The Overseer stumbled to his feet, followed by me, and stood there
flexing his cramped body. I of course immediately assumed
the "display" position, as I had been given no other orders and my
reflexes as a trained slave took over. The Arabs were lulled by my
obvious subservience, and focussed their attention on the Overseer,
with all four of them having their guns pointed at him to make sure
he did nothing foolish - everyone knows that slaves are at their most
dangerous in the first few days of slavery, before they have been
given any training in subservience.

We were commanded to pick up our cage and load it into the truck, and
as the Overseer bent to obey, I saw what was probably our only
chance - I knew that once we were back in the cage and were driven to
the slave market, the Overseer's life as a freeman would be over as
there would be no opportunity for him to escape. So I flung myself
at one of the Arabs, hitting him hard in the back. My momentum sent
him cannoning into one of the others, sending them both sprawling to
the floor My body crashed down on top of them, knocking the wind out
of them and temporarily rendering them incapable of action.

This so startled the other two that their attention was diverted, and
the Overseer snatched the gun from one of them. Everything is now
confused, as after my initial decision to act, when I had time
to "observe" my action, everything went with a blur. They say that
you see everything in a time of crisis, however brief the interval,
and this belief is encouraged by the prevalence of "slow motion"
inserts into movies, where the characters have endless time to review
what is going on and then do the right thing. But it's not like that
in practice, and everything happened so fast that I'm still not sure
what went on. And certainly I did not "think" or "plan" - if I did
anything, it was entirely by reflex.

It seemed to me that the leader of the Arabs started to turn his gun
towards the Overseer, who got in first and shot him before the leader
had finished aiming. This gave the other Arab time to swivel his gun
towards the Overseer, and take aim. I saw this, and "thought" that
there was no way that there would be time for the Overseer to turn
the gun around and save himself. I felt my body spring up from on
top of the Arabs I had downed initially. With a huge push from my
powerful legs I was flying through the air towards the Overseer and
the Arab who was about to shoot. There was a terrific bang, and my
world exploded into pain.

I had stopped the bullet intended for the Overseer, who now shot the
rifle out of the Arab's hands. The leader, lying on the floor after
being shot, was screaming in pain and shouting commands to his men.
The Overseer pointed his gun as the disarmed Arabs, but then decided
not to shoot them.

The Arabs got their wounded leader into the truck, and drove off,
leaving the cage in the desert. To this day I do not know why the
two Arabs on the ground did not release their guns and attack the
Overseer. At the time, I did not know why the Overseer did not shoot
the Arabs, either, but I was to find out later.

The Overseer was whooping with glee and exultation, but then he
turned and saw me. I was trying to get up off the sand, but could
not. One arm had forced my body almost upright, but there was blood
pouring out of my left thigh in a rich red fountain. I must have
looked like that famous Roman bronze of the dying gladiator that's in
one of the world's great museums.

"Oh my god", he shouted, "that's arterial blood". He rushed over and
pinched my leg, hard, so hard that I could feel it even over all the
other pain in my body. "Lie still and stick your thumb there", he
commanded pushing my free hand into the hole in my leg. He looked
around, saw his cut-offs lying in the sand where they had lain since
being stripped off him the previous afternoon, leapt up, got them,
and with maniacal frenzy, tore them into strips. Then he rushed over
to the rickshaw to get something, and came back to me.

He made a tourniquet from the strips of cut-off, and used my
stainless steel bridle to twist it so tight that the blood flow from
the hole stopped spurting. "First Aid 101 ", he said "Stop arterial
bleeding at whatever the cost, else the patient dies within two or
three minutes. Then get immediate medical help, before the stopping
of the blood flow to the affected limb causes irreparable damage".

"Well, the first part has been done, but the 'immediate medical
help' is a bit of a challenge. I assume you don't want to die,
though, and if there is to be irreparable damage, there's not much I
can do - but I'll do my damnedest!".

He half dragged me, half carried me to the rickshaw, and somehow got
me up onto the seat. He slipped between the shafts, and started
running across the sands. As I lay there, only half conscious, I
thought what a topsy-turvy world it seemed. Yesterday I had been
pulling the Overseer, like the good pony slave I was. Last night we
were both slaves together. And now he was pulling me, as if he were
the pony slave and I was the master!

As I saw his strong, hard buttocks pump away, straining as we went
across the loose sand, I felt nothing but love for the Overseer.
When we got to the road he ran on, faster and faster. I knew from
seeing Mike and Hans earlier in the week that the pace was
impossible, even for slaves in the peak of condition if they are not
trained runners. Even though the Overseer kept himself in good shape,
there's a difference between that and the kind of work you can do
when your body has been trained to do nothing but that, day in and
day out. But somehow he did go on, a tribute to what the body can do
if absolutely essential. I could do nothing, but lie there and watch
the two white patches on his ass rise and fall as he pounded along
the road.

.....to be continued.

THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE, PART 15

By Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)

ANIMAL HOSPITAL

We arrived at the entrance to the veterinarian's clinic and the nude
Overseer flung open the door and rushed in, shouting. He came out a
moment later with the veterinarian, who took one look at the blood
still oozing out copiously from me in spite of the tourniquet, and
told the Overseer to get me inside. They lifted me between them,
and I was laid onto the leather examining table.

The veterinarian rushed around, connecting me quickly to a saline
drip, and examining the wound before daring to touch the tourniquet.
I heard him say to the Overseer "There's not much hope - he's lost
too much blood, and the wound is too deep."

The Overseer was standing there, with his chest heaving from the
effort of the run, and with sweat running down him that mingled with
my blood that was covering his chest and crotch - I don't remember
things all that clearly, but I do remember his penis being stained
that very dark red of arterial blood. He made a Herculean effort and
shouted at the veterinarian "This slave is to be saved. I don't care
what it takes. Just make him live."

My pain was indescribable, and as the veterinarian started to probe
the wound it got even worse than anything I had ever known before. I
knew I would be screaming and shouting had I been able, and I was
unable to stop my body starting to thrash around.

"Hold him still, if there's to be any chance at all", the
veterinarian shouted to the Overseer, who came around behind the head
of the table and pressed my shoulders down, whilst one of the slaves
from the office grasped my ankles to stop my legs kicking. In spite
of everything else, I remember looking up into the Overseer's face as
he pressed down on me with all his strength, and seeing genuine
concern in his eyes.

The veterinarian pricked me arm with a needle, and I felt the pain
begin to lessen, and my consciousness start to slip away. The
Overseer was able to let go of my shoulders, came around to stand by
the side of me remote from where the veterinarian was working, and
took my hand between his two. My last waking thought was one of calm
reassurance as he squeezed my hand in that universal gesture of
support that people can only manage in times of great crisis. His
bloodstained naked body was shaking with emotion. I could no longer
summon the effort to keep my eyes looking up into his, and as my
eyelids started to close, my gaze fell down and my last waking sight
was of the Overseer's lovely cock riding high on his tight, rounded
balls.

I came to, and was looking at a white ceiling. I hurt all over, but
it was a gentle dull pain from all over my body, unlike the cruel,
sharp pain following my gunshot wound. I tried to move a hand, but
it seemed stuck in some way. I couldn't move my legs, either. I lay
there in terror - probably I wasn't thinking straight as I awoke from
the anaesthetic the veterinarian had administered, but for many long
moments I thought that I had lost all control of my muscles. I knew
that injury to the spinal chord could leave a person completely
paralysed, and this is what must have happened to me. I was unable
to control myself, and tears for my lost body coursed down my cheeks.

Then I realised that the tears were being gently wiped away, and
tried to turn my head, and succeeded. At least some of my body could
still move. I desperately tried to focus my eyes, as things started
to come into focus, I saw that it was the Overseer, sitting in a
chair beside me, who was so gently stroking my face with a tissue to
dry away the tears.

"Don't fret", I heard him say. "You're going to be OK. It was a
close call, but the veterinarian did a heroic job and you survived."

As my senses started to recover more and more, I moved my head
around, and experimentally tried to move my arms and legs again -
yes! - there was some motion, but I could only move them for an inch
or two. But if I could move then a little, surely that meant that
there was life in the nerves, and I wouldn't be a paraplegic?

I tried again, and then saw my true predicament. I was lying on a
leather-topped hospital bed, nude, and my ankles and wrists were
chained to the four corners of the bed. A broad webbing strap around
the bed and my waist held my trunk immobile.

The veterinarian came in, and the Overseer said "Is it really
necessary to have him chained up like this? After what he did for
me, there's absolutely no possibility that he has any thought of
harming a master. Keeping him chained whilst he's in a hospital is
just barbaric".

The veterinarian gave a wry smile and said "You've changed your tune
a bit! Who was always on about slaves being animals, not needing any
consideration. Why does it matter if he's chained or not - it's only
a human who should be in the slightest bit concerned about his
predicament, or so you are always telling me! But in any case we
don't have any choice - the Sheikh's orders are that all slaves in
here in the treatment ward must have their wrists chained. And as
far as his legs go, it's a matter of necessity - it is absolutely
essential his left leg is kept immobile to avoid disturbing the
stitches and dressings, and I don't want his right leg being able to
thrash free either and inadvertently disturb them when he's asleep.
The trunk strap stops him moving from the top of the legs, and that's
also necessary."

"How long will he be here?" asked the Overseer, "and will he be all
right - is he going to be able to run properly again?"

"For god's sake!" the veterinarian exploded. "The slave saved your
life, from what you have been telling me, and you want to know if he
will be able to run again! Have you no more concern for him than
when he'll again be able to pull you around in that rickshaw of
yours?"

"But yes, the leg will recover. If he's then trained properly, and
allowed to exercise gently to rebuild his strength gradually, he will
be as good as before at running. His appearance will be spoiled a
bit, as even though I have been very careful, the wound was so bad
that there will always be some scarring visible. I'm afraid that the
Sheikh's investment will have gone down in value somewhat - it will
still be able to fulfil it's purpose, but it won't look as nice.
It'll be like when a car has had its first accident - it's never
quite the same afterwards, and it always looks slightly damaged, no
matter how good the repair shop is."

"You've got me wrong!", the Overseer snapped. "I care about whether
the slave will be able to run not because I want him back between the
shafts quickly, but because I know that, to him, running is very
important. Indeed, I think his whole personality is defined by his
own perception of his body. During the last five years I know 'he'
wasn't there after I finally tamed him by forcing on to his body
endless acts that he found repugnant. When he 'came back', in these
last few weeks, it has been a very special sight to see - he has been
glorying in his body, running harder and faster than ever before, and
it has been clear from the way that he has been holding himself and
generally disporting his body that he admires, respects, wonders at,
loves... I don't know.... 'he' is his body. If he was not to recover
it in all its, to him, perceived glory, I think it would drive him
over the edge into catatonia and we would never get him back again.
So that's why I am worried sick - I have seen how completely and
amazingly loyal this pony is, and I want to repay that loyalty in
some way. Isn't there a famous Christian passage that
begins 'Greater love hath no man than this than to lay down his life
for his friend?' He was prepared to lay down his life for mine, and
I never even thought of him as a friend, only as a piece of property."

The veterinarian shrugged, unable to reply, and I saw him preparing a
needle which slid into my arm. I drifted back into sleep.

Each time I woke over the next few days the Overseer would be sitting
there, patiently watching me. On about the fourth day as I came out
from sleep, I was aware that I had an erection - you can always feel
that little sensation in your balls when you know your cock is ready
to fire, and I lay there in a half-doze enjoying it for itself, and
also for what else it was - another sign of my return to full
health. I must have stayed in that wonderful semi-awake state for
about twenty minutes, and it was like being back at home again when I
was at high school. Back then I tried to lie there, just enjoying
my erection without touching it or anything, just feeling it there,
feeling it stretching my skin, feeling it tugging at my balls, and
feeling that general 'sex' sensation throughout my genitalia and the
sensitive area down to my anus. Of course, as soon as I did touch
it, that was that - normally the moment my hand reached out for the
engorged cock, I couldn't stop my self from wanking, and after a very
few strokes my cock would be spasming, my balls jerking in my sac,
and a huge jet of cum would leap into the air. Then I had problems -
I always knew afterwards that I should take a tissue first, but I
never did - I always went straight from blissful contemplation of my
erection to complete flying cum, and then had to leap about and do
something about the bed. Even though your mom knows that you are
mature and therefore are masturbating, there's a difference
between 'knowing' and 'saying', and I don't think any adolescent lad
likes to leave cum stains all over his bed sheets.

But as I now came fully awake, there was no possibility of moving to
the second stage, as my hands were manacled. The Overseer was there
as usual, watching me, and of course saw the erection. He thought
nothing of it, because he had seen me erect many times before whilst
I was shackled in the rickshaw, and knew that this was perfectly
normal for a healthy young slave. (Indeed, had I not had regular
erections during the day, I think he would have taken me to the
veterinarian to make sure I was not coming down with some illness).
But now he obviously recognised it as a sign of my returning health,
and looking between it and me, grinned and said "Great. I like to
see you doing that again. That's the first time since you were shot,
five days ago."

Then, and I think this shows what a considerate master he was, he
continued "Of course, though, your balls must be aching. You
normally get 'milked' daily, and now you've got five days' worth in
there. I think you'd like relief, wouldn't you?"

This was the first time he had ever asked me a direct question, and I
was so nearly overcome with emotion that found it difficult to nod my
agreement.

"I'll go and check with the veterinarian that it won't do you any
harm, then. We don't want to set back your recovery just for a few
moments of passion. If he says it's OK, I'll bring a slave back
to 'milk' you.", he said, and got up and went out.

I lay there thinking about this. My master had shown genuine concern
for me. He had understood what I needed. I felt so grateful that it
was difficult not to cry. But when the door opened, he was alone. I
wasn't going to get relief, but I didn't care - what was the small
ache in my sac compared to the fact that my master had thought about
my needs?

The Overseer sat down again by my bedside, and said "The good news is
that the veterinarian says that letting you purge all that old semen
would be good for you. The bad news is that I am going to do the
milking!. Although there are lots of slaves around, I want to
perform this service for you. It's bad news because I am not an
expert - I only have experience of wanking two cocks, my own, and my
friend's - and he always complains and says I am not as gentle with
him as he would like!"

He spat into his palm and made sure his hand was moist all over,
reached out for my cock and started to stroke it slowly and gently.
It was the most wonderful experience I have ever had. Of course
physically one hand wanking you is much like another, and the only
differences are the speed, the pressure they exert, and whether they
keep your cock straight or move it up and down with the strokes. But
an awful lot of sex is in the brain and is really about feelings and
emotions, and whatever the Overseer's wanking may have lacked
physically, the other components were there in force. After a much
too short interval of the most pure, exquisite pleasure, my cock
jerked and jerked and spewed out ropes and ropes of thick cum.

I was horrified to see that the Overseer had not been expecting me to
reach a climax so soon, and had not moved out of the firing line.
His beautiful hairy forearm was dripping with my cum, and some was
trickling down the top of his chest, too, getting stuck on the thatch
of hair between his wonderful pecs.

He wasn't angry at all. He looked at me, smiled, and bent over and
touched his lips to the tip of my detumescing cock in an ever so
gentle, tender, kiss.

This moment of silent communion between us was broken when the
veterinarian then came into the room. We both knew that there had
been a special moment of bonding between us, but it was still too
fragile, and the presence of another caused the bonds to snap.

The Overseer covered his emotion by saying to the veterinarian "Look,
even though he has to be chained, does he have to lie here nude like
this? Get him covered with a sheet or something."

But the veterinarian would have none of it. "Stop that", he
said, "You're going down that path that you always tell others to
avoid. You're starting to think of a slave as a man. I can't cover
him, because we have no sheets here - this is a slave medical
facility. And if you sent sheets over from your bungalow, I wouldn't
cover him - we have to make sure slaves are treated as slaves. I
suppose, though, you're going to tell me that the sheets would be a
safety measure, to prevent you becoming inadvertently covered in the
slave's cum when, quite without warning, he had a massive involuntary
ejaculation!". He smiled as he said this, and I knew he must know
something of the Overseer's real feelings.

The Overseer bent over me again and said "I have to go to the city
for a couple of days, but I can do so now that I know you're really
recovering. The veterinarian tells me that you're going to be got up
and started walking tomorrow, and so by the time I get back, I will
expect to see a massive improvement in your condition".

It was indeed so - helped by a couple of slaves, the following
morning I took my first faltering steps, and then more in the
afternoon. The veterinarian was amazed at my progress, and ascribed
it to my superb physique and fitness before the shooting. But I
knew it was because I wanted to please the Overseer.

He was in fact away four days, and I was growing steadily more
worried about him. Suppose those slavers had set upon him again on
the road, and he was even now strapped on his knees on some pedestal,
being displayed for potential new owners?

I was chained by the wrists to the bed as usual when he did come
back, although my ankles and middle were now free as there was no
longer any danger of the stitches breaking loose, and I could lie
there flexing my muscles as an aid to keeping them in shape. He was
accompanied by the veterinarian, who snapped at me "open wide!"

This command was usually the prelude to something unpleasant, but I
obediently opened my mouth. He took out his dental mirror and an
instrument, and fiddled around in my mouth for a bit, then said "all
done", and left the Overseer and me alone.

The Overseer said "Steve?" , and I was so amazed at hearing my name
for the first time for over five years that, absolutely by reflex and
instinct, I said "Yes?".

The Overseer burst out laughing, and then, when I realised what had
happened, so did I. My tongue restraint had been removed by the
veterinarian, and the Overseer had used a clever psychological trick
to get me to use a word. I learned later that, after many years of
silence, some slaves never spoke even when unrestrained, and the
Overseer wanted to give me the best chance he knew how. Your name is
so much a part of you, that losing it in favour of a number when you
become a slave is one of the most dehumanising parts of the
experience. Hearing it again and rapping out the reflex answer had
convinced my brain that I could again speak.

I was still chained, of course, and the Overseer told me that he had
gone to the City to see the Sheikh to try to convince him that I
should be freed. The Sheikh would not agree, saying that it was
belief that "once a slave, always a slave". But in reward for saving
the Overseer's life he was prepared to give me back speech - but only
on pain of only using it between the Overseer and me, and then only
when it was clear that there were no other slaves or masters able to
hear us.

"We won't talk much at first", said the Overseer, "as it's important
your speech comes back naturally. Let me tell you about me, and how
I came to be here."

I lay back of the bed, and started to listen.

THE OVERSEER'S STORY

"I grew up in a small town in Wyoming. I was always a rebel at
school. In Junior High I gave up working, and had a terrible
reputation with the teachers. My grades were at the bottom. My mom
didn't care, as all she wanted was a good time and provided she could
go out with my step dad every night, that was OK. I never knew my
real dad, and I think my step dad was jealous of the small amount of
affection my mom actually did have for me. He hardly ever spoke to
me, and if I offended him in any way - any way at all - he hit me."

"I supposed it's 'compensation', but as I worked less and less I
exercised more and more. I tried to spend all my time in the gym.
If I couldn't get in to the gym, I ran through the countryside, and
swam in the local river. I didn't get much food at home, so I grew
up skinny, but I had good muscles from all the exercise. I was
waiting to blossom, and as soon as puberty hit, I started to gain
muscle power. Then I used to steal money and buy food with it - not
candy, like the other kids, but fruit, and cheese, that I could eat
without anyone seeing me."

"By the time I was sixteen I had a hard body. I was always in
trouble, and could defend myself in a street fight against kids two
or three years older than me. My mom had totally given up on me, and
told the school counsellors that 'I was beyond control'."

"I knew about sex, of course, and had been getting it up various
girls - usually a bit older than me - since I was 14. There was a
girl in school who was gorgeous, and the whole football team as
trying to get into her pants. I was always telling her that I was
willing - but she thought I was an obnoxious little brat. I was too
young, she said, and she liked being seen with the school's top jocks
not some junior troublemaker."

"But one day I came across her when I was out running. She was
sitting in her car, crying. I stopped, and she told me that the
captain of the Football Team had just raped her - it wasn't a
complete rape, I suppose, as everyone knew she had been sleeping with
him for weeks. But on that day she hadn't wanted to go all the way,
but he had, and so instead of stopping when asked, he had simply gone
on, and he was so powerful there was nothing she could do."

"I listened, and thought 'so what?'. But I said 'there, there', and
put my arm around her. One thing led to another, and I ended up the
afternoon fucking her too. She must have been a real cock teaser,
thought, because although we had had a really great bout of foreplay,
just as I was going to stick it in her, and was straddling her,
really stiff and hard, she told me to stop! Of course I didn't -
when a guy is at that point, there's no stopping! And what was good
enough for the Football Team Captain was good enough for me!"

"She told her parents she had been raped by me. There was no mention
of the Football Team Captain. They came around to see my mom and
step dad, and when I got home that night my step dad beat me up. I
was so badly bruised I couldn't go to school the next day in case
they thought my parents were child abusers. I lay in bed, groaning,
and then my step dad came into the house unexpectedly early - my mom
was not home yet."

"He came up into my bedroom, and started screaming and shouting at me
again. He was worried about the legal bills if the girl's parents
sued, and about the costs if she did have a kid and we had to bring
it up. And, he said, you're only 16 and it's illegal still at that
age in this state. Your mom and I can be fined."

"He got more and more irate, and I never said a thing. Finally,
after it had been going on for about 15 minutes and I was hearing
the same old crap over and over, I told him to shut the fuck up".

"He went berserk. He slapped my face very hard on both sides
several times, and grabbed my shoulders and banged me up and down
several times on the bed. I always slept in boxer shorts and so my
shoulders were bare - I could see marks appearing on my skin where
his fingers dug in to me."

"He was beside himself as my beating continued. His fists slammed
into my belly. He hit my head again. Then I heard him say 'you need
a real lesson. We've put up with you for too long. You never learn.
Perhaps this will teach you'.".

He grabbed me and flipped me over on to my stomach, and pinioned me
down to the bed with one arm and his heavy body. I felt his other
hand scrabbling at my boxers, and then they were torn form me in a
frenzy."

"As I lay there, with my face pushed in to the bed, I could hear him
fiddling with the belt on his jeans. Then he started to hit my naked
ass with it. It went on and on. In books they suggest that it's the
leather of the belt that hurts you. It does, but the most painful
part is the buckle, and the spike thing in the middle. That's the
bit that draws blood first."

He couldn't stop, and the belt hit me in the back, and over my
shoulders. I was being seriously hurt, but there was nothing I could
do - I just had to lie there until his passion burned itself out.
When it did stop, I was crying. And he was sobbing, too, those deep
sobs from the bottom of the diaphragm that only big men do."

"I heard him say 'This is for your own good'. And from the corner of
my eye saw his jeans hit the floor, followed by his boxers. Over his
sobs he was saying 'An eye for an eye', the bible says. 'You raped
that girl - see how you like it'."

The next moment the pain I had experienced whilst he was beating me
was as nothing as his heavy body crashed into my bruised and bleeding
back and ass. He was fumbling around, and then I felt something I
had never experienced before - something shoving at my asshole."

"I won't go on. It's still too awful to think about. It was a
disgusting, brutal rape of a virgin 16 year old by a forty year old
man."

"When he had finished and I was left alone, I lay there sobbing on my
bed. Some time later he came in and said 'If you ever tell your mom
what I just did to you, I'll do it again, and again. And she won't
believe you anyway - parents never believe that their partners can be
abusing their children.'"

"When mom came home she was appalled when she saw the state of my
body, but I knew my step dad was right, and she wouldn't believe me
if I told the truth about what had happened. So I told her I had
been beaten up by a gang at school who had heard about me raping the
girl."

"She wanted to call the police, but my step dad craftily persuaded
her that it was best to let sleeping dogs lie - if we made no more
fuss, all the rape stuff would die away."

"All of this would have been bad enough, but a couple of weeks later
my mom went away to visit her sister for the weekend. My step dad
was in a foul mod, and I kept out of his way. I was in bed when he
came back from the bar, and I heard him stumbling up the stairs. He
came into my room, and pulled the covers off me. I watched in horror
as he pulled off his T-shirt, dropped his jeans, and pushed his
boxers to the floor. He was erect, of course."

"He threw himself down on top of me - I was lying on my back, and his
face was pushed into mine. He forced his mouth over mine, and tried
to kiss me. I kept my mouth closed, but his hand reached down
between us into my boxers and gripped my balls. He said 'open your
mouth you little fucker, if you don't want me to rip your balls off',
and gave me a hard squeeze to show he meant business. I opened my
mouth, and his tongue went deep into my throat - it was repulsive. I
could taste the stale beer, and the pizza he had had earlier."

"Still with his tongue down my throat he let go of my balls and used
the hand to pull off my boxers. Then he wriggled on top of me
completely, and I was almost completely suffocated by his weight.
His hand forced my legs apart, and his finger felt for my anus and
then pushed in. He found my prostate, and then I had an erection,
which jabbed in to his balls as his own cock was flattened between my
stomach and his."

"With both hands he grabbed my ankles, pushed them up and over
towards my shoulders, and thus exposed my ass so that he could fuck
me again with his fat prick."

When he had finished, he stood up and pulled on his boxers. He
looked at me lying on the bed snivelling, and said 'You're a better
fuck than your mother. I'm going to have you every week as a special
treat'."

"I quit the house that night. He passed out in a deep alcoholic
sleep after he had drunk a few more beers, so I went through his
pockets and took the remainder of his week's wages that hadn't
already been spent at the bar. I went to the bus station, and used
most of the money to buy a ticket to Dallas - not because I wanted to
go there especially, but because there was a bus about to leave, and
I wanted to get away as far as possible."

"I never saw my mom or step dad again."

"In Dallas late the next night I had no money, and I was hungry.
There was a cold wind in the bus station, and I tried to huddle on a
bench in the corner until morning, but a cop turned me out saying
that they liked to keep the bus station for decent people."

"As I was trailing out, slowly and miserably into the night, a guy
came up to me and said 'hey, kid, are you lost?'. I told him no, I
was just waiting for someone, and he said 'Well, whilst you're
waiting, come and have a pizza with me'. I followed him to an all-
night pizza place, and he bought me a pizza, which I wolfed down. I
could see him watching me with interest, and he asked 'Run away?'. I
told him to fuck off, as it was none of his business, and he just
smiled."

"We left the pizza place, and he said 'My car's down there', and I
followed him and got into a big black Lincoln. We drove to the
suburbs, and went into his house. I think he genuinely wanted to be
kind, but as he was showing me into a room where I could spend the
night, he rubbed a hand over my ass, outside my jeans."

"I went berserk. Even though I was only 16, I was tough and strong.
He was in his late forties, I guess, and overweight. He was no match
for me, and I flailed at him with my fists, knocking him to the
ground. I punched him in the head many times. There was blood
everywhere, and I broke his glasses. I left him crawling around his
house, blood streaming from him, sobbing."

"But before I went, I had a good look around. In his study I found a
lot of really hard pornography - really young boys, you know the kind
of thing. And $500 dollars or so. I left with the money and some of
the magazines - he never reported the theft, because I suppose he was
scared of the magazines coming to light in evidence."

"I got a really grungy room downtown. I spent my days at the YMCA
gym and pool. Whenever my money started to run out, I hung around
the Convention Centre waiting for delegates from out of town looking
for a boy for the night. There were usually about 10 of us there,
and it was known locally as 'the meat rack'. Most of them were 18 to
20 years old, and I was the youngest. But most of the others were on
drugs, and were 'weedy' - I was the only one with a nice-looking
body, and was usually the first choice of a guy looking for a trick."

"But I only ever went off with older, fat guys, who I knew couldn't
defend themselves. In their hotel room, I would usually take off my
shirt to show them a promise of what they could have, then the moment
they started to undress and were relatively helpless, I would lay
into them and beat them into a pulp. I usually got four or five
hundred dollars from their wallets, as being at a convention they had
a lot of cash for drinks. And I guess those that came looking for
boys on the meat rack knew they needed cash to pay them off anyway."

"I was 17 and after those two times with my step dad I had never let
a man touch me seriously again. But I had lost all interest in
girls. I just spent my time working out and watching TV, with the
occasional night where I robbed some old faggot."

"My mistake, however, was to go off one night with a really fat
Arab. He didn't seem to know how to work the meat rack, and was
trying to feel the muscles of the guys as we stood there! Of course,
I now know that this was normal behaviour for someone from this
society, being used to slaves as he was, but I didn't know that then,
and went off with him.
I took over $2000 from his room as I left him gasping in a pool of
his own blood and vomit."

"I thought I had it made - I wouldn't need to 'work' for several
weeks. But as I left the room, there were four Arabs standing in
the corridor. They grabbed me, and went into the room. The game was
up, I thought - the cops would be called, and I'd be jailed. And I
had heard a lot of stories about what happens to good-looking young
boys in jail."

"The fat guy was recovering, and was obviously in charge, because the
four other Arabs were rushing around obeying his orders. I didn't
know what they were saying, as it was in Arabic and I couldn't speak
the language then. One of them was on the phone, and another was
helping the fat guy by sponging the blood and puke off his clothes."

"One of the two others held on to me - he had my arm twisted behind
my back, but wasn't pushing it up too high, so I could stand there
relatively comfortably, but couldn't escape. After some further
conversation, the fourth Arab stood in front of me and in perfect
English said 'We are the Sheikh's body guards. Unlike our master,
we are all fit and tough. If you make one false move, any one of us
can break every bone in your body. Ahmed is now going to let your
arm go, and you are going to stand there, quite still'."

"My arm was freed, and the Arab then said 'Now get naked. The Sheikh
was disappointed not to see you earlier on , but wants to look now.'
I said 'Fuck you', and the next minute was sprawling on the floor.
Without a moment's hesitation the Arab had whipped his arm across his
body to smash into my face, and the sheer power knocked me flying."

"I was hauled to my feet. My ears were singing, and it was difficult
to hear. The room was flicking up and down as my eyes tried to
adjust. The Arab said 'No more games. I can hurt you more than you
can imagine. Now get naked."

"I saw I had no choice, and started to undress, watched by the Sheikh
and the four other Arabs. I was of course used to getting changed at
the YMCA in front of lots of other guys, but this was different - it
was only me taking off my clothes, and all the others were
concentrating on watching me. I stood there in my boxers."

"The next minute I was sprawling on the floor again, after another
hard, fast blow to my head. Again I was pulled to my feet. 'Perhaps
you don't understand', the Arab said, 'When I tell you to get naked,
I mean you to do it. Totally nude. Not half covered, in boxers. Now,
for the last time, strip'."

"I could see there was no choice, so put my hands in the waistband of
my boxers and pushed them off down over my hips. I saw their eyes
watching me, and moved my hands down to cover my genitals. 'Hands
behind your head', the Arab said, 'We want to see exactly what we
have - or, should I say, exactly what you have!', and when I
hesitated, he raised his forearm ready to strike me again. I put my
hands behind my head, and stood there, feeling a dreadful hot blush
start to creep up my neck and face."

"'Very good', said the Arab. 'Now turn around.' And then, a few
minutes later, 'Keep you r hands behind your head and bend over so
your head is between your knees'."

"I did as I was told, and felt the muscles of my ass and the backs of
my thighs stretch and extend as I did. 'Now reach behind you, and
spread your ass cheeks', I was told. This was probably the most
humiliating thing I had ever done in my life, but I had no choice."

"I was made to stand there like that for a couple of minutes, and
there was some more discussion amongst the Arabs. Then, without any
warning, a couple of them simply picked me up and carried me into the
bathroom. My hands were cuffed and the cuffs looped around the
shower rail, and I was left standing there, naked, in the bathtub.
After an hour or so I was cold - the room's air conditioning was
fierce - and I needed desperately to pee. So I called out. One of
the Arabs came into the bathroom. He was naked, and I had a tanned
muscular body with lots of straight black hair all over it. When I
told him I needed to pee, he said 'Do it. You're standing in the
tub, so you won't make too much mess for us. And don't disturb us
again. This is the body guards' bedroom outside, and we need our
sleep."

"I hung there all night, shivering to keep warm. Then the door
opened and one of the other Arabs, also naked, came in and casually
peed into the toilet, simply ignoring me standing there. Through the
open door I could see that two of the bodyguards had been sleeping in
each of the two double beds in the room - one still had both
occupants, and the other had just been left by the guy peeing. His
companion was lying there, exposed from where the covers had been
thrown over, and I could see a massive erection."

"Could it be, I wondered, that these four guys always slept with each
other, and shared beds? Just thinking about it made me feel strange,
and I started to erect. But then all four came crowding into the
bathroom, as they needed to get ready for the morning. They turned
the shower attachment on, and in spite of me hanging there, took
turns to shower. Just as the last one was finishing, he said
something to the others who were shaving and cleaning their teeth at
the sinks, and they obviously agreed because one went into the
bedroom, came back into the bathroom, and unlocked my handcuffs.
Before I could get my arms properly down to relieve the cramp I was
feeling, the Arab who was still showering grabbed me around the waist
and pulled me under the jet with him. He shampooed my hair, and
soaped me all over - and I mean all over; up the my ass crack and
everything. It didn't seem sexual at the time - but it was more
than just two guys having fun in the showers together. At the end we
were both sporting big hard-ons."

"They dressed, and I was roughly towelled dry, and my arms cuffed my
back. I was asked if I wanted to crap, and said no, as I couldn't
believe I could perform in front of those four guys."

"Then, totally naked, and without being to cover myself in front at
all, I was marched out of the room, along the hall, and we waited
for the elevator. When it came, we all got in, and it started down.
I wondered what on earth they would do if someone else got in - it
was still relatively early in the morning and the breakfast rush was
not yet started, but even at that early hour surely there would be
some people around?"

"Sure enough, ten floors down the elevator stopped and an old couple
started to get in. They looked in astonishment at my nakedness, and
quick as a flash one of the Arabs said 'Pardon me, ladies and
gentlemen. This is just a frat hazing. I'm sorry if we startled you -
if you find the pledge offensive, we'll get out and let you folks go
on down'. The guy then laughed and said 'You remind me of my days at
College. We all did wild things. It's not a problem', and he and
his wife got in and stood facing the doors, as people always do in
elevators, as if nothing unusual had happened. I thought about
crying out for help from the couple, as surely the Arabs would not
harm them, but as the doors closed and the couple were no longer
looking at me, one of the Arabs reached down and grabbed my balls.
He turned towards me, and smiled, meaningfully."

"We went down to the parking garage, where I was bundled into a limo,
taken to the airport, and flown out on a private jet."

"I think you experienced the same things after that - I was taken to
the government slave centre because I had made the mistake of hitting
an important guy in the country's ruling class, and had been judged
and found guilty under their laws even thought I was an American and
the offence took place in the USA. I was shaved and so on, and
put on display for the next auction."

"I was almost never off the 'special inspection blocks'. Every day
one or more buyers would want me on my knees, and would shake my cock
and probe my ass. They were all looking at me for various brothels
and sex clubs - it was rarer in those days to get an American at all,
and getting a 17 year old boy, in good shape, was a real exception.
They all knew they could sell my ass every night for huge sums to
their clients."

"The first time I was probed up the ass and they hit my prostate it
was dreadful. I had never had another man see me with my cock
dripping pre cum before. But after the first few, I got used to it
and almost ceased to notice as they pushed their prying fingers up my
hole. I did lie awake at night in the cage, though, worrying about
how I could take a cock up there - my step dad's cock had really
freaked me out. I had several tussles in the cage, as some of the
other slaves tried to fuck me, and they needed to learn that although
I was young, my body was hard and I was used to punching guys out."

"One of the inspections was different, though. The guy didn't waste
any time in probing my ass, squeezing my balls, or trying to jack me
off. He carried out a minute inspection of my musculature, again and
again squeezing my biceps and my thighs, and probing his thumbs down
into my lats to see how I reacted. I couldn't imagine what sort of
perversion he had in mind for me."

"On the day of the auction, the bidding went higher and higher, and
it was apparent that here were several of the sex show owners bidding
for me. When I was finally delivered, though, I was surprised to be
bundled out of the van and into a gym. It was full of strong, good
looking guys working out on the usual sort of exercise machines, and
in one corner there was a big boxing ring where a couple of guys were
knocking the hell out of each other. They were in the usual sort of
kit guys wear to the gym, but none of them seemed to look much at me
as I was led, naked, through their midst."

"In an office in the corner was the man who had inspected me so
minutely. He told me to assume the 'display' position, and when I
just stood there, he told me what was expected. He said that even
though it looked like a pretty normal gym, it was in fact a slave
training facility and that slaves were expected to 'obey the rules'.
So I stood there with my hands behind my head and my cock jutting out
whilst he explained that he ran a sort of 'gladiator school', to
train slaves to fight for the pleasure of masters."

"Provided I behaved myself, I would have a better life than I could
have hoped to have if I had been sold as a sex slave. I would be
trained to fight, and would normally have one bout a week. Training
was done in this gym wearing 'western style' gym kit mostly, because
some masters also liked to attend, and they did not want to expose
their bodies to us hard slaves because they were envious of our
development. So everyone wore 'the same', and in the showers there
were some open areas, where we were expected to shower, and some
private cubicles the masters who were just customers could use if
they wished".

"Fighting training was usually done in bikinis, or G-strings.
Although we were expected to fight naked, he allowed us to train with
our cocks and balls contained because it could be painful having our
genitalia scrape on the floor as we fought, and he wanted to 'save'
us from that, until there was a real fight. The masters who used the
gym as a gym were allowed to come and watch us training for fights if
they wanted, and this was one of the reasons why his gym was so
popular."

"We were in the middle of the Capital, and so there was only limited
space for his gym. He needed to be central, so that masters could
come out from their offices for a quick work out if they wanted to.
But his slaves lived in a dorm about 4 KM away, and we would wear
running shorts to run to and fro each day. He cautioned me against
trying to escape, even thought I would not be branded or marked
visibly and would be crossing the Capital twice a day, as the police
kept a special watch out for his slaves on their journey. Any
attempt to speak to westerners would be severely punished."

"He then took a tiny G-string out of his desk drawer, and told me to
put it on. I had never worn anything so provocative before - even
though my genitals were covered, it was with a very thin, almost
transparent elastic fabric. You'll know that I'm a very hairy guy
anyway, and my pubic hair sprayed out from around the pouch. I
couldn't get used to the sensation of the thin string going up my ass
crack, particularly as it cut into my anus - I'd always worn boxers
and so on before, and had never had fabric in my ass crack, let alone
a thin string. He told me to go off into the gym and get training -
I would get other kit later, but he knew that the other slaves and
the masters in there would like a chance to have a good look at me on
my first day."

"I thought I would die of embarrassment. Being naked is one thing,
being dressed totally provocatively is another. But I did as I was
told, and ran on the running machines, pumped iron, and so on. Very
late in the afternoon there was a note from a klaxon, and all us
slaves - there were 10 of us - went off into the locker room and
changed into high-cut satin running shorts. Then we set off, running
at a fair pace, through the city streets to our 'dorm'."

"The dorm was just a building where there was a room with a table
where we were fed, a big communal shower room, and a big communal bed
room. As we went into the dorm, we dropped our shorts and handed
them to a guard on the door. He then locked it, and we were left to
ourselves until the morning. There was absolutely no privacy, as in
the showers there were no walls, and the two crap holes were just
along one wall. And the communal bedroom was just that - an empty
room, with a soft-ish floor. You just lay down, anywhere there was a
space."

"I had been used to my own room at home, and had always locked the
bathroom door since I had sprouted my first pubic hair. So getting
used to this totally open communal life was at first difficult But
the other guys had all been there a long time, and were totally used
to it. They showered, shat, slept, and fucked together. With
nowhere to hide, I got used to having erections in public, and to
jacking myself off with other guys looking on. Although all the guys
were fully sexually experienced, there was never any coercion to fuck
unless you wanted to - I guess that this is because they were
fighters, and any attempt at 'rape' could be damaging to the guy
trying it on. Initially of course they were all curious about my
body - anything 'new' always attracted attention - and I was
specially interesting as I was a young boy of 17. But they didn't
try to fuck me, and I slept as best I could, surrounded by the
snoring, farting snuffling bodies of my companions. Had I not been
naked, I could have been in a barracks room in any army camp in the
USA."

"The following morning we all showered, and most of the guys jacked
off to get rid of their morning hard-ons, then we had breakfast,
still in the nude. We lined up in the hall, and the guard opened the
door and handed out our running shorts, and we ran of to the gym. I
didn't understand how he managed to get the same shorts back to the
same guy, as they were unlabelled, but I soon learned that they
didn't bother - what difference did it make if you got some other
guy's shorts anyway?"

"I went on like this for about three months, and my body got harder
and stronger. Then I started 'proper' training to be a fighter. I
was to be a wrestler, and my master told me I should be glad about
that as the boxers and 'rough housers' tended to get badly beaten and
soon lost their looks, as their noses were broken and their ears were
torn. Wrestling training consisted of putting on my tiny G-string
and fighting with a trained wrestler - no proper instruction was ever
given, I was just told to attack the other fighter and he would throw
me, just hard enough to hurt. Then we'd do it again, and again, and
again, until I was hurting so much that my body learned how to fall,
or how to do the throw better, or whatever. Real 'learning by
doing'."

"I had a natural aptitude for wrestling, and after about another
three months I was ready for my first fight, my master said. One day
I was called into his office in the middle of training and there was
a young couple sitting across from my master at his desk. 'This is
the new boy I was telling you about', he said, 'If you're looking for
something unusual for your party, this is it. He's only just 18,
and, as you can see, he has the proper white skin of a European.
He's been well trained, and I think he's a natural fighter. His
first time in the ring might produce fireworks'. The woman whispered
something to her husband, who in turn leaned over and whispered to my
master. 'Of course', he said, smiling at them. Looking at me he
said 'Take off those gym clothes so the customers can see you
properly."

"Living naked with 10 guys, and training in a skimpy G-string was one
thing. But stripping in front of three properly dressed people, one
of whom was a woman, was something else. I remembered something one
of my colleagues had said about how to strip in front of customers,
and instead of taking off my training vest and then dropping my
shorts, I instead dropped my shorts, then pulled my vest off over my
head, which gave them a chance to see my cock without needing to look
into my face at the same time. I stood there naked in front of
them, but felt so embarrassed that I started to blush; and as I
blushed harder, to my horror I felt my cock start to go erect. There
was nothing I could do, as at my master's prompting by a small
gesture, I had assumed 'display' and my hands were behind my head.
Moving them down to try to do something about my erection would have
drawn attention to it, and made it worse."

"The woman started to giggle in embarrassment, but her husband only
leaned closer for a better look at my nude body, and I could see his
tongue moistening his lips in little flicking movements. Obviously
he was interested in me."

"Suffice it to say that I was hired for the evening, and two days
later I was delivered to a house in the city here a wrestling mat was
set up in the middle of the garden, as an entertainment for the party
guests. There were about 100 guests standing around, sipping
champagne, and I met my opponent - a guy of about 24, Arab, with a
thatch of black hair over his stomach and chest. Like me, he was
wearing only a brief G-string."

"An announcement was made to the guests saying that this was to be an
unlimited time fight, with no rounds break, ending 'in the usual
fashion'. We faced each other across the ring, and started to
wrestle. He was much more experienced than me, and much more
powerful - in spite of my heavy training, I was, after all, still
only 18. We grappled away, and in the hot night air our bodies were
slick with sweat and slid over each other. It became difficult to
get a grip on each other, and our hands scrabbled for anything they
could. After about 10 minutes his hands got behind the string around
my waist holding up my G-string, and he tore it off. I had no time
to be embarrassed at the 100 people now looking at my totally naked
body, and we continued to grapple."

"With my cock and balls now exposed, his advantage became the
greater. Not only did I have to be careful how I fell, but his hands
were always trying to get a hold of my private organs, and I knew
that if he succeeded, the fight would be over. I did the only thing
I could think of - I scrabbled at him, and succeeded in ripping his G-
string off, too. The crowd cheered, as his large thick cock flopped
out, and we carried on fighting."

"I didn't know what 'the usual fashion' was for ending the bout, but
I knew I wasn't going to be the winner. I was tiring rapidly, faced
with this stronger, much more experienced fighter. Then I found out -
'the usual fashion' of ending the bout was for the loser to utterly
succumb to the victor, by being fucked by him. The Arab managed to
get me on my stomach, then he got one of his arms under me so that my
ass was raised slightly, and before I knew what was happening, or
could even try to summon up some small part of my remaining energy,
his cock thrust itself into me. The crown shouted in unison and he
pumped in and out of me, and cheered when he came. He then stood up,
and went around the mat giving victory salutes (and the crown an
opportunity to look at his cock slimed with cum, so they could know
it was 'for real'). I just lay there, utterly defeated, and with my
worst nightmare come true - I had vowed never to be taken up the ass
again after being raped by my step dad, and now I had been. And it
was clear that this was to be my life in the future."

"But, to cut a long story short, it wasn't. From 18 to 20 I lost a
lot of fights and took a lot of cock, but all the time I was gaining
in experience and I exercised like mad to pile on muscle power. And,
of course, my body was going through the normal changes that all guys
go through as they leave their teens and go into their twenties, and
my muscles were naturally hardening and growing in endurance. From
about 20 onwards, I sometimes won a fight, and in spite of not really
liking my cock up another guy's ass, this was part of my 'job' as a
gladiator slave, and I simply got in there and fucked them. Between
21 and 22 I almost never lost - I was becoming famous, and there was
a string of bookings for me to appear at parties and receptions. The
rich set in the Capital liked looking at my European body, and it had
now filled out so that I was a real 'centre fold' type."

"My master had lots of offers to buy me, but he refused them all. He
told me that I was the best investment he had made for some time -
although I had been fabulously expensive to buy as a 17 year old and
had cost a lot to train and feed, I was now really pulling in the
appearance money and was repaying his investment handsomely. I was
proud of this, and, in truth, I liked the life. I had a group of
good guys to work out, train and live with, and there was no bitching
or jealousy about possessions, or the other guy's girl, or all the
other things that I already was having arguments about before I was
enslaved. I guess living totally without privacy, and with no
possessions (I didn't even own my running shorts, or the G-strings
or gym clothes) with a group of guys really makes that impossible."

"But when I turned 24, I started to lose again. Newer fighters were
coming along all the time, and 22 to 23 is about the 'right' age for
this type of fast, skilful fighting. My master told me one day that
this was normal. I should expect to go 'downhill' until I was about
25 or 26, and I would be fucked almost every fight. But then he
would sell me on, and I would be out of the fighting game. He told
me that he usually managed to get his fighters a good spot, being the
workout buddy or fuck toy for some rich Arab."

"In truth, this was profoundly depressing. I wondered if I could
somehow get a message to the US Embassy, and for a few months watched
and plotted how I might accomplish this - I ran every day past the
embassy compound, but there were Arab police guarding it, and I
guessed they knew not to let slaves in. But my hopes were dashed
when, one night, my bout was actually in the embassy grounds. Half
the crowd were Arabs, and the other half American and European
diplomats. There was no discernible difference in the behaviour of
the two groups in the crowd, and they all seemed as turned on by the
sight of us guys grappling naked in front of them and being forced to
fuck each other."

"At the end of my bout I was going to run up to the Ambassador and
beg him to tell the US Marines on guard inside the compound to
protect me. I won, and was getting ready to leap up and confront
him, when my master took me by the arm, together with the opponent I
had just fucked, and led us up to the Ambassador and his wife, and
their most important guests at the top table. I stood there in
front of them, dripping with sweat and with my cock drooling the last
of my cum from its end, and my master said 'This is the young
American I told you about, Ambassador. He does well, don't you
think?'. 'Yes' the Ambassador replied. I have read his file
in 'missing persons' from back home, and he was a real trouble
maker. You have succeeded in turning him into a real man - he'd have
spent most of his life in prison by now in the USA, and he would have
been fucked even more often by the other prisoners'."

"I knew that my master had arranged this interview with the
Ambassador to show that he knew about the American slaves in the
country, and that any attempt on my part to flee to the Embassy would
be futile. As I lay with my mates that night in our communal
bedroom, I was as depressed as I had even been. There seemed to be
no escape, and at some point I would be sold on as a rich man's sex
toy."

"A couple of weeks later, though, I was booked to appear in a
grand 'knock out' tournament. 16 fighters were going to take part,
with eight first-round matches to 'fight to the fuck' Then when the
winners had had time to recover, four matches would be fought,
again 'to the fuck', then two matches, and, finally a grand last bout
to decide the winner. When we arrived, all of us were lined up and
lectured to by the master running the tournament"

"He said that this was to be a special night, and they really
wanted to see good, hard fighting. There were to be no G-strings or
anything, we were to be nude all night, whether fighting or
watching. If any fighter was seen to be simulating his fucking, or
if the crowd decided any fighter was not fighting hard enough, he
would be bought from his master, go into the service of the fight
arranger, and would then be castrated. But the fabulously wealthy
man for whom the evening was being arranged had offered a special
prize - he would buy the winner from his master, and set him free!"

"None of us slaves could believe our ears. A chance of freedom! But
I knew, deep down, that I was not well placed. I only won about 50%
of my bouts now, and there were some very good, young, fast fighters
amongst us 16."

"That was probably the most amazing evening of fighting and fucking
the Capital has ever seen. Each of us desperately wanted to win our
bouts, and no one dared let up in case he was selected for
castration. I won my first round bout, and sat crouching at the edge
of the mat with my fellow winners. Amazingly I also got through the
second round, and the semis, and ended up in the final. I think it
was sheer desperation - I was going to get free!".

"And I did win. But the final fuck was a real challenge. Both my
opponent and I were already exhausted when we started the final bout,
but we summoned up reserves of strength from I know not where to
fight like devils. We were slick with sweat, and the ammoniacal
smell of cum was everywhere - on our winning cocks from the earlier
bouts, and on the surface of the mat. Normally our bouts only lasted
at most 15 minutes, and I had already had three that evening running
to 25, so desperate were all the fighters. Now this final went on
and an, and neither of us had the strength to gain an advantage. I
felt my strength ebbing, and my opponent was gaining the upper hand,
and I knew I had lost. But luck must have been on my side, because
suddenly my opponent slipped slightly on a patch of still-wet cum,
and this seemed to strain his groin. He was now much more feeble,
and could no longer hold me off as I forced him down, pushed his legs
apart - he screamed as I did this, because of his groin injury - and
rammed my cock home. I was in trouble, though, because I could only
just manage an erection, and it took me about 8 minutes of solid
humping before I could actually force a trickle of cum out."

"But that was all I needed. I was presented to the Sheikh who had
organised this special event and who was hugely pleased with it, and
he talked to my master, and I was told I was free!"

"But my troubles now began in earnest. I was standing there naked,
and what was I to do? I had no money, and no clothes. My master
said I could not go back to the dorm that night, as it would be bad
for the other slaves. He also said that that was my last fight, as
the laws in the country only allowed slaves to fight, as it was
considered unseemly for free men to do so. And finally I was told
that even though I was free, the law also did not permit a freed
slave to leave the country. He cautioned me about begging or
anything, as that was illegal, and I would quickly be arrested and
enslaved again."

"I stood there, feeling utterly helpless, and bone weary. I di not
even have a G-string to cover my genitals."

"There was an Arab of about my age standing there listening to all
this, and after the Sheikh's party had left, and I was just sitting
on the grass in despair, he came over and said 'There is one way you
can earn a living. Come back with me now - you're a free man and you
can do what you please - and I will pay you $1000 dollars to
experience your body.'"

"I couldn't believe my ears - I was being offered a prostitute's
fee. But there was no choice, so I followed him to his car. I was
still naked, and he had not offered me any covering - I thought that
he could, for example, have loaned me his sweater to tie around my
waist. He opened the doors, and I was about to get in when he
snapped 'What do you think you're doing - I don't want to get the
upholstery covered in sweat and cum. You'd best lie in the trunk'.".

"So that's the way I went to his apartment, which turned out to be a
vast, western-stlye one in the most exclusive residential area. In
the apartment I followed him in to a bedroom, then he sat on the edge
of his bed and looked at me. He sat there for a couple of minutes,
as if inspecting me, and I did not know what to so. Then he stood
up, and stripped off his clothes. He wasn't in bad shape - nothing
like me, of course, and nothing like the flesh I was used to being
surrounded with. But at any country club in the USA he would have
cut an acceptable figure around the pool."

"'So come on, then', he said. 'Come on what?", I replied. 'You're
the expert - come and do to me whatever two guys do together.' I
listened in astonishment, as he then broke down and explained that he
was a virgin. He had had to marry a girl at his father's command,
because that was the done thing in their rich family, but they had
never slept together. His brothers all laughed at him, all the time,
because they knew he had never taken any of the estate slaves into
his bed. And so he was determined to buy some experience. He had
chosen me because he had seen my superb body, and had been really
turned on by the brutal fighting and seeing me fuck four guys that
night. He had mistakenly thought that I was a skilled sex slave,
rather than one who just took it up the ass, and gave it the same
way, as the demands of the ring required."

"After that honesty, what could I do but put my arms around him and
comfort him. We both sat on the side of the bed, talking. Then I
told him I simply couldn't fuck again that night, and, anyway, as a
free man I was resolved not to do it for money. But why didn't I
treat him as if he was one of my buddies in the slave dorm? This
seemed to turn him on, so we went together into his marble shower,
and stood there washing each other (I told him that slaves generally
did not wash their own bodies). He seemed to find this arousing,
because he had a gentle erection as my hands were soaping his ass.
So as I would with any of my buddies that way in the shower, I knelt
in front of him and jacked him off with my soapy hands, whilst the
warm water sprayed over us."

"Then we towelled each other off, and he particularly enjoyed gently
patting my shaved ball sac dry, and went back into the bedroom. I
stripped the covers off the bed, and told him that in the slave dorm
we just slept on the floor, without covering. He said he always
felt cold in the air conditioning, but I said not to worry, as the
mutual warmth of our bodies would counter that. We slept all that
night twined together, and in the morning he was 'spooned' up against
my back. I could feel his breath over my shoulder blades, and he
had one arm around me, lying just below my rib cage. I lay there
awake, not wanting to disturb him, but knew he must soon wake up
because his morning hard-on was pushing against my ass. His hand
started to stretch, then touched my cock, which sprang to attention.
He was still half asleep, I know, and perhaps he thought it was his
own cock, because he started to stroke me gently. Just before I
came, I took his hand away and turned over to face him. I think he
realised what had been happening by then, but we lay there facing
each other, and it seemed only natural to jack each other off."

"Over breakfast he seemed pleased, and told me that was the first
time he had ever slept with another man all night, except for his
brothers. And he had never mutually masturbated with anyone before.
He suggested a swim, and said he would find me some trunks, but I
asked him why he was bothering. A mischievous grin spread over his
face, and we both ran out to the rooftop pool outside his penthouse,
and dived in. It was fabulous, high above the city, with the water
running over my naked body. We raced, 'bombed' each other from the
pool edge, tried to swim between each other's legs, and generally
played around. We were at our games when two of his brothers arrived
and stood by the pool looking down at us. We both got out, and stood
there naked. His brothers were astonished, and told him they had
never known him to swim naked before, and certainly not with another
guy. 'But then', said the other brother 'it's only a slave, and
swimming and playing with a slave isn't the same'."

"I broke in at this point and said 'Hey - who are you calling a
slave? I'm an American, and I met your brother last night. Why
don't you guys fuck off, so we can get back to our fun. We only have
a day or so, and there's lots of positions we need to get through.
I don't want to have my vacation wasted listening to you talking
about slaves when I can be in your brother's bed.'."

"My friend thought it was hugely funny as his brothers left, and
thanked me for what I had said. 'They'll tell everyone now about the
fabulous, exotic, foreign hunk who really wanted my body', he
said. 'And did you notice that they were both so turned on that they
had erections as they looked at us?'."

"We had a week of genuine fun, and he took me and showed me some of
the Capital, and we went out into the desert to watch camel racing.
We did fuck, but only because we both wanted to after we had got to
know each other a lot better. But I knew it couldn't last, and one
day I said to him 'We have to face the facts. I need a job. I know
you want me to live with you permanently, but it won't work - our
worlds are too different, and after we have exhausted all the
combinations of sex, and got in slaves to do sex with, and whatever,
we'll be tired of each other. We must break it off now, whilst we
still have this amazing week to remember for the rest of our lives.
And if I'm not living with you, I won't take money from you - that
would be just a lesser form of slavery.'."

"He cried at first, but as we talked, it became clear that I was
right. He used his influence with his uncle the Sheikh to get me a
job here, on the estate, as a lowly guard. I didn't like guarding
the slaves at first, and when I was put on the duty that processed
any new American or European arrivals because I could speak their
language, that was particularly difficult. I kept myself in good
shape in the gym, but I never used any of the 'comfort' slaves."

"Over time I discovered I had a talent for spotting things out of
line before they caused a disaster, and for quickly fixing cock-ups.
This surprised me, because I had never been any good at school when I
was a kid, but now I could easily see where paperwork was out of
line, or where someone was trying to fiddle the books. I stopped
being a guard, and went to work in administration, and soon the
Sheikh got to hear of my talents. I stopped one particularly big
fraud before any money had left the country, and the Sheikh had the
guys who had almost got away with his money enslaved. As a reward,
he made me his Overseer."

"So I've gone from punk kid, to rent boy robber, to slave, nude
wrestler, guard, and Overseer! I like the life. It's never boring.
In most things, I'm in absolute command here over 100 workers and
2500 slaves. Life is funny, isn't it - had my step dad not raped me,
I'd have been a high school drop out , and would probably be working
in a meat packing plant or something!"

"But I've tired you. I have to go to the City again tomorrow, but
I'll be back in a few days. Go back to sleep now, and continue to
exercise to get well."

He bent over, and kissed me gently on the closed lips, and left.


To Be Continued.
THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE, PART 16

DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS

By the time the Overseer got back several days later, I was almost
completely recovered - I could run, although not for long. In spite
of the large dressings being replaced by only a sizeable adhesive
plaster, I had not returned to the Stables - I still slept on the
leather-covered bed in the veterinarian's hospital.

He came through the door, shouting for the veterinarian, and was
annoyed that the guy was not there. He stormed out, and when he did
come back with the veterinarian some time later the veterinarian was
saying "Look, don't go on. I know I have the only key. But I
couldn't wait around all afternoon for you as I was called out to an
accident at the quarry. One of those big Nubians had got his legs
crushed by a rock fall, and I had to put him down. And before you
start in at me about that - yes, I know it's a waste of the Sheikh's
money to lose a slave like that, but there was very little chance of
him ever being able to walk again, and whilst he could have gone on
living, what would have been the point? You know the standing orders
say that any irretrievably damaged slaves are to be terminated, and
that's what I did - a simple, swift injection."

However the Overseer couldn't retain his anger, and he came over to
me, smiling. "Sorry I've left you for so long, Steve, but my
business in the Capital took longer than I expected. I went to
please with the Sheikh again to let you go free, but he wouldn't even
consider it. So I offered to buy you from him."

"I get a god salary by USA standards here, and I don't spend most of
it as all my housing is found, and the Club is free. I don't have
to run a car (he grinned at me), and you know I don't spend much on
clothes!. Although I can never be as rich as the Arabs with their oil
wealth, I have quite a bit put by. I offered him all my savings -
about $800K - but he just laughed. He said you were worth $1.2M,
and would not sell you for less. We dickered a bit, and he looked at
the books to see how much you had cost, how much you took to train,
and so on. He came down to $1.1M, but wouldn't go any lower. I
don't think he really wanted to sell you at all."

"So I then played a master card. I said I was quitting my job as his
Overseer. I was going to take my $800K and buy a little apartment in
the Capital, and take up guiding tour groups around the historic
sites. I could easily make enough to live on, and maybe even enough
to own a couple of house slaves for all my chores".

"We was worried by this, as this place only ticks as smoothly as it
does because of me. It's not wise to make a threat to the Sheikh,
and I saw he was thinking that I was going to blackmail him into
selling you at a low price. But when he heard what I had to offer,
he was delighted."

"He agreed to advance me my next five years wages in a lump sum now.
So then I had enough to buy you. Of course, I can't now leave here
for another five years, as I would then be in breach of my contract
with the Sheikh and any court in the land would order my enslavement
again. But you're mine now."

"And you're free to leave - just come back and visit me sometimes!".
And with that, he took the key from the Overseer and reached up and
undid the chains holding me to the bed.

He then gave me the parcel he was carrying, and said "Open it. It's
a present!".

I tore off the paper, and inside there was a white cotton T-shirt, a
pair of white cotton bikini briefs, and a pair of khaki shorts. The
Overseer told me to get dressed, as I couldn't go around naked now I
was a free man again.

I pulled the bikini briefs on, and even though they were the right
size, I couldn't bear the constriction on my cock and sac, and took
them off again. I pulled on the khaki shorts, and they felt OK as
they were relatively baggy, but because of my long legs and long
cock, I though I would need to be careful if my cock head was not to
start poking out of the short legs. I went to pull on the T-shirt,
but thought that this, too, would be stifling, and said "You're a
free man too, and I've never seen you wear anything other than cut-
offs. I'll skip the T-shirt. But thanks for being so considerate,
and thinking of such a great gift."

I believe that was the first real decision I had made for five years,
since I had been enslaved. I hadn't asked the Overseer's permission
to go bare chested, without a T-shirt, I had just decided to do so.

The veterinarian shook my hand - another "free man" gesture, and the
Overseer said we should go over to his bungalow, as I was welcome to
stay there as long as I liked, whilst I got sorted out.

We walked out of the veterinarian's office and through the complex to
his bungalow, our arms around each other's shoulders, we were both so
happy.

I had never of course seen inside he bungalow, as I had always been
tethered outside. We went up the steps, and there was a cool marble
hall with two doors opening off it. The Overseer pointed at the
right hand one and said "That leads to the house slaves' quarters. I
don't know what's down there really, as I have never been".

We went through the left hand one, and were in a large square marble-
floored living room, with big windows at the back opening onto a
private terrace with a pool. "This is the living room", said the
Overseer. "I have a great stereo, a big TV, and a satellite
installation that can pull in almost any channel from the USA you
want to watch. But I don't much use it myself. The pool is kept
sparkling clean by the slaves, but I don't use it much, either. I
prefer to use the pool at the Club, as there are always some other
guys to talk to, or I can exercise better by ordering one of
the 'comfort' slaves to race me - they never know whether to really
beat me, in case I'm angry, or go slow so that I can beat them, when
I might be angry because I saw they were not trying. It's fun to see
them wonder what the hell to do!"

"Those two doors" - he pointed to two doors on our left - lead to the
bedrooms, one for you, one for me. He took me through the left-hand
door, and there was a massive bed with crisp white linen sheets, and
a row of closets along one wall. An arch opposite the door was, he
said the entrance to the bathroom, and we went over to look at it.

"There's no actual bath", he said, as I know that every drop of water
has to be pumped with slave muscle, so there's only showers". In
fact, though, there didn't seem to be much of anything - the room
appeared to be totally empty, just a marble space sloping down
slightly to a hole in the floor.

"Of course, when I said 'bathroom', you were expecting something
different, weren't you?", he said. "Let me explain. The hole in the
floor is of course the crap hole - you're familiar with that. So
much better for you to squat down, rather than using a western
lavatory. Everything else is carried in by the bath slaves, when you
need it. So if you're going to shower, they'll run in a flexible
hose and wash you with it. If you just want a shave, or to brush
your teeth, they'll carry in the mirror, water, and so on - although
I usually have the slaves shave me, as it's so much easier. You
don't have to stand up whilst you're shaving or towelling dry - one
of the slaves will kneel down, and you sit on his back. If I've just
had a really cold shower, I quite like the feel of the warm slave
back under my ass."

"Although you can do exactly as you like, and they're there for the
taking, I personally don't fuck the house slaves. Of course I have
them masturbate me if I'm feeling horny and I haven't had a comfort
slave in over night, but I don't think it's a a good idea to stick my
cock up a slave who I am going to have showering me every day."

"The arch over there, opposite the one we came in from your room,
leads to my room, which is identical to yours. There are no doors,
but I'm used to living with relatively little privacy after my
initial period in the gladiators' dorm, and I know you are, too, in
the Stables, so that's not a problem."

"Why don't you have a good look around whilst I shower". With that,
he clapped his hands, and two bath slaves entered. They were both
about 18, I would think, and were twins. They were of half Arab,
half European stock, and their skins were a pale olive brown. Their
black hair was cut very short, and their pubic hair was of course
neatly trimmed in the way that the Overseer liked.

One of them was carrying a shower head on the end of a pipe, and it
was already spraying water. The other went over to the Overseer,
dropped to his knees in front of him, and opened the button at the
top of his cut-offs and helped him out of them. The Overseer was not
at all concerned about having me watch, and before starting to
shower, squatted down and dropped a giant turd into the crap hole.
Then he stood up, and the two bath slaves started to shower him - one
expertly directing the water spray, and the other soaping his body
gently.

When he had finished showering, one of the slaves knelt down, and the
Overseer did indeed sit on the boy's bare back - he took a towel
handed to him by the other slave, and started to dry his feet, paying
particular attention to getting between the toes and so on, as you
see guys do all the time in locker rooms, unconcerned by the sight
of other bodies around them.

I wanted a shower, too, so whilst the Overseer sat there watching me,
I dropped my shorts and allowed the one remaining bath slave to both
soap me and wash me with the spray. When he had finished, it was as
if my body still knew that the end to a shower was 'milking', because
my cock sprang to attention. The Overseer saw this, and told me that
he would move and let me sit on the slave, if I wanted the other one
to jerk me off whilst I was sitting comfortably. But I was used to
being 'milked' whilst I was standing, and said no - in fact, I didn't
want to be 'milked' at all, in spite of the ache in my sac, whilst I
was being watched by the Overseer. I thought he sensed this, because
he said "You know, I've watched you dozens of times being 'milked' in
the stables. You must need it after lying in that hospital, so why
don't you go ahead - if it will make you feel any better, I'll shut
my eyes!".

I realised I was being foolish, and signalled to the bath slave to
wank me. It only took a few quick shakes to climax me, and my cum
spurted out onto the shower floor. Then I stood there whilst the
slave expertly removed the slick of cum still coming out of my cock,
and used a huge, soft towel to dry me.

The Overseer was handed a fresh pair of his habitual cut-offs, and
the slaves handed me the shorts I had got out of when entering the
shower. But I found them so constricting, and hesitated in putting
them on. The Overseer told me that I didn't need to wear anything if
I didn't want to, and I decided I was more comfortable naked.

We went out, through his bedroom (which was indeed the same as mine),
and into the large living room. We sat down next to each other on a
large leather couch (and I loved the sensation of the cool, smooth
leather on my ass and back), and the Overseer said "Well, we'd better
plan for tonight, your first one of freedom. I can't take you to the
Club until I have fixed for your temporary membership, so we'll eat
here. What kind of slave do you want in your bed tonight, so I can
have one sent over for you from the Club - they have all sorts -
blacks, whites, and some Asians; tall ones, short ones, and thin
ones; blondes, dark haired ones, red heads, straight hair, curly
hair, totally stripped of hair.... tell me what you fancy for your
first night as a free man, and we'll see what we can do".

But I didn't want a slave that night - all I wanted was to be left
alone with my thoughts - the day's events were so amazing. So I
mumbled my apologies for turning down his hospitality, and he simply
ordered a couple of steaks and some beer to be sent in.

One can of the beer was enough to make me feel very light headed - I
hadn't had any alcohol for five years, and my body was not used to
its effects. As we sat there on the couch, my arm, which had been
resting along the back, simply fell off, across the Overseer's
shoulders. He obviously thought this was the start of a pass on my
part, because he turned to me and smiled.

I didn't know what to do, as although I really wanted the Overseer, I
didn't think it was seemly for me to approach him. So I
mumbled "Sorry, master".

The Overseer looked at me and said "I'm not your master, remember?."

I then had to explain to him that I did not know what to call him -
"sir", or "master", or "Overseer", or what. "Steve ", he
said, "we're equals now. I call you Steve, and you call me Stu."

I had another beer then, and it had such an effect on me that I had
to go into the bathroom to pee. I realised I was so tired, and poked
my head back into the living room to say that although I really did
want to talk more with him, I was exhausted. He understood
completely, and I went off to my room.

I tried to sleep between the luxurious linen sheets, but my body was
not used to being covered at night, so I stripped all the covers
off. But still I couldn't get to sleep, as the bed was too soft.
So I lay down on the floor, and started to fall into a deep sleep.

But then I heard noises, and realised that they came from the open
arch into the bathroom, and through that, from Stu's room. I
listened, and realised that he must have sent to the Club for a slave
for himself. I heard him say something, then there was a
sharp 'slap' sound, and another, and another. I thought I could hear
muffled grunts - presumably Stu was slapping or paddling the slave,
and it was so hard that the slave had not been able to restrain
himself from trying to cry out. Then after a few minutes of this I
heard Stu shouting "Yes, Yes, Yes... ", and I knew he must be riding
the slave hard, followed shortly by "Jesus!" as I imagined him
climaxing. There was no more noise, and then I went to sleep.

I woke with a start, as someone slapped me hard on my ass - I had
been sprawled out, face down, on the floor. Stu was standing over
me, laughing. He said he had never seen anything so strange as a guy
sleeping on the floor when there was a luxurious bed. But it must
suit me, as he had come into the room several moments before and
tried to wake me, and had had to resort to a slap on my ass to get me
to stir.

I climbed to my feet, conscious of my morning hard-on jutting out,
and saw that Stu was in much the same position. "Come on", he
said, "Shower time. You have a busy day."

We went through into the shower, and as well as the two bath slaves
there was a guy about my age, completely smooth except for a patch of
dark black hair over his cock, and about 6'3" tall, like me. I
realised that his must have been Stu's companion, and saw that the
slave looked quite red around the ass were he had been paddled.

Stu said to me "We've both got that morning problem - let's have a
bit of fun. I challenge you to come last!", and he commanded
the 'comfort' slave to kneel down in front of us, and wank us both.
I didn't have time to say "no" before the tall, lithe slave fell to
his knees and took my cock in one hand and Stu's in the other. I
realised what Stu meant, and as the slave rubbed us both
simultaneously, keeping each hand in synchronisation with the other,
I tried to hold back. Stu was doing the same, and we were both
equally hopeless - we both came at the same time, squirting our
ropes of cum over the slave kneeling in front of us. We laughed a
lot at our inability to control our reflexes, then the bath slaves
washed us, and we sat down to be shaved.

Stu sat on one of the bath slaves, and the 'comfort' slave was told
to kneel on all fours, like a dog, so I could sit on him. I had
never done this before, and his hot back under my ass was a new
sensation. It wasn't a particularly comfortable seat, because he was
well muscled and there was not an ounce of fat on him, and his back
bone stood out from his muscles. So I had a hard bit running across
under my ass, and shuffled from time to time as one of the bath
slaves rubbed shaving cream into my chin.

Stu saw me and said "Those muscle jocks can be hard on your ass. I
should sit astride him, if I were you, so you get his spine between
your cheeks, rather than across them - you'll find that more
comfortable."

I swivelled around, so I was sitting astride the slave, and it was
indeed better. My balls and the tip of my cock now also touched his
warm back, and I found this mildly erotic.

After the bath slave had finished shaving my face, Stu said "Have you
decided how you want your body done? I always kept your hair very
short and the bottom of it cropped in a straight line. I see that
after a couple of weeks lying in the hospital it has grown a bit -
you're free of course to do what you want, but even if you do decide
to grow your hair longer, can you have the back of your neck shaved
in a tight line, please? Do that as a favour for me, as I think it
makes a man much more sexy".

"And what about your chest? I seem to remember that when I first had
you had a pleasant thatch there - not too much. There's a stubble I
felt there already yesterday, as you haven't been shaved properly for
a couple of weeks. Whilst you're free to be shaved all over if you
want, letting your pecs have a nice covering of hair again would be a
nice change."

"And please, do continue to have your balls shaved and your pubic
area kept in some sort of control! Again, you can do what ever you
like now, but most of us here shave our balls and our ass cracks -
for one thing, you'll find it's a lot more comfortable because you
sweat constantly."

I agreed with him, and the bath slaves trimmed my hair, shaved my
neck, and then took great care to give me the most gentle shave over
my balls, around my anus, and up my ass crack. Unlike my time in the
stables, where this was of course done regularly but it was always
quite rough with no consideration for me, the bath slaves proceeded
cautiously and slowly, so that I should suffer no inconvenience.

We then went and sat by the private pool, nude, and breakfasted.
Stu said that he had to work that day, but would break off at lunch
time. He wanted me to go back to the veterinarians for a check up
that morning, and for a "special treatment", and then he thought I
would like to spend the rest of the morning exercising in the gym to
complete my recovery - he would call in on his rounds and fix my
membership at the Club.

He offered to take me over to the veterinarians, but I reminded him
that I knew my way around! So he clapped for a slave, who came
holding his cut-offs, pulled them on, and I followed him to the door
to say goodbye.

I felt a pang of acute jealousy, because tethered to the post at the
bottom of the steps was a new pony - Stu had chosen a slave who was
quite like me in build (not surprising, really, as you needed our
legs to get he speed he needed), but who was black haired - well, at
least the 5 mm stubble left on his head was black - all the other
hair on his body had been totally removed. He had a good cock and
nice balls, but I thought they looked faintly ridiculous
sticking 'raw' out of his pubic bone without even a neat patch of
pubic hair to set them off.
I made my way to the Veterinarians, and went in. The veterinarian
was carrying out some treatment on a slave, but as soon as I went in
he commanded the office slaves to remove the slave under treatment
off to the cages, as it was of course more important not to
inconvenience me.

He came over, extended his hand, and said "You must call me Bob now.
Welcome to freedom!".

"You can go off to hospital in the Capital for the rest of your
treatment now, but, if you like, I would be happy to carry on with it
here. Although I'm known as the veterinarian, that's really only
because I treat slaves - I am a proper MD, and actually would not
have the faintest idea what to do if a cow, or a chicken, or even a
pet hamster was brought in!"

"You might want to carry on your treatment with me because I am most
familiar with your wound, and, of course, I have checked out your
body regularly every month for five years."

I told him I was happy to continue, and he inspected my wound, which
had now healed to the point at which it did not even need the
surgical plaster covering. We both examined it closely, and I could
see a line of scar tissue running down the inside of my thigh, from
about 10 cm below my crotch for about 3 cm.

"Sorry about that ", said Bob, "But it was a messy wound. Deep
tissue wounds always result in some scarring, and I did my best to
minimise it. Still, now you're not going to be sold again, it
doesn't matter so much."

"Thinking about your regular check-ups, one is due - shall we do it
now, whilst you're here? Although it's not compulsory for men as it
is for slaves, quite a lot of the guards and so on do come in
regularly, as you can never be too careful with your health in this
climate."

I agreed with him, and was then taken aback when I realised he was
doing exactly the same things to me as he had when I was having my
slave inspections. He listened to my chest with his stethoscope,
took a blood sample, then told me to stand up and drop my shorts. I
did, still acting on autopilot almost and obeying a 'master' without
question, and he reached down to start to masturbate me.

"Hey!", I said, "I can do that myself, now!", and I quickly brought
myself to a climax, so he could take a semen sample in his little
collecting jar. "Sorry for that ", I continued after I had cum, "but
it's one of the little pleasures of being free. I can shake my own
cock whenever I want to. At least I'm not embarrassed at jerking off
in front of you - you've seen me in action so many times, after all!".

Then I gave him a urine sample, but there was no getting away from
the normal rectal exam - I couldn't do that my self, and I had to
bend over as always so that Bob's finger could probe me.

Then Bob told me that he had a little surprise for me - he was going
to remove my slave number tattoo from my arm. He asked me to go and
sit on his examining table whilst he got out his equipment, and I
went over and sat there. It was only as the cool leather touched my
ass and balls that I realised I had not bothered to put my shorts
back after the examination - I was so used to being naked that it
simply never occurred to me to think about dressing.

Bob brought out a complicated piece of equipment which, he explained,
was a new laser gun for tattoo removal. He had it to help out the
guards - some of the newly-employed guards came to the estate with
prominent tattoos which they had unwisely had done when young, or
drunk, or both, but when they realised they could spend their leisure
time in the Club and gym naked, they now found them
embarrassing. "Some of the young guards who have come out of the
armed services have tattoos that they now find vulgar and
inappropriate", he said "you know the kind of thing - naked women.
Every one likes a good tattoo on a guy, and a strategically placed
design can really enhance a guy's body. But we don't want
pornography here, and they are glad I can help them get those designs
off them without the need for constant trips to and from the city."

I saw him get out a needle, and come towards my arm. I shied away,
and Bob said "Oh come on, don't be silly. It's only a little needle,
with Novocain. The laser is a constant series of little stings as it
burns the dark ink away under your skin, and you'll also get some
very hot sensations. This will stop you being in any pain or
discomfort."

"No!", I replied. "I've had a lot of pain sedation recently, and I
don't want to risk getting hooked. Just carry on - I'm used to the
sting of the whip, after all - Stu was always a considerate master,
but he used the whip a lot to keep me running at top speed when he
needed to be somewhere and I was flagging because I was tired. And
don't worry about the burning sensation - it can't possibly be worse
than the branding; I can still remember that, five years after!"

So Bob and I chatted for about an hour, whilst he painstakingly (and
painfully!) erased my slave number from my arm. He told me how he
had become a doctor in the US Forces, because when he was in general
practice he found that having to treat a huge mixture of patients was
unacceptable to him - he wanted to specialise in men's medicine, and
although you can have doctors specialising in women's complaints, it
was "politically unacceptable" to have doctors specialising in guys'
bodies. So he had joined the Army medical corps, and had been
enjoying it when they, too, changed their policies and he had to
start treating women soldiers and soldiers' families on the base. He
had heard about the new order in this country and the reintroduction
of slavery, and had come to see for himself whilst on leave. He
liked what he saw, had applied for an honourable discharge, and had
come back and entered the Sheikh's employ. He explained that apart
from the small number of breeders, he now could devote himself
exclusively to studying and fixing men's bodies.

As he finished, Bob then asked me if I was going to the Club, and I
said that I was - I was going to continue my workout sessions, and he
said he would come along with me. He had only been dealing with
minor problems with the slaves that morning, and they could wait in
the cage whilst he was away.

At the Club they knew about my membership, and we went in to the
locker room where I had spent those four fateful days years ago. Bob
pointed out that the Club made a variety of kit available to its
members, so you didn't have to take any with you. Neatly arranged on
the side were a selection of T-shirts, singlets, running shorts,
tennis shorts, jockstraps, swim costumes, and so on, in several
sizes. Bob said he would join me in working out, and selected a T-
shirt, jock strap and shorts, and proceeded to strip to put them on.
I felt strange - here I was seeing the naked body of the man who for
so long had had intimate knowledge of my own.

I took a singlet and shorts, deliberately choosing the largest size
so that they constricted my body as little as possible. There was no
way I could subject my cock and sac to the constriction of a jock
strap, though.

We went into the gym, and started to exercise - Bob ordered some of
the 'comfort' slaves already in there to leave - I don't know why, as
he had nothing to be ashamed of in his own physique, which, in spite
of his 45-or-so years, was still in good shape as he had carried on
looking after himself having learned good practice from his early
years in the Army.

We pounded away on the exercise machines, and after about 30 minutes
when we were changing exercises, Bob looked at my sweating body and
saw that my singlet and shorts were soaked - they were sticking to my
skin as they do when you exercise hard. He said that I should go and
change, as I didn't want my skin to be chafed from the wet fabric,
and there were always plenty of fresh clothes in the locker room.

But, frankly, I was so uncomfortable that I didn't think it would
make any difference - I was used to working out nude, and the clothes
were a dreadful restriction, whether wet or dry.
Bob said I could do just as I liked - although most men wore
conventional kit in the gym, there was absolutely no need to, and if
I wanted to exercise naked, I should as it was healthier to do so.
He explained that most guys had to wear clothes because they were
used to having their cocks and sacs supported by their clothes during
the day, and if they tried to use the running machines without
anything on, they would get ball ache from having their unsupported
cocks and sacs jogging up and down. Some of the guards exercised
only in jock straps therefore, he told me, and some preferred just
the very minimum covering of a posing pouch - although, he said, that
always made him feel a bit queasy when he saw it, as during the harsh
exercise the guys did, he knew the string underneath must be cutting
into the soft tissue of their anus.

He suggested I simply exercised nude, if that was what I found best
After all, in ancient Greece, all the athletes did. So I let the
damp clothes fall to the floor, and went to restart my exercise.

"Not so fast", said Bob. "One of the reasons why I wanted to come
with you today is to see whether you are doing too much too soon.
Let me see if your heart is OK", and he came over to me and probedt
my chest sensitively with his hands. I felt as if it was just as if
I was a slave again for a moment - the veterinarian, clothed, feeling
the nude slave. But I knew I was a proper free man, and in an
instant that feeling was replaced by the slightly erotic feeling
every guy gets when a doctor starts to handle his body.

But Bob said I was OK, and we passed another hour together in the
gym, stopping for brief chats in-between exercises.

Bob reminded me that although he and Stu knew the full story, there
were a lot of guards and other workers who would not. I had a
potential problem, because although he had removed my slave tattoo,
there was nothing that could be done about the brands on my ass and
my pec - they were designed to be ineradicable, so that the Sheikh
could always identify his property in case of escape, or theft, and I
was stuck with them now. Some of the other gym users, seeing the
brands on me as I exercised and not knowing my new status, might
think I was a 'comfort' slave, the only slaves allowed in there, and
command me to perform some sexual service. If only for that reason I
might want to wear some kit in the gym, as anyone clothed could not
of course be a slave.

I told him not to worry - if the guard was good looking, I might
anyway consider helping him out! And the rest would be told to fuck
off!
We finished our morning's session with a deep massage from a couple
of slaves - Bob and I lay head to head so we could talk, whilst a
couple of muscular trained masseurs probed our muscles and relaxed
us. Bob had his masseur wank him as part of the treatment, but even
though I had an erection whilst he was massaging my thighs, I
commanded the slave not to touch my cock.

We met up with Stu for lunch afterwards, and all three of us sat
around the Pool whilst we eat a light snack. I told the guys that I
wanted to do something for Hans and Mike, and the Nubian that I had
met on my first outing to the stud. They found it very touching
when I recounted how, as still new to being used for breeding I had
been affected and ashamed of it, and how I had felt a mutual bond
with the other three slaves in the same position.

Bob asked me for the number of the Nubian, and summoned a messenger
slave to go and fetch his files from the central registry. The lad
came back about 10 minutes later, and Bob read the strip of paper he
unrolled from the messenger's capsule slung around his neck. The lad
stood there, his skinny flanks and chest heaving from his run,
waiting to see if there was another service Bob required.

Bob read the details that had been copied from the central computer
files on all the Sheikh's property for him, and said "Like you, he
was very successful at covering the breeders, and we have been able
to breed some of his great body strength and physique into a couple
of good lines. In the next generation, we'll breed back some lighter
colour, as the Sheikh really only allows those very black blacks to
be used in the quarry - he won't have them around the estate
generally, and usually only has lighter toned blacks here. But let's
see... oh yes, he was so good and his progeny tested so well, the
Sheikh was going to sell him on to a stud farm, but earlier in the
week he had an accident in the quarry, and I had to terminate him".

He saw I was visibly upset by this, and said "It's for the best, you
know. If you had not recovered from that gun shot, what life would
there have been for you here? As a slave who can't work properly,
the only duties are as urinals and things like that - and you know
for yourself that a slave who is proud of his body and revels in
working it hard finds being used in those sorts of ways intolerable."

I suppose I agreed, but told Stu I would still like to do something
for Hans and Mike, and he agreed. But, he said, he wanted to show me
something later.

Stu and I spent the afternoon at the Pool and in the gym, working out
together as real buddies, and enjoying helping each other keeping
track of our reps, and so on. When he saw that I was exercising in
the nude, Stu did too - we're buddies now, he said, and that's how
buddies treat each other.

As the desert night started to fall, we showered and put on our
shorts and cut-offs, and Stu took me towards the stables. The ponies
were all in for the night by now, and had been showered, milked, and
fed, and were in their stalls for sleep. Stu led me up to the
observation gantry overlooking the stables where the guard paced,
keeping an eye on the slaves. I could hear the familiar snoring,
farting and breathing of the ponies as they lay beneath us, deeply
asleep following their day's exertions. We looked down at the large
stall holding the cart-horse slaves, and saw all eight of them lying
together, intertwined in a touching, tender way.

A lump came to my throat when I saw how those eight slaves were
treating each other - some were 'spooned' into the backs of others,
arms were casually flung around the bodies of their fellow slaves,
one of them had another's cock lying in his open palm - they were all
totally at ease with each other, just enjoying the pleasure of
sleeping with their fellows.

Stu pointed out that I probably could not tell him which was Hans and
which was Mike now, from the other six, as they were so completely
acclimatised to their role. I had to agree with him, and he
said "Would it be kind, do you think, now to signal them out for some
special treatment that the others did not get? Or do you think they
would like to be taken away from their fellows totally, and given a
new job on the estate?"

Looking at them, happily curled up with their comrades, sleeping
peacefully, without a care in the world, I had to admit he was right.

"Don't feel sorry for them", Stu continued. "Had they stayed in the
Marines in South Africa they probably would have been dead by now
from fighting terrorist groups, or they would have been dying of AIDS
from having used women out in the country areas where it is endemic.
They have a good life here - and I think you know that, as you did,
they enjoy using their bodies to their maximum potential."

"I will mark their files , though, to make sure they are not sold on,
and that they therefore can continue to live their lives out here
under the Sheikh's benevolent rule. And, of course, when the time
comes and they really can't work any more, you know that Bob will
terminate them peacefully, and they won't suffer any of the
indignities of an old age with a failing body."

We left the stables and went back to our bungalow, and the slaves
served us a delicious dinner of chicken stew, vegetables, and fruit,
which we washed down with a couple of cold beers. I didn't want
a 'comfort' slave that night either, and neither did Stu, he said,
and we retired to our respective rooms relatively early.

But I couldn't sleep - I realised I wanted Stu. I wanted his body
next to mine.

In the middle of the night I tiptoed through our shared bathroom to
go and look at him - I thought that being able to gaze on his body
whilst he slept would take away some of my longing.

I saw him spread-eagled in his bed, lying on his back, and moved
stealthily towards it. I pulled back the corner of the fine linen
sheet, and looked down at wide shoulders that I had now exposed. In
a fit of madness, almost, I pulled the sheet off the bed entirely,
and could then see him in all his lovely nakedness. He was in a
classically unconcerned sleeping pose - on his back, with one leg
turned at right angles to the other, One arm was resting on his flat
stomach, and the other was lying casually by the side of his head.

I couldn't stop myself, and leaned over and kissed his eyelids, ever
so gently. I thrilled as I felt his eyeballs fluttering away under
the lids, and knew he must be in a deep sleep, dreaming.

I moved my face lower, and pressed my lips to his half-open ones. I
smelt the warm yeast smell of the beer we had drunk coming out from
him, and as he breathed out, my cheek was warmed by his moist breath.

I ddid something I had never done before then, and moved my head down
so that my tongue could play across his nipples. They went stiff as
I did this, and he uttered a tiny, contented sigh from the depths of
his sleep.

I was by now trembling with excitement, and my tongue next moved to
lick up the tiny moist patch of the sweat sheltering around his
navel. Although I had tasted another man's sweat before, there is
always something very special about the taste of that that has formed
in the navel - an indescribable flavour of man. I was very careful
to lap just with the tip of my tongue, oh so gently, as all guys are
sensitive to any pressure in their navels ( and, indeed, Stu had told
me that some masters on other estates tortured their slaves by
pushing a sharp pencil into the slave's navel, whilst the slave was
ordered to remain at "display").

How could I stop now? I moved down and bent over his genitals. I
gently kissed the tip of his lovely penis, lying there at rest
sticking up above his balls. Then I started, ever so slowly, to let
my tongue massage all around his fretum, and, as he started to
respond and became hard, I got access to his sac and continued by
teasing his balls with my tongue.

I moved my head just a little lower and to the side, and because of
the way his legs were splayed on the bed, I could see his lovely
tender anus. The tip of my tongue explored it eagerly, and I was
rewarded with that delicious taste that only a man's ass has when he
was freshly showered before going to bed but has had time to
accumulate his own special strong man-odours since. I was scared of
waking him, as he was now obviously very pleasured in his dream, and
I moved my attention back to kissing his cock head again.

He was completely, magnificently erect now, and little sighs were
escaping from him as my ministrations on his body were obviously
breaking through into the strange world of his dreams, and causing
them to move in ever more erotic directions.

I wanted to take his cock completely, and moved my mouth down over it
so that I could suck him to a climax. I wanted his cum to spurt down
my throat.

But what was I doing, another part of my mind demanded? I was taking
advantage of Stu in the most deplorable way. I was thinking only of
my needs, my pleasures, and was not considering his right as a man
only to have sex with whom he wanted. Whilst I was not up his ass,
what I was contemplating was morally just the same as rape.

So I stopped, and instead lay my body alongside his on the bed, and
returned to kissing him on the lips. His lips parted more, and I
could kiss him fully, with our tongues together. He started to wake
up, and as he did, whilst keeping my mouth locked onto his, I drew my
legs up and knelt beside him on the bed.

Awakening fully, he reached out for me, but I moved my head away
from his, and pushed it, and my shoulders, down on to the mattress.
My ass was now sticking up, and I moved my hands back to prise apart
my ass cheeks.

Stu knew, or probably felt with all his senses and understood what I
intended, and rolled up and over on top of me so that his cock was
pushing into my exposed ass crack. Ever so gently he positioned his
chest on top of my back, and wrapped his arms around my waist.

As his cock had entered my ass crack, I had let go of my butt cheeks
and now tried to guide his cock closer to my anus. Suddenly it was
there, and I could feel Stu gently pushing to gain entrance.

It was an almost superhuman effort for me, but I willed my sphincter
to relax to let him in - previously, I had always resisted wildly all
those cocks that were trying to rape me, and it took every ounce of
my longing and desire for him to get my conscious mind to override
the panic reflex that my body was otherwise using.

He was already spurting pre-cum, caught up with the eroticism of the
moment, and was able to slide gently in. Then I saw what a
wonderful, considerate lover he was, as he rocked back and forth,
letting his cock massage my anus and rectum, whilst his warm body
pressed down on top of mine and he whispered little lover's words
into my ear, whilst gently nuzzling at my earlobes.

We continued like this for what seemed like an eternity, until he
could no longer control himself and I could feel his hot cum spray up
inside me.

I wondered why his hands, which could have easily reached, had not
been massaging my cock whilst we had been making this exquisitely
sweet love, but now I saw why. He rolled off from on top of me, lay
sideways on the bed, and raised one leg in the air. He drew my body
towards his, so that we were facing, and started to kiss me,
passionately. I wriggled closer to him, and our legs intertwined. I
then saw that by both lying on our sides in this way his own anus was
exposed to me, and he moved a hand down behind my ass and urged me
forwards into him.

So that was why he had not been playing with my cock - he had
intended to give himself to me, and wanted me to be able to
experience my own pleasure to the full as I entered him for the first
time.

I could not believe this was happening to me. I was lying in my
lover's arms, sliding my cock into his ass which was welcoming me.
It was surreal. I, his slave for so long, was fucking my master.
I knew now that he felt for me as I did for him, and I felt tears in
my eyes. As I looked at him, I saw that he, too, was overcome with
emotion.

We spent the rest of the night in each other's arms. In the morning
my head was pressed into his chest, and he had one leg resting
companionably across my hips. We woke simultaneously, and I though
we would fuck again. But he whispered to me "No, not this morning.
Let's have our memories of last night kept fresh for the rest of the
day. If we fuck now, it will not be as good as I am already thinking
about work, and it would spoil that perfect harmony we had last
night".

With that, he suddenly slapped me hard on the ass, and said "Come
on! Into the pool. I'll race you - best of 20 laps". We both
sprang up off the bed, and ran across the room laughing hysterically,
to fling ourselves into the warm, clear water. I don't remember who
won. It didn't matter to either of us.

THREE ARABS

When we got out of the pool, there was a messenger-slave waiting with
a message in the little canister around his neck. It was still quite
early and the sun had not yet taken the chill off the desert, and
without a lot of muscle to keep him warm, the lad was standing
shivering whilst he waited for us. I knew he would have liked to rub
his protruding ribs with his skinny arms to try to get warm, but of
course he had been well trained, and was standing at "display" with
his hands behind his neck and his legs apart. I glanced at his cock,
and saw that the cold had had its effect here, too, because it was
shrivelled up. These tall, thin lads usually had long cocks, but
there was not much to look at this morning.

Stu read the message, and said that we needed to go over to
the "welcome centre" straight away, as a consignment had just arrived
from the slave market and he knew I would be interested. We didn't
eat any of the delicious breakfast that the house slaves had laid out
for us, but just grabbed a cup of coffee. Only pausing to pull on
our skimpy shorts and cut-offs, we strode out.

The "welcome centre" was Stu's ironic name for the place where all
the new slaves from the auction houses were processed. It was well
guarded, as in general the estate only bought in "wild" stock,
because it could breed for itself all the "farmed" slaves it
needed. "Wild" stock was always at its most dangerous in the first
few days, before it had begun being trained and conditioned, and, of
course, before it was branded and micro-chipped. An escape at this
point might just have been possible, and it would have been
difficult to get our property back.

We went in, and standing in the centre of the room, which had a guard
with a stun-gun in each corner, were three of the Arabs who had
attacked Stu and me at the water-hole. They were no longer wearing
Arab dress, and were dressed in T-shirts and jeans.

Stu said "As soon as Bob had got you out of danger, I called the
military and they sent in helicopters to scan the desert near here
looking for their truck. It was a good exercise for them, and they
soon targeted it. A group of soldiers was sent to arrest them, but
their leader had already died from my shot - he bled to death in the
truck. Without him, they were like headless chickens, and
surrendered without a fight. I deliberately did not shoot them in
the dessert, even though I could have, as I knew we could capture
them and it would make for a better punishment."

"The three slavers thought they would be in no danger, because they
are all the sons of wealthy and influential families in the Capital.
They thought that once they had got there, their families would pay
the fines, dish out a few bribes, and they would all be set free.
But they had not reckoned with the incredibly severe slavery laws in
this country, and with the Sheikh's influence."

"They went to court, thinking it was just a formality, but were
sentenced to enslavement. They had broken one of the fundamental
laws of the country - you must not take away a man's freedom!".

"By trying to illegally enslave me and deprive me of all my human
dignity and rights, they were now miserable slaves themselves."

"They then thought that their families would simply buy them at the
auction - they had all been to lots of auctions in their time as
customers, and knew the form. But they had forgotten that under the
law, the victim owns the enslaved assailant - so they were mine. Or,
rather, would have been if I could own slaves. Only citizens can do
this, and I am not a citizen, I'm an American. So instead their
ownership bounced up to my 'owner', or employer, the Sheikh."

"The Sheikh asked me what I wanted to do, because, like me, he thinks
it's entirely wrong to try to enslave men who are not criminals. And
we devised a plan."

"The Sheikh called in the heads of the families, and told them that
they could buy slaves from him. They laughed at him, until he had
their sons shown to them and pointed out that he was now the owner of
these prime pieces of meat. Each family offered $1M immediately, and
rapidly went to $5M before the Sheikh stopped them. I know all this
because he had allowed me to watch it from a small gallery
overlooking his audience room."

"He told them that they needed to understand the importance of
keeping their unruly children in check. Paying $5M meant almost
nothing to these wealthy families, he pointed out, and that therefore
if they wanted their sons back, the price would be 20% of everything
they owned. The Sheikh's own auditors would go through their assets,
to make sure he got every penny"

"The families tried to argue, but the Sheikh was not interested. One
of the families tried to brazen it out, and said he would not pay
that much, even for his son. So the Sheikh had that slave dragged
into the room, and in front of his father, another very large slave
was summoned who pulled down the slave's jeans, put him across his
knee, and spanked the slave 20 times, very hard. Before the father
could even try to comfort his son after this, the large slave dragged
the boy out of the room. Then the Sheikh just sat there, waiting to
see what they would say."

"Faced with the awful reality of the Sheikh's rights over their sons,
they all eventually agreed to pay up. But the Sheikh was still not
finished. He railed at the families and told them that as they had
failed to teach their sons the meaning of citizenship, he would do it
for them. The 20% payment was only to buy their sons from the Sheikh
AFTER he had had them for training, and he was convinced that really
understood what slavery was all about. They had tried to deprive a
man of his freedom, and now they would learn what that means."

"So ", he continued, turning to the three slaves, "Get naked, so I
can inspect you properly and decide where you will be most use on the
estate.".

When they hesitated, and when one of them tried to say something, he
was poked with a stun gun. Having seen the utter futility of
resisting further, they all slowly took off their T-shirts, jeans and
trainers, and stood there in shorts. This was like my own induction
to slavery all over again, and one of them was arbitrarily chosen by
Stu with a casual gesture, and the stun gun knocked him to the floor
with pain. After that, they all pushed down their shorts, and just
stood there.

Like men do when they are uncertain about their surroundings and they
are nude, they all had their hands sort of cupped in front of their
genitals, but of course Stu gave them their first lesson in slavery.
He said "Understand this - on the estate, you are always totally
naked. The guards and masters like to be able to see all of you, all
of the time. You have no right to privacy, and, indeed, no rights at
all. When you are not doing any service for him, in the presence of
a master you will always assume the 'display' position - you must be
familiar with this from when you owned slaves in your former life.
Now - 'display'."

He then went on to reveal his plan. He told them that
normally 'comfort' slaves could only be 'farmed' slaves, as it was
too risky to allow 'wild' slaves to be in intimate contact with a
master's body unless they were properly restrained, and it was of
course impracticable to restrain 'comfort' slaves all the
time. 'Wild' slaves were used in the fields, quarries, stables, and
so on. However he liked the look of all their bodies, and had decided
that the entire staff should share his pleasure by making the slaves
available as 'comfort' slaves.

But first, they needed toughening up a little. Their bodies were
too soft and 'citified' for the tastes of most masters, who liked
their 'comfort' slaves to be hard-bodied. So they would all be sent
to the quarries for three months. At the end of that time, they
would be 'comfort' slaves for three months, then they would go back
to the quarries for three months to top-up their muscle, and then
there would be a further three-month spell as 'comfort' slaves. At
the end of that year he would review their behaviour, and if he
thought that they were truly reformed, he would release them to be
sold back to their families. However if any of them was in the
slightest was still insufficiently servile, the cycle of quarries and
serving as 'comfort' slaves would be repeated for a second year, when
a decision would be made again.

They had therefore to serve a minimum of one year, with one year
increments served in full if all was not well. And, of course, it
would be a case of all three being kept as slaves if any one of them
was not to be released that year. So, Stu explained, you slaves had
better work hard at being good at your job when you are servicing us
masters as 'comfort' slaves. I think there are a lot of men here who
will appreciate having a fiery 'comfort' slave who is having to keep
his temper completely under control, rather than the usual run of
extremely handsome, but rather dull, 'farmed' slaves. There will be
a complaints book kept in the Club, an if any master registers a
complaint, that will be it - you'll all be there for another year."

Stu asked them if they understood, and they all nodded meekly.

"Now we come to the important part", said Stu, "as you have
understood me so well so far, continue to listen carefully. It is
really important that you do truly experience what it means to be
enslaved - you'll have to work hard in the quarries, so hard that you
will think your muscles cannot continue. And you will experience
every form of humiliation possible when you're being use as sex toys
in the Club. But it is essential you experience the whole thing -
you were ready enough to deprive me of my freedom, and you need to
get a deep understanding of what that actually means."

"So after you leave here you will be examined and tested by our
veterinarian. Then you will have your hair cut very short, most of
your body hair shaved off, and your pubic hair neatly trimmed. And
then we will take you and brand you."

The slaves all looked uncomprehendingly at this. There were no
slaves in the room other than the three, and Stu decided to
demonstrate. He called for a slave, but inside the heavily
guarded "welcome centre" there were none. He whispered to me and
asked if I would mind demonstrating, and of course I didn't, as I had
long since lost any inhibitions about displaying my body, even to a
room full of guards.

So I dropped my shorts, and went and stood in front of the slaves,
and went to 'display'. "See ", said Stu, "He has short cropped hair,
unlike yours which is almost down to your shoulders Note how the
hair under his arms has been neatly trimmed away so his armpits have
just a short, bristly crop - no danger of hairs sneaking out from a T-
shirt's arms for him, unlike you. And look down at his cock, and see
how his balls have been shaved clean, and his pubic hair trimmed away
to leave just that little patch on top of the cock. "

Then to me he said "Would you mind turning around and showing them
your ass, please?". So of course I turned my back to them, and bent
from the waist, reached behind myself and pulled my ass cheeks
apart. "See how there's no hair in there at all", said Stu, "and how
his anus is perfectly visible. That's how you three will all be when
you have been to our barber, unlike your very hairy state now."

"But look most carefully at the brand on his ass. That was burned
in by a white-hot branding iron, and even though he is now a free
man, he will bear that mark for the rest of his life."

"You, too, will be branded and it will be the most exquisite pain you
have ever experienced. But best of all, if you ever are released
form slavery, every time you examine your body in the mirror as you
bathe, you will be reminded that you were once a slave".

I stood up - I no longer needed to stay being displayed until
commanded otherwise, as I was a man, not a slave - and saw that all
three were trembling."

"Take them away!", Stu told the guards.

"Now let's go about my work for the rest of the day", said
Stu. "Will you come with me in my rickshaw? I'd value your
comments on my new pony".

I laughed, and went to leave with him. "Pick up your shorts and
cover your gorgeous cock", Stu said, "I have to work today. It will
be bad enough having the distraction of your body next to mine all
the time, without seeing your constant erections!".

THE MARINES

I spent the next few days continuing to get myself back into shape
using the excellent facilities in the Club, accompanying Stu as he
went around the estate supervising the Sheikh's many enterprises,
and, of course, spending the evenings and nights with my lover. I
was blissfully happy.

One morning after our swim - which had by now become a regular
morning habit for us - a messenger slave was again waiting, shivering
slightly, by the pool. Stu read the message, and told me that
something very unexpected was about to happen - there would be a
truck arriving at the estate, and the Sheikh had given orders that it
should be allowed right in, and not be required to tranship at the
gate house.

We breakfasted, and after eating walked across to the "welcome
centre" just as a large Army truck pulled up. A group of soldiers
got down, exchanged greetings with us, and then hauled out from the
back of the truck four US Marines, who were cuffed with their hands
in front of them, and chained together with chains joining their
ankles. They looked dirty, and tired. I could see that one was a
sergeant, and the others were grunts.

Stu ordered them to be led into the "welcome centre", and they
shuffled off behind the soldiers, who then came out, and drove their
truck away.

It seems that the US had decided to have a small "punishment raid"
against the country, and a whole company of marines had been sent in,
clandestinely, to blow up one of the oil refineries. But a patriot
of ours in the State Department had warned the ruler, and so his
troops were ready to intercept the Marines as they landed. They had
all been captured, without a shot being fired - they had walked
straight into the most carefully laid trap that could be devised.

The ruler had decided that he did not want to kill the Marines, as he
was not in favour of cruel punishments, and did not like an
unnecessary waste of man flesh, but that he also did not want to
return them to the USA as he wanted to send a signal to the US
Government that such action against his country was unacceptable. So
he had decided to say and do nothing, and make no fuss
internationally. He knew that the US knew what had happened, and he
thought that if he made no international complaint, the US Government
would try a "cover up".

The ruler had decided to reward his key Sheikhs by giving them a
present, and several of them had received a "parcel" of marines, like
ours. The Sheikh had decided that his should work as slaves, of
course, and so he had sent them to the estate for processing. But
Stu was uneasy - he could not use these wild, tough marines
as 'comfort' slaves, and it seemed a waste to use their bodies for
hard labour in the quarries or fields - they were , after all, fit
young Americans, and potentially more valuable than this. He had
thought of training them as ponies, but currently the stables were
full, and we had all the ponies that were needed.

Stu needed time to think, and look at the estate's resourcing plan,
so he decided to keep the Marines in ignorance of their fate as
slaves. We followed them in to the "welcome centre", to the familiar
bare room that now contained the four, and our guards.

Stu commanded the marines to be unshackled, and then spoke to them in
English, explaining that there was a potential diplomatic problem,
and that they would therefore be held, temporarily, as prisoners of
war. He said to them that they must be in need of a shower after
being chained up after their captivity, and that they would then be
held in the cells pending their final disposition. The Marines must
have been reassured on hearing him speak English after being herded
by Arab guards before, and one of them - who I now saw was a
Sergeant, said "Sir, thank you. We sure do need to shower, as we've
been living in these clothe for three days. And my men could do with
a meal. Could you also get a message to the US Ambassador for us,
telling him where we are, so that our families will know we're OK?"

Stu nodded, and said "Strip off, and the guards will l take you to
the showers."

The Marines proceeded to do that, and Stu and I went out and up into
the viewing gantry overlooking the showers area. Stu told the slaves
that would normally wash new slave meat to stay out. He told me he
did not yet want to alarm the Marines, as they were potentially
dangerous fighters, and the simplest thing to do for the next couple
of days was to make them think that they were indeed prisoners of war.

We stood and looked at the Marines, as they showered. They were
obviously at home with showering together and were not at all bashful
about exposing themselves to each other, but did not actually touch
each other's bodies. "Typical", said Stu, "They live together and
are used to seeing each other naked, but the Marine training has not
yet progressed to the point where it makes them really intimate - the
US forces really miss out here - think of the Spartans, where a small
number of them could hold off the mass of the Athenians. It's well
known that's because they were all lovers, and none of them wanted to
be anything other than totally brave in front of those with whom they
shared their bodies intimately. Although the US Marines are brave,
and fight ferociously, they would be at least twice as good if they
were all gay. Far from encouraging comrades to enjoy the splendours
of each others' bodies, the US Military hierarchy actually throws
them out if they are found in bed with each other!".

We stood there and watched, sizing the men up and trying to think how
they could be used most appropriately. At that moment, a messenger
slave arrived, and Stu read his message. "It's from the Capital", he
told me. "They have got the men's records from hacking the military
computers in the US."

"The sergeant is 26, and comes from Texas. He is married, and has
two kids.". We focussed on the Sergeant, and I thought that he fitted
the stereotype of a Texan - tall, over 6', with a tanned, rangy
body. His cock was about average for his build, and he had a light
thatch of medium-brown hair over his pecs and stomach.

"That one there", he said, pointing at a guy with darker skin,
liberally covered with black wiry hair, "Is 24, and from Brooklyn.
He is known as a bit of a trouble maker in the files, as he tends to
drink too much then breaks up the bar! He is of Jewish stock, which
probably accounts for his general build and complexion. He is not
yet married, although there are also reports of incidents said to be
related to women, in his file".

"The next one " - indicating a very well muscled guy about 5'11"
tall, with abs, pecs and traps, all standing out as he bent to
vigorously soap his well muscled thighs, "is from San Diego. He
entered the service straight from school there - it was just like
crossing the road for him, to go from High School into the Marines
training base. He got married six months ago, and his wife is just
about to give birth."

"And the young little piece of meat is 20 and from Florida. He has
only been in the Marines for 18 months, and this is his first
mission." I looked and saw a typical Florida "beach boy", about 5'8"
and only about 150 lbs. He was deeply tanned, with a very visible
bikini line around his slim hips. He had a nice V-shaped body
extending down from well-muscled shoulders, to flare out above a good
bubble but. "He's a bit like you", Stu remarked as we looked closer
at the men, "As, unusually, they didn't cut his foreskin off at
birth. The file doesn't give us any clues about his sexual
interests, although I expect that as he hangs around with these four
studs, he's probably screwing some little chick around the base"

I looked down again at the four marines, and saw that he was indeed
the only one not circumcised. Otherwise they were all much as you
would expect - hard bodies, from the training. Natural body hair,
except for on the head, where they all had typical "flat tops".

They were finishing up in the showers, and planing the water off
their bodies with their hands in that way that guys do in communal
showers before they go to towel themselves off. Stu went down from
the gallery, and I saw him enter the tiled shower area with towels
for them. As they stood there drying themselves, Stu said "I have
had your uniforms taken away to be cleaned, as they were pretty sweat-
stained. After you are dry, the guards will bring you T-shirts and
jeans to wear until your uniforms are ready. You'll need to be kept
in the cells here whilst we sort out your status, but I'll see you
get some food, and, of course, water."

"Sir, thank you, sir", said the sergeant. "Can I ask one favour for
the guys. Can you let us use a phone to call our folks back home in
the USA, so they know we're all right?"

"I'm sorry", Stu said, "But we have to keep you incommunicado for the
time being. As prisoners of war you are not allowed unrestricted
access to communications. Just wait in the cells, and I'm sure
everything will be resolved soon."

With that , the guards brought in clothes for the Marines, and I
watched them dress and be led off to the holding cages in
the "welcome centre".

Stu then said that he needed to spend the rest of the day working on
Admin in the central complex, and thinking about how he was best
going to be able to use these new slaves. So I went off and spent
the rest of the afternoon swimming and working out. My body was now
almost totally recovered, and apart from the scar on my thigh, I
could no longer detect that I had been shot.

That evening after we had had dinner, Stu said that he thought it was
time we did something about the Marines. During the afternoon at the
office he had read on the Internet that the US had said that there
had been a "troop ship accident in the Gulf", and that a company of
Marines "had all been killed". Clearly, he said, the US was going to
forget all about the captured Marines to avoid embarrassment, and was
now concocting this cover-up to conceal the loss of so many fine
young men.

Unusually, we switched on the TV, and watched CNN. There were the
usual reports in cases like this, with the reporters across the US
interviewing the folks of the Marines "lost in this tragic accident".

Stu then told me he had thought long and hard during the afternoon,
and had come up with a plan to use the Marines most efficiently. He
summoned a slave, and arranged for the four to be brought to the
Bungalow, well guarded - they were, after all, trained fighting
machines, and we did not want any accidents!

When the four arrived, you could see that they were relieved to see
us Americans in a "Western" setting. But their relief turned to
shock the moment Stu told them to strip,

The Sergeant said "Sir, why do me and my boys need to do that?", and
with a small gesture Stu indicated to one of the guards that he
should be felled to the floor by a bolt from a stun gun.

"That's why, sergeant, or, should I say, slave!", said Stu. "You men
are no longer Marines. You are no longer men. You are now slaves.
If I command you to strip, you will. When I command you to suck each
others' cocks, you will do that too!"

The Sergeant glared at Stu and said "We're not slaves, we're US
Marines. We're not going to be part of any filthy perversion. The
US Government will hunt you down if you cause us any harm and you'll
be hung as a traitor when you're hauled back to the USA!"

"Don't raise your hopes, slave", said Stu. "Now, I am going to tell
you one last time to strip. If you don't, I won't have you prodded
with the modified cattle prod we use here to control slaves. But I
will have it pushed up the ass of your young little guy there! Now,
strip!".

After a few glances at each other, and a little nod from their
sergeant who clearly saw they were not in a good position, the four
of them did. Although before, in the showers, they seemed
unconcerned about their nudity, now they were clearly embarrassed -
probably because they were in a familiar, "western" style room.

Stu then told them to go and sit on the leather couch, as he wanted
to show them something, and they gingerly sat down next to each
other. I remembered the erotic sensation I had felt when I first sat
naked on that very same leather couch, and I think they all felt much
the same thing. It was made worse for them, because there was only
just room on the couch for all four of them, and their bodies were
pressed closely together.

Stu turned on the TV again, and we saw they were doing one of
those "documentaries" on the crisis - State Department officials, and
generals from the Pentagon, lamented "the terrible tragedy that had
taken our men's lives". Then there were endless interviews with the
parents, wives, and children of "those brave boys lost overseas".
The Sergeant burst into tears when he saw his wife and kids lamenting
the loss of their daddy, and one of the others had to sit and watch
as his heavily pregnant wife told how now "her husband, who she loved
dearly and only married six months ago, would now never see their
little baby grow up".

"So you see, slaves", said Stu as the programme finished, "the US has
abandoned you. It doesn't want to risk looking foolish, if it had to
reveal that our army here captured the whole lot of you the moment
you landed. You'd better stop thinking of any hope of rescue, as
none is on its way. And even if you escape, the CIA will probably
kill you if you do get to a US embassy, to avoid the Administration
being shown up as liars."

He then went on to explain to them that their position was deadly
serious. They were slaves, because they had broken the laws of the
country. By coming clandestinely to destroy community property, their
freedom was forfeit. He went on to say that these four were however
lucky, as the Sheikh was a merciful owner, and provided they obeyed
orders they could expect to live long lives, and keep their balls.
The slaves were shocked on hearing this, and Stu had to explain that
some owners, but fortunately for them not the Sheikh, castrated
soldiers as a matter of course, in order to control their fiery
tempers.

Stu took the time to explain to them that he didn't want to waste
them in the quarries or fields, and that they could not really
be 'comfort' slaves, as they were too 'wild', and in any case the
sergeant was too old. So he revealed his plan to them.

"The Sheikh get s a lot of visitors here now", he said, "as more and
more foreigners want to come and see our slave-driven society at
work. If they come for the weekend, it can be a bit dull for them in
the evenings, as after they have inspected all the facilities during
the day and have had a sumptuous banquet, there's nothing to do. Of
course the visitors can make full use of the 'comfort' slaves and the
Pool and gym, but many of them are not in the best of health and
certainly not in the peak of condition, and even though they like
looking at the slaves on view in the Club, they are embarrassed about
exposing their own bodies. Some of them are all right, of course - we
had a party of US Senators here a month or so back, and although they
did not want to fuck any of the 'comfort' slaves themselves, they had
a lot of fun instructing a number of them to carry out the most
amazing group sex so they could watch it. But I can't rely on that,
so I need something to entertain the Sheikh's visitors."

"A few years back nude wrestling was the fashion in the country, and
there were big audiences for naked slaves fighting each other until
one fucked the other. It died out, as a new rage took over, but I'm
going to revive it. Whereas some guests might be offended by a
straight orgy, I think everyone will enjoy an after dinner
entertainment where nicely muscled fighters, slicked with oil,
grapple with each other until one gets fucked."

"You four are going to be the start of a new fashion. You all know
how to fight, and after a bit of training, some adjustment of your
body hair to make you less offensive to decent folk, I think you will
be a hit. Our American visitors will, I think, be particularly
amused because you can always tell an American body - your skin tone
is different from that of the Arabs we would otherwise have."

The four slaves were now looking stunned. Stu told them that the
following morning they would be taken to be branded, but as a mark of
respect, they would be allowed to keep their Marine Corps tattoos -
each of them had one, on his upper right arm. He also did not
propose to have them "muted", as the crowds liked to hear the
fighters shout and groan as their bodies were hurt and fucked.

The Sergeant started to argue about not being a slave and it
being "wrong", and Stu shouted at him in anger and said "Shut up.
You don't realise that you are in big trouble. I could order you to
be executed here and now, and that's probably what you deserve. You
were coming here to attempt to destroy our way of life - a way that
is much better than that in the decadent USA. We have no crime, no
delinquency, no drugs, no unemployment. And when the oil does run
out, this society will keep on, driven by slave muscle, whereas the
USA will be in big trouble."

The Sergeant ignored Stu's warning, and went on that he was not going
to be a slave, his "boys" were not slaves, and they were not going to
fuck each other! In fact, he was not going to fuck any man, as he
was a "proper" guy, with children!

Stu was very cross, as he was not used to having slaves argue with
him. He said to the Sergeant "OK. That's it. I was going to give
you one last night of 'freedom' to be alone with your comrades, but
now I am going to show you what being a slave really is, subject to
my every whim. I am going to fuck you myself tonight. And my friend
Steve here is I know really turned on by the neat little one, so
he'll fuck him. The other two of you will be strung up to watch the
first humiliation of your buddies."

He rapped out orders to the guards in fast Arabic, and the naked
Marines were manhandled out of the room.

Steve and I sat and chatted for a bit, and then it was time to turn
in. "I hope you don't mind fucking that little marine for me", he
said, "But I do need to teach them a lesson. If they learn now that
their bodies are no longer their own, life will be much easier for
them - it will be a kindness, really."

I didn't know what to say. I was not gay, and had always been a real
womaniser back in the USA. Although Stu and I were now lovers, that
was different - we really did love each other, and fucking each other
was natural and right. I was not certain that I could overcome my
inhibitions against sex with men and actually fuck another guy, even
if he was a slave. But Stu had asked me, and he went on to say "Yes,
I know it must be difficult for you. But do try - masters have to
assert themselves in the interests of the slaves sometimes. And I
don't think you actually find him totally physically repulsive - I
thought I saw that cock of your stirring this evening, even though it
was buried in those shorts!"

He was right, of course, and I agreed. We went into Stu's bedroom,
and the sergeant was lying on the bed with his hands cuffed together
and attached to the bed head. The Jewish guy was cuffed, too, but he
was standing in the middle of the room with a chain leading from his
cuffs to a hook in the ceiling. Steve went over to a dresser, took
out a ball gag, and gagged the Jewish guy. "I want him to watch his
sergeant and me", said Stu, "not give a commentary!".

Then I went through the bathroom in to my own room, and found the
same arrangement - the young Marine was lying there on his back
looking scared, and the fourth marine was standing there, chained and
unable to move, watching.

I dropped my shorts, and went and lay by the side of the marine. I
told him not to worry, as I knew what it was like to be raped, and I
was going to be gentle. I asked him if he had ever had another man
up his ass before and he told me "Certainly fucking not! I haven't
even wanked any of the other guys in the platoon".

I started to stroke his body, running my hands gently down his arms
first, and then resting my hands under his arm pits whilst my thumbs
stretched out and rubbed his nipples quite hard. He started to shout
in protest, so I stopped and reached down and took his balls in my
hand. I whispered to him to be quiet, as I did not want to hurt him -
in truth, I didn't like feeling his balls ,as he had not yet been
properly shaved, and their rough hairiness was not to my taste.

He calmed down, but the next minute his whole body went rigid as we
heard Stu slapping the Sergeant's ass. We could tell it must be
hurting, because the Sergeant was crying out between each blow - that
must have cost him a lot of self respect, as I did not think he was
the kind of man who had ever before admitted he could be hurt to the
extend hat he wanted to shout about it.

My marine's body was so light that I had no difficulty in turning him
over onto his stomach, and then with one of my arms wrapped around
his waist to control his body movement I pushed his legs apart with
the other. I raised the centre of his body up, so I could see his
cock and sac through his spread legs, and was pleased to see that it
was not all terror for him as he had a reasonable erection.

I decided he needed to be treated gently as this was his first time,
so I stopped what I was doing, got up, went over to the Marine
suspended from the ceiling, and jacked him off. That marine called
me obscene names as I started to touch his cock, but soon quietened
down after a good hard squeeze on his balls. The little marine on
the bed was looking on in amazement, as I came back to him, with a
big blob of his mate's cum in my hand.

I held it under his nose, and invited him to smell the gift his mate
had given him that was going to make his life easier, then flipped
him over again onto his stomach, and hauled his ass into the air
using my arm around his waist. I probed for his anus, and as my
finger touched the warm, smooth spot in the midst of all his ass
hair, I gently pushed it in so that the marine's cum would thoroughly
lubricate the area.

I took him then, doggy fashion, being very slow and gentle as my cock
pushed into him. I tried to be as helpful as I could, telling him to
relax his sphincter, and I think it made some difference because he
stopped bucking and allowed me to rock gently in and out, until I
climaxed.

I was kind to him for the rest of the night, wrapping his body in
mine so that he should not be cold - I was used to sleeping nude in
the air conditioning, but he was not and I did to want him to get a
chill. He was crying gently, as he finally fell asleep in my arms.

In the morning, I went into Stu's room and saw him in the middle of
vigorously - and I mean vigorously - fucking the sergeant again. He
looked over his shoulder at me as he heard me come in, grinned, and
said "Cant stop now!". He thrust on for a few more strokes, then
climaxed, pulled himself out of the sergeant, and come over and
kissed me. I could smell and taste the dried sweat and cum on his
body, and knew that he must have had quite an energetic night
breaking the sergeant in.

We had the bath slaves take all four marines into the shower, still
cuffed, and Stu and I showered each other for a change, rather than
allowing the bath slaves do it, so that they could masturbate the
four marines. The two slaves took one marine in each hand, and
quickly brought them to climax - I guess they were all embarrassed
about the situation. Although they were used to being in communal
showers, they had, I assume, never been masturbated in a group before
by two naked slaves, whilst two masters watched!

Whilst we were eating breakfast Stu had the nude marines stand
at "display" in front of the table, whilst he re-emphasised their
position. "You see, he said, you are totally in our power here. I
counsel you to forget your own life, and enjoy what you have. This
morning you will be taken to the veterinarian to be examined and
given your shots - I say veterinarian, because he specialises in
slave medicine, but he is in fact a proper MD. After that, if your
tests are all OK, we will shave you properly and trim your hair -
although you have good 'marine' crews on your head, none of you
shaves his testicles or ass crack, and it would be offensive to our
guests whilst you were wrestling if they could not properly see you.
After that you will be branded, and it will hurt. It will hurt VERY
much. Normally our slaves are muted by this time, and as you will
not be, I do not want your screams to disturb the peace of the
complex. I hope that, as you probably still think of yourselves as
marines, you will try to uphold the honour of the corps by showing
that you can remain silent in the face of physical agony - although
the sergeant here soon screamed when I was paddling his ass last
night and the paddle 'accidentally' hit his exposed testicles!".

"Finally, you will be taken to your new home. I have had a special
training quarters constructed for you with exercise machines, and you
will live there, naked of course, training hard every day. There is
no privacy of any kind there, and of course you need none, but even
though you are used to a life in the marine barracks, you will find
it strange at first to be able to see every inch of your mates'
bodies, every moment of the day and night."

"I expect your first fight will be in about one months time, and you
will need to be very fit as I will be inviting a set of my old
fighting buddies over, and your first opponents will be us. Although
I'm 35 now, I'm a skilled wrestler and I keep in shape - I warn you,
I will fight hard, and if you do not respond properly, I will rip
your balls off!"

He then commanded the guards to take the Marines away, and we carried
on with our breakfasts.


TRUE FREEDOM


A couple of weeks went by, and my 'idyllic' existence continued - I
worked out, lived with Stu, and completely recovered my health. We
had a little trip into the Capital, and Stu took me around and showed
me the sights.

But, ultimately, I was bored. Stu worked every day, except for the
half day he had off each week, and I found myself waiting for him to
come back to the Bungalow. Even when he was tired and irritable
after some fuck up on the estate, I wasn't, and I wanted him to focus
on us, and "play".

I took up racquet ball again, and worked my way up the leagues, but
this didn't satisfy my desire to be "doing" something, either. Of
course I enjoyed beating the guards, and Bob, on the court, but then
I was fitter and stronger than they were, and I expected to win. And
whenever I played Bob, I took an unfair advantage by playing in the
nude, with just racquet ball shoes on to stop my iron-hard feet
spoiling the court floor. Even when he might have played a winning
shot, he would see me racing to intercept it, and would be distracted
by the sight of the muscles in my long legs stretching, or my cock
bouncing in the air. And after showering, he was completely unable
to concentrate on enjoying his massage - even though the massage
slave would of course pleasure him in any way he wanted, he just lay
there and watched me being massaged. It was me he wanted, but I did
not want him - I was not gay.

Stu and I started bickering sometimes in the evening. I wanted to
talk, and hear all about his day, and he just wanted to flop down on
the couch and relax. On one fateful evening we even quarrelled so
badly that I went and slept in my own room, to "punish" him.

We both realised this couldn't continue, and one afternoon, at the
water hole, we seriously discussed what was going wrong. We knew we
both loved each other still, but why couldn't we live together? Only
after a long period of picking over why we had been quarrelling did
we realise it was because I was bored, and, he finally admitted, Stu
was envious of my freedom to spend the days as I liked whereas he had
to work. So it was simple - I got a job.

The Sheikh gladly employed me on the estate, and as I did not want to
be a guard, I worked in Administration. I gave Stu the money I
earned, as I wanted him to be free of the obligation he owed the
Sheikh from buying me as soon as possible.

But I found I could not settle to office life again, and each day was
like torture for me. I went in the morning, pounded my PC, and came
back each night. Fortunately I had the gym, Pool and racquet ball
court to provide some physical relief, but I sometimes thought I
would explode with frustration. I started running, seriously, again,
and most mornings would slip out from Stu's warm embrace in bed, pull
on a little pair of running shorts, and pound around the estate roads
for about 8 km. Then I would go back and wake Stu, by throwing my
sweaty body on his as he lay there, still innocently dozing.

On one of our afternoons off we had decided to lunch at the bungalow,
and then go to our favourite water hole. But when Stu came in, he
was cross and said that he had to complete an urgent report, and then
he needed to go to the gate house to collect a parcel that was there -
this was a special gift for him from the Sheikh, and it would be
impolite to send a slave to fetch it. I watched him working on his
report for some minutes, then suggested I went to the gate house to
collect the parcel - surely, his free lover could do this without
fear of causing offence to the Sheikh.

Stu thought this was a great idea, because we could get out earlier
then. I was going to walk, or run, there and back, but Stu said I
should take the rickshaw, in case the parcel was heavy. I went
outside, and unhitched Stu's pony. As I got into the driving seat, I
felt strange, and as I cracked the reins on the pony's ass to get him
moving, I realised it was exciting to be in charge of a pony slave,
with him pounding his muscles in my service. I watched the pony's
strong ass pump his longlegs up and down as he jogged along, and then
decided he should go faster, as I wanted to get back to Stu so we
could enjoy our afternoon out. Before long, I was lashing the pony
with the whip, because I thought he could go faster, if he "tried
harder".

On the way back from the gate house I was getting pretty pissed off
with the pony - when I did this journey, I knew I could go faster
than he was, and in spite of spreading the area of my whipping from
his ass to his back to his shoulders, the pony didd not seem to be as
swift as I thought he should be able. When we got back, it was
obvious that he was absolutely exhausted, as I could not tether him
properly - his legs simply gave way, and he half lay on the ground,
between the shafts, as he was manacled.

Stu had finished, and the present from the Sheikh was not very
interesting - just a rare old book that he had found, and that he
wanted his Overseer to have as a particular mark of esteem. We were
therefore free to set out for the water hole, but could not do so
because the pony was unfit for further work that afternoon. Stu sent
to the stables for a replacement ,but there was none available.

We talked about going to the Club, but then I said that I would pull
Stu. He was appalled - he wouldn't have me pull him now I was a man,
not a pony slave, but I laughed and said it would be good exercise.
Anyway, I was fresh, and it wasn't that far. So we set out, and,
laughingly, Stu flicked my shoulders lightly with his whip.

Running in my shorts was very uncomfortable, and after a couple of
minutes I stopped and dropped them, leaving them lying in the road as
I ran on, naked as the puller of a rickshaw should be. We had a
fabulous afternoon, all the tensions in our relationship had
disappeared and we made languorous love many times in-between bouts
of fun in the water.
I was so elated thinking about the enjoyment I was going to have from
using my body in the way it was intended on the journey back, that I
insisted Stu put the bridle into my mouth - I wanted to feel him
gently guiding me, and the "slap" of the reins on my bare ass.

That night in bed I told Stu the solution to our problems - I should
become his pony again. I really loved the feeling of running between
the shafts, and I wanted to serve him. His current pony was not
nearly as good as I was - not as fast, not as willing, and without
the stamina I had for long journeys. I pointed out that Stu must be
slowed down by this, so he couldn't serve the Sheikh as well, and
that I thought he was sometimes frustrated at night because he had
had to spend so much time whipping the pony in an attempt to get
where he needed to be, fast.

I was determined, but Stu was equally determined that he would not
use me as a pony. So for three days I ran alongside Stu, wherever he
went. He could see that I could run harder and faster than his pony,
even when the pony was being whipped and I was running free.

There was only one way that I could get him to change his mind. I
went to the forge, and gave orders to the blacksmith. I arranged to
meet Stu in the forge, and, when he entered, I threw myself down on
the anvil and shouted "now" to the blacksmith.

Before Stu could stop him, the blacksmith had executed my order and
pushed a white-hot branding iron, with a new design, across the site
of the Sheikh's brand. In spite of myself, I did scream. And my
bowels let go.

Stu rushed over and cradled my head. Gasping through my pain I told
him that I had chosen to be re-branded with a new mark - I was not a
free man any longer, I was again a slave, Stu's slave. And as his
slave, he could of course use me in any way he wanted. And I begged
him to want to use me as his pony.

Stu was almost overcome with emotion, especially when I insisted on
turning over to have his slave brand placed over the Sheikhs on my
pec. I would not be dissuaded, and he held me tight as the white
hot iron bit home.

Now my life is perfect. I live entirely naked, pulling Stu around as
he works for the Sheikh. He has overcome his initial inhibitions on
using the whip, as he knows that, especially in the afternoon, I
need "encouraging" if he is to get the best out of me. We spend our
evenings in the Club, but we never need the services of the 'comfort'
slaves - we have each other.

How boring my life would have been had I not been enslaved. I would
have lived a suburban life in the USA, and would never known the twin
joys of realising the full power of my body, and worshipping my
master with my body and my mind.

THE END

