Date: Tue, 1 Aug 2006 02:01:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Falsely Enslaved, Part Eight

FALSELY ENSLAVED

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Eight


The gardener almost dragged Brett into our living
room.  I wondered if it would be wise to keep him at
hand, in case Brett caused trouble, but decided it
wasn't necessary as both Sam and I are, as you know,
big strong guys; and although Brett was reasonably
fit, sometimes the raw power that a big, solid body
gives you is sufficient to deal with most problems.

Sam and I were lounging on one of the couches - me in
a neat short-sleeved shirt, chinos and loafers, and
Sam, choosing to display his body more, in fairly
loose shorts and a skimpy top which left his shoulders
uncovered.  Brett stood there in front of us, his
hands hanging loosely in front of him as he
endeavoured to shield his genitals from our gaze.

"Hands above your head, boy!", Sam barked, and
hesitantly, very hesitantly, his chin quivering
faintly as if he might shed a tear, Brett obeyed.  I
can't see what he had to worry about - as I'd observed
at the auctioneers, he was nicely hung and well
proportioned, and his uncut dick didn't even have that
unsightly loose fold of skin at the end as some men
do:  rather it covered most of his dick head, but left
an intriguing circle visible, including his piss slit.

Sam looked at me to see if I'd had my fill, and when I
nodded he snapped "Turn around, and keep your hands in
the air."   The rear view was just as enticing,
perhaps more so now that the torso was stretched by
the arms being raised.  He was pleasantly muscled,
there were those rather endearing dimples at the base
of the spine that I've already mentioned, and whilst
it was not exactly a "bubble butt", his ass was not
displeasing being firm and lean, and leading into long
muscular thighs.

Sam gave an approving nod, and rubbed his crotch
through his shorts - it was just as well they were on
the loose side, as an erection  was now tenting them -
evidently Sam was anticipating the delights that such
a firm, young, virgin ass held.  Sam raised his
eyebrows in question, and when I nodded he called out
"Right, boy, bend over, reach back and spread your
cheeks so we can get a good look at your pucker."

"Please, no....", Brett called out, and with a bound
Sam was off the couch, had grabbed Brett by the arm to
hold him so he couldn't escape, and had rained down
four big slaps to Brett's ass - and I could imagine
how they'd sting and hurt, given the power Sam has in
his arms and the size of his hands.  Brett screamed as
this was happening, and then, still gripping his arm
tightly - so tight that  I could see Sam's fingers
buried right in Brett's flesh and I knew there would
be bruising -  Sam said calmly "Slaves who disobey get
punished.  Now, do as you were told, or would you like
more?"

Still sniffling, Brett bent and did as instructed, and
Sam sat back beside me as we stared at the enticing
dark pucker between the stark white of Brett's ass.  I
suspected that Brett would not be very hairy down
there, but the Auction house would anyway have shaved
him as some of the clients would undoubtedly have
wanted  to inspect him, as we were doing.  I couldn't
imagine why Brett was so shy, really.  Sam looked at
me and said "You know, Steve, we need to get him
coloured up as soon as possible - that white band
around his butt and thighs is very unattractive."  I
nodded in approval, as although there's a certain
excitement in seeing the lily-white skin of a man as
it signals that he is unused to exposing himself, I
personally don't find it as pleasing as a smooth,
all-over tan (or, alternatively, untanned skin all
over, although this is much harder to achieve as even
when kept indoors as bath servants  and the like,
slaves do tend to try to go and "enjoy the sunshine"
when their owner is not watching. And you can't be
vigilant 24 hours a day, can you? )

"Nice!", Sam muttered.  "But you're going first,
aren't you?"

I reached down and groped at Sam's crotch, feeling the
strength of his erection.  "When you fucked me
earlier, I thought you'd not be able to get it up
again and that was my plan.... But, you know, Sam, I
might enjoy seeing your big nigga body covering this
very white whitey...."

Sam looked so eager, and I'd not been all that nice to
him recently.  So I went on "...so you can go first.
Is he your first virgin?"

"After you, Steve.... I'd never fucked ass before they
made me fuck you that first day.  And you were a
virgin, so he's my second..... "

"But you're a bit more experienced now......"

Sam just smiled, as he knew I knew he'd fuck anything
that moved, given the chance.

I thought that there was another opportunity to
humiliate Brett and demonstrate our new power over
him, though, and I rested my hand on Sam's arm to stay
him for a moment.  "Come and kneel in front of us,
boy", I said calmly.

Brett hesitated for a moment, then did as he was told.
 "The proper way for a slave to kneel in front of his
master is for the knees to be spread slightly apart,
for the slave's back to be straight, his butt is to be
resting on his heels, his hands are clasped behind his
back, and his head is bowed", I intoned.  "Now, do it.
 And remember it - the next time I tell you to kneel
in front of me I will expect to see this position, and
you will be punished for failure.  I only expect to
tell a slave something once."

Brett shuffled his position to the one I had
described, and I was pleased with the way he looked so
satisfyingly subservient.  "And one more thing, boy,
and this is the last time you will be told this, too -
when I give you instructions, you respond with "Sir,
yes, sir.  Do you remember telling your new slaves
that?"

Brett mumbled "Sir, yes, sir."

"I can see you're a fast learner.  That's a pity in
some ways, as it removes a lot of possibilities for me
to order punishment for you.  Now, though, we're going
to proceed with your induction into all the
responsibilities and customs of slavedom.  You may
remember, when you bought Sam and me, that you had us
fuck each other as slaves were not allowed to be
virgins: your man Straughan said that it was better
for slaves to indulge in proper sex, sex with other
men, as it became easier to keep discipline in the
slave barn and stables.  I didn't often agree with
Straughan, but in this he was correct:  it is much
better for slaves to have proper sex."

Brett remained kneeling there, and I thought I heard a
sniffle from him.  "I take it you have never
experienced a dick up that nice firm ass of yours?"

"NO, sir, no."

"Well, in that case, I am going to be merciful -
unlike some owners I could name, who had their slaves
fuck without any preparation so it was maximally
painful, I am going to allow you to be properly
stretched and lubricated before Sam here introduces
you to the proper function of a slave, to please his
master in all things.  And shortly after that, I will
follow him.  But first, we need some lubrication:  be
so good as to masturbate yourself for us, being
careful to catch all your cum in your other hand -
assuming, that is, you are not into advanced
masturbation techniques requiring the use of both
hands on your dick...."

I heard Sam chuckle as I said this, and sometimes I
liked to bring him off "two handed", which he always
found especially sensual.  But Brett gave a half
anguished cry and muttered "No,  please, sir, no...."

"You do not appreciate yet, evidently, slave, that you
do not have the luxury of choice.  I gave you an
order, and you will obey it, or be punished.  Now, do
as I say....."

"Steve", Sam cut in, "I know you're being generous in
letting him spunk himself, and then you're going to
get me to stretch him and everything, but I'd like to
take him really fresh.... Perhaps with just  bit of
spit...."

"You're saved, boy", I continued to Brett.  "Sam here
is going to take you without all that preparation.
That's probably the last choice you will ever make,
not to jerk off as I told you, and one that you will
almost certainly regret."

"Shall I call for them to bring in a 'horse', Sam?" -
we didn't keep one routinely in the living room as
some owners do, as we had so few slaves and, anyway,
Sam and I mostly fucked each other (well, I mostly did
with Sam, but he was a bit of a wild card with the
other slaves, as I've told you).

"No need - a weak guy like this...  I can easily
subdue him.  And it will be more fun to actually have
him totally in my power, and know that it's only the
force I'm using that's keeping my dick in him and not
all those shackles and restraints...."

I nodded, and Sam rose to his feet, lithe as a panther
and probably just as deadly.  I thrilled, as I always
did, as he casually pulled off his top, then dropped
his shorts, so I could see him in all his
magnificence, with his dick already rock solid and
climbing way above the horizontal as he was so excited
(easy for you young guys to do, I know, but Sam was
thirty now, and, anyway, his dick was a heavy object,
not some thin asparagus spear like some guys are
unfortunate enough to have!).  He spit into his hand,
a couple of times, then reached down and gave his dick
a thin coating of it - a very thin coating, I thought,
considering it would be the only lubricant between
Sam's  dick and Brett's tender anus.

He stepped forward, grabbed Brett's arm and hauled the
young slave to his feet, saying softly "Now, boy, come
on and find out how the real men play....."

I watched in fascination as Sam led Brett over to the
other couch and pushed him over the back of it,
kicking at Brett's feet until Sam was satisfied that
they were spread satisfactorily wide to give him
proper access to the ass.  I was expecting Brett to
put up more of a struggle, but perhaps it was Sam's
fingers digging deep into the muscles of his neck - I
suspected rather painfully - that signalled to him
that struggle was useless.  Or perhaps it was that he
indeed knew that, whatever happened, he was going to
be raped and so he might as well accept it.

Brett was calling out feebly all the time "No, please,
no, please don't do this to me, no, please...", as you
might expect, but Sam was not going to be deterred.
I watched in fascination as he used his other hand to
part Brett's butt, and saw him shuffle and manoeuvre
to position his dick at Brett's pucker without using a
hand.   Sensing what was now about to happen, Brett's
subdued "No" sounds now went up in volume and tone,
and he was crying, almost sobbing.  But as Sam pressed
inexorably forward, there was another change as a
great scream broke from his lips.

If I hadn't been so keen to fuck Brett myself  I could
have jerked off with only a couple of strokes as I
then watched Sam at work.  He's a master of the art of
fucking anyway, constantly varying the length of his
stroke and the power of his thrusts - usually, to give
maximum pleasure to both him and his partner.  But on
this occasion it was purely to please Sam, and it was
Brett's ass that therefore had to take the terrible
punishment he meted out.  Big, hard, long strokes,
with the sharp "slap" at the end of each as Sam's body
hit Brett's ass.  Brett was squirming and writhing, in
a desperate attempt to get away:  utterly futile, of
course, with Brett's hand gripping his neck and his
dick buried in him;  and Brett began to sound almost
hoarse as his pleading cries of "no" and "Help" and
"Jesus" turned into almost a single agonised scream.

I remembered how I'd felt the first time Sam had been
forced to fuck me as Brett watched, so I knew a lot of
the sheer agony he must be experiencing.  But, on the
other hand, my sympathy was a little subverted as I
told myself that I had at least given the kid an
opportunity to be lubed and stretched - something that
he'd not even thought about for us.

It's always good to see Sam fucking, though, as his
long legs, powerful thighs, and beautiful rounded butt
are an astonishing sight to behold as they work in
total unison to drive his dick in and out, and I moved
my position slightly so that I could get a better
view.   In his excitement, and with the physical
effort he was putting in, Sam had started to sweat and
a beautiful sheen now covered his skin, a sheen that
soon broke up into big droplets as he worked away.
I'd seen him stud a lot of times, of course, but
watching him with another man was so much more
exciting, especially as, with the constant shifting of
Sam's ink-black body, I got wonderful glimpses of the
pale whiteness of Brett's flesh, a whiteness now
turning pink and even red as his pounding continued.

An interesting fact that you don't often read about in
erotic stories, but one that I'm sure we've all
experienced in real life, is that it's relatively hard
to actually cum when  you're fucking: most guys pull
out after a time, and simply jerk themselves off to
completion, after all.  But on this occasion that
wasn't so - Sam was so wound up with excitement, and
his fucking was so strong and so severe, that although
it took about  fifteen minutes I saw those changes
that go on - he slowed, was much more cautious, and
began to shout "Fuck... Oh yes... Fuck... Sweet
Jesus.... yes....", and then he stopped, and I saw
just the faintest trace of movement in his butt
muscles as his cum must be pumping up into Brett.  He
collapsed forward onto Brett's body, then, and I
suppose the sheer weight of him did at least serve in
some measure to stifle Brett's desperate sobs.

He pulled himself out a couple of minutes later,
leaving Brett still draped over the couch.  Rubbing
his dick - which was covered in Brett's shit and
rather unsavoury, I thought, he looked at me and
grinned.  "He's nice and loose now, Steve - sorry if
I'll have spoiled your pleasure a bit....".  He
shambled off then to go and wash his dick, and I
thrilled as I again saw his lovely tall, lean body
move so unconsciously sexily:  I was so lucky to have
a  guy like this as my partner and lover.

So taken was I with the though of Sam that I'd almost
forgotten Brett, and it was only his stifled sobbing
that reminded me of his presence.  I went and looked
at him as he remained lying there, and saw a slow
trickle of his shit mixed with Sam's cum and their
joint sweat making its way down the inside of his
thighs.   I did feel sorry for him, I suppose, at
least a little bit.  But then I thought of how he'd
treated Sam and me, and how it was almost certain that
his father had told him about the "special prices" he
paid for Sam and me,  and how he ought to have been
alerted that something was therefore not entirely
correct.    He was a slave, but at least he was a
"proper" slave, and he'd been through the courts ,and
it was his own headstrong stupidity that had resulted
in his condition.  We, on the other hand, had been
treated like slaves even thought I had been falsely
enslaved:  he'd done to me what  I was about to do to
him, and I was not, and never had been, a slave.
Don't get me wrong - I'm not saying there's anything
not right about proper sex, man to man - of course
not.  But a man has a right to choose, and even though
I now adored Sam and couldn't imagine anything better
than sliding in to him, or having him slide in to me,
I thought I ought to have been given the choice.

Sam came back now, and came over and put his big arm
around my shoulder and kissed me.  "Your turn now,
partner....".  His tone was joking, and, as a friend
rather than as a slave, he helped me unbutton my shirt
and take it off, and to lose my shorts.   Rubbing my
naked body against Sam's I almost didn't want to go
and fuck Brett - he'd be all loose, and slimy with
Sam's cum, and was not a very appealing prospect,
frankly.  Sam on the other hand was ripe for  fucking,
and I did contemplate having Brett sent back to the
barn and just lying there with Sam as we so often id
in the evenings.  But owners have their
responsibilities, don't they?  And once I'd slapped
Brett's butt a couple of times as a subtle reminder to
him that I was in charge, I pushed in to him and began
to fuck away.

It wasn't a great fuck, but it was somehow exciting I
suppose to have this guy who I'd hated for so long now
skewered on my dick.   And when it was over and I'd
washed, and called the gardener to take Brett away and
chain him up in the barn, Sam and I sat there in
companionable intimacy for a couple of hours.  As we
stroked and caressed each other, we reminisced about
our treatment as ponies at Brett's hands, and
discussed the ways in which we were going to "educate"
him the following day.   I was glad that this was
turning into a project in which we could both share,
one which gave us both a new interest.

The following morning we started Brett's
transformation into a proper pony.  The farrier called
and we had him fix a slave bracelet, a thin, expensive
one, as Sam wore, around his ankle.  Sam was keen to
have him pierce Brett's nips and nose, too, but I said
no, as I wanted Brett to have the "natural" look - I
think that Brett had created an impression by having
Sam and me "ornamented" with all our piercings and our
cinching and our collars,  but this was perhaps now a
little out of fashion and anyway I didn't want to use
his ideas.  Instead, I intended to create an equal
sensation by having our pony not even look like a
slave.  Sam said he ought to be cinched  and reminded
me how painful it had been to have to run - and
especially to prance - without support, and I
countered by pointing out that with Brett's dick
mounted high above his sac and his sac being almost
spherical, this was hardly a relevant consideration.
I had planned to call in the veterinarian to 'skin
Brett, but after the farrier had put on his ankle ring
and saw here was no more work for him to do, he
happened to mention that he'd done a short course on
minor slave body modifications to complement his main
line of business.  He offered to do Brett's 'skinning
at a very much reduced price compared to the
outrageous vet's fees, and so I agreed.

Both the gardener and Sam held Brett down, one sitting
astride his belly and the other sitting astride his
thighs, and when he realised what was about to happen
to him Brett began his usual pathetic screaming and
pleading, firstly not to have it done at all, and
then, when he realised that it was inevitable, and the
farrier had opened a sterile packet of "one use"
blades,  for him at least to be given an anaesthetic.
I saw the farrier shaking his head, and remembered our
own experiences, so I looked down at Brett and said,
calmly "Sorry, but this guys' not licensed to give
anaesthetics.  But it's such a short operation, such a
small thing.....".  I was only later that I remembered
that it was not Brett who had had us 'skinned, as it
had been done at the dealer, but by then it was too
late.

We decided that, natural blond or not, Brett was going
to be totally body shaved, so we watched as he stood
there in the open yard as my valet took the clippers,
and then the razor, and took off even that small bar
of pubic hair that he'd had left.  Brett was also to
have a proper pony "Mohican" cut to mimic a mane, so
the valet next shaved the two sides of his skull.  As
I wasn't going to be restrained by the need to have
him with short hair because he had to "match" Sam as I
had been, I resolved to let the remainder grow so that
it flopped agreeably from side to side a little, and
at the back it would be allowed to grow and grow so
that it would (eventually!) reach all down his back
and touch his ass.  It never got there, of course -
well, not in the time I was interested in him - but it
did get long enough to cover the nape of his neck and
hover somewhere between his shoulder blades:  as I
drove him I loved to see the long, silky hair in
impeccable condition when we started out gradually get
soaked in his sweat and turn into straggly "rats'
tails" hanging there:  it neatly emphasised, I
thought, how much sweat he was generating and how hard
he worked.

Anticipating Brett's arrival, Sam had borrowed an
automatic tattooer from Dave and Sheila, and we now
needed to put his SIN and so on into his flesh.   I
really didn't want the perfection of his body spoiled
by having most people's first sight of it sullied by
an ugly tattoo on his pecs, or his belly, so we
compromised and did it at the base of his neck, at the
back.  As soon as his hair grew it would be mostly
concealed, as I've told you of my plans for his
"mane", and so I felt justified in having not only his
SIN, but "Property of S Masters" inked into him there.
 Sam and I debated whether to have Brett's name added
as well, but I decided that it might emphasise to him
his relative unimportance in the scheme of things if
he went nameless, and often in speech I'd just call
him "Pony" or "Boy."

All that was left then was to decided where to brand
him, and then to do it.  Brett stood there, his whole
body trembling, as Sam and I ran our hands over his
skin discussing the best place.  The butt is of course
the obvious location, and I suppose ninety percent or
more of the slaves you see have the big "S" there, but
I wanted to enjoy the unsullied perfection of his
smooth skin and sleek butt and thighs as he ran along
in front of me, and so that was out.  Sam played with
his nips a bit and suggested it might be amusing to
have the "S" curled around one of them.  When I shook
my head, Brett looked so relieved, until Sam's hand
skimmed over his belly and said that centred there
might be interesting.  Or perhaps on the forehead, he
added, stroking Brett's now sweating brow.

I explained to Sam that I didn't want the perfection
of Brett really spoiled - I wanted folk to see his
body, not to focus down on to the brand, and Sam in
turn said that therefore the ideal place was on the
underside of the dick - it could be done with skill
and care, he told me, citing Mr Wright's book, but you
did have to make sure the slave was erect first, and
then make sure you did not burn too deep and affect
the urethra or the blood supply.  I have to say this
was an appealing prospect, but, on the other hand, if
we wanted to stud Brett, and I did plan to have him do
this, just as I had had to, some prospective clients
might think that a brand there would in someway
"affect" things:  some of my southern neighbours are
not big on their understanding of science!

Short of the sole of the foot - popular with indoor
slaves, but perhaps a little less practicable for
those who would always be running barefoot out of
doors, that seemed to rule out the available choices.
 Until it occurred to me that there was a place that
would not usually be visible "in normal service" as a
pony, but which would be immediately obvious should he
ever escape and fall in to the hands of the SP.  I
knelt down behind Brett and separated his butt cheeks,
clutching his muscle in my strong hands.  Sam crouched
beside me, and I told him my plan "We'll do it here,
on this inside of the butt crack, where his ass is
deepest.  No one will be able to see it normally - but
any inspection would reveal it, especially one by the
SP, who are notorious for using a slave's ass...."

Sam grinned wolfishly.  "It will hurt...."

"All branding hurts, Sam.  Remember?"

He nodded ,and without further ado Sam showed me the
branding iron that he'd already borrowed from Dave and
Sheila.  I called the chef out to light the barbecue,
and as Brett stood there in the hot sun, knowing what
was about to happen to him and now too terrified, or
too resigned to his fate, to protest, Sam and I
enjoyed watching the bare butt and back of the chef as
he scurried around:  his chef's apron of course only
covered the front of him.  I gave orders for a light
lunch, as the barbecue was to be lit, with perhaps
some salmon and prawns tossed lightly on the grill.

It always takes a disproportionate time, I think, to
get a barbecue fire properly "up to temperature", and
frankly I was getting bored by the time the glowing
embers were judged "ready" to grill our lunch, and
heat up the branding iron.  It seemed unnecessarily
cruel to keep Brett waiting whilst we ate lunch, so we
did him before we ate:  it's harder than you think,
actually, as even for a conventional branding the
slave needs to be kept utterly immobile, and now we
had the added problem of having to keep his butt
cheeks forced well apart to give proper access.

Sam and the gardener sat astride Brett, who was face
down, on the outdoor picnic table.  I told the chef to
hold the buttocks apart, and then, after a few moments
thought, to go and get some wet kitchen cloths to
drape over his Brett's butt, especially the "opposite"
cheek, in case there should be an accident and the
branding iron should slip.

I'd thought about letting Sam actually do the
branding, but, somehow, considered that as the legal
owner it was really my duty.  Although it had been
done to me, I'd got no experience of taking a red-hot
iron and pressing it into another man's flesh:  I
mean, if you do accidentally touch another person with
something hot, or touch your own skin in error, the
instinctive reaction is to withdraw immediately.  I
had to force myself to turn off this reaction and
actually hold the iron in contact with him, against
all my "learned" reflexes.  It's really difficult to
do:  Brett was screaming with the pain as the iron
first touched him, I could see his flesh blistering
and charring, and the acrid smell of blackened and
charred meat rose to my nostrils.  But it has to be
done - if you don't hold the iron for sufficiently
long, the brand will have to be done again and that's
no help to anyone, is it?

I'm not unnecessarily cruel of course, and so once the
brand was seared into his flesh we did rub analgesic
cream into the red, puffy, blistered skin, and I told
the gardener to take Brett back to the barn and chain
him up as it was useless to expect him to work for the
rest of the day.  Sam and I then sat and had our
lunch, and as we did so we reminisced about our
training and preparation, and had to agree that, all
things considered, Brett had got off lightly.

It turns out that one of the problems in branding a
slave between his ass cheeks is that you lose valuable
days of training as it really is too painful for him
to run, or even walk, with the dreadful wound being
abraded by the natural movement of the ass.  So for
the next few days we could only exercise Brett's upper
body - Sam stood over him, making him do seemingly
endless press-ups and chin lifts - and of course
increase his tolerance to our fairly fierce sun by
leaving him exposed to it for progressively longer
periods.  As soon as we could, though, he had to begin
his pony training "proper", especially his power to
run for protracted periods, and I took time to explain
my philosophy to him.

I sat comfortably on a couch on the shady veranda, Sam
by my side, as I commanded Brett to kneel in front of
me - he'd remembered how to do this, and I enjoyed
seeing his torso, now colouring nicely, and his dick
jutting out so agreeably in front of him.  His eyes
were properly downcast, too, although this might not
be such an advantage:  it's good to see a slave
subservient, of course, but sometimes you do want to
be able to see his face properly to make sure he is
following your instructions completely and totally.

"Although I have Mr Wright's book on pony training,
Brett", I began, "I will not use most of it as both
Sam and I have better practical experiences to use.
Having been ponies ourselves, you are fortunate in
having instructors who really know what they are
talking about.  However I am sure you remember one of
Mr Wright's principles, one in which you placed great
store yourself:  a slave needs to 'know' things
instinctively, deep down in his body, not just
intellectually in his brain.  Mr Wright advocates the
use of punishment, and in particular the tawse and the
cane, to reinforce verbal instructions and to drive
the knowledge that a slave needs deep, deep into him.
You practised this philosophy yourself, and it should
therefore be no surprise to you to know  that it is
the method of training that we will be employing with
you:  any failure to obey an order, any forgetting any
of the pony protocols we teach you, any lack of
enthusiasm to drive your body to its utmost in support
of us, and you will be punished.  Punished without
mercy, and without exception:  the only acceptable
standard of behaviour for you is perfection, and if
you fail to reach this, or are slow or hesitant or
unenthusiastic, retribution will be swift and severe.
Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir", Brett mumbled.

"Good!  Now, the first thing I want you to remember is
that ponies are dumb.  They do not talk and chatter,
not to their owners, and not to other slaves.  I want
you totally silent unless you are responding to a
direct question from me.  Is that understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir.  But what about if I need a drink,
or...."

I nodded to Sam, who slid up from the couch, grabbed
Brett's arm and thrust the guy over the railing of the
veranda.  His ass was appealingly exposed, and I took
a punishment cane and gave him six strokes, spacing
them over the butt and the thighs, to maximise the
discomfort.  At the end, I snapped "Kneel!", and Brett
once more assumed the proper position, although  I
could imagine that having his heels pressed against
his beaten ass was not comfortable.

"As I said, you are to be totally silent, except when
responding to a direct question from me.  Is that
clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Good.  Now, as a pony, you are reliant on your owner
for your upkeep and welfare.  Totally reliant.  So you
will need to rely on me to make sure you have enough
water, food, medicine... whatever else is necessary.
You can no more ask for these things than a real pony
can ask its owner for things.  I do not intend to use
the bit in you to keep you silent, as you did to Sam
and me, but silent you will be:  if I have to order
too many beatings for you because of speech problems,
I will solve them once and for all  by having your
vocal chords cauterised."

"Next, I do not intend to use a bit and reins at all -
you will respond to my vocal commands, and this should
not present a major problem as your usage will mainly
be confined to visits to local neighbours, and to the
small number of places I patronise in our local town.
So once you have learned where the barber shop is, the
simple command "To the barbers, swift trot" should
suffice.  I do not expect failures of any kind in
obeying such simple orders."

"And finally, I have decided to keep you in the barn,
as a pony, rather than in the slave house with the
other slaves, to emphasise to you that you are the
lowest of the low here:  a slave who is doing the work
of an animal.  My other slaves have responsible jobs
where they utilise their skill and expertise in
maintaining my lifestyle for me;  you are just an
animal, to be used whenever I decide to visit my
neighbours or the town, and you have no part to play
in exercising any control whatsoever over your
actions:  you are a pony, and ponies obey."

He knelt there, and I was itching for him to say
something so he could be punished, so emphasising  his
new role at this early, critical stage.  But he
remained kneeling, head bent, although I could see his
chest heaving slightly as if he was trying to control
his emotions and not burst into tears.

I had talked to Sam about Brett's training, and Sam
had said that he would enjoy playing an active part in
it - I'd thought that we might drive Brett around
together, teaching him the various steps and speeds,
and building up his muscular capacity as we did so.
But Sam had prodded the skin at his waist rather
ruefully and said that he thought he might be gaining
weight from all the rich living we did - not that I
had noticed anything wrong, as Sam's body was a
perfect delight to me.  But perhaps Sam's experiences
in the marines had taught him the early warning signs,
and he does tend to be very conscious of his body
anyway, so he said he wanted to be more active in the
training:  rather than drive Brett in the trap, Sam
would prefer to run alongside him, or after him
'encouraging' his ass with a carriage whip.  Sam said
it would be a pleasure to really use his muscles
again, and I shrugged - it that's what he wanted to
do, it was fine by me.

Actually it was a bit of a pleasure for me, too: I
watched as Sam's big nigga body, clad only in a tiny
pair of slave shorts to give him some support now he
was no longer cinched, loped alongside the slimmer,
smaller Brett (entirely naked). They ran off towards
the lake, and around it, and back, and I saw Sam
grinning with the sheer pleasure he always got from
hard work as he stopped briefly in front of me.  He
was barely breathing hard, although he was covered in
sweat, whereas Brett seemed to be in real trouble:
the stood there, hands on his knees, bent almost
double, sucking in air and trying to get himself under
control.  Sam saw this, and slashed at his butt with
the carriage whip, a tempting target given the way he
was standing.  "Ponies stand with their heads bent,
feet slightly apart, and hands clasped behind their
backs when not running", Sam intoned, and the hapless
Brett, sweat pouring off him and his chest heaving as
he sucked in air, struggled to obey.

"Another circuit, then", Sam snapped, and Brett half
muttered "Sir, no, please.....".

Sam slashed at him several times then, not only on the
butt and back, but on his front, too, allowing he
vicious stinging tip of the carriage whip to almost
caress Brett's nips and causing Brett to scream in
pain.

"Ponies are silent", Sam reminded him, unless
responding to a question.  I did not ask you if you
wanted to go around the lake again, I told you that
was what we were doing."

With that, Sam set off, the hapless Brett desperately
struggling to keep up.

Frankly, after a while I became bored at seeing Brett
stumble and flounder as he tried to emulate the much
fitter Sam, and of hearing his cries as Sam had to
repetitively lash at him with the carriage whip to
make sure that he was delivering the maximum of which
he was capable.  That night Sam was in an unusually
ebullient mood in bed, and let me fuck him without our
usual tussle:  "It's Great, Steve", he told me.  "I
feel as if I'm using my body properly now for the
first time since we were ponies.  My muscles are so
stiff, though, that all I want to do is lie here and
feel your dick in me - I reckon I couldn't summon up
the energy to fuck you, even if you asked me!"

So I made slow, sensual love to him, and we laughed
and stroked each other, and I then asked "You're not
treating Brett too harshly, are you, Sam?  He's not as
 strong as you are...."

"...yet!  The boy will only gain power and strength
and put on new muscle when he's consistently pushed
beyond his limits.  So don't worry - he'll be in real
trouble with muscle pain and stuff tonight and for the
next few days, but he's young, and resilient, and I
won't damage him, honest.  Don't you remember how we
used to lie  in the stables some nights so fucking
tired we didn't even want to wank each other?  So stop
worrying, Steve:  I used to have a lot of new guys in
the unit in the marines too, you know, so I'm used to
knowing what the limits of men are who are not as fit
as me."

Well I was reassured by that, and certainly Brett did
appear to improve dramatically over the next couple of
weeks, so much so that when Sam heard I'd got a
haircut planned one day and was getting my bike out to
set off for town, he sidled up to me with a
mischievous smile and said he was about to take Brett
out for exercise, but perhaps now would be a good time
to give Brett his first taste of "real life" for him
from now on.

End Of Part Eight