Date: Mon, 12 Jan 2004 06:17:01 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Willing Slave, Parts 15&16 (MM NC BDSM FANT)

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 15

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


I almost overslept the following morning.  Instead of
the other slaves waking me, they just ignored me and
left me lying there, snoring away - if it hadn't been
for the Overseer coming into the dorm, pulling the
sheet off me and slapping my naked ass to wake me up,
I'd have been late.

The events of the previous night at first seemed like
a bad dream - I couldn't have done those things to
Jack and Joe, could I?  But when there was a great cry
of rage from the Overseer who had gone into the shower
area, I got that awful sick realisation that I really
had done what I remembered. He came storming back into
the dorm room, and stood in front of me as I sat there
dejectedly on the edge of my bed.

"You stupid cunt, Steve!  What on earth possessed you
to beat up Jack and Joe, and to rape Jack?  There'll
be hell to pay when the owner finds out.  In fact,
we'd better try to hide it from him, as he'll be so
angry at the behaviour of his son's slave that he'll
probably insist on some dramatic punishment for you -
not that you're going to escape punishment:  any slave
living under my control will be severely punished if
he disobeys.  I don't usually have to, as the slaves
here know they have a benevolent master and behave
properly - but I can, and I will, punish idiots like
you in the hope I can knock some sense into them
before they ruin their entire lives."

"Now, get showered, and get your trap out and wait
around the corner until the owner has left - your
owner, and Master Scott, want you to take them to the
tram stop, but not until after Master Jason's father
has left.  And then, when you get back, come straight
to my office and I'll decide what's to be done with
you."

I stood there under the shower, without even another
slave's body against me for comfort, and pulled on my
tiny pouch, hoping it would conceal my nakedness. I 
then went and got the trap out, knelt whilst the
Overseer fitted my bit as usual, and pulled it to wait
by the corner of the mansion.  I peeped around to the
front and saw Jack standing there in his trap, but he
looked a sorry sight as instead of his usual upright,
jaunty stance, he seemed to be all bowed.

The owner came out and got in, and I heard him say
"OK, Jack - to the tram.  I'm a bit late as usual, so
step on it, lad...."

They set off, but as they got half way down the drive
I saw the trap stop.  Jack then pulled it back to the
front door, the owner jumped out, and I heard him
calling for the Overseer.

All went quiet then for a few minutes, and I was
expecting my owner and Master Scott to appear for
their journey to the tram stop, but instead, the
Overseer came around the corner and told me to follow
him.

"You're in deep shit, Steve!  The owner wondered why
Jack wasn't pulling him properly this morning, then
saw the state of the lad's body - all the bruising
from that beating you gave him.  And then he realised
Jack's ass was torn and sore, too, and the whole story
came out.  He asked me if there was any more trouble
with slaves, and when he saw how you'd beaten Joe,
too..... "

In spite of my training I'd have broken and asked him
if he'd told the owner about my humiliation at the
hands of his son and Master Scott earlier, but I
couldn't - the bit was still firmly clamped in my
mouth, and speech was impossible.  So all I could do
was follow him as we went into the house, and along
one of the ground floor corridors into a part of the
mansion I'd not been in before - the owner's study.

It was one of those "masculine" rooms - all wood
panelling, leather sofas and heavy portraits, and the
owner was sitting behind a big oak desk, looking
extremely angry.  His son and Master Scott were
standing to one side:  Master Jason looked worried,
and Master Scott looked angry.
The Overseer guided me across the big room to stand in
front of the desk, then reached down and undid the
ties holding my G-string, and with a quick motion
pulled the tiny silk pouch away, leaving me totally
exposed.  At one time I suppose I'd have been used to
the idea that I should appear in front of my owner
naked, but now, with my obscene black dick, I almost
felt ashamed of my body.  The Overseer pressed down on
my shoulders, indicating I should kneel before the
owner.

I knelt there, and I'd never felt so bad before in my
whole life.  There I was, his former trusted pony
who'd served him well for five years, now a naked,
decorated animal, deprived of the ability to even
express himself, and facing his undoubted wrath.

"So this is your animal that injured my slaves, is
it?", he said to Master Jason.  "What happened to that
pony I passed on to you when I bought Jack?  If you'd
kept him, none of this would have happened."

"Look, dad, don't start to blame me!  This is that
pony - your precious Steve you used to think so much
of.  He's gone wild, attacking the other slaves like
that, totally without provocation.  It's nothing to do
with me." 

He was  so unfair, not telling his father about how
he'd treated me, and the humiliation he'd put me
through before I totally lost it, that if I could have
spoken I do believe I would have, even though it was
to the owner.

"Get up!", the owner snapped at me, and then "Turn
around", and then "Again!"

I stood in front of him, my nose and nipple rings
glinting under the ceiling lights, my huge tattoos
showing him my name, and my black dick kind of half
erect out in front of me.

"Did you do this, Jason?"

"Do what, dad?"

"Mutilate this slave in this way."

"It's not 'mutilation' dad - don't be so fucking
dramatic!  It's just decoration - all the show ponies
are made to look special, like this.  All the other
guys I know have their ponies modified, it's not a
problem, as...."

"Don't swear at me, you arrogant young swine!  Don't
you know what you've done? This was a valuable slave,
a properly trained one, who cost a fortune.  And
you've destroyed his value - how many normal people
would want a pony to pull them to the tram stop
looking like that?  You've no respect for the value of
money, as you don't work for it and just rely on me,
and this is just another example of your crass
stupidity.  It's time you grew up, settled down, and
started to work..."

"Oh for Christ sake, dad!  Let's not start all that
all over again!  I do work! Scott and I are setting up
a business...."

"Well I've had enough.  You're both lazy and idle, and
this business of yours is nothing more than an excuse
to go around and spend time with your friends,
supposedly to 'make contacts' or whatever.  Things are
going to change round here, starting right now."

I'd never seen my former owner angry like this before,
and he was no longer shouting, just icily calm, as he
went on "Firstly, I'm taking that slave back, as you
don't deserve to be entrusted with owning valuable
property.  I'll have to sell him for what I can
get.... And his value will be even lower, once he's
been punished.  Secondly, you have two choices - move
out, set up with your 'lover', and live on what you
can make by running a proper business;  or come and
start work for me next Monday, and carry on living
here without your useless friend....."

At this, Master Scott broke in "Hey, fella, shut the
fuck up!  Don't call me useless...."

My former owner rose to his feet, and he looked really
angry now.  "Get out of my house.  Get out NOW, or
I'll call the cops.  You've corrupted my son, you've
lived off my hospitality for long enough, and it's
over.  Now, GET OUT!"

Master Jason tried to calm his father.  "Dad, please
don't.... If you send Scott away, I'll go with
him...."

"I've told you, Jason, that you have two choices.  If
you decide to go with your lover, so be it.  I think
you need a good dose of reality about what the world's
really like for all the people who have to make a
decent living by actually working."

Master Scott tugged at Master Jason's arm, and pulled
him towards the door, saying "Come on, Jase.  Let's
get out of here.  There's no reasoning with an old
dinosaur like that.  We'll take your slave, sell him
for what we can get, and we'll have enough money....."

"You will not!", the owner snapped.  "You two can do
what you like, but the slave stays here to receive his
punishment, and then to be sold.  I never formally
signed him over to Jason, and so, legally, he's still
mine."

Master Scott turned and strode out of the room,
followed by Master Jason, who seemed to be trying to
hold him back.  I felt a wave of relief sweeping over
me.  Had I been able to speak I'd have sobbed a "thank
you" to my old owner who always treated me properly,
and who was now my owner again.  I wanted to tell him
that there would be no more trouble, that all I wanted
to do was to serve as a proper slave... But, of
course, no words could come out.

But my momentary elation turned to dread, as my owner
turned to the Overseer and said "That idiot son of
mine has ruined this slave, I think.  We could
probably live with those vile tattoos by keeping him
covered.  But he's been turned into a vicious rapist,
beating up his fellows when they won't take his dick,
and I can't allow that.  It's a problem - we can
hardly sell him like that, as he's dangerous."

"Sir", the Overseer replied, "I think we need to take
strong action, to prevent this spreading like a rot
through your slaves - you know what they say about
'one bad apple....'.  I suggest you make an example of
this slave to show all the others that it's
unacceptable, and then sell him."

"But what do you suggest?  As I said, we can hardly
sell him, as he's dangerous."

"Firstly, sir, I suggest you flog him in front of all
the other slaves.  Jason and Scott used to whip him
lightly to make him run faster, but he needs a
whipping he'll remember for ever - we could get a
professional whip master in, and have him flogged
almost to death with a heavy bull whip.  And then,
before he's sold, we could have him calmed...."

"'Calmed'?  How?"

"There's only one way, sir, I'm afraid - there was an
article about in 'Slavery Today' only last week.  It
said that once tough, virile men like this get the
idea they can use their fists and their dicks on other
slaves, they need to have their hormones turned down -
and the only way to do that permanently is by gelding
them.  I'm afraid it's a lot of trouble for you, sir,
as you have to get a court order to geld a slave, and,
when it's done, his value will be even lower.  But at
least we could then sell him knowing that we weren't
passing on a load of trouble to a new owner.... You
would have a clear conscience."

I desperately wanted to tell them they were wrong! 
Treated properly again I'd be a good, loyal slave once
more.  I tried to speak, to shout, and all that came
out were inarticulate mumbles.  Sweat broke out all
over me, as I tried to make myself understood.  I just
wanted my owner to know that I was a trained slave,
and would perform properly in future....

"You're right!", my owner said, looking at me.  "Look
at the way he's agitated now - he's not at all the
Steve I sued to know, calm, professional, and
accepting of his role as a slave.  Schedule the
flogging for tonight, and do what you have to to get
the court order.  Oh... And call for a cab to pull me
to the tram stop - I'm extremely late now, because of
this rogue slave."

I went to protest again, as I wasn't a rogue, and
moved towards the desk.  The Overseer saw this, and
stabbed at me with something, and I fell to the floor,
writhing in agony.  I'd have been screaming the place
down, if the bit hadn't turned all my howls into muted
cries.

"I never thought I'd need to do that here, sir!", the
Overseer told my owner. "All the time I've worked for
you no slave has ever caused me to have to use the
electric goad to control him.  But you saw how he was
advancing on you...."

"Quite so.  Thank you.  That just confirms the
rightness of my decision to flog, geld and sell. He's
turned into a real renegade,  I think.  Take care he
doesn't attack you, or do something foolish like try
to run away..."

The Overseer bent over me, tugged at my arms that I
could barely move because of the pain shooting for me,
and the next instant my hands were cuffed behind my
back.

"On your feet, slave!", he snapped, and then, when I
was slow to comply, he kicked out and caught my ribs a
nasty blow.  I scrambled to my feet as best I could,
and went to try to plead with my owner, straining
every muscle in my throat to try and make articulate
words.  

But the Overseer saw me move, reached down, grabbed
hold of my dick, and hauled me away across the room. 
When you're cuffed and there's a strong hand gripping
you and pulling you by your dick, you're not able to
do anything else but to follow - believe me, try it!

He led me out of the house in this humiliating way and
across the yard to the slave quarters.  There was a
small cell in there on the ground floor that I never
remember being used - the door was unlocked, and I was
pushed in.  

"You really are stupid, Steve!", the Overseer told me.
 "I might have been able to argue just for the
flogging and to leave your balls on, but then you went
to attack him...."

I wanted to protest, to say that it might have seemed
like that, but it wasn't my intention.... But the
harder I tried, the more frustrated I got and the less
my stifled words made sense.

"Anyway", he went on "What's done is done.  I'll get
the public whip master in for tonight, and in the
meantime you stay here.... There's a hole to piss and
crap down in the corner, and that spigot on the wall
will give you water if you suck on it.  I'm not going
to feed you - perhaps that will help you think about
how good your owner was to you in the past, always
providing you with enough slave chow....."

He went out, pulling the barred door closed behind him
and locking me in - the first time I'd ever been
confined like that before: as a properly trained slave
I knew what was expected of me, and there was never
any need for cuffs, or locks, or anything like that.

The day passed slowly, and I  hated every moment of
it.  My arms ached from being cuffed behind me.  My
stomach rumbled constantly as I hadn't eaten for
hours, and my body needs a lot of nourishment. 
Through the barred window of my cell I could see the
life of the estate going on normally, and I was no
longer part of it, no longer part of somewhere I'd
spent five happy years.  Occasionally one or other of
the indoor or outdoor slaves would come in and look at
me through the bars, and one was apparently so
outraged at what I'd done that he even spat at me! 
There was nothing  I could do, as I was powerless to
tell them how I'd been treated, and I just had to
stand there and accept their criticism of me.  Our
owner really was a good man, and his slaves were all
intensely loyal to him, just as I had been.... Or do I
mean "just as I am"? .... Was I losing what was the
core of my life, my role as a slave, a role I'd
accepted ever since childhood?

I suppose I dozed during the day, but was woken in
late afternoon by a commotion outside - a cart, pulled
by a pair of slaves, had pulled into the yard and a
big man, clad entirely in black leather, was
supervising them as they unloaded a pair of thick
wooden posts with heavy woodwork around the ends than
enabled them to stand upright.   As I watched, the
Overseer came out and greeted the man, and they walked
over towards my cell, with the man carrying a long
metal tubular contraption, about five feet long.

"So this is the slave... What an ugly brute", the
leather clad man said to the Overseer as they came in.
 "I can see why he needs disciplining."

It was so unfair - he was judging me entirely by my
appearance, and that wasn't anything to do with me,
was it?  I tried to tell him, and my attempts to speak
I suppose only looked like an irrational rage.

"Right, Steve", the Overseer said.  "I'm going to
uncuff you now so the whip master can prepare you. 
But I've got my electric goad here - behave, or we'll
do what I did this morning, and do it whilst you're
incapacitated."

He didn't need to do that - I was still an obedient
slave, and there was no need to threaten me, I stood
meekly there as he undid the cuffs, and then the whip
master approached me, holding the metal thing.

"Easy now, slave.  Carry on being a calm boy, and it
will be easier for you in the end...."

The metal thing he was holding was hinged at one end
and he now opened it so that if formed a "V".  The
metal wasn't straight as there were indentations in
it, and I soon found out what it was for - the biggest
indentation went around my neck,  he raised my arms so
that my wrists went into the smaller ones, and then he
snapped the thing closed so that I was standing there
with my neck sticking out of the middle of the five
foot pole, with my wrists immobilised in it about a
foot on either side of my shoulders.

"There, that wasn't a problem now, was it?  It's a
smooth metal yoke, so it won't chafe your neck or
wrists.... Not that that would be a problem for you
compared to what's in store for you elsewhere", he
told me, with an unpleasant smile.  Turning to the
Overseer, he went on 

"This is the easiest and most humane way we've found
to do it.  My two slaves can get hold of both ends of
the yoke and bring him out to the whipping station -
with that length of yoke, there's no way he can
overcome them as they can exert too much leverage. 
His arms are immobile so he can't strike them, and he
can't even kick out at them as they're too far away."

"It's neat, really", he went on.  "They bring him out,
then clip the ends of the yoke into the two uprights
we've erected, and then he's ready for whipping.  We
can ratchet the fastening up the supports, so that his
feet are almost of the ground and his  buttocks are
clenched tight, or we can lower it and use a leg
spreader to expose his ass more - had you thought
about how you wanted him done?  In either case, of
course, the yoke anyway holds his shoulders out in a
good position to provide the maximum area exposure of
his back."

"What do you recommend?"

"Well, with a very muscular slave like this, I think
it's good to see the ass muscles clenched tight - the
whole of the back of his body, rippling and straining
as he tries to prevent himself from choking as we
raise the yoke so that he's on tiptoe, adds a small
extra excitement.  And with his legs together, there's
no chance of a stray lash damaging his dick or balls
as they're not exposed as they would be if his legs
were spread - sometimes a stray whip tip can flick
through the open legs and catch the balls from behind.
  Now, are you going to strip him, or shall I?"

"Well, you needed bother about damaging his balls! 
He's going to lose them anyway.  But what do you mean,
'Strip him'?"

"Oh, poor sod!  Fancy losing your balls when you're a
muscular stud like him."  As he said this the whip
master reached down and casually fondled my sac, and I
tried to pull away from him.

"I see what you mean about him becoming wilful", he
continued to the Overseer.  "He just tried to stop me
feeling his tackle.  But what a pity to be losing
that... You know, I bet a large part of his
personality is founded on being well hung, and when he
loses his globes, he'll be shattered!  Still, we must
get everything agreed.  Now, about stripping him....
Well I know he's naked now, but again, for the
dramatic effect, I'd recommend you dress him in
something simple - something like a loin cloth, back
and front.  Then, when he's in place, it gets ripped
off to totally expose him to the audience.  As I said,
it's not essential - you can keep him nude like this
all the time, or you can put shorts on him, which
would tend to shred as the whipping progresses anyway.
 It depends on he effect you want to achieve, as a
public whipping like this is as much about sending a
clear message to your other slaves as it is to just
punishing this poor bugger."

"Oh, no, leave him naked.  All the outdoor slaves are
used to seeing him nude anyway in the dorm, and the
indoor slaves have mostly been past today to take a
look.  How many strokes are you going to give him, or
do you just do it until he passes out, or something?"

"No, never just until he passes out.  He may well
lapse into unconsciousness several time during a
whipping, but it's important for the other slaves to
know in advance how many strokes, and that these are
administered irrespective of the state he's in - some
slaves bleed a lot more than others, and you do need
to get through to the end even if it's pooling on the
ground.  Now, this slave does hard manual labour, I
guess.... With those muscles, he's either in the gym
all day, or doing hard work.  And how old is he?"

"Yes, it's all from work.  He used to be a pony and
worked extremely hard between the shafts, and helping
out on the estate.  And he's twenty four."

The whip master moved around and I felt his hands
running down over my shoulders, probing at my back,
then digging into my ass muscles to test them.  I
hated it, but could only stand there and take it, as
the yoke was holding my arms well up and out of the
way.  

"Right.", the whip master said after this inspection.
"He is well muscled - it's a pleasure to feel that
body of his.   Now, a twenty-four year old, well
muscled, no known physical problems.... You did say
the heavy bull whip when you phoned, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"In that case, the maximum is twenty strokes.  That
will give exceptional cover across his shoulders and
back, stripe his ass, and cause him agony on his
thighs."

"Only twenty?"

"You won't say that when you've seen my heavy whip,
and the way I wield it.  Twenty strokes will leave him
flayed all down the back.  Any more, and you risk
killing him - and apart from the cost of that in a
dead slave, it is illegal to kill slaves, or mutilate
them, you know.... Incidentally,  I suppose you are
getting a court order before you give his sac the big
snip?"

"Yes - his owner's lawyers are on to it now.  Do we
need to decide on anything else?"

"Yes - are you keeping that gag in him?  I wouldn't
recommend it, as it does the others good to hear his
howls of agony.  However stoical he thinks he is, once
the whip hits, he'll be screaming to high heaven."

"Well I don't want him spreading sedition to the other
slaves... I'd rather have him gagged...."

"How about this, then....  We'll bring him out gagged,
I'll place the first lash, and then you can take the
gag out - I guarantee he won't be able to say anything
coherent when he's had his first stripe." 

"Anything else we need to decide?", the Overseer
asked, and the whip master shook his head.  

"In that case, let's leave Steve here to brood on his
crimes, and come and have a drink - you can leave your
slaves out in the yard."

The two men went out, locking the cell behind them,
and I sank to the ground in the corner - well, along
he wall, really, as I couldn't get into the corner
with the wide yoke now around my wrists and neck.

I sat there all afternoon, and although I had a couple
of drinks of water, I was really hungry, as no food
was brought for me.  Late in the afternoon I heard
noises outside the window, and looked out to see all
the house slaves filing out of the house to join my
fellow outdoor slaves.  They were being marshalled by
the Overseer into two groups, facing the posts that
had been erected earlier.  After a few minutes the
owner and Master Jason came out, together with
Mistress Linda-Anne, and they all stood there, too.

The Overseer, the whip master and his two slaves came
over towards the cell, and the next moment the door
was unlocked.  

"Now, slave, let's not pretend this isn't going to
hurt you like you've never been hurt before", the whip
master told me. "I'd advise you to piss and crap now,
to avoid unpleasant accidents.  And you won't e able
to afterwards for some time!"

I wasn't going to piss in front of all of them, let
alone crap, and I shook my head vigorously.

"Right.  Now, let's be nice and dignified about it -
all your fellow slaves, and your owner and his family,
are all watching, and we don't want a lot of fuss and
bother, do we?  In any case, it won't do you much good
- my slaves are going to hold onto the end of your
yoke, and it doesn't matter how much you kick and
struggle, you won't overcome them as the leverage is
working against you.  So I'd advise you just to come
nice and slowly.  It's absolutely inevitable that
you're going to take the worst punishment you have
ever experienced in your life, you're completely
unable to do anything to avoid it, so try to be calm
and accept it...."

The two slaves, who were both big guys, took hold of
the end of my yoke and I tried to pull away, but soon
saw it was impossible.  So the three of us, with the
Overseer and the whip master in front, went out of the
cell and into the yard.  As they led me along the gap
between the two groups of slaves I was reminded of
some picture I'd once seen in slave school - it was in
one of those picture books we were given with Santa
Claus, and myths like that, I think.  This picture was
of a tanned guy carrying a huge wooden beam on his
shoulders between rows of jeering guys in those
old-style togas - he was called a Christian, I think. 
In one of those odd flashes of memory and synthesis,
it seemed to me that I must look just like him as my
yoke was across my shoulders, too - except that I was
completely naked, and he'd been given some sort of
little loin cloth to cover his sex, and was wearing a
crown!  Odd that - I wondered if he felt as badly as I
did, as he was marched off to his punishment, and I
wonder if he'd been as misunderstood as I had?  Still,
at least he wasn't wearing a bit, so he'd have been
able to tell people what he thought.  

They walked me through the little crowd of watching
slaves, and hitched the end of the yoke onto the two
big supports they'd erected earlier in the day.  They
turned handles on the sides of the supports, and my
yoke was raised higher and higher, so that ultimately
I was standing on tiptoe and bracing myself with my
arms to relieve the pressure on my neck.  The whip
master approached, and repeated the humiliating
examination of my shoulders, back and ass that he'd
done earlier - he seemed to take pleasure in kneading
his fingers into the big muscles of my ass and thighs,
under the guise of carrying out his professional
duties.  He put his head close to my ear and half
whispered, so that none of the waiting crowd could
hear

"Well, slave, I'm ready to begin.  I'm the last man to
feel that wonderful ass of yours in its natural state
- there'll always be small ridges there in future,
even when the lash marks heal.  Are you pleased to
know that my fingers have caressed your flesh, and
soon those very same hands will be causing you
indescribable pain?"

I wanted to tell him he was some sort of perverted
freak, but of course I couldn't.  All I could do was
shake my head in anger, and again I realised that I
was no longer acting or thinking like a slave:  I had
no right to feel anything at all about the words a
master used about my body, did I?

"I particularly enjoy punishing slaves like you", he
went on, seeing my anger. "You're so proud.  Your
flesh is so perfect.  You think that because you have
nice bodies the world will go right for you.  Well,
I'm going to teach you today that strong, healthy,
virile bodies will crumble and break under the power
of a simple whip, wielded by an expert."

He walked away, leaving me hanging there totally
naked, and went and spoke to my owner.  I saw him pick
up his whip and move around to the side of me, and
then my world exploded.

I don't think I'll ever forget that first blow.  Men
who have not been whipped with a bull whip believe
that it's the pain that strikes first - but it isn't: 
that comes a moment later.  The first thing you feel
is the stunning blow as pounds of leather, moving at
very high speed, slam into your body.  I was pushed
forward and almost knocked off my feet by the sheer
force of it, and my neck got a powerful wrench as I
struggled to keep my feet.  The pain came a moment
later - I suppose that at first your brain just can't
believe that something like that can happen to you,
that someone would deliberately inflict such a thing
on you, and it takes a moment to realise that, yes, it
is real, and that what the tattered nerves in your
back muscles are reporting to you really is true.  It
was as if time had slowed almost to a standstill, and
even as I was stumbling from the blow and starting to
scream with the agony that had been inflicted on me, I
caught the sound of the "swish" of the whip as it flew
through the air, and the sickening "splat" as it hit
my naked back and struck home.

I was screaming, but almost no noise was coming out
because of the bit. And now I felt something even
worse -  my bowels had emptied as a result of the
assault on me, and the inside of my thighs was oozing
with my crap.  I caught the stench of it, and, to my
horror, realised that I was involuntarily pissing,
too:  in the silence after the blow had struck I could
hear my piss puddling on the ground in front of me.

There was a pause after hat first blow, and the whip
master approached me again.  He had the key to the
lock holding the strap of my bit around my head, and
as he fumbled with it he hissed into my ear again 
"One down, nineteen to go, slave!  You thought you
were so big and tough, didn't you?  And yet your body
has betrayed you:  all your fellow slaves, and  your
owner and his family, can all see your shit oozing out
from between your ass cheeks and trickling down your
thighs.  Now that I'm taking out your mute, you will
be further humiliated:  I expect you think that you
can avoid screaming and shouting, and begging for
mercy.  But I tell you now, you will not be able to do
so.  I am experienced at using the whip for maximum
effect, and the next blow will be across those fine
ass cheeks of yours, and I assure you that everyone
here will hear your screams as you lose control
totally."

I was going to shout out and protest my innocence, to
tell my owner that I was a good slave, an obedient
one.... But then I realised that I was caught in a
dilemma:   shouting out such a thing would show that I
was not a well trained slave, as slave do not speak
unless spoken to.  As my mind was trying to make sense
of this seeming paradox, the second blow struck and
all thoughts of doing anything other  than screaming
at the top of my voice disappeared.

I don't know what I shouted.  I think it was just a
loud, primeval cry of terror and pain.  And it was as
if some part of my brain went into retreat:  I was
almost like a detached observer, seeing my body jerk,
and hearing the noise that started.  A noise that I
couldn't stop, as some other part of my brain, aware
of the injuries being done to me and the threads of
agony racing through all my nerves screamed and
shouted, and begged and pleaded, for it all to stop.

The whip master was in his stride now, though, and
blow after blow fell.  I lost consciousness at about
eight, I think, and when I came to I thought it must
all be over - but no: seeing that I had fainted, the
punishment had been temporarily suspended, and when
the whip master saw that I was again back in the
world, he re-started.

By the twentieth stroke I no longer really knew what
was happening, or even really cared.  My brain was no
loner really in conscious control of my body.  I was
writhing around in a futile attempt to escape the
lashes, even though this caused the yoke to bite
cruelly into my neck and wrists.  I'd mostly stopped
making noise, as my throat was raw from the efforts I
had been making and my vocal chords simply couldn't
carry on functioning.  And I was half aware that my
feet were slipping and sliding in there mixture of my
shit, piss and blood that was now under me.

I hung there, utterly wretched and defeated.  It was
all so unfair - I'd been a good, willing slave, and
now this had happened to me through no fault of my
own.  Out of my bleary eyes I say my owner, Master
Jason and Mistress Linda-Anne go back into the house,
and then the Overseer dismissed the slaves, and they
went variously back into the house slave entrance, and
the outside slave dorm.  None of hem approached me, or
came over to see if I was all right.

But then the whip master was at my ear again.  Out of
the corner of my eye  I could see that his black
leather clothes were  splashed with something red - my
blood, I realised.  "See, slave?  Your body betrayed
you., didn't it?  You've shit yourself, and begged and
screamed for 'mercy' and 'justice' - not very
slave-like behaviour, if I may say."

Turning to the Overseer he said, in a normal voice "My
slaves will pack away the supports now and I'll be on
my way.  I'll send you the bill in the normal way, via
e-mail.  We'll pick up the yoke in four days time -
I'd advise you to keep him like that for 24 hours to
give the wound chance to start to heal without a lot
of excess body movement.  There's only one thing left
to do now...."

He called hi salves over, and the next moment I was
howling again as a wholly different kind of agony went
through me:  they threw a bucket of salt water at my
shredded flesh, and then quickly and efficiently
rubbed it in to clean my body.  I suppose I was glad
they also sluiced down the front of me, as my legs
were splattered with my shit and blood.      

The slaves then lowered the ratchets holding my yoke
up high, took the ends of it, and led me off back to
the cell I'd come from.  

"Hold him there a moment", the Overseer said.  "His
owner still wants him to be gagged, as we don't want
him spreading sedition to the others."

I had to stand there, impotently, my body slumping in
a posture of utter defeat and wretchedness as the
hated bit was again fitted into my mouth and locked
behind my head, and then they opened the cell door and
pushed me in.

The Overseer need not have worried - as I lay there on
the bare cold concrete floor, none of my fellow slaves
came to see me.  I was just left to lie there, trying
desperately to get comfortable in some way - well, I
suppose I was doing that, as my mind was wandering in
a haze of fear, pain, resentment, and anger.  It
seemed pretty pointless to try to move ,actually, as
the whole of my nervous system was still transmitting
violent messages of pain from the wounds that I knew
must be covering my back.  

I was in complete misery.  Not only was I hurting, but
I was ashamed at having failed to be a man by giving
in to my beating.  And I had failed to be a  good
slave, by not truly understanding how I should act. 
Could things possibly get worse for me, I wondered? 

End of Part 15.


THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 16

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

They kept me in the cell for three days.  The first
night was the worst, as I've told you, as I was in
such misery both because of the pain I was in, and
because I felt so wretched about my failure as a
person.

The morning after my punishment the Overseer came in,
looked at me lying there, and told me to stand up.  I
really struggled to do so, as it's hard when your arms
are pinioned in a yoke, and your whole musculature is
anyway on fire, but I did manage it.

"I'm going to keep you like this today, Steve", he
told me.  "The whip master advised that your back
should be as immobile as possible to give the wounds
chance to heal.  But that after that, you should be
encourages to move a bit, to prevent really ugly
scarring.  I suppose he knows what he's doing,
although he did tell me that whippings like yours are
really rare, as most slaves understand their proper
place and are not so wilfully disobedient as you."

I went to protest, shaking m head and desperately
trying to get our the words to say he was wrong, but
the Overseer merely shook his head, and said "You see
- that's what I mean.  You're trying to argue with a
master, even now, instead of accepting that your owner
is always right, in whatever he does.  However, that
won't be my concern shortly, as your owner is
progressing the papers to have you gelded to calm you
down properly, and then you'll be sent to the auction
to be sold - he thinks it would be a bad influence on
the rest of the slaves, to have you around here.  In
any case, you won't be a very pretty sight - those
tattoos, the scarring from the whipping, and that
obscene black dick of yours, especially when it's
hanging down over an empty space where your balsl used
to be...."

I suppose that's when it really struck home to me:  my
owner hadn't hesitated to have me whipped almost to
the point of death, and so he certainly wouldn't be
concerned about having me castrated.  I wanted to say
I was sorry, to beg and plead to be allowed to keep my
manhood, to swear that I would be totally obedient and
subservient in future, but I knew that it was no good.
 And a proper slave would not do it anyway, as he
would accept the will of his owner in all things.  It
seemed I was doomed to be turned into a mule, and gone
were the days when I was a proud, virile slave with a
fine body and magnificent tackle.  

"You'd better eat something", the Overseer continued. 
I didn't feel like anything, so I shook my head, and
the Overseer struck me a slashing blow to the side of
my face with his open hand.

"Steve, you don't learn, do you?  How dare you refuse
food that a master offers you!  You may be battered,
and about to lose your manhood, but your body still
has some value for your owner and we need to maximise
that.  So you need to eat, to keep the body going. 
Now, open your fucking mouth!"

He stood there for about ten minutes, feeding slave
chow into my mouth and waiting whilst I did my best to
crunch it up and swallow it with the hated bit in the
way.  I felt so humiliated at being fed in this way,
almost as if  I was a baby, and I felt tears stinging
at the corners of my eyes with the shame.  But I
didn't cry - that would have been more that I could
have borne, I think, and I tried hard to see that the
Overseer was right, and that I had a duty to my owner
to preserve and enhance the value of my body as best I
could.

When I was released from the yoke the next day it did
feel good to be able to use my hands again - apart
form the cramping pain of holding them at shoulder
level all the time, there was something urgent I
needed to do:  in spite of everything, I found myself
with an erection most of the time.  I really couldn't
understand this - I ought to have been utterly
humiliated by the punishment I'd received, and my dick
should just have been hanging there.  But instead of
that it compounded my problems by jutting skyward in
an aching erection almost all the time, and there was
nothing I could do to relieve it.  It was almost as if
being punished, and then being shackled helplessly,
was a turn-on for me.

You know how it is - a after a time, when your dick's
aching from the effort of being totally extended and
your balls are swilling with cum and are screaming for
release, you really just need to get down there and
jerk yourself off.  But I couldn't, and I kept hoping
that I'd have a spontaneous ejaculation - but in spite
of copious amounts of the "cock snot" that Master
Scott and Master Jason had been so keen to see leaking
out from me, nothing more happened.  So as soon as the
Overseer released me from the yoke, I almost
immediately reached down and started to stroke my
dick.  I saw him watching me, but he just gave a
little shrug, as if of despair, then turned and left
me.      

It really as painful all the time - the initial agony
from my back, ass and thighs had quietened a bit, but
every time I moved I still got very strong shooting
pains through me as the movement of my body caused the
scabs that had formed over my wounds to tear.  You
know how it is - like when you've got a muscle strain
somewhere:  you're almost afraid to move, in case you
inadvertently do something to trigger a fresh burst of
discomfort. I decided I needed to take positive
action, rather than just suffer all of this passively,
and so slowly and painfully I forced myself to
exercise my body - I tried to do a few press-ups, and
then some running on the spot. I suppose I was so used
to exercise that the lack of it was contributing to my
depressed state, as once I had forced myself to start,
I did begin to cheer up even though I was in physical
pain.

I can take a fair bit of pain, of course.  I'd always
driven myself to the limit when exercising as it's
only when you really push yourself and it's hurting
that exercise actually does you good, isn't it?  And
in my normal work as a pony I willingly gave that
important hundred and ten percent when my owner was in
a hurry, or needed to be taken long distances.   I
suppose the days of inactivity caused me to miss the
good hormones and things that flood through you when
your muscles are working hard, so as I forced myself
to overcome the pain I was feeling, my mood gradually
brightened.  I was worried, of course, as the Overseer
had said my owner progressing with his plan to have me
gelded, but I felt certain that if only I worked hard,
and could be seen to be good and obedient again, and
was given a chance to explain, all would come right.

But my owner never came to visit me or had me brought
into his presence, so I guess he didn't see the
efforts I was making.  On the fourth day the Overseer
came in and hosed me down through the bars of the cell
- he just stood there with the hose, and I was allowed
to wash all the sweat and stuff off me as best I
could.  It felt so good to be clean again, as a slave
should be, as I'd begun to hate the stench of my own
body.  Once I'd planed most of the water off me, I was
hoping that he'd let me shave - I've got a strong
growth of beard, and after all these days the hard
bristles made my face look even worse, I knew, and
were uncomfortable and itching under the metal straps
holding my bit in place.  But it was not to be, and he
pushed a pair of normal slave shorts through the bars,
and told me to pull them on.

Well, this was progress!  Proper slave clothes at
last, although I wasn't given a "T".  It felt so
strange to have the fabric covering me after so long
when I'd been naked, or just wearing the tiny pouch. 
Perhaps I was about to resume "normal" life?  But it
was not to be - to my horror, he told me to turn
around, and put my arms behind my back.  I did as he
commanded, of course, even though it made all the
wounds in my back and shoulders ache again, and I felt
him doing something.

"Right, Steve.  I've had to cuff you, as your owner
considers you're a potential danger and e won't take
the risk of you appearing in public without
restraints".  

I tried to move my arms, and found that I had only
very limited freedom - the cuffs around my wrists were
probably joined with a chain about a foot long, I
thought.  

"Now, one more thing", he went on.  "Kneel!".  I did
as he said, of course, and he fitted the bit into my
mouth.  I wondered why - surely they weren't going to
make me pull a trap to the court with handcuffs on,
were they?  Or, on the other hand, if they were, that
might be a good sign, as it would mean that they knew
I would be coming back.

Making conversation as he carried on fiddling wit the
lock behind my head, he continued "It has been decided
to keep the bit in you from now on.  They don't want
you able to speak and spread dissent to the other
slaves - you've really fucked it up, boy..... Your
owner can no longer trust you at all."

"Now, stand up, and let's be off - it's a long way to
the court house, and we don't want to be late."

My good spirits had evaporated, of course:  I knew
that going to court meant that my owner was still
intent on having me gelded, and it was utterly
humiliating for a slave to be cuffed like this -
people would think that I hadn't been properly
trained, and did not know or accept my status.  

He led me across the yard, and worse was to come: 
there, standing between the shafts of his trap, was
Jack in crisp , fresh shorts and T.  He deliberately
looked away as I approached, and wouldn't met my eyes.
He looked as if he'd mostly recovered from the beating
I'd given him, but  I could see that he was sporting a
huge black eye, looking very ugly in shades of dark
blue and yellow from the bruises.  The Overseer took a
short length of chain and attached me to the back of
the cart by means of a clip that he slotted into my
snout ring, just as if I was a dog being taken for an
exercise  run alongside his master!  This was the
worse feeling I'd ever had, as not only was the weight
of the chain painful as it dragged the already heavy
ring down, but the clear implication to anyone
watching is that I couldn't be trusted to do as my
owner said and not run away. And then we waited, until
the owner came down the steps, got in to the cart, and
told Jack to set off.  I heard him say that Jack could
set the pace, as he knew that Jack must still be
hurting, and they had plenty of time.  But he never
even acknowledged me, or even looked at me.

It was terrible running through the streets,
especially as we neared the centre of our town.  For
one thing, even though Jack was going at only a
moderate pace I had a real problem in keeping up: 
it's tough to run with your hands cuffed behind your
back at the best of times, and my own body was hurting
badly still from my whipping.  And I knew that the
slightest hesitation, or a small stumble, would cause
a really vile pain to go through my nose where I was
tethered to the back of the cart.  But even worse were
the stares I was getting from all the other masters
and slaves going about their business in the streets: 
I was used to being looked at, of course, having all
my tattoos and rings, and being made to work in just
the tiny silk pouch that barely concealed my genitals.
 But now people were looking at me because I was
cuffed and chained up in this terrible way.

In our society slaves all knew from an early age, as
I've told you,  that they were destined for a life of
slavery and you grow up accepting it.  The lottery's
fair, and if you're picked, then you're a slave and
that's that.  So slaves don't escape, or even try to
escape (and, anyway, where would they go?).  So you
just don't see slaves cuffed, or chained up, or
anything:  I know that some guys like to play at
restraining each other, but in real life, it just
doesn't happen - or, rather, it doesn't happen to
normal, properly trained slaves!  I think that only
once before had I ever seen a slave physically
restrained in any way, and that was because he was on
his way to be executed for killing another slave.  I
knew therefore that people seeing me cuffed and
chained to the back of my owner's trap like this would
know that I was a very bad slave, and had committed a
terrible crime.  I hated it, as it seemed so unfair
still - I knew I was a good, obedient slave, and I
desperately needed to prove it.

Jack pulled up outside the court house, and my owner
got out of the trap and went in.  A few minutes later
two police officers came out, undid the chain from my
snout ring, and rather roughly pushed and shoved at me
to take me around the back, and in through the slave
entrance.  They didn't need to prod and poke  at me,
and especially not at my aching back, as I'd have
quite willingly followed them obediently - but perhaps
that's what the police always do to suspects and
criminals.  They were talking to each other, and I
heard their conversation that merely confirmed my
worse fears :

"He must be an incredibly disobedient slave to have
been whipped like that, and to need to be brought here
collared and cuffed." 

And "Yes, you can tell his master's had enough, by the
way he's obviously kept gagged.  Can you imagine,
having a slave that keeps talking, and disobeying? 
Don't those guys know how to behave properly any
more?"

It was utterly shameful for me, as I just wasn't like
that, and I flexed my muscles impotently as they went
on and on about how slaves really ought to be taught
that they had  a valuable role in society, and that it
was their duty to obey their owners.  I knew all that,
didn't I?  And I'd always behaved like that, hadn't I?
  

Eventually I was led up into the courtroom and put
into the slave box, standing on a slightly raised
platform in the middle of the court room.  There place
seemed to be very full, I suppose because I'd heard
the guards saying that it wasn't often an owner needed
to apply for a gelding order, and it had raised a lot
of interest amongst owners.

Everyone rose as the judge came in, and there were
amazingly few preliminaries.  The judge asked my owner
to go into the witness box, and immediately said

"Sir, what you are asking is very grave.  Our society
treats slaves humanely, as we all know that it is only
chance that means that we are men and a slave is a
slave - we do not have slaves born into the life just
because they are fathered by a salve, and criminals
are not condemned to slavery.  A slave is just like
you and me, but lost out in the lottery.  So we have a
duty to treat them like men, and we should not lightly
take away their manhood by gelding them.  A court
order is required to approve  the gelding of a slave,
and this is the purpose of the hearing today."

"I have read your written submission", he continued,
"And I am currently not minded to agree to the
castration of the slave known as Steve who is your
property and who is standing here in this court.  I
have read all the facts you presented, and I
understand that he wilfully beat up fellow slaves and
raped one of them.  However I believe there are other
remedies open to you: for example, an aggressive slave
like this could be sold to one of the gladiator
companies, so that he could fight in a controlled
environment and make profit for his new owner.  Or you
could sell him to one of the sex shops - perhaps not
here, where we like to take our pleasures gently....
But I hear that in places like New York City men are
actually prepared to pay for very rough sex and to be
forcibly abused..."

A ripple of amusement ran around the spectators,  at
the strange ways of a big city.

"So, unless there are other facts, this court will
deny your request, and the slave may not be
castrated."

My owner stood up, bowed to the judge, and began
"Thank you, your honour.  I think you have positioned
slavery in our society admirably  And that is why it
is so important to protect the institution - slaves do
need to understand their role, and to conform.  This
slave used to be a perfect slave:  he was expensively
trained, and fetched a very high price when I first
bought him as a pony.  He served me admirably or five
years, and was everything a slave should be.  But then
he became wilful and disobedient.  Attacking my other
slaves, and raping one of them - to the extent that a
valuable pony was injured so badly he could hardly
work - was not something I expected.  But once it had
happened, I could not ignore it.  I believe that
taking his testicles will calm him, and that, with
extensive retraining, he may again become a useful
member of society."

"Thank you", the judge said.  "I am not convinced, and
am still minded to deny the gelding order.  However
the slave has been standing there, gagged... I will
hear from him before finally passing judgement."

All the time the hearing had been going on I was
getting more and more cheerful - it seemed that I
wasn't going to lose my manhood. I didn't much like
the idea of working as a gladiator, or as a sex slave,
but at least that would be better then being turned
into a eunuch! And now the judge was giving me an
opportunity to explain - perhaps my owner would at
last understand what I'd been trough. 

 The judge had nodded to the policemen, and one of
them was now standing next to me, fiddling to unlock
the straps holding my bit in.  He was shorter than me,
and as he reached up his woollen trousers and crisp
cotton shirt brushed against my naked legs and torso,
causing the little hairs on me to stand on end.

He pulled the bit free, and I champed my jaws up and
down, glad to be free of the hateful thing and to be
able to wriggle my tongue luxuriously inside my mouth.

"Do you have anything to say, slave? You may speak
freely", the judge said.

"Your honour.... Sir.... What my owner says is true. 
I always knew I was a slave when I was growing up as
my parents never let me think that there was any way I
could escape my future, having been picked by the
lottery.  I went willingly to the auction when I was
sixteen, and underwent two years of training at one of
the best pony ranches in the country, to fit me for a
life as a pony slave.  I worked hard for my owner for
five years, and during that time I'm certain he never
had any cause for complaint, or any reason to be
dissatisfied with my performance.  I lived with the
other outdoor slave on my owner's estate, and
everything was peaceful and harmonious."

As I was saying this, I could see that everyone in the
court was looking at my owner, and he was nodding,
agreeing with every word I said.  I knew I was making
my case well, and so I went on:;

"My owner gave me as a present to his son, and I
worked well for him, too.  But he abused me - I was
made to take part in humiliating sexual games.  He had
me tattooed, as you can see, and made me pull him
through the streets naked except for a tiny silk pouch
that barely covered my sex.  He had me 'skinned for
his amusement, and my dick was tattooed to make it
look like a strange black appendage to me.  He and his
friend fucked me.  And it was only when my fellow
slaves taunted me about all of this that I lost my
temper and hit out at them."

"I'm truly sorry for what I've done, and all I want is
to be treated like a proper slave, so I can again work
hard for a master.  It's true that I now know the real
pleasure of sex, as I have experienced  the delight of
using my dick with my fellow slaves, but it was wrong
to force them - in future, I will find slaves who want
to take dick up them just as much as I want to put it
there."

I stopped then, and thought I'd spoken rather well. 
As the judge had been minded to turn down the gelding
order before I started, I felt certain that my words
would reinforce this view, and that I might get
further punishment, such as another whipping, but that
would be all.

It was a bit off-putting that the judge's face had
been looking a bit grim as I spoke, and now he rapped
to the policemen "Replace the slave's gag."

The police fumbled with it, and soon I was standing
there again, mute.  

"The slave has condemned himself", the judge intoned. 
"This is not a proper trained slave, as he claims to
be, one who understands his place in our society.  No:
he is arrogant, and holds the sort of views that are
the prerogatives of free men.  He has dared to stand
in front of me and boast of his achievements in
training and at work.  He accuses him owner of abusing
him and using him for sexual games, and in having him
decorated and 'skinned.  Whilst it is true that I
think it unwise of his owner to have turned this stud
into a rather repulsive looking slave, somewhat out of
the ordinary, that is his master's right.  A true
slave would not criticise his owner for such actions,
and would not even for a moment think that they were
in any way incorrect."

I went to protest, but the police restrained me.  And,
of course, the vile bit prevented me from being heard
anyway.

"Even his demeanour now, as I point out his faults,
shows him to be in error.  A proper slave would not
dare interrupt or contradict a free man."

Tuning to my owner, he went on "I believe this slave
is irredeemably spoiled for normal duties.  It is in
my power to order a period of severe re-training for
him, but having heard his arrogance and his attempts
to argue, as if he were a free man, I fear it would be
to no avail.  In your affidavit to the court you say
that he was trained for two years at a fine slave
training school, and if they failed to inculcate the
right attitude in him at 16, I believe there is no
hope that it would work at 24.  Consequently I am
going to grant your request, and approve the gelding
of this slave in the hope that it will calm him, teach
him that his is not a man but owned property, and act
as  a lesson to other slaves who may be starting to
have these same seditious thoughts."

I was horror struck!  I couldn't believe it.  It
wasn't just the thought of losing my balls, but the
judge's words really struck home:  he was right!  A
proper slave would not criticise my owner as I had,
would not mind being tattooed, being 'skinned, and
used as a humiliating sex toy.  I was a complete
failure - I was not a proper slave, and soon I would
not even be a true man.

"Strip the slave", the judge ordered, and the
policemen fumbled with the fastenings on my shorts,
and then pushed them to the ground.  A titter of
amusement and astonishment ran around the spectators
in the courtroom as my big, black dick was revealed,
and the judge called for quiet.

Looking at my owner, he continued "If I doubted the
correctness of my decision to agree to the gelding,
the sight of him naked would change my mind.  He is
such an ugly brute, and you can sense the power in
that body - we need to protect other slaves from thugs
like this, wielding weapons like that vile black dick
that he displays so proudly."

I could have screamed and shouted at the injustice of
it all.  I was only ugly and brutish because my
owner's son had had me made that way.  And my dick,
before it was 'skinned and tattooed, was perfectly
normal.

Still speaking to my owner, the judge continued "After
gelding, the State will assume ownership of the slave
and dispose of him.  You will receive the standard fee
for a scrap slave - in fact, I think you may do quite
well, as his market value must already be very low
because of his brutish demeanour, and will be even
lower once he has lost his manhood."

My owner bowed slightly, to show his agreement.  

Turning to me, the judge now intoned "Slave:  It is
the ruling of this court that you will be taken from
here to a veterinarian's premises licensed by the
State as a suitable place in which to perform surgery
on slaves.  There you will lose your testicles under
the control of a properly trained and state-licensed
veterinarian."

He stopped this "formal" voice for a moment, and said
to the room in general "As I said in my opening
remarks, we are civilised here and slaves should be
treated humanely.  Our State requires that all gelding
should be carried out in properly licensed premises,
by properly trained veterinarians.  Such licences
require the use of proper anaesthetics and pain killer
during and after such an operation, as there should be
no unnecessary suffering on the part of the slave."

He went "formal" again, and continued "Under the
powers granted to me by the State, I have the
authority to make orders relating to the future
conduct of the slave, too.  In view of the proud and
arrogant behaviour of this slave I therefore further
order that the slave may not be fitted with any form
of prosthetic or cosmetic testicle, and that his
scrotal sac should be totally removed so that he is
smooth in that area.  So that he should serve as a
reminder to other slaves of the need to observe the
rules of our society, I further order that the slave
may never in future be clothed - he will live out the
rest of his life in total nakedness, so that all may
observe the effects of the punishment that the State
has decreed."

He banged his gavel twice on the desk, and said to the
policemen "Take him down".  

The last I saw of the courtroom, as I was pushed naked
through the crowd was my owner sitting there looking
pleased with himself, and the judge calmly signing
papers in front of him - presumably the formal order
to take away my manhood.      

The two policemen took me down into a holding area,
where there were a number of cells, some of which were
occupied by free men.  Of course, in general there was
little slave crime as slaves were inculcated from
birth to serve properly, and even those who
transgressed, as they thought I had, usually did not
require locking up in a cell.  So the cells were
mostly for ordinary, common or garden criminals:  free
men who did not understand their proper place in our
world, and who had deliberately broken the rules. 
Even so, it was humiliating for me to be down there,
as several of these criminals started to whistle and
jeer when they saw me naked, and commented to each
other that I must be a really dreadful slave, to
warrant being cuffed and gagged as I was.  I was
inwardly seething with rage, as it was these guys who
were the real criminals, not me.

They led me out and I was chained to the back of a
police trap by a chain running to my snout ring.  The
trap was pulled by two pony slaves in their identical
blue shorts and Ts, to match the uniforms of the
police themselves.  I realised I was in for a
difficult run when only one police officer got into
the trap, though - two ponies pulling only a single
passenger are able to run much faster, and for much
longer, than only one.  The police didn't use whips on
their ponies, so the officer just gave them the
command to move off, and we pulled out of the compound
behind the court and into the town streets.    

Although I suppose I'd got used to people staring at
me as I ran with my former owner and Master Scott
wearing just a tiny pouch to cover my manhood, now I
didn't even have that.  And, to make it even worse, I
was cuffed and chained as if I was some sort of
dangerous wild animal.  Everyone on the sidewalks
turned to look at my huge black dick as it swung in
front of me, and to make it worse, the trap was
deliberately going slowly through the town centre so
that they could all take a good look - I suppose the
idea was to let owners know that the police were "on
the job" (not that there was much slave crime anyway,
as I've told you), and to send a warning to the many
slaves who were there going about their owners'
regular business.

Once we got out of the centre, though, the officer
gave the order to speed up, and I had to change from
the gentle "lope" I'd been doing in the town to quite
a fast jog.  I'd got used to my nipple and snout rings
bouncing up and down in time to my steps, but now my
dick was beating time to the rhythm of my movements,
too, and, as on the journey in, I was terrified that I
might start to lag, or to stumble, so that my nose
ring would tear my flesh.  After a mile or so I
noticed a new sensation, too - a pain, a dull ache,
was spreading from my balls all through my abdomen.  I
wasn't used to exercising totally naked - who is, as
even the tiny pouch I wore before provided me with a
bit of support - and with big, low hanging balls I now
had problems as they swung from side to side and
slapped into my muscular thighs as I pounded along. 
It was as if a guy was constantly swatting at them and
teasing them, and the ache spread, and spread.  But
there was nothing I could do about it, and I couldn't
even cry out to the officer about the acute discomfort
 I was feeling as the bit was still firmly holding my
tongue down.  Actually, even if I could have, I don't
really think I would have:  although the two police
pony slaves were doing a good job, a trained pony like
me from one of the finest training schools could tell
that they were only "ordinary" slaves who'd just been
given a short course in their new duties, and  I
wouldn't have wanted them to think they could run
better than me.

My owner, and Master Jason and Master Scott, had never
had any reason I suppose to be in this part of town,
and so at first the streetscape was unfamiliar.  After
a time the crowds thinned out, and the only people to
see me were ponies and their owners coming in the
other direction, and several of them almost had
accidents as they reacted in amazement to the sight of
me being "towed" behind the police trap.  Then I
started to recognise things - could it be, I
wondered.... Yes, it was:  we were going to my usual
veterinarian, the one who had looked after me ever
since I graduated from pony school and my master had
first bought me.

We pulled into the familiar compound, and the officer
alighted and unchained the leash from the back of the
trap.  The two police ponies stood there and chatted
quietly to themselves as he tugged at the chain and I
was forced to follow him into the vet's office, and I 
knew they were talking about me, and saying what a
freak I was - it really was all so unfair, and I was
in despair.

Without waiting for the vet to say anything, the
officer began as soon as we entered "Where's your
restraint cell?  You're required to have one as part
of the terms of your licence to practice mutilation of
criminal slaves...."

The vet looked really startled, and began "Through the
door... But it's never been used...".  Then he
stopped, took a second look, and went on in  very
shocked voice "Steve.... Jesus!  Steve, it is you."

He went on "Why is this slave here, officer?  I know
him, and his owner...."

"Sir, here's a copy of the court order authorising the
castration of this slave.  I think you'll find all the
paperwork's in order, and there's a form to claim the
approved fee.  The operation is to be carried out
within a period of three days, and the court has
ordered the complete removal of the salve's sac as
well as its contents - there's to be absolutely no
trace left of his balls when you have finished."

"But that's impossible - we only castrate slaves for
the most vicious behaviour... I know this slave, he's
a good slave, just not capable of anything like
that..."

"Well, sir, I can't speak to that.  But  I was  in
court earlier and heard what the slave had done, and
it sounded to me as if he needs to lose those balls
that are causing him all these problems. In any case,
that's hardly our concern:  we just obey the court
order, don't we?"

"Well, can anyone appeal on his behalf?  It seems so
wrong..."

"No, sir.  In matters of justice for slaves there's no
appealing the court decision.  When the slavery laws
were passed everyone was so fed up of the endless
appealing to the state supreme court and then
Washington, that they decided that that wasn't going
to be the case for slaves.  After all, a slave doesn't
matter as much as a free man - they have no freedom to
lose, do they? So once a court has ruled on a matter
of slave discipline, that's it:  you execute the
order, or you yourself are in contempt of the court."

The vet gave a kind of shrug, and gestured with his
hand to the door, and the officer pulled me along
behind him, down a short corridor, and into a cell. 
Actually, although I suppose the vet called it a cell
because he was required to have one as a term of his
licence as a veterinarian authorised to operate on
unruly slaves, it wasn't all that different from the
other rooms in the corridor that were used when slaves
needed to stay occasionally following treatment -
there was a leather-covered bunk on one wall, a
lavatory pan, and even a shower head set in the
ceiling.

The officer unclipped the chain from my snout ring,
went out in to the corridor and closed and locked the
cell door, then told me to turn around away from him. 
He reached in through the bars, and undid my cuffs.

"So long, fella!", he said cheerily. "You'd better
make the most of your time - that vet can de-nut you
at any time.  If I was you, I'd get jerking off whilst
you can still enjoy the feeling of the cum shooting
along that big black dick of yours!"

He went out, chortling to himself at his wit.         
  

End Of Part 16