Date: Sat, 17 Jan 2004 00:06:57 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Willing Slave, Parts 21&22

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 21

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Well, what can I tell you about my journey to my new
life?  Those of you who've been there will know that
Grand Central is much the same as it was in the early
years of the century, before the great crash.  The
only difference now is that there are only a handful
of trains running, and therefore the mighty concourse
handles only a few people.  USS were their usual
efficient selves and after my collar was scanned they
immediately gave me my ticket, told me which track to
go to, and reminded me to get only into the slave
compartment, and "not to dare to mingle with free men
on the train."

The train sped along its tunnel, then emerged into the
very up-marked residential areas to the north of the
island.  An old slave who was in the slave compartment
with me told me that at the turn of the century these
areas had been very run down and owners would burn out
the buildings to avoid paying property taxes and to
collect the insurance money as they couldn't sell
them- but following the big crash and the energy
crisis, they had regained popularity as the buildings
were all only five stories.

At Scarsdale I went to the USS booth on the station,
and the guy finally removed my travel collar.

"Your owner has faxed instructions for you", he told
me, handing me a couple of sheet of paper.  I took
them, and looked at them blankly.

He was a kindly man, and, seeing my confusion, took
them out of my hands.  "Never learned to read, eh?"

"Sir, no, sir."

"Well this is what your owner wants you to do....   Go
to the house - I am to give you the keys - and find
your room.  It's the small room at the rear or the
kitchen, opposite the laundry room. You are to take
with you a sack of slave chow, and there's an
authority here to collect one from the slave suppliers
down the street.  Then you are to wait for your owner
and his wife to arrive, which is expected to be in
about four days - they intend to arrive on the same
day as their furniture.  Is that all clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir, thank you, sir."

"Well here's the key, and the authority for collecting
a sack of slave chow - the slave suppliers is right
across the street.  And one final thing - here's a
map, showing you where the house is.  You can read a
map, I suppose?"

Did the man think I was some sort of idiot?  I may not
have been taught how to read and write, but part of
every pony slave's training is learning how to read
maps:  how else could he ever navigate his owner to
new places?  But of course I remained polite, and just
said "Sir, I can read a map, sir."

I'd never really been into a store before since
becoming a slave as I usually waited outside in the
shafts of the trap whilst my owner or his family went
in, so I made a big mistake when I went into the slave
suppliers:  I used the entrance of the front, and a
burly slave on duty inside to open and close the door
shouted at me to get out and go to the slave entrance
at the back.  I blushed furiously with embarrassment
at making such a mistake, and fled the store, but I
did go on around and stood with a few other slaves
collecting goods.

My owner had ordered a big 25 kilo sack of chow for me
- well, I always think in the "old" measurements, and
I knew that was about 55 pounds.  I hefted it on to my
shoulder, and set off for my new home.  It is
surprising how difficult it was - I'd thought I'd have
a good run to really stretch my legs and get my body
moving, but with the additional weight of the sack of
chow I could barely manage it.  I thought how lucky I
was to be in superb physical shape, as some men
carried around this same weight in extra fat around
their bellies - no wonder they always looked tired and
puffed and panted as the walked along - I would, too,
if I had to carry all that extra stuff all the time!
It really did make me wonder why anyone would go
around very over weight - as well as looking
repulsive, the strain on their bodies must be awful.

I jogged very slowly - almost a fast stride - down the
suburban streets towards my new home, and as I got
closer the houses got bigger an bigger and the plots
large and larger.  I could tell that they must cost a
lot of money as their grounds were all immaculately
manicured, and there were all the signs of a lot of
slaves at work - I saw them mowing the lawns and
clipping the bushes, and there were a fair number of
ponies either waiting at the front doors or running on
the street.

When I finally got "home", the vet's new house was in
one of these very good roads but was a lot smaller
than some of the others - it was one of those classic
suburban homes made of brick on the ground floor and
covered in white boards above that.  It was square and
symmetric, with five big windows upstairs,  and two on
either side of a set of big double-sized front doors
below.  There was a chimney breast at each end, and a
wide drive swept up from the street to the front door,
and proceeded around the back.

I walked up the drive and there was a small sign
saying "Surgery", pointing to the rear.  Behind the
main house there was a low single-storey building that
was clearly the vet's office, and the end of this had
double doors which, when I peeked in, I saw was the
garage for the trap - there was a light, double trap
standing in there.  Exploring further I found a pool
giving off a small patio to the side, but it was a
vile green colour, not the sparking clear blue you
expect.

The only real difference between our house and the
others in the street was that it was very untidy - the
grass was all long and shaggy, all the shrubs were
overgrown and neglected looking, and the windows
didn't seem to have been washed for ages.  Weeds were
poking up through the drive, and there was some litter
blowing around.  I didn't think that the neighbours
would be very pleased with the vet for letting the
neighbourhood down like this, or that the vet (and
especially his wife) would want to live in such
conditions.

Still, it was my new home, and I opened the rear door
and went in.  The previous occupants had left a lot of
rubbish - packing materials and stuff - lying around,
and there was a thick coat of dust everywhere.  It
smelled very musty - but not unpleasantly so - and
there was a huge pile of mail lying haphazardly all
over the floor behind the front door.  As I walked
around I saw there was a hue open plan living room and
dining room, a small study (well, I guess that's what
it was as it was panelled in wood, and looked very
'masculine'), and a family living room opening off the
modern kitchen.  Upstairs there were five bedrooms,
two of which had private bathrooms, and another
bathroom.

Behind the kitchen was the laundry room, and a door
opposite that opened into what I'd been told was to be
my room.  I got a tingle of excitement as I opened the
door for the first time - this was to be my space, and
I hoped I was going to spend the rest of my life
happily here.

I suppose the room was designed for a household slave,
as it provided everything you needed - a single bed
against one wall, a lavatory in one corner, and a
shower in the other.   I could only see out of the
small window by standing on tiptoe, but at least there
was some natural light as many slave quarters are of
course build in the middle of the house, in "dead"
space.  Yes, I could be very comfortable here, and I
lay down for a minute of the bed and stretched out, to
get the "feel" of the place.  It was a good bed, too -
not too soft, and no lumps.  The previous owners must
have been good to their slave, I thought, to provide
him with this private space and a bed like this.

You know I'm an "active" guy, though, who likes to use
his body, and I only lay there for a few minutes until
I got bored.  I thought about going for a good long
run now that I'd put down the bag of chow, and then
thought it would be good to exercise with the trap
again - my owner would be sure to need me as soon as
he arrived, and I wouldn't want to let him down.

So I got up off the bed and went out across the yard
to the other building, and opened the doors to get the
trap out.  What a disappointment:  It was covered in
dust, and there was no way any self-respecting pony
would pull it through the streets, as you could see
some patches of rust on it too.  So I set to work,
using old brushes and rags I found in the corner, and
by lunchtime it was sparking and gleaming, as it
should be.

I ate a big helping of chow for my lunch, then was
going for my run when I stopped and saw how good the
trap looked after my work, and how shabby and run down
the house was.  Of course it's part of the things that
a pony does: to keep the trap in good order.  And  I'm
a highly skilled pony, not a general servant, but it
occurred to me that I could do some work on the
grounds as it would be a good welcome "present" for my
owner.

Another good look around revealed that the last
occupants had left the mower and some garden tools ,
and so I set to work pushing the mower up and down the
lawns, and then I started to cut back the shrubs and
pull the weeds.

It took me three days to work my around over all the
grounds, then to sweep the inside clean of all the
dust and put out all the rubbish for the trash men.
And finally I went next door and spoke to the head
slave there (it was a much larger house and they kept
several slaves) and borrowed a ladder, so that I could
climb up and wash all the windows.  I didn't finally
get my run until the fourth day, and then my whole
body ached - I wasn't used to all the house and yard
work, and after so long without a good, long run my
muscles had started to lose their tone a bit.  Still,
it was good to be between the shafts again, and I went
and practised the route between the house and the
station, so that if my owner needed me I could go and
collect him.  It made me feel really great to be doing
the work I had been trained to do again.

The mail slave delivered a big yellow envelope the
next morning, and I had to go to the door to take it
from him as he told me it was a "special delivery".  I
told him I'd keep it safe for my owner, but he told me
that I had to open it, as it was one of the special
"slavegrams" that owners sent home to give
instructions to their slaves.  I was terribly worried
by this, as when I pulled the sheet out of the
envelope, I couldn't read it.

The male slave grinned when he saw my predicament, and
said "Don't worry, Steve - a lot of big muscle guy
like you were never taught to read as your parents
always knew you'd end up doing manual jobs.  Here....
Give it to me...."

"Oh yes... It's just as well it got here in time....
Your owner and his wife are arriving at Scarsdale on
the 10:27 and you are to go and collect them."

My heart raced with pleasure - my owner wanted me to
meet them, and I'd be able to show him how I'd worked
to make the place good for him and his wife.  I gave
the trap a final rub down to make sure it was
gleaming, and was so worried about missing the train
that I set out much earlier than I needed to, and ran
quicker than necessary, so that I stood in the
forecourt for half an hour waiting for them.

My owner came out and came and told me to go with him
back onto the platform to help with the luggage, and I
trotted after him.  With a suitcase under each arm and
one in each hand I could actually carry all of it, and
my owner was free to take the arm of his wife and walk
together as a couple in front of me.  I noticed that
the mistress did not seem to be very happy, and
appeared to be having cross words with my owner, and I
wondered what had upset her.

It was tough running back to the house with two
passengers and all the luggage, especially as we're on
a small hill above the town itself, and by the time I
got back sweat was pouring off me and I was pretty
exhausted.  There was a large furniture van in the
drive when we arrived, and my owner hurried off to
give the slaves instructions about the placing of the
furniture.  My mistress stalked into the house, and
never spoke a word to me.

They took all day to unload and unpack and it was dusk
when the van finally left.  I helped as much as I
could, clearing away all the packing cases and so on
into neat heaps, and I really thought I'd done a good
job in making the move in go smoothly, even though as
a pony slave it really wasn't my job, was it?  I was
really tired by the evening, and went to my room and
lay down early.   Shortly after I'd gone to bed the
door opened and my owner came in.  I at once leaped to
my feet, of course, and stood there in front of him,
naked.

"So this is where you live, Steve.  Is it OK?"

"Sir, yes, thank you, sir... It's great, sir."

"Well, Steve, your mistress is not very happy with
you.  I always thought of you as a properly trained,
obedient slave, and it rather shocks me to have to
consider punishing you.  But never do it again,
understand?  Try to remember your training...."

I was dumbfounded, and couldn't think what was the
problem. I racked my brains to try to think what I
could have done to upset my mistress.

"Sir... I'm sorry, sir.... But what did I do, sir?"

"Your mistress is very angry that you appeared at the
station in the centre of town in that disgraceful
state.  Your shorts and T were filthy and stained, and
there was even a tear in your T so that your tattoo
was showing through.  We have a position to maintain
here you know, Steve, and your mistress knows that
several influential people waiting for the New York
train would have seen you.  She thinks that they'll
think that we don't know how to control slaves, that
we're not used to owning slaves, and that therefore
we're poor.  You've really let us down, Steve:  what
were you thinking of, turning up in that state?"

A wave of anger went through me, and that made me ever
madder as I knew that a slave should not be upset by
anything his owner said.  But it seemed so unfair - my
clothes were stained and torn because of all the hard
work I'd done around the place.

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir.  I did try - last night I washed
my T and shorts but there's no hot water, sir, as it
was not turned on until you and the mistress arrived
today in order to save energy - I didn't mind
showering in cold water, sir, but I couldn't get my
clothes properly clean.  And I had no others, sir,
until all the stuff arrived today.  And they were
torn, sir, because a branch that was overhanging the
drive snagged it as I lopped it - I spent my time,
sir, really working hard, cutting the grass, doing the
garden, cleaning the house, washing the windows...."

"Well, Steve, I'm glad to hear it.  I was surprised to
see the place looking so good after it had stood empty
for some weeks.  But your mistress still won't be
happy, you know.  And you could have gone next door
and asked the head slave there if you could borrow a T
and shorts - it's not as if it matters if you wear
another slave's clothes, after all."

My anger vanished, and now I felt so ashamed at having
let down my owner and mistress, as I could see that he
was right.  I'd borrowed a ladder, after all - why on
earth hadn't I thought of borrowing fresh clothes so
that I was properly turned out to meet them?  My
training at the pony farm had always said that a pony
must be a credit to his owner at all times, and I'd
really fucked up.  I wondered if my owner was going to
punish me - well, actually, I almost hoped he would,
as it would take away some of my shame.

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir..."

"Well, don't let it happen again!  Now tomorrow we're
going to start work.  I've had a number of
communications from clients of the former vet who
practices here, and we're going to visit to drum up
some business and to do some of the routine work - the
yearly shots, and so on.  Here's a map showing the
houses we're calling on - make sure you don't fuck up!
 And now that the stuff has arrived, be sure to put on
fresh clothes as I need to make a good impression:  I
don't want the clients thinking their new vet is
sloppy!"

"Sir, yes, sir" I snapped, and my  owner turned and
left the room.

Even though I was dead tired I decided to reconnoitre
the route for the next day, and dragged myself out to
run the roads my owner had marked on the map as I
wanted him to be proud of me.  It was dark and only a
half moon, so I got lost a couple of times, and I
didn't finally get back to my room until after two.  I
was so tired then that I fell into a deep, deep sleep,
and only woke when I smelled bacon cooking drifting
under my door from the kitchen.

Oh fuck!  I was going to be late!  I threw myself into
the shower, shaved as quickly as I could, and pulled
on a fresh T and shorts and rushed to get the trap
around to the front door to stand and wait for my
owner.  Fortunately I was just in time, as he and the
mistress came out very shortly after.  She kissed him
goodbye, but I saw she said something to him, and he
didn't seem in a particularly good mood as he got up
onto the seat and told me to move off.

It was really good to be performing as a proper pony
again - and it just goes to show how silly master
Jason and Master Scott were to have me cuffed in to
the shafts, and to insist on driving me with  reins
and the hateful bit, and in lashing my naked ass to
"encourage" me.  I responded perfectly to my owner's
orders without any need for a bit, I wouldn't have
dreamed of leaving the shafts even though I wasn't
cuffed to them, and I guarantee that I ran just as
hard and as fast as I  would have done with the lash
snapping at my ass:  well, it's a matter of pride in
what you do, isn't it?  And I was a properly trained
pony, and proud of it.

Even though my efforts the night before meant that I
was able to run the route perfectly, my owner still
did not seem to be very pleased with me when we got
back.  I ran him around to the back of the house to
leave him at the surgery door, and as he got down, he
turned to me and said "You know, Steve, I saved your
balls as I thought it was so unjust that your previous
owner was going to have them cut off, as I always
thought that you were a good slave.  I had to scold
you yesterday for appearing slovenly in public, and I
though you understood the importance of making a good
impression here.  And then this morning, you do it
again:  your mistress was very angry when she saw you
at the door this morning - you hadn't even bothered to
shave properly for our first trip to the new clients:
you've still to patches of stubble, and there's that
cut on your face!  It's not good enough, Steve, and I
give you fair warning that unless you improve I will
punish you.  Is that understood?"

Again I had a momentary flash of anger - I'd done my
best, but I was only late because I'd tried to do a
good job by researching the route the night before.
He was giving me no credit for threading my way so
cleverly through all the rambling turning roads of the
sprawling suburbs of Scarsdale - hadn't he noticed the
confident way we turned into each house, with no delay
whilst we searched for the right named mansion in the
long lanes?  I wanted to tell him all this, but a
slave doesn't volunteer information, does he?  So all
I could do was hang my head in shame and mumble "I'm
sorry, sir.  It won't happen again, sir."

"Make sure it doesn't, Steve!  Try to be a good slave,
or I will have to punish you in spite of being opposed
to the use of physical force against slaves -
sometimes, I'm afraid, the only thing that a buck like
you ultimately understands is the power of the whip.
Anyway... I'm finished or the day, so you're off duty.
 The mistress and I won't be going out tonight,
either, as we're still unpacking."

"Sir, thank you, sir."

I could just have gone to my room and loafed around
now, but I really did want to do everything I could to
help my owner.  One of the things I hadn't done around
the grounds was to clean the pool areas - the water
was a vile green, as I've mentioned, and I knew that
it cost a lot to get a pool slave to come in.  I knew
something about pool maintenance as dad used to let me
help him do ours at home, so  I collected the big net,
the scraper, the water testing kit and the drums of
chemicals from the outbuildings, and went around to
the pool area.

It was hot that afternoon and I pulled off my T to
prevent it getting covered in sweat.  I really worked
at it, collecting the leaves and stuff that had fallen
in, sweeping the tiled surround, and running the
scraper up and down the bottom to get the algae off.
I was just kneeling down to test the water with the
testing kit prior to adding the chemicals when my
mistress appeared.  She was dressed in a robe and was
carrying sunglasses, sun cream, and a book.

I rushed over, knelt (as I though she would appreciate
this slave posture), and said "Ma'am... The garden
furniture is still inside, ma'am.  Shall I go and
fetch you a table, and a lounger?"

I thought she sounded rather icy as she aid "Yes,
slave.", but I got up and ran to the store and came
back as quickly as I could with one of the teak tables
and a big, wheeled lounger - you'll know how heavy
these are, being made of that dense wood, and it was a
real struggle to bring them both.  But I didn't want
to keep my mistress waiting, and I really wanted to
serve her the best I could.

They were all dusty from being in storage, and I
desperately looked around for something to clean them
with so as not to keep my mistress waiting - the only
thing was my T that was lying by the side of the pool,
so I quickly damped it with the pool water then
industriously scrubbed away at the wood so that it
came up looking fresh and clean.   When I'd done I
indicated to my mistress that I'd finished, and she
snapped  "Don't just stand there, slave!  Wheel the
lounger over there:  if you'd got any sense, you'd
know that it's pointless having it here in full sun!"

She didn't sound very pleased for all the efforts I'd
put in, but when I'd done as she commanded she slipped
off her robe - she was wearing a neat black swimsuit
underneath - and settled onto the lounger, watching
me.  "Get on with your work, slave", she commanded,
and I bowed and returned to scraping the bottom of the
pool.   It's not as if it was "my work" anyway, was
it?  I was doing this to try to help!

I'd only been at it a couple of minutes, when she
called out "Get over here, slave!" In  very curt way

I put down the long scraper and went over to her, and
knelt by the side of the lounger.  "I've complained to
your master already about your behaviour, slave, and
he assured me that you were going to reform.  But this
afternoon you have persisted in your wilful behaviour.
 You should know that I will be discussing these
incidents with your master tonight, and I will insist
that he properly punishes you, to try to teach you
proper slave behaviour.  Boy, is their anything you
want to say in mitigation?"

I was stunned!  I thought I was doing absolutely the
best I could, and I stammered  "Ma'am.... I'm sorry,
ma'am.... But what have I done?"

"So, you persist in being wilful?  Isn't it enough
that your mistress says that you have not performed
properly? Do you dare to question me?"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, ma'am..."

"Well, you don't sound sorry.  You sound cross. And
you persist in standing there in those shorts, when
you are cleaning the pool!"

"Ma'am?"

"Look, you stupid slave.... Firstly, you do not use
your slave uniform as cleaning cloths!  Those Ts cost
your owner and me money, and they're not to be used
just as rags.  No wonder you looked so scruffy at the
station the other morning - you have no respect for
your owner's property."

"But Ma'am, I was only trying to...."

"Silence!  How dare you interrupt me! Not only do you
have no respect for the clothes your owner and I give
you, but you do not perform properly at doing the
simplest duties, either."

"Ma'am, please, ma'am, how... What....?"

"Silence, I said!  My husband keeps on about how your
previous owner, that most fashionable young man Master
Jason, kept you with a bit in your mouth, and I can
begin to see why, now.  Properly trained slaves do not
interrupt.  Now, stop being so wilful, and get out of
those shorts!"

I was astonished,  What did she mean?

"Ma'am...?  What.....?"

"Do I have to repeat myself several times to get you
to obey?  I told you to get out of those shorts!
Strip!  Now!"

Well, it's not right, is it?  A slave shouldn't have
to appear nude in front of a woman.  But I couldn't
disobey my owner's wife, could I?  So I undid my
shorts and let them fall to the ground.  I felt myself
begin to blush furiously as her eyes took in my big
dick with its blackened shaft.

"On my family's estates the slaves who looked after
the grounds knew that pool slaves always work totally
naked.  It's not the sort of thing a lady should have
to order a slave to do, to strip naked, as the slave
ought to know the correct way to behave.  But with
your generally oafish behaviour, I should have known
better.  Now, get back to work!"

I was seething inside.  I was only cleaning the pool
in order to save her and my owner money!  And how the
fuck was I supposed to know the right modes of
behaviour for pool slaves?  I was a trained pony, I
wanted to tell her, and not some lowlife general
worker!  I hated being naked like this, and hated the
way her lip now almost curled in contempt as she
surveyed my body.

"What are you waiting for?  Get back to work!  Do you
expect me to have to look at that disgusting spectacle
of your dick for ever?  You're a slave with no sense
of what's right, having a dick tattooed like that!"

I almost screamed at her "what the fuck was I supposed
to do about it, when my owner ordered it?", but I knew
that would only make her more angry, and, anyway, my
training told me it was wrong to argue with a woman,
so I turned and went back to cleaning the pool.  I
wanted to walk off, to pick up my shorts, leave the
job undone, and go and rest as my owner had said I
could, but that wouldn't be right, either.  So I stood
there in the hot sun, totally naked, and it was really
uncomfortable - without the support of my shorts, my
dick and balls swung from side to side as I scraped
away with the cleaning tool.  And all the time I could
feel the eyes of my owner's wife boring into me.  It
wasn't so bad when I was cleaning the side nearest to
her as my back was towards her and I knew she could
only see my muscular ass - I suppose I'd got used to
having folks look at that when I'd been made to run in
the humiliating posing pouch for Master Jason.  But as
soon as I had to move around to the other side I was
fully exposed to her, and it wasn't only the bright
sun that made me sweat - it was the sheer bloody
embarrassment.

It took me about an hour to finish, and then what was
I to do?  As I worked away I thought about it and
thought about it.  If I just walked off, that would be
wrong.  But if I went back to my mistress and asked
permission to leave, that would probably be wrong,
too.  In the end I decided the latter was the best
course of action as a slave shouldn't just walk away
from a master in case there's some other task that
needs doing, so I approached where she was lying on
the lounger, dropped to my knees, and bent my head.

"Is their anything else, ma'am...?"

"That's it, slave!  I am now definitely going to
discuss your punishment with my husband! I might have
forgiven you your previous errors when I saw how hard
you were working, but to have you kneeling there,
sweat dripping off you - it's obscene, the way it's
trickling down that dick of yours you seem to be so
proud of!  Didn't you learn that slaves remain silent
until spoken to?"

Oh fuck, I'd done it again.  And I was only trying to
get away, so that she didn't have to continue to look
at me, something she apparently didn't like.

"Yes,  ma'am, I'm sorry, ma'am...."

"You definitely need that bit put back in you.  Or
perhaps my husband should permanently cut your vocal
chords - he is a vet, after all, and 'Metropolitan
Slave Owner' is recommending that for slaves who don't
know how to remain silent!  Now, get out of my sight!
Your body verges on the obscene, and is not something
that ladies in polite society need to look at - it was
never like this on my family estates, where the slaves
who worked naked had modest bodies!"

I got to my feet, blushing even more at the  thought
of being "obscene", bowed, and walked off. Of course
I'd forgotten my shorts, which were still lying by the
pool, and so I had to walk all the way back to my room
in the nude.  I showered to get all the sweat off me,
cursing the ungrateful bitch and the way I'd been
treated - and then realised that I was again not
acting like a proper well-trained slave, as I was
criticising my owner's wife.  That made me feel even
worse, and I went and lay on my bed, and faced the
wall and lay there in utter misery.

It was dark in my room when I was roughly shaken awake
- my owner was standing there, and I at once started
to get to my feet.

"I was starting to doubt my wife, Steve, but perhaps
she has a point!  A slave like you shouldn't be asleep
this early in the evening.  And aren't you supposed to
get to your feet when your owner enters the room?"

I was only sleeping because I was so dammed tired
after working away all day on running and then doing
extra work for him, and of course I knew I should get
to my feet and would have done if I hadn't been so
deep in sleep when he came in.  "Yes, master, but I
only...."

"Silence!  I'm tired of hearing excuses.  Now, follow
me."

I went to pull on my shorts and realised they weren't
there - they were still lying by the side of the pool.
 I needed to go out to the store to fetch another
pair, and went to explain.

"Master, I..."

"Shut the fuck up, will you!  Just do as you're told,
for once!"

 He strode out, and I walked after him acutely
conscious of being totally naked in the house.  I
padded over the carpets into the living room, and
there was my mistress sitting on one of the couches.

"There, you see, my dear, he's doing it again -
flaunting that obscene dick of his in front of me.
Who ever heard of a slave being naked in the house,
unless he was about to be used sexually?"

I blushed again, and wanted to scream at the stupid
bitch that it was her husband who hadn't let me dress.
 And, of course, this made me feel worse, as I
shouldn't even be thinking like this.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but....."

"Shut the fuck up, Steve!  My wife had been trying to
persuade me to put that bit and the tongue plate back
in you, or even to mute you surgically.  I was arguing
against it, but I've heard more than enough from you
today.  Keep silent, slave - didn't you learn anything
at that so-called expensive training school of yours?"

"Now", he went on, "My wife believes you should be
punished for your many errors since we arrived here.
And I think she's right - I know I did a kind thing in
risking my reputation to save your testicles, but I've
been too lenient from there on.  A slave needs a firm
hand to control him, and I think you believe that I'm
a soft touch and that you can act as you please.
Well, it's not so - you will obey, you will serve, and
you will do so perfectly.  I am not the sort of owner
who will ruin a slave's temperament by allowing him to
fall into idle and slovenly habits. Do you
understand?"

I hung my head in shame, as I wasn't idle, and I
certainly wasn't slovenly.  But I couldn't argue with
my owner, could I? So I said, outwardly meekly but
surging with anger inside, "Sir, yes, sir."

"Good.  I think that if I take action now it will save
a lot of trouble further down the line.  I don't want
things to get so bad that I have to call in the public
whip master, as your last owner had to... You know,
I'm beginning to sympathise with Master Jason... I
thought he was wrong to have you whipped, but perhaps
it was me who was wrong!  So I'm going to punish you
now, myself, in a way that slaves understand.  All the
published work agrees that there's no way of
convincing slaves that they must be obedient and work
hard, that simple punishments like confining them to
their rooms and withholding their chow have only
limited effects, and that the only sure-fire way of
driving the lesson home is harsh, physical punishment.
 Your body has got to learn, Steve, that if it does
wrong it will receive pain."

"It really hurts me to have to do this", he went on,
"Because I am not one who believes in chastisement
normally.  But you have repaid my kindness in rescuing
you by several instances of slovenly, wilful,
disobedient behaviour, and I cannot allow that to go
unpunished - I would be failing in my duty as an
owner, and it would not be good for you in the long
term."

He walked over to a cabinet, opened it and brought out
a long thin cane.  He swiped it through the air, and
there was a sickening hiss as the thin malacca cut the
air.

"I never thought I'd need to punish a slave of mine in
this way, but my wife and I both agree that it is in
your best interests.  Now... Bend over the back of
that couch...."

I looked at him in amazement.  Surely he couldn't be
going to hit me with that cane?  I knew of course that
disobedient slaves were caned and whipped, but other
than that one time, it had never happened to me.

"You are determined to make me angry, aren't you,
Steve?  I gave you a direct order to bend over and
prepare to be punished, and you're still standing
there!  Now, get bent over the back of that couch,
before I double the number of strokes!"

It was all so unfair, but what could I do?  I went and
positioned myself over the back of the couch,
spreading my legs to give myself a bit of stability
and feeling the scratchy rough wool fabric of it
pressing into my dick and belly.  I knew my balls and
dick would be horribly exposed between my thighs, and
I was aware of my mistress staring at them as I stood
there.

I heard the hiss, and then a pain like hot fire raked
across my ass.  Then another, then another.... He gave
me ten strokes in all.  I grunted with the pain as the
cane cut into me each time, but was determined not to
scream out as it would be so undignified.  But it
really hurt, not just physically, but emotionally - I
didn't deserve this caning.

"Right, that's it, Steve.  Get up!"

I got to my feet, and my ass felt as if it was on
fire.  My face was all red from where I was blushing,
and I had to work hard to stop tears running down my
cheeks - tears of pain, tears of humiliation, and
tears of rage!  I realised that the caning had made me
go erect, too, and that made me feel even worse as I
could see my mistress looking at my dick with an
expression of disgust.

She got up and went over to the couch where I had been
leaning, and ran her finger over it.
"Cane him again, my dear", she snapped at my owner.
"The disgusting animal has dribbled his cock snot all
over the couch!  It's gone into the fabric, and it
will stain!  It will cost a fortune to have it
cleaned."

Well, I couldn't help it, could I?  I'd heard slaves
talking about punishment, and I'd been told that being
caned on the ass could make you have an erection - and
it had done so to me.  And when your dick's erect and
you're young and virile, you do start to leak pre-cum,
don't you?

My owner went over to his wife and ran his fingers
over the fabric, too.  He put his fingers to his nose
and sniffed, and exclaimed  "You're right! What a
disgusting pervert he is to try to cum over our
furniture!"

He turned back to me and commanded "Bend over the
desk, Steve.  You obviously didn't learn your lesson
about proper slave behaviour!"

"But sir, it's only natural...."

"Shut the fuck up!  If you persist in arguing with me
I will cut your vocal chords!  Now bend over that desk
before I lose my temper with you!"

I lay their seething with resentment and
embarrassment.  And then as he laid six more strokes
across my already inflamed ass I did break down, and
felt the tears running down my cheeks.  I'd done my
best, and it was all so unfair,  It seemed as if
everything I did was just misinterpreted.

"Right!  That's it.  Get back to your quarters, slave.
 And be sure to be outside, properly dressed and
neatly shaven tomorrow morning at eight!  I want no
excuses, just perfect behaviour.  Do you understand?"

I wanted to tell him that  of course I did, that he
was wrong, that I only wanted to serve him properly as
a slave should, but none of this could come out, of
course.  Choking back my tears I half whispered "Sir,
yes, sir."

He dismissed me, and I walked out of the room, knowing
that they would both be looking at the harsh red lines
that now criss-crossed my muscular ass.

He called me back as I was almost out of the room.
"Take this cane, Steve.  Hang it over your bed.  I
want you to have a constant reminder of what's in
store for you if you do not obey completely."   I had
to walk back towards them, my dick swinging in front
of me, and then walk away again so they saw my
punished ass again.  It was awful and I felt so
ashamed of the cane that now sat in my room as a
totally unnecessary warning to me.


End Of Part 21

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 22

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


I hardly slept at all that night.  My ass really hurt
- I looked at myself in a tiny mirror in my room and
saw that although the flesh was not broken there were
deep red weals all over my cheeks.  I tried taking a
cold shower in the hope that the icy water would take
the heat out of the wounds, but I had to give up,
shivering, before it had any real effect.  But I think
I mostly didn't sleep as I was so angry - angry at my
owner and mistress for misunderstanding me, for not
noticing how hard I'd worked for them in roles that
were not my own and where specialist slaves should be
used, and for blaming me for things that were not my
fault.  And then I was angry at myself for being angry
at my owner - that's not the way a properly trained
slave thinks, is it?  I was so upset that I didn't
even feel like jerking off.

Of course the inevitable happened, and I finally fell
asleep just before dawn and then woke up late.  I was
cursing myself for being so careless as I frantically
showered and shaved, and in my frantic desire to do a
good job and yet not be late I almost cut myself
again... The day was starting badly!   I didn't even
have time to cram a few mouthfuls of slave chow down,
but sprinted across the yard, naked, my dick and balls
flying in the air, to get a clean T and shorts from
the store, then to collect the trap and make it around
to the front door.  I was still panting from all this
scrambling when my owner appeared, and so at least he
had nothing to complain about.

He hadn't given me a route the night before, though,
and so as we made our rounds it was inevitable that
I'd occasionally not know where one of the big houses
was, and he got very impatient as we had to move at a
slow pace down some of the streets trying to read the
house names.  I heard him say "I think you do this
deliberately, Steve!  You were perfect yesterday, and
now you're deliberately going slow!"

I wanted to tell him that the previous day I'd spent
half the night reconnoitring the route, and that I'd
have done the same last night if he'd told me his
plans for today, but what was the point?  I felt
really miserable, as I was doing my best, and it
wasn't helped by the fact that running wasn't the
pleasure it usually was - my ass was really painful,
and as the cotton of the slave shorts rubbed over the
welts on my cheeks, it was a constant reminder to me
of the unfair punishment I'd had.  And all these
thoughts made me feel even worse, as they are not the
sort of things a slave should be thinking, as you
know.

I did my best to catch up in-between calls by running
at high speed when I did know where we were going, and
positively sprinted from the last call back towards
home, in the hope of pleasing him.  I stood in the
yard breathing very hard, and I was almost totally
exhausted after pulling the trap for about five hours.
 I was covered in sweat from my last fast sprint home,
and all I wanted to do was to go and shower and lie
down, and have some chow - I hadn't eaten since the
night before. I could feel my shorts and T sticking to
my body, they were so wet with my sweat.

He looked at his watch, told me to wait, and went into
the house.  He emerged a couple of minutes later, and
said

"Round to the front.  Your mistress is going into the
city for the evening, and there's just enough time to
catch the earlier train."

It was a huge effort to drag the trap around again,
and my mistress emerged with a heavy suitcase.  They
both got in to the trap, and my owner said "A Fast run
to the station, Steve - we'll just make the earlier
train."

I was almost exhausted before we started, but
fortunately it's mostly downhill to the station and I
was able to pull them both, and the suitcase, although
I could hear my mistress complaining to my owner that
I wasn't really giving everything I had and that if my
owner had a whip, as all smart pony drivers did, I
could me made to run faster. "You know that he's
indolent, and a smart snap of the whip on his bare
legs would remind him to keep the pace up", she said.

At the station they were in a hurry to go and buy a
ticket as the train was due, and I dutifully went and
got the suitcase to join them in the booking hall. My
mistress was even more displeased when she saw me
holding it, and said to my owner "I think that a visit
from the public whip master is going to be the only
way to tame this slave!  That caning you gave him
doesn't seem to have sunk in - look at him!  He was
being punished for meeting us at the station in that
dishevelled state, and he's done it again - look at
the way he's not standing respectfully with his head
own, but is snorting and breathing hard like that.
And all that sweat covering him, and the way that his
T and shorts are sticking to his body - it's
disgusting!"

"Yes,  my dear.  Quite so.  Now, don't you worry about
it - go off and enjoy the theatre with your family
tonight.".  Turning to me, he snapped "Outside, Steve,
and wait in the trap before anyone else sees you!"

I bowed obediently and went and stood in the shafts
again, feeling so depressed.  I'd really worked hard
today, and because I'd sprinted back home, my mistress
could go earlier to the station - and then I'd had to
run fast again to make the train and I'd done that,
even though my body was crying out for rest.  And now
they were ashamed of me as my body was covered in
sweat, rather than seeing it as my tribute to them!

It got worse when my owner came out, as he commanded
"Home, but step on it as I've got a surgery."

Even though it was now just him in the trap, I was
almost all done in, and the long, slow hill back up
towards our house is a bit of a problem at the best of
times.  But I really did try, even though I knew it
wasn't as fast as he would have liked, and really gave
it everything I'd got.  When we were back in the yard
I was so exhausted I sank to the ground, my lungs
heaving and my legs trembling with the exertion, and
it was several minutes before I could finally get up
and put the trap away, and then stagger to my tiny
room and throw myself on to the bed.

About an hour later my owner came in and  I struggled
to my feet.

"Your mistress has been on the phone, and she and I
discussed your behaviour earlier.  And now I find you
lying here on your bed, and not out there cleaning the
trap, and doing the yard work!  You really don't
learn, do you?  In spite of all I've done for you, you
are not the willing slave that I always thought you
were.  Since kindness does not seem to work with you,
my only option is punishment - 'Slavery Today' has an
article this week about slaves like you:  they say
that if you allow the slave to take an inch, they end
up taking a yard.  And that therefore it's essential
to take firm action the moment any signs of laziness
or indolence are detected in a slave."

"So lie back on the bed, Steve, on your belly, and
spread your legs - I'm very much afraid that I'm going
to have to punish you again.  I don't like doing this,
as I believe an owner ought to be able to have a slave
who willingly works as hard as possible for him.  But
it's in your own best interests..."

I wanted to explain, to tell him that I'd done all
that I could, that I was simply exhausted and worn out
from working as hard as possible for him, but I knew
that if I opened my mouth he'd just consider that I
was arguing with him.  So I did as I'd been commanded,
and lay there with my head turned to one side and my
arms out ahead of me, my fingers gripping the cover.

I saw him reach up for the cane which, as he's told me
to, I'd hung over the bed.  Then there was  that awful
feeling as my shorts were pulled off me, to leave my
ass naked.  It's not that there's a problem in being
naked in front of my owner, but having my shorts
stripped off me was so humiliating - it was just as if
I was a young boy about to be punished:  surely he
could have told me to do that for myself?

He only gave me six strokes, but each one burned into
my ass like a fiery brand.  I was still aching and
sore from the precious day's punishment, and these six
new stripes hurt even more as they criss-crossed the
marks still on me.  And again it wasn't just the
physical pain, but the searing injustice of it all
that really hurt.  I was a good slave, I did work
hard, and yet it all seemed to be going so very wrong
somehow.

"Now get that lazy body of yours up and get out there
and cut the grass!", he commanded.

I struggled to my feet, and stood there in front of
him in just my T.  My dick was erect after the caning,
and I saw him looking at it.  I flushed as I mumbled
"Sir, yes, sir", and stooped to pull my shorts up.  At
least I wasn't dribbling pre-cum this time.

Already exhausted from my day's work it was a real
struggle to push the heavy mowing machine up and down
the lawns.  This had started as a labour of love for
me, when I wanted to do everything I could to make the
house nice for when my owner and mistress arrived.
But they showed no signs of hiring a gardening service
or anything, and it now seemed to be accepted that as
well as performing as my owner's pony, I was now the
gardener and pool man as well.  It wasn't right - I
couldn't give "everything" in my work as a pony and
still have anything left in reserve for this other
work.  And if I didn't work as hard as I could as a
pony, my owner felt I was failing.  And I knew I was
failing, too.  And I knew that having thoughts like
this was wrong, terribly wrong, and that made me feel
even worse.

I went to bed that night feeling really depressed, and
lay there on my belly, my ass still stinging and
aching.  I could hardly sleep, and just lay there and
watched the moon make tracks across the sky.

It was late - probably about midnight, when my door
opened and I saw my owner silhouetted against the dim
light in the corridor.  He seemed to be in a loose T
and shorts, the sort I'd seen in shop windows
advertised as "sleep and lounge wear", although why
anyone would want to wear clothes in bed I couldn't
quite imagine.

I at once got to my feet, and stood there, head bowed.
 I was expecting my owner to say something, but, to my
amazement, he fell to his knees in front of me, put
his arms up around my waist, and buried his face in my
crotch!

Well, what was I suppose  to do?  I heard him make
little snuffling and moaning noises as he sucked in my
scent, then his tongue was licking my balls and my
dick.  I immediately felt myself go hard, of course,
and my owner's noises became louder.  I flinched when
his hands came down from my waist to cup my muscular
ass and pull, as if he was trying to drag me even
closer to him - my ass really hurt.

I stood there, not knowing what to do, and then my
owner pulled away and muttered "Please.... Please....
Steve.....".

I answered in the same low tone, not knowing what else
to do  "Sir, yes, sir...?"

"Use me, boss, fuck me.  Please, boss, let me have
your lovely dick in my unworthy mouth.  I want your
dick, boss, I want it in me, please boss...."

What was I supposed to do?  It was as if he wanted me
to be his master!  But I felt my own urges rising.  My
dick, that had been hard, was now painfully so - it
was straining  for the sky, and as he fell forward
onto it again I got that shudder of ecstasy running
through me as his tongue lapped at my flange and my
piss slit.    I started to become excited, and opened
my legs a little to give myself more stability.

I looked down, and saw my owner looking up at me - he
had his eyes open as his mouth tried to encompass my
dick, and he was looking at me imploringly.  I knew he
wanted to be used, to be dominated, to be controlled,
and that suited me perfectly.  I pulled my dick out of
his mouth, then put my hand at the root of it and
swung my dick from side to side, so that I slapped his
face hard with it.  He continued to look up at me.

"So tell me how much you want my dick..."

"Please, boss, I want to suck your dick,  I want to
take it right down.  Please, boss, give me your
dick..."

I stopped slapping at him and snapped "Open you mouth,
and put your tongue out...."

I teased my dick head over his tongue as it lolled out
of his mouth, then pushed it in to him.  He took the
first inch or two easily, but then started to choke.
I reached down and held his head so that he was unable
to move away, then revelled as I heard him choking and
gagging as I pushed my dick further in.

He was making strangled, spluttering noises, but I
continued to fuck his mouth, thrusting my hips
backwards and forwards as I held his head.

I was panting heavily myself, not from the effort,
particularly, but because I was excited at once again
having another man in my power, under my complete
control.  I pulled my dick out, and stroked it,
feeling the delicious sliminess of it from his throat
juices.

He was breathing hard, and coughing and choking.

"Open your mouth, boy.... I haven't finished yet...."

"Please, boss.... Please, I can't take it...
Please..."

I slapped him, hard.  I was surprised at myself, the
moment I'd done it, but somehow at the time it seemed
to be so much the right thing to do.  He stopped
speaking immediately, and I rammed my dick back into
his mouth.

He was almost struggling to get away from me now but I
gripped his ears and twisted them a little so that he
knew that I could cause him real pain, and continued
to fuck this throat.  My own excitement was building,
and the sweat was pouring off me.  I'd pushed the pain
from my ass into the background - and it was
considerable, as his hands were almost flailing at me
in a vain effort to make me stop.  But I was aroused,
my brain was no longer in rational control.  I needed
sexual release, I needed to dominate, to be in
control, and this man in front of me was now mine.

I carried on thrusting into him, but then pulled out.
I grabbed his arm, dragged him to his feet, and threw
him face down onto my bed.  Just as he had earlier in
the day, I stripped his shorts off, except that it
only took one pull from my powerful hand to leave his
ass naked in front of me, whereas he'd taken several
feeble jerks to uncover me.

I stood between his feet, then kicked out at his
ankles, forcing him to spread his legs.

"I'm going to fuck you, boy... I'm going to fuck your
ass.  Is that what you want?"

"Yes..."

I slapped him, really hard, on each ass cheek.  In the
moonlight I saw dark patches starting to appear where
my blows had landed (and, remember, I'm a really
powerful man with very strong arms!).

"Boy, there'll be more of that if you don't answer
respectfully.  Now, your last chance.... Tell me what
you want...."

"Boss, please fuck me, boss..."

"Tell me again, boy. Are you begging me to put my big
dick, slimed with your throat juices, up that tight
ass of yours?"

"Boss, please, boss, fuck this boy.  Please, boss, I
want to feel your dick inside me.  Please, boss, fuck
me, fuck me hard, boss."

I no longer cared that this was my owner.  I no longer
remembered that I was a slave.  I was a man, a man
with a devouring sexual need.  My dick was in control.
 It needed a tight ass around it.  It needed to skewer
another man, to fuck and fuck and fuck, to show that I
was in command.

I spat on my fingers and kind of minimally lubed his
hole, then positioned my dick head at the entrance and
pushed.  He screamed as I pushed harder and harder, so
I reached forward and pushed his head into the bed to
stop his whining.  My powerful thighs contracted and
thrust, he gave another muffled cry, and then I was
in.

Well, we all know what it feels like to have a tight
ass around our dicks, and it was so long since I'd had
this wonderful feeling that there was no stopping me
now.  I forgot everything that Darren had taught me
about "reading" the other guy and modifying my strokes
in response to his reactions so that we were both
satisfied.  I forgot that this was my owner and that I
was a slave.  All I knew was that there was an ass
around my dick and a helpless body under mine, and
that I needed to master it, to fuck it as if there
would be no consequences, and to maximise my own
pleasure.

So I thrust in and out with complete abandon,
revelling in the feeling of my dick plunging in to its
hilt, and almost hurting myself as my balls banged
into his body.  I didn't care that he was struggling
and writhing under me - all he was there for was to be
used for my satisfaction.  But I could tell that in
spite of his cries he was enjoying it, as his body
started to push itself backwards into mine as I fucked
him mercilessly.

It couldn't last, of course.  My pleasure was too
intense.  My masterly domination of this male under me
was causing pleasure to flood my brain, so that I
couldn't think of anything else, or control my body.
Inevitably I felt my excitement mounting and mounting,
and, all too soon, I shot.  My dick pumped a huge load
into him, and I had to stop as it's too painful for me
to continue fucking as my dick is so sensitive after
shooting.  Even so, my body's desire to carry on
overrode my conscious control, and I made one or two
more feeble thrusts, giving my own great cries of
ecstasy, pain and pleasure as I did so.

And then it was over, and I fell forward onto him, my
dick still buried in his ass.  I felt his sweaty body
underneath my equally wet one, and that somehow
excited me further.  I licked at the back of his neck,
and got the piquant salty taste of man sweat.  He
shuddered under me, and moaned quietly as he lay
there.

My breathing slowed, and I raised myself off him, and
pulled my dick out.  As I stood there, my body
steaming slightly, the sickening realisation of what
I'd done started to come over me.  "Jesus Christ!", I
thought. "If he canes me for appearing dishevelled at
the station, what's the punishment for raping his ass?
 Oh, fuck me, I'm in deep shit now."

I stood there, not knowing what to do, and I saw him
gradually stirring on the bed.   He sat up, looked at
me, then dropped to his knees in front of me again!
He bent right down, and kissed my feet!

I felt his hands go around my calves, as if he was
holding on to them for support, and I heard him say
"Boss, thank you, boss.  Please, boss, may I go now,
boss, please?"

Well, what was I supposed to do?  I muttered "Yes,
boy.  Get the fuck out of here."

He got to his feet, and in the moonlight I saw is dick
and balls hanging down below his T.   He picked up his
shorts, turned, and went out of the room.

What the fuck was I supposed to do now?  Had he gone
off to call the police, or something?  I was
trembling, I think - a combination of worry, fear,
and, most of all, that fantastic "after sex" shaking
that you get when your body's totally exhausted from
its efforts and all your sexual needs have been
completely satisfied.  Well, I'm a pretty practical
sort of guy, and after a few minutes I showered to
wash all the sweat off me and to clean my dick from
hiss ass juices.  And when nothing still hadn't
happened, I lay back in bed.

Although I was really worried - no, scared would be a
better term - that other thing took over:  I'd just
had a bout of incredible, orgiastic, totally
satisfying sex.  And so like most guys who've just
shot a huge load, I fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up and I was smiling - that
smile that you get when everything seems right with
the world.  I forgot the pain from my caning as I
stretched my whole body as I lay in bed, then reached
down and started to stroke my morning hard on.  It was
only then, as I began to pleasure myself that my mind
went back to the night before.  Holy shit!  I stopped
jerking myself off, and the full horror of it all
swept over me.  I felt physically sick at the
realisation of what I'd done.  I'd been totally out of
control again, and had simply almost raped the guy I
was with - and that guy was my owner!  What should I
do?

I lay there, tossing and turning, almost mad with
worry.  Finally, not knowing what else to do, I got
up, showered, pulled on a clean slave T and shorts,
and went out into the yard.  It was a beautiful autumn
morning, with a clear blue sky and sunshine, although
we'd lost the warmth of summer, and I shivered
slightly.  I could vaguely hear my owner moving around
inside the house, and there was the appetising smell
of bacon grilling coming out of the kitchen extractor
vent, and, in spite of myself, my mouth filled with
saliva.

As if sticking to routine would stave off any
unpleasantness, I opened the garage, slipped between
the shafts of my trap, and pulled it around to the
front door.

Those minutes when I was waiting for my owner to come
out were the worst in my life.  I was expecting the
police to arrive at any minute, or, at the very least,
a car from a slave dealer.  Or perhaps he was just
going to order me to go back, to his surgery, and then
he would geld me.  All sorts of sick ideas went
through my mind - should I attempt to run away... No,
I was a slave, and proper slaves just don't do things
like that: a slave knows he's done wrong, and accepts
his punishment as his just desserts for his actions.

As the wait went on I felt worse and worse, and I
could feel my body start to shiver.  At first I
thought it was the cool morning air, but I was only
fooling myself - it was fear, and, I guess, shame for
behaving so badly.  I was a slave, a properly trained
slave, and I'd just raped my owner.  I started to feel
sick in the pit of my stomach, and I broke out into a
cold sweat.

It was almost a relief as the front door opened.  At
least now I would know....

My owner came out, climbed up into the seat - a little
slower than usual, as I guessed his ass was really
sore from the pounding I'd given it - and said
"Morning, Steve!  A really good autumn day.  Now, it's
the Gregson's first... But you can take it at a steady
pace, as I've got lots of time..."

I almost couldn't believe it.  As I pulled away down
the drive, I almost began to doubt what I'd heard.  My
owner had just told me to start work as if nothing had
happened!

It was only midmorning when I began to realise that my
owner was not going to say anything at all about the
previous night.  He seemed to be in denial that
anything had happened at all!  But that couldn't
really be so, could it - especially as I could see him
wincing every time he climbed in and out of the trap.


By the time is rounds were ended I felt almost certain
that he as going to say nothing, as he'd given me his
usual orders in the same friendly yet professional
tone he always used.  Wen we got home and he was
preparing for his surgery, he asked me if I'd clean
the pool, and reminded me that I had to go and meet
the mistress off the four p.m. train.  "And, Steve",
he said kindly, "Do put on a clean T and shorts before
you go - your mistress is very particular, you know."

So that seemed to be it - I noticed my mistress
looking at me very carefully at the station, as if
trying to find fault,  and I ran as hard and as fast
as I could on the journey home so that she would have
nothing to complain about.  As the vet cameo out to
greet her when we arrived home, I even heard her say
"See, I told you  The slave has learned his lesson -
I'll watch him carefully from now on, and at the
slightest sign of intransigence, you'll cane him
again.  He'll soon learn."

Later in the week it was again time to clean the pool,
and I strode around to the pool area only to find my
mistress sitting there with three other ladies.  They
all had drinks in their hands, and were talking.  I'd
been down at the bottom of the yard doing some
digging, and evidently hadn't hard the other ponies
arrive.  I cheered up, as I enjoyed talking to the
other guys,  so I said
"Mistress, apologies for disturbing you.  I'll come
back, mistress", as respectfully as I could.

"No, slave, clean the pool.  We are not planning to go
swimming until later."

I was at first disappointed, as I wanted very much to
go and talk to the other ponies, but I knew that I
ought to work, so I busied myself screwing together
the long cleaning pole and so on.  Then I started,
until I heard my mistress shout "Slave!  Don't you
remember your lessons?  How do pool slaves clean the
pool?"

I blushed, as I knew what she meant.  So I half
stammered "Mistress... I'm sorry mistress... I thought
that with the other ladies present, I.... "

"Slaves don't think!  Slaves obey.  Neither I nor any
of these other ladies are at all embarrassed by the
sight of a naked slave.  It's not as if you're a man,
after all!  Now, assume the proper dress for pool
cleaning."

Well, she might not be embarrassed by the sight of a
naked slave, but this slave was fucking well
embarrassed at having to disport himself nude in front
of four women!  But what could I do?  If I disobeyed
her order, or even argued, or delayed, she'd complain
to my owner and demand that he cane me.  I felt the
blood rush up to my shoulders and face as I pulled my
T over my head, and dropped it neatly on the pool
side.  I turned away as I undid my shorts and shed
them, and they couldn't therefore see as I flicked at
my dick to make it stand away from my balls - you know
how you do, when they've been confined and your dick
and balls are stuck together.

Then I started work, and of course sooner of later I
couldn't help but turn towards them. I blushed
furiously as I heard little laughs and low whispers of
womanly conversation - I knew they were discussing my
body, but what could I do?  And I actually heard one
of them ask why my dick was black, and why I was
allowed to wear nipple rings.

"Oh, he came that way", my mistress said. "He's my
husband's pony, really, so the colour of his dick and
those rings are not important as it's all covered up.
My husband got a very good deal on him, and I'm really
proud of the way he managed to save our money by
getting a slave that can do the work of a pony, and be
useful around the yard, without paying a fortune for
him!"

"Mind you", she went on, "We're having a bit of a job
really completing his training.  He arrogantly thinks
he knows all there is to know about being a slave,
but......".   Her tone changed, as she called out
"Come over here, slave!"

Well, what could I do?  I couldn't disobey an order,
could I?  So I walked over to where the women were
sitting, and stood there with my head respectfully
bowed.

"Turn around, slave!", my mistress commanded, and I
did.  "See", she went on, to her companions.  "Look at
all those marks across his ass - my husband has had to
give him two severe canings recently as he's been
failing in his duties as a slave.  Still... It makes a
nice contrast with the perfection of his flesh,
doesn't it?  I have to admit he's got a really nice
ass, and I do like the way he has those little dimples
where the base of his spine starts to go into his ass
crack...."

I wasn't just blushing at the way my body was being
looked at and described now.  I was so cross at
hearing my mistress criticising me in public for
failing as a slave... All these ladies would now think
that I wasn't properly trained, and that I wasn't
properly dutiful.

"Have you ever... You know.... 'Used' the slave?"  I
heard one of the ladies ask my mistress.

"Use the slave?"

"Yes... You know.... With a dick like that, and that
ass and thighs to drive it.... Have you ever 'used'
him...... When your husband's away?"

"Certainly not!", my mistress said, sounding angry
herself.  "We had masses of slaves on my father's
estate, many of them at least as good looking as this
one - even before he allowed himself to be disfigured
in that repulsive way.  But even a a young girl,
desperate for a man, I knew it was wrong to fuck the
slaves!  I'm surprised at you for even thinking it.
In any case, my husband... Well, you know.... My
father picked me out a really well-built man.  And
he's a vet, so he knows all about anatomy, and knows
how to use himself.... If you understand me."

The ladies all laughed politely, and as I still stood
there with my back to them as I'd not been dismissed,
they went on and all began to discuss their husbands.
As they catalogued their favourite sex positions, and
described how they played with their partners, I feet
the stiffening of life in my dick.  Well, all guys
have erections during the day, don't they?  I'm a
virile twenty four year old, and my dick sprang into
life about once every twenty minutes- and hearing all
this sex talk was just the rigger it needed!  Mind
you, it was odd - hearing my mistress say how her
father had picked out the vet - I'd heard the
explanation of the shortage of men, and how
good-looking men with professional positions could
attract a big "dowry" from rich fathers.... It wasn't
so far from being sold at auction, I suppose.  I
wondered if he interviewed my owner, or even made him
drop his pants to see if he was "suitable" for his
daughter!

"Well", I heard my mistress say as if she was wanting
to bring the conversation to a close "I still think
I'm lucky.  Although my husband doesn't earn much as
he's only a vet, it's not a problem as daddy's got
lots of money.  And my husband knows that if he fails
to please me, he'll be out, divorced, and penniless!
So he has to be very careful to do as he's told."

I heard the other women kind of titter.

"Yes", my mistress went on.  "I've decided to have a
baby, and daddy wants me to breed to continue the
family line, of course.  So I have him pretty busy
most nights.  But I always make sure he properly
pleasures me."

I felt really sorry or my owner, being described like
this.  He might as well be a sex slave, I thought.
But thinking about sex had made my erection worse, and
to my horror I then heard my mistress say "Anyway,
enough is enough of this kind of talk!  It isn't
polite for society ladies!  Shall we have a swim?"
And then,  "You're dismissed, slave!"

As I turned to say "Ma'am, thank you, ma'am", they all
saw my erection, and laughed, politely.

"Get away, you disgusting animal", my mistress
shrieked. "How dare you disport yourself like that!".

"Look at him", she told her friends.  "He's disgusting
- always erect.  And, do you know, he dribbled his
repulsive cock snot all over my furniture when my
husband was punishing him the other night!  I'm
seriously thinking that he needs taming - I'll talk to
my husband about just snipping his balls off, to stop
all this nonsense!"

"Mistress, I'm sorry, mistress..."

"Get out, slave!  Go and do something else!"

I turned and walked away, knowing their eyes were all
on my nude body, and now worried that my precious
balls were in danger again.

End Of Part 22