Date: Tue, 20 Jan 2004 05:49:02 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Willing Slave, Parts 25&26

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 25

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


I wondered and worried about what was going to happen,
but my owner gave no further signs of his concerns
after that strange meeting in my room.  After he'd
spoken to me about such a secret thing, he'd just got
up and left, without waiting for me to dismiss him or
anything, as I usually did.

A few days later I took my mistress to the train
station as she was off on one of her city expeditions,
and when I got back I was surprised when my owner told
me to come into his surgery.  I was half expecting a
thrashing in anticipation of my humiliation of him
that evening, but then these were usually rendered in
front of my mistress, so what was up?

"Strip, Steve, and lie on the examination table", he
told me, and I obeyed, of course.  I lay there on the
cold leather, and realised I was trembling slightly.
All of this was so strange - what did he have in store
for me?

I got more and more worried as he wheeled over a small
table to the side of where I was lying, and it was
covered in a variety of surgical instruments.  Next,
he wheeled over a powerful light and turned it on,
positioning the beam down onto my pubes - I could feel
its warmth on my dick and balls, and somehow it felt
strangely comforting.  He'd put on an operating gown,
and was about to tie a mask over his face.

Oh fuck, I thought to myself.... All that talk about
him not being fertile the other night.  And I told him
I wasn't, either, as he'd know, because all slaves are
tied off.  Perhaps he really needed to differentiate
himself from me - and how would he do that?  Oh, fuck,
he's going to take my balls off completely.... I did
what those Christians say they do, in case their juju
really works, and formed in my brain "Please, Jesus,
don't let the fucker cut my balls off....", but I
don't have much faith in superstition, and have never
understood why some slaves do things like not get
together in a threesome under our weather capes, as
it's "unlucky".

My trembling, which was partly from the coolness of
the leather initially, was not an uncontrollable urge
to physically shake - I had to use all my iron will
and self control to carry on lying there.  My owner
evidently saw me, as he said  "Don't worry, Steve - it
isn't going to hurt a bit!  You never hear slaves
screaming in my surgery, do you?  I'm a modern vet,
and I insist on proper anaesthetics when I'm operating
on a slave, even if their owner insists the slave
should feel it!  Now, lie still, whilst I numb
you...."

He picked up a syringe, stabbed it into a bottle and
filled it, then pulled it out and pressed the plunger
home until a little squirt of the liquid came out of
the end.  "Don't want to get an air bubble in you, so
we?", he commented, almost cheerfully.  "Now, hold
yourself perfectly still for a moment...."

His other hand came down and rested on top of my dick,
then he kind of pressed down, moving his hand towards
my knees, so that the area just above my dick was
strained really taught.  "Right.....", he muttered to
himself, as the needle stabbed into my pubic area.
"...there.  That didn't hurt, did it?  I'm a pretty
good vet, you know - it's difficult to put you out
down there with just a local anaesthetic, as the pubic
bone is so close to the surface.  Still, practice
makes perfect!"

"Sir, thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet, Steve!  Wait until it's all
over!"

I couldn't read from his tone whether this was good
news or not... Was he just playing some cruel joke on
me before he sliced my manhood off?

He carried on talking as he started to fasten his
surgical mask over his face.  "Yes... I've got a lot
of practice at this recently - still, no slave has
suffered under my knife just for lack of anaesthetic!
Did you see all those slaves that came in last week,
Steve?  All five from one owner?  None of them felt a
thing."

"Sir, thank you sir, that's good, sir."

"Mind you, I think the fashion's wrong", he went on.
"I can understand why an owner wants a slave's balls
cut off if the slave is mostly going to work around
his daughters - some slaves think that just because
they're tied off, they don't have to bother about
pregnancy and they can fuck away with no fear of the
consequences.  If a slave of mine was going to be
alone with my wife extensively, I think I'd be
concerned.....   On the other hand, a castrated slave
is a real cost to an owner - he has to have regular
hormone injections to keep his body in shape, and even
if you teach the slave to give the injections himself,
and don't pay me to do it every month, there's still
the cost of the drugs...."

Oh fuck!  Here it comes!  All this talk of cutting the
balls off.... He's preparing me for it.

"...still, I'm not sure that the new fashion of
penectomy is really a good idea.  Sure, the slave
can't fuck around with the owner's women as he lacks
the necessary organ.  And there's no problem with
pissing or anything, as it's the bladder valve that
controls that; and as you leave a half inch stub, in
some ways it's more hygienic as there's no residual
piss in the urethra to run out and stain the slave's
shorts if he's less than fastidious after pissing.
And it does get over the problem of the regular
injections - the slave's balls are still intact, still
producing male hormones, and keeping the slave in good
shape.  But, to me, it's cruel - the slave is still
producing semen, too, and he can no longer shoot
it.... so his balls ache almost constantly."

"...and there's the aesthetic aspect, I suppose.
Personally, I don't like to see a slave with a tiny
nub of a dick.  I mean......"  He leaned down and
pulled mine up, stretching it slightly. "...look at
this.... even in this horrible black colour, you
wouldn't be the same if it was cut off.  But my wife
really wants it done - ever since she heard of the
operation, and especially since it's become
'fashionable', she's been on at me to take your dick.
It would fix one big problem, in that her friends
would no longer think we couldn't afford a 'proper'
slave with an ordinary dick.... and we'd be up there
with the fashionable set, too."

Oh Jesus! Oh fuck!  So this was it! I wasn't going to
lose my balls - he was going to slice my dick off.
That cunt, that cow... She'd talked him into this.  So
I'd be "fashionable", and she and her girl friends
wouldn't laugh at me as I cleaned the pool in the nude
in front of them....

I wanted to get off the table and run away.  I wanted
to lash out at him, and knock him senseless for the
way he was about to mutilate me.  I wanted to scream,
to rage, to cry out at the injustice of it all.  But
what could I do, really?  Escape in our society was
impossible  as my DNA as a slave was on file, and I
couldn't work or anything without a prior test.  And
pleading with him would do no good, as that bitch
always got her way in the end - look at the way he
caned and strapped me!  So I decided just to lie there
and accept my fate - my dignity would perhaps show him
that even though he was not a good owner, I was a good
slave.

My body had ideas of its own, though, and even though
I tried to stop it, I felt a warm trickle as tears
started to roll down my cheeks.

My owner saw them, and said "Hey, Steve.... Don't cry,
slave.... I always think of you as such a strong,
tough guy.... I know you're grateful for what I'm
going to do, but tears aren't necessary...."

The fucking bastard!  I was supposed to be grateful
for losing my dick, was I?

He took a  scalpel that shone dully in the strong
overhead light and bent over me.  This was my last
chance.  Should I lash out at him, and run away?  But
I knew it was too late anyway - it wasn't at all
painful as he cut into me, but I cold feel the scalpel
making the incision in my body.

It took a surprisingly long time - I'd have thought
that slicing a dick off would take only a matter of
moments, but I must have been there for half an hour
before my owner leaned back, wiped the sweat from his
brow, and said "Whew!  I'd read about this and seen it
done when I was at vet's school, but I never thought
I'd do one myself.  It was a lot trickier than I
thought it was going to be."

"Now, Steve", he went on in a more professional tone,
"It's really important that you make absolutely no
attempt to jerk yourself off for a week, to give the
flesh a chance to heal properly."

What the fuck was he talking about?  I thought he
whole point of slicing my dick off was that I couldn't
jerk off!  He'd moved a little away now and I thought
it would be OK to sit up and look at my mutilated
organ.  I steeled myself for the sight, as I didn't
want to break down when I saw my magnificent dick
reduced to a nub, but I almost did a double take as I
stared at my crotch - there my dick was, just as
normal lying on top of my balls!  The only difference
from normal was that just above the tiny bar of pubic
hair I still allowed myself (as I'd continued shaving
my balls and keeping my pubic hair trimmed down to the
tiny strip that I'd got used to when pulling Master
Scott's trap in the tiny pouch, as it felt more
comfortable somehow) there was now a large sticking
plaster.

"Yes", my owner went on.  "It really is important you
make absolutely no attempt to jerk off - or to fuck,
but then you don't do that, do you, a there's no one
to do it with - whilst it's all healing up.  There's
only a  30% chance anyway of being able to reverse a
vasectomy, and we need to give it all the help we can.

I blushed when my owner said about not being able to
fuck, as I was of course concealing from him my
relationship with Matt.  I never deliberately lied to
my owner, of course, as that's not something a
well-trained slave would do.  And I was very
conscious, though, that I concealed the truth from
him.  I wasn't at all sure that this wasn't almost the
same thing, but I couldn't bear the thought of being
made to give up Matt, and if I was ordered not to see
him again, then of course I could not.

"Sir, please sir....?"

"Yes, Steve, you can speak."

"Well, please, sir, what's all this about reversing my
vasectomy, sir?"

"You may remember that when you were enslaved, like
all slaves you were 'tied' - a simple vasectomy, so
that if you were around women, there was no chance of
you breeding.  Cases of slaves raping women are rare
anyway, but there seems to be no harm in making sure
that even if that unfortunate occurrence does happen
then there'll be no bastard slave/free baby born.
'Tying' is just that - the tubes joining your
testicles to your dick are tied off, so the semen
can't escape - all of the stuff you ejaculate is from
the prostate:  the actual volume of sperm is tiny, so
most people never notice that slave's cum is lacking
anything."

"In some cases it is possible to reverse such a
vasectomy by untying the tube.  If it's been badly
damaged, then the sperm still can't make it through.
But in about 30% of cases 'untying' renders the slave
fertile again.  I've never done this procedure my self
before, but it's well documented in all the books on
the slave body.  Now we're going to have to wait and
see if you're one of the lucky 30%..... But no jerking
off, as we don't want the sperms trying for the tube
when the tissue is healing.  OK?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Right, then - get up, put your clothes back on, then
go and lie down for the rest of the day.  No yard work
or anything - you need to rest."

"Sir, thank you, sir."

I walked slowly back to my room - as the anaesthetic
started to wear off my balls began to ache, and I
moved very gingerly.  I stripped, showered, then lay
in bed, wondering what on earth was going on.  A few
minutes later the door opened and my owner appeared
around it.  I went to get up, but he stopped me,
saying "No, lie there and rest.  Now, this jerking off
thing - are you sure you can do it?  Or would it be
easier if I just  cuffed your hands to the bed head,
to make sure?"

"Sir, no, sir.  You've ordered me not to jerk off,
sir, and I won't, sir!"   Even as I said this, I felt
slightly ashamed, as he didn't know about Matt and I
hadn't mentioned him, only that I wouldn't jerk off.

In the next five days I found this promise harder and
harder to keep, especially when Matt appeared one
night, and I sent him away as I couldn't really trust
myself not to fuck his wonderful ass.  He looked
really hurt as he left, and I wondered if  I should
tell him what was going on, but decided not to as a
slave should keep his owner's business a secret,  even
from a lover like Matt, shouldn't he?

Although my mistress went to New York during this
time, my owner did not visit me - I assume he didn't
want to risk exciting me to fuck him.  And so I didn't
get a caning or strapping that week either, as
although my mistress urged him to do it because of my
supposed failings as a slave, my owner declined.

He called me into his surgery again at the end of the
week and told me to strip and sit on the edge of the
examination table.  I was already erect, as I had been
for most of the week - not able to give myself any
sexual relief, I'd found that I had almost continual
erections, and it made me even more embarrassed to be
seen in my tiny skimpy shorts when my dick was forcing
them away from my body almost obscenely.  And the
weather had turned rainy, too, and some of the other
ponies had made noises about me being very "stand
offish" a I hadn't dared join in any of the usual
fumbling under our weather capes, and had stood to one
side, aloof.

"Now, Steve... Let's see how skilful I am as a vet,
and whether you're one of the lucky 30%...."

He reached over and started to jerk me off, and I was
aching for relief.  His hand only slid up and down my
shaft once or twice, and I felt myself starting to
shoot - he was prepared, though, and just at the
critical moment pushed my dick down, hard, so that I
groaned with ecstasy, and my cum shot into a small
glass dish he was holding.  I pumped and pumped away -
 I had four "aftershocks", I seem to remember, as my
balls continued to spew out cum.  And all I could do
was sit there and gasp - the pleasure and the relief
after not being able to have sex was so great.  I
don't think I'd ever gone for such a long period
before!

He took the dish over to a microscope and, whilst I
still sat there with some traces of cum dribbling out
of my dick, examined it eagerly.  Suddenly he shouted
"Yes!,  Yes!" And punched the air.  He came over to me
smiling broadly, and congratulated me on being a "real
man" again.

"Your little swimmers are all running around in the
dish", he told me.  "The operation was a success.
You're no longer firing blanks.  And, incidentally,
what a magnificent load you just shot!  Do you always
shoot that much?"

Well, he knew, didn't he?  He'd taken my seed all over
his face, in his ears, down his throat, and up his
ass.... And I usually did shoot a lot.  But evidently
we were playing the game of not making any reference
to his occasional abasement to me.

"Sir, yes, sir.  I do cum heavily.  But this load was
exceptional, sir."

"Good.  Now, then.... I don't want you to jerk off
again until I say so, just like this time.
Understand?   Absolutely no sex.  Can you do that?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

Well, of course I could.  It would be hard, but I'd do
it as he commanded me to.

It was the fourth day after this when I was lying in
my bed wondering if Matt could come over, when my door
opened and my owner came in.  This was odd, as my
mistress had not gone to New York.  What was I
supposed to do... Was he here for me to fuck?  I got
out of bed and stood there ,my dick hard because of
what I'd been thinking about.  He was in his usual
"sleeping" T and shorts, and I was about to tell him
to get naked and down on his knees, when I realised we
were not "playing" tonight.

"Good, Steve.  Hard already!  Now, follow me....."

I went after him, naked, my dick bouncing up and down
and we went through the kitchen and across the big
living room, and up the stairs.  I'd never been
upstairs before, and felt the smooth pile of the
carpet tickling my feet.  He opened a door and went
into his bedroom - with my mistress lying in the bed!


"Right, Steve.  You're going to do a little service
for me.  I want you to fuck your mistress - pump that
virile sperm of your into her, and get her pregnant."

As he was speaking, my owner peeled the sheet up from
the bottom of the bed to reveal her legs, and pushed
up her night dress.  I'd never seen a naked woman
before, and it was so strange.  I just stood there.

"Hurry up, Steve, before the drug wears off!  A big,
virile stud like you - get fucking!"

I felt myself going red with embarrassment, and I
mumbled "Sir, please, sir.... "

"Fucking hell, Steve!  I think your mistress is right,
sometimes, about you being a disobedient slave.  I
give you a simple order, and you stand there and want
to argue..."

"Please, sir, no, sir... it's just that..... Sir, I
don't know what to so, sir!"

AS I said this, I felt so ashamed.  Look, they don't
teach you things like this at slave school, or on pony
training.  And my mom and dad had never told me about
fucking women - well, I was never going to do it, as a
slave, was I?  So how was I expected to know?  But
somewhere, deep inside me, something in my brain was
acting as if I ought to know, as if this is something
that ought to be programmed into me - "all men ought
to be know how to fuck", it seemed to be saying.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!  A virgin!", my owner muttered
under his breath.  "Haven't you ever fucked before?"

Oh no... We were on dangerous ground here....  His
"other self" knew perfectly well that I fucked, as I'd
been up his ass so many times.    Then it occurred to
me he was probably referring just to women, so I said
"Sir, no, sir.  I've never been with a woman, sir".

"Well I suppose you slaves fuck each other from time
to time... Well, it's not so different.  Get your dick
erect, get it in, and fuck away until you shoot....
Here....."

Well, he is a vet, and it is his wife.  Even so, I
found the whole thing totally humiliating.  He used
his hand to erect me, then he told me to kneel between
her legs, and guided my dick up into  her.  He even
"paced" me, using both hands on my hips to push me in
and pull me out.  I had a real problem staying hard as
her passage was so loose and sloppy - not at all like
a nice tight ass. I looked down at my mistress lying
underneath me, and went to touch her nipples (although
her great breasts were pretty revolting after nice
hard pecs) - I was turned on by playing with Matt's
nips, and I reasoned that the same might be true if I
fiddled with her teats.

"Stop that!  How dare you, you disgusting animal!", my
owner snapped. "Keep your hands off your mistress!
You're only here to pump your sperm into her, not to
satisfy your sexual urges!  And keep fucking, if you
don't want a good caning tomorrow."

I did my best, and felt that stirring beginning in my
balls, and then my cum shooting down my dick and up
into her.  My back arched and I gave a little groan as
I shot, and then I went to pull out immediately as it
was so disgusting.

"Stay where you are!", my owner ordered.  "We want to
make sure your swimmers don't get sucked out when  you
withdraw!"

So I had to kneel there as my dick deflated, still
inside her.  It was truly awful.

MY owner's attitude seemed to change then, and he
snapped "Get out of here, slave!  Get back to the
slave quarters."

I had to pull my dick out, get off the bed, and walk
naked across the bedroom with my dick still slimed
with her cunt juice.  I went back to my room, and
started to shower, trying desperately to wash away all
trace of her.  It was interesting, I suppose, though,
as I was used to having my dick covered in ass juice
after I'd fucked, and this was much more slimy, and
didn't have the characteristic smell.  Although I then
went back to bed, I really did worry that night - I
know I had done before when my owner had first started
debasing himself in front of me, but this seemed much
worse:  surely, once he realised what he'd done, he
take retribution on me, even though I was only obeying
his orders.

But all was normal the following day, except that the
next night he came down to fetch me and I had to pump
my sperm into her again, and on the third night!

I was getting worried now - was I going to have to do
this every night?  But on the fourth day I was saved,
as mid-afternoon I was told to take my mistress to the
station.   At least I wasn't going to have to fuck her
that night, I thought, and I was almost cheerful as I
listened to her seemingly endless tirade about my
running style, the speed I was going, and so on, and
suffered the stinging pain of her whip on my thighs
and calves.

All I wanted to do was slump into blissful, restful
sleep, but my owner appeared some time in the middle
of the night.  I got out of bed, of course, and I knew
that we were back to "business as usual" when he threw
himself to the floor in front of me and kissed my
feet. "Oh, fuck", I thought;  what was I supposed to
do?

I leaned down and gently pulled him to his feet, then
pushed him back onto my bed and lay on top of him,
taking most of my weight on my elbows to avoid hurting
him.  I gently played with his nips, and stroked his
dick, and he started to moan in ecstasy.  I pushed his
shorts right down and positioned myself over him so
that our legs were intertwined, then I began to gently
tease his asshole with the end of my dick - he was
really turned on, as his body started to buck up and
down, as if it wanted to impale itself on me.  I went
on and on, kissing him, teasing him, and generally
starting to have sex with him in the same gentle way I
did with Matt, and quite unlike the brutal, violent
fucking I usually gave him.

After I'd finally cum in him and had gently pulled
out, I continued to hold him, and nuzzle him with my
mouth and nose.  He seemed exhausted, and then broke
out into tears.

I held him even closer, pulling his body as close to
mine as I could, and whispered "Shhh... Shhh...  It's
OK...  Shhh..."

My tenderness towards him seemed to calm him, and he
began to talk quietly to me, half in a whisper.
"Steve.... I had to do it, Steve..... I have to get
her pregnant, and there's no other way.  If she
doesn't produce a kid, she'll divorce me, and  I'll
lose my practice, my house.... Everything.  So what
else could I do, Steve?"

"Sir?"

"Yes, what else could I do?  You can't just go out and
buy semen, you know, like you can if you're breeding
sheep or cattle! There's no hope for me, but you're
fertile now, and you're the only source I've got.  And
we're not that dissimilar in appearance - both light
coloured, both the same general body shape and height
(although you're better developed than me, in spite of
all my exercise), and both about the same age.  So the
kid will be enough like me to be able to pass as my
child."

"Sir, why did I have to f...."  I couldn't bring
myself to say "fuck her". "...three times, sir?"

"Oh, you don't know anything about human reproduction,
do you, slave!  Well, a woman is at her most fertile
at only one point in her monthly cycle, and that' a
little hard to predict.  So I decided to help make
sure you fertilised her by 'bracketing' the most
likely day."

I lay there, totally quiet and almost stunned - I
could feel our hearts beating together, and our faces
were so close together that we could fee each other's
breath as our chests rose and fell.

"Look, Steve, you're pretty special to me", he went
on.  "I saved your balls, remember, when you were
ordered to be castrated?  So now you've paid me back."

Well, it seemed a funny way of looking at it to me,
but he was, after all, my owner, and what he decided
had to go.  So I just lay there quietly.

But then he went on, as if he'd been musing on the
subject  "But of course we may have to go through this
again next month, and the month  after, if you haven't
succeeded this time around. I've just got to have a
kid!"

He got up and left me then, and I lay there for the
rest of the night dreading what I might have to do
again.

I kept a note of the days after that - normally I
didn't bother, as one day was very much like another
and Sundays, when we didn't do our rounds (unless
there was a very sick slave, and then we paid a visit
just to them), always came as something of a pleasant
surprise.  On Sundays my owner and I went for a much
longer run together, but then I only had yard work to
do and it was a really "day of rest" for me.  Now I
anxiously counted down each day to the end of the
week, and then the weeks.... Was I going to have to
fuck a woman again?  But as the month passed and my
owner made no reference to doing it, I started to
relax a bit.

Of course I still had my mistress's constant
complaints, and then my owner to fuck when my mistress
went into the city, preceded or followed by a caning
or strapping, but this had become very much like my
normal life now.  As my owner never made any reference
at all to our clandestine fucking, or to the way he'd
got me to fuck my mistress, there was nothing I could
do - well, I couldn't just go and ask him if I was
supposed to fuck my mistress again soon, could I?

One night, after I'd just fucked his throat and was
lying beside him on the bed as I'd decided to fuck his
ass, too, and needed time to recover, my owner turned
to me and said "Boss, you'll only be fucking me from
now on, boss."

"What do you mean boy?  Speak plainly, or I'll tan
your hide."

"Boss... I got you to fuck a woman some weeks ago, and
I mentioned that it might be necessary to do it again.
 Well, it isn't, boss.  So you'll only be using me
from now on, boss."

"What do you mean, boy?"

"Boss, the lady of the house is pregnant, boss.  She's
going to have a baby."

I was stunned!  I was going to be a father.  I could
never have even imagined this was going to happen to
me.  I felt a huge grin breaking out on my face, and I
wanted to shout for joy and hug my owner, but
something held me back:  he was so sensitive about not
being fertile, that I thought that if I was too
pleased, he'd punish me even more in the session he
held afterwards.  And he'd not said something like
"you're going to have a kid', just "the lady of the
house is pregnant'" as if it had happened by magic.
So that seemed to be the line he was taking - between
us, the pregnancy was something that "just happened",
and I suppose that the rest of the world would imagine
that he was the father.

When I was with Matt two days later I felt over the
moon with happiness.  I wanted to share it with him,
to tell him how lucky I was.  I know I wasn't supposed
to, as I ought to keep my owner's secrets secret, but
I just couldn't help it.  After I'd made love to him
and we were lying together in that totally relaxed,
totally companionable way that you do after sex with
your best friend in the whole world, I told him what
had happened.

He was horrified.  "For fuck's sake, Steve - be
careful!  Don't breathe a word of any of this to
another living soul.  You shouldn't have told me, you
know!"

"Matt, I can trust you, we're best mates, fuck
buddies...."

"Yes, Steve.  But if anyone finds out, you're in
extreme danger.  Your owner and his wife will want to
deny the rumour, if it starts, and the first thing
they'll do is to sell you - sell you somewhere where
it will be difficult to trace you, like the mines!  In
fact, I'm not sure that your owner probably isn't
planning to do that anyway - he probably doesn't
realise he can trust you, and he'll be worried in case
you tell someone, or try to use it to blackmail him.
How is he as an owner, anyway?"

Now what was I to say?  I hated lying to Matt, but on
the other hand I couldn't tell him about my owner's
escapades when my mistress was in New York, could I?
So I sort of mumbled "Well, pretty fair...."

"No he isn't, Steve!  Look at the way he canes you.
And the way they use the whip to drive you on.  My
owner wouldn't dream of doing such a thing - he's a
really good owner, who cares for his slaves.  He only
orders a whipping when a slave has been really bad.
And when we're in the trap, he knows I do the best I
possibly can.  And look at the way your owner makes
you wear those humiliating tiny shorts - I certainly
wouldn't want to have to appear half naked like that
in the streets!"

"Matt, we shouldn't really be talking about our owners
at all.  It's not proper for a slave.  You just have
to accept what an owner wants..."

"Bullshit, Steve!  That's what how they want you to
behave.  Look, if it wasn't for an accident of chance,
it might have been you or I on the seat of the trap,
rather than between the shafts.  We're just the same
as them, really.... Same bodies, same dicks, same
balls.... In fact, we're better than them:  your body
and my body are fantastically superior to our owners',
even though yours does make that attempt to do some
exercise."

If only you know how superior my body was to my
owner's, I thought.  But I hated this conversation, as
it was leading me deeper and deeper into not telling
the truth to Matt.  So I tried to change the subject,
slightly:  "So, OK, you've got a really good owner.  I
suppose you're going to stay there for ever...."

"Hey, yes, of course!  He's a good owner, I work as
well as I possibly can for him, and he knows it.  Of
course he's going to keep me, until I'm really too old
to run any more.  And then, who knows, he might even
keep me as a pony to pull the grandchildren around the
estate.... Don't you worry, Steve, I'm going to be
next door for you, so we can enjoy these little
evenings...."

With that, he started to kiss me and fondle me again,
and my dick went rock hard again as I so desperately
wanted to fuck him for a second time that night.

End Of Part 25

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 26

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

A couple of weeks later, once it became clear  that my
mistress was pregnant, my life started to get a whole
lot easier.  She stopped criticising me constantly,
and didn't seem to care how I ran or anything:  she
just wanted to get to the train station to go shopping
for the baby things in New York, or to the Mall for
even more shopping, or around to her friends to talk
"baby things".

I began to see that what Matt had said about the vet
needing to punish me for his wrong doing, as some sort
of subconscious atonement, was right, though, because
even though she was not now nagging him to cane me all
the time, after every session when I'd humiliated him,
he himself found some reason to make me bend over his
table and pull my shorts down so that he could cane
me.  And the canings were getting worse - it seemed
that as the baby's birth approached he was hating
himself more and more, and so my beatings were getting
more and more severe:  I could hardly walk after them
now, and my owner was red in the face and dripping
with sweat from his exertions when he'd finished.

I was pretty miserable, really, as I hated this
punishment, totally unjust as it was, just because I
was doing to my owner what he wanted me to.  Mind you,
I suppose I had some sort of split personality, too:
I relished the harsh, brutal humiliation and fucking I
gave my owner, and at the same time I was gentle and
loving with Matt.  I seesawed between aggressive,
dominant top, and gentle, considerate lover.

The warm weather had started again, and us ponies had
put away our weather capes.  Those fun fumblings and
moments of snatched casual sex were now something we
had to look forward to again in the fall.

I was waiting patiently at the station for my mistress
one afternoon, in the shafts of course, and had
arrived early.  There was a train just in from
upstate, and I watched the passengers coming out
through the entrance, as you do when there's nothing
else to do.  I saw someone who looked very familiar -
could it be.... yes, it was Darren!

I was so pleased to see the guy who'd befriended me on
my way to New York and who had taught me so much about
sex that I broke training!  My mistress's train was
not due for another five minutes anyway, so I put down
the shafts, rushed across the street, and said "Hey,
Darren....", at the same time pushing up the arm of
his T to read his name, in the traditional slave form
of greeting.

But the arm was blank!  It was Darren - I recognised
his face.  But his cropped blond hair was now almost
shoulder length.  And his T was of a very superior
quality for a slave.

"Let go of me, slave!", he snapped.  "Where's your
owner?  Does he know his slave dares to touch a free
man?"

"Hey, Darren... It's me, Steve.... The bus to New
York... Surely you remember...."

"Let go of me, slave!  Let go, before I call the
police!"

I couldn't be wrong, could I?  No, this was definitely
Darren.  But he was acting like this, and he had no
slave name tattooed on his biceps.  What the fuck was
happening?

Other pedestrians had stopped to watch, and Darren was
getting more and more cross.  "Let go of my arm,
slave!  How dare you touch a free man!  You're a pony,
aren't you?  There's supposed to be a pony and trap
meeting me.... Where do you dammed animals hang out
around here?"

I was speechless, and confused.  Had I got it wrong
after all?  I didn't think I had, but he seemed so
cross.  Oh, fuck - if my mistress's train came in now,
I'd be in deep shit.  Everyone's attention was
distracted at that moment though by the rapid arrival
of Matt pulling his trap - he raced around the corner,
and almost screeched to a halt.  Sweat was pouring off
him, and I could tell me must have been running hard,
really hard, for miles.  He got out from between the
shafts, totally ignored me, and fell to his knees in
front of Darren.

"Please, sir, I'm sorry, sir.... I believe I am to
collect you, and I am late as  there was a problem
with the traffic lights about two miles back and I was
severely held up.  Please forgive me, sir."

"Right.  A proper pony.  Not like this mad beast here.
 Now, my slave is collecting my luggage and it can go
in your trap, but the slave can run behind - he's a
pony, and I've bought him with me as your master says
I can borrow one of your traps."

"Sir, yes, sir.  Will you mount now, sir, or wait for
your slave?"

"I'll get in now.  My slave won't be long, I hope, or
else it will be the worse for him!"

"Get away, you!", he continued, pointing at me, and I
slank back across the street to my own trap.

I stood there watching, and then out of the station
came a giant black slave carrying, with some
difficulty, four massive suitcases.  He saw Darren in
the trap, and went up and loaded the cases.  Now I was
sure something strange was going on - or was there
some massive illusion playing itself out in front of
me.... as I was certain that the black slave was Sam.
But a very changed Sam - he hadn't had much body hair
when we'd been together with Darren for that magical
evening in New York, but now he evidently had none,
and I mean none!  His whole body, including his head,
was totally smooth and gleaming with slave oil.  I
could tell he had absolutely no hair as all he was
wearing was the tiniest white satin pouch I'd ever
seen - far smaller than anything that Master Jason had
made me wear:  his massive dick and balls were almost
bursting out of it, and it was obvious that all his
pubes were clean shaven, too.  Worst of all, though,
was the fact that two huge stainless steel rings hung
out of his tits, and another one from the septum of
his nose, hanging down over his upper lip.

This was Sam, I was certain.  But a Sam so changed!
And Darren had said he was Sam's owner, and that Sam
was a pony.  I wanted to go across and really sort it
all out, but at that moment the arrival of my
mistress's train was announced, and almost immediately
thereafter Matt pulled away from the station, with the
big black Sam running behind - I could just see the
thin white string of his pouch coming up from between
the cheeks of his magnificent muscled ass as he
disappeared down the street.

All night I was hoping Matt would come over and tell
me more about the visitors, but there wasn't the
scratch on the window to tell me to go and let him in.
 I thought about slipping out and going over there,
but my mistress's time for going to the hospital was
so close that I knew I had to be instantly available -
it would be terrible if she needed to go as the birth
had started and I was n' there to pull her and my
owner in the trap.  So all I could do was lie there,
trying to sleep, yet consumed with curiosity about
Darren and Sam.

In the morning we did our rounds as usual, although I
understood that my owner left the names and numbers of
all the places we were going so that if my mistress
needed him, she could quickly track him down.  Our
last call was on next door, and I stood under the
shade of a tree out the back as my owner went to speak
to the Overseer.

As I stood there, there was a light tap on my shoulder
that made me jump.  There, standing behind me,
grinning, was Sam.  He was totally naked, and I could
see that my assumption the previous day had been right
- every scrap of hair on him had been removed.  All
that stood between him and total nudity were the two
enormous rings through his nips, and the one through
his nose.

"Sam, it is you, isn't it?  And Darren?"

"Yes, Steve.  I remembered you as soon as you went to
speak to Master Darren."

"Master Darren?"

"Yes, Steve - he's 'passing' as a free man."  He saw
me looking puzzled and explained "Some slaves live
their lives as if they were free men, and Darren's
doing that... He's 'passing', as they say."

"But how....?"

"Well, you remember that he always wanted to meet a
really rich guy who'd own him as a personal slave, and
how he was disappointed when he learned that he was
going to work mostly on exhibition fucks, skewered on
the end of my dick?"

I nodded, and he continued "Well, I thought we did it
well.  He likes to be fucked does young Darren, and I
like to fuck.  We had big audiences, and did lots of
private parties and such.  I even let Darren fuck me
occasionally in private, so that when someone wanted
to see a young white boy fucking a big black ass, we
were used to it.  We were totally  professional in
front of the clients who paid to see us, and really
gave them a good show.  He wasn't happy, though,
because he wasn't doing those one-on-ones with the
clients, and had no opportunity to really get to know
them.  It was great for me, though - I'm a bit of an
exhibitionist and I don't mind fucking in public, and
when we weren't working, Darren had no choice but to
go along with whatever I wanted to do in bed."

"It was a total shock therefore when, one night, when
I had him on his back and was pushing his legs down
towards his ears so that I could get my dick in him,
he started to scream and shout, saying he didn't want
to be hurt again, that he couldn't take my dick, and
that he wanted someone to rescue him.  I though I'd
done something wrong, and let go of him and stepped
back, and Darren got off the table we were performing
on and ran to this big, fat, old guy in the front row
- it was some sort of very select private party, and
there were only six of them there.  You could tell
they'd all just eaten and drunk a lot, as they were
all very happy and raucous."

"Darren threw himself on to the floor in front of the
guy, clasped his arms around his legs and started to
sob all sorts of stuff like 'please, sir, save me.',
'please, sir, don't let that big black savage fuck me,
sir, I can't take a dick like that.', and 'please,
sir, I'm a virgin, sir, I can't take dick, sir.'  It
was almost comic really as it was so over done, and,
of course, none of it was true."

"But the fat old guy seemed to fall for it.   He
pulled Darren to his feet, then Darren sat on his knee
and put his arm around the old guy's neck and snuggled
into his lap!  I heard him whispering, and saw the old
guy start to stroke Darren's back, which was quivering
most convincingly, as if he was terrified."

"This went on for a couple of minutes, until the old
guy called for the handlers to come in.  He ordered
them to take me out, and I didn't see what happened
next.  The brothel put me on regular duties, and I had
to take a lot of white dick up my ass, but you expect
that as a black slave, so it was no big deal really.
Then, one day, I was told I was going to do a special
exhibition with a guy called Gary - he had the biggest
dick of all the slaves in our brothel:  really
monstrously thick, as well as long.   In the wings
Gary apologised in advance for what was going to
happen, as he'd been told that we were doing a rape
scene.  He massaged my hole as much as he could as we
stood there yo get me as relaxed as possible, but we
both knew that it would be tough for me - Gary was
usually only used for solo exhibitions, where he waved
his dick at the audience, then jerked off, or someone
else jerked him off."

"The audience was the fat old guy, and Darren!  I went
to speak to him, but the scene really started and Gary
was a bit too realistic about raping me:  I really did
scream when he finally got his dick in me, and I
thought I was going to be split open.   Afterwards, as
I lay there trying to get my breath and half sobbing,
I heard the old guy say 'There, Darren.... That big
brute's got what he deserves.... He tried to do that
to you, and now he knows what it feels like.'  Darren
was sitting on the old guy's lap again by this time,
arms around his neck, and he started to nuzzle and
kiss the old man.  It was disgusting - the young,
lithe Darren and the gross old guy, starting to make
out."

"Well, to cut a long story short Darren spun a tale to
this guy about being unfairly enslaved - I ask you!
How gullible can some people be to believe crap like
that?  And then of it being his first night in the
brothel, and how he was terrified of being raped by
me!  The old guy bought it all, and 'rescued' Darren
by buying him from the brothel.  Darren was so
'grateful' that he thanked his 'rescuer' by being like
a son to him, then asking his 'dad' to teach him about
sex!  That must have been really funny - the old guy
was so fat I doubted he'd had sex for years,
supposedly teaching Darren all about it as Darren was
such an innocent young virgin!"

"I don't know all the details, really.  They had
Darren's tattoo removed at some fancy plastic
surgeons, and Darren started really acting as the old
guy's son."

"How did you know all this, Sam?"

"Well, Steve, that's the oddest thing.  About a week
after Darren went off with the old guy, I was sold to
him, too.  But not as a sex slave - when  I was
brought in front of them and stripped, Darren was
going on about how he needed a pony of his own so that
he could get out a bit.  'Look, dad, this slave's got
the right physique', I heard him say. 'A few days
tuition and he'll be a perfect pony for me to use, and
you won't have to pay a fortune for one of those
deluxe ones.  Oh, please dad, buy this slave for
me...'.  It was sickening!"

"And Darren did train me!  He told me that if I ever
breathed one word of the true story to anyone he'd
have me castrated and my vocal chords cut.  He had me
ringed like this, and he did teach me to run - with a
lot of use of the whip!  And he makes me run almost
naked as that's the fashion in the set of young rich
men he's in."

"About six months after Darren moved in with the old
guy, they were fucking away one night and the old
guy's heart just gave up!  It turned out he'd left all
his money to Darren, as he had no other family.  And
since then Darren has 'passed' - with a lot of money,
and his tattoo removed, no one knows or cares."

I really wanted to ask more, but at that moment Darren
and my owner came out of the mansion, and the Overseer
brought Matt out of the stables.  Sam and I watched as
Matt was made to strip, and then my owner started a
complete physical inspection of him, watched closely
by Darren, running his hands all over Matt's body,
probing his ass, then erecting him and jerking him off
until Matt shot.  I really felt for Matt as I watched
all this, as I knew how he hated to be treated in this
way.

My owner then came and got into the trap, and told me
"Home".  We'd only been there a few minutes when Matt
pulled in, driven by Darren.  Darren went into the
surgery, and commanded Matt to follow him.

I went around the side, and peeked in through the
ventilator brick - I could just make out what they
were saying.  Matt was already naked in front of them,
and my owner was taking blood and urine, and running
them through the analyser.

"Well, as far as I can tell, the slave's in good
physical condition.  No, excellent physical condition.
 No signs of muscle damage or skin blemishes, as you
know.  And the blood and urine shows no problems.  I'd
say he'd make an excellent slave, and a good
purchase."

Darren spoke then, saying "Good.  Actually, I bought
him this morning, as your neighbour owes me a few
favours - I'm a major donor to his election campaign,
you know. I got a good price, too, as a way of him
saying 'thank you'.  But I thought I'd better have him
checked out, in case I wanted to back out the deal.
Now, whilst I'm here, I need him ringed to match my
black.  I've always wanted a perfect black and white
pair, and when I saw this one at the station yesterday
I realised he was almost perfect - same height, shape,
everything, as my black. And when I asked his owner if
I could check him out last night and had them naked
side by side, the resemblance was even better - he's
even got the same length of dick, and low-hangers to
go with it. But there's one other thing I need - can
one of your slaves shave him completely before you put
the rings in?  I've bought them along with me."

"I don't have slaves here to do cosmetic stuff - if
owners around here want their slaves shaved they take
them to the slave grooming parlour down the road.  If
you wanted to run him down there, I could do the
ringing when you get back, as I must make some calls
to follow up on some cases I saw this morning."

Darren and my owner chatted on, and I stood there,
appalled.  He was going to have Matt totally shaved,
and those rings put in him.  Matt always laughed about
my small nip rings and said he found them mildly
disgusting, but if he was going to have those huge
ones in..... And he was always so proud of his hair:
he kept it almost buzzed on his head, and, like me,
had only a tiny bar above his dick and shaved balls.
But he took a lot of care with his chest hair,
spending time to trim it back if he thought it was too
long, and likewise for his pit hair.

Darren came out a few minutes later, with Matt
following dressed just in shorts - he hadn't been
allowed to put his T back on.  As I said, the warm
season was about to start so Matt wouldn't be cold,
but making a trained pony run bare-chested really
wasn't on.  They drove off, and I went back to doing
my yard work to keep the place spick and span.

When they came back about an hour later I hardly
recognised Darren!  Shorn of all visible hair on his
body he looked totally different - his bald head shone
in the sun (I guess it was fortunate that he kept his
hair buzzed normally as his crown was almost as darkly
tanned as the rest of him), and the definition of his
pecs and belly stood out fantastically now you could
see them without their light thatch of hair.  Darren
leapt out of the trap and went it, calling for Matt to
follow him, and I stopped working and hurried around
the back again to peer in through the ventilator.

Poor Matt was totally nude now - and I do mean nude,
not just naked!  He was standing in front of the two
men, at "display" with his hands clasped behind his
neck and his hips thrust slightly forward, and somehow
his dick and balls now looked faintly obscene without
their protective adornment of pubic hair.

"Now, here are the rings.  How long will it take to
fit them, as I have an appointment this afternoon."

"Oh, it's very quick.  Ten minutes or so for the
anaesthetic, ten minutes or so to pierce the skin and
close up the ring, then a few minute for him to
recover.  It's not a good idea to let him run off with
a heavy ring in his nose without any sensation, in
case he snags it on something as he's not used to it
being there - slaves can rip their septums that way."

"No anaesthetic.  I'm in a hurry.  Just pierce him,
attach the rings, and I'll be off."

"No, sir.  I'm sorry.  I practice humane veterinary
science, and I don't perform procedures on slaves
unless they're desensitised first."

"Doctor, I'm a busy man, and not without influence
here.  Now if I was asking you to castrate this slave,
or something like that, I can understand your scruples
about pain.  But these piercings are very simple
surely - when I had my black done a few weeks ago he
barely screamed.  It's quick, and all over in an
instant.  Please proceed."

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

"Oh, I know you doctors.  Just double your usual fee,
and charge me for the anaesthetic anyway.  Now, please
be quick, as I have an appointment with your
neighbour, the probable future senator:  you wouldn't
want to upset him, would you?"

I was proud that my owner was taking such a stand, as
he'd always told me he was a humane vet.  But now he
just shrugged, and told Matt to go and lie on the
examination table.  He then opened the drawer
underneath and pulled out the straps, and Matt was
soon trussed helplessly, unable to move.

"I'm not sure I'm saving you much time", my owner said
to Darren, "As without anaesthetic we have to take
time to restrain the slave."

"Quite so.  But the pain will be good for him - I
sense that this slave has been treated too leniently
for too long, and he needs to remember this day, the
day I took ownership of him and had him modified to
suit my purposes."

Well, when my owner took the piercers and punched the
hole in his left nipple he didn't exactly scream -
more a kind of strangled cry.  But his whole body
jerked as if in spasm.  And the same for the right
one.  The hole through his septum made him shriek,
though, and I could see all the muscles in his belly
and chest contorting as he fought against the bonds
holding him to the table.  His chest and face were
covered in blood afterwards, and my owner had to wash
it away with a swap before he could thread the rings
through the holes he'd punched (with more groaning and
writhing from Matt), and close up the open ends.

I suppose it didn't take all that long, and although
it had been very unpleasant for Matt, I don't think he
was actually physically hurt all that much - there
would be some sharp pains, I knew, and a dull ache for
days afterwards as his body got used to the rings, but
it was bearable.

He stood up, and looked the picture of misery.
Although he was told to "display", he barely did it
properly and his head was stooped and his body kind of
half bent over.

"Right, slave", Darren said. "Here's a bottle of slave
oil.  Go outside and coat yourself - I want to see
that pelt of yours gleaming in the sun.  Now, doctor,
how much do I owe you?"

It was typical of Darren, I suppose, to keep calling
my owner "doctor" in his careless way - surely
everyone knows that vets are always called "Mister".
But he had his credit card out, and my owner didn't
seem to be minding - after all, he as getting a double
fee, so he was probably satisfied.

I slipped around to the front in the hope of having a
word with Darren, but as I rounded the corner of the
building Darren came out and shook hands with my owner
on the doorstep.  Matt was standing there, totally
naked, without a hair on him, and was now indeed
shining in the light from the coating of the slave oil
all over him.  Darren went over to the trap and got
something out, and handed it to Matt, who seemed to be
questioning it.  I saw Darren's body posture change
and he was clearly angry, as he almost struck Matt,
and then Matt gave a kind of shrug and started to pull
on what he'd been given - oh no, it was one of the
tiny, tiny white satin pouches that I'd seen Sam
wearing.  Matt looked so ashamed and embarrassed as he
stood there tugging at it, trying to make it cover
more of him than it ever realistically could.  I saw
him tie the strings from the front at his side, then
reach under and around to thread the third string
between his big powerful thighs, and run it up so that
it went down into his ass crack to emerge at the top
to be fastened to the waist string.

Then Darren got into the trap, and called to my owner
to ask for directions to the nearest tattooist.  He
then snapped "Trot on" to Matt, and, to my horror,
gave Matt a quick flip across his naked ass with the
long, thin carriage whip that was in a holder on the
front of the trap.  Matt surged forward, and almost
cried out - I know from personal experience how a whip
across the ass can make you run harder and faster, but
for Matt it would be even worse as he prided himself
(just as I once had) of working as hard as humanly
possible without the need for things like whips to be
sed on me.  I simply couldn't imagine how Matt felt,
being made to run almost naked, his hairless body
gleaming in the sun, and with lash marks starting to
turn red on the flesh of his ass.  He'd know, though,
that only a very rich man like Darren would dare to do
something like this with his slave in our rather
conservative town.

I was pretty appalled at my owner's behaviour,
actually:  he'd always told me he practised his
profession humanely, and yet when he was offered a big
fee and a mild threat to make trouble, he'd just caved
in.  But even as I had this thought I knew it was
wrong:  I really must not criticise anything my owner
does, should I?  However something inside told me that
the next time he came crawling into my room, I'd pay
him back for what he'd done to Matt - I'd make him
feel that a "little pain" was good for him!  When my
door opened in the middle of the night I was half
awake still thinking these thoughts, and almost leapt
onto my owner - but he wasn't there for sex, but to
tell me to get the trap out as my mistress's time had
come!

I raced through the pitch dark streets with my owner
and mistress huddled in the trap, and I was glad that
I'd taken the time to research the route thoroughly
(not that my owner would notice, I knew).   I could
hear my mistress giving cries of pain every now and
then, and I really did run as fast as I could - even
with a whip, I wouldn't have gone faster.  As soon as
we pulled up into the emergency room bay at the
hospital doctors and nurses ran out, and my mistress
was wheeled away on a gurney, followed by my owner.  I
just stood there, wondering what to do.  It was quite
cold, actually, in the middle of the night, and as the
sweat that had poured off me in my high-speed run
evaporated, I felt colder and colder and started to
shiver.

There was a kind security guard, though, who saw me
wrapping my arms around myself and my stamping up and
down to try to keep warm, and who came over and said
"Go around the back, slave.  There's a pony stable
there as we get a lot of visitors like you - your
owner and mistress are certainly going to be here all
night."

"Sir, thank you, sir, but I'd rather wait here.  My
owner might need me...."

I glowed with pride as the guard told me "No, slave.
Go to the stable.  Your loyalty is very commendable,
but suppose you seized up with the cold and then your
owner needed you?  No - go around to the stable, and
the hospital will direct them to the stable when
they're ready to leave:  it's standard procedure."


SO I trotted around the back, and followed the signs
to the stable - they were all easy to understand as
they had a little cartoon picture of a slave between
the shafts of a trap, with an arrow pointing the way.
When I got there it wasn't much - just a covered area
where I could leave the trap, then inside, through a
door, a communal shower and shitter, then another door
into a fairly empty room.  It was swarm, though, and
there were five or six other guys sprawled out on
blankets on the floor.  I took a blanket off a pile
and found a space to stretch out in, and although the
floor was hard, I did sleep.

I suppose you could say that I was there when my son
was born, therefore!  Well, at least I was at the
hospital, but not in the delivery room as I afterwards
learned my owner was.  I'd woken early that morning,
and gone and showered.  There wasn't much I could do
about my shorts and T, as even though I'd stripped
them off before curling up on the floor the night
before, they were all wrinkled and smelled ad from
where my sweat had dried on them.  I sat around
talking to the other guys, and we were all much in the
same boat - waiting for our owners, who'd used us to
get to the hospital quickly.  The system seemed to
work quite well, as from time to time a guard would
come in and shout "Mr X's trap to the front, NOW!".

I was on tenterhooks the whole time, until I was
called, and I positively raced around to the main
entrance.  Only my owner was there, though, and he
looked tired out, but happy.  "Steve, your mistress
has had a baby boy.  They're both doing great, but
they're staying in here for a couple of days so your
mistress can rest.  So take me home...."

I'd got a son!  I wanted to shout for joy, but I
couldn't could I?  And I noticed that he'd said "your
mistress has had a baby boy", not "I've got a son",
which had been my first reaction on hearing the news.


Still, I ran quickly home, and my owner went indoors.
I'd barely had time to shower and shave myself and put
on a fresh T and shorts when my owner came out again,
also showered and in fresh clothes.

"Back to the hospital, Steve.  But go via the mall, as
I want to but your mistress flowers, chocolates,
magazines..... Everything!"

I trotted along and waited at the mall entrance for
him as he rushed inside.  I felt so happy for him, and
for me - there are not many slaves who have sons, are
there?  And the feeling that you've passed on a bit of
yourself to the future is amazingly gratifying.  I
could see now why so many free men were so obsessed
with breeding - I felt sure it wasn't because they
liked doing it, so it must be because they want this
bit of a kind of immortality.  I was so much luckier
than my owner - even though I'd lost out in the
lottery and he owned me and totally controlled me, it
was my line that was going to continue, through my
son.  I was so happy, and wondered when I'd first get
a chance to see him.

I didn't think that anything could spoil my happiness
as I stood there in the warm sunshine, until I heard a
clattering - that characteristic sound of a pony trap
being driven really hard.  Around the corner came a
"two up" - a trap with the two ponies pulling side by
side - with Darren sitting high in the driving seat,
his hair streaming in the wind.  He directed it into a
spot quite close to me, leapt down, and went into the
mall.  I saw at once that the ponies were Matt and
Sam, but they were even more changed now.

Both men were breathing hard, of course, and were
covered in sweat.  But across Matt's tanned back his
new name had been tattooed in big black letters
"Blackie", and Sam had huge letters, in some sort of
white ink so that it showed up against his inky black
skin, "Whitie".  Sam wore only a tiny pouch in white
satin, and Matt's pouch was in black satin.

Even though my owner had been gone for a couple of
minutes and might be back at any moment, I just had to
go and speak to them.  I put the shafts down and ran
over to them, wanting to find out what was going on.
But they couldn't tell me:  each of them had a bright,
stainless steel bit hanging out of his mouth, on a
metal band that went around his head.  They saw me and
nodded excitedly, and I thought I could remove their
bits so they could speak to me - but they were locked
on with a small catch at the backs of their heads.  To
add to their humiliation further, they were cuffed
onto the shafts of their trap - Sam was on the left
and his left hand was in a steel cuff on a very short
chain from the shaft, and Matt was on the right, with
his right wrist cuffed to the shaft.  Sam's right
wrist was cuffed to Matt's left, and as I looked at
them, I noticed that the cuffs around them appeared to
be welded permanently in place - Matt and Sam were
joined by no more than a foot or so of stainless steel
chain that looked very permanent.

Oh Christ - what a let down for Matt:  he was so proud
to be a pony of a considerate owner, and now here he
was, almost naked, totally shaved, tattooed, ringed,
and cuffed permanently to another slave, with a bit in
place to stop him speaking. This wasn't the way a
trained pony was meant to be used:  you had someone
like Matt so that he could be free in the shafts, and
you didn't need to look at his body or decorate it:
he was a pony, and that's why you had him.

Both men looked imploringly at me, but there was
nothing I could do.  I wanted to hug them, or at least
to touch them, but my master came out of the mall at
that moment and I ran back to my trap to take him off
to the hospital.

End Of Part 26