Date: Tue, 30 Dec 2003 14:36:43 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Willing Slave, Parts 5&6 (MM NC BDSM FANT)

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 5

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


Being  "ready for sale" didn't mean all that much,
actually.  Because of the huge expense of travelling
long distances buyers didn't in general visit the
Double J itself.  And I was told that Master Dave and
Master Jay rarely bothered to take a bunch of trained
ponies to one of the big markets - their reputation
was so good, and their stock so highly prized, that
they could easily sell via the Internet.  Accordingly
I was photographed again, totally naked, and my
pictures and details were put on to the Double J's
site with a request for "offers" for an on-line
auction with a closing date of a month in the future.

They left me "natural", with all my body hair and so
on, as the Ranch offered a "grooming" service for
buyers - once the auction was over and the price
agreed, my new owner could order "optional extras" at
a standard tariff - I could be 'skinned, shaved,
tattooed, or whatever else my new owner wanted prior
to delivery.  Or he could just take me "as is" and get
these things attended to at his local slave grooming
parlour, I was told.

In the meantime, as a fully trained "hack", I started
to work around the Ranch to give me more training for
my new life.  I was now one of the ponies who pulled
the carts for the overseers as they went around the
ranch supervising the training, and took them into the
local town when they wanted an evening's
entertainment.  That wasn't so much fun, actually, as
they usually went in a group of three or four guys in
two carts, with each of us ponies having to take the
load of two passengers.  And as slaves were not
allowed into the town's bars, we had to wait patiently
outside whilst the guys went in and drank.  It's
actually cold in the evenings out there, and the two
ponies who'd drawn this duty had to stand there
shivering - well, that is unless one of the overseers
was kind enough to tell us that we could use a
blanket, and then it wasn't so bad - both of us would
sit close together and pull one of the rough woollen
blankets that were kept under the seat of the trap
over us.  Our training told us that we were not
allowed to speak as we were "on duty", but when you're
close to another guy all wrapped up like that you do
want to talk, don't you?  You felt so guilty,
actually, as you whispered away to your companion - I
don't think the overseers would have minded, actually,
as they were fully occupied in the bar and there was
quite a lot of noise so we were not likely to disturb
anyone:  but our training had been so specific on this
and all the other "etiquette" stuff that it somehow
seemed  wicked.

One of my trips into town was to meet the arrival of
one of the incoming buses, and pick up a new trainee.
As he got out of the slave compartment and stood there
looking slightly afraid in his crumpled uniform, I
couldn't help remembering how I'd felt those two years
ago.  There he was, long-legged and fit-looking, but
with a distinctively miserable air at being here,
alone and torn out from his normal life, just as I had
been.  I  wanted to tell him that training to be a
pony slave wasn't bad, that life on the Double J was
more than bearable, and that he would come through it,
as I had, to emerge as a magnificent trained slave,
proud of his body and his work. I looked at his body
and his muscles and saw the contrast between us - I
had filled out in those two years of hard exercise,
and was now the picture of what an eighteen year old
man should be, with my lean, long muscles, my hard
belly, broad shoulders and chest, slim waist, thick
neck, and flaring ass muscles.  They'd turned me from
a boy into a man, and I was rightly proud of myself.

The overseer gave me the command to set off for home
at a medium pace, and I smiled inwardly as I saw the
new slave confidently set off to follow me, and then
to draw level with me, just as I had to Marc two years
ago. As I trotted along, making the long, easy strides
we were trained for, I saw him try to match me and
fail.  I remembered how I'd done just that, and
wondered how Marc was now faring in his new life -
he'd finally been sold about a week after I'd arrived,
so I'd never got to really know him.  But as the first
real trained pony I'd ever seen, he still remained
fixed in my memory.

As expected, we stopped at the halfway water point -
at the Double J we were always taught the importance
of drinking to replace all the stuff we sweated out -
and the new lad was suffering!  I wanted to tell him
that he could make it, to hang in there and not give
up, but, just as Marc had, I kept my eyes firmly to
the front and remained silent as I had been trained
to.  We speeded up for the second half of the journey,
and I began to realise that this was not accidental -
I guessed that this was always done to the new slaves,
to show them how they had to really work, and how
effortless it was for a trained pony like me to do
what they found almost impossible.

At the Double J  the overseer told me to take the new
lad off to the showers and then the vet's, and it was
almost amusing to see how, as I had been, he was
embarrassed to share a shower with another slave.
After these two years I no longer felt any concern
about helping a fellow slave wash, to soap his balls,
or even to run my hand quickly down his ass crack, but
the new lad clearly hated it.  Still, I thought, he'd
soon learn that there was no problem in helping a
fellow slave like that, and he'd realise that it was
saving our owner a lot of money in water fees and
energy costs.  And as I opened the door to the vet's
office, I remembered how scared I'd been at what might
have been going to happen to me.

There was one change, though - as I went in, the vet
said "Hang on a minute Steve.... Let me see.... "  He
tapped my SIN onto his PC, and went on "You've been
bought!  And your new owner has requested some
additional stuff..... I might as well do it now."

My blood ran cold for a moment.  This didn't sound
good - had my new owner ordered me to be 'skinned, or
even gelded?  Or perhaps he wanted a complete
depilatory treatment for me or something.  But the vet
went on "You're going to be living down South in the
wetter areas, and I've got to get you vaccinated
against some of the stuff that's a problem down there
now - malaria, and the so-called 'coloured' fevers.
Before I start on the new slave, I'll just do it -
drop those shorts and bend over the desk."

Out of the corner of my eye as I bent there, my ass
totally exposed and my dick and balls swinging between
my thighs, I could see the new slave looking at me
almost in astonishment.  I wanted to tell him that in
two years time he'd have huge muscles like this, that
his thighs would have defined strips of lean muscle
running down them, and that he'd be a fantastic even
tan all over, but my training held.  The vet wiped my
left ass cheek with a bit of alcohol, then pumped in
the first shot.  There were three in all, and at the
end he gave me a friendly swat on my bare ass and told
me to stand up and pull my shorts back up.

"You'll have some muscle pain there tonight", he said
"But if it flares up and looks very angry, come and
see me again tomorrow.  Well, that's the last time
I'll be seeing you, I think, as they're shipping you
in two days time and so I can mark my file on you
'closed'.  Good luck - your new owner's paid a lot for
you, so I expect he'll make sure you get the best
possible medical treatment to protect his investment -
your new vet will send for your records, I expect."
With that, he turned to the new lad and told him to
shuck his clothes, and I left.

It seemed odd to be going around the Double J probably
for the last time - I didn't expect ever to come back
here again, given transportation costs.  So, with no
other duties, I wandered around looking at the
dormitories and training rooms, then went out again to
the swimming pool areas and just lay in the sun,
soaking up its warmth.  The vet had said I'd been sold
to go down South, and just for a moment I panicked -
did he mean to South America?  My brothers, when they
wanted to tease me, used to read me bits out of the
papers saying how the super-rich drug barons were
buying up slaves and shipping them out of the country,
and they then didn't have very good lives!  Still,
he'd also said that he thought I'd be getting good
medical care, but perhaps even a drug baron looked
after a very valuable asset?  I really didn't want to
have to pull some really fat South American along
jungle trails or through the teeming streets of their
awful cities.   But as I lay there I calmed down, and
thought it more likely that I'd been sold to an owner
in one of the Southern states of our country - perhaps
I'd have to spend all my time running in subtropical
Florida.  Or maybe I'd be racing across the flat
country in Georgia?  Or maybe a rich politician in
Washington had decided he needed a pony to drag him to
and from the Capitol.  All these thoughts went through
my mind as I lay there half drowsing - I couldn't ask
anyone, of course, as slaves are not allowed to
initiate questions of masters, are they?  There was
nothing I could do about it anyway, as I was already
sold, so I soon stopped worrying about it and just lay
there and enjoyed the sun.

As it happened Master Dave and Master Jay were on the
Ranch and gave me one final personal inspection the
following day.   I shucked off my T and shorts out in
front of the main building when they came out on to
the steps, and they went over my body minutely as they
had so many times before - it's funny, actually:
later in my career I'd be naked in public very
humiliatingly, but here on the Ranch, under the hands
of these two Masters, it some felt right and proper.
After all, there were only overseers and my fellow
ponies to see, and they'd all looked at me hundreds of
times in the showers and dorms.

"Good boy, Steve", Master Jay said. "You've come
through the training well.  We're proud of you."

"Yes", Master Dave added, "That first night just after
we'd bought you we knew we'd got a winner - and you've
made us a tidy profit as your new owner paid top
dollar for you."

Well, there wasn't anteing  I could say, was there, so
I just stood there until they told me to put my T and
shorts back on, and a trap, pulled by my buddy Jake,
came up with one of the overseers in it.

It seemed strange to be jogging away from the Double J
for the last time ever, and it was easy for me as I
just had myself to think about, whereas poor Jake had
the trap to pull.  Still, I ran alongside him, keeping
perfect step as I'd been taught, and we soon arrived
at the town and halted at the offices of USS.

Then there I was, as that fighter slave had been two
years ago - a wonderful fit guy, perfectly trained,
with just a T, shorts and a routing tag as my only
possessions, going off on the bus.

I met a couple of slaves on the journey, but we didn't
have all that much to talk about - they were mildly
interested in me being a trained pony, but they were
both "personal" slaves of their owners who were
travelling on the top deck.  From the way they talked
I gleaned that they were really sex toys - they had
nice bodies and smiled almost continuously, but they
had to spend hours a day in the gym, and then "amuse"
their owners and their guests every night.  They
didn't seem to mind, but it's not a job I'd like - no,
I was glad I had a role that would allow me to use my
body properly, and to enjoy an outdoor life.

My new owner had paid for me to have transit
accommodation, so I didn't have to sleep on the
benches at the interchange points as I had during my
first journey.  And I paid a lot of attention to the
scenery as it rolled past outside the tiny window -
this was almost certainly the last time I'd ever
travel again, I realised, so I'd better make the most
of it - my new owner would most probably always use me
to travel no more than five or six miles form his
home.

At the Atlanta USS office the clerk gave me a real
ticket - a standard plastic one - and told me to take
the suburban electric tram on line D out to Pine
Hills, and also handed me a piece of paper with a
diagram showing how to get from the Pine Hills tram
stop to my new owner's home.  I didn't like the sound
of Pine Hills much - as I've told you, every pony
slave dreads the additional effort he has to put in
when going up and down inclines.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, boy", the
clerk asked as he saw me looking at the ticket and the
paper.  "Do you know what a 'D' is?  And will you be
able to recognise 'Pine Hills' when the tram gets
there?  Did they teach you to read?"

"Sir, yes, sir.  I know letters and numbers, and I can
read short words like those."

"Get on, then - don't keep your master waiting!"

As those of you who've been there will know, the major
tram interchange in Atlanta is immediately underneath
the continental bus station.  The trams run
underground in the city centre, then come out of the
ground to serve the suburbs.  I waited on the right
platform for the D tram, and when it came went to
board after I'd allowed all the citizens to go through
the sliding doors first.

"Fucking slave!", a guy snapped "Get out of here!
Didn't they teach you any manners!  Thinking you can
bring that great sweaty slave body in a compartment
reserved for citizens!  Get to the slave compartment,
before I call the conductor and have you sent off for
a whipping!"

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised - after all,
they had special slave compartments on the buses, but
it just hadn't occurred to me.  I stepped back, and
before I could do anything else the doors hissed
closed and the tram pulled away from the platform.  As
I waited for the next one I observed what was going on
- other guys who were in the same sort of general
slave uniform as me all congregated at one end of the
platform, then when the tram came in I saw we were
opposite a compartment that was different from the
rest of the tram where there were seats and so on, as
this was just an open area.

We all surged on, and then stood there holding onto
rails set in the ceiling as the tram accelerated away.
 I gathered from the conversation that the other
slaves were having that this was a good time to travel
- at rush hours the slave compartment would be heaving
with bodies as there was only a small amount of space
for slave travellers compared with that allowed for
citizens.

The tram surfaced, and we ran through the inner
suburbs, and then out into what looked like almost
open country.  Pine Hills must have been about twenty
miles out from the city centre, and when we arrived my
guess that I'd been bought by an exceedingly rich man
was confirmed by a number of clues - the tram station
itself was immaculately clean and in a shining, sleek
modern design.  Outside here was an area where there
were twenty or so empty pony traps parked, and even a
small parking areas where there were a couple of
automobiles!  A line of cycle taxi rickshaws stood
waiting patiently by the entrance, and I was glad I
wasn't a slave who had to sit there all day waiting
for a fare, then pedal along - much better to be able
to run free, I thought.

I looked at the map I'd been given, and set off at a
brisk jog towards my new owner's home.  It really felt
good to be using my body again after being cramped on
the journey, and it was a fine, warm afternoon.
Fortunately, I realised , "Pine Hills" was a bit of a
misnomer - they were not so much hills as gentle
undulations in the mostly flat landscape.  I ran on
past numerous suburban streets, and, when you could
see them at all, saw that the houses here were very
substantial.  I guessed that each of them was set in
at least five acres, and this was probably why they
were so far from the tram stop.

Eventually I arrived at what was to be my new home,
and turned up its long drive.  I slowed my pace a
little so I could look around, and saw that it was
clearly "pleasure grounds" - drifts of trees and
shrubs planted to enhance the landscape, rather than
serve any useful purpose.  When I got to it I was
amazed at the size of the house - a huge, white,
neo-colonial mansion with huge while pillars along its
front rearing the whole height of its three stories.
I knew better than to go up the immaculate front steps
to the huge double doors, so jogged on around the
back.

It turned out that my new owner was so wealthy that he
employed an overseer to supervise the slaves.  He was
in his office in the  building complex to the rear of
the main house, and as I came in he reached out for my
arm and read it.

"Good, Steve, you made it, and on time, too.  Welcome
to your new home.  I'm your owner's overseer, Tony,
and you will call me just 'sir'.  Your owner will be
addressed at all times as 'master' .  Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Good.  I suppose you've been properly trained - well,
the amount the owner had to pay for you, I'd certainly
hope so.  Now, you're his new personal pony slave.
You're mainly to take him to the tram station in the
morning, then from the central tram station to his
office - we keep a second trap in the parking garage
in the central area.  At night, you do the same in
reverse.  Other than that, he'll use you if he's going
out to lunch to go between his offices and the
restaurant, and on the weekend he'll use you for going
to the country club, or the shopping mall in Pine
Hills.  So not exactly arduous - the rest of the time
you will work out and keep fit - we have special
arrangements in the city, and there are many
facilities here."

"You will not go into the main house unless you are
told to - ever!  That is the preserve of the family
and the household slaves - the owner's valet, the
chef, and the cleaner.  You will live out here in this
building that is also the place where we keep all the
stuff needed for the maintenance of the grounds and so
on.  Besides you we have a slave for pulling the
mower, as this grass needs cutting all the time, two
groundsmen, two gardeners, and a general handyman who
also looks after the pool.  You will keep yourself
clean and tidy at all times, and you slaves will not
make a lot of noise to disturb the family!"

"There's a workout room for you all here, and when the
family is all out, you are also allowed to use the
pool - but only for exercise - no lounging around on
the family's pool furniture!  We operate a happy ship
here, and I don't believe in unnecessary punishments -
but if you break the rules, or if I ever detect that
your are slacking or not giving a hundred and ten
percent to pleasing the owner, I'll whip you.  Is that
clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"The owner does not require you to work as a sex
slave, and neither do I - we're both married, as it so
happens.  You are free to indulge yourself with your
fellow slaves here, but any other sexual contact is
strictly forbidden - you are expressly forbidden to
indulge in any sex of any kind with the slaves in the
city, for example:   we don't want to have to pay big
vet's bills to clear up any unfortunate diseases you
might catch.  And, whilst I think about it, remember
that you are required to report any medical problems
of any kind to me - a strain, a cold, a sore,
anything.  You slaves area huge, valuable asset, and
we need to keep you in first class condition."

"You only get fed slave chow, and it's freely
available - although I expect you to eat frugally to
preserve that body of yours.  And sign of you putting
on even an once of fat, and I'll forcibly slim you
down."

"The owner and his wife are away on a trip at the
moment and their daughter is with them.  The owner's
son only lives here during college vacations, so you
have no real work at the moment.  You will spend the
next three days therefore running all the roads in
Pine Hill, familiarising yourself with them so you
will not get lost on social calls, and you will pay
particular attention to the routes to the Country
Club, and to the Mall.  I will accompany you to the
city later in the week to show you where the owner's
parking space is for his city trap, and to show you
the route to his office, and to the restaurants he
uses."

"Now, get out of that uniform, and put on the house
uniform.  As you'll see the owner has chosen this
olive green.  Two sizes are provided - medium and
large, and I think that as you'll run, we'll give you
medium shorts to provide some support for that dick of
yours, but a  large T so that it's nice and loose on
you and we can see your body a bit through the arm
slits."

As he spoke I'd done as he said and shucked my
uniform, and realised that he'd been looking at my
naked body.  Well, that's to be expected, I suppose,
as he was responsible to the owner for me and he'd
naturally want to do a quick visual inspection to make
sure there were no obvious flaws.  I blushed slightly
at the mention of my big dick - well, I am "well
hung", as they say.  And  I know there are a lot of
slave jokes about pony slaves being "hung like a
horse", and I am just a bit sensitive about it.  But I
was glad he was going to allow me to wear tighter
shorts than my general size would suggest - when you
run a lot, no matter how much practice you have, your
dick and balls can still get very sore from lack of
support.  No owner ever provides jockstraps or
anything, as it's too much trouble - with every other
slave wearing the standard Ts and shorts, it would
otherwise really complicate the laundry.

"Finally", he went on, "Your owner likes his slaves to
have short hair, and to be clean shaven in the sense
that you will not grow a beard.  But he likes his pony
to be 'rugged looking', and so you will always shave
at night, last thing, with a blunt razor.  That way
you will have fashionable dark stubble on you
throughout the day.  There is no requirement to shave
your body or your pubes, but you will keep the hair in
your pits neatly trimmed so that it does not show
through the slits in your T when you are  standing at
rest.  Is that all clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

Tony then took me on a brief tour of inspection of the
work complex and the grounds, showing me the carriage
house where my traps were kept - a light, modern one
with a single seat that he told me my owner liked to
use for the run to the tram stop in the morning, and a
heavier, "two seater" - well, it had kind of a bench -
which was occasionally used when the owner and his
wife wanted to go together to the country club.  Then
we went on to see the gym - fully equipped, with
almost "professional" quality equipment:  I was glad
of that, as I knew I would be using it a lot.  The
slave living quarters were simple and adequate - a
shower room with two heads and two lavatories (all
exposed, as I was now used to), and a dorm room where
the seven of us would sleep - there were actually
eight of the simple metal bedsteads each with white
sheets and a single pillow as, Tony explained,
visiting pony slaves would also sleep in here.  It
wasn't all that different from the Double J, and I
knew that we would all probably do the same thing -
jerk ourselves off under the sheets, and swallow our
cum to keep the beds fresh.

The Overseer then left, and I wondered if we had the
same system as at the Double J, where you just took
the first available bed, and my question was answered
when a giant of a man came in, wearing the same olive
green slave uniform as I was.  Now I'm six three, but
this slave was an inch or two taller than me at least,
and he was very solidly built.  He read my arm, and I
reached and read his and saw that he was named Joe.

"Hi, Steve.  I guess you're the new pony - Tony said
the owner had decided to get one, rather than relying
on pedal cabs to get to and from the tram stop."

"Yes.  My first owner, as I'm fresh off the ranch!
What's your role, Joe?"

"I spend all day mowing the fucking lawns here,
dragging the mower up and down.  And as soon as I've
got to the end, I have to go back and start all over
again as it's so hot and humid that the grass grown
non-stop."

"Yes, but what else do you do?"

"I told you everything - I mow the lawns!  The owner's
estate here is about five acres, and it's mostly all
grass except for the beds near the house and the
various ornamental trees and such like.  So I'm full
time dragging the mower up and down.  At busy times
one of the gardeners even has to help, as I wouldn't
otherwise get through it all - he comes and carries
away the cuttings, so I can keep mowing.  Still, it
keeps me fit!"  He grinned as he said this, and I knew
that, like me, he was happy with his lot.  I felt even
more cheerful inside as I saw that this big slave
didn't appear to be worried about life here, and it
reinforced my view that I was fortunate to have been
bought by a considerate owner.

Joe showed me the two empty beds and I picked the one
nearest the window - what a joy:  a space of my own at
last, as Joe said we kept our own beds every night.
But there was no locker or anything, as of course I
had no possessions of any kind, as we just took fresh
Ts and shorts from the communal pile in the shower
room when we had cleaned ourselves up.

When I met the other guys I knew we were all much the
same - we'd all understood all our lives that we were
going to be slaves, and were all heartily glad that
we'd ended up with this owner!  Each of them had a
slightly different slant on it, and like any group of
guys you meet I liked some more than the others, but
that's not really germane to my story so I won't go
into details of all their role, looks, likes and so
on.   One of the gardeners and the general handyman
were lovers, but they didn't make a big thing of it -
we had to listen to them fucking most nights, of
course, but they didn't particularly flaunt it and put
on displays for the rest of us or anything:  they
kissed discretely, and simply spent most of their free
time together and always slept in the same bed.  The
rest of us just did what slaves normally do - jerked
ourselves off discretely, and slept, in order to
recover from the hard work we'd done that day.

My first three days were really interesting - I ran
around the streets of Pine Hills so that I knew the
whole geography of the place, and then Tony sat in the
light trap and drove me to the country club and to the
mall - I didn't go in to either place, of course, and
waited patiently outside with the other pony slaves
that were there.  Some of them were a bit "amateur",
not having been properly trained:  as we waited at the
kerb side, they actually tried to talk to me!

Tony also took me into the city, showing me where to
leave the owner's trap at the Pine Hills tram stop,
then meeting me after I'd got out of the slave
compartment on the tram at the central terminus,  and
showing me where the city trap was "garaged".  He
explained that as soon as the tram arrived at the
central station I had to run as fast as possible
through the crowds, pick up the trap, and get back to
the front of the terminal to pick up the owner and
take him to the office.

"Just make sure you know the route exactly, Steve", he
told me, "And talk nicely to the slaves who run the
garage so that your trap is waiting - the owner gets
very impatient at any delay, and he's a busy man and
wants to get off to the office!"

Tony then drove me around the city centre showing me
the restaurants the owner favoured, and we went back
finally to the office tower where the owner worked.
Underneath there was a parking garage for traps, and
just off this was an underground room with a set of
workout kit in it.

"It's not ideal conditions - you're not out in the
sun, it's hot and stuffy, but you can at least get in
the necessary exercise whilst the owner's working
away", Tony explained.  "As you can see, there's a
speaker on the wall and his assistant will call you
when he's about to leave.  The moment you're called,
you get that trap up to the front door, as he really
is impatient when he's here - I think he expects you
to stand outside all day, but we've made this
provision for you to work out.  So be careful not to
delay - if he gets delayed, he might insist on you
being tethered at the front door, and then you'd have
to exercise back at Pine Hills late into the night."

I found running around the city quite difficult,
actually - finding your way was mostly OK as it was
almost all the standard grid plan, and there wasn't
much other traffic.  But the local trams which were on
the surface could swoop down on you unexpectedly, and
there were a lot of pedestrians and cyclists - the
cyclists were a particular pest as they tended to come
up on your inside and when you wanted to turn right
they'd be in the way - and they were, of course, free
citizens so they expected a pony slave to give way.
But that destroys your pace, and I realised I'd have
to be particularly careful to ensure that the owner
didn't get jerked and disturbed by any sudden changes
of speed I might be forced to make.  Pedestrians could
be a pain, too, as they tended just to step out into
the road in front of you - unlike the trams, ponies
and traps are totally silent and I guess they don't
hear you coming and don't think to look.  I knew I'd
be in terrible trouble if I bumped into a free
citizen, and so I had to keep very alert in the city.

When we got back to the house there was an air of mild
excitement, and I was told that the owner, his wife
and his daughter were back from their trip.  Tony said
that the owner would go straight back to his office
the following morning, and that I should make sure I
was ready!

I hardly slept that night in anticipation, and in the
morning I woke very early and did an hour's exercises
to make sure I was ready, with all my muscles subtle.
Tony was there to generally supervise, and looked me
up and down to make sure I looked my best in fresh T
and shorts, with my "fashionable" stubble.  In  a
pattern that was to repeat itself every day, I waited
at the front door for the owner to appear - he always
seemed to be slightly late, and this first morning was
no exception.  He ran down the steps, leaped into his
seat and snapped "to the tram - and run fast, boy, as
I'm late and want to make the seven ten."  I'd kind of
expected that he'd take the time to properly inspect
me - well, if you'd just spent a heap of money on a
new possession, you would, wouldn't you?  But I was to
learn that my owner didn't really care about things
like that, and just spent his money to make life
easier - as long as I was there, and functioning
properly, he really had not the slightest further
interest in me - his whole attitude told me that, as
far as he was concerned, I was just an object.  I was
of no more importance to him than the trap that I was
pulling.

So I raced through the streets, and by the time I was
at the tram stop and the owner had alighted, I barely
had time to "park" the trap and race back to throw
myself into the slave compartment just as the tram was
leaving.  Unlike my first day, the slave compartment
was now crammed with slaves - I don't think any of
them were ponies:  they were mostly street cleaners,
construction workers, and the like going into city
centre jobs from their slave barracks out somewhere
way beyond Pine Hills.  I was running with sweat from
my exertions, and some of them were really rude to me
about it - hey, what was I supposed to do?  Walk
slowly, so my owner missed the tram?  Or not get in to
the slave compartment, so he had to do without me in
the city?  I was bigger and stronger than any of them,
though, even at eighteen as I then was, and I just
told them to piss off and make space around me if they
didn't like my good honest sweat.

I got it right that first morning, as I did every
morning subsequently - I threw myself out of the door
as the tram stopped, ran at a real sprint to the
parking garage, and got to the main entrance at about
the same time as my owner.  I got my first chance then
to really look at him - he was in his late forties, I
suppose, and kind of "distinguished" looking with neat
hair and obviously expensive clothes, clothes that had
that special "gloss" that I now know only really comes
from having a valet look after them and sponge and
press them after every wearing.

He didn't say anything to me, but read his newspaper
as I pulled him through the streets to his office
building.  I then went around to the "garage", left
the trap, and went into my tiny exercise room where I
stayed.  I didn't exercise all morning, I confess, and
mostly just sat around with nothing to do - it was,
and is, boring without even one of the slave TV
channels to watch.  It must have been lunchtime when
the speaker crackled into life, and I took my trap
around to the front door.  The owner emerged and told
me to take him to "Les Cinq Pecheurs", and I was
really glad that we'd done the reconnaissance the day
before as I was able to get there faultlessly.

It's a really expensive restaurant, as you probably
know, and there were several other ponies who, like
me, then waited patiently for our owners to finish
their lunch.  Then back to the office, some exercise
in the afternoon, and then a repeat of the journey
back to the central tram terminus.   It is much more
difficult at night - my owner naturally wanted to go
on the next tram to leave for Pine Hills, but I had to
take the trap back to the garage and race back to the
station.  Some evenings I didn't make the same tram as
the owner, and then I hated having to see his
reproachful stare as I eventually pulled his trap up
to Pine Hills - an owner shouldn't have to wait like
that as his slave has missed the tram, should he?
Even though it was only ten minutes, it's ten minutes
too long for a busy man, a man who has invested a lot
in personal transportation.

For five years this was to be my life - my owner never
spoke to me except to give me brief instructions as to
where he wanted to go.   To him, I wasn't a man like
him, I was really a pony whose sole purpose was to
pull his trap and for which simple instructions would
suffice.  The only variation in my days were at
weekends, when the owner and his wife often went to
the country club, or to lunch or dinner with
neighbours, and some days when he was out of town on
business trips.  The owner's wife would then take me
to the mall, rather than using a pedal cab, and
sometimes I even had to drop the owner's daughter off
at High School.  At first, this was the task I liked
least - having a seventeen year old girl "drive" me
(who was, after all, only eighteen at the time), to
her school and then to have her sit there and chat to
all her friends whilst I stood rigidly in the shafts.
If only things had been different: if I'd been a girl,
or in the other eighty percent of men, I would have
been there in the crowds who eventually flocked into
the school.

It was also tough when the owner's son was on vacation
from college - he always asked the owner if he could
"borrow the pony" to go out partying, and unlike his
father he only ever had one idea of the pace I should
set - very fast!  And I hated standing outside the big
houses where they all partied, listening top all the
music and laugher, and being bored out of my mind.
It's tough when you have to run home at three or four
in the morning with a half-drunk driver, and then get
up at six to take your owner off to the tram stop.

Still, all in all, life was OK.  I had good companions
and a considerate owner, I wasn't hugely overworked,
and I kept fit and, mostly, very content.  When I saw
my owner sometimes as he got home, worn down by the
stress of his job, I was almost thankful that our
roles were not reversed.  Mind you, when his son made
out with some chick on the bench seat of the "family"
trap on the way back from a party, I did wonder if a
bit of stress later in life was a price worth paying
for more fun now!

End Of Part 5

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 6


By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

It's amazing how time slips by.  I suppose I was aware
of the seasons -  the owner's family made a big thing
at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I was kept
especially busy running to and from the mall - during
these times I had to run my owner to the tram stop in
the morning, then return to the house so that the
owner's wife and daughter could use me for shopping.
My owner had to take a pedal taxi to his office, and
he usually wasn't in a very good mood in the evening
when I went to collect him from the tram stop!

I hated the wet weather - the cold's OK, as it's good
when you're running to be cool, but the wet was awful.
 The owner used a raincoat and a giant umbrella, but I
had to run in my usual T and shorts - and the fabric
clung to my body and was unpleasant.  It was
particularly awful on the tram, as I was one of the
few slaves who was soaking wet as most of them had
come straight from their barracks.  I knew they were
looking at me as I stood there, often shivering
slightly, seeing how the wet fabric delineated my
body.  They say that most of those construction slaves
are into fucking in a really big way, and I always
thought they were looking at me as a potential
plaything.  It was good to be in my little exercise
room on those days, as I could wring out my shorts and
T and exercise naked until they were dry.

The only other time I was really naked (except in the
showers with the other slaves, of course) was when we
went swimming:   I'd always liked this when I was at
home, and my time at the Double J had taught me the
power of water to relax my muscles when I was really
tired.  The handyman looked after the pool, and he
always did this totally naked, even when the family
were around (my own mom and dad used to have a pool
man who came weekly to our pool, and he always
stripped off, too, before working on it.   I guess
it's one of those sort of "traditional" things, that
pool guys do it in the nude).  Us other slaves were
not of course allowed in the pool area at all when the
family was using it.  But most days I could, if  I
wanted, manage a swim at some point.  Usually it was
only for twenty minutes or so, though, and as there
was no chance to dry my shorts afterwards, as at the
Double J, I swam naked.  Standing then in the
sunshine, planing the water off my body, kept my tan
up too - if I looked down, there was only a small
variation between my legs and arms where they were
outside my T and shorts, and the rest of me.

The family went on two vacations a year - that's how
rich they were!  Skiing in the winter, and somewhere
in the Summer.  I even got to take the owner and his
wife to the airport once or twice - that really shows
you how much he was worth, to be able to vacation by
air and not on one of the bus trains!   When they were
away life was really easy for me, although the owner
usually told Tony that he could use me.  Tony didn't
have many places to go, though, and I really only had
to pull him to and from home - it made a nice change
for him, as he usually cycled in the four miles from
the less expensive suburb where he lived.  Like the
owner, Tony was really considerate - he didn't want me
pulling him four miles home then having to run the
four miles back to the house, so on those nights he
let me sleep on his porch.  I even got to peep in at
the window and see his family life - he'd been allowed
two kids, and both were daughters, really nice young
ladies of eight and ten.  He supervised their
homework, he and his wife ate dinner together, and
even at his age he still fucked her every night!

I was  really envious of him, and knew that I could
have been like this if things had been different.  On
the other hand, I could hear he and his wife
discussing their bills sometimes and really worrying
about them.  And he was getting a distinct thickening
of his middle as he really didn't do enough exercise.
After one of his annual medicals I even heard them
talking about what to do to get his blood pressure
down, and he said "nothing", as it was "stress" that
was doing it.  I guess you're spared all that kind of
stuff as a slave, and my body was in great shape.
I never thought much about fucking, I suppose - I
hadn't done it when I was still at home, there were no
women at the Double J, and it wasn't an option at my
owner's house.  And you don't miss what you've never
had, do you?

So five years slipped by, I suppose five relatively
happy years.  At twenty three I had it all - a good
owner, a fantastic body, healthy work that was well
within my capabilities.  If I ever thought about the
future at all it was in terms of doing much the same
kind of work for my owner until I was too old and
feeble to be able to continue.

Almost the only thing I didn't like much was having to
help Joe out on occasions - pulling the heavy gang
mower at the peak of the growing season was just too
much for him, and as well as having the gardeners
helping out by emptying the cuttings so he didn't have
to stop, Tony decided that I should give Joe a break
occasionally by being harnessed and pulling the mower
s whilst he had a brief rest.  Well, Joe was working
from sunrise to sunset, so I guess he needed it,
although he wasn't one to complain.

It's really different, being harnessed and having to
drag something that's meeting considerable resistance
from the grass as the blades whirred around.  I'm used
to pulling light, well-oiled things at a fast pace,
and here I was required to really work to make the
mower move at all - my feet slipped on the grass, I
had to put so much effort in!  And I hated the feeling
of being chained to the machine like an animal - even
though I wouldn't dream of getting out from between
the shafts of my cart, I always thought that I could
as I was never cuffed in there or anything  (I'll
remind you that I was a properly trained pony, taking
orders verbally without the need for a bridle, and
schooled in the proper "etiquette" of these things so
there was no need to give me blinkers, or hitch me to
the cart).  I got to appreciate why Joe was a big as
he was, and how much sheer physical effort he needed
to exert.  Tony even had us both harnessed to the
mower sometimes, and then Joe and I almost had
"competitions" to see who could pull the harder.


Things changed when, one night when I got back to the
bunk room, I found all the guys chatting to a new
slave.  I read his arm and "Jack" soon got around to
telling me that, like me, he was a new graduate from
the Double J - the owner had bought him from the same
place.  I thrilled for a moment, recognising that I
had pleased the owner so much that he was prepared to
buy again from the same place, then a worrying thought
struck me - why did the owner need two ponies?  We
found out the following morning - one of us was to be
a graduation present for the owner's son, who had just
completed college and was about to start work.

Jack and I were lined up by the owner in front of his
son, and he was asked to pick which one he wanted - I
was twenty three, like him, and Jack was just over
eighteen, as I had been when I was first bought.

"Well, dad, I don't know - I like the idea of having a
new pony, in 'factory condition', so to speak, never
used before.  But that one you've been using is pretty
good - I've seen how he works - in fact, I was only
watching him the other day harnessed to the mower with
that other big slave, and thought what a great hunk of
muscle he was.  Although he's 'used', I know he's had
only 'one careful owner' as they say in all the
second-user slave magazines.  And he's always worked
really well when you've let me take him out."

He came closer to Jack and me, then said "I'll do a
proper inspection - shuck those clothes, slaves."

We were outside the front door of the main house, and
anyone could see - if the owner's wife and daughter
were inside they'd only have to look through the
windows!  But Jack was uncaring about this - he was
still used to being inspected at the Double J, I
suppose, and so he pulled his T over his head and
dropped his shorts.  The owner's son snapped "What are
you waiting for?", at me, and so I had little choice
but to do the same.

Even to this day I can remember standing there in the
warm sun with a slight breeze playing over my body as
the son then expertly ran his hands all over both of
us, feeling our muscles, cupping our balls, and even
'skinning me to get a closer look at my dick head.  It
was a salutary reminder to me of what being a slave
was actually about.  I knew how hard the owner's son
made me work, and I was hoping against hope that he
would opt to have Jack, but on the other hand I hated
the idea of the poor young lad having such an uncaring
owner as his first one.

"Don't you honestly mind, dad?", he then asked.  "That
pony - Steve - knows your routine, and you'd have to
break in this new boy."

"Oh, that's not a problem, Jason - they're well
trained, and it only takes a day or two for them to
learn the places I like to go.  The new one can easily
replace Steve, if you choose to take him as yours."
So much for all my effort and devotion, I thought!  I
could "easily" be replaced.

"Well, dad, I think I would like to take your pony -
he's about the same age as me, I think, and I'll find
it easier to command an older slave.  If I had the
eighteen year old, it would be like having some sort
of kid brother around and I wouldn't feel like
disciplining him so much."  Discipline him?  What's
the idiot on about, I wondered - with our training, we
didn't need "discipline" as we worked properly all by
ourselves.  That's why we fetched premium prices,
being graduates from the Double J.

"OK, son.  I'll get his ownership formally transferred
to you - I'll tell my people to get the ownership
records and the log book properly updated. But
remember our bargain - you only have a year to try to
make a go of that business of yours, and then you
agree to come and work in the family firm.  I'm giving
you a pony so you can get around and meet clients and
so on - I want you to succeed, but I think you're not
on to a good thing with this idea of setting up as
party planners with that friend of yours - I don't
like him much, and I think he's just using you because
of your family money..."

"Dad, look, we've been all through this before.  I've
said I need to try something for myself, and if it
doesn't work out, I'll come and work in that tower of
yours next year.  But if I don't try, I'll always be
missing something I might have had.  Didn't I hear
grandpa say once that you did the same at your age?
And look, thanks for the pony - I'll have a lot of
running around to do, meeting contacts and so on, and
it will be invaluable to have a pony to pull me.  And
don't worry about Scott - his folks have money, too:
not as much as we have, but still enough that he
doesn't need to sponge off me!"

"Well, son, has his dad bought him a pony as a
graduation present?"

"No - Scott's folks aren't that wealthy.  But we can
share Steve here - if we can use the bigger trap,
there's plenty of room for both of us."

I groaned a bit inwardly as I heard this, as pulling
the "family" trap is a lot harder work than the light
one-seater.  Not only is the actual body of the thing
heavier, as it has to be sturdier, but you have two
passengers.  I'd seen this guy Scott around and, like
the owner's son, Jason, he was quite big and heavy -
although not quite as tall as me, they were both
six-footers.

My new owner - as I suppose I had to get used to
thinking of the owner's son, snapped "Put those things
on, and go and get the family trap. We'll go over to
Scott's and show you off!"

I came back as fast as I could, Jason got up onto the
seat, and gave me instructions as to how to get to
Jason's house - it was in a suburb I'd never been to
before, five miles away, and I set off at a steady
trot as you do when you're going that distance.   But
that wasn't good enough for Jason.  As we went down
the drive he commanded "Full speed!  I don't want to
waste all fucking morning whilst you go for a gentle
jog!  You'd better learn that when I'm driving, you're
running.  Now get a fucking move on."

It's really tough - running five miles at the best of
times is a real effort, and doing it when you're
pulling a double trap really exhausts you.  By the
time we arrived at the pleasant suburban home where my
new owner's friend lived, I was all but done in - my
legs were aching, my lungs were gasping for breath,
and my T and shorts were soaked with my sweat.

Scott came out as we arrived, and he and Jason gave
each other a greeting hug.

"Hey, man - neat.  Your dad's loaned you his pony -
shall we go down the mall, or something?"

"No, Scott.  Not loaned - this is my graduation gift.
He's mine, as my dad doesn't want me to be able to
make any excuses if our business doesn't get off the
ground.  He wants me to go and work for him, and he
wants me to do it willingly - so he has given me this
pony so that if we don't make a go of what we want to
do, I'll know it's because I couldn't hack it, and not
because I was missing something like transport."

"Fantastic, anyway.  Can I have a good look at him?"

"Sure - he's got a great body."  Turning to me, my
owner snapped "Shuck those clothes, boy, so that
Master Scott can appreciate you."

What was I supposed to do?  There we were, in a
suburban street, and my master was ordering me to get
naked.  I stood there for a moment, hesitating, and my
owner  now was very cross.

"You'd better fucking learn, boy, and learn soon, that
when I give you an order you obey it, and obey it
instantly.  You've annoyed me once today already by
not really running as fast as you can, and now you
stand there shuffling around instead of getting naked.
 I always thought my dad was too lenient with you -
well, you'd better understand that I expect instant
and total obedience, and willing compliance with all
my commands.  And if I don't get it, you'll get a
whipping."

I was so ashamed - I didn't want to deliberately
disobey my owner at all, of course - I'd been better
trained than that.   But you would hesitate, wouldn't
you, to strip off and stand there in the middle of a
suburban street?  And when we'd set off, I'd not gone
flat out as I thought it best to conserve some of my
energy for later - what would happen if my owner now
wanted to go another five miles?    I realised I'd got
off to a bad start, and I'd better try to do better.
So I pulled my T over my head, stuck my thumbs in the
waist of my shorts and slid them down to the ground.

Master Scott gestured for me to get out from between
the shafts, and  I stood in front of him.
"You're right, Jase - he's fucking fantastic!  Look at
his dick, and his balls.  And that musculature.  I'm
not surer about the fur all over him.... Have you
thought of having him shaved? And what's he like to
fuck?  An ass like that must suck you in...."

"Hey, hold on.  I only got him this morning, and I'd
really not seen him in all his glory before - you know
how conservative my old man is, and he always has him
running around in shorts and T.  So, no, I hadn't
thought - yet - about having him shaved.  And I've
never ever had an opportunity to take him up the ass -
dad doesn't like me fucking the slaves as he thinks
it's not right to have them associate with free men.
Anyway - why would I want his ass, nice though it
looks, I agree, when I've got yours....?"

I shuddered inwardly.  He hadn't thought "yet" about
having me shaved!  And it was only his dad who wanted
me to run in the standard T and shorts...  And as for
all this talk of fucking, well, I was horrified - I'd
never had a guy's dick in me, but I couldn't help but
think that it was disgusting, and probably hurt, too.

"Let's go to the mall", Master Scott said.  "You'll
want to show your new toy off to the other guys, and I
think there are one or two things you ought to buy at
the slave store."

Well, it was even worse to have to go to the mall - I
was already pretty tired, and now I had to run - fast
- with two passengers.  Thankfully, though, when we
got there "the other guys" weren't there, so I was
spared further humiliation and was allowed to rest in
the parking lot whilst the two men went in.

I was able to run them both home as I had enough time
to recover, and back at our house I fervently hoped
that that would be all for the day - to Master
Scott's, from there to the mall, and then home, was a
big run to do even if I'd been able to pace myself.
But at the speed Master Jason insisted on, it was
totally exhausting.  I dropped the two men off at the
front door, then trotted around to the back to put the
trap away, and went into the slave quarters.  I didn't
care about saving my owner money that day - I just
stood there under the shower and tried to get
something approaching normal feeling back into my
aching limbs.

It seemed that Master Scott was staying the night, so
I didn't have to run again that day, and later that
evening I chatted to Jack about his day - it sounded
like heaven, after what I'd been through.  He'd done
the usual "office" run for my former owner, and apart
from being worried, as I had been, about getting on
the same tram as his owner, all had gone well.  "We're
bloody lucky to be here", he told me "As this is what
an owner should be like."  I couldn't help thinking
that this seemed to be true for him, but I wasn't so
sure now about me!

The next morning I had the double trap waiting outside
the front door, behind Jack and the single trap.  My
former owner ran down the steps, just slightly late as
usual, and I watched as Jack accelerated smoothly away
- I knew from long experience that he'd just make the
tram, and I really envied him.  I stood there, and
waited and waited.  I couldn't understand why, if
Master Jason didn't need me, he didn't tell Tony to
have me brought round later - then I could have worked
out, or something.  It got hot, as the sun came
around, and I really wanted to sit down - have you
ever tried standing upright for over an hour, with
absolutely nothing to do?  But my training told me
that ponies always wait patiently for their drivers,
so I stuck it out.

The two men appeared eventually, and they were
laughing and smiling at each other.  They were
touching each other and walking very close, in that
way that only men who have shared sex together do.  My
owner came up to me and told me to leave the shafts,
and kneel down in front of him.

The crotch of his tight Jeans was right in front of me
as I knelt there, and I could see the outline of his
dick -  I couldn't help thinking about where it had
probably been just a few minutes before, and about the
talk the two men had had about fucking my ass.

"Open your mouth", he said, and I obeyed.  Master
Scott handed him something, and my owner stepped
forward and pushed it into my mouth.  It tasted
"metallic", and filled me almost completely.  My owner
fiddled around, doing something behind my head, and
then stepped back.  "Hey, Scott, is this right?"

Master Scott came and pulled and fiddled at me, and
answered "Yes - the bars of the bit are out on each
side of his mouth, the tongue plate is pushing his
tongue down so he can't speak, and you've fastened the
restraining strap nice and tight, so he can't spit it
out.  Now all you have to do is attach the reins to
the ends of the bar, and we can be off...."

Desperately I tried moving my tongue, but it was
pushed to the floor of my mouth by something.  I
couldn't close my mouth properly as there seemed to be
a bar running between my teeth and protruding at each
end.  I tried to probe with my tongue, champed up and
down to try to get my mouth feeling easy, but could
make no progress.  My head tossed up and down as I
went through all sorts of contortions to try to make
my mouth easier.

"See", Master Scott said, "Just like a real horse when
you put a bit in  their mouths - tossing the head up
and down like that!"

"Are you sure about this, Scott", my owner asked.
"Dad always said that he paid a lot of money for a
pony so that he could just tell it where to go - this
one is supposed to be 'voice trained', so you don't
need to steer him or anything."

"Yes, but that's not the fashion!  If you've got a
really handsome pony like this, you need to show
everyone that you're in charge of him - if you just
let him run along as he wants, it doesn't look right.
With those reins, it's clear who's in charge.  Now,
let's try...."

Black leather reins were fastened to the ends of the
bar protruding from my mouth, the two men got into the
trap, and my owner called out "Forward - slow trot."

He tugged on the reins, turning my head from side to
side to indicate which way he wanted me to go, and we
zigged and zagged across the lawns and along the
tracks running through the estate.  I heard him say to
Master Scott "Well, I can see you can direct a pony
like this, but it's a whole lot easier just to tell
him where to go - I have to concentrate on the road
now, rather than just have the pony do it.  So I
haven't got as much time for you...."

I could hear him kiss Master Scott then, and the reins
went slack for a moment or two.  Then I heard Master
Scott's voice say "Well, you seem to be able to do two
things at once... But look, this direction thing - you
can still tell the pony where to go, and just hold the
reins as a symbol of your control.  You want to show
the world that this is a slave, and you control it
utterly."

They chatted on, and we went around to a number of
places in Pine Hills, and the two men came and went
doing what ever their "business" was.  It didn't seem
to be very hard, and they didn't seem to be using any
papers or anything - but I did hear them referring to
"making good contacts."

I did a lot of running that day, albeit with a lot of
breaks, but towards the end of the afternoon I was
really flagging - even the excellent training at the
Double J hadn't prepared me for quite so much running!
 To make it worse, there usually wasn't any water or
anything at any of these temporary stops, and I had
been sweating hard all day.  When I did see a roadside
faucet for ponies and went to pull in, my owner pulled
on the reins and prevented me from doing so.
Actually, with the bit lodged in my mouth I'm not sure
I could have drunk from it anyway.

Master Scott always seemed to want to get my owner to
move on to the next place quicker, and when I was
already going at just about the maximum pace I could
manage so late in the day, I heard him say "You know,
Jase, this pony of yours is a really lazy fucker!
He's not going nearly as fast now as he did this
morning.  I told you he needed 'encouragement', but
you wouldn't listen to me, would you?  Tomorrow, I'll
drive, and then we'll see what's what!"

By the time e got back to the house I was almost
totally exhausted, and fortunately Jack was around
when I finally managed to drag the trap around to the
back.  He came running over and took he trap off me,
then looked in amazement at my face.  He reached up
and fiddled at the back of my head, and then  I was
free of the bit!   "Oh Steve!  Making you wear a bit!
Don't they know that we're all trained in voice
command?"

"Yes, of course they do.  My old owner - your owner
now - never used a bit:  that's why he paid so much
for us.  But my new owner and his buddy think it's
'fashionable' to control me this way.  Actually, they
don't - they still give me orders on where to go, but
they've had me like that all day to show everyone else
who's really in charge, they say!"

Somehow the mood in the slave quarters was sombre that
night.  I think everyone was shocked at the way I'd
been treated - Jack was a bit of a hothead, I think,
and kept telling all the others how disgraceful it was
that a trained pony could be treated in this way.  But
there wasn't anything any of us could do about it, was
there?

Worse was to come the next morning - they put the bit
in my mouth again, but before they attached the black
leather reins Master Scott told me to take my T off.
I did so, of course, and stood there just in my
shorts.

The reins were attached, and we went off - it felt
strange to be running bare chested, but, actually, it
wasn't all that unpleasant.  In fact, given that it
was hot, it made it a bit easier as the motion of the
air over my body as  I raced along really helped to
cool me.

We spent all day going around from one place to
another, and a lot of guys - and some girls - who were
friends of Masters Scott and Jason came out and
admired me.  I felt kind of foolish standing there
just in my shorts, with a bit in my mouth, but
fortunately my owner didn't require me to strip again.


It was tough going all day, and about mid afternoon I
was really flagging and slowed down slightly.  The
next moment there was a stinging pain across my
shoulders, and I leaped forward in surprise.  Master
Scott called out "There'll be a lot more of that, you
lazy fucker, if you dare slow down again.  I'm in
charge today, and I've brought a carriage whip with
me.  You maintain the pace, or you get to see how good
I am at wielding it."

Look, there's only so much you can do, isn't there?
You can drive your body on and on, but sooner or later
you run out of will power and your body just has to
slow up.  And then the stinging pain hit again, and
again.  I found that there must be some hidden depths
to my body's store of energy, as in response to the
lashing I was getting I did manage to put on a new
spurt of speed, and to keep my feet flying forward at
the pace my driver had set.  Even though I really had
been trying as hard as I could, somehow my body
responded with that little extra when the whip hit me.

That night the mood in our quarters was even more
sombre - none of us had ever been whipped before, and
all my fellow slaves stood around looking at the
bright red marks all across my back - Master Scott had
started at the shoulders, but as the afternoon wore on
had worked his way down to the base of my spine.  It
hurt - well, it was uncomfortable, I guess.  Every
time I flexed my shoulders I was aware of them in a
way I wasn't usually.  And it was impossible to lie in
my bed on my back, or even on my side:  I had to sleep
that night lying on my belly, which I hate, as it
constricts your dick so.

The following day, with my back still bright red, I
was again told to run without my T, and I was
expecting to be lashed again in the afternoon.  But
instead of starting on our normal pattern of calls
around the place, Masters Jason and Scott told me to
run them to the tram stop in Pine Hills.  They were
taking the tram into the city, and told me to be back
there to collect them later that afternoon.  As he
left, though, my owner told me to take myself to the
vet's, as I had the morning free.

I was used to going to the vet's as my previous owner
had had regular check-ups for me and the other slaves,
and at the slightest sign of any muscle strain or
anything we were always allowed to go, too.  He was a
nice guy, and seemed to know his job well - it turns
out that you need different skills these days for
looking after slaves than you do for looking after
citizens:  "proper doctors" just don't have the
experience in strains, muscle ache, back problems, and
so on as these are much more likely to occur in slaves
who are living a very hard, active life.  So vets have
much the same training as doctors initially, then
specialise in the ailments peculiar to slaves.

I went in, waited in the waiting room for a few
minutes, then was called into the examination room.

"Hi, Steve", the vet said cheerily.  "Let me see what
you are here for today.  Your owner called, I
think...."  He keyed my SIN into his PC, read the
screen, whistled slightly, then went on "OK - in the
chair."

He indicated the big chair to one side, and I went
over and sat down.  "Right, Steve... Just relax... I'm
going to give you this injection and you'll feel
yourself drifting off to sleep.... Right.... Counting
down from ten:  ten, nine, eight......."

That's all I was aware of until I heard, vaguely,
"Come on, Steve, wake up... Steve.... Come on, boy,
I'm waiting for you...."

I opened my eyes and saw I was still in the chair.  I
seemed to be aching in my head, and I was still a bit
woozy from the anaesthetic he'd given me.

The vet was holding a small stainless steel bowl,
tilted it to show me the contents, then said "Look,
I'm sorry about this - I hated doing it to you, but
that's what your owner ordered.  In fact, I don't get
much call for dentistry at all these days, as that
slave chow really helps keep your teeth in first class
condition."

There in the bowl were two of my teeth - big molars,
and as I probed my mouth with my tongue I realised
there was now a huge gap at the back of my teeth on
each side of my bottom jaw.

"Please, sir.... Please sir, what was the matter with
my teeth, sir?"

"Nothing.  That's why I hated doing it.  But your
master wanted you to lose those molars, so I took them
out."

"You'll be sore for a couple of days in the jaw", he
went on, "But I've plugged the holes in your gum and
the bleeding has mostly stopped.  If you feel any
chest pain, it will be because I had to kneel on you a
bit to get enough leverage to pull them out - those
big back teeth are always a problem."

"Sir, why did my owner want my teeth pulled, sir?"

"Look, Steve, it's not my place to speak out of turn.
But it's become a bit more common, as I've read in the
New England Journal Of Slave Medicine.  A lot of vets
don't agree with it, and some won't do it at all - but
I need every bit of custom I can get, so when your
owner ordered it, I did it.  You're a pony slave,
aren't you?  Well, apparently 'fashionable' owners are
having this done so that your bit will fit further
back in the mouth, and it will fit more snugly."

I could hardly believe my ears! My owner had had two
of my perfectly good teeth pulled out so that he could
fit my bit more snugly - a bit I didn't need anyway!

If slaves were allowed to have bad moods, I'd have
been in one when I collected my owner and Master Scott
from the tram stop later that day.  Master Scott was
carrying a big bag whose wording proclaimed that it
was "From the Slave Shop for YOUR Slave".  Right
there, in the street outside the tram stop, my owner
told me to kneel.  I was expecting him to put my bit
in, but he got a different one out of the bag master
Scott had.

There was a lot of fiddling around now, and my jaw,
very sore from where the teeth had been pulled, sent
shooting pains right through me.  The new bit was
thicker than the previous one, and just fitted down in
to the gaps left by the extraction of the molars.  The
tongue plate, that I hated, was at right angles to it
like the last one, but as I went to probe it with my
tongue I got a sharp pricking sensation, and the taste
of blood!  The underside had a number of little spikes
on it, and if I pressed my tongue up, they bit into
me.

The new bit fastened down under my jaw with small
stainless steel tapes, and these were pulled together
by some sort of ratchet mechanism - as my owner
tightened it, the bit pulled backwards and down to fit
into the gaps in my jaw, but forcing the corners of my
mouth backwards and down at the same time in a very
painful way.  My face was contorted into a sort of
rictus by the bit, and I could no longer close my
mouth at all.

"Good", master Scott said to my owner.  "See, Jason, I
told you how it all works together - I read about it
in 'Slave Owner Today'.  You have the teeth out, so
that the bit goes further back and deeper.  That means
it can be held in by the tapes underneath the jaw,
rather than going around the back of the slave's head
- so when he's running normally we don't have to look
at that fastening right in front of us.  Then, because
it's so tightly pulled back, he needs to keep his
mouth open - so if you didn't have the spiked tongue
plate, he can be tempted to let it loll around all
over the place."

"Yes, Scott, I know all that.  But somehow, well, I
don't like losing teeth from a slave..."

"Oh don't be such a wimp!  It's only a couple of slave
teeth, not like as if you or I lost one.  And there
are some other advantages as well - if the slave
proves difficult to take dick down the throat, you can
keep this new bit in and there's no problem with him
trying to bite you or anything."

I went cold as he said this, and it got even worse.

"But I wasn't planning to put my dick down his throat,
Scott..."

"Weren't you?  Why not?  If you don't want to, I do -
a big handsome buck like him is just begging to take
dick in his throat.  'Slave Owner Today' says that
today's modern owner ought to fuck his slave regularly
- either up the ass or down the throat - to show the
slave who's in control.  I think your dad isn't really
a very modern master at all, as he's never taken any
of his slaves from what you've told me.  But that's no
reason for you to be old fashioned, is it?  Next time
I'm away and you need a bit of relief for that
insatiable dick of yours don't lie there jerking off -
get this slave up from the slave quarters and give it
to him!"

My owner just laughed at this, but, at the same time,
I couldn't help worrying.  And what else was in the
bag they'd bought from "The Slave Shop"?

End Of Part 6