Date: Thu, 1 Feb 2007 14:34:55 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Young Stud, Part Sixteen

YOUNG  STUD

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Sixteen

The first time we saw Jeff in the streets I didn't
recognise him at all.  It was only when Miguel went to
run across the highway because he had seen Juan that I
took a second look - having grabbed Miguel to restrain
him as of course we would not want to alert Brad that
we were interested.  Miguel stood there on the
sidewalk begging and pleading to be let go to his
brother, and when the passers-by saw his appalling
behaviour, I had no choice:  I slapped him hard, very
hard, across the face, and when that failed to calm
him, I did it again, this time knocking him to the
ground.  Several of the watching people applauded me,
and called out that it was rare to see an owner these
days who took such positive steps to discipline his
slave.

When Miguel got to his feet I said to him quietly that
I had had to do it because we could not compromise our
real purpose, and I think he understood, even though
he stood there snivelling for quite a time.  Actually,
though, I think I somehow enjoyed it - disciplining a
man, and making him do exactly as you tell him is very
satisfying.  And using my physical power in that way
was quite a turn on:  it was another instance of how
good it would be to actually own a slave.

But this is all beside the point - it was Jeff that I
was now concerned about, and leaving Miguel there (as
he was so similar to Juan), I went across to
investigate further.   To my horror I saw they had
made huge differences to Jeff - gone were the glorious
blond hairs on his arms and legs, the darker thatch on
his chest and the exotic treasure trail running down
his belly:  he had been made totally hairless below
the neck, and his skin glowed and shone, because,
presumably, he was oiled with slave oil.  The only way
you could tell that Jeff was a blond was that his hair
was now in a mane - yes, that's the only way I can
describe it:  his head was shaved except for a three
inch wide strip down the centre, the strip being
cropped very short at the front, but allowed to grow
at the rear so long hair now flowed down to his neck.

He's been ringed, too - comprehensively ringed!  In
the bright sunshine he positively glittered with
metal. He wore a heavy stainless steel collar, whose
weight I reckoned ought to be sufficient to weight
down his neck, and each of his nips now sported heavy
steel rings - with Jeff's fantastic pecs, they dangled
down and as he moved slightly, they swung freely.  But
it was what they'd done to his face and his dick that
shocked me - I didn't know which one to look at first.
 A heavy steel ring hung down from his nose - his
septum must have been pierced to take it - and his
dick and balls were cinched tight with a kind of
figure of eight arrangement:  one thick steel band was
around the top of his ball sac, trapping his balls
below, and it was attached to the one around the root
of his dick and balls so that this could not be
removed.  Obviously this meant that Jeff was
semi-erect almost all the time, and to my horror I saw
they had also put a huge steel PA through his piss
slit, emerging just below the head of his dick.  Steel
wrist bands were around his wrists, and these were
fastened to the shafts of the carriage he was standing
between, so he was unable to leave.

When the initial shock of seeing his lovely body
covered in all this metal had worn off a little, I was
able to take a closer look - a metal bar protruded
from each side of his mouth, and leather reins were
lying casually on the carriage, their ends fastened to
each end of the bar.  The bar was so far back that it
was forcing Jeff's mouth to make a perpetual grimace,
and as he could not close it, there was a small
trickle of drool hanging on each side of his chin.
Strangely, too, he appeared to be wearing some sort of
sun glasses made of steel.

He stood there impassive and immobile, seeming to be
almost oblivious to the passing traffic and
pedestrians.  Juan, as naked as Jeff was, and now
almost shockingly so as he too had been stripped of
his hair  (and I was used to seeing his furry body!)
stood there ,his head obediently bowed.  He'd been
collared and cuffed in stainless steel too, and when
he turned around, his dick and balls were similarly
cinched with the same double ring arrangement that
Jeff wore.  They'd left his tits and dick alone,
though, and his hair was in a standard slave crop.
But standing there he looked so very young - his
slight body, totally hairless, just did not look like
that of a  man who was nearly seventeen.

I wondered what to do - it clearly was not the time to
approach them as we could not afford any public
display.  So I settled into a pavement cafe, ordered a
double expresso from the slave, and waited.

It must have been at least half an hour before the guy
I took to be Brad emerged from a barber shop and came
over and snapped something to Juan, seeming to
completely ignore Jeff, who, in turn seemed totally
unaware of the closeness of his owner.  I took an
almost instant dislike to Brad - he was one of those
guys who has always had everything:  the best clothes,
all the latest gadgets, a car as soon as he was old
enough, personal slaves dancing attention on him, the
best schools.... He was big and you could tell that
when he was in this late twenties and early thirties
he'd become  florid and loud as his body put on excess
weight. His curly blond hair flopped around, and his
clothes were almost inappropriate for a college guy:
no jeans for Brad, no, immaculately cut wool slacks, a
crisp pink-striped shirt, a leather jacket slung
casually over his shoulders and a silk cravat peeping
out of  his open collar.

As  I watched, Juan went to Jeff and stroked his butt
gently - Jeff seemed to acknowledge this by moving his
body a little.  Then, as Brad walked off to another
shop, Juan took hold of Jeff's dick and began to use
it as some sort of handle to guide Jeff across the
parking lot, then out towards what I took to be the
entrance to the university grounds.  I'd have thought
that a sensible guy like Jeff could just have been
told "To the lecture hall and wait", or whatever, so
this leading of him by Juan was a total mystery.

I crossed the street back to there Miguel was waiting
- he'd crouched, as Mexicans seem to be able to do,
under a tree to get some shade from the hot sun (Brad
hadn't seemed concerned about Jeff and Juan, as there
had been no shade on their side of the street and he'd
just let them stand there).  "Please, master...", he
began.  "Please, don't hit me again... But I must see
Juan."

"Wait, Miguel!  We have to find out more.  I'm going
to the University, to see how I can get closer to
their owner - you go back to the house, and make sure
the pool's properly clean as when I get back I'll want
to swim."

How easy it was to issue orders casually like that -
how much more satisfactory to be the owner, rather
than the slave.   I suppose some of you are going to
think that it was unfair of me to use Miguel as a
servant like that, but, after all, he didn't have
anything else to do, did he?  And it's bad for men to
sit around idle, especially when they're supposed to
be slaves.

I was mooching around the university grounds - not so
hard to do as I was about the right age, and in jeans
and a sweatshirt I blended in - when I saw Brad
walking rapidly across one of the campus squares.  I
trailed him, and he went into the sports complex, and
I followed.  He was doing that sort of bragging thing
that guys do to the receptionists in those places,
standing there flexing his muscles, sweeping his curly
hair back off his face, and generally holding things
up and getting a little queue to form behind him.
When he'd checked in  I went to the counter and found
that the Sports Centre facilities were open to the
public on payment of a fee (a healthy fee, I might
add), so I joined.

I told them I wanted to take a look around, and they
didn't seem to mind, once my payment was in the till,
and so I went in and was going to pull my sweat short
off, knowing that in my tight T showing my muscles,
I'd look more like a "user".  But at the last moment I
remembered the big SIN still on my forearm, so I had
to desist.  There were several racquet ball courts, a
couple of basket ball courts, and a vast gym
absolutely stuffed with the latest machines.  Down a
corridor there was an Olympic standard pool, a diving
pool, and a training pool.  I began to think that the
fee was well spent.

There were several changing rooms for the different
parts of the complex, so I had to pretend to be
looking for a newly-allocated locker as I wandered in
and out of them fully dressed and without a sports bag
so it didn't even look as if I might be going to
change.  The guys were mostly college jock types,
although there seemed to be a number of older men -
whether local business men or college professors, I
couldn't tell - most of whom seemed to be changing
very slowly as if they wanted to sit there and observe
what was going on around them for as long as possible.
   Each of these changing facilities had a big,
open-plan shower area and a sauna, and it was in the
one primarily intended for the gym that I spotted Brad
again:  he was kind of horsing around in the showers,
disporting his big fleshy body.  He had a good sized
dick, uncut, and big low-hanging balls, and he was the
kind of guy who stood there soaping up quite publicly
as if he wanted to shame some of the other guys with
smaller dicks.

I pretended to still be locating a locker as I saw him
towel off, and then unashamedly walk out with his
towel thrown casually over his shoulder, allowing his
dick and balls to swing freely and be "admired" by the
other men.  From the snatches of conversation I heard
I gathered that he was a regular user, mostly in the
mornings, so I decided that this would be a good place
to strike up and acquaintance with him.

When I got back to my rented house Miguel was almost
in a frenzy, and had many questions which he put
persistently to me, about whether I'd seen Juan again,
and how he was.  He almost refused to believe that I
hadn't seen either Jeff or Juan again, and I began to
get irritated.  My irritation increased when, on
stripping off to go for a quick swim, I found some
dead flies and wasps floating on the surface as he
hadn't done as I'd told him and cleaned it properly.
If he'd shut up and apologised he might have evaded
punishment, but when he asked me for the third time
some stupid question about Juan, I lost it - I simply
picked him up and threw him into the pool.

I know it sounds like a bit of harmless fun, but
Miguel hated the water, probably because he couldn't
swim:  I'd often tried to get him to come into the
water and play games with me, but he never would.
There was no real danger of course as I'm a very, very
strong swimmer and I know about life saving , too -
but Miguel flailed around in the deep water, his head
going under several times as he frantically scrabbled
uselessly around trying to get to the edge, and he
began to splutter and choke each time he surfaced.
>From the way he was screaming and shouting I really
believed he thought he was going to drown.

Finally, when it did begin to look a bit serious I
pulled off my sweat shirt and T, kicked off my boots
and jeans, then dived in and grabbed him, hauling him
by his hair to the edge where he clung on desperately,
trying to haul himself out of the water as he
continued to splutter and choke.  I trod water,
watching with amusement as he managed to get his
exhausted body half out and lay flopping around on the
edge, and then took a couple of strokes over, ducked
under water, grabbed his ankles, and pulled him back
in.  Still under water I watched his arms and legs
flailing, and I even held my hand on the top of his
head for a few moments so that he thought he couldn't
get to the surface - seeing his arm and legs now
kicking desperately in all directions.

I relented then, and pushed him upwards, then surfaced
myself, putting my arm around his thin chest and
holding his head just above the surface.  Gradually he
calmed down and stopped struggling, and his retching
and choking calmed.  He seemed to relax a bit, but I
needed to show him who was in control, so I pushed him
under playfully  - well, it would have been playfully
with a couple of strong swimmers horsing around, but I
guess it was pretty terrifying for Miguel.  When I let
him come up again and he calmed down eventually, I
laughed at him.  "See, Miguel - I thought you needed
to cool off a bit as I got pissed off with all those
questions.  I told you this is a long-term plan, and
it won't hurt Juan to spend a few more days, or weeks,
as that Brad's slave.  Other than his body shave, he
doesn't look in bad shape."

"But...", he began, and stopped instantly as he felt
my hands start to push him under again.  He looked at
me pleadingly, his eyes terrified.

"Furthermore, Miguel, when I give you an order, like
'clean the pool', I expect it to be obeyed.  And the
next time you fail to do as I say, I'll throw you in
again:  it seems you don't like this as a punishment,
and it has the advantage over taking a strap or a cane
to you that it leaves no marks on your body to spoil
my enjoyment later.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, master", he muttered.  And seeing he looked
pretty contrite, or scared, or both, I pushed him to
the edge, put my hands around his waist and boosted
him up onto the edge - he instantly took four steps
away from the edge, as if he was scared that I might
drag him in again..  Then I did fifty lengths to tire
myself, and when I got out I lay in the hot sun and
ordered Miguel over to blow me as I felt pretty horny.

Later that evening I discussed with Miguel what we
were going to do, and I pointed out we needed to find
out where Jeff and Juan were kept - valuable slaves
like those were probably locked up at night, and I
knew that many of the most prestigious frat houses on
the edge of the campus had slave quarters.  I kind of
assumed that Brad would be in some prestigious
fraternity, and if we were going to get Jeff and Juan
out, we'd have to have a good knowledge of the
security facilities.  "But, in any case, Miguel,
perhaps I could persuade Brad to sell them to me -
that would be best, as then they'd legally be mine,
and I could take them where I want in the South."

He reluctantly agreed, as he wanted immediate action,
even though that was impracticable, and I thought it
would be best to get to know Brad better in the gym.
There was a problem then, though, as there was no way
I could go there with my brand and SIN tattoo.
Fortunately the solution to part of that occurred to
me as we watched TV later on - they had the World Cup
rugger on the sports channel, and the men there all
wore skin-tight jerseys with long sleeves, as they
were playing in London in the cold:  they were
designed to show off the muscled bodies of the
forwards whilst having no loose fabric that an
opponent could grip.

A search on the internet revealed suppliers of
"genuine" rugger jerseys, and I ordered some to be
express shipped for the next day.  I'm a bit of a
traditionalist and prefer a jock strap and relatively
loose shorts for gym work (well, I do when I had a
choice:  as a slave, the boss always made me wear only
skin-tight shorts when I was working out), so I didn't
think that anyone would see the outline of my brand,
although I'd have to be very careful when I was
changing to keep my butt turned into a corner or
something.

I have to say I reckoned I looked pretty good in the
tight Lycra jersey - somehow it emphasised my muscles,
and the long sleeves were opaque enough so that the
SIN did not show through.  I went off to the gym
complex, rented a locker in the area mostly reserved
for gym users, then went and changed.  It was good to
have a real workout on their superb machines, and soon
my skin-tight jersey was deeply stained down the back
and front with my sweat.   Eventually I noticed Brad
come in, and then manoeuvred so that I was often using
the machines adjacent to him.  Well, you know how it
is when there are two studs in a gym - they keep an
eye on each other, and try to outdo the other guy!  It
was no different with Brad, and soon he was dialling
up the weights on the weight machines and the speed on
the treadmill, to try to keep up with me.

I was tired as I'd started earlier, so it wasn't too
hard after some time to appear to "lose" to Brad, and
as we jogged along cooling down, I looked across at
him on the next treadmill and said casually "Well
done, buddy!  Not a lot of guys keep up with me - I
was surprised to see you alongside most of the time.
My name's Steve, by the way."

He was almost smirking as he responded "Hi... I'm
Brad.  Well you know how it is, Steve, some of us are
just natural athletes".

In spite of his horrible smugness we carried on
talking as we went back into the changing rooms and at
 once he stripped off - I suppose he was carrying on
his idea of being better than me by letting his dick
wave around.  I let him see me casting the odd glance
at it as he stood there, and then when he suggested
I got a move on as he was waiting to shower, I
stuttered, as if I was embarrassed, and said that I
had to get home and I'd shower there.  I know I
convinced him that I didn't want to stand there and be
compared to him (although of course I had much harder
muscles than him, and my dick was certainly longer!).

As the week went on it got harder and harder to appear
to fail "gracefully" as Brad seemed to want to work
out closer and closer to me - I suppose it did his ego
good to be beating such  an obviously powerful guy
like me.  Miguel thought it was very funny that I had
to go for a long, long run to burn off my energy
before I left for the gym.  But by Saturday Brad was
treating me as I was a buddy, and he seemed to like
standing in front of me towelling himself off and
wagging his dick and balls around as I sat on the
bench in the changing area, still not stripping off my
own things.  It took a real effort of will to stop me
from laughing at his pretensions as he clearly thought
he was so much better than me in every way -  he was
keen to tell me about how much money his dad had, and,
finally, he asked me what kind of car I drove and when
I told him it was just "any old thing" as I wasn't
really interested, he almost laughed out loud.

"Steve, old buddy, if you're going to make a success
here on campus, you're going to have to ditch a car
and get a pony - most of the chicks are really
impressed when I tell them I'm really into ecology and
wouldn't want a car here, and that I leave the Ferrari
at home and use a pony instead."

I looked down as if I was ashamed of being
un-cological, and muttered "Well, money's a bit tight
right now.  Not that it matters.... I don't usually
have a problem with the women...."

"Hey,  Steve, it's all about speed, buddy!  Once they
see my pony and groom, most of the chicks can't wait
to let me get into their pants.  I've pulled more
women in my carriage than I ever did in the
Ferrari..."  He grinned and went on "It's a lot
easier,  I suppose, as there's a lot more room to
manoeuvre in the carriage than in the cockpit of the
Ferrari.  And it's the pheromones, too - I whip the
flanks of my pony and get him racing, and as he gets
worked up into a real sweat, it's gets them all fired
up."

"That sounds a bit cruel.... Whipping the pony so you
can excite some bitch.... I always thought the whip
was just to encourage a pony slave to go faster."

"Don't be fucking stupid, Steve!  He's a slave, and so
what does it matter?  He's only there to serve me, and
if  helps me to have his body covered in sweat and his
butt and thighs running with blood, so be it."

"I'd have thought his screams would put off the bitch
- surely he cries out if you whip him hard enough to
produce  blood..."

"Oh no.  There's no noise, other than the crack of the
whip and the 'snick' as it bites into his skin, and
most of the chicks seem to be quite turned on by that
sound.  No.... He has a bit,  as you may have seen,
and that's fitted permanently between his back teeth,
but what you don't see is that inside the mouth, at
right angles to it, is the tongue suppresser:  it's
got little spikes on the underside, so if he tries to
speak by moving his tongue, it's really painful.
After a few weeks he went totally silent."

"Well it sounds cruel to me...."

"You're too soft, Steve!   My pony is a proper,
trained pony and he's not supposed to speak, any more
that he needs to see, or hear...."

My heart sank as he said this, as I began to realise
that the steel spectacles I'd seen Jeff wearing might
not have been that.  "You didn't have him blinded, did
you...."

"Oh no, he needs to see a bit - I've had him fitted
with blinkers.  They're really good - they look a bit
like sunglasses but they're held around the head
permanently so they don't come off, and there's a very
narrow slit at the bottom.  That means that provided
he holds his head up - and there's a terrible tendency
for ponies to put their heads down as they struggle
with the load, and an owner really wants to see the
head held high, doesn't he? - he can see about three
feet in front of him.  So although I have to steer him
broadly, I don't have to worry about him putting his
foot into a hole, or anything like that.  'Advanced
Pony Training' says it's the best method- when he's
running flat out he's totally reliant on my commands
via the reins for guidance, and he has to have total
confidence in me, and obey the lightest tug on the
reins immediately, if he's not to run into something
and injure himself."

I nodded,  now understanding why Juan had had to lead
Jeff around using his dick as a handle.  Brad went on
"It's like hearing - that's another way that I have
control over him, as he's not distracted by sounds,
well, hardly at all.  I've had his ears filled with
wax, so very few sounds penetrate."

"I never knew all that about ponies...."

"Well it's not all ponies, of course.  But a real
tough one like mine has to be absolutely and
rigorously controlled.  And it's a big turn on for the
chicks, too - seeing a man like me totally dominate
and control my pony:  he's such a big piece of
manflesh, and knowing that I have him totally subdued
and in my power gets them all excited.  Mind you,
having him mostly cut off from the world like that has
its disadvantages - he can't do anything for himself,
can't make his own way back to the stables at the frat
house, for example, so I have to have a groom as well,
which all adds to the expense.  But dad can afford it.
 Although having a groom is not all it's made out to
be - the slave I have had to be really beaten, almost
to a pulp, until he got the message that he was there
to service the pony only in so far as washing him,
grooming him, clearing out the dirty straw from the
stall, and stuff like that:  the kid was found jerking
off the pony, and I don't allow that."

"Well I can see that - I suppose it's not good to have
slaves have sex with each other, and the pony can jerk
himself off."

"Absolutely not!  If he was a real stallion, an actual
pony, he'd only get to breed when he was put to stud -
horses don't jerk off, do they?  And that's true for
my pony, too.  He's absolutely not allowed to jerk
off, as I like him to display 'hard' as much as
possible - I have his dick cinched of course, but the
rest of it is just his natural desire to have sex.
It's another turn-on for the chicks - to see his big
dick all hard, and dripping pre-cum a lot of the time
as he's never allowed release.... It gives them an
idea of what they're going to get from me...."

Although I was appalled at what was happening to poor
Jeff - not being able  even to jerk off must make his
balls painful all the time, after all, I needed to
know more about Brad.  So I just nodded, and said
casually "It sounds a pretty good idea if it really is
a chick magnet, I suppose.  As I said, I don't usually
have problems on that score, but a lot of the bitches
here seem a bit reluctant to put out...."

"Hey, Steve, perhaps I can give you a few tips.... Why
don't you come for a spin with me in the carriage on
Saturday night - we'll hit the bars, see what's what,
pick up a couple of chicks and have a four-way.... You
seem like a pretty buff guy who'd be good to watch in
bed - I've seen you here at the gym and I reckon you'd
really know how to give it to them...."

"Hey, great..... "  Well, if I was going to make
friends with Brad, having a four way with him would be
a pretty good way of going about it, wouldn't it?

We didn't have any "luck" on Saturday night, though.
Brad drove me around from bar to bar, and I had to
watch helplessly as Jeff's flanks and butt turned
crimson with the flecks of blood from the whip lashes.
 I reckon I could easily have fucked quite a lot of
the chicks as when we went in I could see them eyeing
me up, especially as I'd worn really tight jeans that
emphasised the shape of my butt and the bulge at my
crotch.  But the presence of Brad, especially when he
draped his arms over me and called me his "best buddy"
all the  time (even though he'd only known me a few
days) seemed to really put them off.  So by about
eleven Brad decided that "the chicks must all be on
the rag this week" and asked me if I wanted to go back
to his frat house with him to see if any of the guys
there wanted to play cards.

I hadn't actually ridden in Brad's carriage pulled by
Jeff all that much before, so had to sit and endure
seeing poor Jeff being whipped unmercifully by Brad as
we made out way back to the frat house.  What must it
be like for Jeff, I wondered - unable to see, unable
to hear, and unable even to make any vocal protest at
his treatment.  He was no longer a slave, as the slave
at Brad's home had hinted at - no, Jeff was now lower
than this, if such a thing is possible:  he'd been
turned into a mere beast, a beast ornamented to amuse
his master's perverted whim of what a slave should
look like;  a beast that was treated cruelly and
capriciously in a way that would raise protests if
anyone saw an owner treating a dog like that.

At the frat house Brad asked me if I'd mind going
around to the stables with him "It's a real bore -
usually I have the groom along and he leads the pony
around the back to them", he told me.  "But this
afternoon I needed to chastise him on his back and
buttocks, and perhaps I was just a little too rigorous
with the ship as genuinely seemed unable to move
afterwards - I say genuinely, as even when I began to
whip the front of him, he remained writhing on the
floor.  Still, I expect he'll be able to work
tomorrow, although I'm now inconvenienced by having to
stable the pony myself."

Although I was horrified at this news about Juan, I
was nevertheless intrigued to see how Jeff was
stabled, so I just nodded.

At the door of the stables one of the frat house
slaves came up at once and Brad immediately ordered
him to take Jeff inside, unfasten him from the
carriage, then feed him and tether him for the night.
He then decided he needed to stand there and
supervise, adding to me "These slaves don't really
know what to do, and the pony's a valuable animal and
I don't want him harmed, so I'd better stay and
supervise.  Go along in and have a drink...."

"Oh, I'd be quite interested in watching - as you say,
he's a fine pony, and I don't suppose I'll ever be
able to own a beast like that, so it would be kind of
interesting to see how it's done, especially by a
skilful owner like you."

Brad seemed to preen himself as I praised him, and
began ordering the slaves around.  Jeff seemed really
docile as he was unshackled from the pulling poles of
the carriage, but then when one of the slaves went to
lead him to his stall by the elbow, he started to get
distressed - I suppose because he realised it wasn't
Juan.  Brad roared that the pony had a perfectly good
dick, sticking out conveniently to lead him by, and
when Jeff felt a hand on his dick that was clearly not
Juan's, he began to toss his head and turn, as if to
try to see where Juan was - obviously totally without
success.

They led him to a narrow stall, with wooden sides on
both sides and straw on the floor.  To my horror I saw
that already lying on the straw was the bloody body of
Juan - who tried to move as Jeff approached, but only
half succeeded.  Still, at least he was alive (and, I
suppose fortunately for me, he was in no position to
recognise me).  Jeff stood there uncertainly, perhaps
scenting the smell of Juan's sweat and blood (if
indeed Brad had not had his sense of smell tampered
with!), but when one of the slaves pressed down on his
shoulders, he sank to his knees - perhaps glad of
being able to take the weight off his feet al last.
Brad then supervised the preparation of Jeff's feed -
a carefully measured quantity of slave chow went into
a bucket (with Brad explaining how important it was to
give him just enough to be able to work, but not quite
enough to maintain full body weight so that Jeff's
ribs would stick out rather appealingly through his
skin.  The slave chow was mashed with a measured
quantity of water, and the slaves then produced a
funnel, with a long flexible spout on the end of it.
I watched almost in horror as Jeff opened his mouth -
I could see the ugly long metal thing holding his
tongue down now - and the salve inserted the spout,
pushing it towards his throat and triggering the gag
reflex.  The slave went to pull it back, but Brad
snapped "No, you fools!  The pipe has to go down his
throat, or else the feed will go into his lungs!"

The slaves pressed on, and Jeff's distress seemed to
calm, as I suppose he was used to this by now.  The
feed was then poured in and disappeared down into his
body, and I was reminded of those pictures I'd seen of
a woman force feeding geese in France to make foie
gras - the funnel was rammed down their throats and
the food forced down it - although there the idea is
to overfeed the geese, and poor Jeff was being
systematically starved to enhance his appearance in
his owner's eyes.

Brad saw me looking rather shocked at all of this and
said "Oh, Steve, for goodness sake!  How else do you
think he gets fed, with the bit and the tongue
suppresser permanently in place?  He can't chew, he
can't swallow properly..."

"But he was gagging...."

"Only for a few moments.  He's perfectly used to being
fed like this."

As I watched, the last drop of feed disappeared into
him, and the slaves tugged at him to get  him to
stand.  A thick wooden pole was placed across the
stall a few feet in, and Jeff was led up to it so that
his belly was against it.  The slaves then went around
to the front of him, stepping over the body of Juan,
and Jeff bent forward:  there was a small ledge
sticking out from the front of the stall and I saw him
rest his head on it, and the slaves then pulled each
of his arms forward in turn, and attached each of his
cuffs to tethering points so that his body was
stretched out horizontally.

Brad turned to go, and I gasped "Is that all...?"

"Oh yes, he's in his nighttime position now.
Look....."

Brad ran his hands down Jeff's thighs, then rested
them on the superb muscles of his butt, and invited me
to do the same.  "Feel the power and strength here",
he told me.  "I guarantee you won't find stronger and
sturdier musculature on a slave anywhere - and it
comes from having them in constant use.  And, after
all a real pony always stand, doesn't he?"

I had to agree that what he said was  true - Jeff had
always been powerfully muscled, but as my hands ran
almost lovingly across his butt, they were even
firmer, bigger and stronger than I remembered.

Just as we finished, there was a most unpleasant noise
and a torrent of semi-solid shit poured out of Jeff's
butt as he stood there and landed onto the straw
below.  I expected Brad to be annoyed, but he just
said to me "Sorry, Steve... I should have thought
about that.  Once the feed gets inside him it seems to
trigger his reactions, and it comes out the other end.
 Just like a pony, he drops his shit whenever he wants
to, although he usually manages to avoid doing it on
the public highway as otherwise his groom has to clear
it up, and quickly wash his thighs.  It's not so bad
here in the stables as he has his legs well apart, and
the straw adsorbs most of it."

Jeff now began to piss, the water hosing in a
veritable torrent down into the straw, and almost
hitting Juan as he lay there.

"It's worse for the piss, though", Brad told me.
"He's got in to the habit of doing it all the time
when we're out driving, even when ladies are
watching!"

"I don't suppose he knows they are, as he can't
see...."

"You know , Steve, I'd never thought of that!  Perhaps
I've been punishing him for pissing a bit
unnecessarily.  But no matter - he's a lazy slave ,and
a bit of additional punishment never hurts them."

I was seething inside.  Jeff was being treated like a
mere beast, but when he acted one, quite unable after
all to defecate or urinate in a civilised way, he was
being punished for doing it.  They had ripped away his
humanity, his basic rights, in a way that left him
even worse than a slave.  How did he feel, standing
there pissing, unable to move, to hear, to speak, to
see...?

Leaving Jeff standing there, we moved to go into the
frat house.  I turned as we walked and saw Jeff
shifting his weight from foot to foot, and I could
only imagine how terrible it must be, never to be
allowed to lie or sit,.  How on earth did Jeff ever
manage to sleep properly?  I asked Brad, but he
shrugged and said he didn't know - he supposed that
Jeff dozed on and off - but what did it matter?  If he
ever started to fall asleep when he was in the
carriage, he could easily be whipped back to life.

End Of Part Sixteen