Date: Sun, 18 Jan 2004 08:04:21 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Willing Slave, Parts 23&24

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 23

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


My owner told me to go into the centre of Town later
that week as he needed to go to the barber.  "I've got
to look neat and business-like, Steve", he told me as
I jogged along.  "Most of my clients are very
conservative, and like to see a professional looking,
well, 'professional'."

I pulled up out side the barber, and waited by the
kerb for my owner to re-appear.  There were a number
of other traps with their ponies there, but I could
tell that they were not properly trained, as I had
been:  when you're a graduate of a proper training
ranch you know that you stand quietly between the
shafts of your cart when you're waiting, and you don't
go and sit on the kerbstone and chat to other slaves!
It looks slovenly, and shows that you're not properly
focused on the needs of your owner.

A couple of minutes after I'd arrived another trap
pulled up, and, whilst keeping my head facing forward,
I was able to take a sideways glance at it - like me,
the slave was standing quietly, facing forward.  Well,
at least there was one other properly trained slave in
this place!

My owner came out accompanied by another master, and
this other master got into the trap I'd been
observing, and it set off.  My owner said "Steve -
follow that trap, as I've been invited for a drink
with the master who owns it.  It should be easy enough
to find, though - he has the mansion next door!"

We swept up the drive to the place, which must have
been five or six times the size of my owner's - when
I'd been there before to borrow the ladder I'd only
seen the slave quarters, and now I could see the
entire mansion, it was truly impressive.

The other master alighted from his trap and waited to
greet my owner.  They went up the impressive steps
into the mansion, and the other trap pulled away to go
around the back to the stables. I resigned myself to
waiting by the front steps for my owner, and stood
there relaxed and "eyes front".  I did need a piss,
though, but of course there was no possibility of this
as I could not leave the trap and go into the lush
bushes that edged the drive, could I?

Fortunately though, a few minutes later the chief
slave who I'd met before came around the side of the
house and told me that my owner had said that I could
go and relax in the stables with the house ponies, as
he intended to be some time.  I trotted around the
back and went into the stables, and there of course
was the guy I'd seen outside the barbers.

He came over, read my arm, and said  "Hi, Steve!  I
thought I was the only properly trained pony around
here.  Glad to see there's someone else who
understands the proper standards!"

I in turn gripped his arm to see his name, spelled it
out quickly in my head, and responded "Matt, good to
meet you."

"Want a drink, Steve?  Been out all day?"

"Yes... I usually run all morning as my owner does his
rounds then.  But I need a piss first...."

Matt put an arm around me and led me off to the
communal shitter, and we both dropped our shorts and
stood there relieving ourselves.  I saw him looking at
my dick, and he exclaimed "Wow!  Where did they train
you.... I didn't know they did that to guys at any of
the good schools...."

"No, Matt.  It was a former owner - he liked decorated
ponies.  Look....."

I pulled my T off to stand there naked, and Matt gave
a low whistle as he saw the tattoos all over my back,
running down to my ass, and the huge words on my
front.

I pulled my clothes back on, and Matt and I went out
to sit in the yard, under a shady tree.  It was great
to have a fellow slave who really understood what it
meant to be a pony.  We shot the breeze for an hour,
talking about where we'd been trained, what our owners
were like, and finally getting on to discussing a
number of local short cuts that I hadn't yet
discovered.  Matt had a lot of free time as he was
mostly used to take his owner to the train station in
the morning and collect him in the evenings, as his
owner worked in New York and was, Matt said, "an
investment banker, or some such.  All I know is that
he makes a lot of money."

Matt told me that the mansion had ten bedroom, an
indoor staff of ten slaves was kept, and that in
addition to Matt there were four other ponies, and
five gardeners making up the outdoor staff.  All of
the slaves were under the control of the head slave,
who basically ran the place for his owner.

I in turn told Matt all I knew about my owner - how he
refused to take money from his father in law, and
insisted on making his own living from the vet's
practice.  "And so you see", I explained, "That's why
there's just me - he can't afford to buy other slaves,
 and the only reason he's got me, rather than some
hack pony, is that my previous owner destroyed my sale
value when he had my dick blackened and those tattoos
put all over me."

"But don't you get lonely...."

"No - I never have time!  I have to pull him from
eight in the morning until around two, when he does
his rounds.  Then during his surgery I have to do all
the yard work, cut the grass, clean the pool....  I
don't have time to get lonely!"

"Yes, but, you know.... At night..... With no other
slaves on the place...."

I blushed then, but decided I shouldn't tell Matt
about my owner's need to be fucked.  It somehow wasn't
the kind of thing a slave ought to reveal about his
owner.

"Yes... I just have to jerk off."

"But...... You know.....  Do you like sex?"

I thought of all the experiences I'd been through, and
how it was only recently that I'd really discovered
how to take pleasure wit other men.  "Hey, of course I
do!  Do you think I'm some sort of queer?  I guess
you're OK, with twenty slaves on the place, there must
be lots of action...."

"Well, yes there is.  But I don't fancy most of the
guys.  The indoor slaves are all young, thin, scrawny
lads - nothing to really get hold of when you're
fucking, and I always think I'm going to hurt them if
I really ram my dick up them.  And the gardeners
mostly keep themselves to themselves - during the day
they're always going off into the bushes for
one-on-one sex, and don't want to play at night.  And
the other four ponies.... Well, they're nice guys, and
they've got good muscular asses, of course, but
they're a bit coarse:  no proper training!  Still, we
do fuck, as you'd expect, but it it's just that -
well, I use their asses quickly, and it's all over."

As he was talking I looked at Matt and saw that we
were very alike - same physique, both handsome, both
fit... I felt my dick stirring in my shorts.  Before I
could stop him, Matt had put one of his hands on my
bare thigh, and started to rub me gently.  I felt the
callouses on his fingers as he stroked them over my
hairy flesh, and felt an immediate affinity for him as
they were the same callouses that I had on my own
hands, from gripping the shafts.

"Hey, Matt, don't....."

"I thought you said you weren't queer!  Don't you
fancy me, or something?"

"No, Matt... I do.  But, you know... My owner's
inside, and might come out at any moment.  It wouldn't
be right, as he'd want to get straight off...."

"Steve, I'm sorry, man!  I should have thought.
You'll be thinking I'm not a proper trained pony..."

I desperately wanted this man, and felt myself
wavering.  But it wouldn't be right.  But I just
couldn't resist putting my and on his thigh and
starting to explore his firm muscles, just as he was
doing to me.  And then we each put a hand on each
other's dick, almost simultaneously.  He was just a
rock hard as I was.

"Hey, man.... You do want it, don't you?"

"Just as much as you do, Matt..."

"Come on then - there's time for a quick fuck... Come
into the slave dorm...."

"No, Matt! Not now!  I'm on duty, remember, even if
you're at home and not needed again today."

He looked at me, then leaned forward and kissed me.
This hadn't happened to me for so long, that I was
caught completely off guard and pulled back.

"Sorry, Steve.... I thought...."

I didn't say anything, but leaned forward and returned
his kiss, squeezing his dick gently as I did so.

We pulled apart, and he looked at me, straight in the
eyes.  "We've got to get together, man", he whispered.

"Yes, but how, Matt?"

We didn't get to finish this conversation as just then
the head slave hurried over to us and told me my owner
was preparing to leave.  I got to my feet,
straightened my T and shorts and went and pulled the
trap around to the front door.  My owner came out with
the master who owner the place, and they seemed to be
on excellent terms - they were joking and smiling, and
shook each other's hand warmly.

As I pulled him down the drive for the short run back
home, my owner told me that they'd reached an
agreement to check with each other when a trip to or
from the station was due, to save unnecessary wear and
tear on the traps.  "So you'll be seeing his ponies
occasionally calling at our house to pick up or
deliver your mistress", he added, "And sometimes
you'll call there on the way to the station to pick up
a passenger."

I thrilled at the thought that there might be
legitimate reasons why I'd see Matt again, but the
news that I'd have to take an extra passenger to or
from the station wasn't so pleasant - as I've told
you, the hills can be a real problem.

My owner had a busy surgery that afternoon, and I
worked away at pool cleaning again - fortunately my
mistress wasn't around, so I was able to enjoy the
feeling of the warm sunshine on my naked body without
the shame of having her see me. Then I dressed and
spent some time raking the leaves that had begun to
fall as the season was starting to change, and I
finally showered and turned in around nine.

I lay there and started to jerk myself off as I
thought about Matt - his muscular body, his attitude
to sex, and the fact that we had so much in common.  I
wondered how long it would be before I could fuck him,
and I almost shot immediately as these thoughts raced
through my brain.  I was almost climaxing, when there
was a tapping at my tiny window - a window I can't
usually see out of, as it's above eye-level.  Curious,
I got out of bed and pulled on my shorts, then went
out into the passage and opened the back door.  As I
did so, arms wrapped themselves around me and a mouth
was pushed against mine!

I was so startled I didn't react for a moment, and
then I thought that there might be burglars, or
something... I went to lash out, but something stopped
me.  The muscles, the smell of the body....

"Hey, Steve...", Matt said in a whisper.

"Matt... What are you doing here...."

"Well, after that talk this afternoon, the least I
could do is come and fuck you...."

"But you'll get into trouble... If you're found to be
missing...."

"Shssshhh... Don't be so silly!  Once my owner's gone
to bed there's never any call for a pony.  And,
anyway, us slaves are not locked in or anything.  They
don't do that to you, do they?"

"No, of course not.  But....."

"But nothing... Stop talking, ask me in, and let's get
naked!"

"Matt, I can't.... My owner will hear.... His
bedroom's just upstairs.... This is not a mansion like
yours, you know."

"OK, where do you keep your trap... Come on...."

We slunk across the yard, not wanting to make any
noise to disturb my owner and his wife, and I opened
the door to the garage as quietly as I could.  It
seemed odd to be in there in the dark, but I didn't
want to switch the light on in case anyone saw.

Matt  seized me then and started to kiss me
passionately, and I responded in kind.  Soon we were
rolling on the floor, our legs intertwined, our arms
running up and down each others' bodies, our tongues
fighting for control of the other's mouth.    I don't
know how we got our clothes off - not that I was
wearing many - but once we were both naked it was even
better as we felt the warmth and sweat on each other,
and our hairy muscles started to slide over each other
in our passion of touching.

It soon became apparent, though, that we had a problem
- each of us wanted to fuck the other. Our passionate
embraces started to get more serious, and we were
almost wrestling.  Each of us was striving for
supremacy, trying to get his dick towards the other's
pucker.  It was as if we were both in a frenzy.  We
both wanted to fuck, we both needed to fuck, and yet
neither of us wanted his ass used.

After about five minutes we broke for air, and as we
lay in each other's arms, sucking in air, I whispered
"This is ridiculous, Matt!  You want to fuck me, don't
you?  And I want to fuck you..."

"Yes..."

"Well I don't take it, unless my owner orders it.
So..."

"Well, neither do I."

"So what are we going to do, Matt?  Fight?"

I could feel him grinning. "No, Steve... Although that
might be fun, it will make too much noise!  Look,
you've probably not fucked anyone for some time,
whereas I have always got the other slaves even though
they're not much fun.  So I'll make an exception, and
you can fuck me this time..... But next time I come
around, it's your ass that's going to take it...."

I'm very conscious that this story is taking a long
time to write, time that I ought to be spending
attending to my owner's business.  So I'm going to
leave a detailed description of that utterly sublime
first time I went up Matt to your imaginations - it
was a warm night, we were already covered in sweat,
and we were two fit, healthy, muscled guys with big
dicks, each of whom wanted sex!  I took him in the
missionary position, as I wanted to prolong the
experience as much as I could, and put into practice
all the stuff Darren had taught me was important.  I
pleasured Matt so much that I had to stop and put my
hand over his mouth several times as otherwise I'm
sure his cries and moans of ecstasy would have woken
my owner up.  I revelled in how that I could control
his body by the way in which I slid in and out of him,
 the force I used and the length of my stroke:  this
was real power!

Afterwards as we lay in each other's arms, Matt said
"So, tomorrow night, same time, same place, but your
ass?"

We kissed again, and then he had to go, and I watched
him lope across the lawn towards the hedge between the
two properties.  Then I went back in as silently as I
could, and lay there thinking about the incredible
experience I'd just had.

The next morning my owner seemed to sense that
something was different, as he commented that I looked
very "chipper" and "almost frisky" as I stood in the
shafts waiting for him to board.  And, in truth, the
morning seemed to fly by  as I raced from appointment
to appointment, eager to get finished, to get all my
yard work done, and then to rest before Matt came that
night.

But it was not to be - as soon as we got home, my
mistress came out and told the vet that she wanted to
go shopping, and so whilst he did his surgery I had to
take her to the mall.  I'd got very wary of my
mistress now, as she seemed to be for ever trying to
find fault with me, and so I carefully changed into a
clean T and shorts before waiting for her to come out.
 And then I ran as fast as I could to the mall, even
though it's four miles and I was already pretty tired.

She spent an interminable time in the mall whilst I
stood at one of the ranks that ponies waited at, and
the afternoon started to get cool as the sun went in
and more seasonal weather started to come through.
Some of the other ponies had their weather capes in
their traps, and were able to swirl them around
themselves to keep warm, but I hadn't been expecting
this change and mine was still at home.  When the
shower started most of the ponies abandoned their
traps to shelter under the entrance, but I didn't as
that's not what a trained pony does, is it?  You stand
in the shafts and wait, always!

When my mistress ultimately did come out she was very
cross because the seat of the trap was all wet.  I did
what any trained pony would do and pulled off my T so
that I could wipe it for her, but I was soaking wet
already and it didn't really make a difference - my
mistress looked crosser and crosser, and finally told
me to put my T back on and get started.  Fortunately
the large owner's umbrella was in its holster at the
back of the trap, so at least she didn't get any more
wet as I raced through what was now a really heavy
downpour back towards our house.

She ran into the surgery when I pulled around into the
yard, and came out with my owner a moment later - all
the patients had gone, and I expect he was catching up
on paperwork.

"Punish him again, now!"

"But my dear..."

"Stop arguing with me! I got soaked because of this
slave's behaviour....  He couldn't wipe the seat for
me as his T was sodden.  And, knowing it was useless,
he still pulled the T off to show those disgusting
tattoos to the whole world.  I've never been so
humiliated.. Everyone will know he's a cheap,
broken-down, old banger, not a proper slave...."

I was astounded!  I was only sodden because she'd
spent so much time in the mall.  And I'd still tried
to wipe the seat.  There wasn't anyone around to see
my tattoos, anyhow - they'd all gone off earlier
because of the rain.

"No, that's not true, my dear.  Steve is an excellent
pony.  Yes, his body leaves a little to be desired now
it's tattooed, but he's fit, young, strong, and works
really hard."

"You fool!  Can't you see that he's only good when
he's pulling you?  When I have to use him he's never
as fast as he should be, and I think he likes exposing
himself - stripping off his T today to show his
disgusting tattoos, having an erection in front of my
friends last week.... I insist you teach him a
lesson."

It was all so unfair.  I really did run fast with her
in the trap - faster even than when my owner was in,
as I tried to please her.

"But I don't think he merits another punishment....
But, if that's what you want..."

"Yes, it is!"

I felt like shouting out in anger.  My owner didn't
think I needed punishment, but was prepared to do it
just to please his wife!  This isn't how slaves were
meant to be handled.  It was unjust to punish a slave
because someone wanted it done, and not in response to
the slave's behaviour. But, at the back of my brain, I
knew that my owner could do what he wanted as he was a
master and I was a slave.  And it was very wrong of me
to be criticising him like this - a proper, true slave
would not do so, I knew.

"Get in here, Steve!", my owner said, and he and his
wife went into other surgery.

I followed them through the waiting room with its
comfortable chairs for owners and plain wooded benches
for slaves, and into his consulting room.

"Strip!", he commanded, "And bend over the examination
table."

I pulled off my T and dropped my shorts, and saw my
mistress's mouth tighten into a half smile as she saw
my wet muscles revealed.  It was utterly humiliating
to bend over the leather of the table, as I knew my
dick and balls would be hanging down between my legs,
clearly visible.

I heard a slithering noise, and saw out of the corner
of my eye my owner pulling his leather belt through
the loops in his pants.  He wrapped the end of it a
couple of times around his fist, positioned himself
behind me, and started to strap me.  He gave me eight
strokes with the belt, and the leather bit into my ass
and made me flinch every time - I had to really grab
the edge of the table with my hands to stop myself
moving, and it was a real effort to stop me screaming
at every blow.  But I was determined not to show
myself to be weak, and managed to keep my mouth
closed, just making deep grunts each time, and
afterwards, when he told me I could stand, I stood
there in front of them, my chest heaving from the
efforts I'd been making.

"Now get out there and clean the pool", my owner
ordered. "It's time to shut it down for the season."

I couldn't help noticing that later on as I was
working away cleaning out all the leaves that had
already fallen into the water my mistress came to
watch.  I guess it amused her to see my naked ass with
the bright red stripes across it as I toiled away, and
I felt so angry that I was just some sort of spectacle
for her. Even though it was getting quite cool in the
late afternoon I knew better than to dare to do
anything in the pool area with any clothes on - it was
difficult enough avoiding displeasing my mistress
doing "ordinary" things, and I knew that she was quite
clear that pool work was always done by totally naked
slaves.

There was only one advantage to being strapped like
that, though:  Matt tapped on my window again that
night, and I got to take his ass again.  Even though
he'd said that it was my turn to get fucked, when he
saw the state of my ass he at once said that it wasn't
fair on me - he didn't want to add to my suffering by
thrusting his body into my ass.  Even so, it was quite
painful for me to fuck him as I drove my ass up and
down and my ass cheeks clenched and strained with the
effort - I like to fuck vigorously, as you know.
Actually, I think the pain I was getting added to the
excitement I felt as I fucked him, and I had a huge
problem in not opening my throat and giving a huge cry
of triumph, my head thrown back, as I finally shot my
load into him.

I had to take my mistress to the station the next day
as she was going to  play in New York with her family,
and I spent all afternoon whilst my owner was in his
surgery raking the leaves up off the lawns.  I
showered carefully afterwards as I was soaked in
sweat, and I wanted to be fresh as I hoped Matt would
come over again.  But just after I'd got into bed, my
door opened and my owner was there again, in his T and
shorts that he wore at night.

It was just like the first time - he fell to his knees
in front of me, and begged me to allow him to suck my
dick.  I very soon realised that he didn't just want
to do this, as the harder and rougher I treated him,
the more he seemed to enjoy it.  As I slapped his face
with my erect dick, I saw his own dick poke out of the
fly of his shorts, erect.

I was getting bolder now, so I snapped "Boy, why are
you wearing those shorts?  Get naked, now!"

He knelt there and very awkwardly pushed them down,
over his erection, and along his legs.  Then he came
back towards my dick, his mouth open.

This time it wasn't my dick that I used to slap his
face with, but my open hand.  I thought he was going
to fall over, as my blow was so hard.

"Boy, I told you to get naked!  And you've still got
your T on!  Are you ashamed of your body?  You can't
hope to be as perfect as me, but a boy must always be
totally visible, totally available, for his boss!"

He hurriedly pulled his T over his head, and continued
to kneel in front of me.  As he moved his mouth
towards me, I clapped him again, on the other side,
and roared "Don't dare to presume, boy!  When you're
allowed to suck your boss's dick, I'll tell you."

He knelt there, looking up at me, and I struck him
again.  "If you're going to be a boy, serving me and
my dick, you need to learn humility.  Bow your head!
And get your hands behind your back!"

"Yes, boss, I'm sorry, boss...."

As he knelt in front of me I felt as if I wanted to
pay him back for the humiliating way he was treating
me, his loyal, trained pony.  I reached down, gripped
his chin and raised his head, then pushed my finger
and thumb into the corners of his mouth to open it and
keep it open.  His eyes were looking up at me, then he
closed them.

I swung my dick at his cheek, that was probably
already stinging from the blow from my hand, and it
made a satisfying  "slap" as it struck him.  "Open
your eyes, boy, and keep them open! You need to see
your boss's dick as it uses you!"

He at once did as he was told, and I guided the tip of
my dick into his mouth, and teased it up and down on
his tongue.  He was making little moaning noises,
moans of pleasure, and this didn't please me.  He
couldn't close his mouth on my dick as my strong
fingers were holding it open, and I thought of just
pushing myself right in and getting him to gag and
choke.  But then I had a better idea.

I allowed my erection to relax slightly, clenched my
ass and squeezed down, and thus managed to start
pissing into his open mouth.  He tried to jerk away
from me but my hand held his head firmly, and he tried
to make protesting noises - noises that were stifled
as his mouth was full of my dick, and full of my piss.
 I let go of my dick, now firmly in his mouth, and
used my hand to pinch his nostrils together as I
continued to fill his mouth with my piss.  His
struggles got more violent for a moment - all to no
avail - and then he had to swallow my piss in order to
be able to breathe.

He continued to make little spluttering noises as I
emptied my bladder down his throat, and he had to
drink it all - only a few dribbles ran down his chin
onto my hand, and when I had finished and pulled my
dick out, I held out my hand to him.

"Lick the piss you allowed to spill off my hand, boy!
And remember this for the next time - if you refuse
your boss's piss, or spill any, I will punish you!  A
good boy is humbly grateful for anything his boss
chooses to give him, isn't he?"

"Yes, boss, yes.  I'm sorry, boss."   His voice
sounded almost as if he was quaking with fear, or was
it with excitement?  I think it must be the latter, as
I noticed that his dick was still completely erect.

His tongue lapped around my hand as I stood towering
over him, and I felt even more powerful and in control
than when he was just sucking me.  But now I needed
proper relief, so I told him to stop.  I sat on the
edge of my bed and looked at him as he knelt before
me, arms again now neatly clasped behind his back.

"Right, boy, I want to see you jerk off.  Get beating
away at that dick of yours, and be sure not to spill
any cum on my floor!  Catch it all in the palm of your
other hand, understand?"

"Boss, yes, boss."

He started to stroke his dick but I could tell he
hated doing it in front of me.  I could see him
blushing as he jerked away, and it seemed to take an
age for him to cum - especially as I added to his
embarrassment and humiliation by saying such things as
"Come on, boy, aren't you virile?" And "You're not a
proper man, boy.... real men cum quicker that this."

Finally his body tensed, and he shot, then continued
to kneel there.

"Present me with your cum, boy.  I want to see what
miserable offering you have for your boss."

He held his hand up, and although there was a
respectable amount of cum there, I sneered "Call that
a load?  Still, it's your funeral!  Your cum is the
only lube I'm going to use.  Now.... Anoint my dick so
that I can slide more easily into that tight asshole
of yours...."

He looked at me, as if he didn't know what I meant.

"Boy, I told you to anoint my dick!  Use some of that
cum to slick my dick.  Make me smooth.  Use your hand
to worship my dick by stroking it with your cum."

He tentatively reached out and went to cup my dick
with his cum-filled palm,

"No, idiot!  Use only some of it!  The rest is to
slick your ass hole...."

He used his other hand then, the hand he'd just been
jerking off with.  He put some of his cum onto it,
reached out, and started to gently slide up and down
my dick.  How different this was, I thought, from when
he'd held my dick before, to 'skin me.  And when he'd
bought me, and inspected me.  Now his hand was
properly respecting my dick, not testing it as if he
was buying some prime piece of animal meat!

I let him stroke me for a few moments, but I was so
excited that I thought that if he went of for too long
I'd cum myself.  Actually, I almost let it happen, as
I thought it would be really humiliating to shoot all
over his face as he knelt there.  But my desire to
fuck was too strong, and so I commanded him to stop,
and use his remaining cum to slick his own hole.

"No! You can't do it kneeling down!  Lie across the
bed, get your legs in the air, and let me see those
fingers right up your hole!", I snapped.

He obviously hated doing this as he looked sullen as
he worked away, and I commented "That's right, boy!
My giant dick is going up your hole any minute now,
and I'm not stopping... So you'd better make yourself
good and welcoming....."

"Right, boy!  Turn over, on your belly, and reach back
and pull your ass open as I'm ready to fuck!"

He did as he was told, and I slapped him hard across
the ass. "Acknowledge orders properly, boy, or else
there'll be more of this!"

"Boss, yes, boss.  I'm sorry, boss."

His words were cut off as I wasted no time and simply
positioned my dick head at his hole and pushed, hard.
Very hard!  He gasped with the pain, as I don't think
he'd really relaxed enough as when there was that
satisfying rush as your flange goes through the
sphincter and it closes again around your shaft, he
cried out.  So I slapped his ass again, and then
started to fuck him.

I was so totally aroused now that I didn't care what I
was doing or whether he was getting proper enjoyment
from it.  I just fucked and fucked, hearing his cries
and seeing his body desperately moving across the bed
as if he was trying to get away from me.  This only
added to my excitement, and made me thrust harder and
harder, deeper and deeper, and I heard my belly really
slapping against his naked ass.

But it was over all too soon, and I shot into him, and
just had to stop.  I fell forward onto him and was so
in charge, so in control.  I wanted to make my mark on
him permanently, and I leaned forward and bit his
neck, feeling my teeth break the skin just under his
left ear.  He moaned in ecstasy as I did this, and
then it was over.

I pulled out of him and stood up, then reached down
and helped him to his feet.  He wrapped his arms
around me and clung to me for a moment or two, burying
his head into the space between my neck and my
shoulder, then he broke away, picked up his discarded
clothes, and left without saying a word.


End Of Part 23

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 24

By Pete Brown     petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


The first time I'd fucked my owner I'd  been terrified
that he would punish me, perhaps even castrate me.
But now as I lay in my bed I wasn't so sure - after
that first time he's never said or done anything to
refer to the incident, so would it be the same
tomorrow?

I eventually drifted into sleep, and the following
morning everything was just as normal!  I waited for
him at the front door, he behaved just as he always
did (except that his ass was evidently sore from my
slapping and pounding), and we went on our rounds.

When we got back in time for afternoon surgery, as he
was getting out of the trap he pointed to a large
sticking plaster on his neck.  "Look at this, Steve",
he said.  "The summer's over, but there's something
out there still biting!  Your mistress would have been
really worried if she'd seen a big bite on my neck and
I was lucky to spot it whilst I was shaving... She'd
have thought there was some terrible bug here in the
yard that needed stomping on!  Mind what you do,
Steve, in case the same thing happens to you."

"Sir, yes, sir!", I mumbled.  This was evidently the
only mention he was going to make of last night, and I
saw now that in my passion it was stupid of me to
leave my mark on him in that way - if my mistress had
seen the teeth marks, she might have assumed he'd been
to some prostitute or other.

I only saw Matt once that week, and even though he
said he was going to fuck me this time, I still took
charge and fucked him.  In fact, I began to see, as
our meetings went on, that Matt liked to brag about
wanting his dick up another guy's ass, but it never
actually happened.  I did wonder whether he really had
ever fucked any of the other slaves at his place, or
whether he was actually a total bottom who liked to
disguise it - some guys don't like to admit to always
bottoming, do they.... although why this is, I can't
imagine.  We're all different, and that's all it is:
I like my dick up a guy's ass, and some guys like
dicks up their asses.

All week long, though, my mistress found constant
little faults with my performance:  My shorts were
crumpled;  I didn't pick my feet up high enough;  I
didn't run fast enough;  I accelerated too violently;
I left too many leaves on the lawn (even though this
was not my job, and how was I supposed to catch those
that fell after I'd just raked it?); I had my weather
cape on (it was cold some days now.  And it was
raining); I didn't have my weather cape on and I was
ruining my clothes....  The list was never ending, and
every day she demanded my owner beat me to "teach me
how to behave properly."

He resisted her every day, except for those days when
she was going into New York.  Then, before she left
for the station, or when she came back, I was called
into the house or the surgery, and caned or strapped
on my naked ass.  And when she was away he'd come into
my room and abase himself in front of me and let me
humiliate him.  I pissed in him, I pissed on him, I
fucked his throat until he vomited, I raped his ass
hard, and dry, I spanked him across my knee:  there
seemed to be nothing  I could do to him sexually that
didn't make him come crawling back for more the next
time my mistress was away for the night.  I began to
see the pattern emerging:  he beat me, supposedly
because my mistress wanted it, although he avoided
doing so all the time and only did it on those days
when I was going to humiliate him, or had humiliated
him.  It was as if he was caning and thrashing me to
recapture his control over me, after he had ceded it
to me in our sexual encounters.

As I lay in Matt's arms one night after I'd fucked
him, I talked about all this to Matt and he told me
that there were some guys who were really turned on my
being used and humiliated.  But that my owner, being a
master, couldn't admit this, even to himself (or
especially to himself?). So he was unconsciously
humiliating me by beating my naked ass in front of my
mistress in compensation.  Well, I thought all this
was bullshit, but it was nice having Matt there in my
arms, talking quietly.  And all this discussion of sex
had made us both hard again, so I fucked him again.


On about the fifth occasion that I fucked my owner, as
he was lying there whimpering on the bed because he'd
not lubed himself enough and felt really sore, I
looked at his body naked underneath me and told him he
was a disgrace!  I was twenty five then, and a
magnificent specimen of a man as you know, and my
owner was probably twenty seven - but, even in the
short time I'd known him, he seemed to be going to
seed a bit.  There were signs of flab forming on his
belly, and I could see his ass muscles were not as
firm as they should be in a guy his age.  We had,
after all, the same general physique but he just never
took enough exercise.

I slapped him hard, on each ass cheek, and snapped
"Quit snivelling, boy!  And next time, when I tell you
to lube yourself, do it properly!  Turn over, on your
back!"

"Boss, yes, boss", he replied, choking back his sobs,
and he lay there in front of me.  I reached down and
pinched the flesh on his belly between my thumb and
forefinger, pulling it up towards me.  He flinched,
and gave a little scream as my grip tightened.

"Yes, boy, you should cry out!  You should cry out in
shame.  Look at this disgusting layer of flab that's
forming on your belly.  And when I fucked you, I could
feel your ass wobbling under me.  Feel my belly,
boy...."

"Boss, yes, boss."  He'd learned to acknowledge all my
commands, as a slave did.  His hand came out and
tentatively, very tentatively, he ran his fingers over
my hard flat belly as I knelt beside him.

"See, boy?  That's what a real man is like.  Little
pussy boys like you have flab instead of muscle. You
need to get in shape, boy, to please me!  I don't wan
to  fuck a fat guy with a wobbling ass - I want to
fuck a real man, boy.  Understand?"

"Boss, yes, boss".

"Now, get out of here, as I want to sleep."

"Boss, yes, boss".  He got up and walked out, and I
got into bed and fell asleep almost immediately.  I no
longer worried at all about him punishing me (other
than the canings or strappings), as it was clear to me
that there was truth in what Matt said:  he did want
to be used, to be humiliated, and having me, a big,
strong virile guy who was also his slave, his
property, do it to him was the complete turn-on for
him.

As we were doing our rounds the following morning my
owner had me turn into the mall, and wait for him.
This was very unusual, as it was normally only my
mistress who went to the mall and my owner did not
seem interested in shopping at all.  He then told me
to drive to the station as my mistress was expected
back from New York, and I had to drag them both up the
hill home, before completing our rounds.  My mistress
also had a whole load of packages from the New York
stores, and they went in to the house laughing about
who might have spent most - as if there was any
contest:  I knew that my mistress spent a fortune in
the stores, as she never failed to come back from New
York without some shopping.

I was raking the last of the leaves up from the lawn
and was bagging them later that afternoon, when my
mistress came out of the house.  My owner was in the
surgery, and there were a couple of ponies waiting
outside whilst their owners were inside with other
slaves.

"Ah, Steve.... I've bought you some new clothes for
the winter season.  Strip off, and put them on, and
let me see how they suit you."

I went to go back to the house to change, but she
snapped "You can't do anything right, can you?  I
order you to strip off and try on the new clothes I've
bought, and you walk away!  Now, do as I say,
immediately!"

There, in the cold, in the middle of the lawn, with my
mistress and the other ponies watching, I had to pull
my T over my head and drop my shorts.  She gave a
little snort of disgust as my tattoos and blackened
dick were revealed.

"Here:  cover yourself, quickly!  I don't want to be
revolted longer than necessary...."

Well, the T was OK, I suppose.  It had long sleeves
and a medium high neck, so that my tattoos were
concealed.  But it was made of some sort of elastic
fabric, so it was skin tight:  you could see all my
muscles clearly outlined through it, and the nipple
rings showed through quite clearly.  The shorts were a
disaster, though:  most slave shorts that all slaves
work in come down to the knee, as we all know.  But
these were cut with extremely short legs so that all
my thighs were exposed, and at the back they stopped
just where my ass cheeks started to curve in.  They,
too, were of the tight, stretchy material and they
were unlined, so you could see the outline of my dick
as it lay there against me.

"Excellent!  I'll be setting a new fashion in
Scarsdale with these new clothes", my mistress
commented. "A big slave like you shouldn't be confined
in those standard Ts and shorts - you need to be able
to stretch your muscles properly..... And, slave, now
I can see your legs properly!  My father always
believes a slave can be 'encouraged' to work just that
little bit harder by the judicious use of the whip,
but I haven't been able to have you run without a
shirt because of your disgusting tattoo.  But now that
your legs are almost completely exposed... Well, we'll
see how much better you perform when I'm able to give
you a little encouragement with a fine, stinging
tawse."

Oh no, I thought.  We were back to the sort of
unnecessary "encouragement" that Master Jason and
Master Scott used to do.  Didn't they know that I
worked as hard as I possibly could?  It's not right to
make a pony run flat-out all the time:  as a
professional worker I needed some scope to set my own
pace, so that when I started to tire I could slow down
a bit and thus prolong the actual total time I could
run for.  It's rather like a laptop - you can't run it
with the screen on full for a long period when it's on
batteries - you need to tone it down a bit to prolong
the battery life if you're going on a long journey

The next morning I was in for a surprise, though, as I
was still lying in my bed when the door opened and my
owner came in.  He was wearing a T and running shorts,
and fancy new trainers.  I wondered at first if I was
supposed to humiliate him, and that this was some
bizarre new fetish he wanted to indulge in - appearing
in front of me in slave uniform.  But then I noticed
that the T and shorts could never really be mistaken
for slave ones, as they were in high-quality fabric
not the coarse cotton we wore, and were fashionably
cut with piping on the legs and a famous logo on the
breast.  It's just as well I hadn't started to do
anything to him, as he looked down at me and snapped

"On your feet, slave!  I know it's early, but that's
no excuse for slovenliness!"

I leapt to my feet, conscious that my morning hard-on
was causing my dick to stick out at right angles fro
me.  My owner, having established where we were at in
the relationship, went on, more kindly, in the tone he
usually adopted when we were working:

"A new routine for you, Steve.  I've decided that I'm
not working out enough.  I used to be a jock at High
School and College, you know, but the pressures of
business life have caused me to lose tone.  So I've
decided to do something about it -  I don't have time
to go to the gym, but I can do a daily run.  And it's
very boring to run alone, and as I've got a good,
trained runner as a slave, it will be rather like
having my own personal trainer.  Now, hurry up - I
haven't much time - get your kit on:  you can shower
when you get back, ready for proper work."

This was the first time I' worn the new stuff my
mistress I'd bought, and my owner stood there as I
struggled to pull the tiny shorts up over my body, and
stuff my still-erect dick into them. I pulled the T
over my head and smoothed it down over my muscles, and
I needed to reach up and "settle" my nipple rings as
the fabric was so tight.  I didn't have any running
shoes, of course, as my feet were toughened after all
my training and years of work, so I was soon ready.

Well, that first day was ridiculous!  My owner could
barely do half a mile before he was gasping and
wheezing, and of course it was absolutely no problem
for me - I wasn't even breathing hard.

"Stop a minute, Steve!, he groaned.

I danced around on the spot, to show him what a wimp
he was, and said, as cheerfully as I could  "Sir,
please sir, if you stop now, the exercise won't do you
as much good.  You have to work until it really hurts,
sir.  So please carry on, sir."

"No, Steve, I don't think I can."

"Sir, please sir... If you want to improve your body,
give yourself something that will  be really
pleasing..."  As I said this, I lowered my tone and
tried to sound menacing... "Then you've just got to
punish yourself, sir.  If you want to please someone
with your body, sir, it takes effort, sir...."

I think he got the message, as he kind of sighed and
we set off again.  He wasn't really trying, though,
and I shouted "Sir, please come on.... Try following
me... Try to keep up...."

I was in a real dilemma.   He'd said he wanted a
personal trainer, and so I thought he wanted me to
make him work a bit.  And I knew that he was doing
this as during our sex play I'd as much as commanded
him to do something about his body.  At the same time,
we were owner and salve, and we weren't role-playing
in the bedroom now:  we were out on the road, in
public.  So how far could I go in ordering him on, and
in criticising his athletic performance?

Well, we kind of worked it out - I remained
respectful, larded my commands with lots of "Please,
sir", and made absolutely no reference to his need to
improve his body in order to satisfy me - I made out
that it was to please his wife, my mistress.  And he
kind of protested, told me it was OK for me, as I was
used to it, and that kind of stuff. We might almost
have been two free men, one of whom was being employed
by the other as a personal trainer, rather than being
owned by him.

That first morning it didn't take all that long for
our run, and when we got back I had plenty of time to
shower and shave and present myself at the front door
as usual for our rounds.  That afternoon it was very
different, though:  my mistress came out and said she
had visits to pay, and also wanted to go to the mall.
It's really tough on me when she does this, as I'm
already mostly "run out" from my morning's real work,
and I sensed that this time she was going to make me
go to the friends who lived the farthest away, and to
buy lots of really heavy stuff at the mall on the way
home.

And I was right!  There was no way I could "pace"
myself to get through the big mileage she wanted me to
do - as soon as she got in she said, in a very
uncompromising tone, "Now, slave, you're to run fast
as I have a lot to do this afternoon.  And I'm glad to
see you're wearing your smart new clothes, so your
legs are unrestrained and that should be a help to
you.  It will be particularly good as I can help you -
on my father's estate I was known as a really expert
horsewoman, renown for getting the most out of pony
slaves, and it will be good to practice again:  I've
bought myself a new carriage lash, and I'll be using
it to make sure your performance remains satisfactory.
 Now.... On!"

We'd hardly got out of the drive and on to the road
before the first stinging lash hit me.  It was only a
light "carriage" whip as she'd said, not a heavy
flogger designed to bruise, batter and break the skin,
and it was more of a heavy irritant, really - like the
sharp, insistent pain of an insect sting when it hit,
and a continuing high nagging whine at the muscles
thereafter.  I guess it was true, that she was a
so-called "expert", as the dammed thing never seemed
to catch the same part of my thighs twice- she played
the strokes all the way from my ass down to my ankles,
so that the whole of my legs felt they were on fire.

I don't think I've ever run as fast for so far.  It's
true - a whip does make you work differently:  I would
have done anything to avoid the next stinging lash at
me.  Perhaps there is something in what some owners
believe about the way to make a slave really work -
but, on the other hand, she totally exhausted me.  In
spite of all my training I couldn't remain standing
when she went in to the mall and had to collapse and
sit on the kerb stone. And I really don't know where I
found the sheer courage to set out on the long journey
home, with the trap loaded with all the heavy
packages, too.

When I stripped off to shower, I looked at myself and
the entire back of my legs was glowing a bright, angry
red.  You could just make out the thin lines of each
individual whip stroke all down them, and even a
gentle massage of warm water didn't really help.  I
just lay on my bed, face down, head cupped in my arms,
and tried to will the pain to go away.  If it was
going to go on like this, I didn't know how I was
going to manage.

The next morning I was deeply asleep when my owner
appeared, ready for his morning run, and this time he
sounded a little angrier.  "Slave, you weren't up
yesterday, but I would have expected you to know now
that we're going to run every morning - make sure
you're not like this tomorrow!  Now, let's get
off...."

I was so stiff and my legs ached so much, not just
from the whipping, but because of the incredible
distances I'd had to run the previous day, mostly flat
out!  So I was glad, really, that we were doing this
exercise - it eased me in to the day, and was rather
like an extended warm-up for the rest of my work.

My life now became a hell of work, work, work,
leavened only by the occasional fantastic evenings
with Matt, and the bizarre nights when I humiliated my
owner.  Look, I'm not complaining - I'm  slave, and a
slave expects to work hard in his master's service.
But what I was asked to do went far beyond the work
that any man's body can carry on doing.  A pony isn't
meant to run flat out all the time, and now my mileage
was far in excess of what I'd been trained for:
firstly, as my owner got better and better at running,
our morning "training" sessions got longer and longer
- and harder and harder for me.  He had been a jock
earlier in his life, as he'd told me, and as his body
got fitter and fitter, so he was able to run further
and faster.

After our morning workouts, when he was then able to
"rest" at work, my work consisted of doing more
running, pulling him around in his trap.  And in the
afternoon, when I might be recovering, I was required
to pull my mistress around on her social rounds, and
this was no gentle trot - she was proud of the way she
made me go flat out, using her supposed skills with
the whip!  Even if she didn't want to pay calls, there
was the yard work - pushing the mowers when the grass
was growing, sweeping the leaves, pulling the weeds,
raking the drive, cleaning the pool - they really
needed a full-time gardening slave, but my owner
insisted that he didn't want to spend money on this,
as he valued his independence from his wife's family
money.

Most nights I was completely exhausted, and just
collapsed into bed.  I needed no entertainment, no TV
or anything (not that there was one in my slave room)
- I just wanted to lie on my bed and sleep.  Although
I longed to feel Matt's body wrapped around me, in
some ways it was even a relief when he didn't appear -
I could then sleep on!

My owner's clandestine visits to my room also
continued, generally about once a week, when my
mistress was away for the night in the city.  In some
ways it was therapeutic - I worked out some of the
frustration and anger that I was experiencing as a
result of my treatment, and found new ways to
humiliate him.  I made him drink my piss, ream my ass
when I'd deliberately not cleaned it properly after
crapping, take my semen in every conceivable orifice
(he must have had a hard time cleaning out his ears
after I shot into them), and sometimes I shot all over
his face so that it dripped down and fell off his chin
as he knelt in front of me.  But mostly I just fucked
him, hard, with no regard for his pleasure, just my
own desire to dominate him and punish him - sometimes
up his ass, and sometimes down his throat until he
gagged and vomited.  I slapped him about a bit, and
told him his body, in spite of all his exercise, was
still flabby and not at all like that of a real man,
me!

Although these sessions thrilled and excited me, they
exhausted me, too.  And even worse were the
accompanying canings and lashings from my owner -
every time he abased himself totally with me for the
night, there was an associated caning or strapping on
my bare ass, supposedly in response to my mistress's
constant stream of trivial complaints.  There's just
no way you can ever get used to taking a really tough
punishment like this, and I dreaded each time I was
called in front of them, and ordered to strip and bend
over to take my punishment.

I got used to wearing the tiny shorts and to having my
body exposed, and ceased to notice the looks of the
pedestrians as we passed, or hear the comments of the
other ponies when we were "parked" at the mall, or at
another house.  In fact, they were even an advantage
on some occasions:  I've told you how in the cold and
wet weather we used "weather capes" - big, heavy
waterproof fabric coverings that fitted from our
shoulders and went down almost to the ground.  They
were deliberately loose, so that our running
underneath them should be uninhibited.

In the very coldest weather it was sort of permissible
for pony slaves to leave the shafts of their traps and
huddle together for warmth whilst they waited for
their owners - some houses provided shelter, or let us
use the regular stables, but there was no protection
at the train station, for example.

When I was waiting to collect my owner or my mistress
in the winter I used to join the huddle of other
slaves, and it was usual to open your cape, move your
body as close to another slave as you could, and then
swirl both capes closed around you.  It was kind of
"snug" like this, inside two layers of impervious
material, with the rain or snow lashing down outside,
and with another guy's warm body close to you.  One
advantage of my tiny shorts was that it was easy for
the other guy to feel my powerful thigh muscles, and
to slip his hand up the leg of my shorts or down from
the waist. - it was much more difficult for me to
reciprocate when he was wearing normal slave shorts,
and usually you had to push them down:  but of course
if you inadvertently let them go so that they fell to
the floor, it was absolutely not the done thing to do.
 Slaves were allowed to huddle together for warmth,
not for sex!  Once the other ponies knew that it was
easy to enjoy my dick (and that I had a really good
set of tackle to match my body), I was very much in
demand and I only had to appear at the train station
and there would be several other guys really eager to
get wrapped up with me.

Although my life was hard, some would say harsh, I
accepted it.  Well, what could I do to change it?
Matt and I sometimes talked about it, and wondered
what life would have been like for us if we hadn't
lost out in the lottery  - but you can't change
things, can you?  And although my owner - as a result
of the prompting of his bitch of a wife - didn't treat
me as well as he should, I suppose that, all things
considered, life wasn't all that bad.  After all, I
was now twenty seven, I had a superb body, I was
extremely fit and healthy, I got regular sex with a
guy I loved, and doses of hard, fun sex as an added
spice, and I had absolutely no worries:  I looked at
my owner, who was twenty eight, and saw how the
stresses and strains of dealing with his business, and
his wife were affecting him,  and I decided I really
wouldn't want to swap roles with him.

Although I didn't worry about it, or even think about
it much,  suppose I did sometimes wonder what was
going to happen to me - although I guessed I could go
on being a pony slave for my owner here in suburban
Scarsdale for ever.  All of that changed, though, and
in a most unexpected way.

One night, I suppose it was about eighteen months
after he had first done so, my master appeared in my
room as usual as my mistress was in New York.  I stood
and pointed at the floor, and he stripped off his
clothes and knelt in front of me as he'd learned to
do, and humbly kissed my feet.  He stayed there, his
lips pressed to the top of my toes, waiting to hear my
orders and understand how he was to be used that
night.

"Boy, I'm real horny.  Get on the bed, on your back,
and get those ankles up around your neck.  I need to
fuck a tight ass, and I need to fuck it hard.  I've
been working all day, and my dick needs to shoot.
Now, Move!"

I hadn't fucked him dry for some time, and I thought
it would be a nice change to hear him squeal as I went
into him with only the benefit of a little spit on my
dick.  I'd found it was particularly humiliating for
him - and gave me a great thrill of power - top make
him kneel in front of me and jerk off, so that he
could use his own seed to slick his hole and grease my
dick.  But you shouldn't allow a boy to get "used" to
things, should you?  A top needs to do what he likes,
to modify the session as it pleases him.  And tonight
I didn't want to wait around whilst he jerked off and
laboriously stretched himself to ease the pain of my
dick - I really wanted to get down to fucking
immediately.

He did as I'd commanded, of course, and as I went to
kneel between his upturned legs, I saw tears streaming
down his face.  Well, that wasn't right, was it?  I'd
not started to hurt and humiliate him yet.

Even though I was pretty pissed off at him for my
general treatment, he was a man, like me.  And he
seemed to be a man in trouble.  I responded as any guy
would, and helped him to sit up.  I sat beside him on
the bed, and put my big strong arm around his
shoulders.

"Hey, boy, what's the matter?  I haven't started
yet.... And, as you know, I don't really hurt you... "

"No, boss... It's OK...  Please start.  Take your
pleasure from this boy, as he deserves...."

"No, boy!  Your mind is not focussed on giving me
pleasure.  I don't play with boys who are not giving
me 110%.  So change your attitude, boy, or get out!"

It occurred to me that rejecting him utterly might be
the ultimate humiliation for him.  But he clung to me,
and as the tears continued to flow, he started to sob
out his story.

"Boss, it's almost over!  It's finished.  I've been to
seethe doctors in New York, as you know."

Well, I had taken him to the train station once or
twice recently, so that was why.  But I began to get
worried - had they told him he'd got only a short time
to live?

"There's nothing can be done about it.  It's a genetic
problem.  No operation or anything can change it.... "

"Hey, boy, surely there's something....."

"No.  I'm a vet, and I know all about the male
reproductive system.  I've been to see the best
people, and it's true:  I'm shooting blanks.  My
semen's useless...."

So that was it.  Well, so fucking what? Since becoming
a slave,, that was how I was, too. Still, I really
wanted to help him, just as any guy would help
another.

"Hey, boy... It doesn't matter!  When you shoot for me
it's perfectly OK.  Nice volume, good texture, proper
force... Now, stop being a stupid fucker, get down on
your knees, and prove to me that you're still able to
fill your palm with cum!"

No, boss.... It's just that... Well, I can't father a
child.  Everything else is normal, but the little
swimmers aren't viable."

So?  No big deal, I thought.  I'd been routinely
vasectomised, as you know, and I couldn't father a
child, either,  not that I'd ever be allowed to fuck a
woman anyway.

"Hey, boy, that's no problem.  You're my slave boy,
and slave boys are all infertile.  I'm infertile,
too... All slaves are routinely vasectomised, so
where's the big deal?  You're fine,... Now, get down
on my dick - I want you to suck a big load of 'dead'
sperm out of me...."

I felt his body stiffen, and change.  Something
happened.

"Listen, Steve.  It's OK for you, you're a slave.
Slaves don't breed, as everyone knows.  That's why
they're all routinely tied off when you report at
sixteen.  But it's different for owners - there are
few enough of us real men around with so many being
taken by the lottery, and we're expected to perform
and produce kids."

I noted the change to "Steve" rather than "Boss", and
I supposed our little fantasy was over for today, and
he was owner, and I was slave again.  I wondered if I
ought to remove my arm from around him, but he kind of
answered this for himself by moving even closer to me,
and putting his head down on my pecs.  His voice
lowered, and he went on:

"It's even worse for me.  I came from a poor
background, but did well at college.  Your mistress's
family are rich - real old money - and they didn't
want her to 'waster' herself on a poor kid like me.
But she liked my dick, and we were fucking like
stoats, and she told them she was going through with
it.  So then her old man told me I'd got to give up
being a vet, and he'd find me a well-paid job in his
investment bank. But I wasn't going to be subordinate
to my father in-law - it would be hard enough to
control my wife as it was, with her background.  So I
told them I was going to be a vet, as that's my
vocation.... I like helping slaves!"

"They keep trying to control me, though - they bought
me a practice as soon as I'd graduated.  And then, as
you know, we moved here as they demanded it and my
wife wanted to be near them. I couldn't refuse, as
they owned the mortgage there, as they do here."

"Her folks are always on about having a grandson, and
the need for continuity in the business... And she
keeps telling me we've got to have a kid, as her
parents want.  And I've done everything I could -
fucked away until I was exhausted, read all the right
books, all that kind of stuff.  Finally she went to
her specialist in women's things and was tested, and
she's OK....  She and her father are insisting that I
go off and get tested, too, and I know that if I do,
they'll demand to see the results - or bribe my doctor
to show them anyway - and then they'll know it's my
fault.  I can't father kids.  I can't give them the
heir they want.  So she'll divorce me, and then I'll
lose this practice.. "

I interrupted him, gently, recognising my proper
status... Sir, I thought you said you'd been tested,
sir....."

"Don't interrupt, Steve!  I had the tests done
secretly, telling her I was going to a meeting of the
US Veterinarians New York chapter.  If I'd gone to a
specialist with them knowing, they'd have the results
themselves now, one way or the other."

"So I reckon I've only got two or three months now",
he went on.  "If she doesn't get pregnant in her next
three cycles, I guess her dad will persuade her to
divorce me anyway....."

"Sir, surely they can't do that, sir?  You and the
mistress don't fight, you don't chase other women, in
fact...."  I stopped, as I realised that I was about
to say something about the "other" side of my owner,
the side that didn't chase women at all but needed to
be humiliated by a big stud like me.

"Look, Steve, you just don't realise what money can
do!  If her family want a divorce, they'll just buy
one  - find someone to testify that I'm cruel, or
really look at my everyday life...."  He stopped, too,
and perhaps he had the thought that private detectives
might start to investigate his life in detail.  Did he
think that I'd ever tell?  How could he think that I'd
betray him, as I'm a properly trained, loyal, slave.

"No, Steve.  I can't take the risk.  Something has to
be done, and done quickly."

He got up, and left my room.  I sat there, numb.  What
could he do?  I really hoped that whatever it was it
didn't involve disposing of me!

End Of Part 24