Willing Slave

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 25

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir, thank you, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir, please sir....?"

"Yes, Steve, you can speak."

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

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

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

"Sir, yes, sir."

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

"Sir, thank you, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

He reached over and started to jerk me off, and I was aching for relief. His hand only slid up and down my shaft once or twice, and I felt myself starting to shoot - he was prepared, though, and just at the critical moment pushed my dick down, hard, so that I groaned with ecstasy, and my cum shot into a small glass dish he was holding. I pumped and pumped away -

I had four "aftershocks", I seem to remember, as my balls continued to spew out cum. And all I could do was sit there and gasp - the pleasure and the relief after not being able to have sex was so great. I don't think I'd ever gone for such a long period before!

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir, yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Boss... I got you to fuck a woman some weeks ago, and I mentioned that it might be necessary to do it again.

Well, it isn't, boss. So you'll only be using me from now on, boss."

"What do you mean, boy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End Of Part 25

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 26

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right. A proper pony. Not like this mad beast here.

Now, my slave is collecting my luggage and it can go in your trap, but the slave can run behind - he's a pony, and I've bought him with me as your master says I can borrow one of your traps."

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

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

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

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

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

All night I was hoping Matt would come over and tell me more about the visitors, but there wasn't the scratch on the window to tell me to go and let him in.

I thought about slipping out and going over there, but my mistress's time for going to the hospital was so close that I knew I had to be instantly available - it would be terrible if she needed to go as the birth had started and I was n' there to pull her and my owner in the trap. So all I could do was lie there, trying to sleep, yet consumed with curiosity about Darren and Sam.

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

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

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

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

"Master Darren?"

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

"But how....?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did you know all this, Sam?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, as far as I can tell, the slave's in good physical condition. No, excellent physical condition.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End Of Part 26