FALSELY ENSLAVED
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Four
When you've got no interests in your life - no home, no family, no sports to watch, no career to progress, no vacations, nothing like that - you might think that time would hang heavy on your hands and the days would drag along. But we were effectively working seven days a week, and, as I've explained, very often very long days. We were always pretty tired, but, on the other hand, that meant that time seemed to fly by - the semesters, the big holidays, the shipping to and from the Walker Plantation kind of punctuated our year. Before I knew where I was almost, Sam and I had been Brett's ponies for the best part of three years.
We'd learned, of course, that being in Raleigh was no picnic! Yes, it is a bit cooler in the summer, but in the winter it can be fucking cold, and we even had snow once or twice. It's no fun standing there in your bare feet (even feet with thick slabs of hard skin on the underside) on icy ground, and when you're totally naked and when the temperature is right down, it doesn't matter how hard you exercise, you still shiver and shake. There's also the problem of rain around there - not only does rain make you cold (try standing in a cold shower for an hour or two and you'll see what I mean), but they also have violent storms and if you're out in those there's the added problem of the fact that it physically hurts as the huge drops slam into you. Fortunately, of course, as Brett's trap was totally open and as he didn't like to get wet, he did mostly try to avoid going out in the rain, and so we were only exposed to it if the weather turned when we were already on the road. Even then, Brett tended to call a cab from his cell phone and drove on in comfort, whilst we were left to fend for ourselves. There was no way of avoiding he cold, though, and Brett seemed to be annoyed at us when our dicks shrivelled and shrank from it. Some of the other ponies had nice winter jackets and leggings, but Brett was heard to scoff at this, saying that in his book Wright said that a pony could easily get used to the weather and it "toughened him" and was generally a good thing. Mind you, he did eventually give us one of the picnic blankets from the frat house to be kept in the back of the trap - one of the old ones they were replacing - and he did toss it around our shoulders when we were standing outside somewhere waiting for him, and it did help a bit.
It was our bad luck that in his second year Brett fell in with a local girl, a rich local girl, that is to say. She'd seen us in the street waiting for Brett outside his hairdresser, and seeing him coming out, stopped to complement him on his perfect choice of stock. It was all "southern courtesy" then, with Brett saying it was nothing, and the girl saying that he must have a good eye, and so on: it made me almost want to vomit! Brett insisted in taking her for a spin, "So she could see the ponies in proper action, from behind, where she could appreciate the muscles at work", and as he explained the fine points of pony driving (not that he did any, as we were "voice trained", as you know, but we recognised it all from Wright's odious book), Sam and I had to walk, trot, and run around the town. He then offered to drive her home, and unfortunately this was at a big plantation about five miles out - not far, I know, but a fucking long way when you've already been running for over an hour, and there are two people in the trap.
Brett was invited in for tea, and we stood there as we'd been trained to do, with our feet apart and our heads bowed. It wasn't such a bad day, I remember, not overly hot, and once the sweat had evaporated from us and we'd stopped shivering from our exercise, we could almost fall into one of those "standing dozes" I've told you about. After about an hour a tall, weather-beaten man in jeans and a shirt came past, and demanded to know who'd left the ponies at the foot of the steps leading up to the front door, as there was now a disgusting mess - well, he was exaggerating, frankly, as I'd only pissed as my bladder was so full and that hardly makes a mess once it's dry, does it? He stormed up the steps and Sam and I waited (what else could we do?) We half expected the guy to come out with Brett, and we'd have the pleasure of hearing him get a good ticking off, but about half an hour later Brett and the man and the girl all emerged together, half laughing, and chattering brightly.
We were subject to an expert "examination" by the man then, and his hands pried into every part of our bodies. Finally he stood there, wiped his hands on a handkerchief, and told Brett that it was true, that we were some of the finest pieces of man flesh he'd had the pleasure of seeing recently, and that he was glad to take Brett up on his fine, generous offer. Sam and I wondered if we'd been sold, or something, but all three walked off around the side of the house, and Brett ordered us to follow. We watched Brett's arm slide around the waist of the girl as they sauntered ahead of us, and she did the same to him.
Their stables was even bigger than those at the frat house, and I wondered if we were going to be lodged for the night. But the man - who by now we surmised was the girl's father and probably the owner of this vast place, called for his slave master and a hard-looking, businesslike guy in his mid thirties, I suppose, came rushing up. Then I heard something that sent a chill through me, as the slave master was told to "Bring the new whitey bitch, and the nigga who needs covering for another pup , and get them set up for studding."
Those of you who haven't eve attended a formal studding probably don't realise that there's a certain etiquette to these things - an etiquette with which Sam and I were to become all too familiar. Firstly they put you in the studding set - the leather collar is buckled around your neck, and then in turn each arm is released from the trap, twisted and pushed as high up your back as it will go (you're supposed to at least grunt to show that it's painfully high) and locked into the manacle held by a chain from the collar. When both arms are locked into place, you're blindfolded with a piece of soft, subtle leather to match the collar, and even today a certain smell of moist new leather can send me back to these humiliating events. The pony is supposed not to be able to see the bitch he's going to impregnate, although on this occasion the slave master came back with this reasonable looking nigga woman and a totally stunning young white girl before the things were fixed in place, so we knew what we were going to get! What was even better, their work smocks were stripped off them and so I had a good view of the young whitey's pert, well-rounded breasts.
I stood there, my ears finely tuned, and heard Brett, the old man and the slave master discussing who was to "have the honour" of the introduction. When they heard that Brett had never before put us to stud, they insisted he should be the one, and there was a lot of joking amongst the men about it "being like losing his cherry" for Brett. I heard the distinctive sound of his shoes as he came over to Sam and began to stroke Sam's dick, admonishing him to "get hard, you bastard, if you don't want a good tawsing tonight" as he did so.
I couldn't really determine what was going on, except I assumed that Sam was starting to fuck the nigga bitch as there was a terrible lot of screaming and shouting - odd, considering that "another" pup was being mentioned. After Sam had given a few cries that I knew were the ones he just couldn't help making when he shot his load, it was my turn. I felt Brett's hand on my cock, and however hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself going hard. He led me then, using my cock as a kind of handle, over to where I assumed the bitch was lying, and he actually "introduced" me into her slit! Then he slapped my butt and told me to go at it, and when I hesitated, he told me that if I didn't get started, I'd be caned. Well, it wasn't so bad, I suppose, except that I knew there were four people watching me fuck - it was bad enough when the other ponies watched Sam and me with some of the serving slaves on holiday times, but these were four people, all properly dressed, "enjoying the spectacle" of me doing this most intimate thing, and I hated it. Once I'd shot, I was told to lie forward and keep my cock buried in her to "give my swimmers a good start", and as my body touched the bitch's, I was surprised how soft and pliable she felt and how big her tits were as they ballooned against me: when they'd stripped the whitey before I'd lost vision, I'd thought she was quite slim. Still, it just shows you how deceptive the feeling of a body could be, I thought.
Imagine my shock when I was finally allowed to stand, had the blindfold pulled away, and found that I was standing between the open legs of the nigga, and it was Sam who'd fucked the whitey - a whitey who was now sitting there sobbing noisily. Sam had that kind of silly grin on his face that he has when he's had a particularly good fuck, and after a few words with Brett, the slave master bent down and unrolled a condom off Sam's detumescing dick. He came over to me then and roughly wiped the cum and cunt juice off me with a damp cloth, and went back to join the others.
The girl with Brett seemed to have been really turned on by the whole thing as you could see those telltale signs of a woman really aroused - the slight flaring of the nostrils, the way she kept running the tip of her tongue across her lips, and so on - and Brett and she slipped away. The slave master led us back to the trap and it was a relief to have the strain removed from my arms and to be standing there once more manacled into the shafts.
It was really late when we left, as Brett had been persuaded to stay and dine, and he was in a rare good humour as we made our way back to the frat house - he hardly whipped us at all, which was just as well as we were so tired from all the exercise that day. Back at the stables, as he unshackled us he was still smiling, and he even said "I never reckoned to go all the way on a first date, especially with her dad around - thanks, guys, for a great studding: it certainly did the trick!"
Well of course one thing led to another, and Brett was soon moving in Raleigh "high society". Sam and I got used to having to run the miles out to her place, pick her up, drive on to some tea, or cotillion, or dinner, drive her home, wait around whilst Brett had his way with her, and then, at the point of exhaustion, drive him back to the frat house. It became his custom, too, wherever possible, to stud us on arrival at some of the magnificent houses where all these functions were held, and it seemed that the owners thought of this as a most gracious and original "hostess gift", instead of the usual flowers or chocolates. We learned that stud fees, particularly from spectacularly well built and handsome slaves like us, could be very high and even though all these folk were very far from being poor, they still liked the concept of "something for nothing!". Sam and I reckoned that Brett was so insecure in his manhood, though, that he didn't think he could take the girl unless she was aroused first, and it did seem that she was always present when we were put to it, which added credence to our theories.
Of course there are not a lot of whitey slaves around, particularly women, and so it wasn't surprising, I thought, that I was always put to a nigga. And after that first time, so was Sam. We were talking about that one night in the pony stable (well, we're guys, right, even though we're slaves, and guys talk about the women they've had), and I mentioned how odd it was that on that first occasion they'd put a condom on Sam. One of the other ponies, a handsome, long-limbed nigga who Sam and I liked a lot, and who I reckon Sam would have liked to have fucked, pointed out what should perhaps have been obvious to us: "Owners are breeding for specific things", he said. "When they put Sam to a nigga, they are going after his muscles, his long legs, and the fact that he hasn't really got a nigga face: if his skin wasn't so black, he could almost be a whitey as his nose is quite long, his nostrils don't flare... That kind of thing. When they put Steve to a nigga, they're hedging their bets for the future - obviously they're going for his body and features too, but they must want to 'lighten' the progeny as they think coffee coloured niggas will fetch higher prices." Sam and I nodded, as it seemed to make sense. "Now, the whitey you're talking about, and the fuss she made about it afterwards..... Well, I reckon she was newly-enslaved, and might even have been a virgin. They wanted to show her how totally in their power she was by getting a big black stud like Sam to fuck her - a lot of white women fear being raped by big buck niggas, after all, and now she was getting it in for real. And they put a condom on him of course as they want to breed her from some other slave, or perhaps not to breed her at all....."
"Or to give her to a whitey, and breed a whitey....", I chipped in. "So there's hope for me yet."
"Don't be so stupid, Steve", our friend went on. "Look, when the bitches have produced the pup, what do you think goes on then? It's got to kept and fed and everything until it's sixteen and can be sold, and it's mostly done in big communal 'nursery' places down near New Orleans as the owners want the bitches back at work, and producing the next pup. Now, if you were in New Orleans and saw a lot of nigga pups running around, you wouldn't think much of it, I guess. But if the sheds and fields of the big commercial nurseries were filled with little whitey kids, there's be a public outcry and the pressure to stop slavery, or, at least, to stop breeding new slaves and rely on the courts and places like that to enslave evildoers, would become intense. So you don't see a whole lot of whitey pups around, and you'd better get used to nigga cunt, Steve!"
Look, you can get used to anything, in time, and by the third year it mad no difference to me whether I was running naked through the streets, or fucking in front of an appreciative audience: I'd lost all sense of shame, all feeling that it was "wrong" for them to make me do that kind of stuff. I even thought that there was nothing they could do to me that could be any worse than had already happened.... until the "new pledges" ceremony that year, that is!
Brett was now some sort of officer in the frat, and he and his buddies were always thinking of new ways of humiliating the pledges. That year Sam and I were taken into the frat house - something that had never happened before - and lightly cuffed to two "horses" in the middle of the big common room. Given all the money these guys had, I couldn't understand why all the couches were old and scruffy, and why there were so many empty beer cans around when they had so many household slaves, but perhaps it was just to create "atmosphere". They gagged us, with ball gags - no big deal, when you're used to the bit - as someone said he wanted to really be able to hear the pledges, and not the grunting of the slaves.
There were eight pledges and they came in and were told to strip down to their underwear - I guess they knew what was coming, as they'd all worn some that day! Brett went along the line of young men, mostly in boxer shorts, holding a bag from which each pledge had to take a ball. "There are four black ones, and four white ones", he told them, "Each numbered from one to four. White balls go with the whitey, and black balls with the nigga. Now, listen carefully as I'm not going to repeat it: The holder of number one will step up to the slave and jerk off, making sure his cum lands on the back of the slave. Number two will hold the slaver's butt apart, whilst number three takes some of his frat brother's cum from the slave's back and uses it to lube the slave's hole. And then, finally, number four will come and fuck the slave." There was cheering and raucous shouting from all the assembled frat then.
Sam and I had to lie there and wait until we felt the warm spray of cum on our backs, and then knew that all eyes would be on our holes as the pledges poked nervously at them with their fingers - I sensed that my "three" wasn't doing a very good job, as he barely put one finger up me and I knew I'd be in pain when I was fucked. Brett stopped the proceedings at that point, though, and addressed the new pledges and the watching members of the frat, all of whom had been making an incredible noise as all this had been going on. "Right, the two pledge fours will drop their shorts - a gentleman never fucks with his clothes on!"
There was more raucous laughter and a lot of shouting making unflattering comparisons between the pledges and us slaves as far as dick size went, and Brett then ordered them to come and stand in front of us first and get erect, "So that the slaves can see what they're going to get." To my horror, as the pledge was revealed to me, I saw it was my kid brother, Jamie! He's not as big as me, but he's still a big guy, and he stood there looking both embarrassed and proud as he stroked at his dick in front of his frat brothers. He's a bit of a good sport, though, and likes to be "in" things properly, and so he turned this way and that, showing all the guys his dick, and "teasing" them with the sight of his dick head as he slid his 'skin off it, and then quickly back on again, rather like one of those strippers with a big ostrich feather fan lets you see flashes of her body. I couldn't say anything because of the gag, but I couldn't let my kid brother fuck me, could I? So I started to buck and thrash around on the horse, hoping to get his attention.
"Hey, the whitey's worried!", Brett called out, an there were more laughs and jeers from the frat men watching. "I reckon our new brother there is a bit oversized, but I am surprised, nevertheless! Shall we switch him and have him fuck the nigga instead, as he looks unconcerned...."
I prayed for deliverance, but almost as one, the frat chorused "No, fuck the whitey, fuck the whitey....", and, still grinning and now waving his hard dick in front of him proudly, my brother came around, kicked at my ankles to make me spread my legs, and started to push at my hole with his dick. It made no difference that I did everything I could to stop him - bucking and thrashing around, and attempting to clamp my hole tightly closed. It's no use, of course - a guy who's tied down just can't stop himself being raped, as the guy wanting his dick in you can always exert more force than your sphincter muscles can withstand. So Jamie was soon buried in me and was, I think, standing there with his arms wide, seeking the applause of the crowd. The bastard then fucked me hard, really hard, slamming his body against me with every stroke, so that all the frat could hear the "slap" of his skin against mine. And when he'd finally cum, accompanied by a huge shout of triumph, he even clowned around some more by coming and standing in front of me and pretending to have me clean his dick of cum and ass juice, then "noticing" that I was gagged, and instead using the strip of my hair to wipe himself clean!
The guy who fucked Sam didn't go to all those lengths and just made a good, workmanlike job of it - Sam reckoned afterwards that he was used to fucking slaves, unlike Jamie. Then all eight pledges were "elected", amid wild cheering, and that was that.
Sam couldn't understand at first why I was so upset. He wrapped is arms around me in the stables and kissed me, and whispered in my ear "Stop being such a baby, Steve! He was big, but not as big as me... And you like taking me, don't you?" Well I did, of course - although not as often as Sam liked fucking me - it was the only difficulty in our relationship, actually, as we both liked to fuck, and you know how it is when you've taken cock: it's really hard to maintain an erection. So most nights we'd both be really hard, then one of us would fuck the other, and then that was it. The problem was that as we both wanted to fuck, we had to decide who it should be, and it usually ended up in a "tussle" as we wrestled to see who was going to win. Sam was those few years older than me, and that, and his marines training, usually meant he won these "tussles", unless I was exceptionally lucky.
So he ended up fucking about seventy percent of the time, and I only got a measly thirty percent.
"Sam, it's not the size I was worried about - they don't come much bigger than you, mate! No - that's my kid brother! I've just been fucked by my kid brother!"
Sam shrugged. "So? One dick's very much like another...."
"My kid brother, Sam! Who was still at school when I left, who hadn't started jerking off when I first fucked a girl, who...."
Sam tried to calm me, tried to show me it didn't matter, but I was still furious, ashamed, tense, hurt... Finally, Sam lost his temper. "OK, Steve, shut it, will you? So you've been fucked by your kid brother - so what? Growing up, lots of guys fuck their brothers, and their cousins... It's no big deal in the places I grew up in. Now stop all this, and try to think constructively...."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're always going on about 'escaping'... Can't you give him a secret sign, or something...."
"We weren't like that as kids - I mostly ignored him, as he's five years younger than me."
"You'll have to hope that he recognises you, then. Perhaps he'll come down the steps of the frat house, whilst we're waiting for Brett....."
"You think he will? Fat chance, of you ask me. With my hair gone, this deep tan all over, shaved, these rings everywhere, and.... Well, even if he does think I bear some slight resemblance to his long-lost brother, he'll see my dick, and he'll know it can't be his brother as our dad was always against guys being 'skinned, so we weren't done."
Sam was quiet for a while, then, in that way he has of trying to make jokes of something that's really serious, he went on "So I guess we'll have to hope he doesn't get too friendly with Brett, then, and that he doesn't decide he likes fucking slaves, and ask Brett if he can use you again."
"Oh that wouldn't happen - Jamie was always one for the girls. That was his first time up an ass, and I'm sure it will be his last."
"....unless he takes after his big brother! He was one for the ladies, he keeps telling me... And yet when I let him, I can't keep him out of my ass....." Sam chuckled then, and I suppose I couldn't help smiling, too, just a bit. It shows you what a nice guy Sam is, as seeing I was so upset, he nibbled my ear a bit, which always turned me on, and then whispered "I tell you what, Steve, I reckon you've been so traumatised by a dick up you already today that I won't do it again.... But I sure am horny for a bit of real loving, so why don't you..." Well, with an invitation like that, who could refuse? And as I fucked Sam my mind was not on Jamie, at least for a bit: it is incredibly difficult to think of anything else when two to sweaty bodies are really going at it, isn't it? Of course it was all pointless worry anyway - I had no freedom of action as a slave, and things would just take their course: "Que sera, sera", as the old song says.
Actually we got to see quite a lot of Jamie - it was if he was almost infatuated with Brett, or was it with his wealth? Mom and dad aren't exactly poor, but they had nothing like the money Brett's dad had, and like a lot of impressionable kids, I reckon Jamie's head was turned by all the expensive things that Brett had - the handmade clothes, the fancy electronic stuff, the fine meals he could afford, and, of course, the ownership of the best pony and trap combination on the campus. He started to follow Brett around almost like a puppy, and, in turn, Brett started to use Jamie for little errands and such like: to a man who owned slaves, I suppose the willing attention of a free man was a real thrill. Don't get me wrong - Brett and Jamie never fucked or anything like that - Brett was still avidly fucking his rich girl, and Jamie seemed to have a "roving cock" that was always after anything in skirts. Both of them enjoyed studding - or, rather watching Sam and me stud, of course, as "a gentleman would never father a slave", as Brett explained to Jamie one day when Jamie said he'd like to try one of the bitches.
Brett often let Jamie "introduce" me and Sam into the bitches' slits, and afterwards he'd laugh and joke with Brett and sniff his fingers suggestively from where they'd been. He and Brett did, I know, sometimes go off to one of the pleasure places in downtown Raleigh (by cab, as Brett would not want his distinctive trap and slaves waiting outside such a place, as people might laugh at the thought of a man in his position having to go to one of them). We didn't know whether they regularly fucked women or men there, although as part of his "teaching" Jamie the way of a gentleman, I do believe there was at least one occasion when they hired a couple of beautiful young male slave for an evening's excitement.
I was always with the bit in my mouth, though, and could never actually say anything to Jamie, and he in turn appeared not to really notice me: I was a set of muscles he looked at when he was in the trap with Jamie, I was a big, hard dick he stroked to erection and "introduced" to a cunt, and occasionally I was something that, unde Brett's direction, he thrashed with a cane because I was said to have "misbehaved". That was terrible, as he was a lot stronger than Brett, and those canings really hurt - we could always tell when he was "driving", too, as the carriage whip had an extra "bite" to it. But in the months that followed, he never seemed to look directly at my face or "see" me as a whole man - I suppose that's what happens, and free men just see some sort of composite "slave creature", without really noticing the underlying guy.
One of the jobs that he got from Brett was wiping us down after studding, and I began to notice that he pocketed the tissue that was covered in our sweat, cum and the bitch's ass juice, rather than tossing it to one side. I mentioned this to Sam, and he laughed and dug me in the ribs as we lay together, saying that he wondered what secret perversions he put them to later, and that if one brother was a pervert, he'd probably learned it from the other.... And what was my particular dark secret?
Nothing prepared us for the totally unexpected, though: we were back at "home" for the summer, standing at the foot of the steps to the entrance one morning, waiting as usual for Brett to appear, and knowing that we'd have to run as he was always late, when a positive fleet of dark black cars and cop cars raced up the drive and more or less "encircled " the mansion and slave block. Dark suited men, with over jerkins saying "FBI" in big letters poured out, followed by the cops who just stood there with their guns drawn. They raced into the house and stables, and one of them came over to us. He had a huge pair of bolt cutters, and swiftly cut through our manacles, and snipped open the "wings" holding the bit into our mouths. We stood there in amazement, watching all this, until he rapped "Which one is Mark Masters?"
"That's me....", I said haltingly, so unused to hearing that name, and my tongue still stiff from the pressure of the bit.
"For fuck's sake get this guy a blanket or something to cover himself with, will you? The poor guy's having to expose himself!", he called out, and a really nice-looking girl, also with an FBI jacket, came over and handed me a woollen blanket, and almost tenderly helped me arrange it around my shoulders. It felt all scratchy, as I was so unused to the feel of clothing against my bare skin, and I was strangely embarrassed about having this girl doing something for me like that: a slave gets no attention from anyone else, and I began to flush with embarrassment as I realised that the sheer scent of her so close to me was making my dick show "hard".
"Come with me, sir", the man rapped. "Let's get you away, before there's trouble...."
Before I could say anything to Sam, or indeed to anyone, he was hustling me towards one of the big black cars, and I must have been in shock, as I didn't resist. Or perhaps it was that I was now so used to obeying orders. I think I imagined that Sam would be following in a second car.
We sat there as the road to town raced by, and I saw how effortless it was compared to what I usually had to do on that route, on foot, dragging the trap.
"Are you OK, Sir?" The agent asked once he'd stopped peering out of the rear window, as if expecting someone to be giving chase.
"Yes, but I'm Steve...."
A look of horror came across his face. "I was told to bring out Mark Masters..."
"That used to be me, but they renamed me Steve when I was made a slave, and I'm kind of used to it now...."
"OK, Steve it is then. We're going to be spending a lot of time together, and I want you to feel comfortable. I'm officer Hughes. Now, we'll soon be out of the real danger zone, and then I can tell you more."
End Of Part Four