MY NEW SLAVE By Pete Brown.
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Three
As usually seems to happen, work intruded into my enjoyment and training of my new slave. Although I try to spend as much time on my estate as possible and am a major land and slave owner down there, with a considerable income from the "individually hand tended and packed just for you" fruit and vegetables that the slaves grow and carefully pack, my real business is in Finance. And that of course means that I have to spend time in New York, Los Angeles, and very often London and Peking (I resent the political correctness in re-titling places that have perfectly usable names in English anyway..... We refer to Rome and not Roma, after all, so why shouldn't we continue to call the Chinese capital Peking?). Many of my neighbours think I "play" at farming, but that's far from the truth: whilst the income is not necessary, it does mean that my estate is totally self-financing and I can afford to indulge in luxuries like Dan and Steve, without even thinking about it. Actually I find that being a major investor in the new agriculture gives me an insight into other areas of our economy, and so I believe I'm better informed about a whole variety of other areas in which I become involved - for example, a financing decision about the placement of a new industry, or the closing of a major plant, can have a major impact on the availability of slaves in the area because of the new laws that make destitution enslavable.
However I digress - the important thing is that on this particular occasion I needed to go to New York for four days, and on these trips I do not take Steve. He accompanies me to all the other places, of course, as I like to keep in shape and it's so much more convenient to have ones personal trainer along on the trip (especially one who can double as a valet, and who can provide sexual relief too). Mind you, it's always causing problems - I travel first class, as you'd expect, and so only have to be at the airport minutes before my flight, whereas although I might be prepared to pay for a second such ticket for Steve, it's just "not done" in the circles in which I move, and he has to travel steerage, with its prolonged check-in times. And the British, in particular, can be very difficult as they seem to find accepting that a slave does not have a passport as he is just another part of his owner's baggage hard to grasp, and we are frequently held up at immigration. However taking him to New York is an unnecessary expense as I rarely have the opportunity to exercise properly when I'm there, as even with a big hunk like Steve accompanying me the level of casual violence in the streets, except in the most select areas, has become totally unacceptable - I really don't understand why the enslavement laws there are not more rigorously enforced, to rid the place of the huge masses of the unemployed that the new economy has created . The major hotels try to accomodate clients like me, of course, and their exercise facilities are second to none, except that I find running on a treadmill, or pushing against one of those weight exercisers reminds me somewhat of a pet hamster I had as a child, who futilely exercised himself on his "wheel" - even the presence of the hotel's personal training slaves, specially chosen for their good looks and physique, doesn't really compensate.
I took Steve aside as I was about to leave and told him "Dan is your responsibility whilst I am away, Steve."
A wolfish grin flitted across his face. "Sir, yes, sir!"
"No, Steve! I do not mean by that that you are allowed to fuck him! His ass remains my playground, at least for the time being. If I find his ass has been used when I return, I will punish you - at least a caning. You need to keep your dick out of him, and make sure that he is not used by any of the other slaves either - I know how they are all eager to use a new slave here in the mansion, and I do not want that to happen. It's your responsibility - you can easily protect him from the others, as they all fear you. Treat him as you would a younger brother, and look after him."
"You can keep him with you in your own kennel, as it will do him good to get to know how the other slaves live who are less fortunate than you who share my quarters when I'm here". I'd decided on this as I also thought it would be a good bonding exercise for the two of them - although Steve usually slept on the floor at the foot of my bed, as you've learned, in my absence he had his own "kennel" in the slave quarters - a tiny space just big enough for a narrow bunk - and making the two of them share that would introduce a degree of bodily intimacy between them.
"There are a few things you can get done to him, too - I want his ass and balls smoothly shaven, and his pubes generally trimmed and tidied as they're an unruly mass at the moment: have much the same kind of trim that you've had since you've been here, with that neat patch above and around his dick and balls no more than an inch long so his appearance is enhanced. But leave his head for the time being - I like the 'spiky' look and don't want a proper crop on him as there is on you."
"Sir, yes, sir."
"...and take him down to the blacksmith on the farm and get him collared. I'll let him have the loose chain for the time being, as you have. He needs to be done this week, as otherwise we'll be breaking the law. Make sure it's not too tight, though, as he's still growing and I expect his neck to thicken in the next few months." Readers will of course be aware that all slaves must wear a collar, and the newly-enslaved must have it fixed within the statutory two weeks. My niggas in the field coffles and the workers in the packing sheds all have the standard heavy iron collar riveted on as soon as they arrive, as that's cheap, and the weight is a constant reminder to them of their status. Around the house though the waiters and footmen and so on have a thinner, more aesthetic band of stainless steel. I allow a few very favoured slaves like Steve to wear a collar made of steel chain with fairly large links - it's easier for them, as there's absolutely no possibility of chafing and the ugly sores that can despoil some slaves, and of course for me it's good to be able to get at their necks and throats during sex no nuzzle and bite. Steve's own collar hung loosely at the base of his neck, and was of very heavy links - these things have to be properly proportioned, I find, as on a large muscled slave like him a thin chain would look ludicrous, and of course you need the weight to remind him of his slavedom. I quite enjoy fingering the links after sex, pulling them away from his skin and then letting them drop back on to him, as I know he can feel their weight and the oppression that this signals to him. As an aside, I understand that at colleges now they use slave collars as an example of the operation of "the law of unintended consequences" - following their mandatory introduction for slaves, the bottom dropped right out of a certain sections of the jewellery market, as no man, or woman, would now even consider wearing a necklace or gold chain, however thin, around their necks! Indeed, often the only way you can tell that a man is a slave when you're at a gym is the presence of a collar - at my New York hotel, for example, some clients bring their personal trainers and have them with only the tiniest thin band around their throats: personally, I think that's really effete, and is typical of New York!
I saw Steve was itching to say something, so I raised my eyebrows, to give him permission to speak.
"Shall I have the blacksmith brand him too, sir? And have him tattooed?"
"Not for the time being. I wish to enjoy the perfection of his body without feeling the brand when I fondle his ass, or seeing his name every time I twist his tits."
I saw Steve looking disappointed, if not jealous, and went on "...and stop looking like that! I don't stroke your ass, you know that, as it's too big and muscled."
"I do want you to exercise him, though, Steve. He's evidently looked after himself and was a star on the college soccer team I believe, but he's at that point where a young guy really finally develops his body. I don't want a muscle god - I want nice long, lithe muscles. If I was to characterise it, I'd say I want a frisky colt, rather than a solid work horse like you. Do I make myself clear?"
"Sir, yes, sir! So I can exercise and train him...."
"Yes. You both need something to occupy yourselves and keep yourselves out of mischief. Really work his body, Steve."
That same wolfish grin flickered for a moment - Steve really is too transparent! "...but Steve, remember what I said about his ass. And I don't want you to fuck his throat, either - that's something I want to teach him. You can suck his dick if you want to, but you are not to force him to suck yours!"
"...so if he offers to do it, sir, that's OK?"
"...provided there's not the slightest hint of coercion! If I question him and find you've forced his lips around your dick, it will be the cane for you."
"...and what about jerking off, sir?"
I thought for a moment. "Oh, that's fine. With two of you in the same kennel it's hard to see how you'd avoid that - and there's never any harm in two mature men having a bit of mutual jerking off."
"...even if there's 'coercion', sir? I know you say there's no harm in it, but in the barracks we always found the new recruits were nervous and didn't want to join in until we 'encouraged' them..."
"Steve, Dan's a young, healthy guy. When you were his age I bet you couldn't keep that dick of yours down. I don't think you'll need to 'encourage' him to jerk off as there's nowhere else he can do it in the slave quarters except in your kennel. Just don't be violent with him - when you feel him doing it, reach over and take over.... That kind of thing. And make sure he gets to know the sort of strokes you like, too... Most guys only have one way of doing it, and a slave like Dan needs to learn to be flexible."
There was a real grin on Steve's face now. "Sir, yes, sir!"
"Oh, and you can start to get him a bit tanned - I don't like that big stark white area around his ass and thighs from those absurd long shorts he must have worn. But I don't want him scared or humiliated - no making him run around the place naked or anything - but you can spend time exercising at the pool and then it's natural for him to be bare-assed."
"Now remember, Steve, he's your responsibility. Pretend he's one of your new recruits that you're looking after. I want him exercised, a bit of natural jerking off together is fine, but not much else, understand? Pretend he's your brother. Pretend he's a son of mine I asked you to get in shape. That's how you're to behave with him, or else there will be trouble for you."
He nodded in understanding, and said "Sir, yes, sir", again, and I got into the car and was driven off to the airport.
My business took me an unexpectedly long time in New York and I was away for more than the four days I had planned. The other members of the consortium that was considering the major project we had been asked to finance were more reluctant than I to take risks - well, I suppose they did not have the life of an estate owner to fall back on if things went wrong! So my trip extended over the weekend, and into the middle of the following week.
Although my hotel has excellent slaves in the gym they did not have the deftness of touch that Steve has in "driving" me to do my best, and the slaves I had sent up from the pleasure room to my suite were perfect in every way physically and totally compliant in taking part in whatever sexual episode I suggested, all of them lacked that "something". One of the huge advantages of having slaves is of course that they can just be ordered to do what you want and you do not have to waste time "negotiating"; but when your whole life is spent ordering and controlling things, there's then not the same relaxation to be found in sex, if you're still ordering and controlling it totally and know that the other man will in no way ever object or even appear to be less than enthusiastic. I suppose that's why there are still "gay bars" and "gay dating services" on the net as there's much more excitement in a casual pick-up of a free man who may react unpredictably and where both of you have to make some effort to accommodate the other. That's one of the joys of having an ex-marine like Steve as a slave, and a slave who was enslaved relatively late in life: he still has that "spark" of rebelliousness deep down, a spark that he struggles to prevent turning into a flame as he knows what he consequences of outright rebellion would be. But it makes it just that little bit special for me as I fuck him, knowing that he's doing it because I've ordered him to, but that he really would prefer not to!
I don't have the time for bars or dating services when I'm working on a project and so have to rely on what the hotel has to offer, and so although my dick has been well looked after, my mind was perhaps a little bored with the endless, mechanically perfect sex. So when I got home I was looking forward to the excitement that Steve, and the continuing breaking in of Dan, would provide.
When my car stopped at the front steps of my mansion and the chauffeur had opened the door for me I was disappointed to find that Steve and Dan were not waiting to greet me. However I cheered up a moment later when they charged around the edge of the house and skidded to a halt by me. This was a much better welcome - they'd evidently been exercising as they were both breathing very hard, their nearly naked bodies were soaked in sweat (and Dan's longer hair was lying flat against his head it was so wet!), and when they turned I could see the huge wet streaks of sweat on the crack line of their slave shorts. I commanded them to follow me up into my bedroom, and the scent of these delightful bodies and the sight of them still breathing hard and covered in an amazing sheen of their own body water drove me almost into a frenzy.
I'd had a less than satisfactory time in New York as I've explained - mechanically perfect, but lacking passion and commitment, and I'd been eagerly looking forward to continuing with my "training" of Dan on my return. But now the sight and smell of him was too much - I couldn't even wait until he'd showered - no, I didn't want him to shower - and I pushed him towards the bed without even saying anything, forced him face down on it, and stripped his shorts off - not a hard task, as they're so brief anyway. I don't know how I got my own clothes off, as I was now so excited as his young butt was revealed, a butt that was starting to colour up as Steve had obviously been following my instructions, and if they hadn't been made by the finest tailors I'm sure they would have torn as I was in so much of a hurry to get naked.
The moment I spread his butt and saw his asshole, now beautifully clear as it was no longer shrouded in that unpleasant forest of hair, I knew this was not gong to be a further gentle introduction into the art of sex - no, the moment my dick touched his sweaty pucker I couldn't contain myself, and thrust it forward, stabbing cruelly at him. Dan had become alarmed by now and was starting to shout and thrash around, so I snapped "Get over here and hold him, Steve" so he could not escape me. I suppose Steve had had some experience at this, as he gently pushed me to one side - not an easy thing to do, given my frenzy - flipped Dan over on to his back, leapt astride his chest and dug his knees into his shoulders to pinion the lad down, and reached around and grabbed at his legs, which he proceeded to stick under his armpits, and then hold there firmly as he clasped his hands together.
Dan was screaming and shouting with the surprise and indignity with which Steve had manipulated bis body, and of course he was now totally exposed and available to me, and utterly helpless. I plunged my dick into him, and, as you know, with the guy on his back and his legs pulled back and spread, you have full and complete access: you can get the entire length of your dick in him, and the only thing that stops you fucking as hard as you can is the sensation from your own balls when they slam into the body underneath you!
This wasn't like the last time, when I'd inched my way in and then done dozens of tiny strokes - this was a single mighty push, followed by totally vigorous fucking causing our bodies to slap together on each stroke, and the boy to begin to scream wit real terror and the sheer discomfort of it all. That only serves to make you even more frenzied, doesn't it? And as his hole stretched and opened with my efforts, I was able to indulge in that really rare pleasure - to be able to pull right out, and then slam home to the full length again. And again.
Sadly, you can't keep up an epic fuck like that, can you? All too soon I felt my back arch as I gave one last mighty thrust into him, and then I stood there, feeling my balls jerk and my dick flex as my semen pumped into him.
I snapped at Steve to get out of the way, and fell forward onto Dan's body, grabbing his wrists as I did so, enabling me to hold them down on to the bed above his head, denying him the leverage to break free. His shouting had stopped - well, almost - but he was silenced as I thrust my face down on to his, and forced my tongue deep into his mouth to enjoy the taste of him as the last after shocks of my climax died away. He continued to try to resist me, though, and attempted to push my tongue out by turning his head away from me. Fortunately I only needed one hand to keep his wrists above his head, and so a couple of quick, hard slaps to his face served to quieten him. I was then able to enjoy kissing him once more, biting at his lips until I tasted the salt of his blood, and then moving on to nuzzle at his sweat-soaked neck, sinking my teeth in to mark him again.
When I finally stood up and stood there looking down at him, he refused to meet my gaze and just lay there.
To my surprise Steve helped the boy to his feet - normally, Steve assumes "slave rest" when not obeying specific orders, and I had not expected him to take some independent action like this. He stood there then, one big arm around the boy's shoulders as if to comfort him, and I think I detected a reproachful look on his face - he didn't dare say anything, I suppose, but sometimes body language and facial expressions can say far more.
In retrospect, I was stupid not to punish Steve there and then. I could have told him to lie across the bed and I could have given him a few strokes of the tawse that is always on one of the cabinets (even though I do not normally need to use it as Steve is obedient, as I've told you). It would have been a short, painful reminder to him of his proper place and would have left no lasting marks. But as it was I did nothing other than to snap at him to go and run my shower, and he did so reluctantly, muttering a couple of words of "encouragement" to Dan as he did so. I seethed inwardly at this gross insubordination, but it was now too late to do anything about it as the very least he deserved was a caning, and I needed him to work out with me the following morning which he would be incapable of doing if I had ordered such a thrashing. That was, I suppose, my second mistake, compounding the first: by not correcting the slave immediately I detected behaviour that was unsuitable, I had laid the seeds for further rebellion.
It's hard to know, isn't it, whether further actions are "real" or "imagined"? Once you start believing a slave is behaving badly, does your mind see every slight gesture, every change of his breathing, every movement of his body as further evidence of his inner disobedience? Steve knelt before me in the shower as usual, but was the set of his shoulders indicating he was still "critical" of me, or was it natural? When I told him to clean my dick with his mouth first, did he give a tiny shudder, or did I imagine it? And if it was real, was it because he has a natural dislike of ass juices, or because he'd disapproved of the way I'd taken Dan so brutally? Was he less than usually solicitous as he shampooed my hair, lathered my body, and then dried me because he was unconsciously criticising me, or was it all in my imagination? Either way, what should have been a happy, welcoming homecoming for me was ruined.
Dan showered as Steve was drying me and then quickly used our discarded towels to wipe himself dry, and then when I ordered him to come to bed with me, walked with what I thought was an exaggerated stride across the room - I was perfectly certain that his ass was sore, but it was as if he was currying sympathy from Steve. He lay there sullen and silent beside me, and did not willingly snuggle his body against mine as he had done before, and when I put my arm out so he could rest his head in my pit, he deliberately turned his face away from me rather than looking into my eyes.
Well, you can't allow that sort of behaviour from a slave, can you? You'd barely tolerate it from a lover! I reached down and squeezed his balls quite hard, and he yelped with the surprise and pain, and tried to stop me. Steve, who'd been settling down wrapped in his blanked at the foot of the bed, leapt up and instead of being concerned for me, shouted "Are you OK, Dan?"
"Steve, get out! You can spend the rest of the night in your kennel. Be outside at six tomorrow morning for a run."
"Sir..."
"Get out, Steve! You know why! Get out before I take the cane to you and beat the insubordination out of you."
Reluctantly, still irritating me by the way he now gave Dan a look that said "hang in there...", Steve turned and left the room. I kept my grip on Dan's balls, and said to him "Are you pleased to have made Steve so unhappy?"
"What?"
"Steve is a good slave. He's served me well for several years, as he's so grateful for having been rescued from the mines. But you have allowed him to become concerned about you, allowed him to think that he has a loyalty to you, rather than solely to me. He's going to be miserable all night, worrying that he's upset me; or, even worse, worrying about what I might now be going to do to you. He dislikes sleeping in the slave kennels at the best of times, when I'm away, but being made to do so when I'm in residence, when his place is here, will upset him. As will the comments from the other slaves, who will tell him that he must have really displeased me."
"I didn't...."
"You must have. Steve was told to train you in my absence, and instead of focussing on that training so that you would be pleasing to me when I returned, you wasted time becoming 'friends' with Steve. Slaves must not be friendly with each other, as they need to focus on their masters totally. And, as you can see, friendship between slaves can get in the way of the slave functioning properly - when I'd fucked you and you were lying there, Steve should have been concerned for me, and not for you."
"He could see I was hurting..."
"So what? You are a slave, and I am Steve's master. My needs are paramount, and Steve was distracted."
"He only did what any man would do...."
"Quite! And that's the problem - he's not a man, he's a slave. As are you. You should have pushed his arm away."
"But you hurt me...."
"Stop making excuses! And stop whining. You're not hurt. You've just had a vigorous fucking. I know enough about it, and have enough concern to not destroy the value of a slave like you, to avoid permanently damaging you: your ass is sore, that's all, not torn to pieces."
He turned to face me now, his dark brown eyes looking anxiously at me. "I thought you liked me, sir. When I was enslaved, I was terrified, but then when you were so nice to me, even though you fucked me...."
Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? I did like the boy. Initially, I'd been almost infatuated by the thought of his young lithe body. But as the days had gone by and I saw how he reacted cheerfully to his new life, I'd got to start to like him as a person, too. And that, as we all know, is a huge mistake for a master - you really can't "like" slaves, as one day, inevitably, you're going to have to order them to be punished, and finally, as they get old, you're going to have to sell them. You really can't be friends with a slave, as the old saying goes.
"Sir, please.... Please don't punish Steve. If it was my fault, punish me..."
"There, you prove my point, Dan. You're concerned about Steve. And you should be totally focused on pleasing me. I will punish Steve, as he should have known better. And now you have understood the proper role of a slave, I expect you to concentrate solely on me."
As I said this, I pulled his body close to mine and twined my legs around his, but I felt a resistance, a reluctance to give himself unreservedly to me. You would think, wouldn't you, that I'd have learned from my earlier mistakes that evening and taken swift and immediate action - a good spanking would have taught his body to respond properly to mine, I think. But I was tired, and frustrated and angry at the way my homecoming had turned out, and all I really wanted to do was sleep, so I did nothing.
The following morning Steve was at the rear entrance to the mansion when Dan and I went out - he looked vaguely defiant, I thought (see what I mean? Was he defiant, or did I only think it? Either way he was dammed, as after the previous night he ought have been especially careful to appear to be contrite). Still, our exercise went well, and as usual at the end of it I'd been stretched "just enough" as Steve was so good at doing. He was well on the way to getting back to normal, and I was beginning to think that I might not punish him after all, when he simply followed us back into the mansion. It's a small thing, I know. But having been ordered out and to the slave kennels the night before, he should have waited for my command before entering the mansion again, and this arrogant assumption that "all was well again" really annoyed me.
I ordered him back to the kennels, telling him to be outside later on as he should continue to train Dan, and motioned for Dan to follow me. He wasn't nearly as good at helping me shower as he was still reluctant to perform the more intimate services like sliding his soapy fingers between my butt cheeks, and he fumbled at several important stages as he helped me dress, failing to knot my cravat properly, and to get my wallet and note case into the correct pockets of my jacket. All in all, I was not in a good mood when we finally emerged after breakfast - having been away for so many days it was imperative that I should thoroughly inspect the estate as my supervisors and overseers just do not pay the same attention to detail as I do, and once standards start to slide, they are hard to recover.
There was a lot of ground to cover that day and so I'd ordered my pony and trap, and told Steve and Dan that they should jog around with me - it would do Dan good to see the miserable way some of the common slaves lived, and provided they did a lot of "running forward" and then coming back to the trap, both of them would be well exercised. Having re-read what I've just written, I should perhaps correct one false impression the less observant reader might acquire: when I said the common slaves lived in a "miserable way", some of you might think that I mistreated my slaves. Far from it! I was known in the area as a generous and benevolent owner - some of my neighbours even complained that it showed them in a bad light as my practices were so exemplary. No, what I meant was that for a slave like Dan, newly, enslaved and now used to living in the mansion, the sight of the niggas coffled naked, the tawses of the overseers, and the sight of the slave barns where they slept at night, might be upsetting. If you have hundreds of field workers, though, how else do you control them and get the work out of them you're entitled to? Coffling them means that you only need one overseer for every fifty or so, as the chains joining their collars very effectively prevent escapes; you do need to "encourage" them to give of their best, as they otherwise get lazy - but the field overseers are only allowed the tawse, and more severe punishments such as a good caning can only be given on specific authorisation. And as for working naked, well, it' a kindness, really - in the hot sun a slave has no need of clothes and it helps him to keep cool as there's nothing to prevent his sweat evaporating; if it's raining, the things are not clinging damply to him, chafing and making sores; and it's much easier and more hygienic for him to be able to piss as he toils away, rather than having to wait for a defined break, or soil his clothes. No, my slave owing practices correspond to the highest standards, and the ASPCS regularly inspects us, and at end of their most recent one they complimented us on our excellent medical services (we have a veterinarian of our own, full time), how the slave barns allowed each slave four feet of floor space instead of being very cramped, and how much attention was given to ensuring there was an adequate amount of slave chow for every slave, and how they mostly had access to fresh water.
Still, as I said, it might be an interesting experience for Dan to see these things, and to contrast them with his own very privileged situation.
Fate was to take a hand, though, as it so often does in these affairs. All went well during the morning, I stopped for a light lunch with a group of my overseers to generally encourage them - standard management practice, for senior management to meet with juniors occasionally - allowing Steve and Dan to rest as I did so. But mid way through the afternoon my pony suddenly gave a cry and stopped, limping badly. This was most unusual, as he's never given any trouble and is an excellent puller, never seeming to tire or flag, so I knew it must be serious. I jumped down and found blood cascading out of his foot - and there, embedded in the dirt track around the perimeter of one of our fields was a rusting tin! Some of those folk who drive out from the city to "view the countryside" must have tossed it aside casually, and now my pony was injured!
I at once got out my cell phone and called the estate office to get them to send the vet out immediately, and Steve tore off his T, and pulled it apart to use as a bandage. He was stroking the pony's calf with his hand and whispering to him to be calm as he examined the wound, then I heard him say "We need to wash it clean.... this might sting a bit..." I suppose he'd learned these first-aid tricks in the marines, as he expertly guided a stream of his piss at the pony's foot to try to wash the dirt and rust out of the wound, and then he carefully bound the foot with the makeshift bandage. The pony was obviously in serious pain, though, as he was whimpering softly as Steve worked away, and it was clear that he wasn't going to be able to pull me for the rest of the afternoon - and, as I've said, I really had a lot to do that day, and it was fairly pressing.
Fortunately I don't believe in a lot of paraphernalia for my ponies - blinkers, elaborate harnesses, false tails, all that sort of stuff. No, all you really need is a slave with good heart and lung capacity and nice strong long legs, and my current one, Sven, conforms to this general type - he's some sort of Scandinavian, big and tall, and a natural blond. The only concession to him being a "pony" is that his wrists are lightly cuffed into the shafts of my trap - it's not necessary at all really, as Sven likes the work and wouldn't dream of letting go as we bowl along, but I do think that having him "tethered" like that just adds that little extra. That and his "mane", that is: well, there are so few true blondes that I'd decided to make an exception to my general rule that the hair of all my slaves should be closely cropped, and Sven sported a Mohican with a four inch wide strip of blond hair on top of his head, and the back it was allowed to grow so that there was a four inch wide "mane" trailing down to fall on this shoulders. It made a change to see this bobbing up and down as he jogged along, and otherwise all that blondness would have been wasted as like all ponies he was otherwise shaved completely smooth. A visitor once asked me about why this is, and frankly I have no idea - but you don't see ponies with body hair ever, do you? It might have something to do with the light sheen of slave oil that they're given every morning, so they start the day sparkling: it's good to come out into the morning sunlight and see a gleaming pony waiting for you, and body hair would prevent that delicious sheen, I guess.
Anyway, it was therefore easy for Steve to be able to unshackle Sven from the trap, and I told him he could sit down by the side of the track and wait for the vet. I then casually said "Steve, I'm in a hurry and there's a lot to do. Just slip between the shafts, and we'll be on our way."
You'd have thought I'd have commanded him to do something terrible! He clearly thought it was demeaning or something to be used as a pony, and this was further proof, if proof I needed, that his attitude was wrong - I mean, you would have thought he would have understood that I still had much work to do, and would have pulled me gratefully. It's not as if he didn't have the right body, or wasn't fit and strong, after all.
His attitude really annoyed me, but I am the master, after all, so I said calmly "Dan, fasten the shackles to hold Steve between the shafts."
Dan looked at me , too, but probably remembering our conversation the night before, did as I commanded. With Steve now physically helpless, as I'd been concerned about his possible reaction, I went on "Now step behind Steve, Dan, and remove his shorts. Ponies run naked."
End Of Part Three.