The New Method of Carriage Pulling

THE NEW METHOD OF CARRIAGE PULLING

By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Author's note: I ran into this gorgeous looking guy when my flight from Australia made an unscheduled stop with a mechanical problem in the Gulf. We were put up in a hotel, and I went off to find the exercise room. This guy was in there, working away, and he had the best looking body I have ever seen.... In the showers, I couldn't help noticing an unusual mark on his stomach, and asked him about it. One thing led to another, and as we lay in bed later together later that night, he told me about himself.

In the morning, when I wanted to know more, he had gone. The reception people said that he was an employee of a rich Sheikh from close by, and sometimes came and stayed when he had business to transact - they said he "had been expecting a shipment", but had checked out early as it had arrived. I now wonder exactly what that shipment was.... But here's what he told me, as well as I can remember it!

Was he really telling me his life story, or just spinning me an elaborate tale? Certainly the detail with which he embellished his story was impressive. But it did keep us both sexually charged - in between fucks, I was quickly erect again as Steve's story was revealed to me, and this may have been his objective. I'll leave you, the reader, to judge. For myself, I'm now much more careful when I consider going to meetings with men I don't know, or accepting offers of new work!

Steve's Autobiography, as told to Pete Brown.

I was really excited when I was offered the job in the Gulf. There aren't many luxury sports complexes out there, and not that many jobs in them for English guys - especially not if, as like me, you've only just left university. Of course I did do well on the Sports Management degree course at Loughborough, but, in truth, I'm not all that academic and I think a lot of the reason I did well there was because I played sport - almost every sport - moderately well. I swam, did athletic events like the 5K, played in the first XV for rugger, and was a pretty nifty performer in the gymnastic events that really require good muscular development and control - the horse, parallel bars, and the rings.

I'd left there at 22 with my degree, a really fit body (my 6'4" of muscle had never been in better shape, as I'd had so much time, and truly excellent facilities, to devote to sport), and not much hope of getting a good job - most of the council-owned sports centres were cutting back on recruitment, and there are not that many private clubs in England that want to employ a 22-year old - they like their trainers and exercise leaders to be a bit older.

So when I'd applied for this job at the sports complex in this tiny place in the Gulf I'd never heard of and had to locate on a large-scale map (it turned out to be a tiny sheikhdom just to the South of Abu Dhabi) it was without much hope. I was amazed when I got a phone call almost the next day, inviting me to an interview at a large London hotel.

I hitched down there and crashed out the night before on the floor of a friend's flat - he was one of the lucky ones on my course who had only been doing it "for fun", and his parents were well off and were insisting he got a job in the City. He wasn't even up when I left for the interview - I peeked into his bedroom to say "goodbye", but he was asleep - sprawled across the bed, face down, face in his arms. The sheets had almost slipped off him, and I could see his naked back and ass. I blushed and backed out quickly - even though you're used to seeing friends naked all the time in the gym and so on t University, seeing them naked in this "domestic" setting is quite different.

The interview was a breeze. They asked me almost nothing, except, curiously, about my family background, and that was easy - my mom had died when I was 12, and dad had been killed in a car crash in my first year at Loughborough, so I had no close family. And they wanted me to start almost immediately.

Things were looking good when my tickets arrived - they'd paid for business class, not back of the plane!

But there was a note cautioning me to take only minimal luggage, as most of the clothes I needed in the complex were to be provided for me. So I was in excellent spirits when we took off from Heathrow, and sipped the free champagne: this was the life.

There was even a big limo to meet me - and I had no problems with customs or anything, as I was met at the door of the plane and whisked through some sort of "VIP" channel, with the customs and immigration people laughing and joking as they exchanged rapid Arabic with the guy who had met me.

I looked at the scenery as it went past outside the window - it looked so very hot and dry out there, although the aircon in the limo kept it fine inside. We went through a number of scrubby-looking Arab towns with all the stuff I expected to see there - donkeys, carts, general poverty and squalor, then through miles and miles of absolutely empty desert of sand, rock, and the occasional small shrub that looked as if it was really struggling to survive. I thought it would be hard to survive out there - without shade or water, I didn't think a man could last more than a couple of hours.

After about two hours we eventually pulled in through a big set of double doors into a huge courtyard. I must say it didn't look a bit like a luxury sports club, as the only people you could see around were uniformed guards cradling sub machine guns! My guide said "We're here", and before I could ask him where "here" was, had got out. So I got out, too, and went to look for my bags - but the guards came over to me, there was a lot of shouting, and I found myself being led off with them roughly pushing and shoving me, and much pointing of their guns. What the fuck was happening?

The cell I was thrown in was completely basic - lavatory in one corner, narrow, hard bunk down one side, concrete walls and floor except for the front, which was made of bars and which had the barred door set into it.

I stood there shouting at them, and demanding to see the British Consul. But I was just completely ignored, and after a few minutes I decided I should conserve my energy and just sat there on the edge of the bunk.

It must have been a good two hours before anything happened, and then a distinguished-looking Arab guy came in and stood in front of the bars. I started to shout at him, because I was angry by now, and demanded to be let out, or at least to be able to use a phone. But he just looked at me, and waited until I had burned myself out.

Then he said "Now listen, and listen well, as I'm only going to tell you this once. There is no job at a sports complex - there never was. But that advert is an excellent way of attracting men like you - young and fit, with good-looking, well-trained bodies. And the interview helps us find those of you with few ties in England - no parents or other close relatives, just down from University, so you've lost contact with your friends from school, and your university friends expect to lose contact as you all go to find jobs."

"So now you're here. And no one cares. And, if they do, the British Consul will find that a young man did indeed arrive at the airport, but on searching your luggage drugs were found so you never even entered the country - we didn't want to cause an international incident, so we deported you instantly. As you know, if you had gone back to England, there's no check kept on arrivals of citizens into the UK."

"You are going to work, but in a way you never thought. I am an enslaver, and I have been commissioned to find a man like you - early twenties, good body, tall, and with dark blonde hair. My client will, I think, be delighted that we managed to attract you, and I will get a handsome commission."

"You're a slave now. So start acting like one. Get naked, so I can inspect you better."

"Don't be so fucking stupid! This has gone far enough!", I shouted back. "There isn't such a thing as slavery any more. I'm certainly not going to strip in front of you. Get me a phone so I can call the British Consul!"

"Think on, slave, about your position. There is indeed slavery here - although the law does not explicitly allow it, as we need to be concerned about the UN grants we get and they would not countenance those sorts of provisions in our constitution. Our Sheikh is one of the largest slave owners in the country and so there is de facto continuance of the old slavery laws. Your owner has absolute power over you. He can order you to be punished in any way he sees fit, from starvation, through to beatings of any severity, mutilation, and even death."

"You are in this cell, and I have absolute power over you anyway. I could order my guards in here and have you stripped, but I want this to be a lesson in your understanding of your new position. So I will give you your first punishment - a little mild starvation."

And with that, he went out, and I was left alone.

After four hours, I was worried - there was a tap in the cell, so I could drink. But I was hungry - I hadn't eaten since the plane. I tried shouting, but no one came.

Four more hours, and still nothing. It was dark outside now, I could see through the small window high up in the wall outside my cell. So I lay down on the bunk, and hoped that I could sleep to forget the constant rumbling from my stomach.

Dawn was early - about 4 am according to my watch. I was ravenous when I woke up, and drank a lot of water to try to fill my stomach. I hated having to sleep in my clothes, and I could smell that smell of old sweat coming up from all over me. I'm usually fastidious about personal cleanliness, and doing so much physical activity I showered four times a day at least, normally.

By the time the man appeared again I was so hungry, as it must have been about 24 hours at least since I last eat. And, to make matters worse, he stood there with a big steak sandwich on a plate - the smell of the meat, and the onions on it, literally made my mouth water so much I drooled a little.

He just stood there, looking at me, whilst I shouted again for a phone. All he did was look at me when I had stopped, and say the two words he had used before: "Get naked."

I started to shout at him to "Fuck off!" again, and saw him turn and start to leave. Christ, I thought, he could leave me here for ever until I starve to death. So I called out "No.... Wait... "

He turned and looked at me. What else could I do? I started to unbutton my shirt.

He came back to the bars, and watched as I took my shirt off. I hated doing this - of course I'm used to stripping in front of other men, as I did it all the time at university for all the sport I did. But actually taking your clothes off when another man is watching, having ordered you to do it, is something else! I could feel a blush creeping up from my shoulders to my neck - sort of a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

Then I pulled my T-shirt up and over my head, and dropped it to the floor beside my shirt. I had hoped that would be enough, but he just stood there watching and saying nothing. So I stooped down and undid my shoes and slipped them off, then stood up and unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans. I turned around so my back to him as I slipped them to the floor, and stepped out of them - I don't know why, as my boxers were covering me anyway, but it just seemed the thing to do. It seemed easier to be stripping like this when I didn't have to look at him watching me.

I stood there in my socks and boxers, and turned around.

"Push those clothes out of the cell", the Arab said.

I did, and then asked him for the sandwich. He said nothing, but turned to leave again.

"No, wait! Come back. Please come back!"

He returned and stood looking at me.

"Yes?"

"Look, I've stripped for you. Please let me have something to eat."

"I thought you were English. Do you not understand your own language? I commanded you to get naked. You defied me yesterday by doing nothing. Now you continue your defiance by standing there in those socks and shorts."

I could see that there was nothing else to do - sooner or later, I would have to surrender or starve to death. So I bent down and pulled off one sock after another. The Arab watched impassively as I pushed them out of the cell.

Then with a shrug of resignation, I pushed my thumbs under the waistband of my boxers and pushed them down to the floor, stepped out of them, and pushed them, too, through the bars.

"Good!", the Arab said. "Display yourself properly now."

"Uh?"

"Shake your dick, idiot! It's been cramped in those boxers."

So I did that little "flick" on my cock that you usually do when you take your clothes off - when there are lots of guys together in the changing room, no one notices and every one does it. But with the piercing gaze of the Arab on me, and having been made to forcibly strip like this, it was extra embarrassing and I even thought I was going to get a hard on.

"Can I eat now?", I asked, my mouth still full of saliva from the smell of the steak sandwich.

"Sure!"

And with that the Arab went out, taking my clothes with him.

I shouted at him to make good his part of the deal - I'd stripped, hadn't I?

He did return a few minutes later, carrying a stainless steel bowl containing what looked like a lot of hard dog biscuits.

"Now listen, slave, and listen well. You don't bargain with a master - you don't say 'I've taken my clothes off, now do your part of the bargain'. Slaves aren't here to bargain, only to obey. You should have stripped the moment I told you to get naked. For that, I should really have punished you."

"As it is, I'm being merciful - and anyway I don't want your flesh damaged before I hand you over to your new master."

"Here's your food. You don't think slaves get fed on steak here, do you? This will be your diet from now on, I expect: almost all masters use it as it's cheap and easy to serve, and there's no mess, no waste, and no clearing up afterwards. It's specially formulated to keep you happy and healthy - well, healthy, at least - as it contains everything you need in terms of proteins, carbohydrates, vitamins, minerals.... "

I picked up one of the small one-inch square biscuits out of the bowl and bit it in half, as you would a chocolate. It was hard and dry, and crumbs went everywhere.

"Idiot! Look at the mess you're making. You eat slave biscuits by putting them whole in your mouth, then crunching them up. When you've eaten that one, get down on your knees and clean the floor."

I looked at him, and he looked at me. He knew, I'm sure, that I was about to tell him to fuck off - now I had some food, I thought I could hold out until I was rescued, or something.

"Before you say anything, slave, think on. No one knows you're here, except for people on my staff, and they're all experienced enslavers. So you're not going to get rescued or released. Even if you disobey me now, we will soon starve you into submission, or, of course, I could forget about delivering you to your new master immediately, and simply have you hauled out of that cell and taken to the flogging chamber."

"In fact, that might be the best thing. I don't know what your master is planning to do with you, but obviously you don't have the correct attitude for a slave yet. It would probably be best for all concerned if some of that defiance was beaten out of you now - best for your new master, and, at the end of the day, best for you! A good hard thrashing upfront will probably save you from multiple beatings over the first few months of your enslavement."

"Now, before I order the flogging, show me you understand your position. Get down on your knees and clear up those crumbs with your tongue!"

I looked at the Arab in astonishment. Surely he couldn't mean it? The floor was that type of smooth concrete that had been painted with a thick paint, but, even so, it would be harsh on my tongue! But what other choice did I have? I didn't doubt that he would have me whipped or something, so I knelt down, and then started gingerly to lick the floor.

Have you ever tried this? It's actually quite difficult, as you need to get your head right down and even then your nose gets in the way. I don't think it's a practical method of removing the crumbs - I could have picked them up with my fingers, one by one.

But it certainly does make a man feel servile, especially as with your head down your ass is right up in the air. I knew the Arab must be looking at my ass hole, and at my cock and balls as they swung freely between my legs.

After a couple of minutes I thought I had done all I could, so I started to get to my feet.

"Good, you're learning! Now wait patiently, as your new owner is coming to inspect you later today."

The Arab left, and I just sat there, naked, on the bunk. I buried my head in my hands and was in despair - what he fuck was going to happen to me? Just a few days a go I was a young, free man, in the prime of early manhood, raring to get started on a new career. And now here I was, stuck naked in this cell, with all this talk of "new owners" just as if I was a horse or something!

But I didn't have too long to think about this as before long the door outside my cell opened, and the Arab appeared with another one - he was about my age, and dressed in traditional Arab robes so I couldn't see his body. But he was shorter than I was, probably only about 5'10".

"Highness, this is the slave we captured for you to those very exacting specifications you gave us. As you will see, he is well made and muscular, over 6'3" tall with the height well proportioned between body and legs, so he has good long legs. And he is a blond - a dark shade, admittedly, but there were none of those very pale Scandinavians we could find within your time scale that otherwise fitted the requirement to be removable from society without too much fuss being made."

"You have done well, Dealer. At first glance, he's exactly what I'm looking for. You didn't mention my requirement for a properly proportioned cock, and low-hanging balls, but I see that they are very satisfactory, too. Have him turn around, slowly, so I can see the back and sides of him."

The enslaver looked at me and commanded "Turn around -

slowly, mind!"

What was this? Couldn't the second guy speak to me directly? I was going to tell them to screw themselves, but what's the point? I was completely in their power, so I started to turn as instructed.

It's somehow very demeaning, and very erotic, to be inspected as if you're a piece of merchandise. Of course I was used to being naked with my team mates and so on, but having two fully-clothed men watching you - no, inspecting you - is something else. I could feel my cock start to harden a bit. Fuck me, I thought - this is not the time to get a hard-on!

"Good, Dealer. You have fulfilled my other requirement - no obvious blemishes anywhere on the body. And excellent job, if I may say so. I will take delivery, for the agreed price."

"Shall we ship him to you tomorrow?"

"No, I will take him with me today. You know what they say - the goods you take with you get home first!"

"Are there any preparations you would like made to the slave, Highness? Tattoos, circumcision, gelding...."

"No, of course not, fool! I'm not paying you all this money for an unblemished slave just so that you can go ahead and start making it artificial! My plan is to start a new fashion for totally 'natural' slaves and everything you suggest would spoil the effect. I'm only having minor cosmetic changes - such as a new haircut - made to him, and my own slave handlers will do that."

"There is the question of the slave ID, Highness. As licensed dealers we are required to ensure this is tattooed clearly onto all slaves before they leave here. Normally, we do it on the biceps, or the ass...."

"Absolutely not! Nor in the ass crack, which is where a lot of my slaves are marked. I expect to see this slave's ass exposed quite often. You may have him marked on the sole of the left foot. And whilst you're having the state registered number inscribed, have the following number put underneath - it's the reference number in my inventory system. And be quick about it - I want to take the slave with me, and don't want to sit around here all day!"

As he was speaking, the younger Arab to whom the enslaver had been deferring had passed over a slip of paper, and I could see clearly on the top of it the words "INVENTORY CONTROL - NEW ACQUISITION". I was being treated just as if I was an object that the man had acquired - an object amongst so many that the guy owned that he needed some sort of computerised inventory to keep track of it all. Did he think so little about men - slaves - that they could just be reduced to numbers in an inventory control system?

"Of course, Highness. It shall be done instantly. Will you take coffee whilst you wait? And may I arrange a parade of some of our new stock for you, to help pass the time?"

"Yes, Dealer. Coffee would be excellent. And it's always worth having a look at your new stock, although I have to warn you that after buying this one, I'm unlikely to buy anything today. However I think I heard at a dinner the other evening that you have some of those new dark-haired Slav types from Eastern Europe? Lots of body hair, wiry and short, rather than long and shaggy? You can show me some of those - I'm looking for a stunningly handsome slave as a new attendant for my bath, and I think I'd like a change from the blacks that I traditionally use: a nicely-muscled Slav, not too tall, with interesting body hair all over him would make a nice change."

"Of course, Highness. All shall be as you command. The chaos in Eastern Europe has given us many new opportunities for acquiring prime stock - a lot of the men there are so desperate to get to German, England or France that they even pay our enslavers for a 'passage' to get smuggled in - they're usually very surprised when they arrive here instead!"

And the two Arabs went out, still discussing men from Eastern Europe.

I tried to make sense of what I had heard... But frankly it didn't all make sense - "gelding", "new fashion", "natural" ... What the hell was going on?

As I was turning over in my mind all I'd heard, the door opened again and four guards came in - big, tough-looking men in short, tight leather shorts, tight leather vests and black "workmen's" boots. They all had what looked like whips neatly coiled attached to the leather belts at their waists, and a couple of them carried short, blunt rods of metal, about two feet long."

One of them came up to the cell door and said to me "OK, slave. Do you know what a cattle prod is?"

"No."

"Well it's what a farmer uses to control unruly stock.

A jab with one of these prods my colleagues are carrying discharges high-voltage energy into you. It is, I assure you, extremely painful."

"We won't hesitate to use it on you if there's any sign of struggle or resistance. We have to take you for tattooing, and your new master is waiting, so we want to do it as quickly as possible. Normally we don't need these prods for just a single slave, as we enjoy any sign of resistance as the four of us can then use our boots on you. But we have specific orders that you are not to be damaged - even temporarily - so it will be the prod at the first sign of any misbehaviour. Understood?"

I just looked at him, wondering what to say. One of the others reached into my cell and just touched his prod to my thigh. In an instant, I was rolling on the floor - it was just as if someone had thrown a bucket of scalding water over me! I writhed in agony, screaming and choking.

As the pain subsided a bit, I looked down expecting to see my leg horribly disfigured - but no, it looked just the same as usual.

"I asked you if you understood, and you did not reply instantly, as a good slave should. So you've seen the prod in action - good, isn't it. Direct stimulation of the nerves, so all the pain and none of the damage!

Think what would have happened if we'd touched your balls, or even that nice-looking cock of yours, with it!"

"Now, I ask again. Do you understand that the slightest resistance will be met with the prod?"

Quickly I snapped out "Yes."

"Good. Get up off the floor, and come with us."

They had unlocked the cell, and I struggled to my feet and was marched in the centre of the four of them out of the cell room and along a couple of corridors. As we passed I could see in to other cells - most of them contained one or more naked men, of all ages, sizes and colours.

There were a lot of single guys like me, in their twenties, but I saw that a many of the blacks were grouped in twos, fours or eights, all of roughly the same size and colour of black. Four of the cells held what I guessed must be the Slavs that the enslaver had been talking aout, because they had that typical "Slav" look - wiry, luxuriant hair on their heads, a lot of body hair, and very dark skin tones even where they had obviously been wearing swimming shorts.

We ended up in a room where there were already two naked men - slaves, I suppose, one of whom was sitting against the wall, and the other in a chair. The one in the chair was having his biceps tattooed, and was looking angry. I would think he was in his late thirties, and had a very muscular body - I suppose he had been a labourer or something before he came here.

"Stop that", my chief guard said to the tattooist. "This one is urgent. His new owner's waiting."

Without looking round, the tattooist said "Look, they're all urgent! I'm just finishing this one, and his master is waiting, too. I've already done his son, and if you just give me a couple of minutes, the pair of them will be ready for shipment."

"The son?"

"Yes, that one snivelling over by the wall and this one are a father and son. Rare, I know, to get two slaves like this - the son is 20, the father 38. The father was a warehouseman in a big distribution centre - he handled all the items the automated systems couldn't cope with because they were too big and too heavy. The son was at college, and quite a jock, I understand."

"They can't seem to adapt to their new status - they're shy of being naked in front of each other even after several days here. But they'll soon get over that, I guess, with their new master!"

"Where are they going?"

"Their new master has ordered them for his leisure complex. He wants to be able to choose whether to beat the older one at sport, or to be beaten by the younger one! And he specially wanted a father and son as he likes to see a family resemblance in his slaves, and thinks it adds an extra little spice when he fucks them. I'm told he likes a sandwich - he fucks the son, whilst the father fucks him - when he doesn't have them fucking each other, as entertainment for his guests!"

"OK, you're done!", he went on, addressing the naked slave.

The man got up and I could see he had a good body for someone almost forty, and a big thick cock. He went over to the guy sitting against the wall, and helped him to his feet. The son did not have so much muscle but was in excellent shape, too, and was slightly taller than his father, as is usually the case. As they stood side by side, you could see the likeness between them.

The father put is arm protectively around his son's shoulders, and the young guy visibly straightened. Oh my God, I thought, how would I have felt if I'd had to stand there with my dad with both of us naked like that, knowing that we were going to have to fuck each other? Could this slavery thing get any worse, that they could even consider treating men in this way? Little did I know that it could - I didn't then know what was in store for me!

The tattooist motioned for me to get in the chair, but the guard said "No, this one's on the left foot - it's to be a 'secret' marking."

The tattooist gave an exasperated sigh, and snapped at me "Lie on the floor. Raise your left knee to your chest, and put your leg straight up in the air."

The guards were hefting their prods menacingly, so I did as I was told. It was only after I was stretched out hat I realised I'd chosen to lie with my feet towards the naked father and son, who still stood there waiting for whatever was to come next. As I raised my knee as I had been told, it occurred to me that they would now get an even better view of my cock and balls, and could even see my asshole as it was exposed.

The tattooist lugged over some sort of apparatus - rather like those portable workbenches you see in the DIY stores: a trestle arrangement, with a top that opens and closes to clamp wood or whatever so you can work on it.

He straddled my body with the trestles, then grasping my ankle, held it steady as he screwed together the "work top". There had been a notch cut in the two top pieces, so as they came together my ankle was gripped firmly. He carried on screwing, then relaxed the screws one half turn so my ankle was completely securely clamped, but not painfully so.

He sat astride he worktop, and I could feel him doing something with my toes. "You have to clamp the ankle really securely", he was telling the guards, "and then use this strap to keep the toes firmly in place. That way the whole sole of the foot is exposed and there's no possibility of movement. People think it's easy to tattoo slaves here, but a lot of them are very ticklish on the soles of their feet and if the work is not well secured, it becomes a nightmare to do! And even those who aren't very ticklish still have that reflex... Look..."

I felt his finger nail run the length of my sole, and, as you do, went to jerk my leg and curl up my foot. But nothing happened.

"Good - did you see how the slave's muscles tried to move, by reflex? But he's properly fixed, and so there was no motion possible."

I heard a buzzing start, and then for the next 20 minutes or so I was in some discomfort - I won't say pain as it didn't so much as hurt as be extremely uncomfortable. There was an odd mixture of that ticklish sensation you get when something sharp is scraped across your sole, made worse by my total inability to do anything about it; and a persistent "pricking" as the sharp tattooing needle went in and out.

As I lay there, I saw other guards come in and take out the father and son. The father still had his arm protectively around the son's shoulder, and as they moved away I could see how even more alike their bodies were from the back than from the front- same general musculature, same shaped ass, and so on. What sort of a life were they going to have, I wondered? I know a lot of older men enjoy being with younger lads, and many lads in their early twenties appreciate the company of older men - but a father and son! And all that talk of fucking, as an entertainment!

But then I was finished, my toes and ankle were released, and I was told to get to my feet. The guards marched me out by the same door that the father and son had, and we went along more corridors and then down to an underground garage.

It was cool in there, and one guard said to another "This is a lucky slave. His master's taking him away in his limo, that's in this air conditioned garage. Most of them go out in those ordinary delivery vans - fucking sweat shops, in the hot sun."

I was led over to a large black Mercedes, and what I guessed was the chauffeur got out - I was becoming used to seeing naked men by now, but this chauffeur's "uniform" was just a tiny silk posing pouch held by thin strings around his waist. When commanded by the guards, he opened the boot of the car and I was told to climb in.

Even though it was a huge Mercedes, the boot is still not all that large if you are over six foot, like me, and I had to almost curl into a foetal ball before they could slam down the lid on me.

I don't know how long I lay there before I felt motion in the car, and the slamming of its doors, and then it moved off. It did get hot in the boot as we went out into the sunshine, and soon the sweat was pouring off me. I don't know how long the journey was, or where it went, as it was pitch black in the boot, but after some time the car stopped, and I felt the motion of people getting out, then more slamming of doors, and then the car started off again - but only for a very short distance.

Suddenly the lid opened, and I was blinded by the light.

"Get out, slave. And quickly!", I heard a voice say.

I was difficult to uncoil my hot, sweaty body and actually get out of the boot - you try it sometime! And my muscles ached a bit from the cramped position I had been in. Reflexively I pushed my shoulders back, arched my belly forwards, and had a simple stretch. Then I saw that I was being watched by a big man wearing short white silk shorts and a white silk singlet - all of which seemed designed to emphasise his big thigh muscles, and big hairy chest. I realised that my stretching had had the effect of pushing my naked cock forwards, towards him, and so stopped and stood upright immediately.

The man was holding one of the prods and looking at me said "You know what one of these is, slave?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I do know what it is."

"OK, slave. Lesson one would normally be that you always answer respectfully. 'Yes, master', or 'Yes, boss'. But you are here in the Sheikh's stables, to join his herd of ponies. So lesson one for you is that you never, and I repeat, never, use any words again. You may nod your head, or shake it on those very rare occasions when you are indicating a negative. But absolutely no words."

"The Sheikh is a very good master, and very fair. But here in the stables he has two standing orders that we obey totally. One, any attempt at escape results in death. Absolutely automatic - no excuses, no extenuating circumstances, no pleas for mercy. Do you understand?"

"Yes".

I was writhing on the ground in agony again, screaming with pain, as the man jabbed at me with his prod.

He shouted at me to get to my feet, and went on : "You've just seen the consequences of breaking rule one, as I said - slaves designated as ponies may never - and I repeat never - use any words of any kind. This punishment was mild - take it that you have used up your one 'trial' lesson. The next time you utter any word - even a single word - you'll be flogged. And, believe me, we have excellent flogging masters here on the estate who can inflict terrible punishment on you without leaving permanent scars that would reduce your value. Now- and think carefully before you act - do you understand rule one?"

I went to say "Yes", but remembering what he had said instead just nodded my head.

"Good. You're a quick learner, I see. Most ponies find it easier just to keep their mouths shut - when they can shut them if they are not wearing a bit - to avoid any possibility of a painful mistake."

"Now, follow me into the stables, and I'll explain the routine to you."

We went inside, and I saw that the building was long and low. There was a wide centre aisle, with a smooth concrete surface, and on each side here were bays - stalls, I suppose you would call them - each with a layer of straw on the floor.

"This is the area where you ponies sleep, and are kept between work assignments. They are all empty at this time of the day as all our ponies are out. The Sheikh has two teams of eight draft animals for pulling heavy carts around the estate, a matched set of four blacks for his own formal carriage, two racing pairs for long-distance work when he wants to visit the next estate, and a few individual ponies for light work around the estate. Quite an establishment - you can tell how rich and successful he is that he can afford so many ponies. Most of them are 'thoroughbreds' like you with especially nice bodies, and it costs a lot to acquire and keep you. Even his draft teams are closely matched for size and shape, and don't contain the usual cheap rubbish that you often find in teams of that type."

"At the end are the showers and tackle room, were we will groom you and put on your harness for each day's work."

As he was talking , we had walked the length of the stable and had now entered a big tiled area with shower heads coming out of the wall and a number of pieces of apparatus - tables, something that looked like a set of parallel bars, and a big "X" made out of wood - standing against the walls.

"OK, shower!", he told me.

I was so glad to be able to do that - I was hot and sweaty from the car journey, and anyway hadn't been able to shower since I was captured. I could smell the stale smell of my own body as it wafted past my nose, and hated it - how much worse it must be for anyone else close to me.

So I stood under the cascading water, and really enjoyed the feeling of being squeaky clean all over again, even though the soap I had been given was just a lump of something very coarse that smelt as if it was the product of a chemical factory - not at all like the smooth perfumed bars we are used to.

The water was turned off before I was really finished - I had washed all the soap off me, but could have stood under the cascading water for hours, it felt so good. I looked around for a towel, but there was none, so I simply "planed" the water off my arms, chest, ass, and legs as best I could - the hot dry air would obviously dry out the rest of me quick enough. And, as can happen, I even felt a momentary chill as the remaining water evaporated quickly from my skin.

The guy in the shorts and singlet motioned me over to him.

"Let me see your left sole", he said.

I turned around so my back was to him, bent my left leg up and grasped my ankle to hold it as high as possible.

He stooped down and read the Arabic that had been tattooed there, and punched it into the keyboard of a handheld PC that had been dangling from his belt.

"Good", he said, half to himself, half to me. "The Palace inventory system has already been updated and so you are on the Sheikh's property register. That saves a lot of time for me, as sorting out he paperwork fuck-ups after the event takes so much effort. This new radio-linked PDA system really is a godsend to us managers!"

"You'll be pleased to know that the Sheikh has approved the use of 'Steve' for you. We only have one name in use at any one time in the stables, and currently there's no 'Steve'. And the Sheikh thinks that short names are best for ponies, so that's OK, too. Somehow it seems easier for you new ponies to adjust when we continue to use your existing names, rather than have to try to get used to new ones. Some of our ponies get punished very harshly in their first few weeks because they simply don't remember that an order addressed to 'Bob' or 'Slim' or ' Jeff' or whatever is intended for them - they're still thinking of themselves as 'William', or whatever!"

So these bastards could even cruelly rename a guy on a whim, could they? A man's name is his - by the time you're mature, you're so used to it I can see why some of the ponies had problems.

"There are no special treatments needed for you, as you are not to lose teeth to take the bit firmly down in your mouth, or to have the chain waistcoats that a draft pony needs welded on. And the Sheikh has postponed a decision as to where you will be branded - he wants to see how the 'new attachment strategy' he's working on looks in practice."

"So all that we need to do for you is cut your hair, shave you, and give you all the right shots you need if you are to remain healthy and work hard out here. And even then, most of this is simple - you're not even having the full body shave, like the blacks and racing ponies - just the standard ball trim."

"So, let's get started. Bend over that table."

I was going to run away or something - but I didn't know where I was, or whether there was anywhere to run to, even. And as he was hefting his prod, I just did as I was told.

He gave me four injections in all - two in each ass cheek.

"Yellow fever, typhoid, anti-maleria......", he said to himself as he was doing it. "It was much easier when the vet used to come out and do this. But when he put his rates up last year, the Sheikh decided we could do all the regular vaccinations of the ponies and the vet would only be called in for emergency work."

My bum felt quite sore after this, but the man shouted something and a couple of young guys who can't have been more than 16 years old came running. Like me, they were naked but their well-muscled bodies looked even younger and less mature as they were totally devoid of body hair.

"Standard pony hair trim and pubic treatment for this one, lads" the man said. "But nothing off anywhere else, except you can shorten the armpit hair a bit. And remember, it's his first day. He's not used to being handled by you stable lads, so be patient and gentle with him."

So these were stable lads! This "pony" business was obviously carried to the limit. Did they have "jockeys", too, I wondered?

The lads were obviously skilled and experienced at what they did , however. Within a couple of minutes my already short hair (I liked to keep it quite short as it's easier for showering after sports) was reduced to a uniform quarter-inch all over. And my hair-line usually tapered out gradually, whereas now it was razored into a sharp cut-off. They even razored around my temples a bit, to make the hair that comes right up to the forehead even more pronounced from the valleys on either side.

But it was the shaving of my cock and balls that I really hated - even though they were ever so gentle and clearly knew that holding another man's balls, especially when you also have a really sharp razor, is a real responsibility. They shaved my balls totally, together with the few strands that were on the shaft of my cock. My pubic hair was trimmed down to a uniform length of half an inch, and the sides shaved away totally so I just had a small patch left immediately above the cock and balls themselves.

When they gestured for me to lie back and open my legs so that they could get in to razor the hair away from underneath my sac in that sensitive area leading towards the asshole, I didn't think it could get any worse from the point of view of humiliation. But it did - I then had to lie on my stomach and pull my ass cheeks apart, whilst they shaved all down inside my crack and around the asshole.

No one- and I mean no one - not even myself - had ever touched my asshole before. And now here were these two naked lads soaping it up and then razoring the hair off!

When they had finished, the man led me off and into one of the stalls about half way along.

"That spigot is for water. It's always available. Just push your mouth well over it, then tongue the flap to get the water flowing", he said.

"The straw is fresh every day. But try to keep it clean, as it's not nice for the lads when they clean the stables in the morning if you piss or crap in it. That hole in the corner is for that."

"Now after those injections you'll be stiff, and probably have a bit of a fever. So I'll leave you to rest for the remainder of the day and night."

"Come over here..."

I followed him to the far end of the stall, away from the corridor. He bent down and rummaged around in the straw, and came up with a length of chain. Reaching up he looped one end of the chain around my neck, then did some sort of little "cinch" followed by a "snap".

"This is another example of how the Sheikh's a good master", he said. "He allows you the freedom to move around in your stall, rather than tethering you firmly to the floor. And he does it with a chain, rather than a fixed collar around your neck, so that there is no possibility of sores or scarring caused by chafing.

You can't reach the corridor, but you can get to the shit hole, stretch, and do exercises, if you want."

He went out, without a further word, and I just sat down, and remained motionless, feeling the sharp ends of the straw poking into my naked ass. It smelt fresh and sweet, though - I suppose there's something primeval going back to our early days as farmers about the smell of fresh straw - although I was not really in a position to completely appreciate it!

It must have been the sheer strangeness of everything that allowed me to sleep. It's funny, isn't it - when there's a big problem in your "normal" life you lie awake worrying about it. But when something totally overwhelming happens to you, you can just sleep. I was so tired from everything that had happened to me so far that I just went out like a light. I suppose I knew there was nothing I could do about what was happening to me - it didn't matter how much I worried and fretted, I just knew that whatever was in store for me was going to happen anyway.

So I woke up to find the stalls opposite me occupied by other naked men, who I supposed must be the other "ponies" the guy had told me about the day before. In one stall I could see eight really big, heavily muscled guys who had chains running across their shoulders, down under their pecs, and around to the back. And another stall held two completely naked - and I mean completely, as they didn't seem to have any hair at all on them - black guys. They were huge - I'm tall, but these lads must have been at least six inches taller than me. And when I say "black", I mean "black" - these weren't the sort of dark brown you see every day on the street, they were the absolutely coal-black men that you only rarely see in the USA or Europe as they come from West Africa and tend to stay there.

I sat there rubbing my eyes, and realised I needed to piss - after my usual morning hard-on had subsided. It wasn't the sight of those other men that made me erect - don't get me wrong - it's just the normal erection that all young guys get as they wake. I was glad there was some of the loose straw in front of me, as I didn't want the other men across the passage way to see me like that.

I thought about calling out to the others, then remembered what I had been told about not speaking. And they obviously followed the "no speaking" rule, too, because although they had seen me and had even half-waved to acknowledge my presence, none of them called out.

I moved in my stall until I was by the piss hole, then, turning my back so that the others wouldn't see, relieved myself. It was good to do those "normal" morning things - although I knew the rest of my day was going to be far from normal.

As I finished, one of the young naked lads who had shaved me the day before came along with a stainless steel dish and pushed it at me. I saw it had the same dog-biscuit things in it as I had been fed before, but I was so hungry that I just sat there and chewed them up.

The other "ponies" that I could see were eating, too, and as they finished guards came along and unfastened them from where they had been tethered in their stalls and led them off. I could distantly hear the sounds of wheels on the stones of the yard outside, and supposed they were therefore going off "to work".

There was nothing else I could do so I just sat there, and then, when that got boring, I decided to do some stretching and exercises. Ever since I was about 15 I'd done the Canadian Army exercises every morning, as you can do them anywhere as you don't need apparatus. And the familiar feeling of these routines as I stretched, bent, jumped, and ran on the spot was comforting somehow. Except, of course, that I wasn't used to my cock and balls flying around as I did it - at home, and at university, I'd always pulled on a pair of training shorts before I started! And the chain around my neck got in the way, and the clinking and jangling sound it made as I tried to exercise was really annoying.

It must have been midmorning before anything else happened, and then it was the big muscular guy in singlet and tight shorts who came in.

"Right, Steve! Just remember lesson one from yesterday, and don't make a sound. I've got my cattle prod here waiting to teach you a lesson if you deserve it."

"I'm going to unchain you now, and take you off to be measured. Don't try to escape, as you won't succeed: you're in the middle of the stable complex, in the middle of the Sheikh's estates. Even if you make a break for it, I guarantee you won't get far. And I'm sure you remember what I told you was the absolutely automatic punishment for attempted escape?"

He stopped, and was obviously expecting a reply. So remembering his "lesson one", I simply nodded my head.

"Good boy! You're a quick learner, I see."

He undid the chain from around my neck, and told me to follow him. We went along the passage in-between the stalls, and I could see all the muscles in his body flowing in that controlled way that all guys who look after their bodies have. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him - he was all solid muscle - and it seemed as if the singlet, which was cut very low, and the shorts, that were tight over his ass and cut very high at the sides, were designed to emphasise his body rather than to conceal it.

In the "tack room" at the end, there were two men with several pieces of apparatus made out of stainless steel. I was told to stand upright in the middle of the room, and the two men proceeded to put one piece of it around my neck - it was two bars, hinged together at one end, whose middles were bent out so that my neck would fit in. As soon as it was around me, they closed the other two ends together, and then spent sometime discussing "the fit".

Fingers were poked down between the steel and my neck, and there was much discussion as to whether it should be tighter or looser.

"It's really important there should be no movement", said one, "as I t will otherwise chafe and scar badly.

Remember, the whole load is being taken on his shoulders."

So they carried on, and then measured from marks on the bars to where the hard tops of my shoulders and collar bone touched it. I was then told to raise my arms, and the positions where my hands intersected with the bars were carefully measured.

I was then told to bend over, double, and they measured the height of the bars to the floor, then commanded me to stand up and measured the distance from the bars vertically downwards over my body to the tops of my legs - the place where you can feel your pelvic bone stick out, just above your cock.

What the hell was going on, I wondered?

Ultimately they finished, and I was released from the bars. But the final thing was strangest of all - they measured my wrists, very exactly. And measured them when I was told to hold my hands at shoulder-height, with my hands parallel to the sides of my head.

I heard one say to the other "We need to get his wrists right, in the position he's going to have to hold them. Most men when told to hold their hands in the air do so with the palms facing forwards, but we need to understand how his wrist bones will be when his hands are at right angles to that. After all, we do need to get an exact fit."

Then they were gone, and the man in the singlet and shorts, who had been watching all this, said "That's all for today, Steve. So now we'll just make sure you get some exercise."

He led me off to a yard, where there was a long pole mounted about eight feet above the ground, parallel to the ground, with one end fastened to a pillar. The pole was rotating, driven by a motor within the pillar. Fastened to the rotating pole by chains around their necks were the two jet-black slaves I had seen that morning.

"The Sheikh isn't using his fast carriage today", the singlet guy said , "So Gin and Tonic here are doing their daily exercises on the exerciser. You can join them, even though your own work won't really be like this. But I think you'd probably rather run around here in the open, than be chained in your stall all day."

I looked at the two blacks, who were sweating in spite of the hot, dry air. How degrading fore them - I supposed they had had "African" names, so the Sheikh had re-titled them "gin and tonic" in that way you see dog owners do sometimes who call a pair of dogs "Whiskey and Soda", or some other cute combination!

Singlet man reached up to the bar and pulled down a chain, which he looped around my neck and snapped shut. Then he took a pair of handcuffs off his belt and told me to hold my hands behind my back, and cuffed them together. A short chain from the cuffs to the one around my neck then held my hands very uncomfortably high up in the middle of my back, instead of allowing them to hang down at ass level.

He looked at what he had done, pulled at the chains and cuffs to make sure everything was secure, then shouted "Roll it!".

The arm began to rotate, and all three of us started to circle the big pillar. I thought the blacks had it relatively easy as their hands were not cuffed and they could adopt a "normal" running posture, whereas it was extremely difficult for me to have to run with my hands constrained as they were.

And then I found out why the blacks were sweating - the rotational speed varied, sometimes allowing us to go at a gentle jog, and sometimes requiring us to run fast - and I mean fast! I was fortunate in being chained to the bar closer to the pillar than the blacks, as they had to run even faster than me in order to keep up with the relentless sweeping of the arm around the circular yard.

Now I'm a fit guy, but this running was just endless. We went on and on, and there was no way I could stop without being choked by my chain. And my feet, which were used to exercising in proper athletic shoes, were really sore as they had to run over the sand and pebbles in the yard. That, and the rasping effort a my lungs tried to drag in enough air to keep me going, certainly took my mind off the ache from my unsupported balls as they slapped against my thighs as I ran on, and on.

Singlet guy came and watched for a bit after what I judged was a couple of hours, and then called out to someone. The turning of the pole ceased, and he came up and unchained me. But then it started again and the two blacks had to continue their relentless running.

"Gin and tonic really prefer to pull the Sheikh's high-speed gig", singlet man said. He seemed to like telling me what was going on. "He rarely goes more than five or six miles, and they find that a lot easier than the exerciser here."

He led me back into the stables, I was allowed to shower, quickly, then he led me back and chained me again into an empty stall.

I was fed again that night, and was so tired that again I slept well. All the "ponies" seemed to be in the same position, as when they got back to their stalls you could just tell they were exhausted and all they wanted to do was to stretch out and sleep.

It was the same the next day as the previous one - I was left in my stall until all the other "ponies" had left, and then singlet man came and got me.

"Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life", he said with an irritating false bonhomie. "Those smiths who measured you yesterday worked through the night, and your new rig is ready. The Sheikh is really excited!"

"Now I'll caution you again. Say nothing. Absolutely nothing, when we get to the tack room. Your master the Sheikh is coming down specially to see you fitted into the new tack. He's very proud of the system, which he has designed himself, and he's got his cousin with him to show it off to on its first day. He would be extremely angry if you were to show any human signs, and I can't answer for the consequences if you do. He has a violent temper, and even though he paid a lot to the enslavers to get a man with your physical characteristics, and has spent a lot on this custom rig, he'd easily start all over again with a new man if he loses his temper!"

We went into the tack room, then stood there waiting until the Sheikh - the young guy I had seen at the enslavers - accompanied by another Arab of about the same age, appeared. I just stood there, totally naked, in front of them and singlet guy. Somehow it was worse being naked in front of the two Arabs who were about my own age, than it was being naked in front of "singlet guy". I don't know whether this was because I had become used to being naked in front of the "singlet guy", or because I knew the Sheikh "owned" me, or just because guys don't like being naked in front of their clothed contemporaries - for whatever reason I felt embarrassed in a way I hadn't for the last couple of days, and could even feel the beginnings of a flush across my chest and shoulders.

The Sheikh was speaking as he came in, and it was in English. His was faultless and unaccented, and I could clearly hear "....bored with the existing methods. As you know, we have chain waistcoats permanently welded on to the draft ponies, and these can be hooked onto the chains on the front of the carts they pull. That way they are free to use their arms for greater leverage when necessary, and, of course, they can easily be hitched and unhitched to load and unload the carts."

"And as you've seen many times before, my carriage ponies - whether they are the big formal matched team of four, the pair of blacks I use for fast work, or one of the single ponies use for very light work - are all conventionally harnessed. Their wrists are chained to the cross-poles, and they simply push forwards against them. Of course I have their back teeth removed so that the bits can fit snugly down, and they are held in place by bridles around their chins and heads."

"But this new method is my own invention entirely. I got the idea when I saw one of those yokes that used to be used for carrying buckets of water back in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And I guess draft cattle and so on use a variation of it for ploughing in less advanced countries."

He stopped talking to his companion, turned to "singlet man" and continued "Right, Stable Master, let's see if all the effort has been worth it. Get him into the rig."

The man who I had been thinking of as "singlet guy" was evidently the Sheikh's Stable Master. He picked up a large stainless steel object lying on the floor, and approached me with it. I saw that yesterday's pair of stainless steel poles had been transformed into a yoke - hinged at one end still, and the stable master fitted it around my neck.

As well as a hole for my neck, there were two holes for my wrists which I had to raise and hold just outside my shoulder line. When the yoke was snapped closed, I found that my shoulders fitted snugly into depressions on its underside, my neck was held firmly but not tightly, and the wrist holes were shaped so closely that I could not rotate my hands.

The stable master and the Sheikh came over and spent a lot of time examining the fit of this yoke - they seemed pleased, as the couldn't slip fingers between it and my flesh.

"That's just what I ordered", the Sheikh commented, "Tight, but not constricting. As this pony matures, stable master, ensure the yoke is checked regularly. I expect his neck will thicken further - although he has a mature man's neck already - and I don't want him choking or being restrained by not being able to breathe properly."

The stable master then gestured for me to follow him, and we went out into the yard where there was a thing that looked like a rickshaw waiting. I say "looked like a rickshaw", as I have only ever seen pictures of them and have not been to the Far East. It was a small cart, with two big wheels at the side and a leather seat running between them. From the front of it stretched two stainless steel shafts, and the whole thing looked designed for lightness and speed.

The stable master commanded me to step between the shafts, behind a small bar that joined them together about half way along. He then raised the shafts, and told me to move forward to the bar, which was then at the height of my pelvic bone.

I stood there as the Sheikh and his companion watched, then the stable master told me to bend forwards.

As soon as I did, leaning against the bar, be roughly pushed my head further down and then I heard a double "snap" as the two ends of my yoke locked into fittings at the far end of the cart's shafts.

"Look", observed the Sheikh to his companion. "Perfect! The pony can't stand up now as any effort to do so merely tries to force the cart into the ground. And he can't bend further forward, without lifting the cart off the ground. Whilst it's been designed for lightness, the mechanics of it and the leverage caused by the length of the shaft just make it impossible. He's stuck bent double like that until he's released."

"Of course, we'll loose a lot of power this way. A man runs best upright, and the classical attachment method when he can throw his chest out is probably best. But look at what this new method gives us."

"Firstly, I selected a long-legged pony. When you look at a naked pony slave, you tend to overlook the legs as you naturally focus on the cock, and then on the musculature of the torso. But here you can't help seeing those fantastic long legs. And the way he is stretched, you see the thigh muscles, and the tendons at the back of the knees, in perfect detail."

"Secondly, observe his back. Do you see how the muscles are all standing out, an you can also see the line of his backbone almost the entire length? The shoulder muscles are emphasised because of the way he's having to hold his hands slightly out from his body, and in the 'wrong' direction. And I always choose slaves with those prominent vertebrae as I like to see a back like that."

"And thirdly, look how it makes his ass look. Have you ever seen a nicer ass on a young slave than that?"

"But surely he can't run as well like that as if he's put into a conventional harness", the Sheikh's friend observed. "He can't use his whole body to run with - only his thigh and ass muscles."

"True enough", he Sheikh replied. "But then this is a light trap, so not all that much effort is required. And I deliberately chose a slave with long, muscular legs and a muscular ass so that his body power could be maximised. But, anyway, I think you miss the point!"

"And what point is that?"

"Look, if I wanted to get around my estate quickly, I could simply have a four-wheel drive vehicle. There's nowhere on the estate not accessible to an all-terrain vehicle, and it certainly would be more comfortable - we could have the air conditioning on! The whole point of having human ponies to pull a trap is to humiliate them and to show my power by having another man completely subservient to my whims and desires."

"Now consider the ordinary harness ponies", the Sheikh went on. "Sure, they're naked, and they're held on to the traps by their harnesses. But they still have some freedom of movement, and they're upright, like real men. But look at this slave - he's totally helpless. He can't stand up, he can't sit down, he can't move his arms at all. And he knows that he is totally powerless to do anything to prevent me from feeling his testicles, or probing his asshole, which is, after all, almost exposed. Look...."

The Sheikh came over toward me, and the next moment I felt his finger sliding down between my ass cheeks. Then his finger touched my actual asshole, and I flinched- that's all I could do, as I was indeed powerless. I wanted to scream out and tell the dirty fucker to leave me alone, but I remembered all I'd been told about using speech, and was even more afraid about what might happen to me if I protested like that. So I just had to stand there, shuffling from foot to foot as the Sheikh's finger remorselessly toyed with my asshole, and even pushed itself a little way in. It was totally disgusting. I'd never even fingered up there myself - real men don't, do they? And now to have this pervert doing it to me in front of everyone standing around was so shameful it was almost more than I could bear.

"See....", the Sheikh continued, "Look how humiliated the slave is. I know he's a virgin, as I ordered one and since he has been enslaved no one has been near his hole. He absolutely detests my finger feeling him in his most secret, most private place, but there's absolutely nothing he can do about it whilst he's in this rig. If he was in a conventional harness, It would be much more difficult for me to feel him there, as I'd need to get him to bend over first, and then he would be free to move around."

"No, using a man as a pony is all about domination and control, and this new method of attaching the slave to the trap is infinitely better in this respect than the conventional ones. It's worth losing out on the slave's efforts, in order to achieve this total dominance of him. He knows he's just being treated as a plaything for me, and there's not a blind thing he can do about it!"

"Now", he continued turning towards his stable master, singlet guy, "Let's attach the reins so I can go for my first drive."

The stable master approached the front of me, and I could see his crotch bulging and his semi-erect cock clearly outlined through the thin silk of them - it was at my eye level, as I stood there bend at right angles from my waist.

The stable master had two long leather leashes, each of which had a stainless steel ring sewn onto one end.

He slipped one of the rings over the middle finger of each of my hands, then led the leashes backwards, over my back, towards the trap.

"I've even invented this new method of steering", the Sheikh went on. "Instead of the conventional bit and bridle, pulling on the reins will pull the slave's fingers backwards and I can quickly cause him any desired amount of pain to ensure proper steering control. Although I like having the bits and bridles in my conventional ponies, it does mean that anything they might try to say is muffled. This method leaves the slave's mouth completely clear, so, if he dares, he can shout or cry out: so much more of a subservient position for him - he has to control himself not to say anything - he has to use his own innate fear of me and the punishments I can order for him to make sure he never says anything. Subtle, don't you think?"

The Sheikh and his friend were now standing in front of me, and by bending my head upwards I could just see up to their faces.

"And here's the final indignity for the slave", the Sheikh went on. "To be as relaxed as he can be given his unnatural body position, he needs to keep his neck straight and thus his eyes are directed downwards. As you can see, he has to make a real effort to try to look up, or ever straight ahead. So during a long drive, he won't be able to keep looking forwards, only downwards at the spot almost underneath him. So he'll become totally dependent on my guidance - he'll have to rely on his driver to steer him clear of obstacles, make sure he doesn't bump into things, and so on. Not only do we remove another part of his free will, but we increase the subservience to the master."

"I had thought of having a bracket attached to the yoke", he went on, "To prevent the slave raising his head at all. But on reflection I decided it probably isn't necessary- normal muscle fatigue will prevent him from raising his head much. And, of course, I avoid all the need for those unsightly blinkers you see conventional harnessed ponies wearing sometimes to keep them focussed on the road ahead. Now.... Shall we go for our first ride?"

I felt the shafts flex as the Sheikh and his friend were obviously getting into the trap - there was absolutely no way that I could turn around to see, of course. Then the Sheikh snapped at me "Forward!", and the leather reins were slapped across my naked back and ass.

So I started to move forward. It really was difficult

• even though I've always done stretching exercises so my muscles are fairly loose and flexible, you're just not used to trying to walk, and then run, when bent at right angles! I could feel myself using the balls of my feet rather than putting my whole foot flat on the ground, and the pain from the backs of my knees, my thighs, and my ass muscles got worse and worse as I went along.

I soon got used to being steered" by the Sheikh, who pulled on the reins to pull my middle fingers back when he wanted me to turn left or right. And I also discovered another disadvantage of being bent over - my ass was completely exposed to the Sheikh as driver, and he could easily flick at it with a light, thin whip he carried - it didn't really hurt in a sustained way, but each time it fell across me, the sharp stinging pain was enough to spur me on to maintain my pace if it was flagging a bit, or to speed me up.

I don't know how long this first drive" went on, because after the first few minute I ceased to be able to think about time rationally - I was hurting so much from my legs and I needed to concentrate so hard on just keeping going, not stumbling, and obeying the Sheikh's steering commands to prevent my fingers being broken off. I just knew that this was the hardest exercise I'd ever done in my entire life - I was gasping for breath, and I could feel the sweat running off my entire body.

The Sheikh was also a master of causing me unexpected pain - if it seemed that I was not reacting properly to one of the stinging lashes to my ass or thighs, he would occasionally - and of course totally unexpectedly - throw his whip forward so that the fast-moving, light, thin end would curl down into my exposed armpits, and the burning pain I then got when the tender skin there was hit was a new agony for me. And when he tired of this, I found he could also whip my exposed balls as they hung down between my naked thighs.

Although I desperately wanted to cry out and shout, I knew that this would only be worse for me in the end, so I had to content myself with strangled, inarticulate cries. I wanted to curse and swear, call the Sheikh all the vile names I could think of - but all I could do was just howl with an animal-like shout.

But we did get back to the stables eventually, and I heard the Sheikh say "So far so good, stable master. Make sure he exercises the top of his body this afternoon as we want to ensure he maintains an even development - running like this, all that will get exercised is his ass and his legs. I'll not use him myself for another week, but I want you to take personal charge - he's to run at least five miles a day in the new rig, and you can drive him yourself: I don't trust the other slaves to do the job properly."

"Yes, your highness.", the stable master replied, and by straining my head I saw the sheikh and his friend walk off towards the palace.

"Right, Steve, you heard what the man said!", the stable master said in a kind of joking tone. Let's get you out of this rig for today, then on to upper-body exercises."

He came around to the front, and fiddled with the fastenings that held the end of my yoke to the shafts.

As they came free, I couldn't help myself, and simply pitched forward. Unable to use my hands to break my fall, I hit my head quite hard on the sand of the stable yard.

The stable master at once rushed to help me, and ordered a couple of the stable lads to come and raise me to my feet. I really couldn't stand unaided - my muscles had all seized and locked into place, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that they held me there, on my wavering legs. If the pain when I had been bent over and running was bad, it was even worse now that my body was returned to its "normal" position, and I groaned and moaned in agony. I wanted to reach down and try to massage my cramping and spasming muscles, but my hands were still locked rigidly into my yoke.

"I didn't realise you were in such a bad way, Steve!", the stable master said as he saw my obvious distress. "Hang in there....", and then he snapped some orders at the stable lads who half-supported me, half carried me into the stables.

Inside, I was lowered into a large plunge pool full of hot water, and with most of my body weight taken by the water, and the effect of the heat on my muscles, I could actually stand upright and began to feel better.

"I always knew this hydrotherapy pool would be useful one day", the stable master said. "The Sheikh had it installed here after he had visited a racing stable for real horses in England, and saw them using a pool for injured race horses. But we haven't used it ourselves so far - if a pony is that badly hurt here, it's easier just to replace him."

The stable master then, to my amazement, slipped off his tight silk shorts and his semi-erect cock sprang out from his body. Reaching down with crossed arms, he pulled the singlet up and off in one fluid motion, so he was totally naked (and of course as he did so his cock bounded upwards as his stomach tightened - I've often commented to myself that there are two sorts of guys in this world: those who take off their tops before modestly dropping their shorts whilst changing, usually turning their backs to you so you can't see their cocks; and those who get rid of the shorts first and then strip off their tops. They always face you, and even if you don't want to look at heir cocks, it's difficult not to when you know they can't see you whilst their head is covered by their shirt!).

He slipped into the water, and stood in front of me. Then he reached up and released the catch at the end of my yoke so the two halves came apart, and I could free my hands. He helped me to take the yoke off completely, and put it on the side of the pool, and then we just stood there, facing each other. If anyone had come in at hat moment we might have been two buddies who had just come back from a run, or a session in the gym, and who were now cooling off in the plunge pool. But this man had my happiness and my life in his direct control.

He looked directly in my eyes, and then I felt his hands running all over my shoulders, and down across my chest until his fingers were probing the ridges of muscles across my belly.

"Well, no obvious signs of strain there", he said. "Now sit down on the seat around the edge, and raise your legs."

I did as he said, and then he stood there running his hands up and down each of my legs in turn. I had never been handled like this by another guy before - well, at least not unless it was by a professional physiotherapist on a massage table. And here it was a naked guy doing it to me. He wasn't at all concerned about my cock and balls, and his hands ran right up my thighs as they probed for muscle strain - he wasn't in the least bit concerned about feeling my cock against the back of his hand as he continued his examination. And he obviously wasn't concerned about being naked himself whilst all this was going on.

"OK, you'll live!", he grinned. "Now, after about 15 minutes of this relaxing warmth, you're going to have to get out. I'll schedule only a little exercise of the legs for you, as we do need to keep you capable of walking and running normally. But, as the Sheikh said, we mustn't neglect your upper body development so it will be long sessions on the weights machines, a lot of press-ups, and a hundred or so trunk curls, to keep that belly of yours nicely ridged with muscle."

So saying, he got out of the water, planed himself dry, and casually pulled back on his singlet and shorts. He walked off, shouting orders to the stable lads, and after a time they came and motioned me to get out.

Surprisingly, I could walk almost normally, and I was led into the gym attached to the stables where I was able to do a whole afternoon's exercises with only the occasional "encouragement" from a guard who patrolled with a light whip to make sure that the slaves using the gym did not slacken their pace, or fail to do all the exercises properly.

I certainly slept well that night - I didn't hear any of the usual sounds from the rest of the ponies - the little sighs and farts all guys make during the night, and even the noises of passion as I guessed some of the "team" ponies enjoyed each others' bodies.

He following day it was the stable master, in his customary white singlet and shorts, who was waiting by my trap when I was led out, and he supervised the fixing of my yoke, and the attachment of it to the shafts. And then we were off again - running, running, running, until all thought of anything else had disappeared from my brain. All I could do was just keep my will going to put one foot down in front of the next - it was the total focus of my thoughts, my whole being.

When we did stop, we were not back in the stable yard, so I knew a further period of torment was in store for me as we would need to get home. But it was a pleasant spot, and we were on a patch of grass under a couple of tress that shaded my back from the burning sun.

"OK, Steve", the stable master said as he came around and stood by my head. I saw him slide the shorts off, and his cock - which although not as long as mine was certainly as thick - started to erect. "You're not going to like this, but it's for your own good."

"You're a virgin, I know, but the Sheikh doesn't allow his slaves to stay like that. He likes his slaves to be multipurpose, so all you ponies are part of the palace's 'pleasure' operation: when he's bored, he has you get together for a little orgy whilst he watches! So you've got to lose that virginity, and get used to taking a cock up your ass."

"Normally I just let it happen, and we all laugh when a virgin slave first realises that he's about to lose it. But I've taken a fancy to you, as I think you've got something special about you - and I actually feel a bit sorry for you, being torn out of your normal life and ending up here. So I'm going to break you in personally, gently. The first time is always the most difficult as your asshole is tight and unstretched, and if some big pony just fucks you it will really hurt and he might even damage you. So I'm going to do it now, slowly and gently."

"Of course, as you can see, I'm way above average in the cock department, so it won't all be a bed of roses for you. But I'll be as gentle as I can."

"This will be a really stressful time for you, so let me remind you again that you absolutely must not speak. You can cry out - and I'll expect you to do that - from pain, or pleasure, or perhaps both. But just animal howls, no words! Remember!"

He walked around behind me, and I felt the shafts move as he got between them. Then I felt his fingers probing my ass, and as I had when the Sheikh had first touched me in my secret place, I tried to get away by shifting my weight from foot to foot - but it was equally futile: bent double, locked in the shafts by my yoke, there was absolutely nothing I could do.

I felt his finger go inside me, then it was withdrawn, but it was back a moment later and it felt easier.

"See, I've lubed it with a bit of spit!", I heard him say.

He carried on probing and moving his finger around inside my hole, and it did indeed seem to feel better after a very short time. But then he pulled his finger out, and I heard him spitting again.

"OK, Steve. Now be brave! I've slathered my cock in my spit, and I'm going to start to go up you. Don't resist! If you try to resist, your asshole will clamp shut and it will be much more difficult for both of us. Instead, pretend you're about to have a crap - that crapping motion opens the asshole, and it will be easier for me to get inside, and that in turn will be much easier for you."

I wanted to say "No, no. This is all wrong...", but couldn't, of course. I felt his hands pulling my ass cheeks apart, and then a warm "something" pushing at my asshole. It actually was much warmer than his finger - I've since realised that cocks always do feel warm like that to the asshole, but this first time it was a new sensation.

The pressure increased on me, and I could feel the stable master pushing forwards against me, as his cock tried to enter me.

"Come on, Steve", he shouted. "Stop resisting...... Think about crapping".

I did, and to my surprise there was a sort of "pop" sensation and a little sigh from the stable master.

"OK, Steve, that's the most difficult bit. The head of my cock and it's thick flange is now safely inside you. I'm now going to slide the rest of my cock into you, slowly and gently. Just shout if the pain is too bad - but do try to take it like a man!"

In fact, it wasn't painful, at first. It felt good to have this piece of warm, solid man flesh sliding into me. There was that amazing sensation you get when you're shitting - the physical pleasure of feeling something moving deep inside your ass.

The stable master was grunting "Only a little more now", and it was starting to hurt, but not anything I couldn't take. And I'm not really certain, looking back on it, whether it was real pain, or just an odd mixture of true pleasure spiced up with a bit of pain.

Then felt his thighs in direct contact with my ass cheeks, and he flopped forward so his silk singlet with his hot body underneath it was lying along my back.

"There. All in. You've taken me in totally. That wasn't bad, was it?"

"Now for the fun! I'm going to slide in and out of you, ever so slowly at first, although I will get quicker. Only shout if you really want me to stop."

And he did - it felt incredible. We all know what it feels like to have a big, rampant cock up our asses, and my words can't really add anything to your ow experiences. But I now know how lucky I was to have such a gentle and considerate lover that first time - as he rocked backwards and forwards, slowly and gently, I had those feelings that I had never had before. I now knew why men wanted to fuck each other, and why a man's cock is the perfect size and shape for a man's asshole. Why hadn't anyone ever told me whilst I was growing up that having another man up you is the most amazing sensation that you can have? Why had all my mates always jeered at "gays" - surely at least one of them must have known the real truth about how fucking and being fucked by another man is the best sensation in the world?

But after a few minutes of this sheer unadulterated bliss, the stable master stopped and pulled out.

"I could tell you liked that", he said. "But you have to learn to take the rough with the smooth."

And with that, his whole rhythm changed - he started to thrust in and out with a force that almost amounted to violence, and his pubic bone kept smashing into that sensitive area around my ass hole as he did. I started to gasp, and the gasps soon changed to cries of pain (or pleasure?) in time with his thrusting. He too was making noises, and then I heard him shout "Sweet Jesus....." And he stopped and collapsed forwards onto my back again. I could feel something different inside me, and there were tiny spasms from his cock as he shot the last few spouts of his cum deep up into me.

He lay there on me for a minute or two, then stood up and pulled his now flaccid cock out of my ass.

"There you are, Steve. You're a real man now - no longer a virgin! That's a good hard fucking, to get you started on your new life. You did well - a lot of guys scream and shout the first time, especially if they're with a very active dominant guy like me. I know it hurt a bit, and I could hear you gasping and shouting, but I think you enjoyed it, mostly, didn't you?"

"Anyway, it really doesn't matter. As you'll find out, the Sheikh likes all his ponies to be well fucked all the time - it adds to his pleasure to be able to see good-looking, well-muscled men fucking away at each other."

"You should be glad that we're going straight back to the stables - If I was going around for the rest of the day I'd have you clean my cock up...."

He was standing in front of me now, and I could see his singlet was soaked in sweat. His cock was at eye level, and I could smell my own shit on it as he waved it in front of my face. "But I can have a good bath when we get back, and so for now I'll just go home dirty!"

And with that he bent down and pulled on his shorts, then I felt the trap move as he got in, and there was a quick slap of the reins on my ass and I had to trot off. As well as all the other miseries of having to run in such an unnatural way, I now had a further problem - I could feel something trickling down the inside of my thighs - it could only be his semen, I knew, trickling gently out of my asshole. I never felt more humiliated in my life, and knew I had been totally violated by the stable master.

When we got back to the stables, the stable master came around and stood looking at me as I remained there totally immobile.

"Well, Steve, you're not only a proper man now, but you took it like real men do - bareback, as we say. Without one of those disgusting condom things. You don't know how lucky you are - most guys in the civilised world now have to have sex with their cocks covered in a layer of latex. It completely removes most of the sensation for the guy doing the fucking, and the guy being fucked doesn't get to feel the delicious warmth of the cock pushing up into him. And, of course, both of them don't get to experience that fantastic feeling as the semen shoots out."

"We're very fortunate here, as all you ponies are considered to be part of the Sheikh's leisure activities. So all of you are carefully screened for AIDS and all the other STDs before you join the stables. You're a disease-free pool of slaves, and so the masters can use you as they like, without risk or danger."

"Now, let's get you out of that yoke, showered, and then you can do your daily exercises!"

He shouted commands, and the stable lads came and uncoupled me, took the yoke off, and led me off to the showers.

Each of the next five days was like this - a long, hard run in the trap with the stable master driving me, a stop in some shady place where he fucked me, and then a run back to the stables with his seed running out from me. I got used to it - the runs were longer and faster each time, and he varied the way he fucked me, too. Some times it was gentle, some times rough and vigorous, and of course he also took the opportunity of using me in some of the more brutal ways that men can - I particularly disliked it when he withdrew from me completely on each stroke, and then rammed his cock in fresh: that really hurt, and I didn't then see how anyone could enjoy it - well, at least it wasn't enjoyable for me, on the receiving end, although judging by the way he was shouting as he thrust home each time, it was pleasing him!.

On the sixth day I was yoked into he trap as usual, waiting out side the stables, but instead of the stable master getting into the trap and driving me off, we all just waited. After about a quarter of an hour, the Sheikh came out and started to discuss me with the stable master.

"I think you'll be pleased with the pony's progress, Highness. There's nowhere on the estate that you can't run him to now, non-stop. And he's very willing - only the gentlest slaps of the reins, or a very light whipping, are necessary to keep him going at full tilt. His muscles have relaxed in this past week, and as you can see, he's standing much more comfortably now with his feet properly on the ground."

"Good, Stable Master. And has he been properly drained?"

"Nor formally, Highness. I think that like most of the ponies he masturbates himself on first waking with his morning hard-on. But our standard regime for pony care does not normally include forced draining."

I heard the Sheikh say "Hmmmm....", thoughtfully, and then felt a finger - which I assumed to be his - probing between my ass cheeks as he had before. When it touched my asshole I didn't flinch this time - I'd got used to being fingered and fucked by the stable master, so one more finger there was no longer a problem to me.

"Altogether calmer, Stable Master. I remember he tried to buck away from me last time I wanted to examine his anus."

Then I felt my balls being weighed - they were being cupped in the palm of the Sheikh's hand. And then something completely new - I tingling, itchy, scratchy sensation as the Sheikh ran his finger nail along the sensitive area between my asshole and ball sac. In spite of myself, I felt an erection growing, and the Sheikh's hands soon detected this, too.

"Well, either this pony is very virile, Stable Master, or he didn't masturbate himself this morning. I don't want to go on a run with the possibility of him having an erection and shooting in an unseemly way - how embarrassing it would be for me if I were to meet one of my friends, and this animal were to have a sexual climax. Have him drained now, before we start."

"Of course, Highness", the stable master replied, and he snapped out orders.

One of the naked stable lads - he couldn't have been more than 16, although with all his hair shaved off it was difficult to tell, but he was sporting a good hard erection so I knew he must be fully sexually mature - came out of the stables and at once threw himself on the ground under my naked body. He reached up, and I felt his mouth close over my cock!

Now I've had blow jobs from my girl friends in the past, but another man has never had his mouth around my cock. The girls were always a bit reluctant to do this for me, but this young lad clearly enjoyed it as he was sucking away at me like a Trojan! And he was clearly very experienced, because in addition to taking my cock in and out rhythmically, he was also catching my flange very gently on his teeth which dramatically heightened the sensation for me, and running his tongue over my exposed piss-slit, which was causing me to shiver with ecstasy.

I really didn't want to cum - it's OK to be given a blow job when you want one, but to have it done to you in public, totally against your will, is just another form of rape. But shackled completely immobile as I was, what could I do? I guess I could have kicked out at the naked lad with my feet, but how would that help? They'd only restrain me more, and probably punish the lad, too. He was, after all, only obeying his master's orders, as a slave should.

In spite of myself, I felt my climax building, then I shot explosively into his mouth. All my girl friends had been disgusted by this, as they'd always wanted me to pull out before I came. But this lad seemed to actually enjoy my cum, and kept on sucking and massaging my cock with his lips. Like most guys, my cock is incredibly sensitive the moment I've cum, and when I'm wanking myself I always stop after the first shoot and just let the remaining smaller loads dribble out. But as the lad went on sucking, I felt the heightened sensation in my cock head- that feeling that is so strong and so sensual that it almost crosses the border between extreme pleasure and extreme pain.

In spite of myself I tried to buck to get away from his insistent lips, and I moaned and groaned in ecstasy as h continued to suck me dry.

"Very instructive, Stable Master", I heard the Sheikh say. "This pony is obviously highly sexed and very sensual - do you see how he reacted when the slave continued to suck at him?"

"Yes, Highness. Although I wouldn't consider that unusual. Bear in mind the pony is only 22, so his body has only just passed the peak of his sexual maturity. And in his society, he probably doesn't even consider himself completely 'mature' yet. So as he's probably been a bit repressed and didn't start sex very early, for him this is almost certainly his peak time emotionally. And, as we know, a whole lot of sex is inside the head. He's probably doubly excited by being sucked by another man like this, with us watching - for many of the newly enslaved, this is a real turn on all by itself."

"You may be right, Stable Master. But I can't stand here all day now - I need to try this pony out properly."

I felt the shafts move, and then settle as the Sheikh clearly took his seat in the trap, and then an insistent tugging at my finger from the reins and a sharp slap across my ass told me to start off.

Unlike the stable master, who varied the pace at which I needed to run, the Sheikh had only one idea of the speed I should go at - flat out! I was soon beyond mere tiredness, and the aching from my legs and the pain from my chest as my breath rasped the hot, dry air in and out was indescribable. But as athletes do, I went "beyond the barrier", and it was as if my body switched to some sort of automatic mode that enabled me to carry on pumping my legs along the rough dirt roads of the estate.

I was almost unaware of it when the reins first pulled both my fingers back to indicate "halt", and the Sheikh had to tug twice, hard, before I snapped back to reality and stopped.

My whole body was heaving, as my chest rose up and down as I tried to get enough oxygen into me. And I was covered in sweat, all over, in spite of it rapidly evaporating in the dry air. I saw that we had stopped alongside one of the estate carts - it was piled high with sacks of something or other, and the eight ponies, naked except for their "waistcoats" of chains permanently welded on to them were straining and sweating with their efforts to keep it moving. A young lad - totally naked, and totally shaved, was moving alongside and "encouraging" them to keep going with shouts and lashes of the whip he carried.

The Sheikh called out something - he wasn't using English now, so I supposed it was Arabic. Clearly the young lad understood him, because he went up to the two lead ponies and unhooked the drag chain from the ring on the back of their "waistcoats" so they were standing free. They came towards me, and then were out of sight behind me.

But then I felt the shafts move, and the next minute the hot feeling of another naked body being pressed against my ass! My ass cheeks were roughly pulled apart, and then I felt that hot feeling against my asshole that tells you that there's a cock waiting to enter. I almost didn't have time to react and do what I had learned from the Stable Master and consciously relax, before the cock was roughly pushed into me.

It was obviously one of the huge, beefy ponies from the cart was fucking me. Having observed them in the stables I could see they had all been chosen as a "type" - stocky, heavily muscled, and extremely well built. That went for their cocks, too, and although the stable master had a good thick cock, it was nothing like this slave's! It really did hurt as he pushed into me, and it was all I could do to stop myself crying out.

He fucked me hard - slamming into my ass with his body time after time, until he exploded inside me.

He obviously wanted to rest then, but there was more shouting and I could feel him pull out from me. But now there was another cock going into me - it must be the second pony, I knew.

The other six were still attached to the cart, but I could tell they were excited by what they were watching - they were all playing with their cocks, which were rock hard, and they were obviously hoping to be allowed to come over and fuck me, too.

In fact the Sheikh did get a third pony over, so I took three massive loads of cum. But I suspect he must have tired of the game, as the three were re-shackled to the cart and with a snap of the reins, I was made to run off.

We got back o the stables, and the Sheikh congratulated the Stable Master on my progress "so far". I was uncoupled, and allowed to shower whilst the Stable Master watched me carefully.

"So, Steve", he said as I stood there in the showers. "Your education continues! I understand you've now had three other men up your ass - you do know, don't you, that four men in total is more than a lot of guys experience in a lifetime! In fact, some unfortunates never get to experience the feeling of a big, stiff cock rammed up into them at all. If those enslavers hadn't chosen you in response to the Sheikh's requirements, you might have spent your whole life without experiencing the pleasure of your fellow men."

Well, I could see what he meant. Although I wasn't at that point sure that "pleasure" was exactly how I would describe the brutal gang fuck I had experienced just a few minutes before.

That night in the stables my stall was opposite the one occupied by the cart team. They saw me, and whistled and called to attract my attention. The three who had fucked me were grinning and making that gesture with their hands and arms that means "fuck you!". And the other five were wanking themselves and clearly indicating that they wanted me! But I decided there was nothing cruel in all of this - they were just trying to be friendly. I'd seen how they all fucked each other all the time, so it was normal for them to enjoy another man's body, and probably thought that I did, too. And in any case, they were only obeying the Sheikh's orders - what else were they supposed to do when he commanded them to fuck me?

The next day the Sheikh again took me out, and again I was run "through the barrier", and I only saw what was happening when we again stopped near the cart and its sweating team of eight ponies. This time the Sheikh didn't tire, and the five remaining men who hadn't had me the previous day now had their turn to shoot up me.

On the third day, as I stood out side the stables wondering how many more men were going to fuck me - I was really sore, as most of those big ponies didn't care how they used me - they were in a hurry, and knew they had to shoot their loads quickly so there was not time for gentleness, even if that's how they might have wanted to do it. I guess there's something in being a huge beefy guy that means you fulfil the world's expectation of you anyway - no one thinks a big guy can be gentle, so they act out the stereotype and are rough and tough anyway.

But it seemed as if I was going to be spared. The Sheikh and Stable Master stood there discussing me, and at first I didn't know what they ere talking about.

"I don't really want the traditional place, Stable Master. With this new method of attaching him to the trap, his ass is completely exposed in the way I want.

Having those wonderfully muscular ass cheeks held high and firm like that, it seems a pity to spoil them with asymmetry."

"Indeed, Highness. But all the other ponies in your stable are always marked on the left...."

" Yes, I know. But not this one. The ass and thighs are to be kept clear. As I'm driving, they are directly in front of me and I enjoy seeing them 'natural'."

"How about on his back, then Highness? Although you do see it stretched out in front of you, it's not at the same angle as the ass..."

"No. I like to see his backbone, and I think the symmetry would be spoiled. It will have to be somewhere on the front."

"So that leaves us the face, neck, pectorals....."

"Are you being stupid, Stable Master? The neck is hidden when he's yoked. If we choose the face, there could be a problem if I decide to have the yoke fitted with a spike to cause him to hold his head up - I'm happy at the moment to have him looking down, but I'm not sure it will be that way for ever, as it might amuse me to have him under the extra strain of having to keep his head up to avoid a spike pushing into his throat."

"I'm not totally in favour of the pecs either. If I have him ringed later, it can introduce a degree of asymmetry."

"So, Highness, we're left with the lower chest, the belly, or, as an interesting variation, the front of the thighs?"

"No, Stable Master, not the front of the thighs. I've had them done there before, and it looks wrong if I ever decide to use him as a normal pony. Interesting, isn't it, but you can have one ass cheek done, as we do conventionally, and it doesn't upset the natural balance of the body, but the front of one thigh causes it to look all wrong! And I don't like the lower chest - it can make the slave look as if he's wearing one of those horrible medallions you see working-class men wearing on the beach. So I think that means the belly - make sure it's centred between the cock and navel, properly!"

"Yes, Highness, as ever your wishes will be obeyed."

"And whilst we're at it, have his balls ringed."

What were they talking about - all this discussion of "marking"? But I heard "ringed" - what could they mean? I'd once bought one of those gay magazines, by accident, and I'd seen a guy in there wearing a cock ring. The article hinted that it made it easier to maintain an erection - but I'd never had a problem with that myself, so I couldn't see the point of it. But what was a ball ring?

The Sheikh went away, and the Stable Master called for the stable lads to come and unhitch me.

"Well, Steve, no running for you today, and no fucking. But before you start to celebrate, I'm afraid you're in for worse. The Sheikh has just decided on where you're to be branded, and he wants your balls ringed with a cinch ring, too."

"That's good in one way, as he's decided to keep you. If he was planning to sell you on, he wouldn't have ordered the branding as that's so permanent that it destroys your resale value. And whilst you may think the Sheikh is a cruel master, you have no real idea of how brutally some masters can treat their slaves, so it's good news for you in the long term."

I was led off into the tack room, and made to crouch down and shit into one of the crap holes. I couldn't go - it wasn't my regular "time" (with regular feeding at a fixed time, with exactly the same slave food all the time, my bowel function had become amazingly regular, too).

The Stable Master stood watching, and when it was obvious nothing was going to happen, said to me "Are you sure there's nothing up there?"

I nodded.

"Well, there's two things we can do now. Either we can give you an enema to flush you out completely, or I can trust you.... Something is going to happen to you that's so painful that many slaves let their bowels go quite involuntarily. It makes a disgusting mess, so we like them to be empty before they start. But if you're sure, and if you think you can keep your body under control.... Do you think you can hold your crap in, whatever happens to you?"

I nodded again.

"Very well. But if you fail me, I will wait until the Sheikh is gone on a nice long trip and will then really whip that lovely back and ass of yours that he's so fond of - I'll flail it with a proper bull whip, so it takes weeks to recover. Do you understand?"

I nodded once more.

I won't tell you about how bad it was to be branded - memory plays funny tricks, and I can only clearly remember being taken to one of the tables in the tack room and being strapped down completely immobile - my arms and legs shackled to the four table legs, and big heavy webbing straps around my navel and thighs, that were then ratcheted tight to make sure I was absolutely unable to move my belly. To make it worse, a wooden cylinder about eight inches in diameter had been slipped under my lower back first, just above the top of my ass crack, so my belly was stretched out hard and taught. But after that, things were a bit hazy. I saw the Stable Master take an instrument that looked a bit like a potato masher, except that where the holes were to do the mashing, there was an intricate design. A slave bought him in one of those portable gas burners, and he stood there, looking at me impassively, as the end of the instrument was heated in the flame, going first from red and then to a dull white glow.

"OK, Steve, ready?" He asked.

But before I could nod or anything, he had pushed the white-hot thing down onto my belly.

There was no way I could avoid screaming. I tried to get away from the fearsome thing, but the straps kept me completely immobile. He held it there, and my nose filled with the acrid smell of burning flesh - and I knew it was my body that was being burned.

I passed out, mercifully.

And I don't remember much of the next couple of days- I was allowed to lie in my cell, and all I could think about as the pain that filled my entire being. I could see my belly was filled with scar tissue and blisters, and there was nothing I could do - I guessed that they knew I would try to scratch the scabs, or something, so in addition to being chained by the neck as usual, my hands were cuffed behind my back - but not tightly, just so that there was no way that I could get to my belly.

On the third day I was released, and taken to the tack room again. The Stable Master was standing there, and came over and inspected me carefully.

"Good, Steve! You kept your word, and didn't crap all over us! And you're obviously a strong guy, as the wound is healing well. You mustn't scratch at it or touch it, however, as the blisters and scabs must fall off naturally. That way the brand will have the sharp, defined edges that the Sheikh likes."

"You will, of course, carry the Sheikh's mark for life, showing the world that you are his property. There's absolutely no way of removing a deep brand like that - it's scarred right through into the underlying layers of the skin. "

"You are particularly unfortunate to have been branded on the belly, as I think that is the most painful place. We normally brand the left asses of our ponies, and that is not quite as bad as there are fewer nerve endings there, and a lot more muscle to take the brand. But the Sheikh didn't want the perfection of the back of your body spoiled... So there you are!"

"Now, you've lazed around for two days, and we don't want you going off form. So it's off to the gym and the exercise yard for you this morning. It will hurt like crazy as you start to stretch those abdominal muscles, but it has to be done: you have to keep in training, and anyway, it will help to get the scabs off quicker. So be brave.. I know you can do it!"

He was right - it did hurt like hell. And it did the next day, and the next day, too! But by day five the scabs had fallen away and there below my navel and above my cock was a circle scarred into my flesh four inches in diameter, with two stylised Arabic characters inside it. I couldn't help looking down and seeing it - can you imagine what it feels like to be marked like that? It really brought it home to me, even more than being humiliatingly yoked in to the Sheikh's trap, that I was not a man any more, I was just an object, completely subject to the Sheikh's will and whim.

I thought I was going back into the yoke the following day, but one more thing was in store for me. In the tack room again I was made to lie across one of the tables, and spread my legs. The Stable Master and another man in Arabic dress were there, and the Stable Master and he were discussing me.

"My master the Sheikh wants his balls cinched. And to match his trap, the ring is to be of stainless steel."

"But Stable Master, a slave with a cock like this one's would look so much better with his whole apparatus tightly ringed- imagine seeing him running naked with his cock jutting firmly out in front of him - you know how the total ringing pushes the balls up. And the cock then is forced out in front. Surely that would be better?"

"No. Just the balls. This slave never runs upright anyway, only bent over. So even if his cock were sticking out, and if it was erect all the time, no one would really see. We only see his balls handing down from behind, and that's why the Sheikh wants those ringed."

"But stainless steel... Surely gold would be more appropriate for a slave of this calibre and quality...?"

"No, as I said, stainless steel to match his trap. Now no more discussion. Just do it!"

The Stable Master then addressed me "This won't hurt, Steve, provided you fully co-operate. The jeweller has to stretch your balls down low into their sac, but the actual fitting of the ring is painless. I know a young man's balls are especially sensitive, so if it gets too much during the stretching, just cry out... But I'll rely on you not to do so unless you really can't hold out. The Sheikh your master likes them sitting really low in your sac, so we do have to stretch you hard.... OK?"

I nodded. As usual, it was what the Sheikh wanted, and nothing to do with my needs or desires. I was going to be "stretched" and "cinched" for the Sheikh's pleasure, whether I liked it or not.

The jeweller was obviously experienced at this, because as he grasped my testicles firmly and started to pull them down, he did it with a slow, steady pressure. There was none of that feeling of retching or sickness you get if someone treats your balls roughly - sure, the relentless pressure was unpleasant, and I'd rather not have another man handle me in that way, but, given all the circumstances, it was quite a humane process.

When I felt as if I was at the limit of what I could bear and was about to cry out, I think the jeweller knew it, too, because he asked the Stable Master to come and hold me in the stretched position.

"Just cup your thumb and forefinger around the sac above my hands", I heard him tell the Stable Master, "Then pull them down towards my hands, Then I can let go, and we won't lose all this stretch we have in him,

Be very careful not to let go - once you've stretched a slave's balls like this, if they're allowed to relax they disappear up into the body cavity for at least 15 minutes, and it's the very devil to get them stretched again!"

Obviously the process went OK, because the next thing I felt was something going around my sac. And then I saw the jeweller go around me with a big pair of pliers with long handles. There was a lot of fiddling, and then a final "Great - done!"

The Stable Master told me to stand up, and as I did so my testicles felt very strange- you don't usually feel your testicles, after all, unless they're in pain from an unexpected blow or something. But I definitely "knew" mine were there!

"So, Steve, you're ringed now! When you get around to inspecting it, you'll see there's a stainless steel band around he top of your sac, so both of your balls are squeezed down into the bottom. At this moment, the skin of your sac is stretched very tight, but over the next few days that will ease a little. You will be in pain, for two reasons: firstly, your balls are used to being able to go up and down in your sac and into your body cavity. They can't now do that, as they can't get past the ring - that's why we call it a cinch ring - and until they get used to it, they'll complain! And secondly, having both balls in the very bottom of your sac and a relatively heavy steel ring above them changes the shape and swing geometry of your balls - as you run, you'll find your balls will slap into you thighs, and that'll hurt, too! But again, you'll get used to it, the body will accommodate it, and after week or so you'll feel as if your balls have always been like that."

"You'll still be able to jerk off and there should be just as much cum as usual, as you'll be pleased to know that the general operation of the balls is not affected by any of this. It's purely cosmetic, to give the Sheikh something more interesting to look at between your legs - so you should be grateful he didn't decide to have you gelded (although that's not very likely with a high-priced slave like you, especially as I think he's going to breed from you)".

He was right - that night, I could hardly sleep as my balls were so sore. And when I had to run the next day, it felt very different to have my balls hanging so low. And they swung very differently with the heavy metal ring on them, as the Stable Master had predicted. The Sheikh and the Stable Master stood there before I set off admiring the view - the Sheikh very much liked seeing the stainless steel ring above my balls between my thighs.

By way of variation that day the Sheikh had me stop alongside his carriage that was being pulled by the two long-legged totally smooth jet-black blacks who were themselves out on an exercise run. Their fucking of me as the Sheikh watched was mercifully almost painless- although they had long cocks to go with their tall bodies, they were not as thick and meaty as the cart ponies and so they slipped easily up me - although they did shoot very big loads! It's funny how some guys are totally prejudiced against black men - believe me, if you can't see what's going on, there's no way that you can actually tell whether it's a white man, a black, or whatever, who's fucking you!

I always knew now when I was due to pull the Sheikh and when I was just going on a training run with the Stable Master - once yoked, if it was to be the Sheikh, one of the stable lads always came out and sucked me off just before the Sheikh appeared. The Stable Master didn't bother as, he said, he really didn't care whether a pony had a hard-on or not, or whether the pony actually ever shot a load.

So life went on. I was at the point where it was all routine - the estate was of such a size that I could run anywhere across it at full tilt without incredible pain. And I was used to being fucked, whether for the Sheikh's amusement by whatever pony we stopped by, or just as a recreational exercise by the Stable Master.

One day, as I was showering after a long run with the Sheikh driving me, I looked at myself. There was no doubt I was healthy - I'd always been fit, but the constant forced exercises coupled with what was obviously a healthy diet had made me even fitter. I was literally glowing with good health, and the deep, all over tan I had suited me - the tiny hairs on my arms and legs were all bleached almost white, and set off the dark brown of my skin perfectly. I rather liked the trimmed pubic hair and crisp short haircut that was maintained on me by the stable lads. But I couldn't help seeing how I was now definitely no longer a free man - the Sheikh's ownership brand stood out on the ridges of my stomach, and underneath my cock, the stainless steel ball cinch ring glinted. As I washed my ass I was amazed at how normal it now felt to be fingering my asshole - before I was a slave, I'd never even touched it, and now I was used to being fingered there constantly. And, of course, I had experienced being fucked constantly and humiliatingly once I was yoked into the shafts.

One day was really exactly like another - the routine never varied. There was no difference between days of the week, and the weather almost never varied so there was no sense of the seasons. Without any form of writing, I couldn't keep a count of the days of my slavery; I couldn't even scratch marks on the walls of my stall, as I was put into a different stall almost every night.

But one morning there was a change in routine. As I was being unlocked from my tethering chain in my stall, the Stable Master came up - still in his singlet and tight shorts, which was the only thing I had ever seen him wear - and said "Congratulations, Steve, it's your anniversary today!"

I wondered what he was talking about, as I didn't think it felt like my birthday, but he continued "It's exactly a year since the Sheikh acquired title to you, and we call this your anniversary. He is extremely pleased with your progress, and thinks he made a wise choice in commissioning your enslavement and then in his ongoing training programme for you. He's so pleased in fact that he's decided to breed from you."

"You're probably not aware of it, but the price of slaves is far outstripping inflation - everyone likes to own men for their pleasure. And the supply is drying up as it gets harder and harder to snatch good-looking men from civilised countries. Of course there's a constant supply of blacks and Asians, but handsome European stock is increasingly rare and expensive. We had thought the problems in Eastern Europe would help alleviate the problem as there would be more mid-Europeans available, but the settlement of the Bosnian troubles has meant all those countries are returning to normal, too. So the Sheikh has decided to make a long term investment in the future - he has set up his own stock farm, with a hundred brood mares.

And he has them inseminated with seed from his finest ponies and pleasure slaves."

"From now on, there will be no more sucking off for you out in the yard, and your hands will be tethered at night, too, as we don't want you masturbating and wasting all that cum! Did you jerk yourself off this morning?"

I shook my head - I'd thought about it when I'd woken with my morning hard on, but had fallen asleep again before getting around to it.

"Good. So now's as good a time to start as any. Follow me to the breeding shed!"

We went out of the stables and across the yard, and into a building I'd never been in before. It was like the stables, in that it was lined on both sides with stalls, but each one held a naked woman. As I walked along the passage between the stalls, the women all called out at me - I couldn't understand everything that was said, as they were all speaking different languages, but I could tell they were all commenting on my body. I'd been used by now to being naked in front of men, of course, but having to walk naked through all these naked women aroused too many memories of my former life and I had a giant erection, which caused the women to laugh and catcall even more.

We went on in to a room at the end, and I was told to sit on a table. A man in a short white coat came in and shook hands briefly with the Stable Master. Then he came over to me and told me to raise my foot - and he copied my slave ID number on to a form he was holding.

"The Sheikh's fanatical about record keeping", he explained to the Stable Master. "He wants to know who each of the brood mares is pregnant by, how many times she had to be impregnated, and so on. And then, when the pregnancy is two months on and we can test for the sex of the baby, he demands to know how many of them have to be aborted as they're girls, and which of the slaves has the greatest propensity to father boys. But his primary interest is in seeing how well the characteristics of the father carry onto the boys that are born."

"I can see why he wants to breed from this one - magnificent body, with those very long legs, and a natural blond! If he sires children who are half as good as he is, the Sheikh will stand to make a handsome profit a few years down the line when the offspring can be sold on."

"Right, you!", he continued, looking at me, "Jerk yourself off. And be sure to catch every drop of ejaculate in this dish."

I was given a small laboratory dish, and sat there, holding it. The man and the Stable Master laughed at me.. "You didn't think you were going to fuck the mares yourself did you?", the man said.

"It would be terribly wasteful, as one lot of your ejaculate can impregnate ten of them using AI techniques, whereas if you had to do it physically, we'd be here all morning! Come on, get jerking."

"And anyway", the Stable Master cut in, "Who'd want to stand and watch you fuck a woman? Absolutely disgusting. I can't understand why people pay to go to see sex shows with men fucking women."

I was so used to obeying orders now that I started to jerk off - I'd got used to doing it in semi-public in my stall with other ponies across the corridor watching me, but this felt worse: it wasn't just for my pleasure, but my spunk was actually going to be used to father children. Somehow this was different, and I blushed. But it didn't make any difference to my performance - my cock sprang to erection, and I soon shot one of my normal big loads into the dish.

The man in the white coat looked at it, and told the Stable Master that was all for today. I was led back out, towards the stables, and I really felt bad as there was still a drop of semen hanging from the tip of my cock as I had to make my way past all the women again.

That night, as well as being chained by the neck, my hands were loosely cuffed behind my back which made sleeping more difficult, and for the next four weeks I repeated the humiliating walk and jerking-off every day.

The Sheikh seemed to disappear from the scene shortly after this, and I was exercised by the Stable Master every day. There was no more fucking of me by the other ponies, as the Stable Master liked to do this himself, but generally only every second or third day.

I was expecting to be fucked when we stopped one afternoon, as it was about the third day since he had last had me. We were in a shady glade, and there was one of the artificial ponds with which the Sheikh had had dug around the estate to beautify it in front of us. The Stable Master stripped of f his shorts and singlet, and dived into the pond - I could only stand there, desperately hot, and watch as his magnificently muscled body powered up and down the pool.

He came out, and stood by me, the water steaming off him in the dry air. Then he sat down on the grass, naked, like me. Had I not been yoked into the carriage, you would not have been able to tell who was the pony slave and who was the Stable Master - I speculated on how long each day he had to spend keeping his body in good shape, and how he managed to find the time, given all the duties he had in running the stable, exercising me, and so on.

"Steve", he said, "You know I've always told you what's going on. It's nice that I can chat to you like this, even though it's very one-sided. I like to use my English, as having to work mostly in Arabic I find myself tending to forget it."

"I've been exercising you like this for the past weeks as the Sheikh is on an extended trip - he's travelling the world, inspecting the different types of men available in the countries, and negotiating personally with slavers for more stock."

"He's buying in a lot of new slaves, as the prices are continuing to rise, as I told you. And at the same time he's hugely expanding his breeding programme - that's one of the reasons for getting in more slaves, as he's going for men who have already sired large families, in an attempt to get he breeding rate up - not that you have anything to worry about, as you are a very successful sire. Your semen almost always results in a pregnancy first time, and you tend to have a high proportion of boys - the Sheikh is very pleased indeed. It won't be long now before we start to see a lot of 'little Steves' running around in the nursery compound."

"And I like to think I can trust you. You've always kept your word before when I have asked you to do something.... I remember how you passed out when you were branded, but you didn't let your bowels go, as you'd promised not to."

"So would you like to swim? I will release you from the yoke if you tell me you will get back in again when I command. I suppose there's not much risk, as we're still miles from anywhere and you'd be certain to be captured before nightfall, but it would be messy. But if you say you will be re-yoked when told, I will let you out. Agreed?"

I nodded, vigorously. I knew he was right about being recaptured, and had long since decided that escape from the remote estate in the middle of the desert was impossible. I even thought that we were only chained up each night to emphasise our slavery, rather than for any real practical purpose.

So he came and released the catches holding my yoke to the shafts, then, when I had stood up, the yoke itself was released and I could do my customary big stretches.

"Off you go then, into the water!", he said, and I ran and plunged in. God, did it feel good! I'd always liked swimming, but had not been in a pool since my enslavement. And swimming totally naked is the best of all - you can hardly ever do that in England, but once or twice, on deserted beaches whilst on holiday, I had managed it. The water flowing past your unrestricted cock and balls is so much better than having them confined in swimming trunks!

He then came in again, and we raced up and down in friendly races, and then sat in a shallow part and splashed each other. We looked just like two very good friends, indulging in friendly rivalry in the way that men do when there's any athletic competition. If it wasn't for the brand on my belly, a passer by would not have known I was a slave.

"Time to go", he said after I had swum again, and we both got out. I walked over to the trap, and waited for me to come and yoke me in to it.

"No.... First, it's time for your fuck", he said. "Lie down, on your back."

I did as I was told, then he said "Lift your legs up, grasp your ankles and pull them back towards your head. I want free access to that asshole of yours!"

Now of course I was used to being fucked by the stable master when yoked and totally unable to resist, but this was different - all my limbs were free, and I could easily prevent him from going in me. I never wanted him to fuck me really, as I'm not like that - so here was my chance to make him desist. So what did I do? Well, I just lay there, and felt humiliated all over again as I bowed to the inevitability of my being fucked.

I soon realised that there was were big differences about being taken from behind when you're immobile and can't do anything about it, and can't even see, and the position I was now in. For one thing, I could see his face as he smiled as he started to ease himself into my ass. And then, as he thrust home, I found it was more painful than usual - with my legs right back like that, his big cock reached up even higher inside me.

I saw his body pistoning in any out, and the different emotions that came across his face as my he continued to fuck me, then the look of sheer ecstasy as he started to spurt inside me.

He collapsed forwards on to me so we were chest to chest, and, as if by reflex, my body knew what it ought to do - I let go of my ankles, and gripped my legs tightly around his waist. His moans of pleasure from having cum redoubled as I did this, and I knew it must be pleasing him. In fact, I actually really enjoyed feeling him gripped by me like this - as I said, some reflex took over, and perhaps that's how it's meant to be when one man is fucking another.

Then something happened that had never happened to me before - he reached his head forward, and kissed me. His lips locked onto mine, and I could feel his tongue trying to force its way between them. I've never been kissed by a man, and never wanted to be, so I stayed absolutely still. He drew away, then snapped at me "Open your mouth, Steve!"

I knew I was beaten, that I was a slave. A slave who had to obey a master, and so I did. He returned and pressed his lips to mine, and now his tongue was inside me, licking and probing, and playing with mine.

All of a sudden I didn't care that I had been ordered to take him - I liked it. I responded, by squeezing him tighter with my legs, and putting my arms around his body, too, so that his chest was pressed even more tightly into mine.

We kissed and kissed, moving the directions of our heads, and both moaning softly as our tongues enjoyed that second most intimate sensation of coupling that men can have together.

But he broke off eventually, and raised himself off me, on his elbows.

"Sorry, Steve, but I've got to get back. You know, for a supposedly straight guy, you surely do kiss another man well!"

I suppose there's no difference really - I'd just concentrated on the pleasures of being kissed, and had simply forgotten that it was a man doing it to me, and not a woman.

During our afternoons he introduced me to other aspects of manly love, too. One afternoon he released me from the shafts but kept my yoke on so my hands were immobile. Telling me to lie on my back as usual, he then knelt, pressing his knees down onto the yoke, so that his cock was hovering above my mouth.

"You've never beef face fucked, have you, Steve?"

I shook my head.

"Right - open your mouth!"

I hated having his cock in my mouth, and it was terrible when he started to thrust away so it went up and down my throat. I was gagging and struggling for air, so he stopped and said

"Steve, calm down! You can take it down your throat if you don't panic. Control that reflex, man, don't fight it! Do you think it's any fun for me to have you gagging on my cock - I want to feel it sliding over your tongue, and butting into the back of your throat. So stop acting selfishly, and let me have my pleasure."

I did try, and I suppose it was better. But I hated it when he shot his load into my mouth. I'd never even tasted my own cum before - like a lot of guys I had shot into the palm of my hand and smelled it, but the smell nauseated me and I hadn't gone on to lap it up. Now I had no choice, and my whole mouth and throat were coated with his slimy semen - although as we all know its one of those things where the smell and the taste are different. I still don't much fancy the smell, but the taste and texture combination is not actually unpleasant at all.

Whilst the Sheikh continued to be away, our afternoon excursions became a regular feature. He always allowed me to swim, and our fucking and kissing became even more intense and long-lasting. But I was never allowed to cum myself, as he was insistent that he wouldn't break faith with the Sheikh and allow any of my seed to be wasted: I was still having to masturbate myself in the breeding shed each morning, although I had long since ceased to be embarrassed by the cries and catcalls of the naked women as I walked there to my appointment.,

Of course the Sheikh did come back from his buying trip, and my life resumed its normal pattern - sometime being driven unmercilessly hard by the Sheikh, with often a random fucking from whatever other slave we came across during the afternoon, and on other days a more leisurely drive with the Stable Master, usually with a bout of real man to man passion.

I can't say that the Sheikh's new attachment method really caught on - very few other masters seemed to adopt it. Although the Sheikh never tired of promoting it, and I remember one occasion particularly. I had been yoked, then driven up the ramp of a large truck which proceeded to drive for an hour or so. When I was unloaded, we were at a race course where all the local bigwigs had brought their racing ponies for a speed trial. Of course the Sheikh's own racing ponies were there, being driven by the stable lads as they were lighter than the Sheikh, and so he had brought me to pull him around the course from place to place, as he exchanged pleasantries with his fellows.

Most of them had conventionally harnessed ponies, in all shapes and sizes - singles, couples, four in hands, whites, blacks, pairs of whites and pairs of blacks, shaved, hairy, naked, wearing tiny pouches - the variety of things that masters seemed to do with their ponies was almost endless.

The masters all sat in their traps to watch their ponies racing, and it was a sight as the naked men charged down the half-mile course with their riders whipping them on to even greater efforts. There was obviously a lot of betting going on, as there would be when a lot of rich men gather at any race track, and some of the races were "selling races", where the slaves who had been entered were auctioned off at the end.

The Sheikh never tired of pointing out to his fellows what a superior method of attachment I displayed - he could see over my back and had a perfect view of the course whereas the others had some of their view blocked by their upright ponies. And when he wanted refreshments, he served them to his guests using my horizontal back as a picnic table. I could feel the coldness of the crystal champagne glasses on my naked flesh.

Time went on, and I had almost completely forgotten my old life in England. The combination of the routine, the strict prohibition on my using language, and the lack of activity in my life other than exercise and work, all combined to emphasise my position as a slave, not as a man. The only real way that I was aware of time was the fact that the Stable Master told me of each of my "anniversaries", and five years passed almost without my noticing it.

But my fifth anniversary was different. I suppose it was unusual that the Stable Master himself came to unchain me that morning, as it was generally one of the stable lads. And I wasn't taken to masturbate in the breeding shed. My washing and grooming seemed to take longer than usual and my balls, ass and face were shaved even though it was not in the usual three-day schedule for this.

The Stable Master then came along and told me to follow him, and we crossed the yard and went into the palace itself. I'd never been in there before, and it felt really strange to have cool marble under my feet rather than the concrete, or dirt, that I was used to in the stables and on the estate.

We went along corridors, then up a magnificent flight of marble stairs. All my old embarrassment at nakedness came back - you'd think that after five years I'd be used to being nude, but that was "outside". Here, "inside", in a "normal" building, I wasn't used to being naked - especially not as all the other people we saw were not. They hardly looked at me, however, and it was as if they were used to seeing naked slaves amongst them.

We crossed a hall way, and then I was walking on carpet! Carpet - can you imagine how that feels under your naked feet, when you've experienced nothing soft for five years?

Giant double doors opened and we were in a large room, with a throne at the far end on which sat the Sheikh. We made our way across it, and stopped in front of him.

"This is the slave, Highness. He was your first pony on which you worked out the new attachment strategy five years ago. He has worked hard and faithfully since, and his record in your breeding programme is excellent - a high percentage of fertilisations first time, a high proportion of sons, and a good rate of transfer of his primary characteristics into his offspring."

The Sheikh looked me up and down for a moment, and said "I understand your needs, Stable Master, but I'm not certain I can do without this pony. He is, as you say, excellent in every way."

"Highness, you now hardly use him at all as your current favourite is the big black-haired German who was enslaved a couple of months ago. I really do desperately need help...."

"Oh very well, Stable Master."

Turning to me, he said "Slave..."

I stood there dumbly

"Slave...." His voice was rising in anger.

"Highness... The slave has been taught never to speak."

"Oh, of course. Well, slave, the Stable Master has been very eloquent in your cause. He says he needs help to run the stables, and only you will do. So I am going to give you limited freedom. You are no longer a pony slave, but a free man, like my Stable Master. But of course you may never leave this country, and may only move off my estate here with my express permission. Otherwise you are free - you can fuck whatever slaves you want to, and can only be fucked when you freely agree to it with your partner. I shall be sad to lose your mandatory participation in my breeding programme, but you will be welcome to make voluntary - shall we say - donations of your seed.... Perhaps once a moth, if I make my self clear?"

He went on "Well, what do you say? You're no longer a slave, and may answer."

I had almost forgotten how to do it, but with a s supreme effort, I managed to croak out "Yes, Highness.

Thank you."

The Stable Master then whispered in my ear "You should now approach the Sheikh, and kiss his cock in a gesture of obedience, even though you're free. Say the proper words as you do so - 'I freely show my allegiance to your body, highness, by this token kiss given freely as a free man'."

So I went forward, and knelt in front of the Sheikh. He parted his robes, and I saw a big cock nestling there. I very gently picked it up so that its head was facing towards me, and saying the words exactly as the Stable Master had given them to me, touched it to my lips.

"Excellent!", the Sheikh said. "I can see you're going to be as good a free man as you were a slave. Go now and start your new life, and I will see you again shortly in less formal surroundings."

We went out, and outside the door the Stable Master gave me a singlet and pair of silk shorts just like his own. He watched as I pulled them on, there in the hall way. It felt incredibly strange to be clothed for the first time in five years... I couldn't get used to the way that the fabric, even though it was incredibly light, chafed against my body.

He led me off down more passages and corridors, and we stopped before a door. Taking out a key, he unlocked it and led me in to what looked exactly like a conventional hotel room - big double bed, TV on a chest, bathroom to the right.

"This is your new room, Steve. This is where you live now."

I felt the carpet under my feet, then threw myself experimentally onto the bed, remembering how these bounced! So different from the heap of straw I had become used to.

"So aren't you going to say 'thank you', then?"

I stumbled over the words... "Thank you.... Stable Mas...."

"No! We'll be working together - you call me Ray now:

that's my name."

"Thank you then, Ray..."

"So aren't you going to show your gratitude more obviously - I seem to remember from those afternoons together that you like kissing....."

Of course! Now I was free, I could do what I liked. And I really wanted Ray at that moment. So I went over to him, threw my arms around him and kissed him deeply. We stood there for minutes rocking backwards and forwards as we gripped each other's bodies and felt each other ecstatically. I don't know who pulled the other's shorts off first, or who ripped who's singlet, but we were soon both totally naked, kissing passionately, and with our two erect cocks stabbing at each other as we tried to get our bodies even closer together.

I fell back on the bed, and Ray started to move between my legs as he had done so many times before after he had unyoked me on one of our runs. But I wanted more - I wanted to be in control.

I was five years younger than him, and in spite of his gym-toned muscles, I was much stronger from the real work I did. So I rolled him onto his back, and there was little he could do about it. Then I thrust my cock towards his ass, and for the first time ever felt the warm moistness of another man start to surround me.

I could hear him groaning as I continued to keep my tongue deep down his throat, then pushed harder and harder until I had penetrated his ass completely. I soon found out that the same movements I had used to fuck my girl friends very effectively pushed my cock in and out of his ass, and the excitement of this caused me to cum almost immediately.

I then drew away from him, and looked down. He was smiling!

"Ah, Steve! Fantastic! I was worried that after five years of being fucked, you'd be a total 'bottom'. But you're a 'top', too, like me. That's fantastic, mate - two men can have much more fun if they can decide each time who's going to give and who's going to take"

"Ray... Look... I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to fuck you... To hurt you, even... To pay you back for what you did to me."

"Don't worry, Steve - it didn't hurt! I usually have one of the pleasure slaves in here and they're chosen for their cock size, so having your monster up me didn't hurt at all. And I don't think you really did it for revenge... I think your natural instincts as a man, a man who likes sex, simply took over and you wanted to fuck whatever was in sight. We all feel randy like that from time to time, and whilst you can fuck almost everything you see here around on the estate, you'll soon learn that fucking a friend voluntarily is miles better than fucking a slave by force. Well, at least most of the time it is - there's almost nothing to compare with the first time you take a new slave, especially one who thinks as himself as 'straight'!"

"So I'll leave you now to explore...."

"No, don't leave me, Ray. What am I going to do in here? I feel scared - I'm not used to all these things... "

"The phone's there. Call room service when you want to eat, or if you want a slave sent up. There are clothes in the drawers - because of our semi-free status - yes, I was a slave, too, once, and was freed by the Sheikh's father - I tend to wear only a minimum of clothing so that real free men don't feel threatened. So I have only got you singlets and shorts like mine. But if you want anything else, just order if from room service."

"No.... Can't I come with you, and see what you do?"

"Well, I've finished for the day, and was going back to my own quarters.... But come along, if you like."

So we went out of my room, and along corridors and out to the stables. Ray had a small suite there - a big bedroom, luxurious bathroom, small plunge pool in a secluded courtyard, and a sitting room. He showed it all to me, and said how convenient it was to be so close to the stables - he could be in there in seconds, if there were any problems.

I shut him up finally by kissing him again, then we fell onto his bed. This was my first real experience of mutual man to man sex - he didn't force himself on to me, and I didn't force myself on to him. We both took our time exploring each other's bodies, and kissed, sucked and then fucked each other time after time. We fell asleep in each other's arms, and only awoke the next morning when it was time for work - "morning call" at the stables!

That was the first night I spent with Ray, and I've never moved out - we share those same quarters today.

I learned that my job was to help Ray with all aspects of pony and stable management - selecting suitable slaves for ponies in the first place, their training in whatever style of use they were to be put, their regular exercise and maintenance, and the control and management of the young stable lads. The expansion of the Sheikh's holdings was more than Ray could mange himself, and he didn't want standards to fall.

But as we lay in bed that first morning and I was due to start work, I told Ray of my fears.

"I just don't know enough about it. I don't know how to select slaves, I don't know how to look after ponies, I...."

"Stop, Steve! Come on now, you've lived in the stables for five years. You know all about how they're run...."

"Yes, Ray. But I've only ever run in the 'new method', I've no idea about racing ponies, pairs, those four carriage horses, or even about how the cart ponies operate - except for their readiness to fuck anything in sight!"

"You'll soon pick it up."

"No.... I need something more. I tell you what - let me do a sort of 'management training', I'll spend a week as an upright pony, then a week with the cart ponies...."

"You're mad, Steve."

"No, seriously, Ray. It couldn't be worse than doing what I have been for the past five years."

I wouldn't be persuaded, in spite of what Ray said, so instead of dressing again in the singlet and shorts, I followed Ray into the stables just as if I was a pony again.

It was hard being a "normal" upright pony, as all my muscles were tuned to running bent over. But I had good lung capacity, and so I could run without my breath giving out. But I had pretty bad cramp in the night, and muscle ache the following day. I had to act just like an upright pony, however, and that included getting a pretty severe whipping from one of the Sheikh's friends who hadn't understood that I wasn't used to running upright and who therefore thought I was just lazy when I did not go as fast as he wanted!

But my week with the cart ponies was sheer unadulterated pleasure! I wore a leather harness, as it wasn't worth having me welded into a steel one permanently, and I didn't have the power they had when it came to hauling the heavy cart up hills and so on. So I got a lot of lashes of "encouragement". But I did discover the real pleasure of proper team working - all those ponies worked together as if they were a single co-ordinated unit. And overnight, they were just like brothers - every one fucked every one else, and it was absolutely joyous to roll over from experiencing one team mate to find another one waiting to start playing with you.

But at the end of these weeks my "proper life" had to begin, and I started to help Ray out. Amazingly, in spite of Ray's help during the day and his love at night, I started to sleep badly. I even had a cramping pain in my stomach one night. At first, Ray said this was the change from slave food o a "regular" diet, but when the problems went on, he got worried so he sent me to see the Sheikh's doctor.

A whole battery of tests revealed nothing. But as we were lying in each other's arms one night, with his hand companionably cupping my cock, Ray said "Steve, I think that pain in your stomach is worry. You're not used to stress any longer, and the responsibilities of your new job are getting to you."

"People just don't realise what a good life slaves have - especially if you work for a good man like the Sheikh. You got regular exercise, the best possible food for the work you had to do, but you had absolutely no stress. You had to make no decisions, didn't have to ask for anything, or argue with anyone... Your whole life was mapped out for you by someone else. That's why our slaves stay so relatively young looking, and are rarely ill - they have no worries, and no problems. You had no money worries, nothing."

"Think of how you would be if you'd been at work in England for the last five years - you'd have worried about unemployment, worried about whether you were satisfying your girlfriend, worried about whether you could afford the mortgage on the tiny flat you'd have had to buy as you needed somewhere to live, worried about your boss, worried....."

"All that worry. And you'd probably have moved out from 'doing' training into 'managing training', so your body would have lost its tone. And you'd secretly remember how you used to be, a magnificent male animal, and worry about that, too, as your belly slackened and your waist started to expand."

"I think you're just catching up - after this stress-free, responsibility-free life, the things we're asking you to do now are too much."

"But it can be good - look at me! I'm five years older than you, but I'm still in good shape. And I've learned how to manage the work properly - that's one of the reasons why I had an assistant. So now we know what the problem is, we'll fix it."

"But how, Ray?"

"By me supervising you properly until you build your confidence. So all the responsibility is mine, and you can just carry out orders until you feel you really understand what's what. So stop worrying... Come here and kiss me...."

And he took his hand off my cock, turned towards me and folded me in his arms. I just sort of knew that things would be all right from then on.

And indeed they were - after a few weeks, I started to enjoy taking a trap out by myself and exercising the ponies properly. And when it came to making sure they were exercised in the gym, there was nothing you could teach me! Of course it was irksome having to wear those tiny shorts and that singlet every day, but once we were "home", Ray and I always went totally nude so that our bodies were accessible to each other totally as we watched TV, or ate dinner.

What a strange irony, I thought. I'd done my degree in sports centre management, but I doubted that any of my lecturers would have thought that the lessons I learned there were now being put to use in such unusual surroundings.

The only thing that Ray and I really argues about was the subject of fucking new ponies. He reminded me that he had treated me gently in my early days, and how good that was for me. But I just couldn't bring myself to rape any of the new ponies - however gently.

But Ray persisted, telling me it was my job, and how much kinder it was for the young slaves to be taken by a caring trainer than to have their first experience of a cock from one of the cart slaves. I was persuaded by his arguments, and after the first one or two, began to look forward to the arrival of new ponies - there is indeed something special about the first time you take a man up the ass, especially when he's protesting and trying to stop you.

Ray had wanted me to have my ball ring removed on my first day of freedom, but I had resisted. And I'm glad - I'd got used to running with it on, and, frankly, I think it looks nice - even Ray tells me it adds a touch of the exotic as he strokes my balls sometimes. And the Sheikh loves it.

That, I think, was the biggest surprise of all. During all my time a s a pony, the Sheikh had never fucked me. I assumed he didn't like fucking men, just seeing them humiliated by being force fucked by others. But shortly after he had given me my freedom he was off travelling again, and only returned after I had gained a lot more confidence.

Instead of eating dinner together as usual one night, Ray told me to hop in the shower with him and we showered again, and dressed in fresh singlets and shorts.

"The Sheikh has invited us over for dinner", Ray told me. "I think you'll be surprised!"

So we went over to the place, and through all the formal "official" rooms on the ground floor and up the sweeping staircase, along a couple of passages, to a heavy door. Ray pressed a button on a standard intercom box on the door, and I saw a TV camera swivel to look at us, before there was that "click" you get of an automatic door opener, and we could go in.

There was the Sheikh, dressed casually in jeans and a T - I'd only ever seen him in "Arab" robes before.

"Sorry for the delay, boys", he said, "But I look after my own security in this heavily fortified wing. I don't want to have all the bother of armed guards and so on."

"Hi, Ray", he continued. "And you of course are the famous Steve! I really do miss you as my pony, you know. I think I'll always remember you as you were the first to use my new method."

I grinned at him and said something lame like "Yes, Highness, they always say you remember the first...", in the way that someone had said it to me five years ago.

"No, Steve! Here in private, you can drop the 'highness' bit. I'm just a regular guy, about to hang out with my buddies, and in here I'm Ahmed."

I started to mutter something in embarrassment, but he took me by the arm and said

"Look, I know this is going to be difficult, as you still think of yourself deep down as my slave. But we're going to be good buddies - and I mean really close, good buddies. Stop being scared of me... I don't bite, you know.....!"

He stopped for a moment and with a little laugh said "Well, that's not QUITE true! Ray will testify that I do in fact bite - he's often a bit embarrassed by the hickeys on his neck after one of our sessions. But let's cut to the chase, as they say, come on through."

He turned and walked through into what I saw was a bedroom, peeling off his T as he went. As soon as he stopped he unbuttoned the jeans, and shrugged them to the floor - he was naked, as he had nothing on under them. I saw he had a nice body for an older guy, especially one who did not do hard physical labour. And he was very hairy - a thick coat of wiry black hair was almost all over him.

Ray had stripped off as he came in, and I saw that I should do the same.

And then I found out I still had a lot to learn about fucking, and being fucked! There are more things that three fit, enthusiastic men can do together than two pairs of men can do individually. I found, for example, that it takes quite a lot of practice - practice that's a lot of fun in itself - before three guys can "sandwich" properly. I could fuck Ray, and Ahmed could fuck me, but trying to do both at the same time so Ahmed pulled back from me as I pulled back from Ray.... Well, I guess you guys know all about that.

Whilst he was in residence, we "played" together almost every night. As I lay there with him sucking at my left tit one night, I reached out and pulled Ahmed's head up off me.

"Hey, if you're so keen on my body now, how come you never had me when I was your slave?", I asked.

"Oh, come on, Steve! Don't be so stupid! You weren't a slave - not like the pleasure slaves who I keep here in the palace for when I do want a fuck and there are no free men around. You were a pony slave! I could no more consider fucking a pony slave than I would consider fucking a real pony!"

"Of course I liked your body - I was very tempted on many occasions. And hadn't I specified exactly what I was looking for to the enslavers in the first instance, so you were exactly my type... But it just wouldn't be right to fuck someone who was pulling my trap. Of course I enjoyed seeing you humiliated by being worked over by all those others - who wouldn't enjoy a spectacle like that? But I certainly couldn't do it myself, in the circumstances. It was actually very frustrating for me."

"In fact, although I heard Ray's arguments about needing an assistant, the real reason I gave you your freedom was so that I could have you in my bed! That's also the reason why I persuaded my late father to give Ray his freedom some years ago."

Ray laughed. "You know, Ahmed, it's funny really. Who's the slave here? You're the big boss, but you still can't do what you like with the slaves... So in a way, you're just as much a slave as they are!"

Ahmed was going to start arguing, but I didn't want to hear it, so I pushed his face back onto my tit - and he gave me a sharp nip with his teeth that caused me to cry out and arch my back... Which set Ray off..... And we moved onto more pleasurable pursuits!

Well, that's about my life so far. You'll have to wait for the rest, if you ever get around to these parts again. But don't count on meeting up, as I don't think I'll have too much time in the near future, though: as Ahmed has scored a real coup that will drive all the other Sheikhs around here mad with envy. He's managed to get a pair of identical twins, and their father! The twins were at college in the USA on a football scholarship, and their father was a player himself before retiring and going in to coaching. The twins are absolutely identical - I can't tell them apart - and Ray and I are wondering if we should have them branded on opposite ass cheeks, so we can call them "lefty" and "righty". And when you see all three naked together, the family resemblance is so strong. Ahmed has tasked Ray and me to find some really new way of showing all three off to their best advantage, together, and it's a real problem. But we're working on it!

Author's note:

So there you have it, readers! The guy I met may or may not have been Steve. He may or may not have been telling the truth. He was young, and very virile as I can testify. The marks on his stomach that had first caused me to talk to him could certainly have been as a result of branding. He was very long-legged.

If it was Steve, and the story is true, then he seems to have fallen on his feet. He laughed a lot during our time together, and was completely self-assured. He seemed to have a love for life that only comes from an inner happiness, and I can only hope that one day I will bump into him again. I really would like to know about that father and his twin sons.

THE END