Willing Slave

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 23

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I in turn told Matt all I knew about my owner - how he refused to take money from his father in law, and insisted on making his own living from the vet's practice. "And so you see", I explained, "That's why there's just me - he can't afford to buy other slaves,

and the only reason he's got me, rather than some hack pony, is that my previous owner destroyed my sale value when he had my dick blackened and those tattoos put all over me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, but how, Matt?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes..."

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

"Well, neither do I."

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

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

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

the force I used and the length of my stroke: this was real power!

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

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

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

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

And then I ran as fast as I could to the mall, even though it's four miles and I was already pretty tired.

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

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

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

"Punish him again, now!"

"But my dear..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, it is!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I allowed my erection to relax slightly, clenched my ass and squeezed down, and thus managed to start pissing into his open mouth. He tried to jerk away from me but my hand held his head firmly, and he tried to make protesting noises - noises that were stifled as his mouth was full of my dick, and full of my piss.

I let go of my dick, now firmly in his mouth, and used my hand to pinch his nostrils together as I continued to fill his mouth with my piss. His struggles got more violent for a moment - all to no avail - and then he had to swallow my piss in order to be able to breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

"Boss, yes, boss."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End Of Part 23

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 24

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Boss, yes, boss".

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop a minute, Steve!, he groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now.... On!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When I was waiting to collect my owner or my mistress in the winter I used to join the huddle of other slaves, and it was usual to open your cape, move your body as close to another slave as you could, and then swirl both capes closed around you. It was kind of "snug" like this, inside two layers of impervious material, with the rain or snow lashing down outside, and with another guy's warm body close to you. One advantage of my tiny shorts was that it was easy for the other guy to feel my powerful thigh muscles, and to slip his hand up the leg of my shorts or down from the waist. - it was much more difficult for me to reciprocate when he was wearing normal slave shorts, and usually you had to push them down: but of course if you inadvertently let them go so that they fell to the floor, it was absolutely not the done thing to do.

Slaves were allowed to huddle together for warmth, not for sex! Once the other ponies knew that it was easy to enjoy my dick (and that I had a really good set of tackle to match my body), I was very much in demand and I only had to appear at the train station and there would be several other guys really eager to get wrapped up with me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End Of Part 24