Willing Slave

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 5

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Being "ready for sale" didn't mean all that much, actually. Because of the huge expense of travelling long distances buyers didn't in general visit the Double J itself. And I was told that Master Dave and Master Jay rarely bothered to take a bunch of trained ponies to one of the big markets - their reputation was so good, and their stock so highly prized, that they could easily sell via the Internet. Accordingly I was photographed again, totally naked, and my pictures and details were put on to the Double J's site with a request for "offers" for an on-line auction with a closing date of a month in the future.

They left me "natural", with all my body hair and so on, as the Ranch offered a "grooming" service for buyers - once the auction was over and the price agreed, my new owner could order "optional extras" at a standard tariff - I could be 'skinned, shaved, tattooed, or whatever else my new owner wanted prior to delivery. Or he could just take me "as is" and get these things attended to at his local slave grooming parlour, I was told.

In the meantime, as a fully trained "hack", I started to work around the Ranch to give me more training for my new life. I was now one of the ponies who pulled the carts for the overseers as they went around the ranch supervising the training, and took them into the local town when they wanted an evening's entertainment. That wasn't so much fun, actually, as they usually went in a group of three or four guys in two carts, with each of us ponies having to take the load of two passengers. And as slaves were not allowed into the town's bars, we had to wait patiently outside whilst the guys went in and drank. It's actually cold in the evenings out there, and the two ponies who'd drawn this duty had to stand there shivering - well, that is unless one of the overseers was kind enough to tell us that we could use a blanket, and then it wasn't so bad - both of us would sit close together and pull one of the rough woollen blankets that were kept under the seat of the trap over us. Our training told us that we were not allowed to speak as we were "on duty", but when you're close to another guy all wrapped up like that you do want to talk, don't you? You felt so guilty, actually, as you whispered away to your companion - I don't think the overseers would have minded, actually, as they were fully occupied in the bar and there was quite a lot of noise so we were not likely to disturb anyone: but our training had been so specific on this and all the other "etiquette" stuff that it somehow seemed wicked.

One of my trips into town was to meet the arrival of one of the incoming buses, and pick up a new trainee. As he got out of the slave compartment and stood there looking slightly afraid in his crumpled uniform, I couldn't help remembering how I'd felt those two years ago. There he was, long-legged and fit-looking, but with a distinctively miserable air at being here, alone and torn out from his normal life, just as I had been. I wanted to tell him that training to be a pony slave wasn't bad, that life on the Double J was more than bearable, and that he would come through it, as I had, to emerge as a magnificent trained slave, proud of his body and his work. I looked at his body and his muscles and saw the contrast between us - I had filled out in those two years of hard exercise, and was now the picture of what an eighteen year old man should be, with my lean, long muscles, my hard belly, broad shoulders and chest, slim waist, thick neck, and flaring ass muscles. They'd turned me from a boy into a man, and I was rightly proud of myself.

The overseer gave me the command to set off for home at a medium pace, and I smiled inwardly as I saw the new slave confidently set off to follow me, and then to draw level with me, just as I had to Marc two years ago. As I trotted along, making the long, easy strides we were trained for, I saw him try to match me and fail. I remembered how I'd done just that, and wondered how Marc was now faring in his new life - he'd finally been sold about a week after I'd arrived, so I'd never got to really know him. But as the first real trained pony I'd ever seen, he still remained fixed in my memory.

As expected, we stopped at the halfway water point - at the Double J we were always taught the importance of drinking to replace all the stuff we sweated out - and the new lad was suffering! I wanted to tell him that he could make it, to hang in there and not give up, but, just as Marc had, I kept my eyes firmly to the front and remained silent as I had been trained to. We speeded up for the second half of the journey, and I began to realise that this was not accidental - I guessed that this was always done to the new slaves, to show them how they had to really work, and how effortless it was for a trained pony like me to do what they found almost impossible.

At the Double J the overseer told me to take the new lad off to the showers and then the vet's, and it was almost amusing to see how, as I had been, he was embarrassed to share a shower with another slave. After these two years I no longer felt any concern about helping a fellow slave wash, to soap his balls, or even to run my hand quickly down his ass crack, but the new lad clearly hated it. Still, I thought, he'd soon learn that there was no problem in helping a fellow slave like that, and he'd realise that it was saving our owner a lot of money in water fees and energy costs. And as I opened the door to the vet's office, I remembered how scared I'd been at what might have been going to happen to me.

There was one change, though - as I went in, the vet said "Hang on a minute Steve.... Let me see.... " He tapped my SIN onto his PC, and went on "You've been bought! And your new owner has requested some additional stuff..... I might as well do it now."

My blood ran cold for a moment. This didn't sound good - had my new owner ordered me to be 'skinned, or even gelded? Or perhaps he wanted a complete depilatory treatment for me or something. But the vet went on "You're going to be living down South in the wetter areas, and I've got to get you vaccinated against some of the stuff that's a problem down there now - malaria, and the so-called 'coloured' fevers. Before I start on the new slave, I'll just do it - drop those shorts and bend over the desk."

Out of the corner of my eye as I bent there, my ass totally exposed and my dick and balls swinging between my thighs, I could see the new slave looking at me almost in astonishment. I wanted to tell him that in two years time he'd have huge muscles like this, that his thighs would have defined strips of lean muscle running down them, and that he'd be a fantastic even tan all over, but my training held. The vet wiped my left ass cheek with a bit of alcohol, then pumped in the first shot. There were three in all, and at the end he gave me a friendly swat on my bare ass and told me to stand up and pull my shorts back up.

"You'll have some muscle pain there tonight", he said "But if it flares up and looks very angry, come and see me again tomorrow. Well, that's the last time I'll be seeing you, I think, as they're shipping you in two days time and so I can mark my file on you 'closed'. Good luck - your new owner's paid a lot for you, so I expect he'll make sure you get the best possible medical treatment to protect his investment - your new vet will send for your records, I expect." With that, he turned to the new lad and told him to shuck his clothes, and I left.

It seemed odd to be going around the Double J probably for the last time - I didn't expect ever to come back here again, given transportation costs. So, with no other duties, I wandered around looking at the dormitories and training rooms, then went out again to the swimming pool areas and just lay in the sun, soaking up its warmth. The vet had said I'd been sold to go down South, and just for a moment I panicked - did he mean to South America? My brothers, when they wanted to tease me, used to read me bits out of the papers saying how the super-rich drug barons were buying up slaves and shipping them out of the country, and they then didn't have very good lives! Still, he'd also said that he thought I'd be getting good medical care, but perhaps even a drug baron looked after a very valuable asset? I really didn't want to have to pull some really fat South American along jungle trails or through the teeming streets of their awful cities. But as I lay there I calmed down, and thought it more likely that I'd been sold to an owner in one of the Southern states of our country - perhaps I'd have to spend all my time running in subtropical Florida. Or maybe I'd be racing across the flat country in Georgia? Or maybe a rich politician in Washington had decided he needed a pony to drag him to and from the Capitol. All these thoughts went through my mind as I lay there half drowsing - I couldn't ask anyone, of course, as slaves are not allowed to initiate questions of masters, are they? There was nothing I could do about it anyway, as I was already sold, so I soon stopped worrying about it and just lay there and enjoyed the sun.

As it happened Master Dave and Master Jay were on the Ranch and gave me one final personal inspection the following day. I shucked off my T and shorts out in front of the main building when they came out on to the steps, and they went over my body minutely as they had so many times before - it's funny, actually: later in my career I'd be naked in public very humiliatingly, but here on the Ranch, under the hands of these two Masters, it some felt right and proper. After all, there were only overseers and my fellow ponies to see, and they'd all looked at me hundreds of times in the showers and dorms.

"Good boy, Steve", Master Jay said. "You've come through the training well. We're proud of you."

"Yes", Master Dave added, "That first night just after we'd bought you we knew we'd got a winner - and you've made us a tidy profit as your new owner paid top dollar for you."

Well, there wasn't anteing I could say, was there, so I just stood there until they told me to put my T and shorts back on, and a trap, pulled by my buddy Jake, came up with one of the overseers in it.

It seemed strange to be jogging away from the Double J for the last time ever, and it was easy for me as I just had myself to think about, whereas poor Jake had the trap to pull. Still, I ran alongside him, keeping perfect step as I'd been taught, and we soon arrived at the town and halted at the offices of USS.

Then there I was, as that fighter slave had been two years ago - a wonderful fit guy, perfectly trained, with just a T, shorts and a routing tag as my only possessions, going off on the bus.

I met a couple of slaves on the journey, but we didn't have all that much to talk about - they were mildly interested in me being a trained pony, but they were both "personal" slaves of their owners who were travelling on the top deck. From the way they talked I gleaned that they were really sex toys - they had nice bodies and smiled almost continuously, but they had to spend hours a day in the gym, and then "amuse" their owners and their guests every night. They didn't seem to mind, but it's not a job I'd like - no, I was glad I had a role that would allow me to use my body properly, and to enjoy an outdoor life.

My new owner had paid for me to have transit accommodation, so I didn't have to sleep on the benches at the interchange points as I had during my first journey. And I paid a lot of attention to the scenery as it rolled past outside the tiny window - this was almost certainly the last time I'd ever travel again, I realised, so I'd better make the most of it - my new owner would most probably always use me to travel no more than five or six miles form his home.

At the Atlanta USS office the clerk gave me a real ticket - a standard plastic one - and told me to take the suburban electric tram on line D out to Pine Hills, and also handed me a piece of paper with a diagram showing how to get from the Pine Hills tram stop to my new owner's home. I didn't like the sound of Pine Hills much - as I've told you, every pony slave dreads the additional effort he has to put in when going up and down inclines.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, boy", the clerk asked as he saw me looking at the ticket and the paper. "Do you know what a 'D' is? And will you be able to recognise 'Pine Hills' when the tram gets there? Did they teach you to read?"

"Sir, yes, sir. I know letters and numbers, and I can read short words like those."

"Get on, then - don't keep your master waiting!"

As those of you who've been there will know, the major tram interchange in Atlanta is immediately underneath the continental bus station. The trams run underground in the city centre, then come out of the ground to serve the suburbs. I waited on the right platform for the D tram, and when it came went to board after I'd allowed all the citizens to go through the sliding doors first.

"Fucking slave!", a guy snapped "Get out of here! Didn't they teach you any manners! Thinking you can bring that great sweaty slave body in a compartment reserved for citizens! Get to the slave compartment, before I call the conductor and have you sent off for a whipping!"

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised - after all, they had special slave compartments on the buses, but it just hadn't occurred to me. I stepped back, and before I could do anything else the doors hissed closed and the tram pulled away from the platform. As I waited for the next one I observed what was going on - other guys who were in the same sort of general slave uniform as me all congregated at one end of the platform, then when the tram came in I saw we were opposite a compartment that was different from the rest of the tram where there were seats and so on, as this was just an open area.

We all surged on, and then stood there holding onto rails set in the ceiling as the tram accelerated away.

I gathered from the conversation that the other slaves were having that this was a good time to travel - at rush hours the slave compartment would be heaving with bodies as there was only a small amount of space for slave travellers compared with that allowed for citizens.

The tram surfaced, and we ran through the inner suburbs, and then out into what looked like almost open country. Pine Hills must have been about twenty miles out from the city centre, and when we arrived my guess that I'd been bought by an exceedingly rich man was confirmed by a number of clues - the tram station itself was immaculately clean and in a shining, sleek modern design. Outside here was an area where there were twenty or so empty pony traps parked, and even a small parking areas where there were a couple of automobiles! A line of cycle taxi rickshaws stood waiting patiently by the entrance, and I was glad I wasn't a slave who had to sit there all day waiting for a fare, then pedal along - much better to be able to run free, I thought.

I looked at the map I'd been given, and set off at a brisk jog towards my new owner's home. It really felt good to be using my body again after being cramped on the journey, and it was a fine, warm afternoon. Fortunately, I realised , "Pine Hills" was a bit of a misnomer - they were not so much hills as gentle undulations in the mostly flat landscape. I ran on past numerous suburban streets, and, when you could see them at all, saw that the houses here were very substantial. I guessed that each of them was set in at least five acres, and this was probably why they were so far from the tram stop.

Eventually I arrived at what was to be my new home, and turned up its long drive. I slowed my pace a little so I could look around, and saw that it was clearly "pleasure grounds" - drifts of trees and shrubs planted to enhance the landscape, rather than serve any useful purpose. When I got to it I was amazed at the size of the house - a huge, white, neo-colonial mansion with huge while pillars along its front rearing the whole height of its three stories. I knew better than to go up the immaculate front steps to the huge double doors, so jogged on around the back.

It turned out that my new owner was so wealthy that he employed an overseer to supervise the slaves. He was in his office in the building complex to the rear of the main house, and as I came in he reached out for my arm and read it.

"Good, Steve, you made it, and on time, too. Welcome to your new home. I'm your owner's overseer, Tony, and you will call me just 'sir'. Your owner will be addressed at all times as 'master' . Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Good. I suppose you've been properly trained - well, the amount the owner had to pay for you, I'd certainly hope so. Now, you're his new personal pony slave. You're mainly to take him to the tram station in the morning, then from the central tram station to his office - we keep a second trap in the parking garage in the central area. At night, you do the same in reverse. Other than that, he'll use you if he's going out to lunch to go between his offices and the restaurant, and on the weekend he'll use you for going to the country club, or the shopping mall in Pine Hills. So not exactly arduous - the rest of the time you will work out and keep fit - we have special arrangements in the city, and there are many facilities here."

"You will not go into the main house unless you are told to - ever! That is the preserve of the family and the household slaves - the owner's valet, the chef, and the cleaner. You will live out here in this building that is also the place where we keep all the stuff needed for the maintenance of the grounds and so on. Besides you we have a slave for pulling the mower, as this grass needs cutting all the time, two groundsmen, two gardeners, and a general handyman who also looks after the pool. You will keep yourself clean and tidy at all times, and you slaves will not make a lot of noise to disturb the family!"

"There's a workout room for you all here, and when the family is all out, you are also allowed to use the pool - but only for exercise - no lounging around on the family's pool furniture! We operate a happy ship here, and I don't believe in unnecessary punishments - but if you break the rules, or if I ever detect that your are slacking or not giving a hundred and ten percent to pleasing the owner, I'll whip you. Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"The owner does not require you to work as a sex slave, and neither do I - we're both married, as it so happens. You are free to indulge yourself with your fellow slaves here, but any other sexual contact is strictly forbidden - you are expressly forbidden to indulge in any sex of any kind with the slaves in the city, for example: we don't want to have to pay big vet's bills to clear up any unfortunate diseases you might catch. And, whilst I think about it, remember that you are required to report any medical problems of any kind to me - a strain, a cold, a sore, anything. You slaves area huge, valuable asset, and we need to keep you in first class condition."

"You only get fed slave chow, and it's freely available - although I expect you to eat frugally to preserve that body of yours. And sign of you putting on even an once of fat, and I'll forcibly slim you down."

"The owner and his wife are away on a trip at the moment and their daughter is with them. The owner's son only lives here during college vacations, so you have no real work at the moment. You will spend the next three days therefore running all the roads in Pine Hill, familiarising yourself with them so you will not get lost on social calls, and you will pay particular attention to the routes to the Country Club, and to the Mall. I will accompany you to the city later in the week to show you where the owner's parking space is for his city trap, and to show you the route to his office, and to the restaurants he uses."

"Now, get out of that uniform, and put on the house uniform. As you'll see the owner has chosen this olive green. Two sizes are provided - medium and large, and I think that as you'll run, we'll give you medium shorts to provide some support for that dick of yours, but a large T so that it's nice and loose on you and we can see your body a bit through the arm slits."

As he spoke I'd done as he said and shucked my uniform, and realised that he'd been looking at my naked body. Well, that's to be expected, I suppose, as he was responsible to the owner for me and he'd naturally want to do a quick visual inspection to make sure there were no obvious flaws. I blushed slightly at the mention of my big dick - well, I am "well hung", as they say. And I know there are a lot of slave jokes about pony slaves being "hung like a horse", and I am just a bit sensitive about it. But I was glad he was going to allow me to wear tighter shorts than my general size would suggest - when you run a lot, no matter how much practice you have, your dick and balls can still get very sore from lack of support. No owner ever provides jockstraps or anything, as it's too much trouble - with every other slave wearing the standard Ts and shorts, it would otherwise really complicate the laundry.

"Finally", he went on, "Your owner likes his slaves to have short hair, and to be clean shaven in the sense that you will not grow a beard. But he likes his pony to be 'rugged looking', and so you will always shave at night, last thing, with a blunt razor. That way you will have fashionable dark stubble on you throughout the day. There is no requirement to shave your body or your pubes, but you will keep the hair in your pits neatly trimmed so that it does not show through the slits in your T when you are standing at rest. Is that all clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

Tony then took me on a brief tour of inspection of the work complex and the grounds, showing me the carriage house where my traps were kept - a light, modern one with a single seat that he told me my owner liked to use for the run to the tram stop in the morning, and a heavier, "two seater" - well, it had kind of a bench - which was occasionally used when the owner and his wife wanted to go together to the country club. Then we went on to see the gym - fully equipped, with almost "professional" quality equipment: I was glad of that, as I knew I would be using it a lot. The slave living quarters were simple and adequate - a shower room with two heads and two lavatories (all exposed, as I was now used to), and a dorm room where the seven of us would sleep - there were actually eight of the simple metal bedsteads each with white sheets and a single pillow as, Tony explained, visiting pony slaves would also sleep in here. It wasn't all that different from the Double J, and I knew that we would all probably do the same thing - jerk ourselves off under the sheets, and swallow our cum to keep the beds fresh.

The Overseer then left, and I wondered if we had the same system as at the Double J, where you just took the first available bed, and my question was answered when a giant of a man came in, wearing the same olive green slave uniform as I was. Now I'm six three, but this slave was an inch or two taller than me at least, and he was very solidly built. He read my arm, and I reached and read his and saw that he was named Joe.

"Hi, Steve. I guess you're the new pony - Tony said the owner had decided to get one, rather than relying on pedal cabs to get to and from the tram stop."

"Yes. My first owner, as I'm fresh off the ranch! What's your role, Joe?"

"I spend all day mowing the fucking lawns here, dragging the mower up and down. And as soon as I've got to the end, I have to go back and start all over again as it's so hot and humid that the grass grown non-stop."

"Yes, but what else do you do?"

"I told you everything - I mow the lawns! The owner's estate here is about five acres, and it's mostly all grass except for the beds near the house and the various ornamental trees and such like. So I'm full time dragging the mower up and down. At busy times one of the gardeners even has to help, as I wouldn't otherwise get through it all - he comes and carries away the cuttings, so I can keep mowing. Still, it keeps me fit!" He grinned as he said this, and I knew that, like me, he was happy with his lot. I felt even more cheerful inside as I saw that this big slave didn't appear to be worried about life here, and it reinforced my view that I was fortunate to have been bought by a considerate owner.

Joe showed me the two empty beds and I picked the one nearest the window - what a joy: a space of my own at last, as Joe said we kept our own beds every night. But there was no locker or anything, as of course I had no possessions of any kind, as we just took fresh Ts and shorts from the communal pile in the shower room when we had cleaned ourselves up.

When I met the other guys I knew we were all much the same - we'd all understood all our lives that we were going to be slaves, and were all heartily glad that we'd ended up with this owner! Each of them had a slightly different slant on it, and like any group of guys you meet I liked some more than the others, but that's not really germane to my story so I won't go into details of all their role, looks, likes and so on. One of the gardeners and the general handyman were lovers, but they didn't make a big thing of it - we had to listen to them fucking most nights, of course, but they didn't particularly flaunt it and put on displays for the rest of us or anything: they kissed discretely, and simply spent most of their free time together and always slept in the same bed. The rest of us just did what slaves normally do - jerked ourselves off discretely, and slept, in order to recover from the hard work we'd done that day.

My first three days were really interesting - I ran around the streets of Pine Hills so that I knew the whole geography of the place, and then Tony sat in the light trap and drove me to the country club and to the mall - I didn't go in to either place, of course, and waited patiently outside with the other pony slaves that were there. Some of them were a bit "amateur", not having been properly trained: as we waited at the kerb side, they actually tried to talk to me!

Tony also took me into the city, showing me where to leave the owner's trap at the Pine Hills tram stop, then meeting me after I'd got out of the slave compartment on the tram at the central terminus, and showing me where the city trap was "garaged". He explained that as soon as the tram arrived at the central station I had to run as fast as possible through the crowds, pick up the trap, and get back to the front of the terminal to pick up the owner and take him to the office.

"Just make sure you know the route exactly, Steve", he told me, "And talk nicely to the slaves who run the garage so that your trap is waiting - the owner gets very impatient at any delay, and he's a busy man and wants to get off to the office!"

Tony then drove me around the city centre showing me the restaurants the owner favoured, and we went back finally to the office tower where the owner worked. Underneath there was a parking garage for traps, and just off this was an underground room with a set of workout kit in it.

"It's not ideal conditions - you're not out in the sun, it's hot and stuffy, but you can at least get in the necessary exercise whilst the owner's working away", Tony explained. "As you can see, there's a speaker on the wall and his assistant will call you when he's about to leave. The moment you're called, you get that trap up to the front door, as he really is impatient when he's here - I think he expects you to stand outside all day, but we've made this provision for you to work out. So be careful not to delay - if he gets delayed, he might insist on you being tethered at the front door, and then you'd have to exercise back at Pine Hills late into the night."

I found running around the city quite difficult, actually - finding your way was mostly OK as it was almost all the standard grid plan, and there wasn't much other traffic. But the local trams which were on the surface could swoop down on you unexpectedly, and there were a lot of pedestrians and cyclists - the cyclists were a particular pest as they tended to come up on your inside and when you wanted to turn right they'd be in the way - and they were, of course, free citizens so they expected a pony slave to give way. But that destroys your pace, and I realised I'd have to be particularly careful to ensure that the owner didn't get jerked and disturbed by any sudden changes of speed I might be forced to make. Pedestrians could be a pain, too, as they tended just to step out into the road in front of you - unlike the trams, ponies and traps are totally silent and I guess they don't hear you coming and don't think to look. I knew I'd be in terrible trouble if I bumped into a free citizen, and so I had to keep very alert in the city.

When we got back to the house there was an air of mild excitement, and I was told that the owner, his wife and his daughter were back from their trip. Tony said that the owner would go straight back to his office the following morning, and that I should make sure I was ready!

I hardly slept that night in anticipation, and in the morning I woke very early and did an hour's exercises to make sure I was ready, with all my muscles subtle. Tony was there to generally supervise, and looked me up and down to make sure I looked my best in fresh T and shorts, with my "fashionable" stubble. In a pattern that was to repeat itself every day, I waited at the front door for the owner to appear - he always seemed to be slightly late, and this first morning was no exception. He ran down the steps, leaped into his seat and snapped "to the tram - and run fast, boy, as I'm late and want to make the seven ten." I'd kind of expected that he'd take the time to properly inspect me - well, if you'd just spent a heap of money on a new possession, you would, wouldn't you? But I was to learn that my owner didn't really care about things like that, and just spent his money to make life easier - as long as I was there, and functioning properly, he really had not the slightest further interest in me - his whole attitude told me that, as far as he was concerned, I was just an object. I was of no more importance to him than the trap that I was pulling.

So I raced through the streets, and by the time I was at the tram stop and the owner had alighted, I barely had time to "park" the trap and race back to throw myself into the slave compartment just as the tram was leaving. Unlike my first day, the slave compartment was now crammed with slaves - I don't think any of them were ponies: they were mostly street cleaners, construction workers, and the like going into city centre jobs from their slave barracks out somewhere way beyond Pine Hills. I was running with sweat from my exertions, and some of them were really rude to me about it - hey, what was I supposed to do? Walk slowly, so my owner missed the tram? Or not get in to the slave compartment, so he had to do without me in the city? I was bigger and stronger than any of them, though, even at eighteen as I then was, and I just told them to piss off and make space around me if they didn't like my good honest sweat.

I got it right that first morning, as I did every morning subsequently - I threw myself out of the door as the tram stopped, ran at a real sprint to the parking garage, and got to the main entrance at about the same time as my owner. I got my first chance then to really look at him - he was in his late forties, I suppose, and kind of "distinguished" looking with neat hair and obviously expensive clothes, clothes that had that special "gloss" that I now know only really comes from having a valet look after them and sponge and press them after every wearing.

He didn't say anything to me, but read his newspaper as I pulled him through the streets to his office building. I then went around to the "garage", left the trap, and went into my tiny exercise room where I stayed. I didn't exercise all morning, I confess, and mostly just sat around with nothing to do - it was, and is, boring without even one of the slave TV channels to watch. It must have been lunchtime when the speaker crackled into life, and I took my trap around to the front door. The owner emerged and told me to take him to "Les Cinq Pecheurs", and I was really glad that we'd done the reconnaissance the day before as I was able to get there faultlessly.

It's a really expensive restaurant, as you probably know, and there were several other ponies who, like me, then waited patiently for our owners to finish their lunch. Then back to the office, some exercise in the afternoon, and then a repeat of the journey back to the central tram terminus. It is much more difficult at night - my owner naturally wanted to go on the next tram to leave for Pine Hills, but I had to take the trap back to the garage and race back to the station. Some evenings I didn't make the same tram as the owner, and then I hated having to see his reproachful stare as I eventually pulled his trap up to Pine Hills - an owner shouldn't have to wait like that as his slave has missed the tram, should he? Even though it was only ten minutes, it's ten minutes too long for a busy man, a man who has invested a lot in personal transportation.

For five years this was to be my life - my owner never spoke to me except to give me brief instructions as to where he wanted to go. To him, I wasn't a man like him, I was really a pony whose sole purpose was to pull his trap and for which simple instructions would suffice. The only variation in my days were at weekends, when the owner and his wife often went to the country club, or to lunch or dinner with neighbours, and some days when he was out of town on business trips. The owner's wife would then take me to the mall, rather than using a pedal cab, and sometimes I even had to drop the owner's daughter off at High School. At first, this was the task I liked least - having a seventeen year old girl "drive" me (who was, after all, only eighteen at the time), to her school and then to have her sit there and chat to all her friends whilst I stood rigidly in the shafts. If only things had been different: if I'd been a girl, or in the other eighty percent of men, I would have been there in the crowds who eventually flocked into the school.

It was also tough when the owner's son was on vacation from college - he always asked the owner if he could "borrow the pony" to go out partying, and unlike his father he only ever had one idea of the pace I should set - very fast! And I hated standing outside the big houses where they all partied, listening top all the music and laugher, and being bored out of my mind. It's tough when you have to run home at three or four in the morning with a half-drunk driver, and then get up at six to take your owner off to the tram stop.

Still, all in all, life was OK. I had good companions and a considerate owner, I wasn't hugely overworked, and I kept fit and, mostly, very content. When I saw my owner sometimes as he got home, worn down by the stress of his job, I was almost thankful that our roles were not reversed. Mind you, when his son made out with some chick on the bench seat of the "family" trap on the way back from a party, I did wonder if a bit of stress later in life was a price worth paying for more fun now!

End Of Part 5

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 6

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

It's amazing how time slips by. I suppose I was aware of the seasons - the owner's family made a big thing at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I was kept especially busy running to and from the mall - during these times I had to run my owner to the tram stop in the morning, then return to the house so that the owner's wife and daughter could use me for shopping. My owner had to take a pedal taxi to his office, and he usually wasn't in a very good mood in the evening when I went to collect him from the tram stop!

I hated the wet weather - the cold's OK, as it's good when you're running to be cool, but the wet was awful.

The owner used a raincoat and a giant umbrella, but I had to run in my usual T and shorts - and the fabric clung to my body and was unpleasant. It was particularly awful on the tram, as I was one of the few slaves who was soaking wet as most of them had come straight from their barracks. I knew they were looking at me as I stood there, often shivering slightly, seeing how the wet fabric delineated my body. They say that most of those construction slaves are into fucking in a really big way, and I always thought they were looking at me as a potential plaything. It was good to be in my little exercise room on those days, as I could wring out my shorts and T and exercise naked until they were dry.

The only other time I was really naked (except in the showers with the other slaves, of course) was when we went swimming: I'd always liked this when I was at home, and my time at the Double J had taught me the power of water to relax my muscles when I was really tired. The handyman looked after the pool, and he always did this totally naked, even when the family were around (my own mom and dad used to have a pool man who came weekly to our pool, and he always stripped off, too, before working on it. I guess it's one of those sort of "traditional" things, that pool guys do it in the nude). Us other slaves were not of course allowed in the pool area at all when the family was using it. But most days I could, if I wanted, manage a swim at some point. Usually it was only for twenty minutes or so, though, and as there was no chance to dry my shorts afterwards, as at the Double J, I swam naked. Standing then in the sunshine, planing the water off my body, kept my tan up too - if I looked down, there was only a small variation between my legs and arms where they were outside my T and shorts, and the rest of me.

The family went on two vacations a year - that's how rich they were! Skiing in the winter, and somewhere in the Summer. I even got to take the owner and his wife to the airport once or twice - that really shows you how much he was worth, to be able to vacation by air and not on one of the bus trains! When they were away life was really easy for me, although the owner usually told Tony that he could use me. Tony didn't have many places to go, though, and I really only had to pull him to and from home - it made a nice change for him, as he usually cycled in the four miles from the less expensive suburb where he lived. Like the owner, Tony was really considerate - he didn't want me pulling him four miles home then having to run the four miles back to the house, so on those nights he let me sleep on his porch. I even got to peep in at the window and see his family life - he'd been allowed two kids, and both were daughters, really nice young ladies of eight and ten. He supervised their homework, he and his wife ate dinner together, and even at his age he still fucked her every night!

I was really envious of him, and knew that I could have been like this if things had been different. On the other hand, I could hear he and his wife discussing their bills sometimes and really worrying about them. And he was getting a distinct thickening of his middle as he really didn't do enough exercise. After one of his annual medicals I even heard them talking about what to do to get his blood pressure down, and he said "nothing", as it was "stress" that was doing it. I guess you're spared all that kind of stuff as a slave, and my body was in great shape. I never thought much about fucking, I suppose - I hadn't done it when I was still at home, there were no women at the Double J, and it wasn't an option at my owner's house. And you don't miss what you've never had, do you?

So five years slipped by, I suppose five relatively happy years. At twenty three I had it all - a good owner, a fantastic body, healthy work that was well within my capabilities. If I ever thought about the future at all it was in terms of doing much the same kind of work for my owner until I was too old and feeble to be able to continue.

Almost the only thing I didn't like much was having to help Joe out on occasions - pulling the heavy gang mower at the peak of the growing season was just too much for him, and as well as having the gardeners helping out by emptying the cuttings so he didn't have to stop, Tony decided that I should give Joe a break occasionally by being harnessed and pulling the mower s whilst he had a brief rest. Well, Joe was working from sunrise to sunset, so I guess he needed it, although he wasn't one to complain.

It's really different, being harnessed and having to drag something that's meeting considerable resistance from the grass as the blades whirred around. I'm used to pulling light, well-oiled things at a fast pace, and here I was required to really work to make the mower move at all - my feet slipped on the grass, I had to put so much effort in! And I hated the feeling of being chained to the machine like an animal - even though I wouldn't dream of getting out from between the shafts of my cart, I always thought that I could as I was never cuffed in there or anything (I'll remind you that I was a properly trained pony, taking orders verbally without the need for a bridle, and schooled in the proper "etiquette" of these things so there was no need to give me blinkers, or hitch me to the cart). I got to appreciate why Joe was a big as he was, and how much sheer physical effort he needed to exert. Tony even had us both harnessed to the mower sometimes, and then Joe and I almost had "competitions" to see who could pull the harder.

Things changed when, one night when I got back to the bunk room, I found all the guys chatting to a new slave. I read his arm and "Jack" soon got around to telling me that, like me, he was a new graduate from the Double J - the owner had bought him from the same place. I thrilled for a moment, recognising that I had pleased the owner so much that he was prepared to buy again from the same place, then a worrying thought struck me - why did the owner need two ponies? We found out the following morning - one of us was to be a graduation present for the owner's son, who had just completed college and was about to start work.

Jack and I were lined up by the owner in front of his son, and he was asked to pick which one he wanted - I was twenty three, like him, and Jack was just over eighteen, as I had been when I was first bought.

"Well, dad, I don't know - I like the idea of having a new pony, in 'factory condition', so to speak, never used before. But that one you've been using is pretty good - I've seen how he works - in fact, I was only watching him the other day harnessed to the mower with that other big slave, and thought what a great hunk of muscle he was. Although he's 'used', I know he's had only 'one careful owner' as they say in all the second-user slave magazines. And he's always worked really well when you've let me take him out."

He came closer to Jack and me, then said "I'll do a proper inspection - shuck those clothes, slaves."

We were outside the front door of the main house, and anyone could see - if the owner's wife and daughter were inside they'd only have to look through the windows! But Jack was uncaring about this - he was still used to being inspected at the Double J, I suppose, and so he pulled his T over his head and dropped his shorts. The owner's son snapped "What are you waiting for?", at me, and so I had little choice but to do the same.

Even to this day I can remember standing there in the warm sun with a slight breeze playing over my body as the son then expertly ran his hands all over both of us, feeling our muscles, cupping our balls, and even 'skinning me to get a closer look at my dick head. It was a salutary reminder to me of what being a slave was actually about. I knew how hard the owner's son made me work, and I was hoping against hope that he would opt to have Jack, but on the other hand I hated the idea of the poor young lad having such an uncaring owner as his first one.

"Don't you honestly mind, dad?", he then asked. "That pony - Steve - knows your routine, and you'd have to break in this new boy."

"Oh, that's not a problem, Jason - they're well trained, and it only takes a day or two for them to learn the places I like to go. The new one can easily replace Steve, if you choose to take him as yours." So much for all my effort and devotion, I thought! I could "easily" be replaced.

"Well, dad, I think I would like to take your pony - he's about the same age as me, I think, and I'll find it easier to command an older slave. If I had the eighteen year old, it would be like having some sort of kid brother around and I wouldn't feel like disciplining him so much." Discipline him? What's the idiot on about, I wondered - with our training, we didn't need "discipline" as we worked properly all by ourselves. That's why we fetched premium prices, being graduates from the Double J.

"OK, son. I'll get his ownership formally transferred to you - I'll tell my people to get the ownership records and the log book properly updated. But remember our bargain - you only have a year to try to make a go of that business of yours, and then you agree to come and work in the family firm. I'm giving you a pony so you can get around and meet clients and so on - I want you to succeed, but I think you're not on to a good thing with this idea of setting up as party planners with that friend of yours - I don't like him much, and I think he's just using you because of your family money..."

"Dad, look, we've been all through this before. I've said I need to try something for myself, and if it doesn't work out, I'll come and work in that tower of yours next year. But if I don't try, I'll always be missing something I might have had. Didn't I hear grandpa say once that you did the same at your age? And look, thanks for the pony - I'll have a lot of running around to do, meeting contacts and so on, and it will be invaluable to have a pony to pull me. And don't worry about Scott - his folks have money, too: not as much as we have, but still enough that he doesn't need to sponge off me!"

"Well, son, has his dad bought him a pony as a graduation present?"

"No - Scott's folks aren't that wealthy. But we can share Steve here - if we can use the bigger trap, there's plenty of room for both of us."

I groaned a bit inwardly as I heard this, as pulling the "family" trap is a lot harder work than the light one-seater. Not only is the actual body of the thing heavier, as it has to be sturdier, but you have two passengers. I'd seen this guy Scott around and, like the owner's son, Jason, he was quite big and heavy - although not quite as tall as me, they were both six-footers.

My new owner - as I suppose I had to get used to thinking of the owner's son, snapped "Put those things on, and go and get the family trap. We'll go over to Scott's and show you off!"

I came back as fast as I could, Jason got up onto the seat, and gave me instructions as to how to get to Jason's house - it was in a suburb I'd never been to before, five miles away, and I set off at a steady trot as you do when you're going that distance. But that wasn't good enough for Jason. As we went down the drive he commanded "Full speed! I don't want to waste all fucking morning whilst you go for a gentle jog! You'd better learn that when I'm driving, you're running. Now get a fucking move on."

It's really tough - running five miles at the best of times is a real effort, and doing it when you're pulling a double trap really exhausts you. By the time we arrived at the pleasant suburban home where my new owner's friend lived, I was all but done in - my legs were aching, my lungs were gasping for breath, and my T and shorts were soaked with my sweat.

Scott came out as we arrived, and he and Jason gave each other a greeting hug.

"Hey, man - neat. Your dad's loaned you his pony - shall we go down the mall, or something?"

"No, Scott. Not loaned - this is my graduation gift. He's mine, as my dad doesn't want me to be able to make any excuses if our business doesn't get off the ground. He wants me to go and work for him, and he wants me to do it willingly - so he has given me this pony so that if we don't make a go of what we want to do, I'll know it's because I couldn't hack it, and not because I was missing something like transport."

"Fantastic, anyway. Can I have a good look at him?"

"Sure - he's got a great body." Turning to me, my owner snapped "Shuck those clothes, boy, so that Master Scott can appreciate you."

What was I supposed to do? There we were, in a suburban street, and my master was ordering me to get naked. I stood there for a moment, hesitating, and my owner now was very cross.

"You'd better fucking learn, boy, and learn soon, that when I give you an order you obey it, and obey it instantly. You've annoyed me once today already by not really running as fast as you can, and now you stand there shuffling around instead of getting naked.

I always thought my dad was too lenient with you - well, you'd better understand that I expect instant and total obedience, and willing compliance with all my commands. And if I don't get it, you'll get a whipping."

I was so ashamed - I didn't want to deliberately disobey my owner at all, of course - I'd been better trained than that. But you would hesitate, wouldn't you, to strip off and stand there in the middle of a suburban street? And when we'd set off, I'd not gone flat out as I thought it best to conserve some of my energy for later - what would happen if my owner now wanted to go another five miles? I realised I'd got off to a bad start, and I'd better try to do better. So I pulled my T over my head, stuck my thumbs in the waist of my shorts and slid them down to the ground.

Master Scott gestured for me to get out from between the shafts, and I stood in front of him. "You're right, Jase - he's fucking fantastic! Look at his dick, and his balls. And that musculature. I'm not surer about the fur all over him.... Have you thought of having him shaved? And what's he like to fuck? An ass like that must suck you in...."

"Hey, hold on. I only got him this morning, and I'd really not seen him in all his glory before - you know how conservative my old man is, and he always has him running around in shorts and T. So, no, I hadn't thought - yet - about having him shaved. And I've never ever had an opportunity to take him up the ass - dad doesn't like me fucking the slaves as he thinks it's not right to have them associate with free men. Anyway - why would I want his ass, nice though it looks, I agree, when I've got yours....?"

I shuddered inwardly. He hadn't thought "yet" about having me shaved! And it was only his dad who wanted me to run in the standard T and shorts... And as for all this talk of fucking, well, I was horrified - I'd never had a guy's dick in me, but I couldn't help but think that it was disgusting, and probably hurt, too.

"Let's go to the mall", Master Scott said. "You'll want to show your new toy off to the other guys, and I think there are one or two things you ought to buy at the slave store."

Well, it was even worse to have to go to the mall - I was already pretty tired, and now I had to run - fast - with two passengers. Thankfully, though, when we got there "the other guys" weren't there, so I was spared further humiliation and was allowed to rest in the parking lot whilst the two men went in.

I was able to run them both home as I had enough time to recover, and back at our house I fervently hoped that that would be all for the day - to Master Scott's, from there to the mall, and then home, was a big run to do even if I'd been able to pace myself. But at the speed Master Jason insisted on, it was totally exhausting. I dropped the two men off at the front door, then trotted around to the back to put the trap away, and went into the slave quarters. I didn't care about saving my owner money that day - I just stood there under the shower and tried to get something approaching normal feeling back into my aching limbs.

It seemed that Master Scott was staying the night, so I didn't have to run again that day, and later that evening I chatted to Jack about his day - it sounded like heaven, after what I'd been through. He'd done the usual "office" run for my former owner, and apart from being worried, as I had been, about getting on the same tram as his owner, all had gone well. "We're bloody lucky to be here", he told me "As this is what an owner should be like." I couldn't help thinking that this seemed to be true for him, but I wasn't so sure now about me!

The next morning I had the double trap waiting outside the front door, behind Jack and the single trap. My former owner ran down the steps, just slightly late as usual, and I watched as Jack accelerated smoothly away - I knew from long experience that he'd just make the tram, and I really envied him. I stood there, and waited and waited. I couldn't understand why, if Master Jason didn't need me, he didn't tell Tony to have me brought round later - then I could have worked out, or something. It got hot, as the sun came around, and I really wanted to sit down - have you ever tried standing upright for over an hour, with absolutely nothing to do? But my training told me that ponies always wait patiently for their drivers, so I stuck it out.

The two men appeared eventually, and they were laughing and smiling at each other. They were touching each other and walking very close, in that way that only men who have shared sex together do. My owner came up to me and told me to leave the shafts, and kneel down in front of him.

The crotch of his tight Jeans was right in front of me as I knelt there, and I could see the outline of his dick - I couldn't help thinking about where it had probably been just a few minutes before, and about the talk the two men had had about fucking my ass.

"Open your mouth", he said, and I obeyed. Master Scott handed him something, and my owner stepped forward and pushed it into my mouth. It tasted "metallic", and filled me almost completely. My owner fiddled around, doing something behind my head, and then stepped back. "Hey, Scott, is this right?"

Master Scott came and pulled and fiddled at me, and answered "Yes - the bars of the bit are out on each side of his mouth, the tongue plate is pushing his tongue down so he can't speak, and you've fastened the restraining strap nice and tight, so he can't spit it out. Now all you have to do is attach the reins to the ends of the bar, and we can be off...."

Desperately I tried moving my tongue, but it was pushed to the floor of my mouth by something. I couldn't close my mouth properly as there seemed to be a bar running between my teeth and protruding at each end. I tried to probe with my tongue, champed up and down to try to get my mouth feeling easy, but could make no progress. My head tossed up and down as I went through all sorts of contortions to try to make my mouth easier.

"See", Master Scott said, "Just like a real horse when you put a bit in their mouths - tossing the head up and down like that!"

"Are you sure about this, Scott", my owner asked. "Dad always said that he paid a lot of money for a pony so that he could just tell it where to go - this one is supposed to be 'voice trained', so you don't need to steer him or anything."

"Yes, but that's not the fashion! If you've got a really handsome pony like this, you need to show everyone that you're in charge of him - if you just let him run along as he wants, it doesn't look right. With those reins, it's clear who's in charge. Now, let's try...."

Black leather reins were fastened to the ends of the bar protruding from my mouth, the two men got into the trap, and my owner called out "Forward - slow trot."

He tugged on the reins, turning my head from side to side to indicate which way he wanted me to go, and we zigged and zagged across the lawns and along the tracks running through the estate. I heard him say to Master Scott "Well, I can see you can direct a pony like this, but it's a whole lot easier just to tell him where to go - I have to concentrate on the road now, rather than just have the pony do it. So I haven't got as much time for you...."

I could hear him kiss Master Scott then, and the reins went slack for a moment or two. Then I heard Master Scott's voice say "Well, you seem to be able to do two things at once... But look, this direction thing - you can still tell the pony where to go, and just hold the reins as a symbol of your control. You want to show the world that this is a slave, and you control it utterly."

They chatted on, and we went around to a number of places in Pine Hills, and the two men came and went doing what ever their "business" was. It didn't seem to be very hard, and they didn't seem to be using any papers or anything - but I did hear them referring to "making good contacts."

I did a lot of running that day, albeit with a lot of breaks, but towards the end of the afternoon I was really flagging - even the excellent training at the Double J hadn't prepared me for quite so much running!

To make it worse, there usually wasn't any water or anything at any of these temporary stops, and I had been sweating hard all day. When I did see a roadside faucet for ponies and went to pull in, my owner pulled on the reins and prevented me from doing so. Actually, with the bit lodged in my mouth I'm not sure I could have drunk from it anyway.

Master Scott always seemed to want to get my owner to move on to the next place quicker, and when I was already going at just about the maximum pace I could manage so late in the day, I heard him say "You know, Jase, this pony of yours is a really lazy fucker! He's not going nearly as fast now as he did this morning. I told you he needed 'encouragement', but you wouldn't listen to me, would you? Tomorrow, I'll drive, and then we'll see what's what!"

By the time e got back to the house I was almost totally exhausted, and fortunately Jack was around when I finally managed to drag the trap around to the back. He came running over and took he trap off me, then looked in amazement at my face. He reached up and fiddled at the back of my head, and then I was free of the bit! "Oh Steve! Making you wear a bit! Don't they know that we're all trained in voice command?"

"Yes, of course they do. My old owner - your owner now - never used a bit: that's why he paid so much for us. But my new owner and his buddy think it's 'fashionable' to control me this way. Actually, they don't - they still give me orders on where to go, but they've had me like that all day to show everyone else who's really in charge, they say!"

Somehow the mood in the slave quarters was sombre that night. I think everyone was shocked at the way I'd been treated - Jack was a bit of a hothead, I think, and kept telling all the others how disgraceful it was that a trained pony could be treated in this way. But there wasn't anything any of us could do about it, was there?

Worse was to come the next morning - they put the bit in my mouth again, but before they attached the black leather reins Master Scott told me to take my T off. I did so, of course, and stood there just in my shorts.

The reins were attached, and we went off - it felt strange to be running bare chested, but, actually, it wasn't all that unpleasant. In fact, given that it was hot, it made it a bit easier as the motion of the air over my body as I raced along really helped to cool me.

We spent all day going around from one place to another, and a lot of guys - and some girls - who were friends of Masters Scott and Jason came out and admired me. I felt kind of foolish standing there just in my shorts, with a bit in my mouth, but fortunately my owner didn't require me to strip again.

It was tough going all day, and about mid afternoon I was really flagging and slowed down slightly. The next moment there was a stinging pain across my shoulders, and I leaped forward in surprise. Master Scott called out "There'll be a lot more of that, you lazy fucker, if you dare slow down again. I'm in charge today, and I've brought a carriage whip with me. You maintain the pace, or you get to see how good I am at wielding it."

Look, there's only so much you can do, isn't there? You can drive your body on and on, but sooner or later you run out of will power and your body just has to slow up. And then the stinging pain hit again, and again. I found that there must be some hidden depths to my body's store of energy, as in response to the lashing I was getting I did manage to put on a new spurt of speed, and to keep my feet flying forward at the pace my driver had set. Even though I really had been trying as hard as I could, somehow my body responded with that little extra when the whip hit me.

That night the mood in our quarters was even more sombre - none of us had ever been whipped before, and all my fellow slaves stood around looking at the bright red marks all across my back - Master Scott had started at the shoulders, but as the afternoon wore on had worked his way down to the base of my spine. It hurt - well, it was uncomfortable, I guess. Every time I flexed my shoulders I was aware of them in a way I wasn't usually. And it was impossible to lie in my bed on my back, or even on my side: I had to sleep that night lying on my belly, which I hate, as it constricts your dick so.

The following day, with my back still bright red, I was again told to run without my T, and I was expecting to be lashed again in the afternoon. But instead of starting on our normal pattern of calls around the place, Masters Jason and Scott told me to run them to the tram stop in Pine Hills. They were taking the tram into the city, and told me to be back there to collect them later that afternoon. As he left, though, my owner told me to take myself to the vet's, as I had the morning free.

I was used to going to the vet's as my previous owner had had regular check-ups for me and the other slaves, and at the slightest sign of any muscle strain or anything we were always allowed to go, too. He was a nice guy, and seemed to know his job well - it turns out that you need different skills these days for looking after slaves than you do for looking after citizens: "proper doctors" just don't have the experience in strains, muscle ache, back problems, and so on as these are much more likely to occur in slaves who are living a very hard, active life. So vets have much the same training as doctors initially, then specialise in the ailments peculiar to slaves.

I went in, waited in the waiting room for a few minutes, then was called into the examination room.

"Hi, Steve", the vet said cheerily. "Let me see what you are here for today. Your owner called, I think...." He keyed my SIN into his PC, read the screen, whistled slightly, then went on "OK - in the chair."

He indicated the big chair to one side, and I went over and sat down. "Right, Steve... Just relax... I'm going to give you this injection and you'll feel yourself drifting off to sleep.... Right.... Counting down from ten: ten, nine, eight......."

That's all I was aware of until I heard, vaguely, "Come on, Steve, wake up... Steve.... Come on, boy, I'm waiting for you...."

I opened my eyes and saw I was still in the chair. I seemed to be aching in my head, and I was still a bit woozy from the anaesthetic he'd given me.

The vet was holding a small stainless steel bowl, tilted it to show me the contents, then said "Look, I'm sorry about this - I hated doing it to you, but that's what your owner ordered. In fact, I don't get much call for dentistry at all these days, as that slave chow really helps keep your teeth in first class condition."

There in the bowl were two of my teeth - big molars, and as I probed my mouth with my tongue I realised there was now a huge gap at the back of my teeth on each side of my bottom jaw.

"Please, sir.... Please sir, what was the matter with my teeth, sir?"

"Nothing. That's why I hated doing it. But your master wanted you to lose those molars, so I took them out."

"You'll be sore for a couple of days in the jaw", he went on, "But I've plugged the holes in your gum and the bleeding has mostly stopped. If you feel any chest pain, it will be because I had to kneel on you a bit to get enough leverage to pull them out - those big back teeth are always a problem."

"Sir, why did my owner want my teeth pulled, sir?"

"Look, Steve, it's not my place to speak out of turn. But it's become a bit more common, as I've read in the New England Journal Of Slave Medicine. A lot of vets don't agree with it, and some won't do it at all - but I need every bit of custom I can get, so when your owner ordered it, I did it. You're a pony slave, aren't you? Well, apparently 'fashionable' owners are having this done so that your bit will fit further back in the mouth, and it will fit more snugly."

I could hardly believe my ears! My owner had had two of my perfectly good teeth pulled out so that he could fit my bit more snugly - a bit I didn't need anyway!

If slaves were allowed to have bad moods, I'd have been in one when I collected my owner and Master Scott from the tram stop later that day. Master Scott was carrying a big bag whose wording proclaimed that it was "From the Slave Shop for YOUR Slave". Right there, in the street outside the tram stop, my owner told me to kneel. I was expecting him to put my bit in, but he got a different one out of the bag master Scott had.

There was a lot of fiddling around now, and my jaw, very sore from where the teeth had been pulled, sent shooting pains right through me. The new bit was thicker than the previous one, and just fitted down in to the gaps left by the extraction of the molars. The tongue plate, that I hated, was at right angles to it like the last one, but as I went to probe it with my tongue I got a sharp pricking sensation, and the taste of blood! The underside had a number of little spikes on it, and if I pressed my tongue up, they bit into me.

The new bit fastened down under my jaw with small stainless steel tapes, and these were pulled together by some sort of ratchet mechanism - as my owner tightened it, the bit pulled backwards and down to fit into the gaps in my jaw, but forcing the corners of my mouth backwards and down at the same time in a very painful way. My face was contorted into a sort of rictus by the bit, and I could no longer close my mouth at all.

"Good", master Scott said to my owner. "See, Jason, I told you how it all works together - I read about it in 'Slave Owner Today'. You have the teeth out, so that the bit goes further back and deeper. That means it can be held in by the tapes underneath the jaw, rather than going around the back of the slave's head - so when he's running normally we don't have to look at that fastening right in front of us. Then, because it's so tightly pulled back, he needs to keep his mouth open - so if you didn't have the spiked tongue plate, he can be tempted to let it loll around all over the place."

"Yes, Scott, I know all that. But somehow, well, I don't like losing teeth from a slave..."

"Oh don't be such a wimp! It's only a couple of slave teeth, not like as if you or I lost one. And there are some other advantages as well - if the slave proves difficult to take dick down the throat, you can keep this new bit in and there's no problem with him trying to bite you or anything."

I went cold as he said this, and it got even worse.

"But I wasn't planning to put my dick down his throat, Scott..."

"Weren't you? Why not? If you don't want to, I do - a big handsome buck like him is just begging to take dick in his throat. 'Slave Owner Today' says that today's modern owner ought to fuck his slave regularly - either up the ass or down the throat - to show the slave who's in control. I think your dad isn't really a very modern master at all, as he's never taken any of his slaves from what you've told me. But that's no reason for you to be old fashioned, is it? Next time I'm away and you need a bit of relief for that insatiable dick of yours don't lie there jerking off - get this slave up from the slave quarters and give it to him!"

My owner just laughed at this, but, at the same time, I couldn't help worrying. And what else was in the bag they'd bought from "The Slave Shop"?

End Of Part 6