Willing Slave

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 15

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

I almost overslept the following morning. Instead of the other slaves waking me, they just ignored me and left me lying there, snoring away - if it hadn't been for the Overseer coming into the dorm, pulling the sheet off me and slapping my naked ass to wake me up, I'd have been late.

The events of the previous night at first seemed like a bad dream - I couldn't have done those things to Jack and Joe, could I? But when there was a great cry of rage from the Overseer who had gone into the shower area, I got that awful sick realisation that I really had done what I remembered. He came storming back into the dorm room, and stood in front of me as I sat there dejectedly on the edge of my bed.

"You stupid cunt, Steve! What on earth possessed you to beat up Jack and Joe, and to rape Jack? There'll be hell to pay when the owner finds out. In fact, we'd better try to hide it from him, as he'll be so angry at the behaviour of his son's slave that he'll probably insist on some dramatic punishment for you - not that you're going to escape punishment: any slave living under my control will be severely punished if he disobeys. I don't usually have to, as the slaves here know they have a benevolent master and behave properly - but I can, and I will, punish idiots like you in the hope I can knock some sense into them before they ruin their entire lives."

"Now, get showered, and get your trap out and wait around the corner until the owner has left - your owner, and Master Scott, want you to take them to the tram stop, but not until after Master Jason's father has left. And then, when you get back, come straight to my office and I'll decide what's to be done with you."

I stood there under the shower, without even another slave's body against me for comfort, and pulled on my tiny pouch, hoping it would conceal my nakedness. I then went and got the trap out, knelt whilst the Overseer fitted my bit as usual, and pulled it to wait by the corner of the mansion. I peeped around to the front and saw Jack standing there in his trap, but he looked a sorry sight as instead of his usual upright, jaunty stance, he seemed to be all bowed.

The owner came out and got in, and I heard him say "OK, Jack - to the tram. I'm a bit late as usual, so step on it, lad...."

They set off, but as they got half way down the drive I saw the trap stop. Jack then pulled it back to the front door, the owner jumped out, and I heard him calling for the Overseer.

All went quiet then for a few minutes, and I was expecting my owner and Master Scott to appear for their journey to the tram stop, but instead, the Overseer came around the corner and told me to follow him.

"You're in deep shit, Steve! The owner wondered why Jack wasn't pulling him properly this morning, then saw the state of the lad's body - all the bruising from that beating you gave him. And then he realised Jack's ass was torn and sore, too, and the whole story came out. He asked me if there was any more trouble with slaves, and when he saw how you'd beaten Joe, too..... "

In spite of my training I'd have broken and asked him if he'd told the owner about my humiliation at the hands of his son and Master Scott earlier, but I couldn't - the bit was still firmly clamped in my mouth, and speech was impossible. So all I could do was follow him as we went into the house, and along one of the ground floor corridors into a part of the mansion I'd not been in before - the owner's study.

It was one of those "masculine" rooms - all wood panelling, leather sofas and heavy portraits, and the owner was sitting behind a big oak desk, looking extremely angry. His son and Master Scott were standing to one side: Master Jason looked worried, and Master Scott looked angry. The Overseer guided me across the big room to stand in front of the desk, then reached down and undid the ties holding my G-string, and with a quick motion pulled the tiny silk pouch away, leaving me totally exposed. At one time I suppose I'd have been used to the idea that I should appear in front of my owner naked, but now, with my obscene black dick, I almost felt ashamed of my body. The Overseer pressed down on my shoulders, indicating I should kneel before the owner.

I knelt there, and I'd never felt so bad before in my whole life. There I was, his former trusted pony who'd served him well for five years, now a naked, decorated animal, deprived of the ability to even express himself, and facing his undoubted wrath.

"So this is your animal that injured my slaves, is it?", he said to Master Jason. "What happened to that pony I passed on to you when I bought Jack? If you'd kept him, none of this would have happened."

"Look, dad, don't start to blame me! This is that pony - your precious Steve you used to think so much of. He's gone wild, attacking the other slaves like that, totally without provocation. It's nothing to do with me."

He was so unfair, not telling his father about how he'd treated me, and the humiliation he'd put me through before I totally lost it, that if I could have spoken I do believe I would have, even though it was to the owner.

"Get up!", the owner snapped at me, and then "Turn around", and then "Again!"

I stood in front of him, my nose and nipple rings glinting under the ceiling lights, my huge tattoos showing him my name, and my black dick kind of half erect out in front of me.

"Did you do this, Jason?"

"Do what, dad?"

"Mutilate this slave in this way."

"It's not 'mutilation' dad - don't be so fucking dramatic! It's just decoration - all the show ponies are made to look special, like this. All the other guys I know have their ponies modified, it's not a problem, as...."

"Don't swear at me, you arrogant young swine! Don't you know what you've done? This was a valuable slave, a properly trained one, who cost a fortune. And you've destroyed his value - how many normal people would want a pony to pull them to the tram stop looking like that? You've no respect for the value of money, as you don't work for it and just rely on me, and this is just another example of your crass stupidity. It's time you grew up, settled down, and started to work..."

"Oh for Christ sake, dad! Let's not start all that all over again! I do work! Scott and I are setting up a business...."

"Well I've had enough. You're both lazy and idle, and this business of yours is nothing more than an excuse to go around and spend time with your friends, supposedly to 'make contacts' or whatever. Things are going to change round here, starting right now."

I'd never seen my former owner angry like this before, and he was no longer shouting, just icily calm, as he went on "Firstly, I'm taking that slave back, as you don't deserve to be entrusted with owning valuable property. I'll have to sell him for what I can get.... And his value will be even lower, once he's been punished. Secondly, you have two choices - move out, set up with your 'lover', and live on what you can make by running a proper business; or come and start work for me next Monday, and carry on living here without your useless friend....."

At this, Master Scott broke in "Hey, fella, shut the fuck up! Don't call me useless...."

My former owner rose to his feet, and he looked really angry now. "Get out of my house. Get out NOW, or I'll call the cops. You've corrupted my son, you've lived off my hospitality for long enough, and it's over. Now, GET OUT!"

Master Jason tried to calm his father. "Dad, please don't.... If you send Scott away, I'll go with him...."

"I've told you, Jason, that you have two choices. If you decide to go with your lover, so be it. I think you need a good dose of reality about what the world's really like for all the people who have to make a decent living by actually working."

Master Scott tugged at Master Jason's arm, and pulled him towards the door, saying "Come on, Jase. Let's get out of here. There's no reasoning with an old dinosaur like that. We'll take your slave, sell him for what we can get, and we'll have enough money....."

"You will not!", the owner snapped. "You two can do what you like, but the slave stays here to receive his punishment, and then to be sold. I never formally signed him over to Jason, and so, legally, he's still mine."

Master Scott turned and strode out of the room, followed by Master Jason, who seemed to be trying to hold him back. I felt a wave of relief sweeping over me. Had I been able to speak I'd have sobbed a "thank you" to my old owner who always treated me properly, and who was now my owner again. I wanted to tell him that there would be no more trouble, that all I wanted to do was to serve as a proper slave... But, of course, no words could come out.

But my momentary elation turned to dread, as my owner turned to the Overseer and said "That idiot son of mine has ruined this slave, I think. We could probably live with those vile tattoos by keeping him covered. But he's been turned into a vicious rapist, beating up his fellows when they won't take his dick, and I can't allow that. It's a problem - we can hardly sell him like that, as he's dangerous."

"Sir", the Overseer replied, "I think we need to take strong action, to prevent this spreading like a rot through your slaves - you know what they say about 'one bad apple....'. I suggest you make an example of this slave to show all the others that it's unacceptable, and then sell him."

"But what do you suggest? As I said, we can hardly sell him, as he's dangerous."

"Firstly, sir, I suggest you flog him in front of all the other slaves. Jason and Scott used to whip him lightly to make him run faster, but he needs a whipping he'll remember for ever - we could get a professional whip master in, and have him flogged almost to death with a heavy bull whip. And then, before he's sold, we could have him calmed...."

"'Calmed'? How?"

"There's only one way, sir, I'm afraid - there was an article about in 'Slavery Today' only last week. It said that once tough, virile men like this get the idea they can use their fists and their dicks on other slaves, they need to have their hormones turned down - and the only way to do that permanently is by gelding them. I'm afraid it's a lot of trouble for you, sir, as you have to get a court order to geld a slave, and, when it's done, his value will be even lower. But at least we could then sell him knowing that we weren't passing on a load of trouble to a new owner.... You would have a clear conscience."

I desperately wanted to tell them they were wrong! Treated properly again I'd be a good, loyal slave once more. I tried to speak, to shout, and all that came out were inarticulate mumbles. Sweat broke out all over me, as I tried to make myself understood. I just wanted my owner to know that I was a trained slave, and would perform properly in future....

"You're right!", my owner said, looking at me. "Look at the way he's agitated now - he's not at all the Steve I sued to know, calm, professional, and accepting of his role as a slave. Schedule the flogging for tonight, and do what you have to to get the court order. Oh... And call for a cab to pull me to the tram stop - I'm extremely late now, because of this rogue slave."

I went to protest again, as I wasn't a rogue, and moved towards the desk. The Overseer saw this, and stabbed at me with something, and I fell to the floor, writhing in agony. I'd have been screaming the place down, if the bit hadn't turned all my howls into muted cries.

"I never thought I'd need to do that here, sir!", the Overseer told my owner. "All the time I've worked for you no slave has ever caused me to have to use the electric goad to control him. But you saw how he was advancing on you...."

"Quite so. Thank you. That just confirms the rightness of my decision to flog, geld and sell. He's turned into a real renegade, I think. Take care he doesn't attack you, or do something foolish like try to run away..."

The Overseer bent over me, tugged at my arms that I could barely move because of the pain shooting for me, and the next instant my hands were cuffed behind my back.

"On your feet, slave!", he snapped, and then, when I was slow to comply, he kicked out and caught my ribs a nasty blow. I scrambled to my feet as best I could, and went to try to plead with my owner, straining every muscle in my throat to try and make articulate words.

But the Overseer saw me move, reached down, grabbed hold of my dick, and hauled me away across the room. When you're cuffed and there's a strong hand gripping you and pulling you by your dick, you're not able to do anything else but to follow - believe me, try it!

He led me out of the house in this humiliating way and across the yard to the slave quarters. There was a small cell in there on the ground floor that I never remember being used - the door was unlocked, and I was pushed in.

"You really are stupid, Steve!", the Overseer told me.

"I might have been able to argue just for the flogging and to leave your balls on, but then you went to attack him...."

I wanted to protest, to say that it might have seemed like that, but it wasn't my intention.... But the harder I tried, the more frustrated I got and the less my stifled words made sense.

"Anyway", he went on "What's done is done. I'll get the public whip master in for tonight, and in the meantime you stay here.... There's a hole to piss and crap down in the corner, and that spigot on the wall will give you water if you suck on it. I'm not going to feed you - perhaps that will help you think about how good your owner was to you in the past, always providing you with enough slave chow....."

He went out, pulling the barred door closed behind him and locking me in - the first time I'd ever been confined like that before: as a properly trained slave I knew what was expected of me, and there was never any need for cuffs, or locks, or anything like that.

The day passed slowly, and I hated every moment of it. My arms ached from being cuffed behind me. My stomach rumbled constantly as I hadn't eaten for hours, and my body needs a lot of nourishment. Through the barred window of my cell I could see the life of the estate going on normally, and I was no longer part of it, no longer part of somewhere I'd spent five happy years. Occasionally one or other of the indoor or outdoor slaves would come in and look at me through the bars, and one was apparently so outraged at what I'd done that he even spat at me! There was nothing I could do, as I was powerless to tell them how I'd been treated, and I just had to stand there and accept their criticism of me. Our owner really was a good man, and his slaves were all intensely loyal to him, just as I had been.... Or do I mean "just as I am"? .... Was I losing what was the core of my life, my role as a slave, a role I'd accepted ever since childhood?

I suppose I dozed during the day, but was woken in late afternoon by a commotion outside - a cart, pulled by a pair of slaves, had pulled into the yard and a big man, clad entirely in black leather, was supervising them as they unloaded a pair of thick wooden posts with heavy woodwork around the ends than enabled them to stand upright. As I watched, the Overseer came out and greeted the man, and they walked over towards my cell, with the man carrying a long metal tubular contraption, about five feet long.

"So this is the slave... What an ugly brute", the leather clad man said to the Overseer as they came in.

"I can see why he needs disciplining."

It was so unfair - he was judging me entirely by my appearance, and that wasn't anything to do with me, was it? I tried to tell him, and my attempts to speak I suppose only looked like an irrational rage.

"Right, Steve", the Overseer said. "I'm going to uncuff you now so the whip master can prepare you. But I've got my electric goad here - behave, or we'll do what I did this morning, and do it whilst you're incapacitated."

He didn't need to do that - I was still an obedient slave, and there was no need to threaten me, I stood meekly there as he undid the cuffs, and then the whip master approached me, holding the metal thing.

"Easy now, slave. Carry on being a calm boy, and it will be easier for you in the end...."

The metal thing he was holding was hinged at one end and he now opened it so that if formed a "V". The metal wasn't straight as there were indentations in it, and I soon found out what it was for - the biggest indentation went around my neck, he raised my arms so that my wrists went into the smaller ones, and then he snapped the thing closed so that I was standing there with my neck sticking out of the middle of the five foot pole, with my wrists immobilised in it about a foot on either side of my shoulders.

"There, that wasn't a problem now, was it? It's a smooth metal yoke, so it won't chafe your neck or wrists.... Not that that would be a problem for you compared to what's in store for you elsewhere", he told me, with an unpleasant smile. Turning to the Overseer, he went on

"This is the easiest and most humane way we've found to do it. My two slaves can get hold of both ends of the yoke and bring him out to the whipping station - with that length of yoke, there's no way he can overcome them as they can exert too much leverage. His arms are immobile so he can't strike them, and he can't even kick out at them as they're too far away."

"It's neat, really", he went on. "They bring him out, then clip the ends of the yoke into the two uprights we've erected, and then he's ready for whipping. We can ratchet the fastening up the supports, so that his feet are almost of the ground and his buttocks are clenched tight, or we can lower it and use a leg spreader to expose his ass more - had you thought about how you wanted him done? In either case, of course, the yoke anyway holds his shoulders out in a good position to provide the maximum area exposure of his back."

"What do you recommend?"

"Well, with a very muscular slave like this, I think it's good to see the ass muscles clenched tight - the whole of the back of his body, rippling and straining as he tries to prevent himself from choking as we raise the yoke so that he's on tiptoe, adds a small extra excitement. And with his legs together, there's no chance of a stray lash damaging his dick or balls as they're not exposed as they would be if his legs were spread - sometimes a stray whip tip can flick through the open legs and catch the balls from behind.

Now, are you going to strip him, or shall I?"

"Well, you needed bother about damaging his balls! He's going to lose them anyway. But what do you mean, 'Strip him'?"

"Oh, poor sod! Fancy losing your balls when you're a muscular stud like him." As he said this the whip master reached down and casually fondled my sac, and I tried to pull away from him.

"I see what you mean about him becoming wilful", he continued to the Overseer. "He just tried to stop me feeling his tackle. But what a pity to be losing that... You know, I bet a large part of his personality is founded on being well hung, and when he loses his globes, he'll be shattered! Still, we must get everything agreed. Now, about stripping him.... Well I know he's naked now, but again, for the dramatic effect, I'd recommend you dress him in something simple - something like a loin cloth, back and front. Then, when he's in place, it gets ripped off to totally expose him to the audience. As I said, it's not essential - you can keep him nude like this all the time, or you can put shorts on him, which would tend to shred as the whipping progresses anyway.

It depends on he effect you want to achieve, as a public whipping like this is as much about sending a clear message to your other slaves as it is to just punishing this poor bugger."

"Oh, no, leave him naked. All the outdoor slaves are used to seeing him nude anyway in the dorm, and the indoor slaves have mostly been past today to take a look. How many strokes are you going to give him, or do you just do it until he passes out, or something?"

"No, never just until he passes out. He may well lapse into unconsciousness several time during a whipping, but it's important for the other slaves to know in advance how many strokes, and that these are administered irrespective of the state he's in - some slaves bleed a lot more than others, and you do need to get through to the end even if it's pooling on the ground. Now, this slave does hard manual labour, I guess.... With those muscles, he's either in the gym all day, or doing hard work. And how old is he?"

"Yes, it's all from work. He used to be a pony and worked extremely hard between the shafts, and helping out on the estate. And he's twenty four."

The whip master moved around and I felt his hands running down over my shoulders, probing at my back, then digging into my ass muscles to test them. I hated it, but could only stand there and take it, as the yoke was holding my arms well up and out of the way.

"Right.", the whip master said after this inspection. "He is well muscled - it's a pleasure to feel that body of his. Now, a twenty-four year old, well muscled, no known physical problems.... You did say the heavy bull whip when you phoned, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"In that case, the maximum is twenty strokes. That will give exceptional cover across his shoulders and back, stripe his ass, and cause him agony on his thighs."

"Only twenty?"

"You won't say that when you've seen my heavy whip, and the way I wield it. Twenty strokes will leave him flayed all down the back. Any more, and you risk killing him - and apart from the cost of that in a dead slave, it is illegal to kill slaves, or mutilate them, you know.... Incidentally, I suppose you are getting a court order before you give his sac the big snip?"

"Yes - his owner's lawyers are on to it now. Do we need to decide on anything else?"

"Yes - are you keeping that gag in him? I wouldn't recommend it, as it does the others good to hear his howls of agony. However stoical he thinks he is, once the whip hits, he'll be screaming to high heaven."

"Well I don't want him spreading sedition to the other slaves... I'd rather have him gagged...."

"How about this, then.... We'll bring him out gagged, I'll place the first lash, and then you can take the gag out - I guarantee he won't be able to say anything coherent when he's had his first stripe."

"Anything else we need to decide?", the Overseer asked, and the whip master shook his head.

"In that case, let's leave Steve here to brood on his crimes, and come and have a drink - you can leave your slaves out in the yard."

The two men went out, locking the cell behind them, and I sank to the ground in the corner - well, along he wall, really, as I couldn't get into the corner with the wide yoke now around my wrists and neck.

I sat there all afternoon, and although I had a couple of drinks of water, I was really hungry, as no food was brought for me. Late in the afternoon I heard noises outside the window, and looked out to see all the house slaves filing out of the house to join my fellow outdoor slaves. They were being marshalled by the Overseer into two groups, facing the posts that had been erected earlier. After a few minutes the owner and Master Jason came out, together with Mistress Linda-Anne, and they all stood there, too.

The Overseer, the whip master and his two slaves came over towards the cell, and the next moment the door was unlocked.

"Now, slave, let's not pretend this isn't going to hurt you like you've never been hurt before", the whip master told me. "I'd advise you to piss and crap now, to avoid unpleasant accidents. And you won't e able to afterwards for some time!"

I wasn't going to piss in front of all of them, let alone crap, and I shook my head vigorously.

"Right. Now, let's be nice and dignified about it - all your fellow slaves, and your owner and his family, are all watching, and we don't want a lot of fuss and bother, do we? In any case, it won't do you much good - my slaves are going to hold onto the end of your yoke, and it doesn't matter how much you kick and struggle, you won't overcome them as the leverage is working against you. So I'd advise you just to come nice and slowly. It's absolutely inevitable that you're going to take the worst punishment you have ever experienced in your life, you're completely unable to do anything to avoid it, so try to be calm and accept it...."

The two slaves, who were both big guys, took hold of the end of my yoke and I tried to pull away, but soon saw it was impossible. So the three of us, with the Overseer and the whip master in front, went out of the cell and into the yard. As they led me along the gap between the two groups of slaves I was reminded of some picture I'd once seen in slave school - it was in one of those picture books we were given with Santa Claus, and myths like that, I think. This picture was of a tanned guy carrying a huge wooden beam on his shoulders between rows of jeering guys in those old-style togas - he was called a Christian, I think. In one of those odd flashes of memory and synthesis, it seemed to me that I must look just like him as my yoke was across my shoulders, too - except that I was completely naked, and he'd been given some sort of little loin cloth to cover his sex, and was wearing a crown! Odd that - I wondered if he felt as badly as I did, as he was marched off to his punishment, and I wonder if he'd been as misunderstood as I had? Still, at least he wasn't wearing a bit, so he'd have been able to tell people what he thought.

They walked me through the little crowd of watching slaves, and hitched the end of the yoke onto the two big supports they'd erected earlier in the day. They turned handles on the sides of the supports, and my yoke was raised higher and higher, so that ultimately I was standing on tiptoe and bracing myself with my arms to relieve the pressure on my neck. The whip master approached, and repeated the humiliating examination of my shoulders, back and ass that he'd done earlier - he seemed to take pleasure in kneading his fingers into the big muscles of my ass and thighs, under the guise of carrying out his professional duties. He put his head close to my ear and half whispered, so that none of the waiting crowd could hear

"Well, slave, I'm ready to begin. I'm the last man to feel that wonderful ass of yours in its natural state - there'll always be small ridges there in future, even when the lash marks heal. Are you pleased to know that my fingers have caressed your flesh, and soon those very same hands will be causing you indescribable pain?"

I wanted to tell him he was some sort of perverted freak, but of course I couldn't. All I could do was shake my head in anger, and again I realised that I was no longer acting or thinking like a slave: I had no right to feel anything at all about the words a master used about my body, did I?

"I particularly enjoy punishing slaves like you", he went on, seeing my anger. "You're so proud. Your flesh is so perfect. You think that because you have nice bodies the world will go right for you. Well, I'm going to teach you today that strong, healthy, virile bodies will crumble and break under the power of a simple whip, wielded by an expert."

He walked away, leaving me hanging there totally naked, and went and spoke to my owner. I saw him pick up his whip and move around to the side of me, and then my world exploded.

I don't think I'll ever forget that first blow. Men who have not been whipped with a bull whip believe that it's the pain that strikes first - but it isn't: that comes a moment later. The first thing you feel is the stunning blow as pounds of leather, moving at very high speed, slam into your body. I was pushed forward and almost knocked off my feet by the sheer force of it, and my neck got a powerful wrench as I struggled to keep my feet. The pain came a moment later - I suppose that at first your brain just can't believe that something like that can happen to you, that someone would deliberately inflict such a thing on you, and it takes a moment to realise that, yes, it is real, and that what the tattered nerves in your back muscles are reporting to you really is true. It was as if time had slowed almost to a standstill, and even as I was stumbling from the blow and starting to scream with the agony that had been inflicted on me, I caught the sound of the "swish" of the whip as it flew through the air, and the sickening "splat" as it hit my naked back and struck home.

I was screaming, but almost no noise was coming out because of the bit. And now I felt something even worse - my bowels had emptied as a result of the assault on me, and the inside of my thighs was oozing with my crap. I caught the stench of it, and, to my horror, realised that I was involuntarily pissing, too: in the silence after the blow had struck I could hear my piss puddling on the ground in front of me.

There was a pause after hat first blow, and the whip master approached me again. He had the key to the lock holding the strap of my bit around my head, and as he fumbled with it he hissed into my ear again "One down, nineteen to go, slave! You thought you were so big and tough, didn't you? And yet your body has betrayed you: all your fellow slaves, and your owner and his family, can all see your shit oozing out from between your ass cheeks and trickling down your thighs. Now that I'm taking out your mute, you will be further humiliated: I expect you think that you can avoid screaming and shouting, and begging for mercy. But I tell you now, you will not be able to do so. I am experienced at using the whip for maximum effect, and the next blow will be across those fine ass cheeks of yours, and I assure you that everyone here will hear your screams as you lose control totally."

I was going to shout out and protest my innocence, to tell my owner that I was a good slave, an obedient one.... But then I realised that I was caught in a dilemma: shouting out such a thing would show that I was not a well trained slave, as slave do not speak unless spoken to. As my mind was trying to make sense of this seeming paradox, the second blow struck and all thoughts of doing anything other than screaming at the top of my voice disappeared.

I don't know what I shouted. I think it was just a loud, primeval cry of terror and pain. And it was as if some part of my brain went into retreat: I was almost like a detached observer, seeing my body jerk, and hearing the noise that started. A noise that I couldn't stop, as some other part of my brain, aware of the injuries being done to me and the threads of agony racing through all my nerves screamed and shouted, and begged and pleaded, for it all to stop.

The whip master was in his stride now, though, and blow after blow fell. I lost consciousness at about eight, I think, and when I came to I thought it must all be over - but no: seeing that I had fainted, the punishment had been temporarily suspended, and when the whip master saw that I was again back in the world, he re-started.

By the twentieth stroke I no longer really knew what was happening, or even really cared. My brain was no loner really in conscious control of my body. I was writhing around in a futile attempt to escape the lashes, even though this caused the yoke to bite cruelly into my neck and wrists. I'd mostly stopped making noise, as my throat was raw from the efforts I had been making and my vocal chords simply couldn't carry on functioning. And I was half aware that my feet were slipping and sliding in there mixture of my shit, piss and blood that was now under me.

I hung there, utterly wretched and defeated. It was all so unfair - I'd been a good, willing slave, and now this had happened to me through no fault of my own. Out of my bleary eyes I say my owner, Master Jason and Mistress Linda-Anne go back into the house, and then the Overseer dismissed the slaves, and they went variously back into the house slave entrance, and the outside slave dorm. None of hem approached me, or came over to see if I was all right.

But then the whip master was at my ear again. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that his black leather clothes were splashed with something red - my blood, I realised. "See, slave? Your body betrayed you., didn't it? You've shit yourself, and begged and screamed for 'mercy' and 'justice' - not very slave-like behaviour, if I may say."

Turning to the Overseer he said, in a normal voice "My slaves will pack away the supports now and I'll be on my way. I'll send you the bill in the normal way, via e-mail. We'll pick up the yoke in four days time - I'd advise you to keep him like that for 24 hours to give the wound chance to start to heal without a lot of excess body movement. There's only one thing left to do now...."

He called hi salves over, and the next moment I was howling again as a wholly different kind of agony went through me: they threw a bucket of salt water at my shredded flesh, and then quickly and efficiently rubbed it in to clean my body. I suppose I was glad they also sluiced down the front of me, as my legs were splattered with my shit and blood.

The slaves then lowered the ratchets holding my yoke up high, took the ends of it, and led me off back to the cell I'd come from.

"Hold him there a moment", the Overseer said. "His owner still wants him to be gagged, as we don't want him spreading sedition to the others."

I had to stand there, impotently, my body slumping in a posture of utter defeat and wretchedness as the hated bit was again fitted into my mouth and locked behind my head, and then they opened the cell door and pushed me in.

The Overseer need not have worried - as I lay there on the bare cold concrete floor, none of my fellow slaves came to see me. I was just left to lie there, trying desperately to get comfortable in some way - well, I suppose I was doing that, as my mind was wandering in a haze of fear, pain, resentment, and anger. It seemed pretty pointless to try to move ,actually, as the whole of my nervous system was still transmitting violent messages of pain from the wounds that I knew must be covering my back.

I was in complete misery. Not only was I hurting, but I was ashamed at having failed to be a man by giving in to my beating. And I had failed to be a good slave, by not truly understanding how I should act. Could things possibly get worse for me, I wondered?

End of Part 15.

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 16

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

They kept me in the cell for three days. The first night was the worst, as I've told you, as I was in such misery both because of the pain I was in, and because I felt so wretched about my failure as a person.

The morning after my punishment the Overseer came in, looked at me lying there, and told me to stand up. I really struggled to do so, as it's hard when your arms are pinioned in a yoke, and your whole musculature is anyway on fire, but I did manage it.

"I'm going to keep you like this today, Steve", he told me. "The whip master advised that your back should be as immobile as possible to give the wounds chance to heal. But that after that, you should be encourages to move a bit, to prevent really ugly scarring. I suppose he knows what he's doing, although he did tell me that whippings like yours are really rare, as most slaves understand their proper place and are not so wilfully disobedient as you."

I went to protest, shaking m head and desperately trying to get our the words to say he was wrong, but the Overseer merely shook his head, and said "You see - that's what I mean. You're trying to argue with a master, even now, instead of accepting that your owner is always right, in whatever he does. However, that won't be my concern shortly, as your owner is progressing the papers to have you gelded to calm you down properly, and then you'll be sent to the auction to be sold - he thinks it would be a bad influence on the rest of the slaves, to have you around here. In any case, you won't be a very pretty sight - those tattoos, the scarring from the whipping, and that obscene black dick of yours, especially when it's hanging down over an empty space where your balsl used to be...."

I suppose that's when it really struck home to me: my owner hadn't hesitated to have me whipped almost to the point of death, and so he certainly wouldn't be concerned about having me castrated. I wanted to say I was sorry, to beg and plead to be allowed to keep my manhood, to swear that I would be totally obedient and subservient in future, but I knew that it was no good.

And a proper slave would not do it anyway, as he would accept the will of his owner in all things. It seemed I was doomed to be turned into a mule, and gone were the days when I was a proud, virile slave with a fine body and magnificent tackle.

"You'd better eat something", the Overseer continued. I didn't feel like anything, so I shook my head, and the Overseer struck me a slashing blow to the side of my face with his open hand.

"Steve, you don't learn, do you? How dare you refuse food that a master offers you! You may be battered, and about to lose your manhood, but your body still has some value for your owner and we need to maximise that. So you need to eat, to keep the body going. Now, open your fucking mouth!"

He stood there for about ten minutes, feeding slave chow into my mouth and waiting whilst I did my best to crunch it up and swallow it with the hated bit in the way. I felt so humiliated at being fed in this way, almost as if I was a baby, and I felt tears stinging at the corners of my eyes with the shame. But I didn't cry - that would have been more that I could have borne, I think, and I tried hard to see that the Overseer was right, and that I had a duty to my owner to preserve and enhance the value of my body as best I could.

When I was released from the yoke the next day it did feel good to be able to use my hands again - apart form the cramping pain of holding them at shoulder level all the time, there was something urgent I needed to do: in spite of everything, I found myself with an erection most of the time. I really couldn't understand this - I ought to have been utterly humiliated by the punishment I'd received, and my dick should just have been hanging there. But instead of that it compounded my problems by jutting skyward in an aching erection almost all the time, and there was nothing I could do to relieve it. It was almost as if being punished, and then being shackled helplessly, was a turn-on for me.

You know how it is - a after a time, when your dick's aching from the effort of being totally extended and your balls are swilling with cum and are screaming for release, you really just need to get down there and jerk yourself off. But I couldn't, and I kept hoping that I'd have a spontaneous ejaculation - but in spite of copious amounts of the "cock snot" that Master Scott and Master Jason had been so keen to see leaking out from me, nothing more happened. So as soon as the Overseer released me from the yoke, I almost immediately reached down and started to stroke my dick. I saw him watching me, but he just gave a little shrug, as if of despair, then turned and left me.

It really as painful all the time - the initial agony from my back, ass and thighs had quietened a bit, but every time I moved I still got very strong shooting pains through me as the movement of my body caused the scabs that had formed over my wounds to tear. You know how it is - like when you've got a muscle strain somewhere: you're almost afraid to move, in case you inadvertently do something to trigger a fresh burst of discomfort. I decided I needed to take positive action, rather than just suffer all of this passively, and so slowly and painfully I forced myself to exercise my body - I tried to do a few press-ups, and then some running on the spot. I suppose I was so used to exercise that the lack of it was contributing to my depressed state, as once I had forced myself to start, I did begin to cheer up even though I was in physical pain.

I can take a fair bit of pain, of course. I'd always driven myself to the limit when exercising as it's only when you really push yourself and it's hurting that exercise actually does you good, isn't it? And in my normal work as a pony I willingly gave that important hundred and ten percent when my owner was in a hurry, or needed to be taken long distances. I suppose the days of inactivity caused me to miss the good hormones and things that flood through you when your muscles are working hard, so as I forced myself to overcome the pain I was feeling, my mood gradually brightened. I was worried, of course, as the Overseer had said my owner progressing with his plan to have me gelded, but I felt certain that if only I worked hard, and could be seen to be good and obedient again, and was given a chance to explain, all would come right.

But my owner never came to visit me or had me brought into his presence, so I guess he didn't see the efforts I was making. On the fourth day the Overseer came in and hosed me down through the bars of the cell - he just stood there with the hose, and I was allowed to wash all the sweat and stuff off me as best I could. It felt so good to be clean again, as a slave should be, as I'd begun to hate the stench of my own body. Once I'd planed most of the water off me, I was hoping that he'd let me shave - I've got a strong growth of beard, and after all these days the hard bristles made my face look even worse, I knew, and were uncomfortable and itching under the metal straps holding my bit in place. But it was not to be, and he pushed a pair of normal slave shorts through the bars, and told me to pull them on.

Well, this was progress! Proper slave clothes at last, although I wasn't given a "T". It felt so strange to have the fabric covering me after so long when I'd been naked, or just wearing the tiny pouch. Perhaps I was about to resume "normal" life? But it was not to be - to my horror, he told me to turn around, and put my arms behind my back. I did as he commanded, of course, even though it made all the wounds in my back and shoulders ache again, and I felt him doing something.

"Right, Steve. I've had to cuff you, as your owner considers you're a potential danger and e won't take the risk of you appearing in public without restraints".

I tried to move my arms, and found that I had only very limited freedom - the cuffs around my wrists were probably joined with a chain about a foot long, I thought.

"Now, one more thing", he went on. "Kneel!". I did as he said, of course, and he fitted the bit into my mouth. I wondered why - surely they weren't going to make me pull a trap to the court with handcuffs on, were they? Or, on the other hand, if they were, that might be a good sign, as it would mean that they knew I would be coming back.

Making conversation as he carried on fiddling wit the lock behind my head, he continued "It has been decided to keep the bit in you from now on. They don't want you able to speak and spread dissent to the other slaves - you've really fucked it up, boy..... Your owner can no longer trust you at all."

"Now, stand up, and let's be off - it's a long way to the court house, and we don't want to be late."

My good spirits had evaporated, of course: I knew that going to court meant that my owner was still intent on having me gelded, and it was utterly humiliating for a slave to be cuffed like this - people would think that I hadn't been properly trained, and did not know or accept my status.

He led me across the yard, and worse was to come: there, standing between the shafts of his trap, was Jack in crisp , fresh shorts and T. He deliberately looked away as I approached, and wouldn't met my eyes. He looked as if he'd mostly recovered from the beating I'd given him, but I could see that he was sporting a huge black eye, looking very ugly in shades of dark blue and yellow from the bruises. The Overseer took a short length of chain and attached me to the back of the cart by means of a clip that he slotted into my snout ring, just as if I was a dog being taken for an exercise run alongside his master! This was the worse feeling I'd ever had, as not only was the weight of the chain painful as it dragged the already heavy ring down, but the clear implication to anyone watching is that I couldn't be trusted to do as my owner said and not run away. And then we waited, until the owner came down the steps, got in to the cart, and told Jack to set off. I heard him say that Jack could set the pace, as he knew that Jack must still be hurting, and they had plenty of time. But he never even acknowledged me, or even looked at me.

It was terrible running through the streets, especially as we neared the centre of our town. For one thing, even though Jack was going at only a moderate pace I had a real problem in keeping up: it's tough to run with your hands cuffed behind your back at the best of times, and my own body was hurting badly still from my whipping. And I knew that the slightest hesitation, or a small stumble, would cause a really vile pain to go through my nose where I was tethered to the back of the cart. But even worse were the stares I was getting from all the other masters and slaves going about their business in the streets: I was used to being looked at, of course, having all my tattoos and rings, and being made to work in just the tiny silk pouch that barely concealed my genitals.

But now people were looking at me because I was cuffed and chained up in this terrible way.

In our society slaves all knew from an early age, as I've told you, that they were destined for a life of slavery and you grow up accepting it. The lottery's fair, and if you're picked, then you're a slave and that's that. So slaves don't escape, or even try to escape (and, anyway, where would they go?). So you just don't see slaves cuffed, or chained up, or anything: I know that some guys like to play at restraining each other, but in real life, it just doesn't happen - or, rather, it doesn't happen to normal, properly trained slaves! I think that only once before had I ever seen a slave physically restrained in any way, and that was because he was on his way to be executed for killing another slave. I knew therefore that people seeing me cuffed and chained to the back of my owner's trap like this would know that I was a very bad slave, and had committed a terrible crime. I hated it, as it seemed so unfair still - I knew I was a good, obedient slave, and I desperately needed to prove it.

Jack pulled up outside the court house, and my owner got out of the trap and went in. A few minutes later two police officers came out, undid the chain from my snout ring, and rather roughly pushed and shoved at me to take me around the back, and in through the slave entrance. They didn't need to prod and poke at me, and especially not at my aching back, as I'd have quite willingly followed them obediently - but perhaps that's what the police always do to suspects and criminals. They were talking to each other, and I heard their conversation that merely confirmed my worse fears :

"He must be an incredibly disobedient slave to have been whipped like that, and to need to be brought here collared and cuffed."

And "Yes, you can tell his master's had enough, by the way he's obviously kept gagged. Can you imagine, having a slave that keeps talking, and disobeying? Don't those guys know how to behave properly any more?"

It was utterly shameful for me, as I just wasn't like that, and I flexed my muscles impotently as they went on and on about how slaves really ought to be taught that they had a valuable role in society, and that it was their duty to obey their owners. I knew all that, didn't I? And I'd always behaved like that, hadn't I?

Eventually I was led up into the courtroom and put into the slave box, standing on a slightly raised platform in the middle of the court room. There place seemed to be very full, I suppose because I'd heard the guards saying that it wasn't often an owner needed to apply for a gelding order, and it had raised a lot of interest amongst owners.

Everyone rose as the judge came in, and there were amazingly few preliminaries. The judge asked my owner to go into the witness box, and immediately said

"Sir, what you are asking is very grave. Our society treats slaves humanely, as we all know that it is only chance that means that we are men and a slave is a slave - we do not have slaves born into the life just because they are fathered by a salve, and criminals are not condemned to slavery. A slave is just like you and me, but lost out in the lottery. So we have a duty to treat them like men, and we should not lightly take away their manhood by gelding them. A court order is required to approve the gelding of a slave, and this is the purpose of the hearing today."

"I have read your written submission", he continued, "And I am currently not minded to agree to the castration of the slave known as Steve who is your property and who is standing here in this court. I have read all the facts you presented, and I understand that he wilfully beat up fellow slaves and raped one of them. However I believe there are other remedies open to you: for example, an aggressive slave like this could be sold to one of the gladiator companies, so that he could fight in a controlled environment and make profit for his new owner. Or you could sell him to one of the sex shops - perhaps not here, where we like to take our pleasures gently.... But I hear that in places like New York City men are actually prepared to pay for very rough sex and to be forcibly abused..."

A ripple of amusement ran around the spectators, at the strange ways of a big city.

"So, unless there are other facts, this court will deny your request, and the slave may not be castrated."

My owner stood up, bowed to the judge, and began "Thank you, your honour. I think you have positioned slavery in our society admirably And that is why it is so important to protect the institution - slaves do need to understand their role, and to conform. This slave used to be a perfect slave: he was expensively trained, and fetched a very high price when I first bought him as a pony. He served me admirably or five years, and was everything a slave should be. But then he became wilful and disobedient. Attacking my other slaves, and raping one of them - to the extent that a valuable pony was injured so badly he could hardly work - was not something I expected. But once it had happened, I could not ignore it. I believe that taking his testicles will calm him, and that, with extensive retraining, he may again become a useful member of society."

"Thank you", the judge said. "I am not convinced, and am still minded to deny the gelding order. However the slave has been standing there, gagged... I will hear from him before finally passing judgement."

All the time the hearing had been going on I was getting more and more cheerful - it seemed that I wasn't going to lose my manhood. I didn't much like the idea of working as a gladiator, or as a sex slave, but at least that would be better then being turned into a eunuch! And now the judge was giving me an opportunity to explain - perhaps my owner would at last understand what I'd been trough.

The judge had nodded to the policemen, and one of them was now standing next to me, fiddling to unlock the straps holding my bit in. He was shorter than me, and as he reached up his woollen trousers and crisp cotton shirt brushed against my naked legs and torso, causing the little hairs on me to stand on end.

He pulled the bit free, and I champed my jaws up and down, glad to be free of the hateful thing and to be able to wriggle my tongue luxuriously inside my mouth.

"Do you have anything to say, slave? You may speak freely", the judge said.

"Your honour.... Sir.... What my owner says is true. I always knew I was a slave when I was growing up as my parents never let me think that there was any way I could escape my future, having been picked by the lottery. I went willingly to the auction when I was sixteen, and underwent two years of training at one of the best pony ranches in the country, to fit me for a life as a pony slave. I worked hard for my owner for five years, and during that time I'm certain he never had any cause for complaint, or any reason to be dissatisfied with my performance. I lived with the other outdoor slave on my owner's estate, and everything was peaceful and harmonious."

As I was saying this, I could see that everyone in the court was looking at my owner, and he was nodding, agreeing with every word I said. I knew I was making my case well, and so I went on:;

"My owner gave me as a present to his son, and I worked well for him, too. But he abused me - I was made to take part in humiliating sexual games. He had me tattooed, as you can see, and made me pull him through the streets naked except for a tiny silk pouch that barely covered my sex. He had me 'skinned for his amusement, and my dick was tattooed to make it look like a strange black appendage to me. He and his friend fucked me. And it was only when my fellow slaves taunted me about all of this that I lost my temper and hit out at them."

"I'm truly sorry for what I've done, and all I want is to be treated like a proper slave, so I can again work hard for a master. It's true that I now know the real pleasure of sex, as I have experienced the delight of using my dick with my fellow slaves, but it was wrong to force them - in future, I will find slaves who want to take dick up them just as much as I want to put it there."

I stopped then, and thought I'd spoken rather well. As the judge had been minded to turn down the gelding order before I started, I felt certain that my words would reinforce this view, and that I might get further punishment, such as another whipping, but that would be all.

It was a bit off-putting that the judge's face had been looking a bit grim as I spoke, and now he rapped to the policemen "Replace the slave's gag."

The police fumbled with it, and soon I was standing there again, mute.

"The slave has condemned himself", the judge intoned. "This is not a proper trained slave, as he claims to be, one who understands his place in our society. No: he is arrogant, and holds the sort of views that are the prerogatives of free men. He has dared to stand in front of me and boast of his achievements in training and at work. He accuses him owner of abusing him and using him for sexual games, and in having him decorated and 'skinned. Whilst it is true that I think it unwise of his owner to have turned this stud into a rather repulsive looking slave, somewhat out of the ordinary, that is his master's right. A true slave would not criticise his owner for such actions, and would not even for a moment think that they were in any way incorrect."

I went to protest, but the police restrained me. And, of course, the vile bit prevented me from being heard anyway.

"Even his demeanour now, as I point out his faults, shows him to be in error. A proper slave would not dare interrupt or contradict a free man."

Tuning to my owner, he went on "I believe this slave is irredeemably spoiled for normal duties. It is in my power to order a period of severe re-training for him, but having heard his arrogance and his attempts to argue, as if he were a free man, I fear it would be to no avail. In your affidavit to the court you say that he was trained for two years at a fine slave training school, and if they failed to inculcate the right attitude in him at 16, I believe there is no hope that it would work at 24. Consequently I am going to grant your request, and approve the gelding of this slave in the hope that it will calm him, teach him that his is not a man but owned property, and act as a lesson to other slaves who may be starting to have these same seditious thoughts."

I was horror struck! I couldn't believe it. It wasn't just the thought of losing my balls, but the judge's words really struck home: he was right! A proper slave would not criticise my owner as I had, would not mind being tattooed, being 'skinned, and used as a humiliating sex toy. I was a complete failure - I was not a proper slave, and soon I would not even be a true man.

"Strip the slave", the judge ordered, and the policemen fumbled with the fastenings on my shorts, and then pushed them to the ground. A titter of amusement and astonishment ran around the spectators in the courtroom as my big, black dick was revealed, and the judge called for quiet.

Looking at my owner, he continued "If I doubted the correctness of my decision to agree to the gelding, the sight of him naked would change my mind. He is such an ugly brute, and you can sense the power in that body - we need to protect other slaves from thugs like this, wielding weapons like that vile black dick that he displays so proudly."

I could have screamed and shouted at the injustice of it all. I was only ugly and brutish because my owner's son had had me made that way. And my dick, before it was 'skinned and tattooed, was perfectly normal.

Still speaking to my owner, the judge continued "After gelding, the State will assume ownership of the slave and dispose of him. You will receive the standard fee for a scrap slave - in fact, I think you may do quite well, as his market value must already be very low because of his brutish demeanour, and will be even lower once he has lost his manhood."

My owner bowed slightly, to show his agreement.

Turning to me, the judge now intoned "Slave: It is the ruling of this court that you will be taken from here to a veterinarian's premises licensed by the State as a suitable place in which to perform surgery on slaves. There you will lose your testicles under the control of a properly trained and state-licensed veterinarian."

He stopped this "formal" voice for a moment, and said to the room in general "As I said in my opening remarks, we are civilised here and slaves should be treated humanely. Our State requires that all gelding should be carried out in properly licensed premises, by properly trained veterinarians. Such licences require the use of proper anaesthetics and pain killer during and after such an operation, as there should be no unnecessary suffering on the part of the slave."

He went "formal" again, and continued "Under the powers granted to me by the State, I have the authority to make orders relating to the future conduct of the slave, too. In view of the proud and arrogant behaviour of this slave I therefore further order that the slave may not be fitted with any form of prosthetic or cosmetic testicle, and that his scrotal sac should be totally removed so that he is smooth in that area. So that he should serve as a reminder to other slaves of the need to observe the rules of our society, I further order that the slave may never in future be clothed - he will live out the rest of his life in total nakedness, so that all may observe the effects of the punishment that the State has decreed."

He banged his gavel twice on the desk, and said to the policemen "Take him down".

The last I saw of the courtroom, as I was pushed naked through the crowd was my owner sitting there looking pleased with himself, and the judge calmly signing papers in front of him - presumably the formal order to take away my manhood.

The two policemen took me down into a holding area, where there were a number of cells, some of which were occupied by free men. Of course, in general there was little slave crime as slaves were inculcated from birth to serve properly, and even those who transgressed, as they thought I had, usually did not require locking up in a cell. So the cells were mostly for ordinary, common or garden criminals: free men who did not understand their proper place in our world, and who had deliberately broken the rules. Even so, it was humiliating for me to be down there, as several of these criminals started to whistle and jeer when they saw me naked, and commented to each other that I must be a really dreadful slave, to warrant being cuffed and gagged as I was. I was inwardly seething with rage, as it was these guys who were the real criminals, not me.

They led me out and I was chained to the back of a police trap by a chain running to my snout ring. The trap was pulled by two pony slaves in their identical blue shorts and Ts, to match the uniforms of the police themselves. I realised I was in for a difficult run when only one police officer got into the trap, though - two ponies pulling only a single passenger are able to run much faster, and for much longer, than only one. The police didn't use whips on their ponies, so the officer just gave them the command to move off, and we pulled out of the compound behind the court and into the town streets.

Although I suppose I'd got used to people staring at me as I ran with my former owner and Master Scott wearing just a tiny pouch to cover my manhood, now I didn't even have that. And, to make it even worse, I was cuffed and chained as if I was some sort of dangerous wild animal. Everyone on the sidewalks turned to look at my huge black dick as it swung in front of me, and to make it worse, the trap was deliberately going slowly through the town centre so that they could all take a good look - I suppose the idea was to let owners know that the police were "on the job" (not that there was much slave crime anyway, as I've told you), and to send a warning to the many slaves who were there going about their owners' regular business.

Once we got out of the centre, though, the officer gave the order to speed up, and I had to change from the gentle "lope" I'd been doing in the town to quite a fast jog. I'd got used to my nipple and snout rings bouncing up and down in time to my steps, but now my dick was beating time to the rhythm of my movements, too, and, as on the journey in, I was terrified that I might start to lag, or to stumble, so that my nose ring would tear my flesh. After a mile or so I noticed a new sensation, too - a pain, a dull ache, was spreading from my balls all through my abdomen. I wasn't used to exercising totally naked - who is, as even the tiny pouch I wore before provided me with a bit of support - and with big, low hanging balls I now had problems as they swung from side to side and slapped into my muscular thighs as I pounded along. It was as if a guy was constantly swatting at them and teasing them, and the ache spread, and spread. But there was nothing I could do about it, and I couldn't even cry out to the officer about the acute discomfort

I was feeling as the bit was still firmly holding my tongue down. Actually, even if I could have, I don't really think I would have: although the two police pony slaves were doing a good job, a trained pony like me from one of the finest training schools could tell that they were only "ordinary" slaves who'd just been given a short course in their new duties, and I wouldn't have wanted them to think they could run better than me.

My owner, and Master Jason and Master Scott, had never had any reason I suppose to be in this part of town, and so at first the streetscape was unfamiliar. After a time the crowds thinned out, and the only people to see me were ponies and their owners coming in the other direction, and several of them almost had accidents as they reacted in amazement to the sight of me being "towed" behind the police trap. Then I started to recognise things - could it be, I wondered.... Yes, it was: we were going to my usual veterinarian, the one who had looked after me ever since I graduated from pony school and my master had first bought me.

We pulled into the familiar compound, and the officer alighted and unchained the leash from the back of the trap. The two police ponies stood there and chatted quietly to themselves as he tugged at the chain and I was forced to follow him into the vet's office, and I knew they were talking about me, and saying what a freak I was - it really was all so unfair, and I was in despair.

Without waiting for the vet to say anything, the officer began as soon as we entered "Where's your restraint cell? You're required to have one as part of the terms of your licence to practice mutilation of criminal slaves...."

The vet looked really startled, and began "Through the door... But it's never been used...". Then he stopped, took a second look, and went on in very shocked voice "Steve.... Jesus! Steve, it is you."

He went on "Why is this slave here, officer? I know him, and his owner...."

"Sir, here's a copy of the court order authorising the castration of this slave. I think you'll find all the paperwork's in order, and there's a form to claim the approved fee. The operation is to be carried out within a period of three days, and the court has ordered the complete removal of the salve's sac as well as its contents - there's to be absolutely no trace left of his balls when you have finished."

"But that's impossible - we only castrate slaves for the most vicious behaviour... I know this slave, he's a good slave, just not capable of anything like that..."

"Well, sir, I can't speak to that. But I was in court earlier and heard what the slave had done, and it sounded to me as if he needs to lose those balls that are causing him all these problems. In any case, that's hardly our concern: we just obey the court order, don't we?"

"Well, can anyone appeal on his behalf? It seems so wrong..."

"No, sir. In matters of justice for slaves there's no appealing the court decision. When the slavery laws were passed everyone was so fed up of the endless appealing to the state supreme court and then Washington, that they decided that that wasn't going to be the case for slaves. After all, a slave doesn't matter as much as a free man - they have no freedom to lose, do they? So once a court has ruled on a matter of slave discipline, that's it: you execute the order, or you yourself are in contempt of the court."

The vet gave a kind of shrug, and gestured with his hand to the door, and the officer pulled me along behind him, down a short corridor, and into a cell. Actually, although I suppose the vet called it a cell because he was required to have one as a term of his licence as a veterinarian authorised to operate on unruly slaves, it wasn't all that different from the other rooms in the corridor that were used when slaves needed to stay occasionally following treatment - there was a leather-covered bunk on one wall, a lavatory pan, and even a shower head set in the ceiling.

The officer unclipped the chain from my snout ring, went out in to the corridor and closed and locked the cell door, then told me to turn around away from him. He reached in through the bars, and undid my cuffs.

"So long, fella!", he said cheerily. "You'd better make the most of your time - that vet can de-nut you at any time. If I was you, I'd get jerking off whilst you can still enjoy the feeling of the cum shooting along that big black dick of yours!"

He went out, chortling to himself at his wit.

End Of Part 16