YOUNG STUD
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Sixteen
The first time we saw Jeff in the streets I didn't recognise him at all. It was only when Miguel went to run across the highway because he had seen Juan that I took a second look - having grabbed Miguel to restrain him as of course we would not want to alert Brad that we were interested. Miguel stood there on the sidewalk begging and pleading to be let go to his brother, and when the passers-by saw his appalling behaviour, I had no choice: I slapped him hard, very hard, across the face, and when that failed to calm him, I did it again, this time knocking him to the ground. Several of the watching people applauded me, and called out that it was rare to see an owner these days who took such positive steps to discipline his slave.
When Miguel got to his feet I said to him quietly that I had had to do it because we could not compromise our real purpose, and I think he understood, even though he stood there snivelling for quite a time. Actually, though, I think I somehow enjoyed it - disciplining a man, and making him do exactly as you tell him is very satisfying. And using my physical power in that way was quite a turn on: it was another instance of how good it would be to actually own a slave.
But this is all beside the point - it was Jeff that I was now concerned about, and leaving Miguel there (as he was so similar to Juan), I went across to investigate further. To my horror I saw they had made huge differences to Jeff - gone were the glorious blond hairs on his arms and legs, the darker thatch on his chest and the exotic treasure trail running down his belly: he had been made totally hairless below the neck, and his skin glowed and shone, because, presumably, he was oiled with slave oil. The only way you could tell that Jeff was a blond was that his hair was now in a mane - yes, that's the only way I can describe it: his head was shaved except for a three inch wide strip down the centre, the strip being cropped very short at the front, but allowed to grow at the rear so long hair now flowed down to his neck.
He's been ringed, too - comprehensively ringed! In the bright sunshine he positively glittered with metal. He wore a heavy stainless steel collar, whose weight I reckoned ought to be sufficient to weight down his neck, and each of his nips now sported heavy steel rings - with Jeff's fantastic pecs, they dangled down and as he moved slightly, they swung freely. But it was what they'd done to his face and his dick that shocked me - I didn't know which one to look at first.
A heavy steel ring hung down from his nose - his septum must have been pierced to take it - and his dick and balls were cinched tight with a kind of figure of eight arrangement: one thick steel band was around the top of his ball sac, trapping his balls below, and it was attached to the one around the root of his dick and balls so that this could not be removed. Obviously this meant that Jeff was semi-erect almost all the time, and to my horror I saw they had also put a huge steel PA through his piss slit, emerging just below the head of his dick. Steel wrist bands were around his wrists, and these were fastened to the shafts of the carriage he was standing between, so he was unable to leave.
When the initial shock of seeing his lovely body covered in all this metal had worn off a little, I was able to take a closer look - a metal bar protruded from each side of his mouth, and leather reins were lying casually on the carriage, their ends fastened to each end of the bar. The bar was so far back that it was forcing Jeff's mouth to make a perpetual grimace, and as he could not close it, there was a small trickle of drool hanging on each side of his chin. Strangely, too, he appeared to be wearing some sort of sun glasses made of steel.
He stood there impassive and immobile, seeming to be almost oblivious to the passing traffic and pedestrians. Juan, as naked as Jeff was, and now almost shockingly so as he too had been stripped of his hair (and I was used to seeing his furry body!) stood there ,his head obediently bowed. He'd been collared and cuffed in stainless steel too, and when he turned around, his dick and balls were similarly cinched with the same double ring arrangement that Jeff wore. They'd left his tits and dick alone, though, and his hair was in a standard slave crop. But standing there he looked so very young - his slight body, totally hairless, just did not look like that of a man who was nearly seventeen.
I wondered what to do - it clearly was not the time to approach them as we could not afford any public display. So I settled into a pavement cafe, ordered a double expresso from the slave, and waited.
It must have been at least half an hour before the guy I took to be Brad emerged from a barber shop and came over and snapped something to Juan, seeming to completely ignore Jeff, who, in turn seemed totally unaware of the closeness of his owner. I took an almost instant dislike to Brad - he was one of those guys who has always had everything: the best clothes, all the latest gadgets, a car as soon as he was old enough, personal slaves dancing attention on him, the best schools.... He was big and you could tell that when he was in this late twenties and early thirties he'd become florid and loud as his body put on excess weight. His curly blond hair flopped around, and his clothes were almost inappropriate for a college guy: no jeans for Brad, no, immaculately cut wool slacks, a crisp pink-striped shirt, a leather jacket slung casually over his shoulders and a silk cravat peeping out of his open collar.
As I watched, Juan went to Jeff and stroked his butt gently - Jeff seemed to acknowledge this by moving his body a little. Then, as Brad walked off to another shop, Juan took hold of Jeff's dick and began to use it as some sort of handle to guide Jeff across the parking lot, then out towards what I took to be the entrance to the university grounds. I'd have thought that a sensible guy like Jeff could just have been told "To the lecture hall and wait", or whatever, so this leading of him by Juan was a total mystery.
I crossed the street back to there Miguel was waiting - he'd crouched, as Mexicans seem to be able to do, under a tree to get some shade from the hot sun (Brad hadn't seemed concerned about Jeff and Juan, as there had been no shade on their side of the street and he'd just let them stand there). "Please, master...", he began. "Please, don't hit me again... But I must see Juan."
"Wait, Miguel! We have to find out more. I'm going to the University, to see how I can get closer to their owner - you go back to the house, and make sure the pool's properly clean as when I get back I'll want to swim."
How easy it was to issue orders casually like that - how much more satisfactory to be the owner, rather than the slave. I suppose some of you are going to think that it was unfair of me to use Miguel as a servant like that, but, after all, he didn't have anything else to do, did he? And it's bad for men to sit around idle, especially when they're supposed to be slaves.
I was mooching around the university grounds - not so hard to do as I was about the right age, and in jeans and a sweatshirt I blended in - when I saw Brad walking rapidly across one of the campus squares. I trailed him, and he went into the sports complex, and I followed. He was doing that sort of bragging thing that guys do to the receptionists in those places, standing there flexing his muscles, sweeping his curly hair back off his face, and generally holding things up and getting a little queue to form behind him. When he'd checked in I went to the counter and found that the Sports Centre facilities were open to the public on payment of a fee (a healthy fee, I might add), so I joined.
I told them I wanted to take a look around, and they didn't seem to mind, once my payment was in the till, and so I went in and was going to pull my sweat short off, knowing that in my tight T showing my muscles, I'd look more like a "user". But at the last moment I remembered the big SIN still on my forearm, so I had to desist. There were several racquet ball courts, a couple of basket ball courts, and a vast gym absolutely stuffed with the latest machines. Down a corridor there was an Olympic standard pool, a diving pool, and a training pool. I began to think that the fee was well spent.
There were several changing rooms for the different parts of the complex, so I had to pretend to be looking for a newly-allocated locker as I wandered in and out of them fully dressed and without a sports bag so it didn't even look as if I might be going to change. The guys were mostly college jock types, although there seemed to be a number of older men - whether local business men or college professors, I couldn't tell - most of whom seemed to be changing very slowly as if they wanted to sit there and observe what was going on around them for as long as possible.
Each of these changing facilities had a big, open-plan shower area and a sauna, and it was in the one primarily intended for the gym that I spotted Brad again: he was kind of horsing around in the showers, disporting his big fleshy body. He had a good sized dick, uncut, and big low-hanging balls, and he was the kind of guy who stood there soaping up quite publicly as if he wanted to shame some of the other guys with smaller dicks.
I pretended to still be locating a locker as I saw him towel off, and then unashamedly walk out with his towel thrown casually over his shoulder, allowing his dick and balls to swing freely and be "admired" by the other men. From the snatches of conversation I heard I gathered that he was a regular user, mostly in the mornings, so I decided that this would be a good place to strike up and acquaintance with him.
When I got back to my rented house Miguel was almost in a frenzy, and had many questions which he put persistently to me, about whether I'd seen Juan again, and how he was. He almost refused to believe that I hadn't seen either Jeff or Juan again, and I began to get irritated. My irritation increased when, on stripping off to go for a quick swim, I found some dead flies and wasps floating on the surface as he hadn't done as I'd told him and cleaned it properly. If he'd shut up and apologised he might have evaded punishment, but when he asked me for the third time some stupid question about Juan, I lost it - I simply picked him up and threw him into the pool.
I know it sounds like a bit of harmless fun, but Miguel hated the water, probably because he couldn't swim: I'd often tried to get him to come into the water and play games with me, but he never would. There was no real danger of course as I'm a very, very strong swimmer and I know about life saving , too - but Miguel flailed around in the deep water, his head going under several times as he frantically scrabbled uselessly around trying to get to the edge, and he began to splutter and choke each time he surfaced. >From the way he was screaming and shouting I really believed he thought he was going to drown.
Finally, when it did begin to look a bit serious I pulled off my sweat shirt and T, kicked off my boots and jeans, then dived in and grabbed him, hauling him by his hair to the edge where he clung on desperately, trying to haul himself out of the water as he continued to splutter and choke. I trod water, watching with amusement as he managed to get his exhausted body half out and lay flopping around on the edge, and then took a couple of strokes over, ducked under water, grabbed his ankles, and pulled him back in. Still under water I watched his arms and legs flailing, and I even held my hand on the top of his head for a few moments so that he thought he couldn't get to the surface - seeing his arm and legs now kicking desperately in all directions.
I relented then, and pushed him upwards, then surfaced myself, putting my arm around his thin chest and holding his head just above the surface. Gradually he calmed down and stopped struggling, and his retching and choking calmed. He seemed to relax a bit, but I needed to show him who was in control, so I pushed him under playfully - well, it would have been playfully with a couple of strong swimmers horsing around, but I guess it was pretty terrifying for Miguel. When I let him come up again and he calmed down eventually, I laughed at him. "See, Miguel - I thought you needed to cool off a bit as I got pissed off with all those questions. I told you this is a long-term plan, and it won't hurt Juan to spend a few more days, or weeks, as that Brad's slave. Other than his body shave, he doesn't look in bad shape."
"But...", he began, and stopped instantly as he felt my hands start to push him under again. He looked at me pleadingly, his eyes terrified.
"Furthermore, Miguel, when I give you an order, like 'clean the pool', I expect it to be obeyed. And the next time you fail to do as I say, I'll throw you in again: it seems you don't like this as a punishment, and it has the advantage over taking a strap or a cane to you that it leaves no marks on your body to spoil my enjoyment later. Do you understand?"
"Yes, master", he muttered. And seeing he looked pretty contrite, or scared, or both, I pushed him to the edge, put my hands around his waist and boosted him up onto the edge - he instantly took four steps away from the edge, as if he was scared that I might drag him in again.. Then I did fifty lengths to tire myself, and when I got out I lay in the hot sun and ordered Miguel over to blow me as I felt pretty horny.
Later that evening I discussed with Miguel what we were going to do, and I pointed out we needed to find out where Jeff and Juan were kept - valuable slaves like those were probably locked up at night, and I knew that many of the most prestigious frat houses on the edge of the campus had slave quarters. I kind of assumed that Brad would be in some prestigious fraternity, and if we were going to get Jeff and Juan out, we'd have to have a good knowledge of the security facilities. "But, in any case, Miguel, perhaps I could persuade Brad to sell them to me - that would be best, as then they'd legally be mine, and I could take them where I want in the South."
He reluctantly agreed, as he wanted immediate action, even though that was impracticable, and I thought it would be best to get to know Brad better in the gym. There was a problem then, though, as there was no way I could go there with my brand and SIN tattoo. Fortunately the solution to part of that occurred to me as we watched TV later on - they had the World Cup rugger on the sports channel, and the men there all wore skin-tight jerseys with long sleeves, as they were playing in London in the cold: they were designed to show off the muscled bodies of the forwards whilst having no loose fabric that an opponent could grip.
A search on the internet revealed suppliers of "genuine" rugger jerseys, and I ordered some to be express shipped for the next day. I'm a bit of a traditionalist and prefer a jock strap and relatively loose shorts for gym work (well, I do when I had a choice: as a slave, the boss always made me wear only skin-tight shorts when I was working out), so I didn't think that anyone would see the outline of my brand, although I'd have to be very careful when I was changing to keep my butt turned into a corner or something.
I have to say I reckoned I looked pretty good in the tight Lycra jersey - somehow it emphasised my muscles, and the long sleeves were opaque enough so that the SIN did not show through. I went off to the gym complex, rented a locker in the area mostly reserved for gym users, then went and changed. It was good to have a real workout on their superb machines, and soon my skin-tight jersey was deeply stained down the back and front with my sweat. Eventually I noticed Brad come in, and then manoeuvred so that I was often using the machines adjacent to him. Well, you know how it is when there are two studs in a gym - they keep an eye on each other, and try to outdo the other guy! It was no different with Brad, and soon he was dialling up the weights on the weight machines and the speed on the treadmill, to try to keep up with me.
I was tired as I'd started earlier, so it wasn't too hard after some time to appear to "lose" to Brad, and as we jogged along cooling down, I looked across at him on the next treadmill and said casually "Well done, buddy! Not a lot of guys keep up with me - I was surprised to see you alongside most of the time. My name's Steve, by the way."
He was almost smirking as he responded "Hi... I'm Brad. Well you know how it is, Steve, some of us are just natural athletes".
In spite of his horrible smugness we carried on talking as we went back into the changing rooms and at
once he stripped off - I suppose he was carrying on his idea of being better than me by letting his dick wave around. I let him see me casting the odd glance at it as he stood there, and then when he suggested I got a move on as he was waiting to shower, I stuttered, as if I was embarrassed, and said that I had to get home and I'd shower there. I know I convinced him that I didn't want to stand there and be compared to him (although of course I had much harder muscles than him, and my dick was certainly longer!).
As the week went on it got harder and harder to appear to fail "gracefully" as Brad seemed to want to work out closer and closer to me - I suppose it did his ego good to be beating such an obviously powerful guy like me. Miguel thought it was very funny that I had to go for a long, long run to burn off my energy before I left for the gym. But by Saturday Brad was treating me as I was a buddy, and he seemed to like standing in front of me towelling himself off and wagging his dick and balls around as I sat on the bench in the changing area, still not stripping off my own things. It took a real effort of will to stop me from laughing at his pretensions as he clearly thought he was so much better than me in every way - he was keen to tell me about how much money his dad had, and, finally, he asked me what kind of car I drove and when I told him it was just "any old thing" as I wasn't really interested, he almost laughed out loud.
"Steve, old buddy, if you're going to make a success here on campus, you're going to have to ditch a car and get a pony - most of the chicks are really impressed when I tell them I'm really into ecology and wouldn't want a car here, and that I leave the Ferrari at home and use a pony instead."
I looked down as if I was ashamed of being un-cological, and muttered "Well, money's a bit tight right now. Not that it matters.... I don't usually have a problem with the women...."
"Hey, Steve, it's all about speed, buddy! Once they see my pony and groom, most of the chicks can't wait to let me get into their pants. I've pulled more women in my carriage than I ever did in the Ferrari..." He grinned and went on "It's a lot easier, I suppose, as there's a lot more room to manoeuvre in the carriage than in the cockpit of the Ferrari. And it's the pheromones, too - I whip the flanks of my pony and get him racing, and as he gets worked up into a real sweat, it's gets them all fired up."
"That sounds a bit cruel.... Whipping the pony so you can excite some bitch.... I always thought the whip was just to encourage a pony slave to go faster."
"Don't be fucking stupid, Steve! He's a slave, and so what does it matter? He's only there to serve me, and if helps me to have his body covered in sweat and his butt and thighs running with blood, so be it."
"I'd have thought his screams would put off the bitch - surely he cries out if you whip him hard enough to produce blood..."
"Oh no. There's no noise, other than the crack of the whip and the 'snick' as it bites into his skin, and most of the chicks seem to be quite turned on by that sound. No.... He has a bit, as you may have seen, and that's fitted permanently between his back teeth, but what you don't see is that inside the mouth, at right angles to it, is the tongue suppresser: it's got little spikes on the underside, so if he tries to speak by moving his tongue, it's really painful. After a few weeks he went totally silent."
"Well it sounds cruel to me...."
"You're too soft, Steve! My pony is a proper, trained pony and he's not supposed to speak, any more that he needs to see, or hear...."
My heart sank as he said this, as I began to realise that the steel spectacles I'd seen Jeff wearing might not have been that. "You didn't have him blinded, did you...."
"Oh no, he needs to see a bit - I've had him fitted with blinkers. They're really good - they look a bit like sunglasses but they're held around the head permanently so they don't come off, and there's a very narrow slit at the bottom. That means that provided he holds his head up - and there's a terrible tendency for ponies to put their heads down as they struggle with the load, and an owner really wants to see the head held high, doesn't he? - he can see about three feet in front of him. So although I have to steer him broadly, I don't have to worry about him putting his foot into a hole, or anything like that. 'Advanced Pony Training' says it's the best method- when he's running flat out he's totally reliant on my commands via the reins for guidance, and he has to have total confidence in me, and obey the lightest tug on the reins immediately, if he's not to run into something and injure himself."
I nodded, now understanding why Juan had had to lead Jeff around using his dick as a handle. Brad went on "It's like hearing - that's another way that I have control over him, as he's not distracted by sounds, well, hardly at all. I've had his ears filled with wax, so very few sounds penetrate."
"I never knew all that about ponies...."
"Well it's not all ponies, of course. But a real tough one like mine has to be absolutely and rigorously controlled. And it's a big turn on for the chicks, too - seeing a man like me totally dominate and control my pony: he's such a big piece of manflesh, and knowing that I have him totally subdued and in my power gets them all excited. Mind you, having him mostly cut off from the world like that has its disadvantages - he can't do anything for himself, can't make his own way back to the stables at the frat house, for example, so I have to have a groom as well, which all adds to the expense. But dad can afford it.
Although having a groom is not all it's made out to be - the slave I have had to be really beaten, almost to a pulp, until he got the message that he was there to service the pony only in so far as washing him, grooming him, clearing out the dirty straw from the stall, and stuff like that: the kid was found jerking off the pony, and I don't allow that."
"Well I can see that - I suppose it's not good to have slaves have sex with each other, and the pony can jerk himself off."
"Absolutely not! If he was a real stallion, an actual pony, he'd only get to breed when he was put to stud - horses don't jerk off, do they? And that's true for my pony, too. He's absolutely not allowed to jerk off, as I like him to display 'hard' as much as possible - I have his dick cinched of course, but the rest of it is just his natural desire to have sex. It's another turn-on for the chicks - to see his big dick all hard, and dripping pre-cum a lot of the time as he's never allowed release.... It gives them an idea of what they're going to get from me...."
Although I was appalled at what was happening to poor Jeff - not being able even to jerk off must make his balls painful all the time, after all, I needed to know more about Brad. So I just nodded, and said casually "It sounds a pretty good idea if it really is a chick magnet, I suppose. As I said, I don't usually have problems on that score, but a lot of the bitches here seem a bit reluctant to put out...."
"Hey, Steve, perhaps I can give you a few tips.... Why don't you come for a spin with me in the carriage on Saturday night - we'll hit the bars, see what's what, pick up a couple of chicks and have a four-way.... You seem like a pretty buff guy who'd be good to watch in bed - I've seen you here at the gym and I reckon you'd really know how to give it to them...."
"Hey, great..... " Well, if I was going to make friends with Brad, having a four way with him would be a pretty good way of going about it, wouldn't it?
We didn't have any "luck" on Saturday night, though. Brad drove me around from bar to bar, and I had to watch helplessly as Jeff's flanks and butt turned crimson with the flecks of blood from the whip lashes.
I reckon I could easily have fucked quite a lot of the chicks as when we went in I could see them eyeing me up, especially as I'd worn really tight jeans that emphasised the shape of my butt and the bulge at my crotch. But the presence of Brad, especially when he draped his arms over me and called me his "best buddy" all the time (even though he'd only known me a few days) seemed to really put them off. So by about eleven Brad decided that "the chicks must all be on the rag this week" and asked me if I wanted to go back to his frat house with him to see if any of the guys there wanted to play cards.
I hadn't actually ridden in Brad's carriage pulled by Jeff all that much before, so had to sit and endure seeing poor Jeff being whipped unmercifully by Brad as we made out way back to the frat house. What must it be like for Jeff, I wondered - unable to see, unable to hear, and unable even to make any vocal protest at his treatment. He was no longer a slave, as the slave at Brad's home had hinted at - no, Jeff was now lower than this, if such a thing is possible: he'd been turned into a mere beast, a beast ornamented to amuse his master's perverted whim of what a slave should look like; a beast that was treated cruelly and capriciously in a way that would raise protests if anyone saw an owner treating a dog like that.
At the frat house Brad asked me if I'd mind going around to the stables with him "It's a real bore - usually I have the groom along and he leads the pony around the back to them", he told me. "But this afternoon I needed to chastise him on his back and buttocks, and perhaps I was just a little too rigorous with the ship as genuinely seemed unable to move afterwards - I say genuinely, as even when I began to whip the front of him, he remained writhing on the floor. Still, I expect he'll be able to work tomorrow, although I'm now inconvenienced by having to stable the pony myself."
Although I was horrified at this news about Juan, I was nevertheless intrigued to see how Jeff was stabled, so I just nodded.
At the door of the stables one of the frat house slaves came up at once and Brad immediately ordered him to take Jeff inside, unfasten him from the carriage, then feed him and tether him for the night. He then decided he needed to stand there and supervise, adding to me "These slaves don't really know what to do, and the pony's a valuable animal and I don't want him harmed, so I'd better stay and supervise. Go along in and have a drink...."
"Oh, I'd be quite interested in watching - as you say, he's a fine pony, and I don't suppose I'll ever be able to own a beast like that, so it would be kind of interesting to see how it's done, especially by a skilful owner like you."
Brad seemed to preen himself as I praised him, and began ordering the slaves around. Jeff seemed really docile as he was unshackled from the pulling poles of the carriage, but then when one of the slaves went to lead him to his stall by the elbow, he started to get distressed - I suppose because he realised it wasn't Juan. Brad roared that the pony had a perfectly good dick, sticking out conveniently to lead him by, and when Jeff felt a hand on his dick that was clearly not Juan's, he began to toss his head and turn, as if to try to see where Juan was - obviously totally without success.
They led him to a narrow stall, with wooden sides on both sides and straw on the floor. To my horror I saw that already lying on the straw was the bloody body of Juan - who tried to move as Jeff approached, but only half succeeded. Still, at least he was alive (and, I suppose fortunately for me, he was in no position to recognise me). Jeff stood there uncertainly, perhaps scenting the smell of Juan's sweat and blood (if indeed Brad had not had his sense of smell tampered with!), but when one of the slaves pressed down on his shoulders, he sank to his knees - perhaps glad of being able to take the weight off his feet al last. Brad then supervised the preparation of Jeff's feed - a carefully measured quantity of slave chow went into a bucket (with Brad explaining how important it was to give him just enough to be able to work, but not quite enough to maintain full body weight so that Jeff's ribs would stick out rather appealingly through his skin. The slave chow was mashed with a measured quantity of water, and the slaves then produced a funnel, with a long flexible spout on the end of it. I watched almost in horror as Jeff opened his mouth - I could see the ugly long metal thing holding his tongue down now - and the salve inserted the spout, pushing it towards his throat and triggering the gag reflex. The slave went to pull it back, but Brad snapped "No, you fools! The pipe has to go down his throat, or else the feed will go into his lungs!"
The slaves pressed on, and Jeff's distress seemed to calm, as I suppose he was used to this by now. The feed was then poured in and disappeared down into his body, and I was reminded of those pictures I'd seen of a woman force feeding geese in France to make foie gras - the funnel was rammed down their throats and the food forced down it - although there the idea is to overfeed the geese, and poor Jeff was being systematically starved to enhance his appearance in his owner's eyes.
Brad saw me looking rather shocked at all of this and said "Oh, Steve, for goodness sake! How else do you think he gets fed, with the bit and the tongue suppresser permanently in place? He can't chew, he can't swallow properly..."
"But he was gagging...."
"Only for a few moments. He's perfectly used to being fed like this."
As I watched, the last drop of feed disappeared into him, and the slaves tugged at him to get him to stand. A thick wooden pole was placed across the stall a few feet in, and Jeff was led up to it so that his belly was against it. The slaves then went around to the front of him, stepping over the body of Juan, and Jeff bent forward: there was a small ledge sticking out from the front of the stall and I saw him rest his head on it, and the slaves then pulled each of his arms forward in turn, and attached each of his cuffs to tethering points so that his body was stretched out horizontally.
Brad turned to go, and I gasped "Is that all...?"
"Oh yes, he's in his nighttime position now. Look....."
Brad ran his hands down Jeff's thighs, then rested them on the superb muscles of his butt, and invited me to do the same. "Feel the power and strength here", he told me. "I guarantee you won't find stronger and sturdier musculature on a slave anywhere - and it comes from having them in constant use. And, after all a real pony always stand, doesn't he?"
I had to agree that what he said was true - Jeff had always been powerfully muscled, but as my hands ran almost lovingly across his butt, they were even firmer, bigger and stronger than I remembered.
Just as we finished, there was a most unpleasant noise and a torrent of semi-solid shit poured out of Jeff's butt as he stood there and landed onto the straw below. I expected Brad to be annoyed, but he just said to me "Sorry, Steve... I should have thought about that. Once the feed gets inside him it seems to trigger his reactions, and it comes out the other end.
Just like a pony, he drops his shit whenever he wants to, although he usually manages to avoid doing it on the public highway as otherwise his groom has to clear it up, and quickly wash his thighs. It's not so bad here in the stables as he has his legs well apart, and the straw adsorbs most of it."
Jeff now began to piss, the water hosing in a veritable torrent down into the straw, and almost hitting Juan as he lay there.
"It's worse for the piss, though", Brad told me. "He's got in to the habit of doing it all the time when we're out driving, even when ladies are watching!"
"I don't suppose he knows they are, as he can't see...."
"You know , Steve, I'd never thought of that! Perhaps I've been punishing him for pissing a bit unnecessarily. But no matter - he's a lazy slave ,and a bit of additional punishment never hurts them."
I was seething inside. Jeff was being treated like a mere beast, but when he acted one, quite unable after all to defecate or urinate in a civilised way, he was being punished for doing it. They had ripped away his humanity, his basic rights, in a way that left him even worse than a slave. How did he feel, standing there pissing, unable to move, to hear, to speak, to see...?
Leaving Jeff standing there, we moved to go into the frat house. I turned as we walked and saw Jeff shifting his weight from foot to foot, and I could only imagine how terrible it must be, never to be allowed to lie or sit,. How on earth did Jeff ever manage to sleep properly? I asked Brad, but he shrugged and said he didn't know - he supposed that Jeff dozed on and off - but what did it matter? If he ever started to fall asleep when he was in the carriage, he could easily be whipped back to life.
End Of Part Sixteen