The stables really were just that – the old stables block from when the big old house was first built. Now of course only some of the space inside was needed for the horses – we had a few riding horses, as did most of our neighbours as riding out across the fields, or to hounds, was considered the kind of genteel activity that young men and women could indulge in together with no thought of impropriety. One half of the building was now used to hold the sleeping quarters of the pony slaves on the estate, though: we had two teams of eight ponies used in hauling the farm carts around, two big stallions for my uncle’s carriage, and one stall was occupied by my pony, Blackie.
Straughan’s slaves took me down that side of the building and into an empty stall, and shackled my right ankle to the floor. “Sorry about this, Steve, but Mr Straughan told us to do this as you’re a relatively new slave, he said, and he was concerned you might run during the night.”
There was the sound of vigorous fucking coming from the next stall, and they went on “Don’t mind about that noise – it’s only Blackie, one of the ponies. He’s a real cocksman, and a lot of the house slaves like to take him inside them. He’s been a bit bored since his owner left as there’s not really enough work for him to do… So he seems to be making up for it by shagging the night away! And that reminds me – Mr Straughan ordered that you wear this….”.
One of the slaves slipped a thin chain around my neck with a medallion hanging on it, then they smiled at me encouragingly, and scooted out, eager, I suppose, to get back to be fucked by Straughan whilst he still had is erection! No problem here, though, was there – Blackie clearly had a never ending erection as he was still going at it. I got to my feet and looked over the low fence separating our stalls, and there was that oh so familiar butt pounding away, driving his dick into a pale white body pinned helpless underneath his magnificent tanned frame. I was so used to seeing that butt powering away pulling my rickshaw that I’d know it anywhere.
I lay back, and when there was a great scream from the boy and a roar of pleasure from Blackie, followed by some muttered conversation, I thought I might get some rest, but Blackie appeared in my stall, and stood there, standing over me, his dick still slimed with his cum and the boy’s ass juice. “Hi, I’m Blackie…. Sorry about the noise”, he started cheerfully. “But these house boys like a good fucking, and I’ve got a reputation as the slave who can give it to them. They get bored just doing the housework, and the master hardly ever, and his nephew never, fucks them. They can fuck each other of course, as the master is a real liberal and lets us do much as we want once our work is over, but they want a real man’s dick, not another boy… So they come over here to the stables.”
“Hi, I’m Steve….”
“Not that I don’t get bored”, Blackie went on. “My master left a few weeks ago, and there isn’t enough work for me to do and I can feel my fitness slipping. He was an absolute bastard to me, but I guess I miss him.”
I felt like screaming “Liar!” I’d always treated Blackie well, and there probably was no slave in the county who had so much care and attention lavished on him. And now he was referring to me in this causal way as an absolute bastard! Once I was back in place as a free man, I’d show him a thing or two about how slaves could be treated by their owners! Fancy spreading these lies about me to all and sunder, even to a totally new slave who he’d only just met – my reputation in the slave quarters must be in tatters.
But Blackie was still going on “Yes, all the time I was his personal pony he never once spoke to me man to man – in fact, I don’t think he ever really heard me speak as I was always wearing a bit and you can’t talk to a guy with that in your mouth.”
He was right, of course. This was the first time I’d heard Blackie’s voice – he had excellent English, with hardly a trace of an East European accent and none of those “wrong” cadences that cripple so many non-native speakers..
“Still, Steve, what are they going to use you for on the plantation?”
“I don’t know – Straughan hasn’t said.”
Having had Straughan tell me to be careful of Blackie, and now hearing how he didn’t like me much, I thought I’d better just play it cool, and stick to my “story” for a bit as he was so obviously stronger than me.
“I wish they’d make you a pony, Steve – it gets real lonely here.”
“I thought they said there were a couple of stallions, and two sets of cart ponies….”
“Yes, but the stallions are an ‘item’ and only fuck each other, and they’re a bit stuck up, as they always get to pull the owner around the estate and don’t really consort much with me. The cart ponies are nice guys, but they keep pretty much to themselves – you know how it is: if you’re working and living with seven other guys, you don’t feel the need for outside contact much. They’re pleasant enough, and they always give me the time of day, but there’s no way they’ll let me in on their nightly activities – it’s strictly between themselves. So I’d really like another guy who was single and unattached, like me: we could have fun together at night, and it would be nice to be able to sleep with him – the house boys have to go home as they’re required to spend the night in the slave dorm in the main house. I’ve never slept with anyone all night since I came here eight years ago when my owner bought me – I say my owner, but I don’t know who I really belong to now that he’s gone off. Before that, of course, I always slept the night….”
“Before you came here?”
“Yes, but that was different – my wife….”
“You had a wife?”
“Yes, back in the old country. And two sons. I came to the USA to work hard to support them – I had to, even though I hated leaving them, as there was no work at all. Then they got me under this ‘Illegal Alien workers’ stuff, and I was enslaved for life….. I haven’t had any contact with them at all since then, but I still miss them.”
I hadn’t really known all this, except for the reason for his enslavement which was in his dossier when I bought him, and began to wonder how I could have used him most days for all that time and never even suspected that he might have been a father!
“But you were just fucking those house boys…..”
“So? A man needs sex, especially if you’re a fit young guy like me… And our owner doesn’t care”
“But you were married, you had kids… And now you fuck guys!”
“Sure. Look, Steve, you must be pretty naive! Do you have any kids?”
I turned away slightly so that he wouldn’t see I was lying, stuck with my story and muttered “Yes, two sons…”
“So you know about fucking women, like I do. But you also know that it’s much more fun to fuck a guy….”
“No, Blackie, I’ve never done that….”
Blackie slapped me on the back, and almost whooped for joy. “Hey, Steve, are we going to have fun tonight! Let me tell you, the voice of experience…. Fucking a woman’s OK, and you need to do it, of course, to breed, and I love my sons as I expect you love yours…. But once you’ve been with another guy, you discover what sex is really about. I used to think I knew it all, Steve, until I came here, but after I discovered proper sex, real man-on-man fucking, I found out what I’d been missing. All those years courting and trying to get off with women, then marriage…. When all the time there was just so much more fun to be had with guys.”
“I don’t think I want to, Blackie, I mean, my owner might want me to go with women…”
“Don’t worry about that, Steve! There are precious few women on this whole place, and the master himself doesn’t like them anyway. That’s why there are so many house boys and male slaves in the pleasure grounds, let alone all those in the work crews – the master fucks all of them, except the work crews as they’re mostly niggas. It’s fantastic for me, of course – all those guys who only get used occasionally by the master, all desperate for sex, and all wanting a good, hard body and a nice big dick…”
He stepped back a bit and looked at me, and went on “And you’re not so bad yourself – provided you get to work in the pleasure grounds and not in the work crews on the plantation, I’ll have real competition, I can see – your body needs toughening but you’re in great shape for a new slave…. And that dick of yours….”
My mind was reeling – it had never occurred to me that my uncle might fuck the slaves! He had always been single, of course, and possessed with a huge fortune and the plantation, it was always generally assumed that he was just waiting “for the right woman to come along”. But perhaps not!
I hadn’t been paying attention to Blackie as my mind raced on, and before I could stop him he’d taken my dick in one of his big hands, and was fondling it. I jerked back – I mean, it was bad enough having to listen to my pony telling me I had an OK bod and a nice dick, but to have him actually touch it… It was too much!
“Hey, Steve, what’s the problem?”
“Uhhh.. Well, Blackie, I don’t go with guys…”
“You mean you didn’t! Didn’t anyone tell you, Steve, that you do as you’re told when you’re a slave? I didn’t go with guys, either, until was made a slave – mind you, I’ve made up for it since! Come on… Let’s just have a bit of fun…. ”
Suddenly he stopped, and reached up for the thing hanging around my neck. “Oh, Straughan has said you’re not to be fucked. But that doesn’t mean we can’t jerk around, blow each other….”
I looked a the tiny pendant around my neck and saw that it was a characature of two guys fucking, with a bar running across it like you see in road signs to mean “no”. Thank Christ for that – it seemed Blackie respected this, so at least my ass would be safe for the time being! But it was evident that he wasn’t going to let me just sleep in my own stall, as he wrapped his arms around me and half pushed, half wrestled me down onto the straw.
“Come on, Steve! Don’t be a bore – it’s just you and me, two guys together. The other ponies here won’t disturb us…. Come on….” As he said this, be began to really stoke my dick as his other arm pulled our naked bodies closer together. Then his head went down, and he started to toy with my nips with his lips and teeth.
“NO!”, I shouted. “Leave me alone.”
He just redoubled his efforts, almost laughing as I heard him say “Now, Steve, we’re just two guys together. Let’s do what guys do…..”
It was more than I could bear. Not only did I not go with guys, but this was my pony, for fuck’s sake! I owned him, and here he was, about to use my body. Next week, once my uncle had released me, I’d make sure this dumb fuck was really punished – his days as the stud of the stables were over!
I told him no again, and he just laughed. “You’re trying to turn me on, aren’t you? A lot of guys say ‘no’ when they want you to carry on. They like to pretend they don’t want you to fuck them, but they want it really…. Some of these house boys scream and beg me to stop fucking them, but I know it’s only pretence and they’re doing it to arouse me… That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it, Steve…?”
I kept saying “no”. I tried to push him away. But he was big, he was strong, and he was experienced. It was almost as if my protests were making him redouble his efforts. Soon I had his tongue down my throat, as he kissed me passionately, as one hand was jerking me off and the other one was running in ecstasy up and down my back and over my butt. And he was right, too – although I had wanted him to stop, there was something now so unbelievably erotic about having this guy play with me like this that I was turned on, my dick went hard, and before I could stop it, I was pumping cum over us both.
Blackie stopped jerking me, pushed our bodies apart a bit, and lay there, smiling at me. “So, Steve – how was it? I think you’re like a lot of guys – you hate the thought of proper sex, but once you get started, you’re going to get hooked…. Now, your turn….. I’ve recovered from fucking that house boy….”
I reached out for his dick, and it felt different now: I’d handled it several times before, when I’d bought him, and occasionally during training, but now I was aroused. I wanted to feel his cum spurting out of that dick, and I wanted to feel his body close to mine.
It’s really different the first time you jerk another guy off, as I’m sure most of you will know. We get so used to jerking our own dicks that the sensation of another guy’s dick in your hands, that special feeling of the rock-hard dick inside its warm, soft sheath of skin, is almost overwhelming. Now I knew how stupid I’d been to scream at Blackie to stop, and how sensible he’d been to know that like all men, I really did want proper sex in spite of my protests. I stroked him, played with him, then slid my hands up and down his wonderful dick until he added his cum to the slimy layer that was covering our bodies. But he wasn’t finished – now he had both his arms around me, kissing me passionately, and my body was responding as our breath synchronised and our tongues beat a dance together. His legs were interlaced with mine, and he raised his thigh now so that I felt his hot muscles pressing against my hole, and my balls.
We slept, fitfully. Some time in the night I woke with a raging hard-on and felt my cock stabbing into Blackie’s washboard stomach as we lay in each others arms. He was awake too, as he whispered “So, Steve….. Ready for it again? Why don’t I turn over and you can try putting that dick of yours in my ass? Straughan has only said you’re not to be fucked, not that you can’t have a bit of fun yourself…”
He didn’t wait for my reply, but rolled over and I felt his firm, hot butt muscles against the end of my dick. I almost freaked out, the sensation was so amazing. I rubbed my body up and down his, feeling the waves of pleasure going through me, then, wanting – no, needing – more I forced my dick between the two muscled cheeks. Now my dick was almost in agony, it was so hard. I kept moving my body, almost involuntarily as I struggled to maximise the sensation, then, as I gradually wormed my way in, I knew I had touched his hole. Blackie gave a low moan, and the tip of my dick felt that special different texture, that warm, moist, crinkly kind of skin at the hole. I wanted to push myself in, and Blackie needed it, too, as he murmured “Oh, yes, Steve, go to it, man…. Fuck me, Steve…”
That caused me to jolt to a halt. I suddenly remembered who I was and what I was about to do. There’s obviously no prohibition in our society on fucking slaves, but it’s just not the “done thing” to fuck field workers, ponies, and other type of slave used for “menial” work – a gentleman is supposed to have proper pleasure slaves and personal servants for that. If it was ever known that I’d fucked my pony some of my friends would think I was some sort of pervert – very few, admittedly – and some might think it was just a joke – but everyone would think that there must be something very wrong in our household that I’d had to go to those lengths for satisfaction. I didn’t want my uncle to suffer that shame, as he was extremely generous in supplying house boys had I wanted them, as well as the female slaves that I normally used. So I pulled away, and whispered “No, Blackie….”
“Why not?”
“I don’t fuck guys….”
“Hey, we’ve been there before! It’s OK, you know. And I want you, Steve – it’s so long since I took dick, especially from a nice guy like you…. Please….”
“No, give me time to adjust, Blackie. I’d never had any kind of sex with a guy before tonight….”
“So I kind of took your cherry, Steve? Hey, you’ll soon come around to the proper, manly way of doing things, and when you do, will you promise me that I’ll be the first guy you fuck, and will you let me be the first guy to fuck you?”
I only needed to play for time, of course, as I’d be out of this madness soon, once my uncle returned. So I turned him around to face me again, put my arms around his lovely muscular shoulders, and whispered “Sure, Blackie…. You can be first…. We’ll be proper fuck buddies….”
I hated lying to him like this, as it’s demeaning for an owner to have to dissemble to a slave. After all, the owner owns the slave, so anything the owner decides has to be OK by the slave, doesn’t it? And I felt a twinge of guilt, almost, as Blackie sighed contentedly, kissed me gently, then pulled me close to him so that we could sleep.
My first experience of real hard slave work was the next day. Blackie went off to his pony cart, but Straughan himself came for me and took me to one of the giant strawberry fields for which we’re famous.
I don’t think I’ll ever like strawberries again! I was collared onto a coffle of about forty naked slaves – mostly niggas and Hispanics as this was field work and the white slaves were too expensive to be used for this. Then we were off – on hands and knees, crawling along the rows of strawberries. The overseer soon taught me the right way to go about things – stop by a plant, weed it, carefully pick any ripe berries and put them in a pannier strapped to my back, move any ripening fruit up on to the straw laid over the bed to prevent it getting damaged, and then move on to the next plant….. And do all this quickly! We had to work at a frantic speed, fingers flying through the plants, as the overseer liked to see a neat straight line of naked slaves stretched across the field, and it was unacceptable to lag: It’s amazing how you can pick up something like this and do it quickly when you butt is being “encouraged” by the tawse; and you soon learn that it’s totally unacceptable to eat the fruit – not even one berry.
The first time I popped one in my mouth as you do when picking strawberries (we used to have family picnics to the strawberry fields to pick our own for tea, and I could never resist taking berries as I picked) the tawse fell on me so hard that I spat it out, and the overseer told me that had it been Straughan who had seen me, the punishment would have been far, far worse. I remembered the incident with the weeviled peach, and almost shook with fear at the thought of the whip. But then, Straughan would surely never do that to me…. But, on the other hand, he was allowing the tawse…!
I expected that there would be some break, for a rest, or lunch, or something, but we worked on the whole day, without a break. My knees and back ached but there wad no way I could stop. A young slave came up and down the row with a water carrier and a thin hose, and pushed it into our faces so that we could drink as we worked. The sun beat down on me, and the flies were a constant irritation as they buzzed around the moistness in my groin and armpits from my sweat. And, of course, you pissed as you went along! I asked the overseer when I first needed to go, and got tawsed again for daring to speak without being spoken to. Then he pointed at the slave next to me, who was relieving himself – you just did it as you crawled along, but you had to move over slightly so that your piss did not touch the actual fruit itself.
I really did begin to wonder what other plantations must be like, if our treatment of the slaves was regarded as “humane”! I was sobbing with the pain in my joints that evening, and was again shackled into my stall. Blackie at once came in and seeing my plight, began to massage me – his rough hands seemed the finest thing I’d ever felt as they tried to stroke and soothe away the ache, better even than those of my slave Sam who usually tended to my body: but then, when Sam did it, it was because I had a spare hour or so and I enjoyed being there in the warmth of my bathroom as the slave worked away; but now it was really doing me some good and wasn’t just a sybaritic distraction.
“Hey ,that’s good… Where did you learn to do this?”
“Oh, another pony did it to me when I first came here, after that bastard started training me….”
“I’d heard that the owner here was good to his slaves….”
“It’s all relative, Steve. They are relatively good to their slaves, compared to some others. The bastard that trained me had me running until I was dropping, then he’d whip me to get the ‘extra five percent’ as they call it – you’ll see, one they start training you or whatever work you’re going to do. It was fucking awful, I can tell you. I was pretty fit and everything, and I could easily have worked myself up to what they wanted to do, but my owner, this nephew guy, couldn’t wait: he had me out in the training paddock almost day and night, ‘encouraging’ me with his whip.” “Is that why you said he was a bad owner….?” I was really curious now, as Blackie’s account of his training was so different from my own recollection of it: I really couldn’t remember whipping him more than ten or twenty times, and was surprised it seemed to be so much more to Blackie.
“Well, the training was OK, I guess. But afterwards – I was his pony for seven or eight years, and never a kind word, or a ‘well done’. Just the carriage whip to ‘encourage’ me – there’s a place around her called Half Mile Hill, and he was particularly fond of making sure I never slowed the pace as I went up there…. And he always made me wear a bit and silencer – even when I was fully voice trained, and would have responded to any command…”
“But I thought all ponies wore bits, it’s kind of ‘traditional’….”
“Yes, Steve, but why have the silencer plate as well? I wouldn’t have spoken. And I still have to wear that every morning. And he was the first to adopt the head strap, to keep my head upright – have you any idea how difficult it is to run hard when you can’t bend your head into the work…..?”
I swallowed nervously. Of course I’d done the “right” thing in using my pony in the way that was “fashionable”, and I thought he was exaggerating just a bit. But I didn’t want to upset him, so I didn’t argue.
“But you know, Steve, the worst thing is that they don’t let you write letters or anything here – I could at least have been allowed to write to my wife, and find out if my two boys were all right as they were only babies when I came here to get work. And I do always wonder why she made no effort to get me released…..”
“But how could she do that? You said you were poor, which is why you came here in the first place, and you must have cost a lot of money to buy from the slave dealer….”
“We were poor, Steve. My wife ran away from her family as she wanted to marry me, but they wanted her to marry a banker or lawyer or someone, not a labourer, like me. Even when we had the kids they refused to help unless she gave me up, and went back to the family home. I loved my kids, Steve…. Well, you’ll know how it is, having two of your own… And we wouldn’t do that. So I came to the USA and was sending money home until that new law came in…. And the irony is that I only had another six months to go.”
“How so?”
“My wife came into her own money when she was twenty one, and then I didn’t need to work illegally here and could have gone home. But I was enslaved just before that time… Another few months and I’d have been living the life of a normal guy, with my wife and kids…. I’m just surprised that when she got her money she didn’t try to trace me and buy my freedom from this place. It’s too late now, I guess, as she’ll have remarried and my kids call someone else ‘dad’….”
As he said this he’d gradually stopped massaging me and his voice had got lower and kind of trembley. I felt fucking awful – about six months after we’d bought Blackie my uncle had showed me a letter from the US Department Of Slave Affairs. It said that we were the registered owners of slave so-and-so (those unpronounceable Cs and Zs), SIN such-and-such and that an offer had been received to buy the slave – this was not uncommon, as families would often try to ‘ransom’ slaves, and the price offered was a very good one, far more than we had paid for Blackie. All such offers were routed through the department so that families could not trace where their loved ones were, the letter continued, and we should have no concern that there might be embarrassing scenes at our home irrespective of whether we accepted the offer, or ignored it.
My uncle had of course wanted to sell, as he spotted a profit, but I had by then put a lot of personal time into training Blackie and certainly did not want to have to do it all again with another slave; and anyway I’d got to like his general colouring and his physique, and I wasn’t sure we’d find another as good. I’d really had to throw my toys around to make sure my uncle did as I wanted, and heaved a hearty sigh when he tossed the letter casually into the fire one day after a stormy scene with me. It had just never occurred to me that I might be doing terrible things to Blackie’s life – my almost selfish desire to capitalise on my time spent training him had cost him his freedom, and the opportunity to bring up his sons.
I didn’t know what to say or do – clearly I couldn’t ever tell him about the letter, though! Instead, I sat up, wincing at the effort this cost me in my muscles, and put my arms around him. “Hey, it wasn’t all bad, though”, I said, trying to sound consoling. “You’ve got a good life here, you’re well fed, they don’t whip you much…. And you’ve got as much sex as you want…!”
Blackie has one of those personalities that quickly recovers from upsets, and he kissed me. “You may be right, Steve. It did make me discover proper sex, and I do enjoy that. But it doesn’t compensate me for the loss of my sons… Who knows, I might have ‘discovered’ proper sex – a lot of married guys do – and then I could have taught my sons… Imagine, Steve, watching your sons get to puberty and then being able to teach them about sex: no need for books and stuff, just father and son ‘learning by doing’. They could avoid all that guilt trip so many young guys go through when they hear all that propaganda about men and women being the only ‘right’ way to do it… And what fun they’d have at college and so on, knowing what it was really all about….”
As I listened to him I wondered why I was apparently so very unusual – he’d had two sons, and loved them. The “real” Steve Masters had two sons, and presumably wanted them. And yet I had refused my uncle’s simple wish to produce him “an heir and a spare”. All guys wanted sons, I knew, so why had I been so very firm in my refusal to marry Marie-Louise? After all, as my uncle had said, in our society it was perfectly acceptable for husbands and wives to live “separate lives” after the kids were born, and I could have had all the fun of seeing my own sons grow up whilst going off and doing whatever else in life I wanted.
Still, that was all water under the bridge – although I thought I could perhaps offer my uncle my agreement to go ahead if he spoke to Marie- Louise’s folks again – I didn’t mind fucking women, as that was what I’d always done before, and after the kids were born I could then go off and do what Blackie so charmingly called “proper sex”: I wouldn’t be the first married man to play away from home, after all! Yes, that was it – once I made that offer, I’d be certain to be reconciled to my uncle.
The future began to look bright, and even the ache in my limbs went away. Blackie was now holding me gently, nuzzling at my nips and playing with my resultant erection, when a voice said “Hi, Blackie…..”
We both looked up and there was one of the house boys, one of the waiters, I think, a nicely proportioned lad who I guessed was about twenty. He started to pull his tunic over his head, showing his smooth, hairless body, which sported a nice dick (erect!), a firm belly, and modest, but firm pecs.
“Not tonight”, Blackie snapped.
“But you said we could get together tonight – it’s the night when I’m not on duty until midnight…. Please, Blackie.”
“No, I said! I’ve got Steve here, tonight.”
“But can’t I join you – please, Blackie – you can both fuck me if you want.”
“What do you think, Steve? Shall we let him join us? Fancy a threesome? I can use him to demonstrate a few things to you that I’ve learned over the years….”
“NO, Blackie – I’ve told you, I don’t fuck guys!”
Blackie just shrugged, and snapped “Fuck off, back to the house. You’ve heard Steve, he doesn’t want to fuck you, and I’m going to spend my time with him tonight.”
The lad looked really disappointed as he left, and Blackie cuddled me closer to him “Don’t feel too bad about it, Steve – there are a lot of those house boys and they think that they can come and take your dick whenever they want. It will do him good to know that I’m not desperate for his ass…. Especially now I know I’ve got you….”
To be continued …
