The Making Of A Ponyslave (4)

TRANSPORTATION

The three of us had been in the cage for some time, and gradually the other cages in the row were being emptied as guards came and took away their naked occupants.

Finally, our turn must have come, because the cage door was unlocked and we were shepherded out, along a set of corridors, and out on to what was obviously a loading bay. There were a number of light trucks drawn up, and drivers in regular delivery driver uniforms standing around. It just looked like a parcels depot back home, but the only merchandise being moved here was slaves – as well as us standing there, there were some blacks, and a couple of women – I guess they must have been at different auctions held later in the day, as the one I had been sold at was exclusively for white men.

The dispatcher came up, holding a clipboard, and looked at the numbers that were still showing on our asses. He consulted his list, and told a guard to take us to one of the small trucks standing towards the end of bay. “Make sure they ease themselves first “, he told the guard, “as they’ve got a long journey”. I was glad at least that our supposition had been correct – evidently Hans, Mike and I were all going to the same place.

The guard pushed us along, and stopped by a hole cut in to the floor of the bay. “Piss and crap now”, he said. I went to piss in to the hole standing up, but the guard pushed me down. “Even if you only want to piss, you crouch over that hole. We don’t like slaves with poor aim getting the floor wet”. I squatted there, and really didn’t believe I could crap in public – as well as Mike and Hans and the other naked male and female slaves on the loading bay, there were of course all the drivers and guards watching. It wasn’t so bad having the other naked slaves there, but the sight of the normal, every day workers in their western-style work uniforms just standing around and shooting the breeze with each other caused me to cramp up. But nature took its course, and in spite of myself I felt a huge turd drop in to the hole, and a stream of piss splash down after it.

Mike and Hans were then made to squat over the hole in turn, and finally we were once again all three standing there waiting to see what would happen next. One of the drivers came over and asked the dispatcher if we had cleaned up. “I’ve got a long journey, and if the slaves don’t clean themselves properly after crapping, it makes the truck smell”, he said. There had been no toilet tissue offered to us after our performance at the hole, but the dispatcher now went off and came back with some sheets of tissue and we were told to clean up. Somehow standing there wiping my ass in public was even worse than crapping in front of other people, and I realised how low I had become. None of the people on the bay seemed to think it unusual to see three guys bending over and cleaning their asses, and I guessed that this must be normal for slaves. Indeed, no one even seemed to be noticing us, as they went about their every day business.

We were then led over to the light truck at the end of the bay, and the driver and dispatcher fussed over paperwork on the clipboard. I had often had UPS deliver things to my college dorm, and I recognised exactly what was happening – the driver and dispatcher were completing transfer forms, so that the merchandise could be accounted for through the system. The only difference was that this time the merchandise included me; I was no more than an expensive parcel to these guys.

Inside the truck there were two rails at chest height running parallel to the length of the truck, and about 1 metre apart. Hans was pushed in between the rails, and his arms were pulled over the rails, then stretched out to the sides of the truck, where they were manacled in to cuffs on little sliding rails mounted on to the truck walls. I was next, and Mike came in behind me.

We stood there for a couple of minutes, and I could see that in front of Hans there were already some guys similarly shackled – obviously they had been loaded earlier, or had come from elsewhere. I suppose this truck specialised in slave transport, and picked up slaves from a number of destinations.

Finally, behind Mike two more slaves were loaded and manacled – twisting around, I recognised a couple of the Slavic types who didn’t speak English, who had been in the cage with us and auctioned on the same day.

Suddenly we were all pushed forward – I heard shouting behind, and saw the guards with their stun guns urging the Slavs forward. We all shuffled along the truck, until Hans was almost touching the guys who were already in there. But we couldn’t stop – the pressure from behind continued, and Mike nudged me forward and I had to push Hans into the slaves who had already been waiting in there patiently. The pressure continued, and now I was firmly sandwiched between Hans and Mike; their warm bodies were in close contact with mine, Mike’s cock was pushing at my ass cheeks, and mine was firmly lodged in Hans’s crack.

I heard the driver say “That’s enough. They need to be firmly together so they don’t get damaged in transit as the truck goes over the highway and around corners. The rails were a big innovation to stop them swaying in to the walls all the time, but I find you still need them packed up lengthways, too, in case I have to brake suddenly.” And with that, the doors at the back were swung shut, and we were in darkness.

Moments later the truck started off – I realised that the motor had been running all the time, as there was air conditioning inside; without it, we would have been in a terrible state as with the blazing Arabian sun even a white truck would have been like a furnace inside. I suppose this was another of their “innovations” to keep the stock in good condition.

We lurched along, bouncing up and down slightly and swaying from side to side. The rails under our arms did indeed prevent us from getting thrown around too much, and when the truck braked we couldn’t get thrown forwards as we were already packed tightly in that direction. But there was a problem – Hans, Mike and I were still all lightly oiled from the auction display, and the motion of the truck caused us to constantly rub against one another. Even though I had got a bit used to body contact with other guys in the last few days, nothing had prepared me for this – the most constant, intimate rubbing of our whole bodies together. In spite of the air conditioning, I broke out in a sweat, and this increased the sensation as our slick bodies glided over each other.

My prick went into a wild erection, pushing into Hans’s ass cheeks in front of me, and the hairless crack was hot and very wet. I could feel Mike’s erection in turn trying to thrust up my ass, and I started to cry: I couldn’t say whether this was from shame, humiliation, or sheer frustration – it was probably a mix of all these, and showed the state I had fallen in to.

Hans turned his head around as best he could and said in his South African accent “Hey, Steve, man, don’t worry. None of us wants to be here like this. None of us is gay. I know from the service though that when you get guys close together you can easily find yourself against your mate’s erection. Isn’t that right, Mike?”

“Yes “, Mike answered from behind me. “But when we have been out in the bush on patrol and pressed close waiting for the rebels to appear, we usually had our erections covered by a jockstrap and combat trousers! This is a bit different.”

In spite of our misery, we managed to laugh a bit at this, and the journey went on. Not only was the feeling of Hans body in front of me a totally new sensation, but I after a little while I started to smell him as well. Although we had been showered and cleaned before the sale earlier in the day, the constant sweating we had all been doing had caused our skins now to have a strange, musky man odour.

And as I bumped and grinded into Hans in time with the rhythm of the truck, there was a strange, heady mixture of sweat, body odour, and the faint ammonia whiff of pre-cum being pumped up into my nose from where my cock was still firmly wedged between his ass cheeks. This made my erection even worse, and I whispered to Hans that I was sorry. “Don’t worry, man”, he reassured me, “You should feel what I’m doing to the guy in front of me”.

After what seemed an age, the truck stopped and the doors opened. The two Slavs behind Mike were offloaded, and we could hear the driver discussing the paperwork with someone out side the truck. I was right – this was a straight delivery service, and he was working a route, delivering each set of merchandise in turn. No one else was loaded in, so I guessed we would be the next delivery.

Finally, the doors opened again, and Mike, Hans and I were unmanacled and told to get out. We stood under a blazing desert sun, on sand that was almost too hot for our naked feet to bear, in front of a long, low white building. All around we could see other buildings that were set on fresh, green grass, in a park-like setting. After days of seeing only the inside of buildings, it all looked very beautiful. We stretched our aching arms, and Hans and Mike did a couple of squats to get their legs working properly.

We were signed for by a guy in his mid thirties who was wearing denim cut-offs, and nothing else. He was deeply tanned, quite muscular, and had a thick thatch of curly black hair on his chest and stomach. One of the now-familiar stun guns was cradled loosely in one hand. “Welcome to the ranch”, he said. “I’m one of the Overseers, and you’ll be seeing a lot of me if you get assigned to field work. I don’t know what the master has in mind for you, but he’s due back here in a couple of days and I guess he will decide then. That will just give us time to get you properly processed and trimmed, and through testing and quarantine.”.

I don’t know whether it was the relief from being in the open again, or the cumulative shock of everything that had happened to us, but none of us seemed able to say a word. And when he gestured for us to move off in the direction of the door in front of us, we all meekly obeyed.

THE SLAVE MASTER

Inside the building we went into a room, and there was an Arab sitting there in western dress. He said “I am the Sheikh’s slave master, and have complete power over all the slaves on his estates. And by ‘complete’, I mean ‘complete’. I say whether you are fed, what jobs you do, whether we breed from you, or whether we sell you on. I’m going to take a little of my time to tell you about your future life – listen carefully, because I will say it only once. You will find that paying attention now will save you much needless fretting and worry in the future, as I am going to map out the rest of your life for you.”

“The Sheikh has bought you men because he likes to revitalise his slave herd with wild stock from time to time. Understand that as a slave you have absolutely no rights, only a duty to work hard at whatever tasks your master assigns you. You are very fortunate to have been bought by the Sheikh, because he is a good master. The only form of punishment allowed here is the whip, and he will not allow the overseers to use mutilation even for very bad or persistent offenders. His fellow owners think he’s too soft, because he does not practice body modification on his slaves – even if your permanent job is to work a treadmill to pump water in to the fields, he allows you to keep your arms even though they are not necessary for the work. And he does not have you blinded, even if you are chained in one place every day and have no need to be able to see.”

“I can see that you are all in your twenties, and in good physical shape. You will be pleased to know that you can expect a long life here, as we take proper care of your diet, and our veterinarian is always on hand to treat any diseases that develop. In fact you can expect to be in much better physical shape when you’re 45 than you would be in the West. Our slave diet is specially formulated to give you the energy you need without containing any sugar to rot your teeth, or any fats to give you heart attacks. Each day we look at the energy you have used working, and give you just enough of the slave feed that you need. So you’ll never put on an ounce of fat, and will remain lean for the whole of your life. Initially you’ll get extra rations because we’ll be building up your muscles to the standard we require for your particular work, but it will soon taper off to the normal daily replacement amount. When you get your ration of slave feed each evening, it is therefore particularly important that you eat it all – either we are building you up, or we are replacing the energy you used. Either way, failure to eat the entire allocated ration upsets our plans for you and we will whip you.”

“Although I am speaking to you in English, you will be taught a set of basic Arabic phrases to control your work and your life. All the overseers and guards only use this basic language, and any failure to obey their commands is punishable by whipping. As you will see later, you will have no need to learn to speak this language, just to jump to obey commands in it.”

“Any physical violence, however slight, to an overseer is punishable by death. Any attempt to leave the grounds of the Sheikh’s estate here is punishable in only one way – by death. Wherever you go, we’ll track you down and bring you back here for execution. This is not usually a problem, because the estate is out in the middle of the desert and without access to a vehicle you would certainly die of exposure and thirst before you reached the next settlement. As an added precaution, however, we have you electronically tagged like any other valuable property. We will implant a microchip in you, which can be tracked by satellite. If you go missing from the estate, we can then very quickly locate where you have gone, and bring you back for execution.”

“The Sheikh will almost certainly choose to breed from you. As I said, he likes to invigorate his herd with wild slaves. I can see that he has chosen you two South Africans because you have the stocky, muscular build that we need in our heavy workers. And I suppose he likes the blond because he wants to lighten the colour of some of the darker blood lines resulting from interbreeding with blacks to increase the musculature. However understand that breeding is only permitted according to the Sheikh’s stud plans. We take a blood sample when you arrive, so we have your DNA on file. Every baby born to one of the brood mares is DNA typed, and if it is discovered that you have fathered any child outside the proper stud programme, the punishment is castration.”

“Sex with other male slaves is not allowed either. Generally you will be too exhausted at the end of each day to want to fuck each other, but even if you’re tempted to, don’t do it. The Sheikh likes the assholes of his slaves to be kept just for the pleasure of any of his guests who are turned on by the sight of your body. So periodically we swab all the assholes in a barracks, and check them for traces of semen left here by illicit slave to slave fucking. We can use our DNA register to find out who has been fucking who, and the penalty for both slaves is castration. It is important to keep your balls in good working order, because of the possible use in the breeding programme, so every night on your return to barracks you will milk yourselves before entering the shower.”

“All male slaves on the estate live and work entirely naked. You will never wear clothes again. This may seem harsh, given the strong sun and high daytime temperatures, but look at it from our point of view. You would not work any harder in clothes. Providing clothes would be an extra expense, and there would be additional costs associated with washing them and so on. Without clothes, you are constantly reminded of your servile status, and it’s easy for you to know who to obey – anyone clothed must be a master, even if like the overseer here the master chooses only to wear very minimal clothing. When you are working at job that is continuous, there is no need to keep stopping for breaks to piss – without clothes you can simply do it whilst working. Keeping you naked also makes it easier to see your ownership marks. And lastly, of course, there is a great deal of aesthetic delight in seeing a muscular, tanned slave straining his muscles at his allotted work.”

“Finally, let me give you one last word of advice: forget your past life completely. You are now naked slaves, working for the Sheikh. Your days will be filled with hard work, it will be boring and repetitive, and you will be exhausted every night. There will be no colour or excitement in your life at all, and every day will be very much like the last. So do not have any expectations or hopes – just work away like the draft animals that you have become. If you do that, you will survive, and will not be whipped often. You can expect at least 25 years of slavery here on the Sheikh’s estate, and when we judge that you are finally worn out, or your bodies are no longer giving us pleasure, we will have you painlessly terminated. On the other hand, if you keep hoping for ‘rescue’, or if you have notions that you are a ‘free man’ and try to disobey orders, you will be constantly frustrated and unhappy. The overseers will detect that you do not have the right attitude, and you will attract punishment. The more punishment you have, the more resentful you will get, until one day you will snap and attempt to escape, or strike an overseer. And then you will be painfully executed.”

“Now we are going to process you into the Sheikh’s service. You will notice that I have not asked you if you have any questions. Slaves do not ask questions!”.

And so saying, the slave master gestured to the overseer who had been standing there listening, and he marched us out through a door leading further into the complex.

THE MAKING OF A PONY SLAVE – PART 4

PROCESSING

In the next room there was a shower head on one wall, and a leather-topped table. The overseer in the denim cut-offs said “Under the shower all three of you. Scrub each other clean. All over. One lesson you have to learn is that as slaves you are not allowed to wash your own bodies. We usually have bathhouse slaves to groom you, but here you wash each other.”

He waved his stun gun menacingly, and we knew he meant business. So we turned the water on, and all three of us clustered under the shower. I stated to soap myself, and an instant later was lying quivering on the floor, with my limbs spasming in agony.

“I told you that you are not allowed to wash your own body” the overseer said. “If you disobey a simple order like that again, you won’t just get the gun, you’ll be whipped. Now get back under the shower. And you ” – he pointed at Mike – “wash him thoroughly.”.

Mike helped me to my feet, then started to soap my body. “And up his ass too “, said the overseer, “And be sure to get any smeg out from under his foreskin. I think they’re perfectly unhygienic myself, but the Sheikh has decided to keep it on him for the time being.”

I felt Mike’s soapy fingers sliding between my ass cheeks, then he stood in front of me, and looked apologetically into my eyes as his fingers pushed my foreskin back. It was a strange mixture between pain and tickling as he ran the edge of his nail around behind my cock head, to make sure there were no particles of smeg lurking there.

After we were all showered, the overseer opened a door and called “Barber!”. A naked slave came in, holding the now usual shaving kit, and a pair of electric clippers that he plugged in to a socket in the wall.

“The Sheikh doesn’t like body hair. ” said the overseer. “The barber here is going to give you a very, very short haircut. Then he’s going to trim your armpit hair down to a length of a quarter of an inch. You are only allowed a decorative trim of pubic hair, so you’ll lose all of that, except for a one inch wide strip just running the width of your cock and ball sack – and that will be clipped back to a length of a quarter of an inch. All your other body hair will be shaved off.”

“It will be interesting to see what you big guys look like after you have lost that thatch of hair from your pecs and stomachs “, he went on, looking at Hans and Mike. “It will be easier to see your muscle definition. And, of course, without all that hair you’ll look much more like all the other slaves. When you join your team, we don’t want there to be huge differences between you, as it’s more pleasing to see a team of near clones than one composed of mismatched sizes and shapes, with all varieties of body hair. It’s irritating, though, because we have to keep you shaved and clipped – it all starts to grow back so quickly.”

“But with this one “, he said to the barber, pointing at me, “leave that trail of hair up from his cock to his navel. It’s blond, so you really only see it when you look closely, and I think it emphasises his different nature. We’re not looking at a muscle-god type here, and the small line of hair there just makes him that bit different. But strip of f the rest, and trim his armpits and pubic hair as standard.”

Once again, I felt I was being talked about just as if I wasn’t there. The overseer was obviously an American, but he didn’t seem to notice that I was, too, and that Hans and Mike were South Africans – proper civilised people, like him! I think we were by now all so amazed at what was happening to us that we didn’t even put up a token resistance as, one by one, we were first sat on the leather table whilst the hair on our heads was cut off, then lay on it whilst the clippers and razor did their work over the rest of our bodies.

I looked at Mike and Hans after the barber had finished, and it was certainly true that they were now much more alike. Hans had been covered in a layer of wiry, black hair, whereas Mike had been much smoother and had brown hair. Now, with their very short haircuts and the small one-inch strip of clipped hair over their cocks, they really did look almost like twins.

“This way “, said the overseer, as he led us on to the next room. “Time for the veterinarian”.

We went through the door, and were in what looked like a doctor’s surgery. There was a handsome thirty-ish guy standing there in a white coat and slacks. The overseer said “These are the new three, for the stables. You know what to do”.

The doctor came over to us and said “I am the veterinarian here at the ranch. I look after the health of all the Sheikh’s slaves, and, if necessary, carry out any minor surgery that is needed – including castrations if the Sheikh orders it. I’m going to do two things today – take blood, urine and semen samples, and give you massive shots of vaccines against all the infectious diseases that are hereabouts.”. Hans went to say something – I guess to tell the guy that we had all that done at the slave auction centre – but as soon as he started to speak, the overseer prodded him with the stun gun, and he fell to the floor.

“Don’t you know yet that slaves don’t speak?”, asked the veterinarian. “Never. You do not start speaking to a master. I know that you had samples taken at the government auction house, and I have the results here. But we don’t trust them completely, and, anyway, I need much more detailed tests so that I can file your DNA profiles. Now, all of you, go up to the desk and fill those urine containers.”

He pointed to a desk against one wall, on which there were three plastic cylinders, and we went over to them. I guess it is symptomatic of the way that I was turning from a free man into a slave that I had no problem in peeing in public now.

The veterinarian then came over with three smaller cylinders, and said “Now for the semen”, and we just stood there and jerked off, without a murmur of protest. And finally he approached us again with syringes, and proceeded to take a blood sample from each of us.

“Now for the vaccine shots “, he said, “and for the two tough ones, the first of their steroids”. Looking at Hans and Mike he went on to say “You are both well muscled, but you’re going in to training for the hardest jobs on the ranch. You need to put on a lot of extra muscle quickly, else you’ll put an unfair additional burden on your team mates. So we help you along in the early days with massive doses of steroids. Because these tend to shrivel the testicles and dry up your sex juices, I’ll compensate by also giving you booster shots of testosterone. Of course I couldn’t do this whilst I was a doctor in the USA, but as the Sheikh’s veterinarian, I do everything I can to get his stock into peak condition as quickly as possible. Now, bend over”.

We all three bent over the desk, and I had about four injections in my left ass cheek. Mike and Hans had two more than me.

After this, the veterinarian said to the overseer “OK, that’s all for today. We’ll do the rest tomorrow morning, assuming the test results come back with no problems. Lock them in an isolation cage tonight – we don’t want them mixing with the rest of the stock in case there is some lurking infection.”

The overseer motioned us to go out of the surgery, but halted us for a moment whilst he said to the veterinarian “Are we still on for that game of racquet ball at 8 tonight?”

“Sure “, said the veterinarian, “I’m looking forward to it. You butch guys who are out driving the slaves all day think you’re fit, and can beat anyone. But I’m working my way up the leagues, and I’ve already pissed all over your mate Greg on Monday night. So you’re next!”.

I couldn’t believe this conversation. Here I was, stripped of my dignity and my freedom, standing there whilst two American guys talked about their workout later that night. I again felt another wave of humiliation and despair sweep over me – it was made worse by the fact that, apart from the guy styling himself a “veterinarian” rather than a “doctor”, I had been treated in what looked like a normal hospital emergency room.

The overseer led us out of the veterinarian’s room, along a couple of corridors, and then locked all three of us into a small cell. This was totally bare, with plain tiled walls and floor, except for what I recognised as the hole for pissing and crapping in one corner, and a peculiar small flap, about 1 inch wide, sticking out of the wall. Hans went over and looked at this, and, after a moment, came back and told us that it was a water tap – you had to put your mouth over the whole thing, then lift the flap up with your tongue to get water to flow. “I guess it’s so that you can drink, even if your hands are manacled”, he said.

This is the first time any of us had spoken, and we cringed, expecting to get jabbed with a stun gun. But of course we were alone in the cell, and we soon fell to talking.

“Jeez, man”, said Hans, “This is bad. We’re in the middle of nowhere. I’ve been shorn of all my hair and I feel like a school boy again. And what’s all this about a ‘team’?”.

Mike said “don’t worry, Hanny. We’ve been in worse than this. Remember when our whole patrol was captured by those rebels, and we thought they were going to kill us one at a time. At least we’re alive, and they seem to want to keep us alive. They keep talking about how much we cost!”.

I was about to say something, when the cage door opened and a guard came in with three plastic plates, each containing a pile of what looked like dried worms. “Eat this now”, he said.

I picked up two of the “worms”, and smelt them – they had no smell. So I touched one to my tongue, expecting them to taste foul. But they had no taste. So I cautiously chewed and swallowed them. They were difficult to eat, because their texture was like cardboard, and they were utterly bland and taste-free.

The guard was becoming impatient, and said “This is slave meal. You eat up your entire ration when it’s given to you. Slaves are not permitted to refuse to eat their ration of slave meal each day. And when you’ve finished, be sure to drink at least one litre of water. It’s a special dry formulation so we can easily store the sacks of it, but you need to wash it down with lots of water to make sure your guts can digest it properly”.

We struggled on, and when we had finished, the guard went out and locked the door behind him. This was my first taste of slave meal, and I was to find out that in future that was all I was ever going to be given to eat.

The lights went out, and there was nothing else for us to do but to try to make ourselves comfortable on the hard tiled floor. We spent the night huddled together, for mutual comfort and support.

After what seemed like a very long night the lights came on again and the guard unlocked the door and we were herded back to the veterinarian’s office. He was waiting for us, and said to the guard “Are you certain they have not been fed and watered this morning?”

“Yes “, replied the guard, “They have had no slave meal, and we turned off the water feeder in their cell last night”.

“Good “, said the veterinarian, “I need to anaesthetise them, and sometimes the slaves throw up if the needle hits them after they have been fed. Now, who’s first? “

Hans, Mike and I looked at each other and, in his usual way, Hans stepped forward.

“Into the chair”, said the veterinarian, pointing to a dentist’s chair. Hans went over and sat down. The veterinarian pressed a button, and Hans’s arms and legs were clamped to the chair by straps that came out from the structure. He then adjusted what I thought was the head rest, but soon saw was a clamping device to hold Hans’s head upright and rigid.

“Open wide”, he said, and, when Hans did nothing, he casually reached down and squeezed Hans’s balls until Hans complied. Whilst his mouth was open, the veterinarian then pushed wedges in to Han’s open mouth, so he couldn’t shut it again.

“You slaves don’t know how lucky you are to have a merciful master like the Sheikh”, said the veterinarian. “At my last place, I used to do dentistry entirely without anaesthetic – as well as being much cheaper, the master there thought the pain was good for the slaves, and he would often come and hear them scream, especially when I was doing extractions. But this won’t hurt a bit “, and, with that, he started to inject Hans’s gums as dentists usually do.

He then went through a full inspection, and said “Good – excellent condition. No need for any remedial work. That South African lifestyle obviously did you good. And there won’t be any problem with caries in future here, as the slave meal is mildly antiseptic so there’s no danger of getting tooth decay even though you’ll never use a toothbrush again. Now if the other two are in such good condition as you, I’ll be finished early and can get out on to the golf course this afternoon!”.

I thought he meant that he was therefore finished with Hans, but instead he tilted the chair backwards, sat over Hans, and pulled the drill towards him. He took over one hour to treat Hans, and there was a lot of drilling, clamping, and filing going on – neither Mike nor I could see fully, as we were on the other side of the room. After about 20 minutes of standing, we had been allowed to sit down on the floor by the guard, and sat there with our backs against the wall.

Finally, the veterinarian was finished, and pushed the button that released Hans. Hans was muttering something, that neither Mike nor I could understand, and we thought it must still be the effect of the anaesthetic on his mouth.

Mike was told to go to the chair next, and the whole process was repeated. But he took even longer than Hans, as he needed two small fillings before the veterinarian began the same lengthy job he had done on Mike.

Then it was my turn, and I sat in the chair with some fear – I have never liked dentists. The leather seat was warm and sweaty under my naked ass, as both Hans and Mike had occupied it for about two hours now. The straps curled over my arms and legs and the veterinarian clamped my head rigid to the chair. “Now, he said, are you going to be sensible and open wide, or do I get to twist your handsome balls too?”

I knew it was no use resisting, so I opened my mouth and soon it was wedged open – I noticed that the same wooden wedges were used on me as were used on Hans and Mike, and they were already wet with saliva when they went into my mouth. I think the veterinarian noticed me seeing this, and said “Yes, we do make some savings for the Sheikh. Why do you need new wedges? You and your fellow slaves are all disease free, so there’s no harm if you drink a gallon of their spit!”

He examined me thoroughly, and said “Good. No fillings here either.” Then he approached with the syringe, and injected my lower jaw on both sides of my mouth. I wondered why he was doing this if I didn’t need any treatment, but couldn’t ask as my mouth was wedged open.

“You’re the one who has to have a bit more done “, he said. “We’ll just wait for a moment for the anaesthetic to take effect. ” He came back a couple of minutes later with surgical pliers, and, to my amasement, proceeded to struggle to pull out the molar at the back of the left side of my mouth. It was followed a minute later by the lower right back molar, and out of the corner of my eye I could see my two beautiful white teeth, in perfect condition, lying in a steel tray by the side of the chair. In spite of the anaesthetic, it wasn’t at all a pleasant experience, and if Hans and Mike had not been sitting slumped against the wall on the other side of the room, I would probably have cried.

But all was not yet over. Like Hans and Mike, he worked away, drilling and filing at my lower jaw for another half hour or so. Then there was a “snap” in my mouth, and he straightened up and pressed the chair release button and said “OK, you’re through”.

Turning to us all he said “The blond here will have some pain later today because of the two extractions he has had. But all three of you should have no discomfort from the tongue restraints I have fitted, unless you try to push against them.”

“Let me explain. Slaves are not allowed to speak. The Sheikh finds it unpleasant to have the possibility that his own conversations, or quiet moments, may be interrupted by a slave improperly asking a question. So he has all his slaves silenced. In the olden days we did this by simply cutting the vocal chords, and that’s what many masters still have done. But the Sheikh is merciful and does not believe in extremes of body modification. And he has an eye to the resale value of stock if he wants to trade you on – some masters buy unruly slaves specially so they can whip them or torture them, and it’s not so much fun if the slaves can’t scream in agony. So he has that bar fitted across between your lower jaws that you can feel if you probe it gently with your tongue; it’s not permanent, as it screws on at each end to sockets I have drilled into your teeth. Of course you can’t remove it, as it needs a special type of screwdriver, and only I have one of those. Be careful, because he underside of the bar is fitted with a set of spikes. The idea is that you have to keep your tongue firmly on the floor of your mouth. And with your tongue there, you can’t speak. Simple, isn’t it?”.

We realised the truth of what he said, as when I tried to speak, I couldn’t. Now I knew why I had only heard the two big black slaves grunting whilst they had shaved me and oiled me at the slave auction centre. And why the barber here at the ranch had never said a word. But why had I had two teeth extracted too? – Hans and Mike hadn’t.

“OK, said the veterinarian, just one more thing and then you’re done here and I can get to my golf game. I need to microchip you.”

He went to a cabinet, and got out three enormous capsules. They were very big for medicines, but he came over to where we were slumped against the wall and said “Swallow these”.

When we hesitated because of the size of the capsule, he motioned to the guard, who came over and waved his stun gun over us – this was a big incentive, and with a lot of gagging and choking, I managed to get mine down.

We were left sitting there for about an hour, whilst the veterinarian went off to coffee, so he said. When he came back, he took us in turn and stood us in front of a small X-ray machine in the corner. We were then left alone again for about 15 minutes, then we were X-rayed again.

“Ah, good. “, he said, “They’re in the right place.”

He took out a small electronic control box, and pressed it against each of our stomachs in turn, and then e were again moved in front of the X-ray machine.

He seemed satisfied, and said to us “You now have your microchips implanted. I watched on the X-rays as those capsules you swallowed went down your gut, then at the right moment I sent a signal to activate them. They shoot spikes out and lodge in your gut wall, and now they’re there permanently. You don’t feel anything, as there are no pain receptors inside your gut.”

“Whenever we need to know where you are, we can send a signal from the satellite and the microchip will act as a transponder, so the satellite can accurately locate your position. Funny, isn’t it, that we’re using American satellite location technology to track down escaping slaves! And remember, even though the Sheikh is merciful, he will, without hesitation, have you brutally put to death if you attempt an escape, or if you strike a guard, overseer, or master”.

“I’ve finished with you now. That’s all the veterinarian has to do for new slaves. You’ve just got to go through marking, and then you can start work. Meanwhile, I’m off to golf!”.

To be continued …