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The Making Of A Ponyslave (9)


As I ran off, the Overseer and his friend continued their conversation about the types they were going to pick for their pleasure that evening from the various groups of field slaves on the estate. But it was not to be.

I had only been running for a few minutes towards our first call, when one of the messenger slaves overtook us and I was pulled to a halt. The Sheikh’s desire to run his estate without most of the trappings of an oil-fueled society extended to things like mobile phones and pagers, too, and if anyone on the estate needed to be contacted urgently, a slave-based solution had been found.

A group of young slaves, normally just out from their first training and so about 18 or 19 years old, were kept and specially trained to be sprinters. Slightly-built, tall, long-legged lads were chosen, as the requirement of the job was to be able to sprint at full speed from the central complex to the farthest reaches of the estate without stopping. This lad had been lucky, as his very fast run had only to be for a kilometre or so before he caught up with us. Never the less, he was panting deeply, and I could see all his sharply- defined ribs rising and falling. These special messenger slaves were kept very short of food, so their bodies were semi-emaciated and their bones stood out in sharp relief from their tightly-stretched skin. It had been judged that a low body-weight allowed them to run faster and further than if they were well fed and heavily muscled. There was a price to pay for this, in that they had no stamina and could not keep going for long periods as I could, but for their specialised purpose, which was simply to get to any point n the estate very quickly, it was ideal. After two or three years sprinting, they usually ended up in a field gang, as it was no use trying to build proper long-distance running muscles later in life.

The Overseer beckoned the messenger over to the side of the rickshaw, and the young slave dropped to his knees to make it easy for the Overseer to reach the message capsule that was around his neck. The lad was very well hung, and like so many thin, long-limbed slaves, his cock was also very long and almost touched the ground as he knelt there waiting for the Overseer’s orders. Even though he was a messenger, the slave was of course muted like me, as the Sheikh still felt that hearing slaves speak was improper.

The Overseer read the note contained in the capsule, and turned to his friend and said “That’s our plans for today on hold, I’m afraid. The Sheikh is arriving for his inspection visit unexpectedly early, tomorrow, and I have a massive number of things to do to make sure everything is in first-class order. Do you mind going to the Club and Pool by yourself today? And do you mind walking back there – I know it’s not far, but I do need to go off straight away if I’m going to get through everything in time, and I will need all the pony’s energy to get around all the places we have to go. Even taking ten minutes to take you back will really cause me a problem.”

The Overseer’s friend did not mind, and got down. The Overseer dismissed the messenger slave, saying “no reply”, and the lad got up and sprinted off back to the central complex for his next errand. He then gave me the signal to start, and quickly increased my speed to maximum. It was to be like this all day – I had never run flat-out all the time before, as usually there were some periods when I had been allowed to slow to a jog. And we usually confined out inspections to one sector of the estate, whereas it soon became apparent that we were going to go everywhere today! After an hour, I was already exhausted and my legs and lungs were on fire. But I only had a chance to halt for a minute or two at each stop, whilst the Overseer got down, made a quick inspection of what was going on, and barked orders to the guards.

By the time we eventually did get back to the stables, I was absolutely done in. When we stopped outside I could not remain standing, and fell to the ground, still coupled to the shafts, with my legs trembling in uncontrollable spasms. The Overseer called for stable-lad slaves to come and take me away, and gave a lot of other orders in Arabic, that I did not understand.

I was as usual washed and cleaned in the showers, and stood there waiting to be milked. But just as one of the lads started to jerk me off, the guard shouted something, and he stopped. I was given the customary slap on the ass to say that I was finished with, and went off down the corridor to the feeding machine.

It was really good to collapse into my stall that night, as my legs were still aching with exhaustion, and my wrists were clamped to the top of the stall as usual. I knew I was going to fall into a deep, deep sleep because of the tiredness, but somehow it just wouldn’t come.

The problem was that I had a hard, insistent erection, that would not go away. Every night I was used to being “milked” in the shower, and my cum-filled sac was aching for its customary relief. There was nothing I could do about this, as my hands were immobile, and I just had to lie there with the ache of my balls, and that special tight, pleasurable pain that you get in a stiff cock that’s not going to get relief, adding to all the other general aches from my overworked body.

Not being able to sleep was such a problem that in desperation I even tried to rub my cock into the peat I was lying on, in the hope of being able to generate enough friction to cause me to spasm. But the peat was only about 1 cm deep, as it’s purpose was only to absorb any piss during the night and not to produce a deep, comfortable bed for a slave. When my cock-head rubbed against the rough concrete underneath the peat, it hurt too much to be able to continue, so I just had to lie there, unsatisfied.

The night had started strangely, without milking, and I noticed something else, too: I could just see the stall where the eight cart-horse slaves normally bedded down and frolicked together, and tonight there were only six. What had happened to the other two, I wondered?.

Although you think you have lain awake all night, I suppose you don’t, really, because morning light came into the stables and I knew that I had at least been dozing a bit. The usual unlocking of the slaves from the other stalls was going on, but when the stable-lads got to my stall, they bypassed me and went on to my neighbour. I could see all the ponies lined up down the centre aisle as usual, most still sporting their morning erections, and then they were led out for their showers and feeding.

After half an hour or so, the stable-lads came back and unlocked me, and I was led out to the showers, which were already occupied by Mike and Hans. I had seen then often, in their team of eight, as we all toiled around the estate, but not usually in the intimate confines of the showers as they tended to be washed all together in their team. The stable-lads took a great deal of time and trouble washing all three of us, much more so than usual, and even though I had been shaved the day before, they went through the ritual of shaving my face, chest and sac again. My hair was clipped, even though it had only been done a few days before, and my underarm and pubic hair re-manicured. Mike and Hans were getting the same intensive treatment, and then they, like me, stood there still waiting to be milked.

But, incredibly, we were finished – no milking again. What was going on?

And there were further surprises in store for us. We were just going to leave the shower, when the stable lads motioned and gestured to us to bend over and grip our ankles with our hands. The guard of course added encouragement to their pantomime, and waved his stun gun at us. We stood there, with our asses in the air, and the stable-lads took the hose pipes which were used normally to hose down stray sand off us before our shower proper, fitted shiny stainless-steel nozzles to them, and proceeded to push them through our exposed anuses deep into our rectums, to give us each an enema.

I’d never had my ass cleaned out before, and my stomach cramped and spasmed as warm water was forced up into me. I could feel my stomach extended beyond its normal limits, and, indeed, by looking upwards, I could see a visible bulge in my normally flat, tight six-pack.

We were all three then allowed to stand upright, and we all looked very uncomfortable. Then we were motioned to crouch down, and let go of the enema from our asses. Of course I was used to crapping over the shit-hole, and I was used to the stench of other men’s crap in the close confines of the Stables’ wet areas, but this was different – three streams of foul liquid crap running over the shower floor. It seemed inhuman.

Then we were told to bend over again, and the whole cycle was repeated. It took four repetitions before the water ejected from our asses was totally clear.

After our showering and cleaning ,we expected to be fed, but this didn’t happen either. We were all three taken to a room I had never been in before, containing only a small, leather-covered table. In turn, each of us was told to lie back on the table, and one of the stable-lad slaves rubbed an odourless body oil into our chests, necks, arms, legs and underarms. He then paid particular attention to giving our cocks and sacs a coating of the oil, but was careful not to excite us to the point at which we might have spasmed. They in turn we lay face down on the table, and the process was repeated on our backs and asses. Just as he was finishing, the slave took extra oil onto one hand and ran it slowly down between my ass cheeks. An oily finger probed my anus, but didn’t venture in,

We all three stood there, gleaming under the morning sun that was streaming in through the window. We looked magnificent, and I can see now why the Sheikh liked his four black carriage ponies to be oiled every day. But how was I going to run during the day? I had heard the Overseer say that the oil was not good when you had to sweat a lot, and my usual duties always resulted in that.

The Overseer and his friend appeared, and asked the stable lads something in Arabic. When the lad shook his head, the Overseer rapped out something else, and the lad took the oil container and dribbled a few drops on to the palm of his hand. He approached me, and dropped to his knees. He reached for my cock, and rolled back the foreskin so that my cock-head was completely exposed. He then used his oily palm to coat my cock-head very heavily with oil, then rolled my foreskin up and down over it several times so that it was completely lubricated inside. I was completely, hopelessly erect after this, and my sac, which had already been aching for release, was screaming at me to be allowed to shoot out its load of semen.

But it was not to be. The Overseer barked a command, and us three sleekly oiled slaves followed him and his friend out from the Stables, towards the main building of the central complex.

When we arrived, we went along several marble corridors lined with offices where “normal” people were holding meetings, entering items into ledgers, and so on – obviously this was some sort of administration building where Slaves were not employed, as everyone was clothed. I had a flashback to the last time that I had been taken into a building with clothed people, at the Government slave auction house, and I remembered how I had felt. I was embarrassed and ashamed at being naked in front of so many people in an “everyday” working environment. Now, I felt none of this. Even thought my massive hard-on had mostly subsided, I was still semi-erect, but I was not at all embarrassed: I was a slave, and slaves always went nude on the Sheikh’s estate. Functions like pissing and having erections were normal for slaves, and I had learned that there was nothing for me to be ashamed about in displaying myself doing these things in front of masters.

The Overseer halted us outside a massive wooden door, and gave us the commands to “display” and “wait”. We stood there against the wall in the corridor, our legs apart and our hands clasped behind our necks, wondering what was to happen next. The friend had not gone in with the Overseer, and he sat on a chair next to us, picked up a news magazine off a low table next to it, and began to read. Most of the people passing never gave us even a second look, even though it must have been bizarre to see three nude guys standing there next to a man unconcernedly flipping his way through a magazine.

The Overseer came out some minutes later, and motioned us to enter the room. He told his friend to come in, too.

The room was thickly carpeted, and for the first time, I began to feel “naked” – as my toes curled into the long, luxurious pile, I realised that this was the first soft thing I had felt under my feet for months. Usually it was the desert, or the rough estate roads, the concrete of the stable floors, or the marble in the showers. The feeling of strangeness was heightened because the room was furnished in a conventional “western” way, with sofas, curtains at the windows, and, against one wall, a table laid with a coffee urn, cups, and a plate of pastries. The only slightly strange note was that in the centre of the room there was a very large chair, almost a throne, and in front of that a small platform, perhaps 0.5 m high, made of wood.

The three of us slaves and the Overseer and his friend waited, standing, and then another door opened and a huge Arab came in. He must have been over 6′ tall, and was of impressively large girth. He was the oldest man I had seen for a long time, and he must have been in his early sixties. Behind him came the two Arabs I had last seen at the slave auction house, who had inspected Mike, Hans and me so closely.

The huge man sank into the throne-like chair, and at once the Overseer approached, then to my astonishment knelt down on both knees and bowed forward to touch his forehead three times on to the floor at the Arab’s feet. I felt ashamed that an American was paying homage to an Arab in such a demeaning way.

The Arab said something, and the Overseer stood up, and started to speak in his rapid Arabic, gesturing at us three every now and then as he did so.

The Arab motioned for him to stop, and said, in English, “I don’t think we’re being very courteous to your friend who is visiting us who is not as fluent in our language as you are, I suspect. Let’s continue in English, for his benefit. It will anyway do me good to practice, as I find that if I don’t speak it for a month or so it goes rusty, even though I received twelve years education at an English public School and three years at their Oxford University”.

The Overseer nodded slightly, and began “Your highness, these are the three ‘wild’ purchases we made at the last Government auction. As you will recall, the policy now is to use slaves bred on the estate, but from time to time it is desirable to bring in fresh stock to revitalise the herd. Even when we buy in, we usually only buy criminals from this country, because Europeans and Americans, like these, command very high prices and our usage is normally only for very rough work. However in this case, these were exceptional specimens with all the qualities the stud needs currently”.

“Yes, uncle”, one of the two Arabs standing behind his chair said, “When we saw these three, we knew they were exactly what is required. The two with the chain harnesses are almost perfect physical clones of our chosen cart-horse strain so they can work without making the team look out of balance, but at the same time they will introduce new vitality into the herd, which is now entering its third generation of farm-bred stock. They have been fully tested, and their sperm counts, even for Europeans, were very high at the time of the auction. Since then they have been working naked, and their balls have been exercised every day, so we can be confident that they will be exceptionally fertile”.

“The long-limbed blond was obviously the perfect type for a general rickshaw pony. You need those long thighs if they are to run fast, and you also need a fair amount of body bulk that can be trained for endurance. We see a lot of tall, long-limbed slaves at the auctions, but physically they are more like our sprinters – there’s no way you can get the stamina we need for a full day’s work in the shafts. It’s usually only the American ‘jock’ types who have the right combination of long legs and muscles, and they don’t come up for auction very often. The USA won’t trade its young men with us, even secretly in exchange for our oil, and we have to wait for the odd one or two to be captured and exported clandestinely from the country. This one particularly took our attention, because he’s a natural blond in addition to his other merits. We have been thinking that the herd is getting too black, and we expect that his light genes can be bred in to several lines to counter that. He, too, is a real stallion – the US male in particular normally suffers from an abominably low sperm count, but even at the auction this one’s was acceptable. And at his last check up by the veterinarian, it has climbed higher because he no longer keeps his balls overheated inside those American trousers.”

The Sheikh thought for a moment, and asked “How old are they?”

“The two cart-horse slaves are 27, your highness, and the blond is 24”, said the Overseer. This was news to me – I was 23, I knew. But then it occurred to me that the Overseer would not be wrong, especially in front of the Sheikh, and so that meant that I must have been a slave for over five months now!

“Good”, the Sheikh said, “so lots of time to get my money’s worth. I’d better inspect them.”

The Overseer gestured at Hans, and made him stand on the low platform in front of the Sheikh’s chair so that his lower body was at a more convenient height for the Sheikh. The Sheikh leaned forward, and rubbed his hands down one of Hans’s massive thighs. He gestured for Hans to turn around, and dug his fingers as far as he could into Hans’s solid ass. Then Hans was made to kneel down at the Sheikh’s feet, and the Sheikh leaned forward to feel Hans’s pecs.

He gestured, and the same ‘examination’ was performed on Mike.

“They are satisfactory”, said the Sheikh. “I don’t want them bought to climax now so that I can inspect their sexual functioning, as the carpet is new. And even though we whip them, the slaves seem incapable of masturbating big men like this without some of their juices escaping. Now let me see the blond”.

The Overseer motioned for me to mount the low platform, and I automatically assumed the ‘display’ position. The Sheikh’s examination of my thighs and legs was much more thorough – I could feel this fingers really pushing as they tried to penetrate the hard muscles I had. Then when I turned around, he really tried to grip and squeeze my ass, to determine the strength of my musculature there. I was then made to kneel, and he felt my shoulders. I was told to stand, and he put one hand on each side of my waist and ran his thumbs up and down over my taught stomach muscles.

“I like the way you have had that line of hair left from his navel down to his cock”, said the Sheikh. “It makes him look properly mature. And I see that you have obeyed my wishes and have kept his upper body in proportion to his legs – the last one we had who could run had such scrawny arms that it spoiled my pleasure in seeing him.”

“Have him bend over now, so I can inspect his anus”, he continued.

The Overseer gestured to me, and I realised that amongst masters there was a hierarchy of importance – the Sheikh was so grand, that he used non-slaves to transmit his orders to slaves.

I bent over double, to hold my ankles, and the Sheikh’s jewelled hands again gripped my ass cheeks, but now he had one in each hand and it felt as if he was trying to rip me in half. Then one hand let go, and a moment later I felt one of his large fingers probing my anus. He pushed harder and harder, and it started to slip in. Now I realised why I had been so thoroughly cleaned out inside and oiled – it would not have been very nice for the Sheikh to have my crap on his finger. He continued to push, and I was wincing with pain as his finger went higher and higher up my rectum – I had never had anything up my ass before, but there was nothing to be done about it, and so I stood there, bearing the mixture of agony and itching that his hairy finger caused.

His finger slid out, but I continued to stand there, bent over in front of him, as I had not been ordered to straighten. “It’s a nice tight ass “, said the Sheikh, “and I can see that he’s probably a virgin. There’s no bruising up there, or any sign of entry. The new policy of keeping the slaves tied up at night seems to be paying off.”

The Overseer then coughed politely and said “Majesty, shall I reserve this slave for you tonight, or will you have him later during your stay? “

“Neither”, said the Sheikh. “I’m getting tired of these young men, and even though he’s a very exciting sexual offering, I can’t be bothered any longer. You can use him as you will.”

“Tell me more about the two cart-horse slaves, though – they might make a change, and I could have them both in my bed at once”.

The Overseer looked slightly panicky, and said “Majesty, I’m sorry. These slaves have not been preserved as virgins since they came here. In fact, although our enquiries revealed that they usually fucked women in South Africa, they were both Marines and we suspect that on training camps, or on patrol in the jungle, they may have played around with other men in their platoon. After all, we know that virile Marines need constant sexual satisfaction, and away from the company of women they will normally turn to their fellows.”

“On the estate they are of course in the cart team, and our policy is to allow all the eight slaves in that team to have uninhibited sex with each other, so that they are properly bonded and work together well. The other six slaves on the team are from the farm here, and so they grew up knowing nothing of sex with women, and have only ever had sex with their fellow slaves since they became mature. When we added these two into the six, we were concerned at first because they did not join in the nightly sex games, but they soon learned and are now fully integrated.”

“Can I venture to say that your Majesty has not expressed an interest in the past in these heavily muscled slaves, and so I am afraid that it did not occur to us to keep them separated and awaiting your pleasure.”

“It’s not important”, said the Sheikh, “Don’t feel badly about your failure, as you are correct that I have not been interested before, and, indeed, I did agree the policy of free sex for teams of slaves. It might be interesting to have them anyway one night, as a matched pair, one on each side – one does get so bored with fucking virgins, and they squirm and wriggle so when you go up their asses. Having two properly mature men, who are used to taking other men up their asses and pleasuring them fully, would be different. I can see from the size of their cocks that their asses will be well stretched if all their team fuck each other all the time, and so they will be able to accommodate my own splendid member with only a little extra effort.”

One of the Sheikh’s nephews leaned forward and whispered something in his ear.

“In any case”, the Sheikh went on, “I have other plans for tonight. I may send for them later in my stay on the estate.”

He obviously then remembered me, and said to the

Overseer “Straighten the slave up, so I can have another look at him”.

The Overseer came over, put his hand under my chin and showed by this that I was to stand upright. The Sheikh continued to stare at me, and then said “My nephew told me about this one on our way here. He remembered him because in addition to his build, his blond hair, and being an American, he’s also not circumcised. Now I can see what he was babbling on about – seeing a slave like this with a foreskin is different. And, I suppose, it adds to his scarcity value as there are not many uncircumcised Americans! He gave orders, I believe, for the foreskin not to be removed until I had had a chance to consider it”.

“Yes, Majesty”, said the Overseer. “It certainly is unusual. Even when we get a slave with a foreskin, it’s usually one of those that makes his cock look like a pea-pod, with a little tail on the end. But this one is exceptional – the way the tip of the cock-head with the piss-slit just poke out is unusual, and you can clearly see the outline of the fretum ring through the skin. I think it enhances the overall look of the slave.”

“What about his functioning in the stud?”, the Sheikh asked, turning towards the veterinarian who I now realised had been standing in the far corner of the room.

The veterinarian advanced, kneeled down and touched his head to the floor three times, as had the Overseer, and waited for the Sheikh to motion him to rise. Again, I was astonished that a highly-educated American like the veterinarian would demean himself in this way.

He scrambled to his feet and said “Majesty, it makes little or no difference. The tradition of removing foreskins probably arose as a mark of distinguishing between one tribe and another: it was not done for any practical purpose. There has been some medical work done recently that suggests that men with foreskins might be less liable to get some sexually transmitted diseases, but it’s only a very small percentage difference. Anyway, here on the estate, that would not be relevant. As we test all incoming stock to make sure it’s disease-free, and then do not allow any sexual contact outside, all our slaves remain totally free of sexually transmitted diseases.”

“As for sexual performance, there’s absolutely no difference that has ever been scientifically reported between circumcised and uncircumcised males as far as fertility is concerned. Men with foreskins are said to have more sensitive cock heads, and are thus more easily aroused, but this is difficult to prove scientifically. If it is true, I suppose that having a slave with a foreskin in the breeding herd might be an advantage – if he’s more easily aroused, he could perhaps service the breeders slightly more often, with a shorter recovery time between them”.

“The important thing is that there should be no objectionable smells. Some males with foreskins are said to neglect to properly clean the insides of them, and just wash the surfaces of their cocks as ‘normal’ men so. But semen can collect behind the fretum, and of course during the day it starts to go rancid and there can then be a distinctive smell of an uncircumcised male. And even if the man has washed his foreskin properly and pulled it back to get right behind the fretum, if he is aroused during the day – and, after all, all young men of his age are, several times – pre-cum can leak out and similarly lodge and go off. These deposits of semen and pre-cum even have a name – ‘smeg’ – in the literature. But this is not really an issue here: field slaves smell anyway, as we only have them washed once a week to save water. And in the Stables the stable-lad slaves are of course trained to properly pull back the foreskins and wash any uncircumcised cocks we have. Another factor……”

“Enough!”, said the Sheikh, “It seems to me it makes no difference from the point of view of keeping the slave healthy and having him perform properly. So it comes down to what pleases me.”

“I really don’t know. It might be amusing to have him circumcised now – have you got a scalpel with you, doctor?. But then, we’d have blood on the carpet.”

Turning to the Overseer, he said “Have his foreskin pulled back, so I can try to imagine what it would be like if I ordered it to be removed”.

I thought that the Overseer would do this himself, but we were obviously in this “hierarchy” thing again, because he clapped his hands, and a slave came in who was given orders to display me to the Sheikh. The slave was a trim blond, about 5′ 8″ tall, with a light covering of hair on his chest and stomach. He came and knelt in front of me, and proceeded to take my cock in his hand and very gently start to tease my foreskin back.

This was more than I could bear, and all the frustration of not being “milked” the previous evening overcame me – I instantly went very hard, and even without the slave actually touching me much, my cock started to pump on its own. Fortunately, the slave holding my cock had the presence of mind to move quickly in front of me, so the stream of semen that erupted from me caught him full in the chest. Had he not moved, I would have splashed the Sheikh’s magnificent white robes!

The room seemed frozen for a moment, then there was action : The Overseer came over and hit me, hard, on the side of the head, and caused me to fall over. “How dare you show such disrespect for our master the Sheikh”, he raged.

The blond slave, with his chest hair dripping with strands of my semen, fell backwards at the Sheikh’s feet.

The Sheikh leapt to his feet, and was clearly furious. Turning to Hans and Mike he commanded them to come over to me and the blond, and “Make sure that not one drop of that semen escapes onto the carpet. It’s a priceless antique!”.

Hans and Mike seemed unsure what to do, until with a combination of words and gestures the Overseer made them understand that they should lick my cum off the blond, and suck my cock properly to make sure there were no lingering drips that might emerge. They quickly got down onto their knees to reach us where we were on the floor, and set to, eagerly. Hans was tonguing my semen of the blond slave, and Mike gently took my cock into his mouth. It was subsiding after the blessed relief I had experienced, and Mike tenderly sucked at me to get the last drops of semen out.

I thought the Sheikh would be continue to be extremely angry, and wondered what punishment I might receive. But the sight of the two very muscular slaves in their chain harnesses eagerly lapping at the cock and chest of two blond guys, with all four sprawling in front of him started to please him, and his anger subsided.

Turning to his nephews he said “Yes, I think you spent my money wisely, But, we’ll see!”, and then to the Overseer “In spite of this unfortunate loss of semen, he looks virile enough to perform this afternoon as planned, so we’ll go ahead at 14:00 at the stud. Have all three of them there, so I can see them make their first covering.”

The Overseer bowed in obeisance, and he, his friend, Hans, Mike, and me, all backed out of the room from the Sheikh’s presence.

To be continued …

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