Falsely Enslaved

FALSELY ENSLAVED

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part Eight

The gardener almost dragged Brett into our living room. I wondered if it would be wise to keep him at hand, in case Brett caused trouble, but decided it wasn't necessary as both Sam and I are, as you know, big strong guys; and although Brett was reasonably fit, sometimes the raw power that a big, solid body gives you is sufficient to deal with most problems.

Sam and I were lounging on one of the couches - me in a neat short-sleeved shirt, chinos and loafers, and Sam, choosing to display his body more, in fairly loose shorts and a skimpy top which left his shoulders uncovered. Brett stood there in front of us, his hands hanging loosely in front of him as he endeavoured to shield his genitals from our gaze.

"Hands above your head, boy!", Sam barked, and hesitantly, very hesitantly, his chin quivering faintly as if he might shed a tear, Brett obeyed. I can't see what he had to worry about - as I'd observed at the auctioneers, he was nicely hung and well proportioned, and his uncut dick didn't even have that unsightly loose fold of skin at the end as some men do: rather it covered most of his dick head, but left an intriguing circle visible, including his piss slit.

Sam looked at me to see if I'd had my fill, and when I nodded he snapped "Turn around, and keep your hands in the air." The rear view was just as enticing, perhaps more so now that the torso was stretched by the arms being raised. He was pleasantly muscled, there were those rather endearing dimples at the base of the spine that I've already mentioned, and whilst it was not exactly a "bubble butt", his ass was not displeasing being firm and lean, and leading into long muscular thighs.

Sam gave an approving nod, and rubbed his crotch through his shorts - it was just as well they were on the loose side, as an erection was now tenting them - evidently Sam was anticipating the delights that such a firm, young, virgin ass held. Sam raised his eyebrows in question, and when I nodded he called out "Right, boy, bend over, reach back and spread your cheeks so we can get a good look at your pucker."

"Please, no....", Brett called out, and with a bound Sam was off the couch, had grabbed Brett by the arm to hold him so he couldn't escape, and had rained down four big slaps to Brett's ass - and I could imagine how they'd sting and hurt, given the power Sam has in his arms and the size of his hands. Brett screamed as this was happening, and then, still gripping his arm tightly - so tight that I could see Sam's fingers buried right in Brett's flesh and I knew there would be bruising - Sam said calmly "Slaves who disobey get punished. Now, do as you were told, or would you like more?"

Still sniffling, Brett bent and did as instructed, and Sam sat back beside me as we stared at the enticing dark pucker between the stark white of Brett's ass. I suspected that Brett would not be very hairy down there, but the Auction house would anyway have shaved him as some of the clients would undoubtedly have wanted to inspect him, as we were doing. I couldn't imagine why Brett was so shy, really. Sam looked at me and said "You know, Steve, we need to get him coloured up as soon as possible - that white band around his butt and thighs is very unattractive." I nodded in approval, as although there's a certain excitement in seeing the lily-white skin of a man as it signals that he is unused to exposing himself, I personally don't find it as pleasing as a smooth, all-over tan (or, alternatively, untanned skin all over, although this is much harder to achieve as even when kept indoors as bath servants and the like, slaves do tend to try to go and "enjoy the sunshine" when their owner is not watching. And you can't be vigilant 24 hours a day, can you? )

"Nice!", Sam muttered. "But you're going first, aren't you?"

I reached down and groped at Sam's crotch, feeling the strength of his erection. "When you fucked me earlier, I thought you'd not be able to get it up again and that was my plan.... But, you know, Sam, I might enjoy seeing your big nigga body covering this very white whitey...."

Sam looked so eager, and I'd not been all that nice to him recently. So I went on "...so you can go first. Is he your first virgin?"

"After you, Steve.... I'd never fucked ass before they made me fuck you that first day. And you were a virgin, so he's my second..... "

"But you're a bit more experienced now......"

Sam just smiled, as he knew I knew he'd fuck anything that moved, given the chance.

I thought that there was another opportunity to humiliate Brett and demonstrate our new power over him, though, and I rested my hand on Sam's arm to stay him for a moment. "Come and kneel in front of us, boy", I said calmly.

Brett hesitated for a moment, then did as he was told.

"The proper way for a slave to kneel in front of his master is for the knees to be spread slightly apart, for the slave's back to be straight, his butt is to be resting on his heels, his hands are clasped behind his back, and his head is bowed", I intoned. "Now, do it.

And remember it - the next time I tell you to kneel in front of me I will expect to see this position, and you will be punished for failure. I only expect to tell a slave something once."

Brett shuffled his position to the one I had described, and I was pleased with the way he looked so satisfyingly subservient. "And one more thing, boy, and this is the last time you will be told this, too - when I give you instructions, you respond with "Sir, yes, sir. Do you remember telling your new slaves that?"

Brett mumbled "Sir, yes, sir."

"I can see you're a fast learner. That's a pity in some ways, as it removes a lot of possibilities for me to order punishment for you. Now, though, we're going to proceed with your induction into all the responsibilities and customs of slavedom. You may remember, when you bought Sam and me, that you had us fuck each other as slaves were not allowed to be virgins: your man Straughan said that it was better for slaves to indulge in proper sex, sex with other men, as it became easier to keep discipline in the slave barn and stables. I didn't often agree with Straughan, but in this he was correct: it is much better for slaves to have proper sex."

Brett remained kneeling there, and I thought I heard a sniffle from him. "I take it you have never experienced a dick up that nice firm ass of yours?"

"NO, sir, no."

"Well, in that case, I am going to be merciful - unlike some owners I could name, who had their slaves fuck without any preparation so it was maximally painful, I am going to allow you to be properly stretched and lubricated before Sam here introduces you to the proper function of a slave, to please his master in all things. And shortly after that, I will follow him. But first, we need some lubrication: be so good as to masturbate yourself for us, being careful to catch all your cum in your other hand - assuming, that is, you are not into advanced masturbation techniques requiring the use of both hands on your dick...."

I heard Sam chuckle as I said this, and sometimes I liked to bring him off "two handed", which he always found especially sensual. But Brett gave a half anguished cry and muttered "No, please, sir, no...."

"You do not appreciate yet, evidently, slave, that you do not have the luxury of choice. I gave you an order, and you will obey it, or be punished. Now, do as I say....."

"Steve", Sam cut in, "I know you're being generous in letting him spunk himself, and then you're going to get me to stretch him and everything, but I'd like to take him really fresh.... Perhaps with just bit of spit...."

"You're saved, boy", I continued to Brett. "Sam here is going to take you without all that preparation. That's probably the last choice you will ever make, not to jerk off as I told you, and one that you will almost certainly regret."

"Shall I call for them to bring in a 'horse', Sam?" - we didn't keep one routinely in the living room as some owners do, as we had so few slaves and, anyway, Sam and I mostly fucked each other (well, I mostly did with Sam, but he was a bit of a wild card with the other slaves, as I've told you).

"No need - a weak guy like this... I can easily subdue him. And it will be more fun to actually have him totally in my power, and know that it's only the force I'm using that's keeping my dick in him and not all those shackles and restraints...."

I nodded, and Sam rose to his feet, lithe as a panther and probably just as deadly. I thrilled, as I always did, as he casually pulled off his top, then dropped his shorts, so I could see him in all his magnificence, with his dick already rock solid and climbing way above the horizontal as he was so excited (easy for you young guys to do, I know, but Sam was thirty now, and, anyway, his dick was a heavy object, not some thin asparagus spear like some guys are unfortunate enough to have!). He spit into his hand, a couple of times, then reached down and gave his dick a thin coating of it - a very thin coating, I thought, considering it would be the only lubricant between Sam's dick and Brett's tender anus.

He stepped forward, grabbed Brett's arm and hauled the young slave to his feet, saying softly "Now, boy, come on and find out how the real men play....."

I watched in fascination as Sam led Brett over to the other couch and pushed him over the back of it, kicking at Brett's feet until Sam was satisfied that they were spread satisfactorily wide to give him proper access to the ass. I was expecting Brett to put up more of a struggle, but perhaps it was Sam's fingers digging deep into the muscles of his neck - I suspected rather painfully - that signalled to him that struggle was useless. Or perhaps it was that he indeed knew that, whatever happened, he was going to be raped and so he might as well accept it.

Brett was calling out feebly all the time "No, please, no, please don't do this to me, no, please...", as you might expect, but Sam was not going to be deterred. I watched in fascination as he used his other hand to part Brett's butt, and saw him shuffle and manoeuvre to position his dick at Brett's pucker without using a hand. Sensing what was now about to happen, Brett's subdued "No" sounds now went up in volume and tone, and he was crying, almost sobbing. But as Sam pressed inexorably forward, there was another change as a great scream broke from his lips.

If I hadn't been so keen to fuck Brett myself I could have jerked off with only a couple of strokes as I then watched Sam at work. He's a master of the art of fucking anyway, constantly varying the length of his stroke and the power of his thrusts - usually, to give maximum pleasure to both him and his partner. But on this occasion it was purely to please Sam, and it was Brett's ass that therefore had to take the terrible punishment he meted out. Big, hard, long strokes, with the sharp "slap" at the end of each as Sam's body hit Brett's ass. Brett was squirming and writhing, in a desperate attempt to get away: utterly futile, of course, with Brett's hand gripping his neck and his dick buried in him; and Brett began to sound almost hoarse as his pleading cries of "no" and "Help" and "Jesus" turned into almost a single agonised scream.

I remembered how I'd felt the first time Sam had been forced to fuck me as Brett watched, so I knew a lot of the sheer agony he must be experiencing. But, on the other hand, my sympathy was a little subverted as I told myself that I had at least given the kid an opportunity to be lubed and stretched - something that he'd not even thought about for us.

It's always good to see Sam fucking, though, as his long legs, powerful thighs, and beautiful rounded butt are an astonishing sight to behold as they work in total unison to drive his dick in and out, and I moved my position slightly so that I could get a better view. In his excitement, and with the physical effort he was putting in, Sam had started to sweat and a beautiful sheen now covered his skin, a sheen that soon broke up into big droplets as he worked away. I'd seen him stud a lot of times, of course, but watching him with another man was so much more exciting, especially as, with the constant shifting of Sam's ink-black body, I got wonderful glimpses of the pale whiteness of Brett's flesh, a whiteness now turning pink and even red as his pounding continued.

An interesting fact that you don't often read about in erotic stories, but one that I'm sure we've all experienced in real life, is that it's relatively hard to actually cum when you're fucking: most guys pull out after a time, and simply jerk themselves off to completion, after all. But on this occasion that wasn't so - Sam was so wound up with excitement, and his fucking was so strong and so severe, that although it took about fifteen minutes I saw those changes that go on - he slowed, was much more cautious, and began to shout "Fuck... Oh yes... Fuck... Sweet Jesus.... yes....", and then he stopped, and I saw just the faintest trace of movement in his butt muscles as his cum must be pumping up into Brett. He collapsed forward onto Brett's body, then, and I suppose the sheer weight of him did at least serve in some measure to stifle Brett's desperate sobs.

He pulled himself out a couple of minutes later, leaving Brett still draped over the couch. Rubbing his dick - which was covered in Brett's shit and rather unsavoury, I thought, he looked at me and grinned. "He's nice and loose now, Steve - sorry if I'll have spoiled your pleasure a bit....". He shambled off then to go and wash his dick, and I thrilled as I again saw his lovely tall, lean body move so unconsciously sexily: I was so lucky to have a guy like this as my partner and lover.

So taken was I with the though of Sam that I'd almost forgotten Brett, and it was only his stifled sobbing that reminded me of his presence. I went and looked at him as he remained lying there, and saw a slow trickle of his shit mixed with Sam's cum and their joint sweat making its way down the inside of his thighs. I did feel sorry for him, I suppose, at least a little bit. But then I thought of how he'd treated Sam and me, and how it was almost certain that his father had told him about the "special prices" he paid for Sam and me, and how he ought to have been alerted that something was therefore not entirely correct. He was a slave, but at least he was a "proper" slave, and he'd been through the courts ,and it was his own headstrong stupidity that had resulted in his condition. We, on the other hand, had been treated like slaves even thought I had been falsely enslaved: he'd done to me what I was about to do to him, and I was not, and never had been, a slave. Don't get me wrong - I'm not saying there's anything not right about proper sex, man to man - of course not. But a man has a right to choose, and even though I now adored Sam and couldn't imagine anything better than sliding in to him, or having him slide in to me, I thought I ought to have been given the choice.

Sam came back now, and came over and put his big arm around my shoulder and kissed me. "Your turn now, partner....". His tone was joking, and, as a friend rather than as a slave, he helped me unbutton my shirt and take it off, and to lose my shorts. Rubbing my naked body against Sam's I almost didn't want to go and fuck Brett - he'd be all loose, and slimy with Sam's cum, and was not a very appealing prospect, frankly. Sam on the other hand was ripe for fucking, and I did contemplate having Brett sent back to the barn and just lying there with Sam as we so often id in the evenings. But owners have their responsibilities, don't they? And once I'd slapped Brett's butt a couple of times as a subtle reminder to him that I was in charge, I pushed in to him and began to fuck away.

It wasn't a great fuck, but it was somehow exciting I suppose to have this guy who I'd hated for so long now skewered on my dick. And when it was over and I'd washed, and called the gardener to take Brett away and chain him up in the barn, Sam and I sat there in companionable intimacy for a couple of hours. As we stroked and caressed each other, we reminisced about our treatment as ponies at Brett's hands, and discussed the ways in which we were going to "educate" him the following day. I was glad that this was turning into a project in which we could both share, one which gave us both a new interest.

The following morning we started Brett's transformation into a proper pony. The farrier called and we had him fix a slave bracelet, a thin, expensive one, as Sam wore, around his ankle. Sam was keen to have him pierce Brett's nips and nose, too, but I said no, as I wanted Brett to have the "natural" look - I think that Brett had created an impression by having Sam and me "ornamented" with all our piercings and our cinching and our collars, but this was perhaps now a little out of fashion and anyway I didn't want to use his ideas. Instead, I intended to create an equal sensation by having our pony not even look like a slave. Sam said he ought to be cinched and reminded me how painful it had been to have to run - and especially to prance - without support, and I countered by pointing out that with Brett's dick mounted high above his sac and his sac being almost spherical, this was hardly a relevant consideration. I had planned to call in the veterinarian to 'skin Brett, but after the farrier had put on his ankle ring and saw here was no more work for him to do, he happened to mention that he'd done a short course on minor slave body modifications to complement his main line of business. He offered to do Brett's 'skinning at a very much reduced price compared to the outrageous vet's fees, and so I agreed.

Both the gardener and Sam held Brett down, one sitting astride his belly and the other sitting astride his thighs, and when he realised what was about to happen to him Brett began his usual pathetic screaming and pleading, firstly not to have it done at all, and then, when he realised that it was inevitable, and the farrier had opened a sterile packet of "one use" blades, for him at least to be given an anaesthetic. I saw the farrier shaking his head, and remembered our own experiences, so I looked down at Brett and said, calmly "Sorry, but this guys' not licensed to give anaesthetics. But it's such a short operation, such a small thing.....". I was only later that I remembered that it was not Brett who had had us 'skinned, as it had been done at the dealer, but by then it was too late.

We decided that, natural blond or not, Brett was going to be totally body shaved, so we watched as he stood there in the open yard as my valet took the clippers, and then the razor, and took off even that small bar of pubic hair that he'd had left. Brett was also to have a proper pony "Mohican" cut to mimic a mane, so the valet next shaved the two sides of his skull. As I wasn't going to be restrained by the need to have him with short hair because he had to "match" Sam as I had been, I resolved to let the remainder grow so that it flopped agreeably from side to side a little, and at the back it would be allowed to grow and grow so that it would (eventually!) reach all down his back and touch his ass. It never got there, of course - well, not in the time I was interested in him - but it did get long enough to cover the nape of his neck and hover somewhere between his shoulder blades: as I drove him I loved to see the long, silky hair in impeccable condition when we started out gradually get soaked in his sweat and turn into straggly "rats' tails" hanging there: it neatly emphasised, I thought, how much sweat he was generating and how hard he worked.

Anticipating Brett's arrival, Sam had borrowed an automatic tattooer from Dave and Sheila, and we now needed to put his SIN and so on into his flesh. I really didn't want the perfection of his body spoiled by having most people's first sight of it sullied by an ugly tattoo on his pecs, or his belly, so we compromised and did it at the base of his neck, at the back. As soon as his hair grew it would be mostly concealed, as I've told you of my plans for his "mane", and so I felt justified in having not only his SIN, but "Property of S Masters" inked into him there.

Sam and I debated whether to have Brett's name added as well, but I decided that it might emphasise to him his relative unimportance in the scheme of things if he went nameless, and often in speech I'd just call him "Pony" or "Boy."

All that was left then was to decided where to brand him, and then to do it. Brett stood there, his whole body trembling, as Sam and I ran our hands over his skin discussing the best place. The butt is of course the obvious location, and I suppose ninety percent or more of the slaves you see have the big "S" there, but I wanted to enjoy the unsullied perfection of his smooth skin and sleek butt and thighs as he ran along in front of me, and so that was out. Sam played with his nips a bit and suggested it might be amusing to have the "S" curled around one of them. When I shook my head, Brett looked so relieved, until Sam's hand skimmed over his belly and said that centred there might be interesting. Or perhaps on the forehead, he added, stroking Brett's now sweating brow.

I explained to Sam that I didn't want the perfection of Brett really spoiled - I wanted folk to see his body, not to focus down on to the brand, and Sam in turn said that therefore the ideal place was on the underside of the dick - it could be done with skill and care, he told me, citing Mr Wright's book, but you did have to make sure the slave was erect first, and then make sure you did not burn too deep and affect the urethra or the blood supply. I have to say this was an appealing prospect, but, on the other hand, if we wanted to stud Brett, and I did plan to have him do this, just as I had had to, some prospective clients might think that a brand there would in someway "affect" things: some of my southern neighbours are not big on their understanding of science!

Short of the sole of the foot - popular with indoor slaves, but perhaps a little less practicable for those who would always be running barefoot out of doors, that seemed to rule out the available choices.

Until it occurred to me that there was a place that would not usually be visible "in normal service" as a pony, but which would be immediately obvious should he ever escape and fall in to the hands of the SP. I knelt down behind Brett and separated his butt cheeks, clutching his muscle in my strong hands. Sam crouched beside me, and I told him my plan "We'll do it here, on this inside of the butt crack, where his ass is deepest. No one will be able to see it normally - but any inspection would reveal it, especially one by the SP, who are notorious for using a slave's ass...."

Sam grinned wolfishly. "It will hurt...."

"All branding hurts, Sam. Remember?"

He nodded ,and without further ado Sam showed me the branding iron that he'd already borrowed from Dave and Sheila. I called the chef out to light the barbecue, and as Brett stood there in the hot sun, knowing what was about to happen to him and now too terrified, or too resigned to his fate, to protest, Sam and I enjoyed watching the bare butt and back of the chef as he scurried around: his chef's apron of course only covered the front of him. I gave orders for a light lunch, as the barbecue was to be lit, with perhaps some salmon and prawns tossed lightly on the grill.

It always takes a disproportionate time, I think, to get a barbecue fire properly "up to temperature", and frankly I was getting bored by the time the glowing embers were judged "ready" to grill our lunch, and heat up the branding iron. It seemed unnecessarily cruel to keep Brett waiting whilst we ate lunch, so we did him before we ate: it's harder than you think, actually, as even for a conventional branding the slave needs to be kept utterly immobile, and now we had the added problem of having to keep his butt cheeks forced well apart to give proper access.

Sam and the gardener sat astride Brett, who was face down, on the outdoor picnic table. I told the chef to hold the buttocks apart, and then, after a few moments thought, to go and get some wet kitchen cloths to drape over his Brett's butt, especially the "opposite" cheek, in case there should be an accident and the branding iron should slip.

I'd thought about letting Sam actually do the branding, but, somehow, considered that as the legal owner it was really my duty. Although it had been done to me, I'd got no experience of taking a red-hot iron and pressing it into another man's flesh: I mean, if you do accidentally touch another person with something hot, or touch your own skin in error, the instinctive reaction is to withdraw immediately. I had to force myself to turn off this reaction and actually hold the iron in contact with him, against all my "learned" reflexes. It's really difficult to do: Brett was screaming with the pain as the iron first touched him, I could see his flesh blistering and charring, and the acrid smell of blackened and charred meat rose to my nostrils. But it has to be done - if you don't hold the iron for sufficiently long, the brand will have to be done again and that's no help to anyone, is it?

I'm not unnecessarily cruel of course, and so once the brand was seared into his flesh we did rub analgesic cream into the red, puffy, blistered skin, and I told the gardener to take Brett back to the barn and chain him up as it was useless to expect him to work for the rest of the day. Sam and I then sat and had our lunch, and as we did so we reminisced about our training and preparation, and had to agree that, all things considered, Brett had got off lightly.

It turns out that one of the problems in branding a slave between his ass cheeks is that you lose valuable days of training as it really is too painful for him to run, or even walk, with the dreadful wound being abraded by the natural movement of the ass. So for the next few days we could only exercise Brett's upper body - Sam stood over him, making him do seemingly endless press-ups and chin lifts - and of course increase his tolerance to our fairly fierce sun by leaving him exposed to it for progressively longer periods. As soon as we could, though, he had to begin his pony training "proper", especially his power to run for protracted periods, and I took time to explain my philosophy to him.

I sat comfortably on a couch on the shady veranda, Sam by my side, as I commanded Brett to kneel in front of me - he'd remembered how to do this, and I enjoyed seeing his torso, now colouring nicely, and his dick jutting out so agreeably in front of him. His eyes were properly downcast, too, although this might not be such an advantage: it's good to see a slave subservient, of course, but sometimes you do want to be able to see his face properly to make sure he is following your instructions completely and totally.

"Although I have Mr Wright's book on pony training, Brett", I began, "I will not use most of it as both Sam and I have better practical experiences to use. Having been ponies ourselves, you are fortunate in having instructors who really know what they are talking about. However I am sure you remember one of Mr Wright's principles, one in which you placed great store yourself: a slave needs to 'know' things instinctively, deep down in his body, not just intellectually in his brain. Mr Wright advocates the use of punishment, and in particular the tawse and the cane, to reinforce verbal instructions and to drive the knowledge that a slave needs deep, deep into him. You practised this philosophy yourself, and it should therefore be no surprise to you to know that it is the method of training that we will be employing with you: any failure to obey an order, any forgetting any of the pony protocols we teach you, any lack of enthusiasm to drive your body to its utmost in support of us, and you will be punished. Punished without mercy, and without exception: the only acceptable standard of behaviour for you is perfection, and if you fail to reach this, or are slow or hesitant or unenthusiastic, retribution will be swift and severe. Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir", Brett mumbled.

"Good! Now, the first thing I want you to remember is that ponies are dumb. They do not talk and chatter, not to their owners, and not to other slaves. I want you totally silent unless you are responding to a direct question from me. Is that understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir. But what about if I need a drink, or...."

I nodded to Sam, who slid up from the couch, grabbed Brett's arm and thrust the guy over the railing of the veranda. His ass was appealingly exposed, and I took a punishment cane and gave him six strokes, spacing them over the butt and the thighs, to maximise the discomfort. At the end, I snapped "Kneel!", and Brett once more assumed the proper position, although I could imagine that having his heels pressed against his beaten ass was not comfortable.

"As I said, you are to be totally silent, except when responding to a direct question from me. Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Good. Now, as a pony, you are reliant on your owner for your upkeep and welfare. Totally reliant. So you will need to rely on me to make sure you have enough water, food, medicine... whatever else is necessary. You can no more ask for these things than a real pony can ask its owner for things. I do not intend to use the bit in you to keep you silent, as you did to Sam and me, but silent you will be: if I have to order too many beatings for you because of speech problems, I will solve them once and for all by having your vocal chords cauterised."

"Next, I do not intend to use a bit and reins at all - you will respond to my vocal commands, and this should not present a major problem as your usage will mainly be confined to visits to local neighbours, and to the small number of places I patronise in our local town. So once you have learned where the barber shop is, the simple command "To the barbers, swift trot" should suffice. I do not expect failures of any kind in obeying such simple orders."

"And finally, I have decided to keep you in the barn, as a pony, rather than in the slave house with the other slaves, to emphasise to you that you are the lowest of the low here: a slave who is doing the work of an animal. My other slaves have responsible jobs where they utilise their skill and expertise in maintaining my lifestyle for me; you are just an animal, to be used whenever I decide to visit my neighbours or the town, and you have no part to play in exercising any control whatsoever over your actions: you are a pony, and ponies obey."

He knelt there, and I was itching for him to say something so he could be punished, so emphasising his new role at this early, critical stage. But he remained kneeling, head bent, although I could see his chest heaving slightly as if he was trying to control his emotions and not burst into tears.

I had talked to Sam about Brett's training, and Sam had said that he would enjoy playing an active part in it - I'd thought that we might drive Brett around together, teaching him the various steps and speeds, and building up his muscular capacity as we did so. But Sam had prodded the skin at his waist rather ruefully and said that he thought he might be gaining weight from all the rich living we did - not that I had noticed anything wrong, as Sam's body was a perfect delight to me. But perhaps Sam's experiences in the marines had taught him the early warning signs, and he does tend to be very conscious of his body anyway, so he said he wanted to be more active in the training: rather than drive Brett in the trap, Sam would prefer to run alongside him, or after him 'encouraging' his ass with a carriage whip. Sam said it would be a pleasure to really use his muscles again, and I shrugged - it that's what he wanted to do, it was fine by me.

Actually it was a bit of a pleasure for me, too: I watched as Sam's big nigga body, clad only in a tiny pair of slave shorts to give him some support now he was no longer cinched, loped alongside the slimmer, smaller Brett (entirely naked). They ran off towards the lake, and around it, and back, and I saw Sam grinning with the sheer pleasure he always got from hard work as he stopped briefly in front of me. He was barely breathing hard, although he was covered in sweat, whereas Brett seemed to be in real trouble: the stood there, hands on his knees, bent almost double, sucking in air and trying to get himself under control. Sam saw this, and slashed at his butt with the carriage whip, a tempting target given the way he was standing. "Ponies stand with their heads bent, feet slightly apart, and hands clasped behind their backs when not running", Sam intoned, and the hapless Brett, sweat pouring off him and his chest heaving as he sucked in air, struggled to obey.

"Another circuit, then", Sam snapped, and Brett half muttered "Sir, no, please.....".

Sam slashed at him several times then, not only on the butt and back, but on his front, too, allowing he vicious stinging tip of the carriage whip to almost caress Brett's nips and causing Brett to scream in pain.

"Ponies are silent", Sam reminded him, unless responding to a question. I did not ask you if you wanted to go around the lake again, I told you that was what we were doing."

With that, Sam set off, the hapless Brett desperately struggling to keep up.

Frankly, after a while I became bored at seeing Brett stumble and flounder as he tried to emulate the much fitter Sam, and of hearing his cries as Sam had to repetitively lash at him with the carriage whip to make sure that he was delivering the maximum of which he was capable. That night Sam was in an unusually ebullient mood in bed, and let me fuck him without our usual tussle: "It's Great, Steve", he told me. "I feel as if I'm using my body properly now for the first time since we were ponies. My muscles are so stiff, though, that all I want to do is lie here and feel your dick in me - I reckon I couldn't summon up the energy to fuck you, even if you asked me!"

So I made slow, sensual love to him, and we laughed and stroked each other, and I then asked "You're not treating Brett too harshly, are you, Sam? He's not as

strong as you are...."

"...yet! The boy will only gain power and strength and put on new muscle when he's consistently pushed beyond his limits. So don't worry - he'll be in real trouble with muscle pain and stuff tonight and for the next few days, but he's young, and resilient, and I won't damage him, honest. Don't you remember how we used to lie in the stables some nights so fucking tired we didn't even want to wank each other? So stop worrying, Steve: I used to have a lot of new guys in the unit in the marines too, you know, so I'm used to knowing what the limits of men are who are not as fit as me."

Well I was reassured by that, and certainly Brett did appear to improve dramatically over the next couple of weeks, so much so that when Sam heard I'd got a haircut planned one day and was getting my bike out to set off for town, he sidled up to me with a mischievous smile and said he was about to take Brett out for exercise, but perhaps now would be a good time to give Brett his first taste of "real life" for him from now on.

End Of Part Eight