Willing Slave

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 21

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Well, what can I tell you about my journey to my new life? Those of you who've been there will know that Grand Central is much the same as it was in the early years of the century, before the great crash. The only difference now is that there are only a handful of trains running, and therefore the mighty concourse handles only a few people. USS were their usual efficient selves and after my collar was scanned they immediately gave me my ticket, told me which track to go to, and reminded me to get only into the slave compartment, and "not to dare to mingle with free men on the train."

The train sped along its tunnel, then emerged into the very up-marked residential areas to the north of the island. An old slave who was in the slave compartment with me told me that at the turn of the century these areas had been very run down and owners would burn out the buildings to avoid paying property taxes and to collect the insurance money as they couldn't sell them- but following the big crash and the energy crisis, they had regained popularity as the buildings were all only five stories.

At Scarsdale I went to the USS booth on the station, and the guy finally removed my travel collar.

"Your owner has faxed instructions for you", he told me, handing me a couple of sheet of paper. I took them, and looked at them blankly.

He was a kindly man, and, seeing my confusion, took them out of my hands. "Never learned to read, eh?"

"Sir, no, sir."

"Well this is what your owner wants you to do.... Go to the house - I am to give you the keys - and find your room. It's the small room at the rear or the kitchen, opposite the laundry room. You are to take with you a sack of slave chow, and there's an authority here to collect one from the slave suppliers down the street. Then you are to wait for your owner and his wife to arrive, which is expected to be in about four days - they intend to arrive on the same day as their furniture. Is that all clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir, thank you, sir."

"Well here's the key, and the authority for collecting a sack of slave chow - the slave suppliers is right across the street. And one final thing - here's a map, showing you where the house is. You can read a map, I suppose?"

Did the man think I was some sort of idiot? I may not have been taught how to read and write, but part of every pony slave's training is learning how to read maps: how else could he ever navigate his owner to new places? But of course I remained polite, and just said "Sir, I can read a map, sir."

I'd never really been into a store before since becoming a slave as I usually waited outside in the shafts of the trap whilst my owner or his family went in, so I made a big mistake when I went into the slave suppliers: I used the entrance of the front, and a burly slave on duty inside to open and close the door shouted at me to get out and go to the slave entrance at the back. I blushed furiously with embarrassment at making such a mistake, and fled the store, but I did go on around and stood with a few other slaves collecting goods.

My owner had ordered a big 25 kilo sack of chow for me - well, I always think in the "old" measurements, and I knew that was about 55 pounds. I hefted it on to my shoulder, and set off for my new home. It is surprising how difficult it was - I'd thought I'd have a good run to really stretch my legs and get my body moving, but with the additional weight of the sack of chow I could barely manage it. I thought how lucky I was to be in superb physical shape, as some men carried around this same weight in extra fat around their bellies - no wonder they always looked tired and puffed and panted as the walked along - I would, too, if I had to carry all that extra stuff all the time! It really did make me wonder why anyone would go around very over weight - as well as looking repulsive, the strain on their bodies must be awful.

I jogged very slowly - almost a fast stride - down the suburban streets towards my new home, and as I got closer the houses got bigger an bigger and the plots large and larger. I could tell that they must cost a lot of money as their grounds were all immaculately manicured, and there were all the signs of a lot of slaves at work - I saw them mowing the lawns and clipping the bushes, and there were a fair number of ponies either waiting at the front doors or running on the street.

When I finally got "home", the vet's new house was in one of these very good roads but was a lot smaller than some of the others - it was one of those classic suburban homes made of brick on the ground floor and covered in white boards above that. It was square and symmetric, with five big windows upstairs, and two on either side of a set of big double-sized front doors below. There was a chimney breast at each end, and a wide drive swept up from the street to the front door, and proceeded around the back.

I walked up the drive and there was a small sign saying "Surgery", pointing to the rear. Behind the main house there was a low single-storey building that was clearly the vet's office, and the end of this had double doors which, when I peeked in, I saw was the garage for the trap - there was a light, double trap standing in there. Exploring further I found a pool giving off a small patio to the side, but it was a vile green colour, not the sparking clear blue you expect.

The only real difference between our house and the others in the street was that it was very untidy - the grass was all long and shaggy, all the shrubs were overgrown and neglected looking, and the windows didn't seem to have been washed for ages. Weeds were poking up through the drive, and there was some litter blowing around. I didn't think that the neighbours would be very pleased with the vet for letting the neighbourhood down like this, or that the vet (and especially his wife) would want to live in such conditions.

Still, it was my new home, and I opened the rear door and went in. The previous occupants had left a lot of rubbish - packing materials and stuff - lying around, and there was a thick coat of dust everywhere. It smelled very musty - but not unpleasantly so - and there was a huge pile of mail lying haphazardly all over the floor behind the front door. As I walked around I saw there was a hue open plan living room and dining room, a small study (well, I guess that's what it was as it was panelled in wood, and looked very 'masculine'), and a family living room opening off the modern kitchen. Upstairs there were five bedrooms, two of which had private bathrooms, and another bathroom.

Behind the kitchen was the laundry room, and a door opposite that opened into what I'd been told was to be my room. I got a tingle of excitement as I opened the door for the first time - this was to be my space, and I hoped I was going to spend the rest of my life happily here.

I suppose the room was designed for a household slave, as it provided everything you needed - a single bed against one wall, a lavatory in one corner, and a shower in the other. I could only see out of the small window by standing on tiptoe, but at least there was some natural light as many slave quarters are of course build in the middle of the house, in "dead" space. Yes, I could be very comfortable here, and I lay down for a minute of the bed and stretched out, to get the "feel" of the place. It was a good bed, too - not too soft, and no lumps. The previous owners must have been good to their slave, I thought, to provide him with this private space and a bed like this.

You know I'm an "active" guy, though, who likes to use his body, and I only lay there for a few minutes until I got bored. I thought about going for a good long run now that I'd put down the bag of chow, and then thought it would be good to exercise with the trap again - my owner would be sure to need me as soon as he arrived, and I wouldn't want to let him down.

So I got up off the bed and went out across the yard to the other building, and opened the doors to get the trap out. What a disappointment: It was covered in dust, and there was no way any self-respecting pony would pull it through the streets, as you could see some patches of rust on it too. So I set to work, using old brushes and rags I found in the corner, and by lunchtime it was sparking and gleaming, as it should be.

I ate a big helping of chow for my lunch, then was going for my run when I stopped and saw how good the trap looked after my work, and how shabby and run down the house was. Of course it's part of the things that a pony does: to keep the trap in good order. And I'm a highly skilled pony, not a general servant, but it occurred to me that I could do some work on the grounds as it would be a good welcome "present" for my owner.

Another good look around revealed that the last occupants had left the mower and some garden tools , and so I set to work pushing the mower up and down the lawns, and then I started to cut back the shrubs and pull the weeds.

It took me three days to work my around over all the grounds, then to sweep the inside clean of all the dust and put out all the rubbish for the trash men. And finally I went next door and spoke to the head slave there (it was a much larger house and they kept several slaves) and borrowed a ladder, so that I could climb up and wash all the windows. I didn't finally get my run until the fourth day, and then my whole body ached - I wasn't used to all the house and yard work, and after so long without a good, long run my muscles had started to lose their tone a bit. Still, it was good to be between the shafts again, and I went and practised the route between the house and the station, so that if my owner needed me I could go and collect him. It made me feel really great to be doing the work I had been trained to do again.

The mail slave delivered a big yellow envelope the next morning, and I had to go to the door to take it from him as he told me it was a "special delivery". I told him I'd keep it safe for my owner, but he told me that I had to open it, as it was one of the special "slavegrams" that owners sent home to give instructions to their slaves. I was terribly worried by this, as when I pulled the sheet out of the envelope, I couldn't read it.

The male slave grinned when he saw my predicament, and said "Don't worry, Steve - a lot of big muscle guy like you were never taught to read as your parents always knew you'd end up doing manual jobs. Here.... Give it to me...."

"Oh yes... It's just as well it got here in time.... Your owner and his wife are arriving at Scarsdale on the 10:27 and you are to go and collect them."

My heart raced with pleasure - my owner wanted me to meet them, and I'd be able to show him how I'd worked to make the place good for him and his wife. I gave the trap a final rub down to make sure it was gleaming, and was so worried about missing the train that I set out much earlier than I needed to, and ran quicker than necessary, so that I stood in the forecourt for half an hour waiting for them.

My owner came out and came and told me to go with him back onto the platform to help with the luggage, and I trotted after him. With a suitcase under each arm and one in each hand I could actually carry all of it, and my owner was free to take the arm of his wife and walk together as a couple in front of me. I noticed that the mistress did not seem to be very happy, and appeared to be having cross words with my owner, and I wondered what had upset her.

It was tough running back to the house with two passengers and all the luggage, especially as we're on a small hill above the town itself, and by the time I got back sweat was pouring off me and I was pretty exhausted. There was a large furniture van in the drive when we arrived, and my owner hurried off to give the slaves instructions about the placing of the furniture. My mistress stalked into the house, and never spoke a word to me.

They took all day to unload and unpack and it was dusk when the van finally left. I helped as much as I could, clearing away all the packing cases and so on into neat heaps, and I really thought I'd done a good job in making the move in go smoothly, even though as a pony slave it really wasn't my job, was it? I was really tired by the evening, and went to my room and lay down early. Shortly after I'd gone to bed the door opened and my owner came in. I at once leaped to my feet, of course, and stood there in front of him, naked.

"So this is where you live, Steve. Is it OK?"

"Sir, yes, thank you, sir... It's great, sir."

"Well, Steve, your mistress is not very happy with you. I always thought of you as a properly trained, obedient slave, and it rather shocks me to have to consider punishing you. But never do it again, understand? Try to remember your training...."

I was dumbfounded, and couldn't think what was the problem. I racked my brains to try to think what I could have done to upset my mistress.

"Sir... I'm sorry, sir.... But what did I do, sir?"

"Your mistress is very angry that you appeared at the station in the centre of town in that disgraceful state. Your shorts and T were filthy and stained, and there was even a tear in your T so that your tattoo was showing through. We have a position to maintain here you know, Steve, and your mistress knows that several influential people waiting for the New York train would have seen you. She thinks that they'll think that we don't know how to control slaves, that we're not used to owning slaves, and that therefore we're poor. You've really let us down, Steve: what were you thinking of, turning up in that state?"

A wave of anger went through me, and that made me ever madder as I knew that a slave should not be upset by anything his owner said. But it seemed so unfair - my clothes were stained and torn because of all the hard work I'd done around the place.

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir. I did try - last night I washed my T and shorts but there's no hot water, sir, as it was not turned on until you and the mistress arrived today in order to save energy - I didn't mind showering in cold water, sir, but I couldn't get my clothes properly clean. And I had no others, sir, until all the stuff arrived today. And they were torn, sir, because a branch that was overhanging the drive snagged it as I lopped it - I spent my time, sir, really working hard, cutting the grass, doing the garden, cleaning the house, washing the windows...."

"Well, Steve, I'm glad to hear it. I was surprised to see the place looking so good after it had stood empty for some weeks. But your mistress still won't be happy, you know. And you could have gone next door and asked the head slave there if you could borrow a T and shorts - it's not as if it matters if you wear another slave's clothes, after all."

My anger vanished, and now I felt so ashamed at having let down my owner and mistress, as I could see that he was right. I'd borrowed a ladder, after all - why on earth hadn't I thought of borrowing fresh clothes so that I was properly turned out to meet them? My training at the pony farm had always said that a pony must be a credit to his owner at all times, and I'd really fucked up. I wondered if my owner was going to punish me - well, actually, I almost hoped he would, as it would take away some of my shame.

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir..."

"Well, don't let it happen again! Now tomorrow we're going to start work. I've had a number of communications from clients of the former vet who practices here, and we're going to visit to drum up some business and to do some of the routine work - the yearly shots, and so on. Here's a map showing the houses we're calling on - make sure you don't fuck up!

And now that the stuff has arrived, be sure to put on fresh clothes as I need to make a good impression: I don't want the clients thinking their new vet is sloppy!"

"Sir, yes, sir" I snapped, and my owner turned and left the room.

Even though I was dead tired I decided to reconnoitre the route for the next day, and dragged myself out to run the roads my owner had marked on the map as I wanted him to be proud of me. It was dark and only a half moon, so I got lost a couple of times, and I didn't finally get back to my room until after two. I was so tired then that I fell into a deep, deep sleep, and only woke when I smelled bacon cooking drifting under my door from the kitchen.

Oh fuck! I was going to be late! I threw myself into the shower, shaved as quickly as I could, and pulled on a fresh T and shorts and rushed to get the trap around to the front door to stand and wait for my owner. Fortunately I was just in time, as he and the mistress came out very shortly after. She kissed him goodbye, but I saw she said something to him, and he didn't seem in a particularly good mood as he got up onto the seat and told me to move off.

It was really good to be performing as a proper pony again - and it just goes to show how silly master Jason and Master Scott were to have me cuffed in to the shafts, and to insist on driving me with reins and the hateful bit, and in lashing my naked ass to "encourage" me. I responded perfectly to my owner's orders without any need for a bit, I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the shafts even though I wasn't cuffed to them, and I guarantee that I ran just as hard and as fast as I would have done with the lash snapping at my ass: well, it's a matter of pride in what you do, isn't it? And I was a properly trained pony, and proud of it.

Even though my efforts the night before meant that I was able to run the route perfectly, my owner still did not seem to be very pleased with me when we got back. I ran him around to the back of the house to leave him at the surgery door, and as he got down, he turned to me and said "You know, Steve, I saved your balls as I thought it was so unjust that your previous owner was going to have them cut off, as I always thought that you were a good slave. I had to scold you yesterday for appearing slovenly in public, and I though you understood the importance of making a good impression here. And then this morning, you do it again: your mistress was very angry when she saw you at the door this morning - you hadn't even bothered to shave properly for our first trip to the new clients: you've still to patches of stubble, and there's that cut on your face! It's not good enough, Steve, and I give you fair warning that unless you improve I will punish you. Is that understood?"

Again I had a momentary flash of anger - I'd done my best, but I was only late because I'd tried to do a good job by researching the route the night before. He was giving me no credit for threading my way so cleverly through all the rambling turning roads of the sprawling suburbs of Scarsdale - hadn't he noticed the confident way we turned into each house, with no delay whilst we searched for the right named mansion in the long lanes? I wanted to tell him all this, but a slave doesn't volunteer information, does he? So all I could do was hang my head in shame and mumble "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again, sir."

"Make sure it doesn't, Steve! Try to be a good slave, or I will have to punish you in spite of being opposed to the use of physical force against slaves - sometimes, I'm afraid, the only thing that a buck like you ultimately understands is the power of the whip. Anyway... I'm finished or the day, so you're off duty.

The mistress and I won't be going out tonight, either, as we're still unpacking."

"Sir, thank you, sir."

I could just have gone to my room and loafed around now, but I really did want to do everything I could to help my owner. One of the things I hadn't done around the grounds was to clean the pool areas - the water was a vile green, as I've mentioned, and I knew that it cost a lot to get a pool slave to come in. I knew something about pool maintenance as dad used to let me help him do ours at home, so I collected the big net, the scraper, the water testing kit and the drums of chemicals from the outbuildings, and went around to the pool area.

It was hot that afternoon and I pulled off my T to prevent it getting covered in sweat. I really worked at it, collecting the leaves and stuff that had fallen in, sweeping the tiled surround, and running the scraper up and down the bottom to get the algae off. I was just kneeling down to test the water with the testing kit prior to adding the chemicals when my mistress appeared. She was dressed in a robe and was carrying sunglasses, sun cream, and a book.

I rushed over, knelt (as I though she would appreciate this slave posture), and said "Ma'am... The garden furniture is still inside, ma'am. Shall I go and fetch you a table, and a lounger?"

I thought she sounded rather icy as she aid "Yes, slave.", but I got up and ran to the store and came back as quickly as I could with one of the teak tables and a big, wheeled lounger - you'll know how heavy these are, being made of that dense wood, and it was a real struggle to bring them both. But I didn't want to keep my mistress waiting, and I really wanted to serve her the best I could.

They were all dusty from being in storage, and I desperately looked around for something to clean them with so as not to keep my mistress waiting - the only thing was my T that was lying by the side of the pool, so I quickly damped it with the pool water then industriously scrubbed away at the wood so that it came up looking fresh and clean. When I'd done I indicated to my mistress that I'd finished, and she snapped "Don't just stand there, slave! Wheel the lounger over there: if you'd got any sense, you'd know that it's pointless having it here in full sun!"

She didn't sound very pleased for all the efforts I'd put in, but when I'd done as she commanded she slipped off her robe - she was wearing a neat black swimsuit underneath - and settled onto the lounger, watching me. "Get on with your work, slave", she commanded, and I bowed and returned to scraping the bottom of the pool. It's not as if it was "my work" anyway, was it? I was doing this to try to help!

I'd only been at it a couple of minutes, when she called out "Get over here, slave!" In very curt way

I put down the long scraper and went over to her, and knelt by the side of the lounger. "I've complained to your master already about your behaviour, slave, and he assured me that you were going to reform. But this afternoon you have persisted in your wilful behaviour.

You should know that I will be discussing these incidents with your master tonight, and I will insist that he properly punishes you, to try to teach you proper slave behaviour. Boy, is their anything you want to say in mitigation?"

I was stunned! I thought I was doing absolutely the best I could, and I stammered "Ma'am.... I'm sorry, ma'am.... But what have I done?"

"So, you persist in being wilful? Isn't it enough that your mistress says that you have not performed properly? Do you dare to question me?"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, ma'am..."

"Well, you don't sound sorry. You sound cross. And you persist in standing there in those shorts, when you are cleaning the pool!"

"Ma'am?"

"Look, you stupid slave.... Firstly, you do not use your slave uniform as cleaning cloths! Those Ts cost your owner and me money, and they're not to be used just as rags. No wonder you looked so scruffy at the station the other morning - you have no respect for your owner's property."

"But Ma'am, I was only trying to...."

"Silence! How dare you interrupt me! Not only do you have no respect for the clothes your owner and I give you, but you do not perform properly at doing the simplest duties, either."

"Ma'am, please, ma'am, how... What....?"

"Silence, I said! My husband keeps on about how your previous owner, that most fashionable young man Master Jason, kept you with a bit in your mouth, and I can begin to see why, now. Properly trained slaves do not interrupt. Now, stop being so wilful, and get out of those shorts!"

I was astonished, What did she mean?

"Ma'am...? What.....?"

"Do I have to repeat myself several times to get you to obey? I told you to get out of those shorts! Strip! Now!"

Well, it's not right, is it? A slave shouldn't have to appear nude in front of a woman. But I couldn't disobey my owner's wife, could I? So I undid my shorts and let them fall to the ground. I felt myself begin to blush furiously as her eyes took in my big dick with its blackened shaft.

"On my family's estates the slaves who looked after the grounds knew that pool slaves always work totally naked. It's not the sort of thing a lady should have to order a slave to do, to strip naked, as the slave ought to know the correct way to behave. But with your generally oafish behaviour, I should have known better. Now, get back to work!"

I was seething inside. I was only cleaning the pool in order to save her and my owner money! And how the fuck was I supposed to know the right modes of behaviour for pool slaves? I was a trained pony, I wanted to tell her, and not some lowlife general worker! I hated being naked like this, and hated the way her lip now almost curled in contempt as she surveyed my body.

"What are you waiting for? Get back to work! Do you expect me to have to look at that disgusting spectacle of your dick for ever? You're a slave with no sense of what's right, having a dick tattooed like that!"

I almost screamed at her "what the fuck was I supposed to do about it, when my owner ordered it?", but I knew that would only make her more angry, and, anyway, my training told me it was wrong to argue with a woman, so I turned and went back to cleaning the pool. I wanted to walk off, to pick up my shorts, leave the job undone, and go and rest as my owner had said I could, but that wouldn't be right, either. So I stood there in the hot sun, totally naked, and it was really uncomfortable - without the support of my shorts, my dick and balls swung from side to side as I scraped away with the cleaning tool. And all the time I could feel the eyes of my owner's wife boring into me. It wasn't so bad when I was cleaning the side nearest to her as my back was towards her and I knew she could only see my muscular ass - I suppose I'd got used to having folks look at that when I'd been made to run in the humiliating posing pouch for Master Jason. But as soon as I had to move around to the other side I was fully exposed to her, and it wasn't only the bright sun that made me sweat - it was the sheer bloody embarrassment.

It took me about an hour to finish, and then what was I to do? As I worked away I thought about it and thought about it. If I just walked off, that would be wrong. But if I went back to my mistress and asked permission to leave, that would probably be wrong, too. In the end I decided the latter was the best course of action as a slave shouldn't just walk away from a master in case there's some other task that needs doing, so I approached where she was lying on the lounger, dropped to my knees, and bent my head.

"Is their anything else, ma'am...?"

"That's it, slave! I am now definitely going to discuss your punishment with my husband! I might have forgiven you your previous errors when I saw how hard you were working, but to have you kneeling there, sweat dripping off you - it's obscene, the way it's trickling down that dick of yours you seem to be so proud of! Didn't you learn that slaves remain silent until spoken to?"

Oh fuck, I'd done it again. And I was only trying to get away, so that she didn't have to continue to look at me, something she apparently didn't like.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry, ma'am...."

"You definitely need that bit put back in you. Or perhaps my husband should permanently cut your vocal chords - he is a vet, after all, and 'Metropolitan Slave Owner' is recommending that for slaves who don't know how to remain silent! Now, get out of my sight! Your body verges on the obscene, and is not something that ladies in polite society need to look at - it was never like this on my family estates, where the slaves who worked naked had modest bodies!"

I got to my feet, blushing even more at the thought of being "obscene", bowed, and walked off. Of course I'd forgotten my shorts, which were still lying by the pool, and so I had to walk all the way back to my room in the nude. I showered to get all the sweat off me, cursing the ungrateful bitch and the way I'd been treated - and then realised that I was again not acting like a proper well-trained slave, as I was criticising my owner's wife. That made me feel even worse, and I went and lay on my bed, and faced the wall and lay there in utter misery.

It was dark in my room when I was roughly shaken awake - my owner was standing there, and I at once started to get to my feet.

"I was starting to doubt my wife, Steve, but perhaps she has a point! A slave like you shouldn't be asleep this early in the evening. And aren't you supposed to get to your feet when your owner enters the room?"

I was only sleeping because I was so dammed tired after working away all day on running and then doing extra work for him, and of course I knew I should get to my feet and would have done if I hadn't been so deep in sleep when he came in. "Yes, master, but I only...."

"Silence! I'm tired of hearing excuses. Now, follow me."

I went to pull on my shorts and realised they weren't there - they were still lying by the side of the pool.

I needed to go out to the store to fetch another pair, and went to explain.

"Master, I..."

"Shut the fuck up, will you! Just do as you're told, for once!"

He strode out, and I walked after him acutely conscious of being totally naked in the house. I padded over the carpets into the living room, and there was my mistress sitting on one of the couches.

"There, you see, my dear, he's doing it again - flaunting that obscene dick of his in front of me. Who ever heard of a slave being naked in the house, unless he was about to be used sexually?"

I blushed again, and wanted to scream at the stupid bitch that it was her husband who hadn't let me dress.

And, of course, this made me feel worse, as I shouldn't even be thinking like this.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but....."

"Shut the fuck up, Steve! My wife had been trying to persuade me to put that bit and the tongue plate back in you, or even to mute you surgically. I was arguing against it, but I've heard more than enough from you today. Keep silent, slave - didn't you learn anything at that so-called expensive training school of yours?"

"Now", he went on, "My wife believes you should be punished for your many errors since we arrived here. And I think she's right - I know I did a kind thing in risking my reputation to save your testicles, but I've been too lenient from there on. A slave needs a firm hand to control him, and I think you believe that I'm a soft touch and that you can act as you please. Well, it's not so - you will obey, you will serve, and you will do so perfectly. I am not the sort of owner who will ruin a slave's temperament by allowing him to fall into idle and slovenly habits. Do you understand?"

I hung my head in shame, as I wasn't idle, and I certainly wasn't slovenly. But I couldn't argue with my owner, could I? So I said, outwardly meekly but surging with anger inside, "Sir, yes, sir."

"Good. I think that if I take action now it will save a lot of trouble further down the line. I don't want things to get so bad that I have to call in the public whip master, as your last owner had to... You know, I'm beginning to sympathise with Master Jason... I thought he was wrong to have you whipped, but perhaps it was me who was wrong! So I'm going to punish you now, myself, in a way that slaves understand. All the published work agrees that there's no way of convincing slaves that they must be obedient and work hard, that simple punishments like confining them to their rooms and withholding their chow have only limited effects, and that the only sure-fire way of driving the lesson home is harsh, physical punishment.

Your body has got to learn, Steve, that if it does wrong it will receive pain."

"It really hurts me to have to do this", he went on, "Because I am not one who believes in chastisement normally. But you have repaid my kindness in rescuing you by several instances of slovenly, wilful, disobedient behaviour, and I cannot allow that to go unpunished - I would be failing in my duty as an owner, and it would not be good for you in the long term."

He walked over to a cabinet, opened it and brought out a long thin cane. He swiped it through the air, and there was a sickening hiss as the thin malacca cut the air.

"I never thought I'd need to punish a slave of mine in this way, but my wife and I both agree that it is in your best interests. Now... Bend over the back of that couch...."

I looked at him in amazement. Surely he couldn't be going to hit me with that cane? I knew of course that disobedient slaves were caned and whipped, but other than that one time, it had never happened to me.

"You are determined to make me angry, aren't you, Steve? I gave you a direct order to bend over and prepare to be punished, and you're still standing there! Now, get bent over the back of that couch, before I double the number of strokes!"

It was all so unfair, but what could I do? I went and positioned myself over the back of the couch, spreading my legs to give myself a bit of stability and feeling the scratchy rough wool fabric of it pressing into my dick and belly. I knew my balls and dick would be horribly exposed between my thighs, and I was aware of my mistress staring at them as I stood there.

I heard the hiss, and then a pain like hot fire raked across my ass. Then another, then another.... He gave me ten strokes in all. I grunted with the pain as the cane cut into me each time, but was determined not to scream out as it would be so undignified. But it really hurt, not just physically, but emotionally - I didn't deserve this caning.

"Right, that's it, Steve. Get up!"

I got to my feet, and my ass felt as if it was on fire. My face was all red from where I was blushing, and I had to work hard to stop tears running down my cheeks - tears of pain, tears of humiliation, and tears of rage! I realised that the caning had made me go erect, too, and that made me feel even worse as I could see my mistress looking at my dick with an expression of disgust.

She got up and went over to the couch where I had been leaning, and ran her finger over it. "Cane him again, my dear", she snapped at my owner. "The disgusting animal has dribbled his cock snot all over the couch! It's gone into the fabric, and it will stain! It will cost a fortune to have it cleaned."

Well, I couldn't help it, could I? I'd heard slaves talking about punishment, and I'd been told that being caned on the ass could make you have an erection - and it had done so to me. And when your dick's erect and you're young and virile, you do start to leak pre-cum, don't you?

My owner went over to his wife and ran his fingers over the fabric, too. He put his fingers to his nose and sniffed, and exclaimed "You're right! What a disgusting pervert he is to try to cum over our furniture!"

He turned back to me and commanded "Bend over the desk, Steve. You obviously didn't learn your lesson about proper slave behaviour!"

"But sir, it's only natural...."

"Shut the fuck up! If you persist in arguing with me I will cut your vocal chords! Now bend over that desk before I lose my temper with you!"

I lay their seething with resentment and embarrassment. And then as he laid six more strokes across my already inflamed ass I did break down, and felt the tears running down my cheeks. I'd done my best, and it was all so unfair, It seemed as if everything I did was just misinterpreted.

"Right! That's it. Get back to your quarters, slave.

And be sure to be outside, properly dressed and neatly shaven tomorrow morning at eight! I want no excuses, just perfect behaviour. Do you understand?"

I wanted to tell him that of course I did, that he was wrong, that I only wanted to serve him properly as a slave should, but none of this could come out, of course. Choking back my tears I half whispered "Sir, yes, sir."

He dismissed me, and I walked out of the room, knowing that they would both be looking at the harsh red lines that now criss-crossed my muscular ass.

He called me back as I was almost out of the room. "Take this cane, Steve. Hang it over your bed. I want you to have a constant reminder of what's in store for you if you do not obey completely." I had to walk back towards them, my dick swinging in front of me, and then walk away again so they saw my punished ass again. It was awful and I felt so ashamed of the cane that now sat in my room as a totally unnecessary warning to me.

End Of Part 21

THE WILLING SLAVE, Part 22

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

I hardly slept at all that night. My ass really hurt - I looked at myself in a tiny mirror in my room and saw that although the flesh was not broken there were deep red weals all over my cheeks. I tried taking a cold shower in the hope that the icy water would take the heat out of the wounds, but I had to give up, shivering, before it had any real effect. But I think I mostly didn't sleep as I was so angry - angry at my owner and mistress for misunderstanding me, for not noticing how hard I'd worked for them in roles that were not my own and where specialist slaves should be used, and for blaming me for things that were not my fault. And then I was angry at myself for being angry at my owner - that's not the way a properly trained slave thinks, is it? I was so upset that I didn't even feel like jerking off.

Of course the inevitable happened, and I finally fell asleep just before dawn and then woke up late. I was cursing myself for being so careless as I frantically showered and shaved, and in my frantic desire to do a good job and yet not be late I almost cut myself again... The day was starting badly! I didn't even have time to cram a few mouthfuls of slave chow down, but sprinted across the yard, naked, my dick and balls flying in the air, to get a clean T and shorts from the store, then to collect the trap and make it around to the front door. I was still panting from all this scrambling when my owner appeared, and so at least he had nothing to complain about.

He hadn't given me a route the night before, though, and so as we made our rounds it was inevitable that I'd occasionally not know where one of the big houses was, and he got very impatient as we had to move at a slow pace down some of the streets trying to read the house names. I heard him say "I think you do this deliberately, Steve! You were perfect yesterday, and now you're deliberately going slow!"

I wanted to tell him that the previous day I'd spent half the night reconnoitring the route, and that I'd have done the same last night if he'd told me his plans for today, but what was the point? I felt really miserable, as I was doing my best, and it wasn't helped by the fact that running wasn't the pleasure it usually was - my ass was really painful, and as the cotton of the slave shorts rubbed over the welts on my cheeks, it was a constant reminder to me of the unfair punishment I'd had. And all these thoughts made me feel even worse, as they are not the sort of things a slave should be thinking, as you know.

I did my best to catch up in-between calls by running at high speed when I did know where we were going, and positively sprinted from the last call back towards home, in the hope of pleasing him. I stood in the yard breathing very hard, and I was almost totally exhausted after pulling the trap for about five hours.

I was covered in sweat from my last fast sprint home, and all I wanted to do was to go and shower and lie down, and have some chow - I hadn't eaten since the night before. I could feel my shorts and T sticking to my body, they were so wet with my sweat.

He looked at his watch, told me to wait, and went into the house. He emerged a couple of minutes later, and said

"Round to the front. Your mistress is going into the city for the evening, and there's just enough time to catch the earlier train."

It was a huge effort to drag the trap around again, and my mistress emerged with a heavy suitcase. They both got in to the trap, and my owner said "A Fast run to the station, Steve - we'll just make the earlier train."

I was almost exhausted before we started, but fortunately it's mostly downhill to the station and I was able to pull them both, and the suitcase, although I could hear my mistress complaining to my owner that I wasn't really giving everything I had and that if my owner had a whip, as all smart pony drivers did, I could me made to run faster. "You know that he's indolent, and a smart snap of the whip on his bare legs would remind him to keep the pace up", she said.

At the station they were in a hurry to go and buy a ticket as the train was due, and I dutifully went and got the suitcase to join them in the booking hall. My mistress was even more displeased when she saw me holding it, and said to my owner "I think that a visit from the public whip master is going to be the only way to tame this slave! That caning you gave him doesn't seem to have sunk in - look at him! He was being punished for meeting us at the station in that dishevelled state, and he's done it again - look at the way he's not standing respectfully with his head own, but is snorting and breathing hard like that. And all that sweat covering him, and the way that his T and shorts are sticking to his body - it's disgusting!"

"Yes, my dear. Quite so. Now, don't you worry about it - go off and enjoy the theatre with your family tonight.". Turning to me, he snapped "Outside, Steve, and wait in the trap before anyone else sees you!"

I bowed obediently and went and stood in the shafts again, feeling so depressed. I'd really worked hard today, and because I'd sprinted back home, my mistress could go earlier to the station - and then I'd had to run fast again to make the train and I'd done that, even though my body was crying out for rest. And now they were ashamed of me as my body was covered in sweat, rather than seeing it as my tribute to them!

It got worse when my owner came out, as he commanded "Home, but step on it as I've got a surgery."

Even though it was now just him in the trap, I was almost all done in, and the long, slow hill back up towards our house is a bit of a problem at the best of times. But I really did try, even though I knew it wasn't as fast as he would have liked, and really gave it everything I'd got. When we were back in the yard I was so exhausted I sank to the ground, my lungs heaving and my legs trembling with the exertion, and it was several minutes before I could finally get up and put the trap away, and then stagger to my tiny room and throw myself on to the bed.

About an hour later my owner came in and I struggled to my feet.

"Your mistress has been on the phone, and she and I discussed your behaviour earlier. And now I find you lying here on your bed, and not out there cleaning the trap, and doing the yard work! You really don't learn, do you? In spite of all I've done for you, you are not the willing slave that I always thought you were. Since kindness does not seem to work with you, my only option is punishment - 'Slavery Today' has an article this week about slaves like you: they say that if you allow the slave to take an inch, they end up taking a yard. And that therefore it's essential to take firm action the moment any signs of laziness or indolence are detected in a slave."

"So lie back on the bed, Steve, on your belly, and spread your legs - I'm very much afraid that I'm going to have to punish you again. I don't like doing this, as I believe an owner ought to be able to have a slave who willingly works as hard as possible for him. But it's in your own best interests..."

I wanted to explain, to tell him that I'd done all that I could, that I was simply exhausted and worn out from working as hard as possible for him, but I knew that if I opened my mouth he'd just consider that I was arguing with him. So I did as I'd been commanded, and lay there with my head turned to one side and my arms out ahead of me, my fingers gripping the cover.

I saw him reach up for the cane which, as he's told me to, I'd hung over the bed. Then there was that awful feeling as my shorts were pulled off me, to leave my ass naked. It's not that there's a problem in being naked in front of my owner, but having my shorts stripped off me was so humiliating - it was just as if I was a young boy about to be punished: surely he could have told me to do that for myself?

He only gave me six strokes, but each one burned into my ass like a fiery brand. I was still aching and sore from the precious day's punishment, and these six new stripes hurt even more as they criss-crossed the marks still on me. And again it wasn't just the physical pain, but the searing injustice of it all that really hurt. I was a good slave, I did work hard, and yet it all seemed to be going so very wrong somehow.

"Now get that lazy body of yours up and get out there and cut the grass!", he commanded.

I struggled to my feet, and stood there in front of him in just my T. My dick was erect after the caning, and I saw him looking at it. I flushed as I mumbled "Sir, yes, sir", and stooped to pull my shorts up. At least I wasn't dribbling pre-cum this time.

Already exhausted from my day's work it was a real struggle to push the heavy mowing machine up and down the lawns. This had started as a labour of love for me, when I wanted to do everything I could to make the house nice for when my owner and mistress arrived. But they showed no signs of hiring a gardening service or anything, and it now seemed to be accepted that as well as performing as my owner's pony, I was now the gardener and pool man as well. It wasn't right - I couldn't give "everything" in my work as a pony and still have anything left in reserve for this other work. And if I didn't work as hard as I could as a pony, my owner felt I was failing. And I knew I was failing, too. And I knew that having thoughts like this was wrong, terribly wrong, and that made me feel even worse.

I went to bed that night feeling really depressed, and lay there on my belly, my ass still stinging and aching. I could hardly sleep, and just lay there and watched the moon make tracks across the sky.

It was late - probably about midnight, when my door opened and I saw my owner silhouetted against the dim light in the corridor. He seemed to be in a loose T and shorts, the sort I'd seen in shop windows advertised as "sleep and lounge wear", although why anyone would want to wear clothes in bed I couldn't quite imagine.

I at once got to my feet, and stood there, head bowed.

I was expecting my owner to say something, but, to my amazement, he fell to his knees in front of me, put his arms up around my waist, and buried his face in my crotch!

Well, what was I suppose to do? I heard him make little snuffling and moaning noises as he sucked in my scent, then his tongue was licking my balls and my dick. I immediately felt myself go hard, of course, and my owner's noises became louder. I flinched when his hands came down from my waist to cup my muscular ass and pull, as if he was trying to drag me even closer to him - my ass really hurt.

I stood there, not knowing what to do, and then my owner pulled away and muttered "Please.... Please.... Steve.....".

I answered in the same low tone, not knowing what else to do "Sir, yes, sir...?"

"Use me, boss, fuck me. Please, boss, let me have your lovely dick in my unworthy mouth. I want your dick, boss, I want it in me, please boss...."

What was I supposed to do? It was as if he wanted me to be his master! But I felt my own urges rising. My dick, that had been hard, was now painfully so - it was straining for the sky, and as he fell forward onto it again I got that shudder of ecstasy running through me as his tongue lapped at my flange and my piss slit. I started to become excited, and opened my legs a little to give myself more stability.

I looked down, and saw my owner looking up at me - he had his eyes open as his mouth tried to encompass my dick, and he was looking at me imploringly. I knew he wanted to be used, to be dominated, to be controlled, and that suited me perfectly. I pulled my dick out of his mouth, then put my hand at the root of it and swung my dick from side to side, so that I slapped his face hard with it. He continued to look up at me.

"So tell me how much you want my dick..."

"Please, boss, I want to suck your dick, I want to take it right down. Please, boss, give me your dick..."

I stopped slapping at him and snapped "Open you mouth, and put your tongue out...."

I teased my dick head over his tongue as it lolled out of his mouth, then pushed it in to him. He took the first inch or two easily, but then started to choke. I reached down and held his head so that he was unable to move away, then revelled as I heard him choking and gagging as I pushed my dick further in.

He was making strangled, spluttering noises, but I continued to fuck his mouth, thrusting my hips backwards and forwards as I held his head.

I was panting heavily myself, not from the effort, particularly, but because I was excited at once again having another man in my power, under my complete control. I pulled my dick out, and stroked it, feeling the delicious sliminess of it from his throat juices.

He was breathing hard, and coughing and choking.

"Open your mouth, boy.... I haven't finished yet...."

"Please, boss.... Please, I can't take it... Please..."

I slapped him, hard. I was surprised at myself, the moment I'd done it, but somehow at the time it seemed to be so much the right thing to do. He stopped speaking immediately, and I rammed my dick back into his mouth.

He was almost struggling to get away from me now but I gripped his ears and twisted them a little so that he knew that I could cause him real pain, and continued to fuck this throat. My own excitement was building, and the sweat was pouring off me. I'd pushed the pain from my ass into the background - and it was considerable, as his hands were almost flailing at me in a vain effort to make me stop. But I was aroused, my brain was no longer in rational control. I needed sexual release, I needed to dominate, to be in control, and this man in front of me was now mine.

I carried on thrusting into him, but then pulled out. I grabbed his arm, dragged him to his feet, and threw him face down onto my bed. Just as he had earlier in the day, I stripped his shorts off, except that it only took one pull from my powerful hand to leave his ass naked in front of me, whereas he'd taken several feeble jerks to uncover me.

I stood between his feet, then kicked out at his ankles, forcing him to spread his legs.

"I'm going to fuck you, boy... I'm going to fuck your ass. Is that what you want?"

"Yes..."

I slapped him, really hard, on each ass cheek. In the moonlight I saw dark patches starting to appear where my blows had landed (and, remember, I'm a really powerful man with very strong arms!).

"Boy, there'll be more of that if you don't answer respectfully. Now, your last chance.... Tell me what you want...."

"Boss, please fuck me, boss..."

"Tell me again, boy. Are you begging me to put my big dick, slimed with your throat juices, up that tight ass of yours?"

"Boss, please, boss, fuck this boy. Please, boss, I want to feel your dick inside me. Please, boss, fuck me, fuck me hard, boss."

I no longer cared that this was my owner. I no longer remembered that I was a slave. I was a man, a man with a devouring sexual need. My dick was in control.

It needed a tight ass around it. It needed to skewer another man, to fuck and fuck and fuck, to show that I was in command.

I spat on my fingers and kind of minimally lubed his hole, then positioned my dick head at the entrance and pushed. He screamed as I pushed harder and harder, so I reached forward and pushed his head into the bed to stop his whining. My powerful thighs contracted and thrust, he gave another muffled cry, and then I was in.

Well, we all know what it feels like to have a tight ass around our dicks, and it was so long since I'd had this wonderful feeling that there was no stopping me now. I forgot everything that Darren had taught me about "reading" the other guy and modifying my strokes in response to his reactions so that we were both satisfied. I forgot that this was my owner and that I was a slave. All I knew was that there was an ass around my dick and a helpless body under mine, and that I needed to master it, to fuck it as if there would be no consequences, and to maximise my own pleasure.

So I thrust in and out with complete abandon, revelling in the feeling of my dick plunging in to its hilt, and almost hurting myself as my balls banged into his body. I didn't care that he was struggling and writhing under me - all he was there for was to be used for my satisfaction. But I could tell that in spite of his cries he was enjoying it, as his body started to push itself backwards into mine as I fucked him mercilessly.

It couldn't last, of course. My pleasure was too intense. My masterly domination of this male under me was causing pleasure to flood my brain, so that I couldn't think of anything else, or control my body. Inevitably I felt my excitement mounting and mounting, and, all too soon, I shot. My dick pumped a huge load into him, and I had to stop as it's too painful for me to continue fucking as my dick is so sensitive after shooting. Even so, my body's desire to carry on overrode my conscious control, and I made one or two more feeble thrusts, giving my own great cries of ecstasy, pain and pleasure as I did so.

And then it was over, and I fell forward onto him, my dick still buried in his ass. I felt his sweaty body underneath my equally wet one, and that somehow excited me further. I licked at the back of his neck, and got the piquant salty taste of man sweat. He shuddered under me, and moaned quietly as he lay there.

My breathing slowed, and I raised myself off him, and pulled my dick out. As I stood there, my body steaming slightly, the sickening realisation of what I'd done started to come over me. "Jesus Christ!", I thought. "If he canes me for appearing dishevelled at the station, what's the punishment for raping his ass?

Oh, fuck me, I'm in deep shit now."

I stood there, not knowing what to do, and I saw him gradually stirring on the bed. He sat up, looked at me, then dropped to his knees in front of me again! He bent right down, and kissed my feet!

I felt his hands go around my calves, as if he was holding on to them for support, and I heard him say "Boss, thank you, boss. Please, boss, may I go now, boss, please?"

Well, what was I supposed to do? I muttered "Yes, boy. Get the fuck out of here."

He got to his feet, and in the moonlight I saw is dick and balls hanging down below his T. He picked up his shorts, turned, and went out of the room.

What the fuck was I supposed to do now? Had he gone off to call the police, or something? I was trembling, I think - a combination of worry, fear, and, most of all, that fantastic "after sex" shaking that you get when your body's totally exhausted from its efforts and all your sexual needs have been completely satisfied. Well, I'm a pretty practical sort of guy, and after a few minutes I showered to wash all the sweat off me and to clean my dick from hiss ass juices. And when nothing still hadn't happened, I lay back in bed.

Although I was really worried - no, scared would be a better term - that other thing took over: I'd just had a bout of incredible, orgiastic, totally satisfying sex. And so like most guys who've just shot a huge load, I fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up and I was smiling - that smile that you get when everything seems right with the world. I forgot the pain from my caning as I stretched my whole body as I lay in bed, then reached down and started to stroke my morning hard on. It was only then, as I began to pleasure myself that my mind went back to the night before. Holy shit! I stopped jerking myself off, and the full horror of it all swept over me. I felt physically sick at the realisation of what I'd done. I'd been totally out of control again, and had simply almost raped the guy I was with - and that guy was my owner! What should I do?

I lay there, tossing and turning, almost mad with worry. Finally, not knowing what else to do, I got up, showered, pulled on a clean slave T and shorts, and went out into the yard. It was a beautiful autumn morning, with a clear blue sky and sunshine, although we'd lost the warmth of summer, and I shivered slightly. I could vaguely hear my owner moving around inside the house, and there was the appetising smell of bacon grilling coming out of the kitchen extractor vent, and, in spite of myself, my mouth filled with saliva.

As if sticking to routine would stave off any unpleasantness, I opened the garage, slipped between the shafts of my trap, and pulled it around to the front door.

Those minutes when I was waiting for my owner to come out were the worst in my life. I was expecting the police to arrive at any minute, or, at the very least, a car from a slave dealer. Or perhaps he was just going to order me to go back, to his surgery, and then he would geld me. All sorts of sick ideas went through my mind - should I attempt to run away... No, I was a slave, and proper slaves just don't do things like that: a slave knows he's done wrong, and accepts his punishment as his just desserts for his actions.

As the wait went on I felt worse and worse, and I could feel my body start to shiver. At first I thought it was the cool morning air, but I was only fooling myself - it was fear, and, I guess, shame for behaving so badly. I was a slave, a properly trained slave, and I'd just raped my owner. I started to feel sick in the pit of my stomach, and I broke out into a cold sweat.

It was almost a relief as the front door opened. At least now I would know....

My owner came out, climbed up into the seat - a little slower than usual, as I guessed his ass was really sore from the pounding I'd given it - and said "Morning, Steve! A really good autumn day. Now, it's the Gregson's first... But you can take it at a steady pace, as I've got lots of time..."

I almost couldn't believe it. As I pulled away down the drive, I almost began to doubt what I'd heard. My owner had just told me to start work as if nothing had happened!

It was only midmorning when I began to realise that my owner was not going to say anything at all about the previous night. He seemed to be in denial that anything had happened at all! But that couldn't really be so, could it - especially as I could see him wincing every time he climbed in and out of the trap.

By the time is rounds were ended I felt almost certain that he as going to say nothing, as he'd given me his usual orders in the same friendly yet professional tone he always used. Wen we got home and he was preparing for his surgery, he asked me if I'd clean the pool, and reminded me that I had to go and meet the mistress off the four p.m. train. "And, Steve", he said kindly, "Do put on a clean T and shorts before you go - your mistress is very particular, you know."

So that seemed to be it - I noticed my mistress looking at me very carefully at the station, as if trying to find fault, and I ran as hard and as fast as I could on the journey home so that she would have nothing to complain about. As the vet cameo out to greet her when we arrived home, I even heard her say "See, I told you The slave has learned his lesson - I'll watch him carefully from now on, and at the slightest sign of intransigence, you'll cane him again. He'll soon learn."

Later in the week it was again time to clean the pool, and I strode around to the pool area only to find my mistress sitting there with three other ladies. They all had drinks in their hands, and were talking. I'd been down at the bottom of the yard doing some digging, and evidently hadn't hard the other ponies arrive. I cheered up, as I enjoyed talking to the other guys, so I said "Mistress, apologies for disturbing you. I'll come back, mistress", as respectfully as I could.

"No, slave, clean the pool. We are not planning to go swimming until later."

I was at first disappointed, as I wanted very much to go and talk to the other ponies, but I knew that I ought to work, so I busied myself screwing together the long cleaning pole and so on. Then I started, until I heard my mistress shout "Slave! Don't you remember your lessons? How do pool slaves clean the pool?"

I blushed, as I knew what she meant. So I half stammered "Mistress... I'm sorry mistress... I thought that with the other ladies present, I.... "

"Slaves don't think! Slaves obey. Neither I nor any of these other ladies are at all embarrassed by the sight of a naked slave. It's not as if you're a man, after all! Now, assume the proper dress for pool cleaning."

Well, she might not be embarrassed by the sight of a naked slave, but this slave was fucking well embarrassed at having to disport himself nude in front of four women! But what could I do? If I disobeyed her order, or even argued, or delayed, she'd complain to my owner and demand that he cane me. I felt the blood rush up to my shoulders and face as I pulled my T over my head, and dropped it neatly on the pool side. I turned away as I undid my shorts and shed them, and they couldn't therefore see as I flicked at my dick to make it stand away from my balls - you know how you do, when they've been confined and your dick and balls are stuck together.

Then I started work, and of course sooner of later I couldn't help but turn towards them. I blushed furiously as I heard little laughs and low whispers of womanly conversation - I knew they were discussing my body, but what could I do? And I actually heard one of them ask why my dick was black, and why I was allowed to wear nipple rings.

"Oh, he came that way", my mistress said. "He's my husband's pony, really, so the colour of his dick and those rings are not important as it's all covered up. My husband got a very good deal on him, and I'm really proud of the way he managed to save our money by getting a slave that can do the work of a pony, and be useful around the yard, without paying a fortune for him!"

"Mind you", she went on, "We're having a bit of a job really completing his training. He arrogantly thinks he knows all there is to know about being a slave, but......". Her tone changed, as she called out "Come over here, slave!"

Well, what could I do? I couldn't disobey an order, could I? So I walked over to where the women were sitting, and stood there with my head respectfully bowed.

"Turn around, slave!", my mistress commanded, and I did. "See", she went on, to her companions. "Look at all those marks across his ass - my husband has had to give him two severe canings recently as he's been failing in his duties as a slave. Still... It makes a nice contrast with the perfection of his flesh, doesn't it? I have to admit he's got a really nice ass, and I do like the way he has those little dimples where the base of his spine starts to go into his ass crack...."

I wasn't just blushing at the way my body was being looked at and described now. I was so cross at hearing my mistress criticising me in public for failing as a slave... All these ladies would now think that I wasn't properly trained, and that I wasn't properly dutiful.

"Have you ever... You know.... 'Used' the slave?" I heard one of the ladies ask my mistress.

"Use the slave?"

"Yes... You know.... With a dick like that, and that ass and thighs to drive it.... Have you ever 'used' him...... When your husband's away?"

"Certainly not!", my mistress said, sounding angry herself. "We had masses of slaves on my father's estate, many of them at least as good looking as this one - even before he allowed himself to be disfigured in that repulsive way. But even a a young girl, desperate for a man, I knew it was wrong to fuck the slaves! I'm surprised at you for even thinking it. In any case, my husband... Well, you know.... My father picked me out a really well-built man. And he's a vet, so he knows all about anatomy, and knows how to use himself.... If you understand me."

The ladies all laughed politely, and as I still stood there with my back to them as I'd not been dismissed, they went on and all began to discuss their husbands. As they catalogued their favourite sex positions, and described how they played with their partners, I feet the stiffening of life in my dick. Well, all guys have erections during the day, don't they? I'm a virile twenty four year old, and my dick sprang into life about once every twenty minutes- and hearing all this sex talk was just the rigger it needed! Mind you, it was odd - hearing my mistress say how her father had picked out the vet - I'd heard the explanation of the shortage of men, and how good-looking men with professional positions could attract a big "dowry" from rich fathers.... It wasn't so far from being sold at auction, I suppose. I wondered if he interviewed my owner, or even made him drop his pants to see if he was "suitable" for his daughter!

"Well", I heard my mistress say as if she was wanting to bring the conversation to a close "I still think I'm lucky. Although my husband doesn't earn much as he's only a vet, it's not a problem as daddy's got lots of money. And my husband knows that if he fails to please me, he'll be out, divorced, and penniless! So he has to be very careful to do as he's told."

I heard the other women kind of titter.

"Yes", my mistress went on. "I've decided to have a baby, and daddy wants me to breed to continue the family line, of course. So I have him pretty busy most nights. But I always make sure he properly pleasures me."

I felt really sorry or my owner, being described like this. He might as well be a sex slave, I thought. But thinking about sex had made my erection worse, and to my horror I then heard my mistress say "Anyway, enough is enough of this kind of talk! It isn't polite for society ladies! Shall we have a swim?" And then, "You're dismissed, slave!"

As I turned to say "Ma'am, thank you, ma'am", they all saw my erection, and laughed, politely.

"Get away, you disgusting animal", my mistress shrieked. "How dare you disport yourself like that!".

"Look at him", she told her friends. "He's disgusting - always erect. And, do you know, he dribbled his repulsive cock snot all over my furniture when my husband was punishing him the other night! I'm seriously thinking that he needs taming - I'll talk to my husband about just snipping his balls off, to stop all this nonsense!"

"Mistress, I'm sorry, mistress..."

"Get out, slave! Go and do something else!"

I turned and walked away, knowing their eyes were all on my nude body, and now worried that my precious balls were in danger again.

End Of Part 22