Sunday, September 30, 2007

BLACKBOSS SLAVE FARMPart one
BERND

Dedicated to my good old fellow Jeremy Richards †




© 2007 by Bernd, the rights resides with the author.
Available from bdsmbooks.com
Readers, please note: If you find a mistake of spelling or applicable expression, be aware that the author’s native language is NOT English. So excuse some deficiency.


Key-Words: Partly MaleDom., partly FemDom., brutal slavery, pony-play, tort.,deep humil., interrac. Hetero + gay Sex, dirty, WS., body-modific., breeding.


Summary: After WW-II, the “Black Power Movement” in the South of the States started to strengthen and increase its physical power all over the USA. Up to then, coloured citizens in the US were treated by members of the white population like slaves as their ancestors did 150 years ago. The obsolete US-System of Justice mostly condemned the innocent Blacks due to their race and exonerated the white criminals. So injustice and hate grew. Formerly the Whites exercised Lynch-Justice without a trial, now the humiliated but aggressive Blacks helped themselves by kidnapping and abduction of snooty Whites of both genders into real slavery in foreign countries of dictatorship and states of corruption the Black-Power criminals held secret connections with. So some members of the Black-“Power-Movement-Organisation” kidnapped female “supplies” for the “farm-ranch”, others the male victims.
Thus Paul Sheehan was sentenced to ten years of forced work that meant slavery under black overseers. Humiliation, nasty acts, anal rape and abuse as work horses, urinals and sex-toys were his and the other convicts’ daily routine.
But not only men were victims on that strange Ranch, kidnapped girls as well were abused as breeding sows and had to endure a fate worse than any normal breeding stock.
Chapter 1 The Acquisition of the Sows to be

For several weeks the agents had supervised the young and very attractive three girls acting as cheerleaders displaying their muscular bodies with their slim legs and full bosoms almost bursting out of the tight bikini-tops. And when the unsuspecting girls made up their mind to participate in a cheerleaders’ contest in Miami/Florida during their spring-break from school the agents alarmed their clients to use the opportunity.
So Margaret, Nancy and Wendy decided to drive to Florida for Spring Break. Nancy’s dad was an old car buff and had restored a 1970-Cadillac Convertible for her. It was huge and the three of us could sit in the front seat easily. They decided it would be fun to tease the truckers on the way down who could easily see into the open car from above, so they wore their tiniest micro-skirts and T-shirts cut off just below the American Football-logo, so they could flash their full boobs. They thought that would be good practice for the wet T-shirt contests they planned to enter.
They all had great bodies from practising their cheerleader routines and they were sure at least one them would win and even if they didn’t, they would be able to pick and choose among the boys for dates. White boys only, of course.
They had a great time going down. Wendy’s brother had bought them a case of beer which they stuffed into coolers of ice and they were laughing and chugging the beer enjoying the stares and erratic driving of the truckers when they pulled up their skirts to show the tiny panties or jerked up the t-shirts.
They almost made it. When they stopped for snacks in Georgia, Wendy noticed a secondary road that seemed to be a shortcut in the map. None of them became aware of a plain car following them at a distance. Since Wendy had been designated as navigator they tried it. It was a just two lane blacktop with very few cars. They missed not being able to shake up the truckers any more, but found a new diversion. They began throwing the empty beer cans at mail boxes while Nancy bombed along about 70 MPH in the 55 MPH limit zone.
All of a sudden they were shocked by a loud siren behind them. Nancy said, "Oh shit! This is goin’ cost me a bit!" Little did she know ….
She pulled over and Wendy suggested she wrap a fifty dollar bill around her license since she had heard the hick-cops often accepted bribes. Nancy slid forward in her seat to pull her skirt right up to the crotch, and when this black, fat cop in a faded uniform came to the door she said innocently, "Hi Officer! Did I do something wrong?" and handed him her license with the fifty dollar bill wrapped around it.
The coloured cop stared at her thighs, then looked at the license, saying, "What is the fifty for?" ‘He is not well educated,’ Margaret thought, ‘he doesn’t know the correct grammar of his own native language. What ARE the fifty for, he is to say …’ What else to expect of a hick ..
Nancy smiled sheepishly and said, "I thought I would pay the fine instantly to save time. We are in a hurry to get to Florida, SIR!" Better to address this black “bull” as ‘Sir’, she thought.
He said gruffly, "Girlie, this won’t even come close to your fines. I have you for speeding, destroying private property by hitting the mail boxes, open containers, and I think you are all drunk and under age. Get out of the car! All of you! Get in the back of my patrol car. Immediately!"
Nancy said, "What about my car? Am not going to let some idiot drive it. My dad spent a lot of time and money restoring it."
He pulled his gun: "Girlie, don’t argue. Your car will be towed. You aren’t going to drive it one more foot until you have had a breath-analysis."
They felt sick. The vacation would be ruined. They had cash and plastic money, so the fines would be no problem, but if Nancy’s license was taken, her dad would shit. Wendy and Maggie’s folks would shit if they found out they had been arrested.
Obviously they weren’t going to take the risk this idiot may shoot them so they got out of the car and into the backseat of his which had no door handles and a screen between the front and back seat.
It was bad enough to be frightened by an arrest but he made it worse by ranting on about how he hated these rich kids that thought they owned the world and that they should be ashamed of being such sluts and that he may add indecent exposure to their “crimes”.
He made a right turn into another little road that led into the woods until they came to a scruffy town. It looked like a ghost town! There was a big factory building with broken windows and obviously vacant and all the businesses except a little convenience store had the windows and doors boarded up.
He drove up to a concrete building with just a sign saying "JAIL" over the door and led the girls in to put them in individual cells while saying, "You can wait here while I get the judge." The cells were terrible. Just a big iron bed and a five gallon bucket obviously to be used as a toilet. As bad as Margaret had to pee after all the beer, she resolved she would rather die before squatting over it with no privacy.
Once they were securely locked up he just stood and stared at them for a minute. Margaret wished she was wearing overalls and she was sure the other girls felt the same way.
Then Nancy said: "For Christ sakes. Go, get the judge. We are in a hurry." He just smiled evilly and said, "There ain’t no judge. I am judge, jury and executioner all in one. The only people in town are my sister, brother and me since the fucking factory closed to move down to Mexico for the cheap spick labour. They wouldn’t be here either if I had not come up with this scheme."
Nancy said: "You mean you can make a living off of traffic tickets?"
"Hell no! There is more to it than that. You girls are worth money!"
Nancy said: "Oh shit, girls! We have been kidnapped. How much ransom are you going to want? Our folks have most of their money tied up in investments."
He just grinned again and said, "Do you think I am that stupid? How could we collect ransom? FBI would be crawling all over any place we had your folks put it. No, once you are trained you are worth a mint in the slave market. Also my brother will pick up your car and we will make a phoney bill of sale to sell it at a good price in the Caribbean where it can’t be traced."
They all three began crying. How could this terrible thing happen to them?
He went into Nancy’s cell and said, "Okay girlie. Let’s see if you look as good as I think. Get those clothes off. Everything! Even the shoes and socks!"
"Fuck you! You prick! Dad will be calling our motel in a few hours to make sure we got there alright and if we aren’t there, he will call the real cops. You had better turn us loose now or you will rot in jail forever!" yelled Nancy.
Margaret and Wendy knew that was a lie. Nancy’s folks were on a cruise with Margaret’s folks and Wendy’s and they hadn’t been able to find a motel with a vacancy. They had hoped they might bunk with some of the other girls from school. Margaret had to admire the lie and hoped it would scare him.
He just walked over her and said, "Bullshit! The cops won’t take a missing report until you have been gone 24 hours. By then there will be no trace of you. Now get those clothes off!"
Nancy put an arm over her breasts and the other over her crotch as she shrilled, "No! No!" He went closer to her and yelled, "No? You will NEVER use that word again!"
He punched her in the stomach! Hard! She fell to the floor gagging and trying to breathe. While she was still trying to get her breath he picked her up and laid her over the 2 inch pipes of the footboard of the “bed” and jerked her arms over to handcuffs at the sides of the bed springs. Then Margaret noticed more cuffs at the legs of the foot board which he quickly snapped over her ankles. He walked out leaving her there with her skirt up to her waist in that horribly bound position.
Nancy got back her breath and began struggling to get loose, but all that did was push her T-shirt up until her cute round boobs were rubbing on the dirty mattress. She gave up and slumped to the mattress just as he returned. He was carrying a riding crop! Margaret was familiar with it. They were so evil she wouldn’t use one on her horse, but Nancy had already used it to her mount. I was sure she would know now how the horse had felt.
He went over to her and said, "A ‘NO’ is worth twenty lashes and twenty more anytime I hear it again."
The quirt dug deep into the roundest part of Nancy’s thinly clad butt and by the tenth the panties were ripped and Nancy screamed, "No! No more! I will take off my clothes. Damn you!"
He growled, "Stupid bitch. That is two more ‘NO’s’."
She screamed and screamed as he slammed the sixty lashes into her, until her panties were in tatters and her voice went hoarse. Finally her body just jerked at each lash as she became too exhausted to struggle, then she fainted.
He left her cell and walked into Wendy’s. He stared at her trembling body a moment, then said: "Are you going to refuse to strip?"
She started to say "No", but caught herself changing it to "Eeeeh. I will strip for you. Please don’t hurt me. I will do anything you want."
"Good. Do it nice and slow! I want to see your naked skin a little at a time."
Margaret knew that Wendy normally loved to strip in front of boys, but this was totally different. There was no pop-music or excited boys. Just this ugly black man with his 3-day old scruffy beard and beer belly staring at her malevolently.
She slowly slid her T-shirt up and over her head to show her 38D -boobs she was normally proud of, but this time it just made her blush and tremble. She slowly unzipped the skirt to slide it down and let it puddle at her feet then paused by only her nearly transparent panties until he said: "Those too!"
She made a little moan then slid down the panties slowly revealing her sparse-haired, bikini waxed pussy-lips which hid nothing.
He went over to her and grabbed both her breasts, squeezing them until his fingers grabbed deep into them and then pinching and pulling on the nipples as she gasped and trembled obviously fighting her impulse to push him away or grab his hands.
As he did it he said: "I hope you do something wrong. I will love to see these boobs bouncing under my quirt."
She blanched at the thought and moaned: "Please. Please! Have mercy! I will be good."
"Good. Now kneel down and unzip my pants to give me a great blow job!"
The idea horrified her so much, she forgot and whined, "N0. Please. That will make me sick and maybe I have to throw up!"
He smiled evilly and said, "That is a ‘N0’ again. Go over and lean back against the wall!"
She whined "Oh God! Pleases. Please!" but she slowly backed up to the wall as he moved toward her.
When her butt hit the wall he said, "Put your hands on your head. If you take them down I will start all over." She sobbed and tears rolled down her cheeks as she put her hands on her head. The two other girls couldn’t help but admire how beautiful her boobs looked as they rose to eliminate any sag.
The Negro started beating her poor tits with the quirt! She screamed at the top of her lungs and almost ripped out her hair in the effort to keep her hands in place, as her boobs jumped and quivered under the quirt. By the time he finished they were a maroon colour and had swollen up, and she was crying hysterically.
He smiled and put his hand on his crotch to move the huge lump into a more comfortable position, then left to lock her cell-door and come to Margaret’s cell. He came in and said: "Have you learned a lesson? Are you ready to strip?
She had determined not to use the word "NO", no matter what he would want, and she said in a trembling voice: "Yes. I will try to make you happy."
Margaret began the slow strip dreading the panty part knowing her pussy was completely hairless. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine if it was not this brute but her tender boyfriend she was stripping for, but he would not allow that fantasy by yelling: "Open your eyes! Look at me!"
Shame and humiliation returned as she looked at his ugly leering face, but she knew she had to continue. Margaret slid down the panties and stood at attention with her legs apart as he ordered. She swore she could feel his eyes covering every inch of her body, as tears dripped off her chin to splash on her full breasts.
By then, Nancy was awake, and she and Wendy were staring at Margaret’s ordeal. She wished they had the decency to look away, as that just added to her humiliation as they stood there wondering what else the girl would have to suffer. His next statement made Margaret realize even her complete submission would not allow her to escape pain.
The black fake-cop grinned at her like a kid with a new toy and said, "You mind very well, but you should at least have a taste of pain to make sure you continue to be good. Come over here and slide my belt out of my pants!"
The trembling girl knew the belt would be used on her and whined, avoiding the "N0" –word: "Please. Do I have to? I have done what you asked."
"Yes, and if you dare to argue, you will be punished more. Now do it!"
She went to him, now sobbing, and slid out the belt and let it hang from her hand. Her only consolation was that a belt seemed much less severe than that terrible quirt he had used on Nancy’s bosom to bruise her so terribly.
"Good. Give it to me and say: ‘Please give me five spanks on my butt.’ Bend over and hold on to your knees for it!"
God, this would be the ultimate humiliation to actually ask for pain! Margaret wished she could be brave like Nancy, but knew that would be foolish since it would just be worse.
She sobbed: "Please give me five spanks on my butt, er -- Sir!", then turned and bent over to grip her knees tightly to brace for the pain.
It was weird hearing the "whirr" of the belt and the "Splat!!" before she felt the sharp sting on her taught butt. She had never been spanked before and was actually relieved it was not as bad as she had feared. He had told her to ask for the spanks by counting the next number, and at >two< he hit lower at the bottom of her butt which stung even more, but was still bearable. Margaret was able to continue to hold on to her knees and keep her response to gasps and shudders until “five” which landed on a previously spanked place that stung enough to make her scream uncontrollably.
He said: "Good girl! Now turn around and stand up!"
She knew it sounds weird, but his "Good Girl" pleased her and she felt a little proud of being able to do as he asked. Unfortunately it was not over. He said: "Put your hands on your head and push out your tits, then ask me to give you four spanks on your breasts!"
Margaret was shocked! Even the thought was horrifying! She whimpered "Please don’t do this! I have been good!"
"Would you rather argue and get twenty?”
"Oh no sir!! Please give me four spanks on my boobies!"
At one he hit the side of her left breast to make a horrible sting that seemed to sink in deeply and made it slap into her right breast. It took all her nerves to say: "Two"
He hit the outside of the right breast to make another sting and make it slap into her left breast. Her breath paused for a moment, feeling the terrible stings seem to sink into her whole body, before saying: "Three." The tip hit into her cleavage to jerk the breast toward her armpit and drag over her nipple. She had to scream and shuddered a moment before saying: "Four." He then did the same to her other breast.
Margaret stood there sobbing with tears running down her cheeks as she felt the stings radiate from her poor boobies which were beginning to throb with each heartbeat. Desperately she caressed them trying to soothe them as he watched in glee.
He said: "Okay, last bit. Open your legs and ask for three onto your snatch!"
In total horror, she moaned: "Oh, how can you be so mean! You cannot imagine how that will hurt, Sir!”
He had no sympathy saying: "Yet, I can imagine! Are you arguing?"
She sighed: "Oh Jesus!" and slowly opened her legs a little, but he kept saying "Wider!!" until she felt the sex-lips open and a strain to her inner thighs."
When he was satisfied she said: "One." He brought his belt up from the floor to sting the right side of her crotch. To her surprise the sting was not worse than the ones onto her butt and much less than the ones to her breasts.
She said "Two", and he hit the other side. The stings radiated into her tummy and around the clitoris. It was weird! As the stings radiated she felt an excitement much like masturbation. That feeling was stopped when she said: "Three." He brought the belt up the centre to sink just into her open slit and rip at her tender inner lips and clitoris. She let out a scream at the pain that seemed to go deep into her guts and the shock made her legs slap together to stand there sobbing and caressing her crimson pussy in the hope it may help.
He misinterpreted that completely, as he watched the sobbing girl rubbing her pussy, and he said: "Shit! Watching you jerking off has made me rock hard. Come over here and undo my pants to give me a great blow-job!"
Margaret looked over at Nancy and Wendy who were staring wide-eyed, and she said, "Oh God! Sir, couldn’t I do it somewhere else? This is terribly humiliating to have Nancy and Wendy watching." She realized asking for this concession only implied her willingness to do it.
He would not even allow that. He said: "No! I want them to watch so they will know how I like it done. Now get on your knees and take down my pants!"
Margaret had gone down on her boyfriend once after his urgent begging for months, and she remembered it was not too bad.
So she knelt down and opened his pants to let them fall to the floor revealing two surprisingly skinny, but hairy legs so out of proportion in relation to his fat gut. He was not wearing shorts. Margaret looked up to his dick.
It was not like her boyfriend’s at all. It was huge, fat, and almost of a coal-black colour with big ugly veins looking like worms. She carefully took it in her hand noting her fingers barely made it around its width, and brought the purple head of it to her mouth. As she breathed in she smelled this vile odour and knew he had not washed it for weeks.
She gagged just as he said: "No. Don’t put it in your mouth yet! First lick every inch of my balls! Be gentle! If you hurt me I will quirt your pussy until it bleeds."
It was so gross! Poor Margaret had to gag several times at the taste of old sweat and possibly cum on his hairy ball-sac, but she I tried to be as gentle as possible. He had her lick the shaft of his dick which was just as bad, then put the purplish head into her tiny mouth being careful not to touch it with her front-teeth, since that had made her boy-friend scream then.
Her boy-friend had wanted her to suck gently and lovingly, but this creep didn’t want so. He just grabbed her hair and began jerking the head back and forth causing the girl to gag as it hit the back of her throat. She dreaded the moment his vile spunk would flood her mouth, but he wanted to humiliate her more.
He pulled back and shot his sperm in her face and eyes. He must have not been laid for a long time because there was a lot of it, and when he had squeezed out the last drop Margaret knelt there sobbing at the terribly degrading treatment.
He said: "Nice Blowjob. You could make a good living doing that. I have to go check on my brother. Be back soon. Don’t any of you put on clothes!"
Margaret continued to sob as she grabbed the rough wool blanket from the bed to wipe off his fishy cum. When she calmed a little, she sat on the bed and whined: "Jesus! I could never have imagined anything happening to me that was so bad."
To Margaret’s surprise Nancy answered angrily: "What the fuck are you talking about? Your skin is just red. Look at us! We will have bruises for weeks. You are such a whiner! You could have easily grabbed his gun when you took off his belt or blew him and shot the bastard. But no! You just did what he wanted like some S&M -whore."
That was so unfair! Margaret answered angrily, "Are you fuckin’ crazy? I couldn’t shoot a cop! I would be boiled in oil. I couldn’t kill anyone anyway. At least I am smarter than you. Look at you! Your ass-flesh is hamburger, and you know that finally you will be sucking cock too."
"Maybe, but not without a fight. I have some dignity! You are just a coward. Isn’t that right, Wendy?" Nancy barked.
Margaret felt better when Wendy said: "My tits hurt awful! I am not going through that again if I can help it. Besides, what makes you so damn brave, Nancy? You were tied down. I think Margaret and I were the brave ones to take our terrible punishment without being tied up. I would have rather been tied. It was really hard not to bring my arms down to protect my poor boobs."
Margaret agreed: "Yeah! You have no idea of the nerve it took Wendy and me to take that kind of punishment. I’ll bet you could not do it!"
Nancy shouted: "I will never know, because there is no way I am going to humiliate myself by just standing there and be beaten. I will fight back!"
Margaret answered: "My God, Nancy! That may be a bad mistake. You know that by my cooperating I was not hurt nearly as bad as you."
"Yeah, but now you have no pride! I am not about to have this black nigger turn me into a coward!"
There was no sense arguing the point. Fear returned as the girls wondered what he may do next.
Wendy said: "Shit girls! We shouldn’t be fighting among ourselves. Let’s better try to find a way out of this hell here!"
Nancy said: "Right! Now damn it! Next time he gets close to you, grab his gun and shoot the bastard! No jury in the world would blame you or us." She had a point but Margaret hoped one of them would get the opportunity first because she was afraid she would screw it up in fear and might be killed."
Nancy had a plan. "Look. When he comes back, offer to give him another blowjob. When you undo his pants, you will be able to grab his gun out of the holster."
Margaret said, "It is YOUR plan. YOU offer. That is really gross!"
"Oh okay, you pussy! I thought I would be the only one who had the wits to get us out of this mess."
He came back and went into Nancy’s cell to slap her butt, now badly bruised with scabs on part of it to make her gasp. So Wendy said: "We have had some time to think over. So we decided to going to be good girls now."
Margaret swore, if this had been a movie, Nancy would have received the academy award as best actress! She declared seriously: "Oh yes, Sir! We’ll be good. Please, don’t hurt us anymore! May I please suck your cock to let you know I will do anything to please you?"
He smiled broadly and said, "That is more like it. Let me get you loose."
He took off her bonds and Margaret was amazed that Nancy could actually smile at him as she put her hands at the sides of his chest and began sliding down to kneel in front of him. As soon as her hand got close to his gun, she grabbed it and pointed it right at his crotch yelling: "Okay, you bastard! Turn around so I can handcuff you or I will blow your fat nuts off!"
He laughed at her loudly! "You stupid bitch! Did you really think I was dumb enough to bring a loaded gun in with prisoners? Go on! Pull the trigger!"
Nancy jerked on the trigger as fast as she could, but there was only six "Clicks"! Her face showed panic just as he hit her in the face as hard as he could with his fist. She dropped as if hit by a bomb, totally unconscious.
The Negro dragged her nude body over to the wall and pulled up her wrists to handcuff them to the bars of the window face out, then pulled her right ankle over to lock it to the bars of Wendy’s cell, then the left to the bed. He had to strain to pull her legs so far apart, and we other two knew, when she woke up her hips would be killing her.
He looked over at us and said, "You bitches are to pay attention. It will be a lesson to you to never try again to fight back!"
He left and came back carrying a long black stick. Margaret recognized it! It was a cattle prod that was used on cattle on her parent’s ranch. Once one of the ranch-hands had playfully touched her butt with one and even through her jeans and panties it hurt so bad her Dad fired the hand on the spot. This one was even longer than the one that had been used then on her, and Margaret knew it had more batteries inside to make an even worse shock. Then she noticed something else about it. Normally the rods coming out of the end were blunt, but this one had been sharpened into evil looking nails.
He set it on the bed then threw a bucket of water on the drowsy Nancy. The other two saw ice cubes bouncing off her face! She came to sputtering from the water that had gone into her mouth and nose.
He said, "Awake now, white bitch?"
Nancy just moaned: “Oh God! Let me down. My hip joints are killing me!"
"Don’t worry! You won’t notice that in a minute. I see I am going to have to get tougher to tame you."
Without warning he jammed the nails of the prodder into her left breast on each side of her nipples as deep as they would go. While she was still screaming from that pain he began pushing and releasing a button which made screech this shrill that her shrieks hurt the girls’ ears, as Nancy’s breasts jumped from the electric shocks going deep inside her poor boob.
He pulled out the nails and blood began rolling down her boob to drip onto her lower stomach while she sobbed her heart out.
He pressed the sharp point of one nail against her right nipple and as she screamed "No! No! No!" he slowly drove it into the hilt then pressed the button again in pulses that made the muscles of her boob contract to make it jump as if being hit. Her keening wails were terrifying.
He pulled the nails out slowly, and now both breasts were dripping blood, but even that was not enough for him. He carefully aimed the nails on both sides of her clitoris and began pushing the button in pulses that made her hips buck as if she was fucking it until her screams faded, as she went into another faint.
He was mad at her for fainting! He said angrily: "Shit! Now I have to get more water." He left, and Wendy and Margaret looked at her friend, utterly terrified. Blood was slowly dripping now from both breasts and her pussy and her body had gone limp to pull her into even more of a split position that left her pussy slit gaping open.
The brute returned with another bucket of water, but it did not revive her as much, so he added to it by jamming smelling salts under her nose until she was waving her head madly to avoid it.
She pulled against her wrist-cuffs desperately trying to remove some of the pain at her hips, but could only hold for a few seconds before her arms gave out and her legs returned to the bowed, painful position.
She began moaning, "Please, Sir, let me down. I’ll be good! I promise! Please. Please!"
He just grinned at her obviously enjoying her pain and said: "In a little while, but I seem to remember three >N0’s< coming out of your mouth."
She panicked and managed to pull herself up to the point her neck was at her wrists as she wailed: "Oh God! Jesus help me!!"
Margaret knew she was desperate because she had said in former days it was stupid to believe in God, and the Bible was just a collection of fables. Now she cried for God’s help!
He just grinned more and said: "I will give you a break. Just five lashes per one >N0<."
Margaret thought he was finally feeling some compassion until he reached to his belt to get the whip that had been hidden by his leg. Margaret and Wendy gasped when they saw it. It looked like a short club, but the end sprouted a length of barbed wire about two feet long.
He swung it against the upper swell of her breasts to make her scream, but he wasn’t satisfied to just let the points dig in to her poor boobs. He dragged the whip as it hit to tear furrows in the skin.
He gave her four more on her breasts nearly ripping off a nipple on one breast, then five more to her soft underbelly and finally five more that crossed her vagina over and over until blood was running out of it.
One could no longer see skin for the blood, then he said, "This solution of salt and alum will stop the bleeding."
He splashed a bucket over the front of her body. Nancy’s mouth opened like a fish on dry land and her eyes bugged at what must have been a terrible burn but she was too hoarse to make a loud sound. Just a strangling noise.



Chapter 2 The future becomes obvious
The screams must have been heard because a skinny guy in overalls and a woman in a dirty housedress walked in. The arriving guy was even blacker than the other, whilst the woman’s skin was lighter albeit more a dirty kind of brown colour.
She took one look at poor Nancy and said, "Goddammit, Bruce! You have scarred her. You know that lowers her price at selling! You dumb shit! Some of those cuts need to be sewed up. Go get my sewing kit! Now!"
Bruce looked sheepish and said, "Okay but let me introduce you! The bitch hanging is Nancy, the girl with the purple boobs is Wendy and the red one is Margaret. Girls, meet Basil and Kitty."
Nancy of course did not respond. The two girls didn’t think her mind could handle any more than the pain. Margaret just stared, but Wendy evidentially after years of being polite said sweetly, "Glad to meet you Kitty. You too, Basil."
Margaret could hardly believe it! She stared at Wendy in amazement.
Kitty said grudgingly, "We’ll see at least one of them is polite."
Bruce said: "Yeah, Wendy and Margaret are okay, but Nancy is going to need a lot of training.”
Kitty snarled, "Any more ‘training’ from you, and she will be dead. Help Basil get her down and lay her out on the bed and go get my sewing kit."
Nancy was limp as they put her on the bed and manacled her wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed. Margaret was amazed to see the salt and alum had worked. Now only the worst gashes continued to ooze blood.
Bruce ran off and returned with a wicker sewing basket. Kitty reached in to bring out a curved upholstery needle which she threaded. She went to Nancy and began sewing up her wounds. Nancy must have been in so much pain anyway, she hardly seemed to notice the needle going through her skin in tiny stitches.
It took a long time, but Nancy only moaned until she began sewing up her ripped nipple. This hurt enough to make her give out little squeals as the needle went through the skin and the thread was tightened.
Finally Kitty was done and stepped back. The girls had to admire her skill. The skin that had been so horribly ripped was now just tight lines, but it frightened them realizing that she must have learned to do it through a lot of experience. Bruce smiled and said, "Great job, Sis! I can always count on you to fix them up when I get carried away."
"Dammit! You aren’t going to get carried away again. These are good looking girls and I want them in good shape for the inspection. I am locking up that damn cattle prod and the barbed wire whip. You are going to have to get along with just canes, switches and leather whips!"
He pouted like a kid who had lost his favourite doll and said: "Aw, come on, Sis, you know some bitches are hard to train."
"Bullshit! Enough simple whippings will bring them around, and I won’t have to sew them up. Now put on the iodine and then let her sleep."
Bruce grinned and Margaret knew this must involve more pain. He took out a bottle of iodine and soaked a cotton ball. It must have burned awful. Every time he dabbed at a wound with the ball, Nancy would squeal and squirm. He saved her nipple and pussy for last and that brought screams and then another faint.
Kitty said, "Okay Bruce. Now go out in the woods and cut some fresh switches. As punishment for getting carried away I am not going to let you watch me test the other girls."
Margaret and Wendy were amazed at her power over this asshole. He whined, "Aw, sis! You know I love to watch that."
When she said: "Go get them!" he walked away grumbling. The two girls were glad someone sensible could control him, not knowing she was as evil as him.
She walked over to Wendy and squeezed her poor purple boobs as she said, "Are these sore?”
Wendy whimpered, "Oh God, yes!"
"Nice big tits. I can see why he couldn’t resist hitting them. I bet they bounced and jumped like crazy, didn’t they?"
Tears began rolling down Wendy’s cheeks as she remembered the ordeal and whimpered, "Yes. I thought he was going to rip them off. They are still throbbing and hurting like hell."
"Good! Are you going to be good now?"
"Yes! Just don’t hurt me any more. Please!"
"We’ll see," was Kitty’s only comment.
She pulled her dress up and over her head revealing an ugly flabby body of brown colour. Her massive tits hung like partially deflated balloons, and she had the hairiest crotch the girls had ever seen! The hair reached almost up to her navel. Margaret could hardly believe she would nonchalantly strip naked like that in front of her own brother.
But he didn’t even look at her. Maybe he was used to it He just stared at Wendy with a grin on his face obviously knowing what was coming.
Kitty said evilly, "Okay Wendy. Get on your knees. I want to see how good you are at pussy licking."
Wendy’s eyes grew big, and she looked at her in revulsion and said, "Do I have to? I am NOT a lesbian!"
"Me either, Bitch, but it still feels good. Besides, it will be a good start for you to get accustomed to such kind of service that will happen to you very often when you will live as a sow on the ranch. Now do it! I want a lot of tongue action."
Wendy whimpered and looked at her mate. Margaret knew it made it worse for her to know she was watching the weird act. Wendy got on her knees, and Kitty walked to her and pulled her head into that mass of curly, black, unkempt hair.
Wendy whimpered, "Oh God! It smells awful!" Immediately as if having expected her reluctance, Basil jumped aside and hit Wendy a stroke with a cane over her buttocks.
Kitty just laughed and said, "Yeah. Maybe I should have douched after the fucking with Basil and Bruce yesterday, but you are here to clean me out. Do it!!"
From nowhere – it seemed – Basil produced a cane and “encouraged” the hesitating girl into a quicker action.
Wendy pressed into the Negro slut’s groin, gagging and spitting as loose hairs went into her mouth. Kitty grabbed her head by its hair with a look of pure bliss on her face as she moaned "Deeper in! Make your tongue move faster and deeper in my canal!" Again a stroke met Wendy’s buns. Her cries gurgled into Kitty’s massive groin.
It seemed to take forever to get Kitty off, but finally she pushed Wendy away and said, "Nice head! You are gonna do fine for the moment. Some more experience, and you will become a satisfying cunt-lapper! "
Wendy got on her hands and knees and began gagging. It had been so long since they had food, so there was nothing to throw up. Kitty just grinned at her convulsing body then left to come to Margaret’s cell.
"Okay Margaret. You know the drill. Get on with it."
The poor girl now knew it was fruitless to argue and knelt in front of her to spread the hair with the hands and attentively lick her clitoris. Obviously, it wasn’t good enough! Kitty snarled: "Get that tongue in deeper and don’t forget my putrid asshole, ha – ha!"
Thankfully, Wendy had cleaned her enough to take away some of the smell and taste, but when Margaret ran her tongue over her anus the taste of her shit made her gag. She swore the Negro slut didn’t even try to wipe her ass after a shit. She just giggled as she watched the girl’s body convulse with her gagging. Margaret wet back to her clit, licking furiously in the effort to get her off quickly, and it worked! Kitty made a long moan and jerked away the blonde’s head to make her fall back to sprawl on the floor.
She stood there a moment rubbing the tongue’s spit and her cunt’s juices around on her slit, then said thoughtfully, "Do you girls like each other?"
Margaret answered: "Yes. We are best friends. Why are you asking?"
"Good, you may not hurt each other too much. Basil bring Wendy in here with a couple of switches. One little -- one big."
Basil dragged Wendy in and handed Kitty the willow switches. She held them up in front of Margaret. "Okay! Wendy is going to give you ten lashes of your choice: The little one on your tits and pussy, or the long one on your ass."
The girl gasped. This was diabolical! She would have to choose her punishment! It was a hell of a choice to make. The little switch was only about two feet long and about a half inch wide at the base narrowing to a point. The big one was over five feet long and much thicker. Even the end was about a quarter inch wide.
Margaret debated with herself. The short one was light enough to just sting without bruising badly, but it would be on her most sensitive places. The long one would definitely bruise badly as the weight dug deep into the flesh.
Kitty became impatient saying: "Come on! Lets go! You girls have worn me out. I want to get to bed."
Margaret finally murmured: "The little one, I guess."
"Good choice. It shouldn’t cut you. Wendy, I want you to give her six to her tits and four to her pussy. I want to see crimson lines! Any pink ones will get you another ten in the same place, got it?"
Wendy said: "Oh please, I don’t want to hurt her. Can’t YOU do it?"
"No, bitch! I want you to do it! Margaret, put your hands on your head and open your legs and keep holding still!"
Kitty was not satisfied until the girl’s legs were open about three feet apart. Margaret whimpered knowing every inch of her pussy was now vulnerable and worse -- the slit had opened.
Kitty handed the switch to Wendy. Wendy said: "Sorry, Margaret," and brought it back over her shoulder.
The victim braced herself, but was not prepared for the sting as it came down to hit the upper well of her boob and rip at the nipple. She screamed, and it was all she could do to keep her hands on her head since she wanted to caress the sting so bad.
Wendy hit the other breast in the same place, and Margaret screamed again as it ripped into the nipple, and she bent over to sob.
Kitty screamed, "Get back in position! Now!"
The crying girl straightened up, but the slut was not satisfied, until Margaret pushed out her boobs for the rest of the strokes. Thankfully Wendy did the next two fast and missed the nipples, but it obviously still hurt awful.
Kitty said: "Okay. Her pussy now. I want two red ‘X’es across the lips."
It was awful. It took longer, because Wendy had to move to the right side to make the switch whistle as it went down diagonally to rip at the sex-lips. As the sting radiated she went to the other side to bring it down for the first X. Margaret hated Wendy for it! She forgot the threat Wendy was under, but nevertheless hated her for hitting so terribly hard.
The stings radiated deep inside the sex as Wendy changed position to make the other X.
It hurt so bad, Margaret dropped to her knees and bawled like a baby as she caressed her tits and pussy, trying to lessen the sting.
Kitty grinned and said: "Good job, Wendy. Now it is your turn. Which switch?"
Wendy looked surprised. She had not realized she would have her turn.
She didn’t answer, only sobbing until Kitty yelled: "Dammit. Go on! Which switch?"
"Oh God!. My boobies are still sore. The ..the long one, I think."
Kitty said: "Okay. Bend over and hold on to the foot of the bed. Don’t let go! If you do, I will have her start all over."
"Margaret! I want to see deep red stripes a couple of inches apart, starting at the top of her ass and ending at the top of her thighs. They had better be good and scarlet!"
Now Margaret had no problem with that as she was hating Wendy not realizing until much later, this was a diabolical plan to make them hate each other.
She swung the switch as hard as she could, ignoring Wendy’s screams as Margaret watched her ass flatten and jiggle under the switch as deep red lines appeared. Obviously the juncture of her thighs and butt was especially sensitive since it brought the loudest screams.
Wendy collapsed on the bed with her ass in the air and began rubbing her ass with both hands like mad.
Basil yelled, "God, that makes me hot! Leave her there for me!"
He unsnapped the shoulder straps of his overalls to let them fall to his ankles and jammed his erect dick into Wendy’s pussy from behind to bring a loud squeal as it ripped into her dry slit. After a few pumps there, he pulled out and grabbed his long gnarly dick to aim it at her little puckered anus. He just jammed it in, causing Wendy to make an agonized howl. Kitty stood besides and encouraging her fucking brother by words like “Year, give it to her! Show her who is boss!” she stared with eager eyes on her brother fat prick pumping in and out of the howling girl’s belly. There was not a trace of compassion between females to each other.
He pumped furiously then jerked out to shoot his sperm onto Wendy’s poor, red ass. He dragged her back to her cell. They locked the victims in and left laughing.
Wendy laid on her bed, sobbing for awhile, then said accusingly: "You really hurt me bad, Margaret. It made it worse when I was butt-fucked."
"Don’t blame me, Girl! You hurt me bad too, Wendy."
"I know. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t take the chance of having my boobs hurt again."
"I understand. Go to sleep! It has been an awful day and I am more than exhausted."
"Oh God! What do you think they will do to us tomorrow?"
"I don’t want to think about it. Go to sleep." Margaret sighed with foreboding.
Neither of the girls could sleep for awhile because they could not help but think of other terrible things the perverts might do to them. Finally the exhaustion from all their pain allowed escape in sleep.
With dawn Margaret awoke, being not sure where she was, but the itchy wool blanket rather than the satin sheets made it plain she was not home. She kicked the blanket off as she opened her eyes, and the bars she saw brought back reality fast.
Wendy was already up and sitting on the edge of her bed caressing her breasts and sniffling. They looked awful! Solid black and blue.
When she saw her mate was awake, she said: "Oh Margaret. Look at my poor boobs. Do you think they will ever look good and attractive again?"
"Sure, Wendy! The bruises will fade in time. Do they still hurt a lot?"
"Not really. They are swollen and kind of throb though."
"That should go away soon. How is poor Nancy?
"I don’t know. She is still asleep."
Margaret got up to look at her. No-one had bothered to put a blanket on her and she was shivering in the morning chill, but was not yet awake. Margaret knew the ordeal yesterday must have exhausted her completely. Her body looked awful although she was no longer bleeding.
A short time later, Basil banged on the bars with a nightstick and yelled: "Breakfast. After that it is exercise time. Come and get it!"
He pushed trays under the doors with cups of coffee and bowls of mush. That woke Nancy, but she didn’t get up. She just weakly raised her head and moaned, "Oh no. It isn’t only a nightmare."
Basil yelled, "You got ten minutes to eat before I come back. Any flakes of mush left gets you a lash each!"
The coffee, sure as hell, wasn’t ‘Starbucks’, and the mush was nearly tasteless with just a little milk and no sugar, but they wolfed it down and even licked the bowl to make sure there was not the tiniest flake.
Margaret looked over at Nancy who was still in bed, moaning. Her mate yelled: "Nancy! Get up and eat! If that bowl is full when they get back they will lash all the skin off you!"
That scared her and she swung her legs off the bed, but when she tried to stand up, she screamed and fell. "Oh God! The brute dislocated my hips. I can’t walk!"
"Well, then crawl over to the bowl. You have to eat it anyway!"
She crawled over to it, but then she looked at the grey mass and sobbed: "I can’t eat. I feel sick."
"Then push it over to Wendy! They will eat it for you."
She did, and she and Margaret shared it although neither of them wanted more of this nauseating pig-swill.. Nancy rolled over on her belly and sipped the ‘coffee’ while feebly moving her legs trying to get rid of the cramp from her hips.
All three of these tormentors came in the jail a few minutes later, and Basil said, "Exercise Time!"
Bruce came in to Margaret’s cell and she froze. Sure, she was in for more pain, but he just put a dog-collar around her neck with a rope attached to it. Basil did the same with Wendy, and Kitty put on Nancy’s while she was on hands and knees.
They started to lead the girls out of the cells, but Nancy whined: "Help me! I can’t walk! He dislocated my hips!"
Kitty showed no compassion: "Crawl then! Bitches walk on four legs anyway."
Margaret and Wendy felt so sorry for Nancy. She made little squeals at each step, as Kitty jerked at her leash viciously, though she knew the rough cement floor had to hurt her knees badly.
They pulled the prisoners out to a dirty courtyard with three poles stuck in the ground and tied the ropes to them.
Kitty said: "Get up on your feet, Nancy!"
Nancy moaned: "I can’t. It hurts too much."
Kitty said: "Help her up, Bruce."
He grinned and said: "Sure!"
He went over to her where she was sitting in the dirt, sobbing from the pain of the long crawl, and reached down to grab her tits in each hand to squeeze them cruelly and lift her by the nipples so high that her toes were off the ground while she made agonized screams.
He let her down to lean against the post while tears rolled down her cheeks to splash on her poor bruised breasts.
Kitty finally showed some compassion. "Okay, Nancy, since you are so sore you don’t have to do the exercises today. Just walk around the post until the rope is tight then reverse until it is tight again!"
Nancy began limping around, but every time she stopped for a moment, Basil would pop her on the butt with the knot at the end of a long buggy whip to make her squeal and move ahead.
Kitty wearing some ugly flowered shorts and a T-shirt, moved in front of them and led the two other girls in exercises. Well, not really led them. She was too out of shape for that. She would just do a few to get the girls started and then counted. Any time either of them would stumble or get out of time, she would hit the girl with another buggy whip to leave a red splotch that stung like hell.
The sun was really hot, and soon Wendy and Margaret were dripping sweat as they did the aerobics. Having always worn shorts when exercising, both girls had not thought about how obscene the exercises were when done naked. Basil and Bruce loved watching the naked bodies. Without shame they rubbed their crotches as they laughed and made comments about how much those boobs jumped in jumping jacks and the way their pussies opened up in the stretching split-exercise. Wendy and Margaret never stopped blushing throughout the long hour.
By the end of the hour, Nancy was able to walk with only a little limp, but the damn exercises had excited the men. They made Wendy and Margaret suck their dicks, but they were lucky nevertheless, as the straining sports were over. Nancy however had to pull down Kitty’s shorts and lick that hairy stinking pussy anew. Margaret knew Nancy’s pride had been completely broken, when she did it with no visible sign of protest.
The negroes made the three girls stand in the hot sun until their cum had dried on their faces and then led them back to the cells to wonder what indignity or pain they would come up with next.
As soon as they were locked in their cells, they rushed to the bucket of drinking water in each cell first to drink some gulps, and then to scrub off the dried smelly cum with the corners of the wool blankets.
Bruce chuckled: "Hey, ain't it nice to have such clean little girls?"
Basil said, "Yep! Clean and pretty. That South American Rancher should pay a mint for them."
As soon as they left Margaret said to her mates: "Did you hear what they said?! They plan to sell us to a South-American rancher. Those people are human-despising. They have no compassion with their stable- or field-hands!”
Wendy knew Nancy had lost all her will to fight when she whimpered: "Oh God. Margaret. Don’t do anything to make them mad! When Bruce was holding me up by my boobs, he said,>Sweet tits! Maybe I will fry them and eat them.< He sure would do!” Nancy broke into hysterical sobbing just at the thought.
Wendy agreed, saying: "I don’t believe ranchers of Latin-America could be worse than these brutes here. I think they will just want us for sex. Don’t do anything! Please, Margaret?"
In spite of their begging Margaret went through every plan she could think of to try to escape, but none seemed workable.



Chapter 3 The curtain opens up

The next morning, Basil said as he pushed the mush in: "Your girls are in luck. Bruce and Kitty went to town to go through junkyards to find some stuff to make a third sulky for racing. Up to now we have only two. Kitty said, I should let you rest up to collect your strength for the racing tomorrow. They will be gone all day."
Margaret said, "Racing? You have horses?"
"No, baby! You girls are going to be the horses. You will race, and the losers will be whipped by the winner. Pray you don’t get Bruce. He weighs about 260 pounds."
Basil laughed as he left. Nancy began bawling, and between sobs she said: "Oh God! I know Bruce will want ME. I will die for sure!"
Margaret said: "Now will you eventually help me come up with a plan to escape?"
They tried hard, but they couldn’t come up with anything workable either. They were still talking softly when Basil returned, saying: "I think I will give you a taste of sulky racing. Nancy’s legs are still weak, so Margaret and Wendy can cut cards. Low card is the horse. the rest of you can watch."
There was new hope: Maybe the three of them would get a chance to gang up on him. They cut cards and Wendy lost. Margaret felt sorry for her, but was silently happy. She had won, and Wendy had to function as Basil’s “mare”.
But they did not get a chance to gang up. He took the stark naked girls out one by one to handcuff each one to telephone-poles in front of the jail. Then he brought out Wendy with her hands cuffed behind her back.
He led her over to a strange contraption: It was like a rickshaw, but much cruder with iron pipes running from an axle with go-cart wheels. The iron shafts bend to fit a girl’s waist, and an old iron tractor-seat on a springy piece of steel was welded to the axle. He led Wendy between the shafts and buckled a wide leather strap from the pipes to her waist.
The next part was horrifying: He reached into a sack and brought out two huge fish-hooks with nylon line tied to them and drove the sharp points clear through poor Wendy’s nipples, ignoring her screams.
He reached down to the ground to get a long leather whip, then got into the tractor-seat, putting the handle of the whip into a holder.
He announced: "When I pull back like this -- means >stop<." And he jerked on both reins to jerk Wendy’s tits into her armpits, while she let out a shrill scream. "When I pull on this one -- turn right!” He jerked on the right rein to pull her tit back and stretched the nipple horribly to bring another scream. He ignored it and said: "When I pull on this -- turn left!" He jerked on her left nipple so hard Margaret thought the hook may tear out as Wendy screamed and turned as far as she could.
"Okay. We are ready. Get ready to run!" He took both reins in one hand and brought out the whip. He swung it around her arms to make it >S P L A T< into both boobs, and Wendy bent over in pain and began running as fast as she could.
The sulky bounced at each pothole to make him jerk on the reins, and he never stopped whipping her until the end of the street, when he had to put the whip back into the holder to jerk on her left nipple to make her turn to come back. Watching the poor running, terrified, panting and sweating girl being whipped like a hack-mare was sheer hell!
As soon as she was headed straight, Basil brought out the whip to flog her some more until she got to the horrified girls waiting, where he jerked back on both reins to make Wendy scream as her poor nipples were stretched to the maximum. She hurriedly stopped.
She stood there panting as sweat poured down over the nasty red stripes covering her boobs and tummy. Thankfully, the shafts had prevented the whip had reached her mound and pussy.
He grinned and said: "You got the idea of the racing, I hope. Surely Wendy has got it. She is fast and will give her future owner a lot of pleasure!"
He tied the reins to a post, then led Nancy first and Margaret second into their cells before returning for Wendy.
After she was in too and lay on her bed sobbing, he came into Margaret’s cell and said: "That got me rock hard. Take down my overalls and suck me off."
It was horrible. Margaret like her mate would never get used to the shame. As usual he made it as humiliating as possible by shooting his cum all over the girl’s face.
He began pulling up his overalls as he said, "Not a bad blowjob. I will be back later to work up another hard-on by whipping those nice tits."
Meanwhile Kitty and Bruce had returned from their errands. The had found the stuff to construct a third kind of a sulky, as primitive and simple as the type of yesterday, but this one more stabile due the extraordinary weight of Bruce. The day-time was too late for another sulky-race, so the prisoners were put into their cells to recover for the tomorrow race.
With horror, Margaret and her mates looked forward to the coming ordeal. They were fed the tasteless swill and then led outside into the court’s yard. The girls' wrists were lashed together, and tied to the back of her collar; so the stood slightly bend forward leaving the buttocks exposed to the whip when standing between the shafts.
Margaret could hardly believe what was happening. So she stood mute, squeezing her thighs together, trying to deny the pain, when the fish-hooks were pierced through her nipples. She heard her mates yell as well.
‘Back mare!’ Bruce said. Then she guided Margaret backwards, between the aluminium tube shafts of the new two-wheeled trotting-sulky.
Shivering in the cool evening air, trembling with shame and degradation, the three naked girls stood mute, as Kitty and the men clipped the ends of the aluminium arm-stretchers to the ends of the shafts. Then Kitty stood back, nodding with satisfaction, as she looked at their victims, now being servile harnessed pony-slaves.
Margaret stifled a sob of shame, as she realised again, these two black brutes and even Kitty really did consider her to be a beast, rather than human. And she had bad luck: The heavy fat-bellied Bruce mounted the sulky behind her, whilst Nancy had to pull Kitty and Wendy was driven by Basil.
Nancy was shaking now, knowing what was soon to come. She and her helpless comrades were going to be whipped into a gallop, to run as fast as they could, to pull the gig flying across the uneven track. The pony-girls also knew, if the gig turned over, harnessed as they were, the unfortunate “pony” would go with it, and could suffer serious injury. The prospect frightened them, and it was not only the cold which was making them tremble.
Margaret groaned to herself and her heart sank even lower, as she realized the weight of her dark skinned driver who sat shifting his fat body in the tractor-seat to find the most comfortable position. Why had the fate determined just him as her driver? He had a wicked horse-whip in his right hand. Margaret knew this race was going to be murder!
Trembling and nervously awaiting the “Giddy-up”-command Margaret heard Kitty scolding at Nancy: “Stop spitting onto the reins, mare!” she said. ‘”I don’t want these things slipping out half-way through the race.’ He slashed the whip into her body, making her squeal with shock and pain. “And you had better win or I’ll shred your ass.”
Basil stepped up, laughing. ‘She won’t win Kitty! But I’m sure you’ll make her try hard enough!’
“You bet,” Kitty snarled back, swung her whip over her shoulder and shouted: “Go! Set off! Move your legs, girls!”
Nancy felt her insides curl with pain, as the stinging whip lashed down. She began to pull the heavy load behind her, answering to each tug of the reins as Kitty guided her around the former parade ring that served now as race-ground. Every few seconds, The whip snapped beside her ears, slapping on her back, hips, or flicked her exposed buttocks, to keep her at speed and to remind her of her position.
Running as fast as they could, Margaret was alone in her misery, for there were two other girls ahead of her, because her driver was the heaviest. Harnessed in the same way, all three tried to keep in step, their breasts and buttocks jiggling, erotically for the drivers in their seats, as they galloped around the yard, displaying their maximum effort. None of them realised what they would look just as erotic a sight, as they ran ahead, feeling her own breasts and buttocks, bouncing about, in time with her enforced, exaggerated gait, wincing each the driver’s whip cracked on their sweating skins.
Bruce whipped his “mare” incessantly, without any mercy, the fat Black was roaring at her, slapping the reins, slashing at vulnerable hide with the whip, urging her on. ‘Run Mare! Run!’ Savagely, Bruce hauled on the reins, causing the nipples to be torn into her arm-pits however of course Kitty’s “Pony” won. Basil with Wendy were second and with two seconds retardation Margaret stumbled through the finish-line.
Panting and puffing the exhausted girl broke down between the shafts, sobbing as she fell to her knees in the mud. But the whipping continued. ‘On your feet you mare!’ Bruce roared at her. ‘You might be last, but you’ll damn will walk into the cell by yourself!”
The mistreated girls were rather dragged than walked into there cells and let recover. In the evening, basil entered the cell with a long fire-hose in his hand and without regard of the welts and bruises he sprayed the naked girls off. There was the forecast of an important visitor.
Before he entered the Jail, Bruce and Basil led the girls out of their cells and prepared them by oiling the bruised Skin with liniment. A long table served as an inspection deckchair, which the girls had to lie down belly up. Bruce and Basil bound the wrists and ankles to prepared rings. Kitty came along with a shaver and removed the stubble of hairs on the girls’ sex-mounds. Without decency the private parts were displayed to any visitor.
And the visitor entered the old jail. He was an imposing Negro, 6 feet 9 inches tall and broad-shouldered. His face looked intelligent and well educated. His manicured hands proved his elegance and kind of noblesse. The three jailers treated him with utmost respect, calling him “Sir”.
“Please, enter and come nearer, Mr. Samson. Here they are prepared for your inspection, Sir. Feel free to test their attributes in every respect, Sir.” Kitty invited this black man.
He bowed his head down to the staring faces of the girls. All he was interested in were the colour of their eyes and the teeth in their mouths. The girls felt like horses on the market and dared not move or speak.
After that the elegant Negro stroked the nipples and kneaded the breasts. When he seemed to be content, he ran his hand down to their bellies and mounds, muttering: “Nice to see your sex-parts perfectly depilated, this will save us much effort. How old are these objects?” And when he pulled the pubic lips far apart and saw each vagina deflowered, he asked: “Did any of them they have foaled?”
“No, Sir,” answered Kitty who was the smartest of the three jailers, “Nancy is 21 years old, Wendy is nineteen and Margaret here is eighteen. They were Cheerleaders of their hometown’s football-team.”
Mr. Samson, as Margaret had overheard Kitty addressing this black giant, seemed particularly interested in the sex-organs of the girls. He smiled and nodded his head: “Good to hear they are still young, so each of them can have up to twenty progenies until they are worn-out.” The girls’ eyes grew wide in horror, but they kept silent with shock.
“Under condition they are as healthy as they look from outside, I offer you fifteen thousand.”
“Fifteen thousand only? Sir, they are cheerleaders and well build figures. We thought twenty thousand minimum!” confirmed Kitty.
“Sure, they are pretty and well bred, but I cannot but notice the many welts on their shoulders and thighs in spite of laying on their backs which seem to bear more weal than the visible parts. Are they obstinate?”
“No,” hurried Bruce to make sure, “they were a bit lazy and have needed some training, Sir!”
“Seems they’re not as fit as we thought, isn’t it?!’ Samson shrugged. ‘Not to worry. We’ll soon alter that on our ranch! Okay, I give you eighteen thousand. My last offer!”
Kitty and her brother looked nodding to each other and agreed. While Basil untied the shocked girls, the black visitor gave the black kidnappers a pack of Dollar bills outside in the “sheriff’s office”
Bruce and Basil led the almost numbed girl outdoors of the rotten jail building where a Van with deeply dark tinted windows was parked. Unceremoniously they threw the bundle of whipped girls inside the van’s load-room and banged the doors shut. Inside it was pitch dark and the girls were this scared that they neither yelled nor struggled against their shackles. They could but sob quietly.
Their destination was reached at midnight by aircraft to Colombia and later by helicopter to a secret, private airfield in the jungle.



Chapter 4: The secret Court
The trial in the dusty little court room had been a farce from the beginning.
The charges were ludicrous, the defence a shame, and the judge blatantly biased. Since the beginning of the trial, Paul had not been allowed to say one word in his own defence or say one word of protest about the way he had been kidnapped on his way home from a convention, bundled into a truck and driven over a hundred miles to be shut up in an airless cell with a dozen other young men and women, all unknown to him.
He had soon realized that all the captors were black and all the victims were white or of mixed race. Paul could only guess that this was some kind of racist act of revenge. The prisoners had not been allowed to exchange a word with each other and had been guarded day and night, so they had no idea who the other prisoners were, what they were accused of or even if there was any link between them. On the few occasions they were not blindfolded, he had noticed among them one very attractive young blonde girl of about his own age.
His captors all wore a type of army uniform, reminiscent of the uniforms worn by the “National Liberation Army” of the early sixties. Paul had always thought such racist movements a joke, and he would have thought so now, if it weren’t for the guns and grenades which the guards waved around as if they were under the influence of drugs. They also wielded a variety of whips and truncheons, which they used unmercifully at the slightest sign of resistance or hesitation on the part of the prisoners. It was clear that nearly all the prisoners, especially the girls, had already been terrorised into submission. Paul himself had already received enough blows with their truncheons and lashes from their whips to decide that any kind of resistance was pointless.
* *
“The Court will rise!” said the black usher.
All stood, as the three judges returned to take their seats behind the bare table. Two guards gripped Paul firmly by his arms to keep him standing. The middle judge looked him full in the face:
“Paul Sheehan. You have been charged with several crimes against the Black People of the Unites states, and you have been found guilty on all charges by the >First People’s Tribunal<. You are hereby sentenced to ten years imprisonment with hard labour, or a longer term, should your behaviour in prison merit it. Take him away!”
The guards seized Paul even more firmly and frogmarched him back to his cell. When they reached the cell, they unlocked the door and pushed him viciously inside.
“What the hell …,” Paul began, but one of the guards smote him hard across the cheek with his big black hand: “Condemned prisoners are forbidden to speak at all times!”
Over the next few hours, the other white prisoners were returned to the cell with equal brutality. Some of the girls had equally been weeping. They were too closely guarded to exchange even the briefest of information.
That night the prisoners were all chained to a ring low down in the wall, so that they could only lie on the floor like animals, and they were let off the ring only once each to use the bucket in the corner of the cell.
By morning, Paul felt exhausted and filthy. For supper they had been given a chunk of hard bread and a tin bowl of tepid water. Paul could not wait to get to the prison, wherever it was. It could not be worse than this. He was still completely baffled as to what crimes he had committed.
Still, no doubt, his sister would soon find out what had happened to him and set the law in process to get him away from these people, whose legal status was clearly farcical. He had vague rumours of an illegal Black Army, but he had no idea they actually existed and were so well organised and equipped. He wished he could speak to some of the other prisoners to find out what sort of things they were supposed to have done wrong. As far as he was concerned, it must surely be a case of mistaken identity.
Paul was able to snatch only a few moments of sleep, lying on the hard floor of the cell. He could tell from the wetness of the floor and the smell that some of the others had wet themselves during the night.
As his watch had been taken away when he was arrested, he had no idea of the time, but before it was light, he heard the door being unlocked. Four guards burst into the cell, and with a mixture of blows and curses got the prisoners to their feet. These guards did not believe in communicating, and Paul found himself twisted round, while his hands were cuffed tight behind his back. A blindfold was fitted over his eyes and a gag round his mouth. He felt a steel neck-collar being fastened round his neck and a chain from the collar attached to a longer chain, which held all the prisoners close together.
Then without a word of command the prisoners were prodded out of the cell into the open air. Paul breathed the fresh air with a sigh of relief.
They were roughly pushed up some steps into a large van, and immediately the van drove off. Still no word had been spoken. Paul could hear some of the girls sobbing, and in the van there was a stench of human fear. At least their blindfolds were removed, but there were no windows in the van, so Paul could not see where they were. He did find himself near the pretty girl, however, and during the journey she smiled at him several times with an expression that implied that she was not going to let these bastards defeat her.
After an hour’s journey through the darkness the van stopped, and the prisoners were bundled down some steps into what looked like an aircraft hangar, and once inside they were lined up against a wall. Almost immediately, the guards grabbed the arms of each of the prisoners in turn, and one of the guards gave them each an injection in the upper arm.
Paul vaguely remembered one of the guards unchaining his collar from the neck chain then slumping down onto the floor. In a state of almost complete stupor he remembered being pushed across some grass and up some steps into an aeroplane, he remembered flopping down into a seat and hearing some engines starting, then his mind went blank …


Chapter 5: Welcome to the Ranch

The next thing Paul remembered was being woken up and blindfolded again. He was still in the aircraft, but soon he was been hauled to his feet and pushed and prodded out of the aircraft down the steps into yet another van. Now fully awake, he wanted to protest, but the sound of whips and truncheons reminded him once more of his helplessness. He could feel the sun hot overhead and the air smelt of grass and trees, as though they were a long way from civilisation. Paul had no idea if they were even in the United States still. Apparently not, for this region surely was a tropical part of the world.
Once in the van, his collar was attached to the neck-chain again, and the van set off, each bump and lurch causing the heavy metal chain to pull at his neck.
After what seemed an interminable ride, the van stopped. The doors were opened, and Paul heard a new set of voices ordering the prisoners to get out. Their blindfolds were removed, but with their arms manacled behind their backs and their necks still attached to the heavy neck-chain, it was difficult and painful. The girls were ordered to stay in the truck, and as soon all male prisoners had descended, the truck drove off with the girls only.
Paul had a quick look round. They were obviously on some kind of ranch. They were standing in a large corral type of enclosure, surrounded on three sides by a tall brick wall. On the forth side was a high stone wall, which probably formed one wall of a stable yard. There was a wide gate in this wall, and Paul could see a large yard and some stables through the gateway.
In the enclosure were several hitching posts and some low hurdles, obviously for jumping, and also a variety of low wooden platforms whose purpose he could not imagine. Various items of farm machinery like plows and harrow lay scattered round the yard.
Anyway, he didn’t have much time to study his surroundings, because one of the new guards yelled at the prisoners to stand in line and not talk. There seemed to be four new guards, and Paul realised that those who had been with them in the truck had gone off with the female prisoners. Once again he noticed that all the guards were black dressed in riding breeches of various colours, and all wore black or brown boots, most of which were covered in mud or dust. They all had whips dangling from their wide belts, and all carried riding crops or truncheons in their hands. They seemed as well-build and tough as those who had guarded them in the truck.
Paul stood in a line with a young boy on his left and an older man on his right. Beyond this man were a Mexican and the other three Americans whose name he had not yet discovered. The sun merciless was beating down from a cloudless sky, and Paul had an intense urge both to pee and to find something to drink. It had been several hours since they had either drunk or eaten. There was no sign of a tap anywhere, but there were several horse- troughs in the corral. Looking down at his feet, Paul noticed the large amount of horse manure on the ground. This was obviously an active and busy ranch. Oh well, he thought, if he had to be a prisoner, there could be worse places than a ranch.
“Keep your eyes to the front, number two!” yelled a guard, and Paul felt a sharp tap across his back from a riding crop. He realised that however innocent he might think himself, these Negroes were behaving as though he had been already tried and sentenced though for what crime, God only knows!
They were lined up facing the gate, and after about ten minutes waiting in the blazing sun, a Negro appeared through the gate riding a large and beautifully groomed chestnut horse, and trotted easily towards them. He too was dressed in black breeches and riding boots and a black leather shirt almost completely open down to his waist. His chest was pretty hairy. The Negro, being more about six inches tall in Paul’s opinion, was not as tall as the other guards, but he was solidly build and his tightly curled hair already showed streaks of grey. At first glance his face, set on a thick bull-neck, seemed lined and evil. In his right hand he carried an enormous bull whip, which he swung with relish. Behind him at the same pace, and wearing the same riding costume, trotted four other sturdy Negroes. These last four placed themselves at four corners of an imaginary square round the prisoners, and sat motionless and expressionless on their horses. The riding crops in their hands, and the glistening spurs on the heels of their well-polished boots, all added to the overwhelming feeling of the menace. There were now nine guards and only seven prisoners.
The leader dismounted and tethered his horse to one of the hitching rails. The horse promptly shat over the ground not far from where Paul was standing. It gave Paul an overwhelming urge to shit too. He had not been for about sixteen hours.
The man came up to Paul’s young neighbour and shove his face right into the white boy’s.
“Name?” he barked.
“Harris,” Alex replied trying to draw his face away from the sweating Negro. “Alex Harris!”
“Age?”
“Eightenn,” said Alex.
The Negro drew back his left hand and gave Alex a vicious swipe across his right cheek: “SIR! You scum!! You address all Blacks here as >Sir“Eighteen, SIR!” said Alex blushing profusely. He was relieved when the man moved on to Paul.
“Name?”
“Sheehan, Paul Sheehan, Sir!” said Paul firmly.
“Age?”
“Twenty-two, SIR!”
The Negro had the coarse features and grizzled appearance of an aging baboon, his teeth like most black men’s were perfect, but everything about him reeked of pure animal strength and probably animal mentality too, Paul thought, as he tried hard to control his natural urge to be rebellious. Never before had he had to address a black man as >SirThe man moved on to Paul’s neighbour, the blonde, suntanned Texan, whom Paul still only knew as Mr. Conroy.
Mr. Conroy, a picture of physical fitness with rippling muscles and a face, which exuded authority, towered above his black opponent.
“Name?”
“Conroy, .. and I’m forty-two!”
“Full name?”
“MISTER Conroy to you nigger!”
Jones pulled back his left arm and smashed his hand across Conroy’s cheek, so that the tall Texan toppled to one side.
“Full name, you honkie scum! And call me Sir, when you speak to me!”
“James Conroy. And I never address niggers as Sir, especially as I have not done anything wrong, and you have no right to bring me to here or hold me against my will!”
“You will regret your attitude, sooner than you might suppose, Conroy, more than I can say, but I’ll leave it to my boss to explain the consequences to you.”
And with that he passed on to the other four young white prisoners, who answered promptly and respectfully to avoid having their faces smashed by the Negro’s huge fist.
As the black man finished the inspection, Paul saw a horse trot smartly through the gate. The horse was large and white in colour and excellently well groomed. Its harness glistened in the sun. On its back sat a slim and elegant Negro. Unlike the other Negroes, whose costume all bore signs of dust and heat, this man was beautifully dressed in skin tight white riding breeches and highly polished black riding boots which came up to just below his knee. He wore a wide black silk skirt, through which his muscular black body seemed to be bursting, and round his waist he wore a wide black shiny belt, from which dangled a short snaky brown whip. On his heels he had cruel spiked spurs, which also glistened in the sun. He looked very young , and Paul realized with a catch in his throat that he was one of the most handsome men he had ever seen. He seemed to be more than six and a half inches tall.
The elegant man rode straight up to the hefty Negro and asked him in a quite authoritative voice: “Are the prisoners ready, Mr. Jones?”
“All present, and ready for your inspection, Sir. One is proving difficult, Sir!”
“Oh, I see, it’s Mr. Conroy without doubt! Don’t worry, Jones, we’ll soon sort him out.”
And with that, he rode up and down the line of prisoners, using the tip of his riding crop to raise the chins of each of them and gave them a hard look. It was the first time Paul had ever stood with his hands bound behind him and had been examined by a man on horseback. He realized what a psychological advantage a man on a horse had over a man on foot. No doubt, that was the reason why mounted police were so effective against demonstrators. Everything that had happened to Paul in the last few days seemed to have sapped him of his will to resist. As the horse passed Mr. Conroy, it trod on the white mans bare foot, and Conroy gave a sharp cry of pain. Paul realized the black rider had done it deliberately.
The man then turned his horse, retreat a few paces and turned to face his captive audience. He ordered: “Unchain the prisoners from the neck chain!”
The four guards and Jones hastened to carry out his order. At least the removal of the long neck-chain gave Paul the freedom to move and ease some of the stiffness in his neck.
“Now,” said the black man, and Paul noticed the guards close in towards them and tighten their hands on their whips as he spoke: “I would like to welcome you to the >Eldorado Ranch<. You may have no idea where you are. I will merely tell you that you are somewhere in South America.” You have all been found guilty of crimes against black men or women in your in your home-states and have been sentenced to serve a minimum of ten years imprisonment with hard labour. The country where we are has a black government, who are totally in agreement with our policies, and I can assure you that you have no chance of escape from this ranch, and that if you succeed to escape you would be caught at once by the local police and be returned to here. The penalty for attempting to escape is death by slaughtering alive after a rigorous fattening scheme. Also I can assure you that you have no hope of being traced by your own family and friends. They have already been told that you perished in some kind of accident. Now, my name is Samson, Mister Samson to you. The director of this ranch is a lady, whom you will hardly ever see personally. I am the head overseer of the men’s section of this prison-ranch, and Senorita Lopez is the head overseer of the women’s section. Men and women prisoners rarely meet and are strictly forbidden to speak to each other or communicated with each other in any way. This is a working cattle ranch and has a large farm and a cotton plantation. All the labour here is done by prisoners. There are virtually no motor-vehicles or tractors, and all the motive force is provided by horses or prisoners. For the length of your stay here you are in effect slaves, and you will regard you as such. You will regard all the overseers as your masters and mistresses, and treat them with the respect they deserve from a slave. Slaves may never speak unless spoken to. Slaves will always kneel when a master passes them or speaks to them. Slaves will obey any order a master gives them instantly. Failure to obey a master’s order will lead to severe punishment. I have unlimited power to extent a prisoner’s sentence, especially for disobedience. However, if you work hard and show the utmost respect for your superiors, I also have unlimited power to remit part of your sentence. Now I’m going to dismount and tell you individually what crimes you have been found guilty and what your sentence is.”
Mr. Samson dismounted and threw his horse’s reins to one of the overseers. Paul could see that all the overseers treated Samson with awe.


Samson, accompanied by Jones, went up to Alex and looked him up and down. Alex blushed and hung his head. He was not used to being examined in the nude. Suddenly Jones’ huge fist rose and smashed Alex across his right cheek.
“Didn’t you hear what the master said about slaves kneeling when a master approaches them?”
Alex dropped instantly to his knees and bowed his head right down.
“Get up, slave!” Samson said coolly.
Alex rose and stood miserably as Samson ran his gloved hand over his youthful body, saying: “Mr. Harris. Only son of a Pittsburgh steel magnate. Yes, Mr. Harris, your father has been found guilty of ill-treating his black workers. We are unable to capture him personally, so it was decided, to take you instead. Still, his punishment will be to spend the next ten years thinking that his son is dead. Your parents haven been told you were lost at sea. Your father meanwhile has been warned about his treatment of black workers. If he treats them better and pays a large ransom, you will be released in due course. Meanwhile, you will learn to treat black people with respect, won’t you?”
“Yes,” mumbled Alex. Jones smashed his cheek again.
“It is >Yes, MASTER“Yes, Master,” said Alex louder, tears running down his reddened cheek. Samson moved on to Paul and started to look him up and down. Jones prepared himself to raise his fist, and Paul immediately dropped to his knees.
“Get up, slave!” said Samson calmly. Paul rose and looked Samson straight in the eyes.
“Mr. Sheehan from Arkansas, I see.”
“Yes, Master!”
“And you were a lawyer with a thriving practice?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Your parents are dead, but you have a married sister, living in Little Rock?”
“Yes, Master.”
“And you were a member of the local >Klu-Klux-Klan“Yes, Master.”
“Why?”
“Because my sister was gang-raped by some black youth when she was fifteen. I have hated all black men ever since.”
“Most regrettable, I agree, but knowing these white American girls with their short skirts and low-cut blouses … I am sure she asked or provoked it!”
“No, she didn’t!”
Jones fist smashed into Paul’s face. He tumbled into Conroy on his right.
“Don’t speak, slave, unless the master asks you a question!” Jones shouted harshly.
“All right, Jones, Mr. Sheehan is not yet used to showing respect to black men. But he will soon learn. Well, Mr. Sheehan, your sentence is twenty years!”
“But I thought it was ten years?” Paul protested. Jones again got prepared to smash him.
“Work hard, and it could be,” Samson said softly. He ran his hands approvingly over Paul’s virile body. “Meanwhile your sister believes you were killed in a climbing accident in the Andes.” The rapid change in Samson’s tone surprised Paul.
And with that, Samson moved on to Conroy who stood his ground and looked defiantly at Samson with disgust. Jones brought down his whip hard across Conroy’s shoulders.
“Lower your eyes before a master, you scum!” yelled Jones.
Conroy did not move, but continued to look defiantly at Samson, Jones hit him again.
“Stop it, Mr. Jones. He will soon learn to show his new masters the proper respect. I have the ideal treatment in mind to make him learn who his betters are.”
Samson ran the tip of his riding crop up and down Conroy’s naked body and then, pushing his face into Conroy’s face, snarled:
“You, Conroy, owned an oil-company and a large ranch in Dallas?”
“I did indeed!” snapped Conroy.
“And you employed several black servants?”
“I did! There is nothing illegal in that! And I paid them well!”
“Yes, you did. You were also in the habit of raping your black maids and then dismissing them when they were pregnant, is that true?”
“Yes,” said Conroy quietly, but uncertainly, showing the first crack in his self-confidence.
“ … and some of them ended up as prostitutes in Dallas?”
“Maybe …”
“I know that your company also indirectly controlled prostitution in Dallas and Houston?”
“I don’t know about this.” He muttered.
“And you have been using only black prostitutes?”
“Probably ..”
“Well, Mr. Conroy, your crimes are by far the greatest of all slaves here. You will serve a minimum of thirty years hard labour. If you behave, it might be reduced.”
“But you can’t do that. I will never get away with it! I have powerful friends!” His timid voice betrayed his fear.
“You had, Mr. Conroy, you had them. They all think you’re dead. They are already splitting your company between them, your mercenary friends!”
Samson let him alone in his confusion and moved on to the interview of the other four prisoners, but Paul could hardly hear what they said to Samson. Anyway, he was too busy thinking about what Samson had just said to him. If these crazy men meant what they said, he would be at least thirty-two years old when he was released. Oh God!!!



Chapter 6: A demonstration of power

Samson returned to his horse, and Paul noticed that one of the overseers immediately knelt in the mire and made a back for his boss to mount. Looking more powerful and sinister than ever, Samson swung his horse round and snapped at Jones: “Carry on, Mr, Jones!”
Jones stepped to the front of the line and, brandishing his whip menacingly, shouted: “Now, slaves, the first thing you learn is that whenever a black master or mistress approaches you, you immediately kneel with your forehead pressed into the ground and your nose rubbing the earth, anyway if dry dust or slimy mud. This is called >grovelling<. You will also grovel instantly whenever a master flick his fingers and points at the ground or says the word >Down!<.”
Paul could hardly believe his ears, but all these things Samson and Jones said seemed to be in deadly earnest.
“You will now spend a short time learning to grovel. How long depends on you, but you will not leave this spot until the Master is satisfied of your instant obedience. DOWN!!”
Any hesitation Paul or the others felt was soon dispelled by a torrent of blows from the overseers’ whips and riding crops. As he fell to his knees, a whiplash of one of the black overseers cut across his back. Oh, how this blow hurt! He dug his forehead into the ground and rubbed his nose in the dirt. Even at that distance from the stables the earth smelt strongly of manure, though Paul could not make out whether it was horse-manure or cow-manure. The complete hopelessness and humiliation of his position overwhelmed him.
Here he was, probably thousand of miles from home, stark naked, his arm pinioned behind him, dying of thirst, and he was being forced to grovel before a gang of black thugs who seemed to have escaped from a lunatic asylum. He heard a sob beside him and, glancing to his left, he saw that tears were trickling down the rosy cheeks of the good looking boy kneeling beside him.
Suddenly Paul heard the noise of running feet and he became aware that several pairs of black boots were standing not far from his face. Uuughhh! How menacing boots seem, when you are grovelling before them. Especially when they are adorned with vicious looking spurs! There was a sound of flailing whips, and Paul heard Jones shout: “Down! Conroy! When I say >Down<, you get on your knees Boy!”
Calling a more than forty years old businessman as >Boy< was an insult in itself. So Conroy snapped back furiously: “Go to hell, Nigger!”
“Okay! I will beat the shit out of you, you honkie scum!”
“I have never knelt to anyone, let alone a nigger! You have no right to make me kneel, and when I get out of here, I will make certain you will pay dearly for all this!”
“All right, Jones,” Samson laughed, “leave him be! He is too stubborn to strive with him will soon regret his attitude. Tell the others to get up!”
“UP!” yelled Jones. With difficulty Paul scrambled to his feet, what was not so easy with his hands chained behind his back.
Once the prisoners were standing in line again, Samson pulled a Walkie-Talkie out of his pocket. He spoke into it audibly enough for the prisoners to overhear: “Eh Benson, get over to the corral at once and bring Mr. Percy to here and a complete set of gear!”
Paul could hear Samson’s order being acknowledged, when Samson turned his horse back to face the overseers and prisoners.
“Mister Conroy,” he said in an icy voice, “I am giving you one final chance. When I say >Down!<, you will immediately grovel and crawl to Mr. Jones’ boots and lick them clean!”
“Never!” affirmed Conroy defiantly, his face red with anger.
“D O W N !!” shouted Samson.
Conroy chose that moment to break away from his captors and escape towards the gate of the corral. What he hoped to achieve against such odds, only he could know, but it was the last flying of a desperate man. Samson seemed to be expecting some such manoeuvre, because he merely turned his horse, unlashed a lasso from his waist and, with one deft flick of his wrist, sent the noose curling over Conroy’s head so that it dropped down and pinioned him around his chest.
Conroy fell into the dust, cursing abuse. Whereupon Samson set his horse off on a gentle trot round the corral, dragging his victim roughly behind him over the dirt . To Paul it seemed like a scene out of a Western.
After several minutes Samson returned and ordered his men to release Conroy from the lasso and tie him to one of the six low platforms in the corral. Bleeding and filthy, Conroy’s will to resist had been broken. He allowed himself to be stretched over one of the platforms and have he hands and legs bound to the four legs, so that he was, in effect, in a kneeling position, his fat and densely hair-covered buttocks raised high. Paul assumed that Conroy was about to be whipped, but he was wrong.
At that moment, Paul saw a new overseer strolling towards him. He was tall, broad and grizzled. He had arm and legs like tree trunks. Behind him, there was a figure struggling against a heavy chain lead attached to a sturdy ring in his nose-septum. At first, Paul thought it was the largest and most obscene pig he had ever seen. But when the overseer dragged the “animal” nearer to Paul, he saw with shocked astonishment that the ugly beast was a man! A huge, grossly fattened man crawling on his hands and feet; his legs looked like short but relatively much to thick barrels. He hardly was able to march due to his excessive weight, not only flabby fat, but masses of muscles.
The most shocking sight however was the genital equipment of this man, or better to speak of a boar! Huge balls dragged his scrotum deeply down almost to the knees and under his tummy stood a prick not excessively long, bat fat like a bottle of wine. His skin was pretty hairy and shaggy between his groin and thighs.
Samson took a few paces towards the bound figure of Conroy and brought his riding crop viciously down across Conroy’s unprotected buttocks. Even Conroy who was clearly a man of steel, was forced to give a loud yell.
“Well, Mr. Conroy, I gave you’re your final chance, but you chose to reject my offer. That I know is typical of your arrogant white philosophy. You refused an order to grovel before a black master. You can imagine what would have happened to a black slave who showed such disobedience in the old plantations run by your ancestors. Well, I will tell you, because it happened to one of my ancestors, He would have been boiled in hot oil! You then refused a perfectly reasonable order to lick a master’s boots. Well, now are about to discover how misguided you were. Apply the grease, Benson!”

The “Boar” Mr.Percy

Benson, still holding the “pig’s” leash on Mr. Percy nose-ring, walked up to Conroy and, with a little pot of grease, smeared the anal sphincter of Conroy’s hairy ass with it. Mr. Percy seeing that, immediately became agitated, and Benson had some trouble holding him still. The prick stiffened and swelled to threatening proportions. Paul shuddered noticing the enormously obscene tool under the “boars” belly.
“Now, Mr. Conroy, you have been prepared with a grease to make it easier for you to let the mighty intruder of this breeding slave into your rectum. Be honoured, he is one of our best breeder in our sow-stables, and your slimy ass-hole is an invitation to him as to every hog in the stables. On one moment I have changed you, not only into a dirty pig, but even into a sow married to this magnificent, potent boar. A sow you have become, and a sow you will remain for the next ten years. You will serve the first ten years of your sentence in our pigsty with our five breeding boars and our about two hundred slave-girls, called breeding sows. Your future life is restricted to a miserable existence in the pigsty.” Samson grinned gloatingly.
“You devilish bastard!” Conroy screamed in utter desperation.
“Sow and boars as well can’t speak, they can only snort and grunt. And if you refuse this advice as well as the order to grovel I will make you made your vocal cords cut out. In every case, if you are willing or not, by the time Mr. Benson has finished with you, you will be snorting and grunting just like Mr. Percy here.”
Hearing his name spoken, Mr Percy showed signs of sexual rampage and dragged violently at his nose chain to gain his victims ass-hole. Benson quickly removed a cattle-prodder from his belt and touched with its tip the fat scrotum of his “boar”. The wild beast shrugged back and grovelled.
“It will be interesting watching you in your new role as a pig. You will never walk on two legs and you will never speak again. You will never have the opportunity for real work like the other slaves here. In ten years I will review your position. If you have been a obedient, good breeding hog and have been a hard-working inseminator of our to get pregnant sows, I may release you to a better life of an work-horse. But I have to warn you, Conroy: All the other slaves who had rebelled against me and therefore have finished up in the pigsty, have become so adapted to their life in the sty, that when the time has come to release them, it proved impossible to adapt them back to normal life. They all begged and grovelled to be allowed to stay with their new ‘brothers and sisters’ or should I say husbands and wives they had bred so many times. That is why they are still snuffling and snorting happily in the mire. I fear that could happen to you as well, Conroy. So you have given yourself a life sentence.”
“You must be mad!” shouted Conroy.
“Mr. Jones, gag him! He is got to learn that sows can’t speak!”
Jones stepped up to Conroy’s head and swiftly put a gag in Conroy’s mouth and tied it behind his neck.
“Now the fun can begin. All right, Benson, let Mr. Percy off his leash!” And with that Benson slipped the leash from Mr. Percy’s nose-ring, and the force-fed “boar” hurled onto the back of the gagged, knelling and immobile tethered Texan and, snorting with pleasure buggered him with might in front of the disbelieving prisoners and grinning overseers who had – no doubt – seen this scene played out many times before. This animalistic man really was de-humanized, he was a demented beast, longing only for brutally fucking someone.
Conroy almost collapsed under Mr. Percy’s overweight. Desperately he wriggled his bottom to try to free himself of the monstrous “pig’s” penis, but his struggling only seemed to excite Mr. Percy more and he started to bite Conroy’s neck.
“Keep still, you sow, and let your new >husband< have his way with you!” shouted Benson, slashing Conroy across his shoulder with his whip.
Eventually Mr. Percy was finished and dropped to the ground and started to lick with his large tongue along the contaminated ass-crack of his new mate in the sty. He shoved his over-fat, ugly face deep into Conroy’s ass-cleft. Finally Benson reattached Mr. Percy leash to his scrotum-ring and heftily hauled the fat man off.
“There, Mr. Conroy, you see, at this ranch we mean every word we say. You are now a fully qualified sow. You are now like Mr. Percy’s ‘wife’ and in future you will no longer be known as Mr. Conroy, but Mr. Percy’s mate. Like him you will have a lot of ‘wives’ or better to say breeding sows. And Benson will see to it that you perform a frequent impregnating of your assigned breeding partners. Surely Mr. Percy will often make use of your ass-hole as you have a beautiful bottom he will not neglect. But if you fail to perform your daily rate, I may decide to have you castrated – then you will truly become Missis Percy indeed. Do not forget that warning, Missis Percy!!! Still another advice: Beware of the dogs of our ranch here. We have many dozens here on the ranch, and although the sty is caged off to keep the dogs out, some Rottweilers yet find a way in and might succeed buggering you.”
Samson reached in the pocket of his breeches and took out a whistle and blew it. Immediately half a dozen Rottweilers came running up. The went straight up ton Conroy on the platform, mounted him and fucked him, one after the other keeping the man on hands and knees as another animal of their kind. Then they slunk off.
Meanwhile Mr. Percy still on his leash grunted and fought against Bensons leash to escape Benson’s hold, Apparently he was unwilling to be returned into the pig-sty where his impregnating duties awaited him.
“Oh besides, Conroy, I almost forgot to inform you that your company has gone down with your sudden death made public, your shares collapsed, and your beautiful house in Dallas had to be sold. However, my colleagues in the States have arranged for your former wife, Mrs. Conroy, to spend the rest of her life as a domestic maid in the household of one of our black leaders. I am sure she will enjoy to being personal maid to a big, fat, black momma or serving to the needs of a sturdy, lazy and demanding black master. My friends in Texas also have arranged for your pampered son and pitch-nosed daughter to be kidnapped and sold to an perverted sadist in Arabia as slaves. There is a raising market for upper class white girls in the harems of the Middle-East, and handsome white boys fetch a high price in the brothels of the orient. Be sure, there are no slip-ups in your organisation.”
The thick-headed man almost broke into tears and desperately tried to break free of his bonds.
“Hold on, you impatient boar, I am handing you over to Mr. Benson, you future master. He is the pig head-master of the ranch. Any order, how strange or perverted in your eyes it might be, that he gives you, is to obeyed by you at once. Mr. Benson, led your new breeding boar on to the blacksmith to get the boar pierced and his nose and scrotum ringed. Then make him work hard so he will get used to his duties!”
Conroy was released from his bond to the platform. Mr. Jones neared to him and stood towering over the kneeling figure and spoke to him: “When you were a human, you refused to grovel in front of a black man. Now you are only a sow on the deepest stage. I would not soil my cock by letting you touch it, but you are so filthy now, so I do you the honour of cleaning you.”
With that he unbuttoned his black breeches, took out his long prick and aimed a steady stream of hot piss all over the kneeling Conroy. The overseers grinned gloatingly.
“Open your snout, Sow, and drink your master’s piss! ” he ordered and aimed the stream into Conroy’s face; the broken slave obeyed and caught the piss with his mouth.
With hefty whip lashes Benson drove a broken Conroy off to the blacksmith’ hut. There the smith took a glowing hot piercing iron out of a coal-basin and pierced a hole through Conroy’s nose-septum and inserted a sturdy brass-ring like the one in Mr. Percy’s nose. Conroy screams were so loud that the prisoners could here it from distance. The yells grew even louder, when the smith pulled Conroy’s scrotum off from his groin and wielded a metal ring with an eyelet tightly around the base of the fat ball-sac. From the far the prisoners could watch Mr. Conroy being dragged back to where Samson sat on his horse-back by a leash at his new nose-ring.
Paul could imagine what horrendous pain the tugging of the leash on Conroy’s new nose-ring was causing, because the “sow” truly jumped to follow Benson. He halted him at the legs of Mr. Samson’s horse.
“Well pig, one last thing before Benson will bring you to your sty and chain you in. Pigs are never allowed to speak! Some Minutes ago you have uttered your last human words. Pigs may only grunt. Always remember the rule: ONE grunt for >YES<, TWO grunts for >NO< , THREE grunts for >PLEASE<>THANK YOU<. On each occasion you will add one grunt for >master<. So ‘yes, master’ is TWO grunts. It’s easy, isn’t it? Even a sow could understand. Do you understand, sow?!”
Conroy gave two heart-rending grunts.
“Now grunt ‘thank you, Master’ Thank you for turning me into a breeding boar!” Benson held his whip high over Conroy’s back and brought it down furiously. At the same time he gave a vicious tug on the nose-ring leash. Hastily Conroy gave a series of five agonised grunts. Paul would not have believed that it was possible for a strong and healthy man to be so completely destroyed within just one hour if he hadn’t witnessed on his own eyes!
“Good, well done, pig! Now, Benson take your new ‘inseminator’ for our sows in its sty and fit it with a pretty little pig’s tail and a clear brand on one of his fat buttocks. Here your sentence starts, pig. See you in ten years at the earliest.”
All the overseers broke into a peal of laughter. Benson took hold of Conroy’s leash and marched him on hands and knees off. Poor Conroy!




Chapter 7: Life as an animal

Samson turned his horse back to face the remaining six frightened, disbelieving prisoners. They felt so naked, so vulnerable, so surrendered to merciless brutes.
“There, gentleman! I am sure we will not have any more little disagreements. Now that nasty little episode is behind us, I hope we can establish a more cordial relationship between us. After all, we are going to be together for a very long time indeed. Just carry out the clear instructions which I and my assistants give you, and you will have no reason to worry. Well, I am sure you are all hungry and thirsty. You will be given food and drink before long, but we still have one or two more things to show you, so please, be patient. I am sure you are also tired, so we are going to give you a short break while we prepare a couple of demonstrations for your benefit. They will give you a better idea of what sort of ranch this is. We are going to leave you now. When I order you to grovel, you will drop into the >down<-position and stay there. Do not speak and do not look around, use it as an opportunity to rest. Sleep if you wish and can do it in the grovelling position. DOWN!”
Paul dropped to his knees dug his forehead into the earth, pleased to be able to relax even in this extraordinary place and these bizarre circumstances. He did not even notice Samson and his guard depart. Within seconds he had fallen into a slight slumber. In his tiredness and his bewilderment, all sorts of strange images flashed around his mind. His dead parents, his sister Jenny and her children, the college football team, his girlfriend Sally, the one girls he had ever loved, blond cool and remote.
He woke up suddenly. What on earth would Sally think? Would she wait for him? Would she believe he was dead and would marry someone else? All was so bewildering.
He dreamt of Klu Klux Klan meetings, the excitement, the burning crosses, the thrill of putting on the white robes and the hoods, and the burning desire to take revenge on all blacks for what they had done to Jenny. Yet, he didn’t hate all blacks. In fact, he found some of them strangely attractive. And his old black nanny had been a real friend. But now his dreams were peopled by new strange black faces.
He did not know how long he “slept”. When he woke up, the sun was still burning overhead, and he had fallen over one on side, his knees still bent. He hastened to resume the correct grovelling position and hoped, none of the overseers had seen him. His colleagues were still kneeling rigidly in a row, their noses pressed tight to the ground. Paul peeked around. They were totally unguarded, staring obediently at the ground. He could have removed their handcuffs, and they would still have stayed dutifully in the grovelling position.
Before long he heard the sound of hooves, and through the side of his eyes he could see the guards coming back. Once again, he felt totally debased at being subject to men on horseback.
“Kneel up and listen, slaves!” Said Samson, riding up and resuming his former position in front of the row of prisoners, while his underlings, on horseback and on foot, spread themselves around with easy whipping distance. Samson’s voice showed that he knew he had already established complete control over them.
“You were wise not to move. Had you taken one pace, those dogs would have had you by the legs within seconds. If you even get approached by one of the dogs on the ranch, when you have no master near you, drop to the grovelling position at once and keep absolutely still, and they wouldn’t hurt you. They are well trained here, I’ll show you. You, Mendoza, run over to that post there!”
One of the other slaves whose name Paul had not heard before, leapt to his feet and started to run towards the post, which was about fifty metres away. Samson gave a short command: “Fetch, Bronco!” and one of the Rottweilers raced after him. “Mendoza, down! Get down now!” Samson yelled.
Mendoza dropped to his knees immediately and knelt motionless. The dog went up to him, sniffed him, arrogantly raised a leg against him and urinated on him. Then it withdrew and crouched at the poor slaves heels.
[passage censored]
“Back, Bronco!” yelled Samson, and Bronco sprinted back to its original position.
“Back, Mendoza!” and the unfortunate slave ran back to his place, trembling and looking shocked and terrified.
“Now, slaves, I tell you something about the daily routine at this ranch, tell you what jobs you will be doing, and then Jones and the others will lay on some demonstrations, which I hope you will find helpful. I will start by explaining that slaves at this ranch are clearly divided into two groups. The first group are the domestic slaves – household servants, houseboys maids, cooks etc.. The second group are the outdoor slaves – for general labouring work on the plantation, on the ranch or in the stables. I have to tell you that the domestic slaves have an easier time of it, especially the girls. They are usually here for lesser offences. Each of the overseers has his own cabin and his own domestic servants. The outdoor slaves work either in a chain gang or under the strict supervision of an overseer. We try to recreate as closely as possible the conditions which existed on the plantations of old. Only now, the blacks are the masters, and the whites are the slaves! The black masters and mistresses have total authority over all slaves, not only their own! Any order given by a master or mistress to any slave must be obeyed instantly. All masters and mistresses have unlimited permission to use their whips on any slave they see slacking or misbehaving. As I have told you, it is absolutely forbidden for a slave to speak without permission. Should a master or mistress wish to use you for any personal duty, you will of course obey without hesitation and afterwards kiss their boots and thank them for the privilege of serving them. Here, Suarez, run and kneel at the feet of Mr. Dixon here, and he will demonstrate what I mean!”
Suarez jumped to his feet and ran and knelt at the feet of the big, black overseer Sampson indicated with his whip, Paul had already realized that Dixon was the overseer who most enjoyed wielding his whip.
Dixon unbuttoned his breeches and took out his enormous black tool.
“Have you ever kissed a black tool before, boy?” he drawled.
“No, Master.”
“Well, now you are going to show these nice white gentlemen here, what you Spaniards really think of black people. Get kissing, boy!”
Suarez began to kiss the enormous black object, but he was far too timid, and Dixon pulled back his large black hand and smashed him across the face:
“When I say ‘kiss your master’s tool, slave!’ I MEAN kiss! Go on, kiss it good and lick it all over! If you are lucky, I may give you the privilege of sucking it!”
Suarez began to kiss and lick Dixon’s tool for all he was worth. Dixon spread his legs, pushed his tool forward and seized Suarez’s head and pulled it hard against his groin. Paul felt a shudder. Was there to be no end in these humiliations? And they had been here only a couple of hours!
Eventually Dixon pushed Suarez away from him and swivelled round, exposing his bare pretty hairy arse. He stuck it in Suarez’s face and shouted:
“Lick my black arsehole clean, boy! I had a shit just before you got here.” Suarez first tried to back away, but then quickly did hastily what he was told, and finally Dixon turned around and pushed the slave’s head down to lick his boots.
“Don’t forget to thank me, slave!” jeered Dixon.
“Thank you, Master!” said Suarez almost inaudibly.
“Thank you – for what, slave?”
“Er – thank you for allowing to kiss your cock and er – for licking your arse, Master!”
“Good, you are learning fast, boy. Now, back!” Suarez turned to his place and Dixon did up his breeches.
“Right, Mr. Mason,” said Simpson. “What would you like Harris to do? It is not often we get such a pretty boy to train …”
Mason stepped forward. “Listen good, pretty boy! See that pile of fresh dung there?” he said pointing at a steaming pile of manure recently deposited by one of the overseers’ horses.
“Yes, Master!” Alex said, terrified of what was to come.
“Well pretty boy! I’m going to walk in it, and then you are going to lick my boots so clean you can see your face in them!” He walked over to the horseshit, buried the bulk of his boots in it, used one boot to smear it all over the other, then leant back against the tethering rail and lassoed Alex by the neck. He dragged him down towards his boots and said firmly: “Lick them clean, boy!”
Alex bent his beautiful head over the revolting boots and, smothering an intense desire to vomit, did his best to lick them until there were no traces of the repulsive shit left. Mason looked down on the slave-boy, and his eyes gleamed with lust.
After he had been told to thank Mason for the privilege of licking his boots clean, Alex was sent back to his kneeling position.
“Now,” said Samson triumphantly, “the moment you have all been waiting for is here at least. I am going to tell you which group of slaves you will be attached to, and what your jobs will be. When I give you your new jobs, I do not wish to see any signs of discontent. Slaves have no say in their job assignment, and no change to my decision is possible, especially as we are now without Mr. Conroy and you will have to do his work as well. I will allocate you each your job, and you will serve in it for at least your first ten years. After ten years, if you work well, your position will be re-considered. I omitted to tell you that there is a third group of slaves at this ranch – the most sought after group on the ranch: >animalsponies<. In future you will always referred as >poniesPaul fell forward and started to sob. Samson saw him and rode over to him. He bent down from his horse and tapped Paul’s head with his whip.
“Kneel up, boy! I said I wanted no protest, and I meant it!”
Paul looked up, but his eyes were filled with tears, and his mouth sagged uncontrollably. He had a blinding urge to rum away. He had an overwhelming desire to feel Sally’s arms around him. He wanted to die.
Samson jumped down off his horse and took Paul’s head in his hands and stroked his hair. “There is no way back, boy! You are no longer a man. You are now a pony. Ponies have only one thought: How to please their master. You belong to me now, pony. You must learn to please me. You will serve me, obey me and worship me. I will train you to be the smartest and most obedient pony on the ranch. Did you have a wife or a girlfriend in your previous existence?”
Paul nodded his head and sobbed.
“Forget her! You will never see her again. Better learn to love me! Now, kiss my hand!”
Samson took off his leather glove and held out a perfectly formed black hand for Paul to kiss. Paul leant forward and, overwhelmed by Samson’s softened attitude, bent forward and pressed his lips against it. It smelt of an exotic oriental perfume, it felt soft and warm at the same time. The skin was smooth, black and flawless, and the gold watch and gold bangles merely seemed to heighten the feeling of power it exuded.
“Thank you, Master!” Paul stammered, overwhelmingly grateful for the first kind word he had received for days.
“Okay, slave! But don’t you dare disobey me again!” and Samson remounted his horse and rode back to his position. The horse’s tail caught Paul across the face and Paul could smell on his lips the strange mixture of human and horse scent he was soon to grow so used to.
“Now, ponies, your training as ponies is about to begin. When we have finished these short demonstrations, you will be taken to your stables and handed over to your new grooms. Inside the stables they will be in full charge of you. They will groom you, feed you and harness you. Outside the stables you will be trained by the overseers here, because you will be carrying out many jobs as ponies. We call you ponies to distinguish you from the full size horses whose stables and jobs you will be sharing. Now stand up all of you, and stick out your arseholes! The grooms are going to stick a suppository up your rectums.”
The six ponies stood up and, intensely embarrassed, stuck out their arses. A black overseer went up to them and jammed a large suppository up each of their arses.
“The suppositories will take a few minutes to work. It is essential that we clear all human food out of your stomachs once and for all. From now on you will be on a horse’s diet, specially designed for human ponies by our vet. It is as near a horse’s diet as we can achieve. You will never eat human food again. In a short time, human food will be indeed become bad for you, and the grooms are under strict orders not to let you have it. Just as you will never, under any circumstances, wear human clothes again, speak human speech again or enter a human dwelling again. You will live in stables with all the others animals, and the punishment for daring to enter a human dwelling of any kind is death! Accept the fact that you are now animals, and life will be much easier for you. Act like animals, walk like animals and think like animals! We are humans, you are animals. Never forget the huge gulf which now divides you from me. Ponies exist to be broken and to obey. If they obey blindly and without hesitation, they may earn their masters’ affection. D O W N !!”
Six “ponies” immediately dropped into the grovelling position.
“U P !!” Samson growled “That was not quick enough! D O W N !!”
They dropped to their knees instantly, but Dixon was not satisfied. He gave each of them a couple of lashes across their buttocks and then lifted his boot and, going to each of them in turn, pressed their heads into the dirt.
“You are animals, the master said! Get your noses right into the shit!”
Paul rubbed his nose into the stinking manure, but Dixon was determined to extract every once of humiliation out of the situation. He squatted down and crushed Paul’s head into the ground beneath his muscular bottom.
“Up!” Samson shouted and continued: “It is my intention, as we shall demonstrate in a moment, to teach you to believe that you are a pony, that you were born to be a pony, and that your human life up till now has been a mistake. You will learn to trot like a pony, snort like a pony, whiney like a pony, muzzle our hands and feet like a pony, and as far as possible be groomed and harnessed to look as much like a pony as possible. Soon you will accept it. Now, while the suppositories are working, I want you to piss where you are staying. I know most of you are dying to piss anyway, and now is a good chance to loose your inhibitions and realize that you are expected to behave like animals at every minute of the day. One advantage of being an animal is that you may piss and shit when and where you like. You will be sharing your stalls with real horses and cows, who piss and shit all the time, so you will soon accept the non-stop flow of piss and manure as a vital part of stable life. This is the last time I shall need to mention this subject, which we humans find distasteful. It is in fact one of the biggest areas where our existence and yours will in future differ. Now push your pricks out like good ponies and piss as hard as you can!”
Paul felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he felt his stream leave his body. The fact that it splattered round his naked feet did not bother him. It was remarkable how quickly relieving himself in the open and unashamed seemed to be the natural thing to do. His first step into animal-hood had happened without his realizing it. Of course, Samson had it all planned. Then suddenly, Paul felt his bowels open; there was nothing to do but let it happen. The torrent of shit fell in a big pile behind his feet and splashed up his calves. One by one the other “ponies” followed suit. Almost immediately, each of then released a second dose and then, some of them, a third one. Poor Suarez just went on and on. Paul’s acute embarrassment was equalled only by his sense of relieve.
“Good,” said Samson, watching their degradation with obvious satisfaction, “you are already losing your human inhibitions, ponies! You have just carried out your first act as an animal. Be proud of yourselves! Don’t worry about the smell! We think nothing of it on a ranch, and it is only a small amount compared with all the horse and cow manure lying around. Now, I want you to walk round in it and tread it into the ground. Get used to the feel of it on your feet and legs. You will be wearing horse-shoes after today, but you will never be able to avoid treading in muck and manure, so, the sooner you get used to it the better! We are treading in shit all the time, and we don’t give it a thought. Anyway, cleaning our boots gives the domestic slaves a taste of the farmyard!”
As Paul trampled around in his own muck, he suddenly realized that there was no question of toilet paper. He felt his buttocks squelch against each other.
How quickly a man could sink to animal-status! He caught a glimpse of Alex’ buttocks, as a red-faced Alex stepped gingerly in his own droppings, stray bits of shit dangling from his arsehole and down the backs of his thighs. Christ! Alex was a beautiful boy! How could anyone want to turn him into an animal?
Bur better to be turned into a Pony than into a pig, a boar, a breeding beast like poor Conroy. Paul wondered how this man was felling now with a nose-ring, a scrotum-ring and maybe he was already branded?



Chapter 8 A human draught-horse

Suddenly, there was the sound of hooves and of a horse-drawn cart. The ponies were ordered back into line, and Paul saw a farm-cart approaching and, to his amazement, realized that harnessed like a horse between the shafts was a huge white man – a real giant of a stark naked man! In the driving seat sat Jones, cursing and harshly whipping the toiling man between the shafts with an enormous bullwhip. Behind them came another supervisor on horseback pulling a real horse behind him, heavily build like a cart horse with huge hooves. Apparently a field-nag.
“Whoa!” shouted Jones, and the cart and human horse came to an abrupt halt between Samson and the line of slaves. Jones dismounted and stood by the harnessed man’s head, firmly holding his bridle. Samson rode over to the cart and pointed at the man panting between the shafts.
“Ponies! Let me introduce you to one of your stable-mates: This is HECTOR! All our ponies receive classical names You too will be given classical names to remind you how far you have fallen – from being Greek Gods to base animals. Hector has been here several years and is now well trained to do all the jobs round the farm which an ordinary horse can do, just as you will be over the next ten years. Hector is hard-working and very obedient – just as you will learn to be. As you will see later this afternoon, it is possible to earn promotion, even as a pony, and Hector is hoping desperately to earn promotion by dedication and hard work. Now, for your benefit, Mr. Jones, has fitted Hector with full working harness, so that you can see at a glance what you will be wearing as from tomorrow. Starting with Hector’s head you will see he has a bridle fitted round his head and over the top of his head. Attached to the bridle is an everyday working bit which you will be obliged to wear whenever you are between the shaft. There are several types of bits for different jobs on the farm. They are specially designed to fit human mouths without seriously damaging them. But obviously, stricter training requires harder bits, and for fractious ponies we have devised a few severe punishment-bits, which usually bring about the required improvement in rapid time. You will see Hector is wearing a heavy horse-brass on his forehead which all ponies wear when serving as cart-horses. We have virtually no cars and lorries or trucks on the ranch, and nearly all the heavy work is done by horse-power or pony-power or a combination of both. Jones will show you in a moment how we sometimes harness a horse and a pony together. Hector has his head shaved, except for a strip down the middle, Mohican style, which we call his >mane<. It is the duty of the groom to keep this mane stiff and erect. Moving down his body, you will notice a collection of slave-bangles round Hector’s arms. These serve a totally different purpose, and I will ignore them for the moment and explain their purpose later.”
Paul had long since ceased to believe what was happening to him, but he stared fascinated at the heavy harness and the gleaming brass which almost covered Hector’s enormous muscular body. Was he too really going to be wearing harness like this tomorrow? It reminded him of the gear worn by some of the leather boys back home. He had never had the chance as an eminent lawyer to follow their example, but he had to admit that he sometimes found their belts and straps and boots fascinating.
“Now, round Hector’s body you can see the obvious straps which any pony will need: chest girth, stomach girth, shoulder straps and a heavy crotch strap. Hector is wearing rings in both nipples. This is simply for the purpose of tethering him. You will spend much of your time here being tethered, usually by your bridle or halter, but when you are un-harnessed, the nipple-rings provide an easy tethering point. Now look at Hector’s crotch strap. He, like all our white creatures, unfortunately has a fat, but ugly pink tool hanging loose. Ponies usually work naked, with their penises down, but just occasionally, when there are black ladies present, the slaves’ penises are covered to save offending their black mistresses’ delicate feelings. This can easily be done by fixing a leather cod-piece over the offending organ. Hector can obviously not turn around while hitched in the shafts, but if he could, you would see that the crotch straps come up tautly behind his buttocks so as to make them protrude. Whites do not have nicely rounded buttocks like us blacks, but the crotch straps do make the buttocks more shapely and rounded and most important, they are better accessible to the driver’s whip! In addition, a long tail to match the colour of his hair is fitted by another belt just above his arse-hole. I must warn you that, when you shit, you may find it difficult not to get your tail dirty, and it will take practice and concentration to avoid it. But it is possible not to dirty your tail, and your grooms will soon show their displeasure, if you do. You may shit wherever and whenever you wish, but remember to flick your tail out of the way. A pony’s arms are kept firmly behind his waist all the times. They may only be untied briefly to help circulation. They are obviously tied in such a way as to leave the back exposed to the driver’s whip. On Hector’s feet you will see that he is wearing heavy clogs with high build-up heels. They are so designed as to make your legs longer as usual and tapered like a colt’s. Underneath are fitted the normal working horseshoes. These boots are removable and may be interchanged for other types of boot, but obviously you may only have your boots removed when your groom removes them. From Hector’s waist girth the traces lead to the shafts of whatever cart or farm instrument he is pulling. Similar attachments are used to hitch ponies to carriages, of which we have several varieties on the ranch. Carriages are used to pull your masters and mistresses and their friends. We have single-, double-, and quadruple carriages. Carriage ponies wear more elegant harness and wear pretty head-plumes. A double carriage will be arriving shortly to demonstrate. Unfortunately, hard as Hector tries, he is too clumsy for carriages pulling, which is why he is still trying for promotion. Incidentally, I told you that it is my intention that you should eventually come to think you really are horses. Hector is a good example of the success of our methods. He can understand what I am saying about him, and he might be hurt by my words, but he is not attentively listening, because he really has come to regard himself as an animal, and like most animals only understands about a dozen words of command and regards all other human speech as above him. He is not spoken a word from many years, so I do not know if he still can speak, though I doubt it. But he can of course whiney. Hector is completely convinced that he is a horse. Each day the head overseer is given a work rota for all the horses and ponies in the stables, but until you are fully broken-in, you will find that most of your time is spent either in the training yard, where you are standing now, or pulling the most basic farm vehicles like the milk cart or a dung cart. There are many horses, cows, ponies and pigs, chickens, geese and so on, so the dung cart is always in need of filling and emptying. Usually it get so heavy that one of the work horses like Ben here is hitched to the cart to help the ponies to take the strain. But just for the moment, Jones has had the dung cart only half-filled, so it can be pulled by Hector alone or two trained ponies without the help of a real horse. Hector will now demonstrate how a cart-pony has to respond to orders. Mr. Jones! Please give us a demonstration of an obedient pony pulling the cart!”
Jones started to mount the driver’s seat.
“Still, Hector!” he shouted as he lifted his boot towards the step.
“The order >still!< should not be necessary,” explained Samson, “as all ponies must stand motionless between the shafts all times when the are not being driven, but here it is given as a precaution. You will notice that all the time Hector has been standing here totally immobile, he has kept his head lowered and his eyes fixed firmly on Jones’s boots. This is the normal respectful position demanded of a pony while not been driven. At the same time, he is not allowed to move a single muscle, even a fraction of an inch. To do so will incur severe punishment: Both a whipping on the spot and being put on stable report in the evening what may lead to further punishment. You will find out about that later. But a pony may flick his tail occasionally to dislodge the numerous flies we have in this hot area. Now, Mr. Jones is seated comfortably in his seat. Remember that the comfort and pleasure of the master driving you has to be your only concern! You must give him as smooth a ride as possible. Mr. Jones picks up his whip now in his right hand and shake out the thongs and he will take the reins in his left. He will give one click of his tongue, and Hector will immediately tense his body, raise his head and look straight ahead. At the same time he will stick out his rump, ready to receive the whip.”
Jones clicked his tongue once, and Paul was amazed by the instant reaction of Hector, who had almost seemed to be asleep. He tensed his huge body, so the muscles ripped, he raised his head, so his mane stood up in the air, he looked fixedly ahead of him, and he stuck his well shaped rump arching his tail gracefully, and he tensed his muscular buttocks as if expecting the whip.
“Now Mr. Jones will either click his tongue again once or else give the order >Gee-up< . He may use either command, and a pony should is to learn to expect either.”
Jones clicked his tongue once and delivered a sharp lash with the lip on Hector’s right buttock. The cart set off at a steady walk round the corral, but it was clearly heavy, and Hector obviously was needing to use all his giant strength to keep the heavy wagon rolling. Jones was forced to apply several strokes of the whip and to shout several curses before a panting and puffing Hector arrived back at the point where they had started.
“Well,” said Samson, obviously pleased with the way the demonstration had gone, and satisfied by the terrified looks of the new “ponies” who proved that they were beginning to understand what was going to happen to them. “Now Mr. Jones will take Hector away and harness him to a plough in harness with Ben, his stable-mate. Watch carefully, ponies, as you will spend many hours ploughing, both in harness with Ben or one of the other carthorses, or by yourself alone. It is vital that you learn to do it correctly.”
Jones took Hector to one side of the yard and unhitched him from the dung-cart. Then he led him by his nose-ring over to where a plough was lying in the dirt. He backed Hector on to the shafts of the plough and hitched the bulky “bull” of a man to the handle. Paul could see that the long curving handle of the plough tapered to a sharp point which almost touched Hector’s buttocks. Parallel to the handle, about a metre and a half apart were two much longer handles, which between Jones now backed Ben, the cart-horse, also to the shafts so that Ben’s vast rump was almost touching Hector’s face. Rough bits were inserted into the mouths of both working-horses. Jones went and took up a position behind the plough, holding both sets of reins in his left hand and a long curling bull-whip in his right. With a sharp shout of >Gee-up<, horses and plough were whipped into motion. They came forward nearing the front of the prisoners. “Whoa!”, said Jones and both horses stopped, hung their heads and remained motionless.
“You will see,” said Samson that we always hitch the horse in front of the human pony. This is so that he pony is forced to realize, all the time that he is working, that he now belongs to the horse world. Not only has the pony to concentrate on the task in hand, in this case ploughing, but he must learn to place his hooves in the exact spot where the horse’s rear hooves have just trod. Otherwise he is in danger of having his own hooves trodden on and in addition upsetting the rhythm. It will take you many month of practice to get this right, but time is something we are not short here. Of course it would be possible for the pony to let the horse alone do all the hard work, but the tension-strap between the pony’s crotch and the plough will go slack if a pony is not pulling his weight. Don’t be wrong! The driver will spot this at once and use his whip. Also the handle ends in a sharp point which will give the pony’s rump a nasty jab if he fails to maintain his rhythm. Next, Jones is to demonstrate how a perfect pair should work in unison, and how a good ploughman will have such control of his pair that will plough in a dead-straight line.”
While the bewildered prisoners looked on, Jones whipped his pair into a long steady march from one end of the yard to the other and back, ploughing two perfect furrows. Paul could see the effort on Hector’s face as he strove to pull the heavy iron plough and avoid being jabbed by the spike behind him. He could notice the care with which he put his hooves down exactly where Ben’s had been. The rhythm was perfect. Paul realized to his horror, that he was having a preview of what would soon be happening to him.
When they had returned to the watching group, Ben and Hector were unhitched and had their steaming flanks patted. Then a panting Hector was unceremoniously hitched to a smaller lightweight plough.
Samson resumed his commentary: “Single ponies can pull only a lightweight plough and find it harder when in single harness to keep a straight line. Jones will now make Hector plough two furrows as straight as he can.”
Jones set off, and the startled spectators had to observe that single ploughing was much harder work for a pony even for a giant like Hector. Jones had to use his voice and his whip permanently to keep his toiling pony absolutely straight, but Hector had been ploughing for many years, so the result was very impressive. Nevertheless, when Hector’s naked rump came into Paul’s view, he could see that the human pony’s enormous ball-sac showed several crimson weals like his buttocks. Jones had not saved the most sensitive area of an man with his whip!
When he had finished, Hectors body was glistening with sweat. Samson cantered over to Hector, patted his head, said “Well done, pony!” and held out a lump of sugar in his gloved hand which a grateful Hector snuffled into his cruelly bitted mouth. To the watching ponies’ amazement, Hector then gave five short, but loud whinnies. Paul realized to his horror, that ponies used the same whinnying code as the “pigs” had to use for grunting. Five whinnies meant >Thank you, master<.
“Right, Mr. Jones! Unhitch Hector and let him have a drink and a rest. Meanwhile, Mr. Dixon go and fetch a double carriage, please!” ordered Samson.
Dixon cantered off, and Jones led Hector over to one of the troughs and removed his bit. The big white man knelt down and buried his mouth in the trough and slurped up the stale water greedily. When he had drunk, he stood up and remained motionless while Jones put his bit back which pulled his mouth-corners fiercely back so that it looked like a dog baring his teeth in aggression. Then he led Hector over to a hitching rail and tethered him by his nose-ring. Paul could see that Hector, once tethered, lowered his head and remained motionless.
Almost immediately, the sound of flying hooves and racing wheels could be heard. And through the gate came a beautiful black coloured gig, embellished with silver fittings. In the driver’s seat was Dixon, wielding a long snaking coach-whip. Between the shafts, heads and head-plumes erect, legs and knees rising in perfect unison, horse-shoes making a muffled clip-clop on the earth surface, were harnessed a matching pair of young white human ponies. Paul felt overwhelmed by the significance of what he was seeing. In his stomach he had the most terrible feelings of foreboding. He realized that they really meant what they said about men turning into “horses”. In his heart he had to admit to himself that it was one of the most imposing sights he had ever seen!
The carriage did one complete circle of the corral in a cantering speed before approaching the line of glaring prisoners from the front. With a loud “Whoa!” and pulling the reins back hard, the carriage came to a sudden halt, facing the amazed prisoners. One of the ponies halted almost in front of Paul, and he was able to study the complete equipage with a mixture of astonishment and wonder.
The moment they halted, the ponies set their hooves a few inches apart and lowered their heads. Their head-plumes, white and gold and made of long arching feathers, wafted gracefully in front of them. The tip of the plume of the pony in front almost tickled Paul’s chest. The ponies stood absolutely motionless, their eyes lowered to the ground in front of them, their muscles relaxed and their tails curving up from their welt-covered buttocks and dropping in an arch behind their well muscled thighs. Paul could see that the pony in front of him had its head shaved, shiny like a billiard ball, except for a brush-like strip of blond hair which ran from its forehead to the nape of its neck. What amazed Paul most was the way in which the two ponies acted absolutely in unison. Even their breathing seemed to be in perfect harmony.
The two ponies were breathing heavily, and there were beads of sweat on the chests and foreheads, but they did not seem to be distressed, and Paul realized that what he was seeing war the result of long hours of hard training. At no stage did the pony look at Paul, and he noticed, as it lowered its gaze, that their eyes were clear and bright, and its complexion ruddy and healthy. Dixon jumped down from the driving seat and went up to Samson who was still sitting on his horse.
“Carriage and pair reporting, Sir!”
“Thanks you, Mr. Dixon. They do you credit!”
Samson turned to the prisoners: “In front of you, slaves, you see the perfect example of what hard training and considerate treatment can achieve. Romulus and Remus are twins. As twins they are able to achieve such perfect symmetry between the shafts, that they earned rapid promotion. They have been here only five years, and already they are fulfilling all our hopes of them. Now raise your heads, ponies, so that your new friends can examine your beautiful harness!”
Romulus and Remus raised their heads instantly and looked straight ahead.
“Ponies are not allowed to look around at any time. They must look straight ahead, so that their eyes merely study that part of the road or track wide enough to accommodate the cart or carriage. Apart from that, they must rely entirely on instructions from the driver. Any pony which looks around is promptly put in blinkers, and if that fails to correct it, it is put in a mask which blindfolds it completely, and it then has to learn to rely completely on the driver’s reins. Romulus and Remus have long since learnt to look straight ahead and just await pressure on their bits. Open your jaws, ponies, so that we can see how well your bits are fitted!”
The two ponies parted their lips to show a solid rubber-coated bit of steel, settled tightly fitting in gaps where the last molar of each upper and lower side had been extracted. Otherwise they both had perfect teeth, just as they had perfect bodies, and Paul could see that they must have been a very handsome couple of youths before they were transformed into ponies. Or had they been at all humans formerly? Or maybe they had been bred for on special purpose alone: to become a perfect team of ponies? But Paul dared not ask.
Even now, in their lowly animal status, they seemed to be proud of their magnificent appearance. Indeed, their bodies showed pure muscle without a trace of redundant fat.
“As you can see,” Samson went on, “their harness is of much higher quality than that one worn by cart-horses like Hector. You will all have to work extremely hard if you are to earn the privilege of wearing such beautiful harness. All harness is kept clean by the harness-slaves. Cleaning carriage harness such as you can see here is an art, only learnt by many years of slavery. The overseers should be able to see their faces in every bit of silver and brass, otherwise the harness-slaves are whipped. Romulus and Remus each have four sets of carriage harness. While one is being worn, the other three are being cleaned by a harness-slave. There are of course also slaves for cleaning the carriages. What with trainers, grooms and stable slaves, it takes quite a big group to keep all the carriages on the road. That is why only the very best ponies qualify for such favoured treatment. Unhitch Romulus, Mr. Dixon, and show him to the new ponies!”
Dixon did so and held him firmly by the bridle just in front of Paul.
“Down!” he ordered, and Romulus immediately dropped into the standard grovelling position with his forehead an inch from Dixon’s boots. Dixon looked proudly down at the muscular, harnessed body grovelling before him.
“Show respect to your master, Romulus!” snapped Dixon, giving Romulus a sharp thwack across his back with his crop. Romulus immediately knelt forward and licked Dixon’s boots clean, making sure that he reached round the back and licked Dixon’s heels and spurs as well. Romulus then leaned back on his haunches, gave five quick, but clear whinnies and resumed the grovelling position.
“Up!” shouted Dixon, and Romulus jumped up instantly and stood motionless, facing the prisoners. Dixon seized his bridle and walked him up and down the row. Dixon was very tall and he towered over his “pony”, and the feeling of complete power of the big black man over the white hulk of muscles could almost be smelt. The overseer’s great black fist held the pony’s bridle on a very short rein, so that the pony’s head was held high, and mouth almost contorted by the pain on his severely tensed bit. At the same time, the pony’s back war firmly arched, and at each pace the pony lifted its knee almost chest-high and pointed his lower leg down and forward, so that it exaggerated the colt-like beauty of his high-heeled ankle-boot and hoof. Yet, in spite of the overwhelming feeling of power, Dixon gave out from every muscle in his black body and from every inch of his leather clothing, the pony seemed to be totally in tune with his master. Instead of being terrified and humiliated, Paul felt that Romulus was proud of his role and proud to be showing off his pony attributes to the new recruits.
When Dixon had returned Romulus to his position between the shafts and re-hitched him, Romulus again stood motionless with his head respectfully lowered, but suddenly without warning, he half-erected his tool and pissed all over Paul’s legs and feet. Paul was so surprised that he gasped and took an involuntary step backwards.
Immediately Jones sprang forward and lashed Paul several times across the chest. He shouted: “Ponies must remain motionless unless told to move. Get instantly back in line!”
Paul was already back in line, and the pain in his chest could not hide the discomfort he felt at feeling Romulus’s urine trickling down his legs.
“Down, Sheehan!” yelled Samson who had naturally witnessed the whole incident.
Paul immediately grovelled and felt his nose pressed into a puddle of Romulus’s urine. “Sheehan! You have much to learn about your new role at this ranch. You are at the bottom of the animal ladder, and every other person and animal here, except the new boar Conroy and his fellow pigs, is above you. You are a cart-pony, and if a cart-pony is pissed on a carriage-pony, it will regard it as an honour. Now get your tongue out and lick up Romulus’s piss!”
Humiliated, Paul licked at the stinking wet earth with desperation.
“Enough! Now lick Romulus’s hooves clean!”
Romulus held out his right hoof to be licked, then his left one. Paul was able to study the pony-boots at close hand. They were made of delicate pale tan leather on a clog base and fitted Romulus’s feet like a glove. The front had been build up with polished wood to resemble a hoof, and the heel build up almost to the level of a woman’s high heels, so that the pony stood in them on his toes and further up with its buttocks thrown out and its legs extended. From the knee down it seemed o have the legs of a real colt, graceful and elegant. And on its soles were beautifully shaped silver horse-shoes, just wide enough to give the pony’s foot the rounded appearance of a real hoof.
As he licked the elegant hooves, Paul realized to his horror that Romulus had urinated on him at purpose. He could virtually “feel” the carriage-pony’s triumph flowing down its legs and through its hooves to his lips.
“Right,” said Samson, “get up Sheehan and show in future more respect to your superiors, or you’ll feel my whip!”
Shaken and embarrassed, Paul scrambled to his feet and took his place in the line. He was already aware that quite unintentionally, he seemed to be attracting more attention than the other new ponies. He knew that this was a mistake, and in future he would try to adopt a lower profile. Anyway, why had Romulus picked on him? He had never set eyes on Paul till a few minutes ago. Surely, he and Romulus were fellow slaves and on the same side?
“Now, ponies, Mr. Dixon and his team will give you a demonstration of carriage driving. Please, mount your carriage, Mr. Dixon!”
One of the other overseers held the ponies’ rein as Dixon climbed back into the driving seat. He settled himself comfortably and took the long-handled carriage-whip out of the tube in which it rested. He gave a slight tug on the reins, and Romulus and Remus raised their heads, ached their backs and stuck out their muscular buttocks. Dixon pulled on his right-hand rein and guided the carriage round so that it was sideways to the row of prisoners. This gave Paul a new view of the beauty of the carriage which had a polished leather bench seat and could seat one or two passengers. The black door panels gleamed like glass, and even the shafts and wheels were polished.
Seen from the side, not far from his face, Dixon’s thighs and buttocks seemed vastly powerful. The heels of his boots rested on a bar, not far of the Ponies’ shoulders.
Suddenly Dixon gave a click with his tongue, gave a sharp flick with his whip across the ponies’ rumps, and the carriage set off at a walking pace. The ponies’ knees rose in perfect unison, their plumes waved upwards in perfect symmetry, and to Paul’s amazement even their tails swayed to left and right as if obeying a single command.
When they were half way round the corral again, Dixon clicked his tongue twice, and the pair broke into a trot. Trotting in flawless harmony the carriage and the pair did two complete circuits of the corral. Dixon flicked his whip incessantly first on one rump, then on the other, then on the straining ponies backs causing crimson welts rising on the skin although whipping was not necessary. It was clear that Dixon was doing it just for show.
On the third circuit Dixon ordered them into a gallop and used his whip more vigorously. Yet not once did either pony break stride or let his eyes drop from looking straight ahead. Paul wondered how many hours of training had been needed to attain such a degree of tandem galloping.
Finally Dixon received a signal from Samson, and the team drove off through the gate, their hooves making a rhythmic clip-clop as they entered the stable-yard, Samson turned back to Jones:
“Right, Mr. Jones, time for Hector to give his next display.”
Paul almost had forgotten about Hector. He looked over to the bar where Hector was tethered and realized, to his horror, that Hector has not moved a muscle all the time this demonstration of carriage ponies had been happening. Jones strode over to Hector and un-tethered him. Pulling him hard by the bridle, he brought him over to where the slaves were standing. They stopped sideways on in front of the line, and Hector lowered his huge head. Seen close up Hector was even taller than the tallest of the black overseers – yet he was obviously completely in their power.



Chapter 9 Hector’s ordeal

Dixon meanwhile had returned, carrying a saddle and approached Hector from his front. As soon as he noticed Dixon, Hector crapped in a non-stop stream of liquid crap. Most of the nauseating shit splashed over the feet of the unfortunate Suarez and the slave boy standing next to Mendoza.
“I am sorry, Sutton,” said Samson laughing, “Hector has the unfortunate habit of crapping, whenever Mr. Dixon approaches him. It is a sign of negative affection and fear.”
Paul could see that it was more fear than affection. Hector was trembling from head to toe, as Dixon started to fit a saddle to his huge shoulders. Hector’s eyes were wide-open and rolled like a horse’s eye in agony.
“Steady, Hector, calm down!” said Dixon half comforting, half threatening. “You are going to get the chance to show your new friends what a splendid mount you are. Steady now, or I’ll take the crop to you!”
The saddle fitted over Hector’s head so that its front-straps pulled against his shoulders and chest where it was strapped to his chest girth. These girths were tensed extremely tight that Paul wondered how the giant was able to inhale enough breath. Behind Hector’ shoulders the saddle rested exactly fitting on the upper half of his back and over his tightly bound arms. From just above his waist the saddle curved out in the shape of a pommel to provide a firm and comfortable seat for the rider. On each side hung long adjustable stirrups. Paul did notice a slight quaver in the giant’s body, when Sadist Dixon fixed a thin double crotch-strap encircling the huge ball-sac and tightened it so cruelly tense through the arse-crack that Hector gasped a stifle whine.
“Dare not to let hear another sound, you tearful hulk of a mount, or my whip will slice your in pieces!” snapped Dixon hardly audibly for the prisoners. Hector pressed his gums together to suppress another sound of his intolerable pain.
Having checked and tightened every single strap of the mount’s body, Dixon swung himself easily into the saddle and grasped the reins which stretched the lips of Hector’s mouth hard backwards. It looked like as if the Horse smiled. Dixon stretched his legs out to make sure the stirrups were set correctly, pulled on the reins, and Hector raised his head and arched his back. With a click of his tongue and a quick flick of his crop on the mount’s right buttock, Dixon moved off towards a post set into the ground at one end of the corral.
“Watch, slaves!” said Samson, “and you will see that Dixon takes Hector to that post over there. He will then gallop him up to and round the post at the other end of the corral three times, and Mr. Jones will time him. Meanwhile, Sutton,” Samson added, addressing one of the slaves whom he yet not had humiliated, “just get down and lick up that mess Hector made! I wouldn’t want Mr. Dixon to dirty his boots, when he dismounts.”
Samson gave the order as if he was telling Sutton to do up his shirt. Poor Sutton was so startled, he hesitated, and one of the other guards raised his whip and hasted to beat him fiercely, until Sutton collapsed on his knees and proceeded to lick up the nauseating excrement. By the time, he had finished Dixon and Hector were standing by the starting post where Jones had taken up position on his own horse, time a stopping watch in hand.
Samson gave a signal with his crop, Jones shouted “Giddy-up!” and Hector set off at a furious pace straight towards the post. With his cruel rider on his back, he surrounded it and hurried back to the starting post. Paul again could witness how mercilessly Dixon struck his crop onto the thighs of his mount to drive it on fast and faster. In Hector’s face one could see the strain of his run.
Second turn from the starting post to the aim, and back again, round the post and again to the destination-post till mount and rider had completed six length of the corral. Dixon on its back permanently shouted abuse at him and whipped him all the way. Hector’s purple face strained with agony, and sweat poured from his face and body. Thick drops of sweat ran down his hairless belly und flew together in his bald groin, dropping from his fat ball-sac down to the ground.
When they had completed, Dixon trotted his panting mount back to rejoin the group of prisoners. Jones rode over and stopped his horse alongside Samson’s, announcing to his boss and to the shocked new slaves: “Thirty two seconds, Sir, one second slower than last time,” he reported.
“Oh dear, Hector! You are getting slower again! You know what happened last time you failed. Will you never learn? Put him on stable report this evening, Mr. Jones! Take care of it that he will get fifty strokes with the cane straight into his arse-cleft!” was Samson's answer.
At these words, Hector started to strain furiously against the bridle controlling him, and a look of terror came into his frantic eyes. Paul watched in horror as this great mountain of a man turned to jelly in the hands of these tormentors. What would they do to him, Paul, who was only half as tough as Hector? Panic-stricken he felt a shiver running down his spine. This was pure hell for a slave, and he was consigned to this merciless, inhuman and revengeful black sadists for ten years at minimum!
At the same time, Hector shat again in front of Paul’s feet. Paul was terrified that he would be ordered to clear up in the same manner as Sutton, but Samson had decided that it was time to move on, because he clearly announced to the frightened prisoners:
“You will now be taken away and groomed – the first step in your being transformed into hard-working and obedient ponies. You will be fed, watered, groomed, and rested. We shall meet later for your first training session.”
With those words Samson rode off, and the overseers unlocked the handcuffs from each of one of the slaves and re-cuffed them to the saddles of their horses, just behind the overseers thighs. Paul and Alex were cuffed to different sides of the same horse. The overseers on horseback then set off at a fast trot, dragging their panting captives behind them. Paul found it almost impossible not to be pulled off his feet. His arm felt as if it was being torn out of its socket, and he had to sprint to keep up. He never before had been this close to the hind-legs of a trotting horse.
Eventually they passed through the gates in the corral into a large stable yard. The new ponies were entering a different world …



Chapter 10 Dressing in the stables

As Alex and Paul rushed frantically into the stable yard, behind the overseer’s horse, Paul caught a glimpse of several more posts, and platforms, and various farm implements, and bits of equipment. There were also several men and animals standing or walking around, but he had no time to study them. At a glance, he also saw that there were stable blocks on three sides of the yard.
Paul’s overseer dragged him and Alex unceremoniously through an entrance at one end of the central stable block and came to a sudden halt near the far end of a wide central gangway with stall leading off on both sides. The whole building reeked of manure, and the central gangway was deep in slime and straw. Paul could see horses in one or two of the stalls, as he passed, but most of them seemed to be empty. He also noticed a couple of grooms shifting straw on long pitchforks.
Two black female grooms showed up quickly, and one held the horse’s bridle, while the overseer jumped down, unhitched the two slaves and re-cuffed their hands behind their backs. He handed the keys of the cuffs to the other black girl saying: “Two new ponies for you, Lena, get them groomed and fed, then get them ready for their first training session at four o’clock.”
“Okay,” said Lena, casually and almost arrogantly. The overseer rode off, and Lena fitted a long leather leash to Paul’s neck collar, and the other girl did the same to Alex’s collar.
Paul’s female groom was tall, statuesque and slim. Her high cheek-bones and finely chiselled nose gave her an almost aristocratic appearance. Her skin was mid-brown and her lips red and full; she was clearly more Creole than Negro. Even with the short glance at her face that Paul allowed himself, he realized she was stunningly beautiful – and as hard as nails. Her long shapely legs were clad in skin-tight biscuit-coloured jodhpurs and shiny black riding boots which came up to her knees, with a buckle at the top on the outside of each leg. As she turned, Paul could notice that her stretch jodhpurs fitted her shapely but breathtaking round buttocks like a second skin.
The other girl was darker, shorter and much fatter. She had the wide nose and thick lips of a southern Negress. She wore the same jodhpurs and boots as her colleague, but as her legs were shorter, the fat thighs and enormous buttocks almost spilled out of her jodhpurs!
“Right, Molly,” said Lena giving Paul’s leash a sharp, vicious tug, “let’s see what we can do about turning these honkies into ponies! Come along, pony! Look sharp! I’ve got a lot to do, if I’m to change you into a real animal!”
Out of the corner of his eyes Paul could see Suarez and Mendoza and the other pair of white slaves getting similar treatment from their girl grooms. Even this movement with his eyes did not escape his new mistress. Paul felt a stinging lash from a crop cut across his buttocks and another sharp yank on his chain which almost throttled him.
“Lesson number one, you piece of honky shit!” Lena yelled. “Ponies never look around! Always look straight ahead at all times. But I think this misbehaving will be changed as soon as you have got your ring. It will prevent you from staring round, be sure! Now move your lazy rump, pony, unless you want to fell braided leather!”
Paul jumped to obey his mistress, and within a few seconds the new ponies were tethered by their now shortened leashes to rings set in the far wall of their stalls. Lena seemed to delight in handling Paul as rough as possible. As soon as they had tethered their new charges, the two grooms went away. For the first time in his life, Paul experienced the feeling of complete helplessness, of vulnerability and desperation. He wondered if this was the feeling that black slaves must have experienced when being shipped naked and bound overseas from Africa to the southern States of North- or of South-America two-hundred years ago.
Thus he stood totally nude, tethered by a leash to the wall ring, with his hands tied firmly behind his back, and his head staring straight ahead as ordered. He heard young Alex sobbing his heart out. Paul sweated profusely not only with the damp mugginess in the stable inside, but rather with the fear of his agony in store for him.
Even though he was tethered and afraid to move his head, by darting furtive glances out of the sides of his eyes and moving his head a fraction, Paul was able to work out the rough geography of the stable where he had been brought to. He was in a large stable, divided from similar stalls to the left and right by wooden partitions about four to five feet high. Behind him on the other side of the central gangway, was one long stall.
There seemed to be about six stalls on his side of the gangway. Glancing up, he could see fanlight windows in the roof and small windows let high into the walls above each stall. In the early afternoon, the strong sunlight shone through these windows and made the stable quite light. The floors of the stalls were covered in fresh straw, and along the wooden stalls in front of him hung a vast selection of rings, chains, farm tools and bits of harness. Set in the same wall, about four feet of the ground, was a heavy iron trough which ran the whole length is the stall and was full of water. Immediately in front of him, above the iron trough, was a small metal trough which was empty.
The ring to which Paul was tethered was about one foot above the level of his head, but there were similar rings at one foot intervals down the wall. As Paul learned later, a pony in punishment could be tethered at various heights to suit the whim of his captors. Paul was in one corner of the stall, and Alex in the other, and between them was an empty space, but above the troughs in the middle space was a manger full of hay, Paul realized – to his horror – that this was supposed for a normal horse. This meant he would not be immediate next to Alex. He would be living alongside a real horse, sleeping on the same straw and – sharing its water-trough!
In the stall on his left he could see Mendoza, standing tethered just he other side of the partition, and Suarez in the further corner of the same stall, again with a gap between them, presumably also for a real horse.
After a few minutes the grooms re-appeared, and Paul felt Lena unlock his neck collar.
“Right, pony,” she snapped. “Time to take your collar off. Ponies don’t wear steel collars, not unless they have been disobedient. Ponies wear halters. Stand still, while I put this halter on you!”
She removed the collar and leash and hung them on a hook on the wall, then she fastened a halter round Paul’s head. One strap went round his forehead and was buckled behind his head, and another strap went over the top of his head and down his cheeks and fastened tight under his chin. From the two large steel rings by the side of his mouth a short tethering rein hung loose. The effect of wearing a halter was immediate.
In one fell swoop, Paul felt as if he had taken one quick stride down the path which Samson had outlined so graphically, Lena seized his rein and turned him to the left towards the wooden partition separating his stall from Mendoza’s, Paul could see that it was not just a simple partition: The planks which ran crosswise could be raised up and down by a pulley at the side, and there were several round holes in the partition which made it look like an old-fashioned pillory which is just was it was. Paul realized that the planks in the partition could be moved up and down by runners. Lena raised the top-plank, roughly pulled Paul’s head down into a hole and lowered the plank, fastening around his neck.
He was now helplessly trapped, as in a pillory, which his head cruelly bent deep down level with his groin, so his legs straight forced his rump obscenely to stick out and upwards, offering an inviting access to his arse-crack, anus and dangling balls. In effect, his body was in his own stall, and his head was in Mendoza’s stall. His hand was still firmly fastened behind his back. Mendoza’s head was fastened through the same partition from the opposite direction, and Paul could see Suarez being fixed in position at the far end. Presumably Alex was being fixed in a similar way into the further partition of his own stall.
There was a shorter delay while the girls went away. Paul could no longer see Lena coming or going, but he could watch the two grooms in Mendoza’s stall bustling around and cursing and slapping their charges, laughing and making fun with the balls and pricks of the helpless men.
Suddenly Paul jumped with surprise as a bucket of cold water was thrown over him from behind. This was immediately followed by a furious and painful scrubbing from a stiff brush with very hard bristles and a curt order to spread his legs further and stand still. Paul’s face grimaced with the pain in his lacerated skin, and he was embarrassed to have to show his contorted face to Mendoza who himself was indeed in no better position. The cold water stung his skin, and the bristles bit into his whip-marks, and Lena was obviously determined to show him who was boss. She smacked Paul’s buttocks hard to make him move to left or right. Without shame she seized his tool and roughly grabbed his fat balls and gave them a vicious scrubbing. She seemed to rub those parts of his body which had been lashed with particular venom. She scrubbed the whole of his body from his neck to his feet with remarkable speed, swearing at him, slapping him hard and addressing all the time as >pony<. She clearly felt she was dealing with a real horse, and the callousness of her grooming made Paul feel thoroughly humiliated, particularly when she kept threatening to use her crop on him.
Then Lena dropped the brush in the bucket, went to a socket in the wall and attached a pair of electric clippers, on a long lead, with which she proceeded to remove every trace of body hair from his back. Paul felt the vibrating piece of steel run painfully over every inch of his bent body, tearing merciless at the hair, first on his back and then on the back of his legs right down to his ankles. She unfastened each of his arms in turn, shaved under his armpits and re-tied his arms. Finally she ran the clippers roughly up the crack of his arse and removed all the hair right up his arsehole and the back of his scrotum. When she had finished, she took a large bottle of oil and rubbed generous quantities over his back, legs and buttocks. Paul found the oil soothing after the rigours his body had already endured that day, but he also found Lena’s oily hands arousing. To his embarrassment he felt his prick rising, though he could not see it, and he received a sharp slap across the “offending” organ and a stern order to behave himself.
Meanwhile he could notice Mendoza’s groom giving him the same treatment, and he could see that Mendoza, who was far hairier than Paul, was beginning to look like a plucked chicken. He had tears in his eyes, and his face also was grimacing when the clippers tore at his ample mat of black hairs.
Next, Lena opened Paul’s pillory and, roughly turning him around, forced his head down backwards so that she could lock his neck in the hole of the pillory, with his front facing her and completely at her mercy. Oh, what a shameful position! He felt like a sex-maniac producing his genitals lewdly to the young Negress. She then set about removing every single body-hair from his chest and stomach.
Now came the worst of the procedure when Lena turned her attentions to his pubic hair. Paul felt an utter embarrassment as an erotic excitement too as Lena seized his tool in her gloved hand, but when it went stiff she gave it a sharp slap and told Paul curtly to stand still. He felt the clippers run over every inch of his now not any more “private” parts, tugging the hairs, and he desperately wondered how much more humiliation there was to come.
Lena did not hide her particular delight in knocking roughly against his prick, cupping and kneading his vulnerable balls with her brown hands. Ruthlessly the clippers tore at his stubborn scrotum-hairs. Paul pressed his gums together to suppress his whining. The final coating of oil which contained a solution of acetylsalicylic-acid to prevent further growth of new hair was applied to his entire front, from neck downwards, only added to his confused feelings of degradation and arousal.
When Lena had finished, she freed him from the pillory and ordered him to stand upright. “Lift your left rear hoof behind you, pony!” she barked, and he felt her fitting some kind of shoe which felt like a heavy clog. She did the same to his right foot, then gave him a sharp slap on the buttocks with her crop, told him to stand still and stepped back to lit herself a cigarette. As she puffed the smoke lazily towards him, he could feel her eyes looking to his genitals, examining her “handiwork”. Paul sensed his skin burning from the hard rubbing and the rough shaving long after the soothing effect of the oil. His face was burning with embarrassment. He had become just an object to deal with.
After a few minutes Lena locked him back in the pillory face down and went round to the other side of the partition and removed his halter. The she plugged the clippers again. This time she went up to Paul’s head and, seizing him hard by the nose with one hand, roughly shaved off all the hair on his scalp with the other, leaving just a narrow strip down the middle, Mohican style. The she replaced the clippers with an electric razor and shaved his head again, so that it was now completely bald and shiny, apart of his Mohican strip.
Finally she shaved his face and re-fitted his halter. After that, she went back into his own stall, released him from the stocks and turned him back to face the wall. At every move she gave him a impatient tap with her crop, even though he responded instantly to her tugs and commands. She tethered him to one of the rings and flicked the tip of her crop against his newly shaven balls and semi-erect tool.
“You may piss or shit at any time, pony, except when you are being ridden or groomed or you are between the shafts of a carriage. Piss now!”
The effect of her frequent handling of his balls had made Paul desperate to piss, and he immediately let his stream go, though he realized, to his horror, as his piss splashed against the wall and trickled down the floor, that he was wetting his own straw. Lena watched him contemptuously as he performed this animal function, then undid his tether and re-tied to one of the lower rings near the trough.
“You may never sit, pony, and you may only lie when I tell you so. Normally in your stall you will stand bent forward like a real horse, but you may kneel when ordered. You may drink whenever you like. Drink up now!”
He gratefully lowered his head and lapped up some of the dirty water in the trough. Shortly after, Lena returned with another bucket and poured a gooey mess into his other trough. She pulled his head down till it was a few inches above the stinking mess, saying severely: “Eat up every drop, pony, and lick the trough clean after dining! If it will be not spotless clean, you will feel my whip.”
Paul had not eaten for nearly a whole day and hungrily stuck his mouth into the revolting mixture. It smelt appalling! What it contained he had no idea, but he learned later that it was the same swill the pigs got in their sties. Paul had no choice because there was surely nothing else to eat, and he also did not relish any more red “stripes” across his arse. His stomach retching and holding his breath, he gulped down the repulsive semi-liquid mess. He heard young Alex vomiting into his trough, and Paul could also hear Molly getting angry with him and strapping his arse, saying: “Eat it all up, stupid pony, every drop, including your own vomit! If you foul your trough, you more fool you. Lick it clean!”
No sooner Paul had finished, then Lena un-tethered his head and yanked it round to face her. She took a dry, but dirty rag and wiped away the filthy bits of mash which still clung to his face and nose. With his arm firmly tied behind him, he knew he was totally dependent on her for every small attention, and he realized miserably that she relished the power this gave her over him.
“Right, pony,” she said, almost gloating, “time for your first horse harness. Don’t move a muscle unless I tell you!”
She went up to the wall and fetched down a collection of heavy leather straps and brass buckles. In spite of his fear, Paul stood rigid as she fitted a wide belt round his waist and buckled it very tight, telling him to hold his stomach in, so she could pull it in another notch. Then she fitted a narrow belt round his chest. From this chest girth behind him she pulled a narrow strap up over each of his shoulders and clipped it to a ring in the front of his girth. Another narrower strap went from each of his shoulders to a central ring in the front of the girth, so that his nipples were fully exposed between the two straps on each side.
Straps led from his chest-girth to his waist-girth and fitted into rings there. His handcuffs then were removed and each of his wrists was placed in a leathery, fingerless glove and these gloves were strapped firmly together and buckled to the middle of the back of his waist-girth. This made his hand more useless than they had been before.
Lena then pulled a thinner strap from the back of his waist-girth down between his buttocks. She forced his balls and the cock into a cruelly tight cock-ring which left them fully exposed and protruded. From this cock-ring two wider straps led up to his waist-girth, and Lena gave each of these a hard tug, so that his arse-strap cut fiercely into his crack between his buttocks, and his scrotum and cock were pushed well forward and outward. Painful as this crotch-strap was, the pull on the front straps, as Lena tightened them, had a strange erotic effect.
“Keep your tool erect at all times, pony, when a master or mistress approaches you so to say as a sign of respect and joy of being used! Otherwise you might get a whipping; ponies are proud of their tools, like horses,” she told him, and with that she gave it a couple of fierce flicks with the tip of her crop. Just some moment before she has been whipping it for getting erect when handling it! This was pure sadism!
“Down!” she suddenly said. Paul had forgotten to expect this order and was a bit slow to respond. She seized his halter with one hand and laid into his buttocks with her crop regardless he was new to grovel with his harness on.
“When I say >down!<, pony, you get down just before I have closed my lips. Down!!”
Paul instantly dropped to his knees, though with his new harness he did not find it easy as when he had been naked. Some of the straps – especially the crotch-strap – cut deep into his flesh. But that was of no concern to mistress Lena.
“Put your nose in the dirt, pony, and do not move till I say so.!”
Paul knelt absolutely motionless, enduring the severity of her whipping. Now he was feeling as a true slave right-less dependent of hiss mistress’ mercy. To his dismay he realized that Lena had no restrictions to wield her crop almost as savagely as her black “brothers”. This was – he wondered – as the black nigger-slaves must have endured the undeserved flogging on the plantations of the old days while the white planters stood aside the flogging overseer and laughed about the slave’s squirming under the lashes.
“Now lick this shit off my boots!”
Paul inched forward and licked her boots as clean as he could. He noticed they were liberally covered in his own piss. In future he must try not to piss in his own stall. On the other hand, Lena had ordered him to do so. He had not had an alternative.
“Up!”
He staggered with difficulty to his feet and earned another couple of lashes for being too slow.
“Now you may shit, if you want to, pony, because I’m about to fit your tail, and if you get shit on it, you will wish you never had been born. And if you get it on my boots, you will have to lick them clean again.”
The revolting mash he had eaten was already churning in his stomach, and he could not stop himself releasing a stinking pile of shit onto the straw behind his hooves. He wondered how he could shit so easily with a strap between his buttocks, not realizing that this strap split in two where it covered his arsehole and the slightest pressure forced the strap to separate. He could feel the straps chafing his arsehole, and to his shame again he realized there was no question of his arse being wiped or not.
Lena looked at him with undisguised scorn. ‘God’, thought Paul, ‘why does she have to be so beautiful and so remote?’ It made these humiliations infinitely worse!
She looked at him as if he really was just a horse, a worthless animal. She stepped back and avoided the pile of shit and attached another strap round Paul’s waist. Immediately he felt something swishing against his legs and realized he had received his first tail.
While Lena had her back to him, Paul glanced across to Alex. He already was standing there in full harness, and Molly was teaching him how to swish his new brown tail. His eyes were full of silent tears. Paul felt sick with apprehension, as he realized how beautiful young Alex looked in harness and now his magnificent tail merely added lustre to his fabulous arse. Sure he would attract all the male and female overseers and guest of the ranch, longing to drive, ride and use him.
Meanwhile Lena had fetched a bit and fitted the ends to Paul’s halter. She suddenly gripped his nose between her finger and thumb. Panicking and desperate for breath, Paul opened his mouth to breathe. Lena took the chance to ram the bit in between his teeth just behind the row of molars behind the last one on each side. Pulling hard she fastened the bit-strap tightly behind his neck. Paul felt as if his lower face shout be split in two. But he was now effectively gagged, not that he was allowed to speak anyway.
“Just a light rubber bit for your first training session, pony, but don’t be wrong to take it as a permanent kind of a bit, for soon we’ll have your teeth seen to it, so your snout can take a proper bit heavy duty type.”
With these words Lena pulled his head up and walked him round the stable. The bridle had reins attached to it, and she stood in the middle of the stable and pulled him round by his reins. He suddenly felt the weight on his feet and realized that his “boots” were in fact more like high-heeled clogs with horse-shoes nailed underneath. They were rigid and hard to walk in, as they did not give in like ordinary boots and the high heels bend his foot in an angle that he literally stood on his toes. He felt his buttocks stuck out provocatively.
But the combination of bit and bridle, harness, tail and horseshoes made him feel that, within an hour, he had indeed been changed from a man into a horse. Several severe lashes across his back, buttocks and thighs and horse-commands like >Giddy-up” Whoa! Steady!< added to the feeling.
By the time he had done several circuits round Lena, his pile of shit had been well and truly trodden into the straw. While Lena was giving him his first brief lesson in walking on a short rein, Jones rode into the stable on his horse. Without dismounting, he shouted orders to the grooms, and the six new human ponies were at once led out into the central gangway by their grooms. They each handed Jones the reins of their charges and, without further ado, Jones turned his horse and trotted out of the stable, pulling all six “ponies” behind him in a struggling bunch, straining on the ends of their reins and trying desperately to keep their balance on their cumbersome hooves.



Chapter 11 Ruthless Training

Tottering wildly on their unaccustomed horseshoe, the six naked and tightly harnessed ponies pelted after Jones, trying to avoid bumping into each other. Somehow their reins remained un-entangled, and Paul found himself in the middle of a group of sweating bodies, trying to keep up with their human master’ horse. Paul received a vicious hack on his shin from one of the other’s horseshoes, and he realized that – in his new world in which he found himself – there was no time for worrying about anyone but himself.
Jones made no concessions to the difficulties of the ponies following at such a speed. He held their reins taught, so that the bridles pulled the bits, embedded in the bare gums behind the molars, viciously forward.
Only an hour earlier Paul had been racing after Dixon with the chain pulling at his neck-collar. Now he was being pulled along by a bridle and bit, his hooves were clip-clopping on the ground, and his tail was swishing frantically against his legs. How far his transformation from human being to horse had progressed in just an hour! Every minute in the hand of these black maniacs seemed to be hurling him remorselessly down the slope to complete animalisation without the remotest hope of rescue. Could this really be happening in these days and age to a law-abiding American citizen?!?
Fortunately they did not have to go far at this crazy pace, and soon they were standing, panting and sweating in the full sun of the corral. Jones handed Suarez’s and Mendoza’s reins to Mr. Mills, and the other two ponies’ reins to Mr. Mason. To Paul’s dismay, Jones handed his reins and Alex’s to Mr. Dixon, the groom who terrified him most. Dixon seemed to be a vast, insensitive, black sadist build of solid rock.
The ponies were lined up side by side in three pairs, with Alex and Paul in the middle. Soon Samson rode up on his horse, looking as cool as ever. He spoke briefly to Jones, who turned his horse round and galloped back to the stables. Samson manoeuvred his horse to face the “ponies” and took up position about twenty paces in front of them:
“Let go of the lead reins!” he shouted, and Dixon let Paul’s and Alex’s reins drop from his huge black hands.
“Well, ponies!” Samson went on. “Now that you have been properly groomed and fed and harnessed, we can start our training. Stand up straight and feel your harness grip your bodies! Hold your heads high and feel what it will be like to have a stiff mane proudly dissecting your scalps! Feel how your horseshoes lift your hooves and stick out your rumps and lengthen your legs like real colts! Note the touch of your tails swishing the backs of your legs. Feel the strength which you are going to need when you pull the cart or drag the plough! Feel the pride which you are going to experience when you are hitched between the shafts of a carriage for the first time! Feel your horse pricks down there surging with sheer animal strength!”
Paul stood up erect and, to his amazement, really did feel as if he was becoming a horse. All the things which Samson described really seemed to be happening. His brain swam with strange sensations. It must be the hot sun or the strain, he told himself. His legs seemed to grow longer, and his feet seemed to turn into hooves. He even imagined he could detect a horse smell wafting up from his skin. He felt his prick throb with a sort of pride in his new condition.
“I can promise you,” Samson continued, “that you are already looking more like horses than human beings. But there is no way you can fight this process. We are your human masters, and you are our animals. We own your bodies, and you no longer have souls.” Paul felt being reminded at brain-washing when listening to always the same statements.
“The sooner you realize your animal status the sooner your life here will be tolerable. Think like horses, act like horses! They do think only of the next meal and the next command, nothing else. You have to do the same! We decide for you, you only have to be thankful for the chance to serve your masters to their satisfaction!”
The extremes of such demands shocked Paul back to reality. Not only Samson was completely mad, thought Paul, but he even believes his own crazy philosophy! Still, while Samson kept on talking his monologue, he could rest his shattered body.
“Now we are going to learn to whinny like real horses. It’s simple: Just one whinny for >Yes<, two whinnies for >No<, three whinnies for >please<>thank you, and an additional whinny for >master<.
Paul gave a feeble whinny. Dixon at once towered over him and seized his rein. His vast hand yanked his bridle sharply upwards, so Paul’s face was looking right up at the black devil’s face.
“Whinny properly like a horse, pony, or I will thrash the hide off your rump!”
Paul whinnied until he felt his throat going hoarse, but he realized it was the only noise he was capable of making with the rubber-bit clamping his tongue down in his mouth.
The lesson was accompanied by curses and lashes, but Paul was quick to learn. It was poor Suarez who received the bulk of the punishment. But his sturdy peasant body would be much more able to withstand the physical assaults which lay ahead. Paul wondered what use it would his brain and intellect be to him when he was harnessed to a plough or hitched to a heavy farm wagon and be whipped into action?
“Okay, ponies,” Samson continued his lesson, “I am going to teach you the positions of a pony. Rule 1: Ponies NEVER sit! Sitting is for humans! You will stand or lie down, but you may lie down in your stable at night to rest only when given permission. Horses hardly ever lie down if not being sick. But other than horses, there is a frequent position for you not as ponies, but as slaves: Grovelling. For simplicity we call it >downing<.”
He ordered “DOWN!” Paul and the others dropped to their knees, but not fast enough for Dixon. His crop tore across Paul’s shoulders, before he was half way down.
“You are to react a hundred times faster than that!” Dixon snarled, “and get your nose into that dust!” Paul could hear the other ponies being whipped as well and shouted in the same way. Oh God, Paul thought, this is only the beginning! How much worse would it get? Was this how Hector and Romulus and Remus had become so well trained?
The last whiplash he got from Dixon’s powerful arm felt as if he was applying a steel cable! The next one, Paul was certain, would break his back in two. Through his pain he heard Samson’s voice:
“Rule 2: When you are down, do not move a muscle. I do not want you to see you even breathe! You stay down unless your are told to go up! Under all circumstances. Even if the stable catches fire, you stay in your commanded position until told to do otherwise. Now UP!”
Paul shot to his feet. In this manner Samson continued to order >Down<>up several times, until every slave literally shot up and down.
Fortunately for Paul, the sadistic Dixon had turned his attention to poor Alex who got to feel his vicious whip. Paul had always felt sorry for the young Alex, but now he had grown into an animalistic behaviour when being glad it was Alex who got the whip and not himself. How quickly human values were changed …
Just a few days ago, Paul was a free man, free to do as he liked; now only four days later he was a slave, an animal, terrified to move, forbidden to speak, to sit, to think like a human being, fed on garbage, sweating his guts out. He knelt there in the shit, there was a horrible stench like sewage in his nostrils. Where does it come from?
He wondered if it came from the sties to where Conroy had been taken. Poor Conroy! What hell was he going through? Yet Paul began to contemplate if being a pig might be not preferable to being a horse although ponies had to pull carts and had to grovel and got whipped every few minutes.
Maybe Samson was right: it does not pay to think ahead as a slave. Paul dared looking around. Suddenly Dixon’s boot war just in front of his face: “Who gave you permission to look around? Up!”
Paul jumped to his feet, shivering with fear. Dixon grabbed Paul’s lead rein and ran over to one of the trestles in the corral, pulling Paul behind him. Paul struggled to keep up. Mr Mills abandoned his ponies and ran across to help Dixon while Samson ordered the other “ponies” to their feet and turn to watch what was happening.
Dixon unceremoniously strapped Paul’s ankles to the back of the trestle while Mills un-cuffed his hands, pulled them over Paul’s head and cuffed them to the front of the trestle. Paul’s back and arse were completely exposed now.
Immediately he felt a whip lash such as he had never felt before. The pain raced across his back and up to his brain. He tried to twist and to protect his rump from the next blow, but he was unable to move. The second lash and the third followed in quick succession, and Paul gave a loud scream through his bit. Mills quickly stepped up to him, removed the bit and filled his yelling mouth with a large rubber ball gag.
Immediately, the yelling went dead. Yet the next few minutes were by far the worst Paul had ever experienced in his life. He did not know why he did not pass out with pain and terror, each lash seemed to kick his brain to life again. Oh God! My Lord in heaven, what is happening to me! Before he found an answer, the ordeal was over.
Mills released his hands and replaced his bit, and Dixon released his legs. Paul fell to his knees trembling and without knowing what he was doing he wiggled forward and smothered Dixon’s filthy boots in kisses, clasping the Negro’s leg with his unbound hands. If his tongue had not been clamped down by the bit, he would have licked the boots spotless clean.
“Whinny your thanks, pony!” Dixon demanded. And Paul obeyed instantly with five loud whinnies and collapsed on the ground.
“Now our ponies have to learn the different paces which drivers and riders command by pulling on the reins or by clicking their tongues accordingly. So keep in your minds: One pull or click for >walk<, two for >trot<, three for >gallop<. We will start with the walk. When walking you keep up a good regular pace, head up, chest out, arse out, back hollow and swish your tail gently.”
Dixon and the other overseers now attached long training reins to each of the ponies’ bits and dragged them to different parts of the corral. When all were in position, Dixon gave one loud click with his tongue, and Paul and Alex walked forward side by side. Dixon led out their reins as they walked away from him. When they reached the end of the corral, he pulled their left traces, and they moved to the left.
When they had completed one circuit across the corral, he clicked his tongue twice, and they started to trot like obedient horses.
The other two trainers were pulling their charges through the same basic training.
“Not too fast! Keep your dressing and get your knees up! Farther up!! Sheehan, get your fucking knees up!” and Paul felt a whip lash his shoulders. “Steady pace! Keep in step! Chest out! Swing your tails! Knees up, up!“
Paul was already feeling the heat and straining to remember all the things he had to do, but the whip came mercilessly cracking down across the wheals he had received earlier, which were still hurting awfully.
After about ten circuits at a steady trotting rhythm, Paul felt his legs begin to sag, but he realized they still had to do galloping, and when the order came, it was accompanied by a torrent of curses and blows to his back, his ass, his thighs – Dixon did not care about. Paul even did feel the whip curl around his balls and lash his cock several times.
“Faster, Sheehan, Faster Harris! Keep your dressing! Get in Stepp! Heads up, knees up! Faster!“
Eventually, he brought them to a halt: “Stand still! Heads down! Don’t move!“ Then again: CLICK – CLICK! „Trot, not gallop! Heads up! Click – click –click! Gallop! Faster!“
The whip struck. „Whoa! Don’t move! Eyes down! Don’t move! DOWN!“
Paul hurled himself down to the ground, mouth dry, his eyes filled with sweat, his back and buttocks burning. Oh God, help me! And this is only day one!
“Up! – Down! – Walk – trot! – Gallop! Whoa! Stand still! Down --- up --- down!“ Pauls head started spinning. Oh, I can’t go on! I would rather die! Dear Lord, let me die …!
Finally, it seemed to be over. Dixon unclipped the training reins. Paul stood rigid, his eyes lowered to the ground. His back, shoulders, buttocks and thighs burning with pain, his feet sore and blistered. The corners of his mouth were pulled right back by the bit, his crotch stung from the rubbing of the crotch-strap, his prick burned from the whip’s sting. He heard one of the other ponies piss, and thankfully he followed suit. His piss splashed against his legs and turned the manure of the corral into a brown slime. But anyway! It’s animal-like, he thought. Piss and shit and the whip – they were his world now.
His bridle rein was hanging loose. He felt a strange desire for Dixon to come and seize it in his great black fist.



Chapter 12 Breeding sows

Totally exhausted and with stiff members due to the long inflexibility, the three former Cheerleader girls crept out of the helicopter, by which they had been flown from the “Columbia’s capital airport” to the “El Dorado Ranch".
After the ruthless inspection by that giantly-built Negro who Kitty had named by ‘Mr. Samson’, the three girls were scared to death, for they boded their fates in store for them might be not very pleasant, rather being humiliating and filled with cruel ordeals. Maybe they even would get the chance to stay together and were not separated from each other.
The girls’ tired eyes didn’t get aware of a sturdy build black man had unloaded the three naked bodies being wrapped in a body-bag of gum during the flight from Georgia to Columbia out of the helicopter. The naked cheerleaders were shocked seeing him when the Negro opened the body-bag and made them crawl out.
They lay sweating and dazzled by the suddenly glaring sunlight on the dry, hot earth now in a cloud of dust which was whirled up by the first landing and then starting helicopter. They were let out of their bonds stark-naked. Nancy came to herself first and noticed that her anus, her perineum and her cunt were terribly sore and hurting.
Orientating herself carefully she blinked to the two girls lying next to her and saw Wendy, laying by chance with her back turned against Nancy, that a nearly unbelievably thick plug and a not much less thick peg were rammed into the private orifices up to their hilt. Nancy suspected that obviously her pains in her crotch had to be due to exactly the same pegs in her lower body openings.
Wendy and Margaret slowly also came to their five senses. They moaned with their dried out mouths when somebody whom they only recognized like silhouettes as a dark-skinned man undid their bonds and lifted them up on their legs.
The three ones saw a proud white horse with saddle and bridle trotting close by; the horse was led by a young white boy at the rein, and the boy stopped it a few steps besides two men talking to each other.
One of them was the huge Negro known to them from the prison in Georgia, who had inspected them so roughly before buying them. He stood about three yards apart of the disorientated girls and kept talking to the also black man who had un-wrapped and un-tethered them.
“These, Mr. Benson, are the three new breeding-sows which I have bought in Georgia/ USA. I was told they were allegedly former Cheerleaders of a football team, although they are looking rather run-down now. But still fairly young and capable for at least two decades of intense childbearing. Margaret, -- this is this brat here, is eighteen and mentioned herself the youngest, the middle is nineteen called Wendy, and the oldest one is 21-year-old Nancy. She seems rather to be the most stubborn of them if one judges on the traces on her body. You are to take the three in their stable, the usual programme and then bring them to their designed purpose as quickly as possible. Senora Lopez wishes to see the three new sows with thick laden bellies within at least five month!"
Samson turned round, mounted the waiting white horse and rode away with that. The white boy who had led it to his master ran breathlessly behind like a hound. Nancy was surprised that the boy was stark naked. He was a white boy, but his skin was sun-tanned all over.
Almost still drowsy, the three girls were standing nude in the glistening sun when an unexpectedly intense stroke over her arse catapulted Nancy out of her lethargy. Benson had beaten her with his dog whip and yelled at the three nude girls:
“Go on, march! Move to your accommodations!"
He drove the girls with encouraging strokes ahead like a herd of cattle. Shocked with horror, the three naked girls stared into the stinking pig pen which they were to enter. There were lying naked girls with grossly bloated bellies, and in opposite stalls stark-naked men who were chained up to the wall with their unbelievably gigantic ball-sacs encircled by very tight rings of bras or similar metal. Both sorts of “human beasts” were lying in straw covered sties. The three terrified girls were immediately seized and put over a rack-like trestle and securely tethered on these trestles by three black stable-boys. They dared not utter any protest after the bad experiences in that prison in Georgia. They were led like lambs to the slaughtering block.
Each girl’s eyes got now covered by a cloth. Then nothing happened for a short moment. The girls felt, though, that it got warm next to their heads as if they were bowed down next to a stove. They did not suspect that the heat war emitted from a basin with glowing charcoal.
Suddenly Margaret let out a shrill cry because she felt the nose-septum clamped hard by a pair of pincers and being pulled out of her face. She didn’t know what the purpose was until she perceived an extremely painful sting in the stretched nose-septum; then a cold rounded metal was pushed through this new hole in her septum.
“One nose is ringed properly, Mr. Benson,” announced the stable-hand.
“Okay, go on with the other two,” Benson answered.
Almost at the same time Nancy and Wendy yelled at the top of their lungs. They had got their nose-rings as well and in the same cruel way. And whilst the stable-hands were busy with the “new sows’” noses, Benson was engaged in the three vaginas of them. Having pulled out the plugs and carefully shaven off the stubbles on the pubic mounds of the three girls, he perforated the pair of sex-lips of each girl by a red hot shoemaker’s awl, totally unconcerned with the victims’ creaming. Through these fresh holes three padlocks were inserted into each vagina and locked secure.
“I never will understand why these white scum-bags are yelling just because of some minor pains,” commented Benson the shrill crying of the girls, “I think it will be the best to cut their vocal chord at once before we turn deaf from their yelling.”
The grooms forced open the jaws of the girls by steel clamps to maximum, fetched a shiny metallic instrument that turned out to be a small pair of scissors with a tiny lamp at the front tip. It was inserted into the open-forced mouth till down the throat, and ‘snip-snap’ the chord were cut through unceremoniously. Up from this moment there was a wonderful silence, save for the arduous gasping of the now mute girls.
“Now they are more similar to real sows: Nose-ring, cunt-lips depilated and sealed, just snorting like pigs instead of that deafening roar like dumb humans.” Benson laughed.
The mistreated girls hung fastened, exhausted, and resigned on the racks. Benson spoke over the house-phone with his boss, Senora Lopez. After a quarter of an hour, the woman came into the pig-stable, accompanied by two nude, white men, that walked on hands and feet beside her and were led by the cruel Senora with a leash fastened to their ringed scrotal-sacs.
All she was interested in were the cunts of these three girls which Benson had unlocked the moment when Senora Lopez was entering the stable. “Here we are,” he said and pointed to the three high-stretched bottoms on the racks. The cunt lips were bright-red and swollen.
“Their ages?” Lopez asked.
“This one has twenty-one, that sow in the middle has eighteen and the left side one has nineteen years of age,” answered the stable-master.
Nonchalantly, Senora Lopez ordered Benson to ‘open’ the ‘breeding orifices’, and Benson hurried to stand on the head-side of the trestles, bending over the on-bound female body, grabbed the cunt-ring and tore the sex-lip apart regardless of the hoarse hissing of the girl. Senora Lopez glared intensely into the pink canals. Benson pulled one cunt-slit after the other rigorously apart, and the Senora inspected it like a pound of meat for a barbecue.
“All three deflowered, okay. None of them had ever thrown a piglet. Mr. Benson, notice their menstruations carefully and make them impregnated as soon as possible. Meanwhile put a three inches wide plug into the cunts of the eighteen and the nineteen old one, so that the cunt-canals get used to being properly stretched for the prick of Conroy.”
“Thank your, Senora, I personally will see to it,” Benson bowed, “and what is about the twenty-one old sow?”
“That one I want to be inseminated by boar Percy. So use a four inches wide plug for her cunt to make sure, Percy’s impregnating pole will not rip her crotch apart.”
The girls heard with horror what the Lady ordered to Benson, but they had just lost the ability to protest or even comment them. Benson inserted the padlocks again and locked them.
“Are they already de-voiced?” asked Lopez, and as Benson said “yes”, she continued: “Okay, give them their brand due to our registration system. I hope Samson had been given their year of birth. The right one is breeding sow number 66, the middle 67 and the left one is to be number 68, okay?”
“Very well, Mistress. I’ll make the brands be registered in the files,” answered Benson politely.
“Oh, I almost forgot it to say: You have my permission to make the teeth of all three of them be extracted. They don’t need them any more for devouring the mushy swill. And I can imagine, how keen your are to feed the new sows with your sperm by mouth fucking!” Lopez grinned cunningly.
Harshly she tugged the leash at the ball-rings of her human dogs and triggered the crawling man to follow her fast paces out of the evil odorous stable. Her dog-whip struck the upturned arses of these poor men.
Margaret, Nancy and Wendy lay totally shattered over their trestles. They felt as if the end of their lives had come.

End of the first part of the novel.

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