A kinky story written by Pete Brown | Chapter 12 of 16

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RAPE

The three of us slaves continued to crouch together, and the Overseer and his friend were oblivious, or uncaring, of our gaze as they lay on their towels in the sand, just as if they were on a sunny Californian beach and not in the middle of the desert. They kissed and stroked each other, and muttered small phrases to each other in low voices, in that intimate way that lovers do.

Eventually the Overseer sat up, and said “Time’s getting on. That plane of yours won’t wait. Let’s have the grand finale of the afternoon, so there’s still time to get back and shower and change before you have to leave.”

He then commanded us three slaves to get up, and come over and stand in front of them, and we of course did, automatically resuming the “display” position. Hans and Mike seemed unaffected by what was about to happen, but my breathing had become shallow and rapid, and sweat was beading my body.

“Now”, said the Overseer, “Which one was the prize winner?. OK. You ” (pointing at Hans) “stand in front of the pony. And you ” (pointing at me), “Put your arms over his shoulders”.

We meekly obeyed, and I was once again treated to the intimacy of Hans’s warm muscled body touching mine.

“Now grasp the pony’s wrists, and pull them down “, Hans was commanded, and as he obeyed, I was of course squeezed even closer to him. He was then ordered to bend over from the waist, and this had the effect of causing my feet to lift slightly off the ground. Our nude, sweating bodies shuffled and slid a little, and I ended up with my head pressed into Hans’s with my nose ground into the base of his neck, my armpits on his shoulders, my chest and stomach lying on his muscular back, and my legs lying down the outside of Hans’s. Even though I was slightly taller than Hans, and had longer legs, because I was effectively straddling his waist, I could barely reach the ground now, and my toes scrabbled in the sand to get some purchase and relieve the pressure on my chest from being pulled into this unnatural position.

The position pulled apart my legs and the effect of Hans now having his body almost at right angles to the ground had of course exposed my anus. My cock was trapped under me, lying upwards between my stomach and the little hollow that was in the middle of Hans’s muscular spine, but fortunately my balls had been hanging well down when Hans had hoisted me off the ground so I was in no real discomfort, and these were now exposed to view, in between my opened legs, lying in the small hollow at the top of Hans’s ass crack.

“OK “, said the Overseer to Mike, “Now go to it. Don’t spare the pony. I want to see you fucking his ass as enthusiastically as I saw you mating with the breeders earlier this week. Even though this is his first time, we’re in a hurry and there’s no time for gentle stretching and manipulating of his passage. A quick thrust in, then solid, continuous hard fucking is what we want to see.”

Although Mike was by now fully expert and experienced with other men, he didn’t immediately respond to the Overseer. The Overseer was obviously getting cross, because he snapped “Don’t just stand there with a limp cock! Get an erection, and go at the pony at once.”

Time seemed to stand still. I could feel Hans’s body moving under mine, as his steady regular breathing moved his chest up and down, and I had the delicious scent of his strong sweat in my nostrils as they pressed into his neck. My own cock ached from being compressed, and I could feel it start to harden as it lay in the warm, damp space between my stomach and Hans’s lovely spine. We all stood there, and there was no sound. Then after a few seconds the Overseer shouted in rage “OK. You all asked for this. I will not be disobeyed”.

I heard him scramble to his feet, and the next minute I had the acute sharp pain of the Overseer’s carriage whip fall across my stretched ass. The Overseer thrashed me 10 times, and each stroke was viciously hard – I was used to being “encouraged” to run faster with the whip, but usually these were just light strokes whose sharp pain subsided after a moment or two. But my ass was now in agony, and I knew that the Overseer must have used uncustomary force in whipping me. Then I heard the swish of the whip coming down again, and I involuntarily clenched my buttocks for the blow, but nothing happened. Instead, Hans’s body bucked under me, and I realised that the Overseer was whipping his exposed ass now, and that it must have been really painful for Hans because his muscular cheeks were stretched with the bending. But I didn’t escape after all – after 10 strokes the Overseer was still striking Hans, and I supposed he was going to get at least 20. This must have been tiring for the Overseer, because his aim faltered, and the tip of the whip caught my exposed balls.

Of course I couldn’t scream, but the shock caused me to jerk forward and squirm on Hans’s back. Had my armpits not been locked on Hans’s shoulders and my arms not being held rigidly by him, I would have fallen off his back. My thighs spasmed, and my toes, which had only just been able to take some of my weight, scrabbled futilely as they lost all contact with the sand. My own body weight crushed my chest harder against Hans’s back, and I don’t know whether it was this, or the terrible searing pain from my balls, that caused me to stop breathing so that my breath came in short, sharp pants across Hans’s neck.

Seeing that he had potentially damaged valuable stock, the Overseer paused, and said “Now you see how I have whipped the pony and your buddy. Now do as I say – get that prick of yours erect now, and start fucking the pony. I’m not going to tell you again, and I’m not going to whip you. But if you continue to disobey me, both the pony and your mate will get another thrashing”.

I then heard his friend say something, and the Overseer said “But wait – perhaps you are not properly in the mood. Your buddy there has not shot his load today – before you start, go over and wank him. Don’t let any of his spunk go to waste – we’ll need it.”

Hans started to stand up, and my feet touched the ground. The Overseer roared “Did I tell you to move? You’re only going to be milked, and that doesn’t need you standing upright. Get back to where you were”.

Hans bent again, and I was pulled off the ground. Mike came over and Sat down on the sand underneath Hans’s horizontal body, and facing his cock. He reached up and started to masturbate his friend, and I could feel Hans’s breathing change as he quickly came to climax, It was too much for me to bear, and in spite of the discomfort, my cock went rigid in sympathy with Hans’s, and to the sweat between us I knew there must be added a load of pre-cum.

 

“Now get back into position behind the pony”, Mike was commanded, “and be careful not to spill that palm-full of spunk you have collected.” Then a few moments later “Coat a finger well and slick the Pony’s anus – that might turn you on anyway! And I suppose it might be a good idea not to go in completely dry first time anyway.”

I lay there, and started to quiver. Then I felt something poking experimentally to locate my most intimate place, and reflexively clenched my ass to tighten it in resistance. Mike’s finger found the spot, and pushed harder, and I clenched tighter – but it was no use. I could not keep my anus tight from his insistent pushing, and his finger slipped up into me. He moved it around, and in and out a few times, and I knew he must be lubricating me with Hans’s spunk.

Then he withdrew totally, and the Overseer said “Well, that didn’t work. I would have thought you should have been aroused by fingering a virgin ass. So we’ll resort to mechanical means. Use the rest of your buddy’s jism to grease your cock, and stand there wanking until you do go rigid”.

I knew how humiliated Mike must be – it’s one thing to be nude all the time and have erections that are natural. But even slaves surely deserve some dignity, and shouldn’t be made to massage themselves to rigidity, especially not with using another man’s semen as a lubricant. But now of course I see that I was still exhibiting some vestiges of my former life – why should it be humiliating for Mike, as he was obeying a master’s orders?

The mechanical manipulation id however obviously do the trick, because I now felt Mike’s cock move between my cheeks. It nudged closer and closer to my sphincter and finally found the mark. I tried to move, but there was no place to go. Mike thrust hard, and in spite of all my desperate clenching and tightening, was rewarded with about 2 cm of penetration.

I tried to shout “NO” as I felt my asshole stretching to accommodate the invading cock, but of course nothing came out. Mike grunted and as he shoved again, his cock slid further into me. I just knew that Mike’s cock head must be inside me, and with one last desperate attempt to stop him, I clamped down as hard as I knew how. In retrospect of course this was the wrong thing to do – Mike almost exploded with pleasure as my ring of muscle gripped and relaxed just under his glans.

He paused while savouring the sensations, then as I couldn’t maintain my grip for long, he pressed forward, pushing the widest part of his cock past the tight ring. From then on, it was easy for him, just sliding deeper and deeper into my body until finally I could feel his pubic bone, with it’s little strip of hard, wiry pubic hair, making contact with my ass that was still stinging viciously from its whipping.

“Ahhhhhhhh” I could hear him moan in his throat as he backed out to the glans.

Grip, relax, push, pull… he began to time his thrusts to extract the most from each tightening of my muscles. He was going wild, as the sensations sped from his cock to his brain; He had never been gripped like this during a fuck before, and I think he thought that I was enjoying it and signalling to him to make the most of my body.

But now I was really in trouble. Mike’s cock head was riding back and forth over my prostate, and I had never experienced a sensation like this before. In the midst of the pain from my ass and from my battered anus, a wholly new “something” flowed over me.

Mike’s cock riding my prostate was almost more than I could take. My ass was doing things I’d never felt it do before, and I seemed unable to control its reflex-like clamping as Mike moved in and out. Every time Mike hit my prostate, I could feel my own cock leak pre-cum, and it was as if this made me clamp down on Mike.

As Mike slid back, I felt my ass relax, and his cock dipped down. Then wham, he thrust again, another poke to my gland, another surge of pre-cum, and another swelling of my own cock trapped between my stomach and Hans’s back as the pre-cum surged out

I could hear Mike’s breathing become laboured, and his hands went around my waist as he bent his magnificent body to give even more power to his thrusts. Then I felt his whole body go rigid and arch backwards as his orgasm came, and a strange but wonderful sensation as an enormous load of his hot semen pumped into me.

Mike collapsed forward onto me, and I was sandwiched between the two Marines. He was covered in sweat, and he just lay there panting as I could feel his cock start to shrink inside me. He stood up, and drew back to pull his cock out totally, and as his wide cock head came out from my anus, my own orgasm took over.

My chest and Hans’s back were already sliding over each other, lubricated by our sweat and what felt like litres of pre-cum which had been pumping out from me as I was being fucked. But now I was totally unable to control myself, and my cock spasmed eight times, forcing my spunk between us and firing it along the vhannel of Hans’s spine.

I think the Overseer and his friend knew what had happened, as he then commanded us all to come and stand in front of he and his friend again and assume “display”. Mike and I were told to face them, and Hans to turn around to have his back to them. I stood there under the sun, and found that tears were flowing uncontrollably down my cjheeks – they went on and on, and dripped down from the edhe of my jaw onto the sand. I know these tears were not from the pain of the whipping, or the pain from my anus which was spreading a hot, angry glow throughout my lower body, as I had often borne much worse pains than that since becoming a slave. And although I had been affected by the closeness and intimacy with Hans’s and Mike’s bodies, they weren’t the kind of tears you sometimes share with your very closest comrades.

They were, I think, tears of shame – shame at being so violated as an amusement for others. Because of my feelings for Hans and Mike and the pleasure I had found with them, I knew I was no longer “straight”. But there’s a huge difference between the joy of two guys experiencing each others bodies aesthetically as they work out together and look at each other’s muscles, or that which you get from loving mutual masturbation with close friends, and rape. Some how I could not accept that the invasion of my most intimate inner self, the core of my maleness, was yet part of me. I felt violated, even though I knew that Hans, Mike and me had no choice.

The Overseer and his friend lay there for a few minutes talking and joking with each other, watching my spunk flow down Hans’s back to collect in the little hollow at the top of his ass, and then trickle down between his cheeks. My own cock was slick with my spunk, and Mike’s was slowly oozing out of my anus and wetting the inside of my thighs. Mike’s prick was covered in his own cum and was brownish from the contents of my rectum, because of course I had not had an enema before this bout of uninhibited man sex. They could see the tears on my cheeks, but did not comment. We all desperately wanted to jump into the cool, cleaning water of the water hole and wash away all these traces of our experience, but this was not to be.

The Overseer and his friend got up, the friend dressed, the Overseer pulled his cut-off on, and we were told to get between the shafts, as we had when we arrived. The Overseer manacled me into the shafts, and roughly pushing Mike’s head back out of the way, quickly fitted my bridle.

Going back across the deep sand was just as disturbing for me as when we had arrived, as I felt the hard bodies of Hans and Mike sandwiching me close between them. I found myself loving their warmth, the firmness of their flesh, their intoxicating smells of sweat and spunk, and the sheer animal maleness of us all as we ran nude across the desert. I don’t think I had really appreciated other men’s bodies in this way before. But at least the experience at the water hole made it easier for us to run – neither Mike nor I could now manage even a tiny erection.

At the edge of the sand, back on the estate road, Hans and Mike were told to slip out of the shafts as the Overseer wanted to run me as usual. He told them to follow behind us, and that he expected them to keep up, even though they were not trained runners as I was, as they did not have the weight of the rickshaw to contend with. He slapped the reins on my ass as normal, then started to lash my shoulders lightly with his riding whip to get me up to top speed. Although my ass was painful from Mike’s entry, and my ass was still stinging from the brutal whipping, I wanted to show the Overseer that in spite of his brutality in ordering my rape I was still a good pony for him, and I threw my shoulders and head back and ran faster than I had ever done before. Over the haze of pain from my tortured lungs after a few kilometres, I was conscious of my ass cheeks sliding over each other – this was strange, as of course you’re not normally conscious of the motions of your butt muscles, unless there’s something wrong. I realised it was Mike’s spunk greasing them and making them slide, and this was at least a small help to getting me back to the central complex in spite of my overly-ambitions speed.

The Overseer guided me back to the Bungalow, and he and his friend got down from the rickshaw. I was of course then tethered, but he left Hans and Mike, who had managed to keep up with my wild run, although obviously at huge expense to themselves, simply collapsing with exhaustion on the sand. They looked a pitiful sight – their fine muscled bodies simply could no longer even stand up, and their chests were heaving as their breath rasped out and they desperately tried to suck in enough air to damp the fires in their lungs.

After a few minutes, they had recovered enough to sit up, and they simply sat there, their knees drawn up to their chins, their heads slumped forwards on to their kneecaps, and their arms locked around their bent legs. They looked a picture of misery, and the sight of their sacs and cocks poking out from between the ends of their thighs and scraping the ground as they sat there was truly pathetic.

FAREWELLS

The Overseer and his friend emerged about an hour later, and we set off down the long straight road leading from the central complex area to the estate’s boundary with the state road. Hans and Mike were simply left sitting in the sand – the Overseer had no more need of them, and did not give them another thought. I supposed that sooner or later someone would come and take them back to the stables.

At the boundary there was a fine gate house, where the Sheikh’s guests, and the goods coming in and out of the estate, were transferred from slave-powered vehicles to the normal trucks of the outside world. The gate house had a luxurious waiting room for travellers, and at the back, shielded from the state road so that passers-by could not cast envious eyes on the Sheikh’s ponies, was a large yard where us ponies could wait and where goods could be transhipped.

The Overseers was telling his friend to smell the air as we approached the state road. “Can you smell that stench of diesel and pollution?” he asked. “Now you know why the Sheikh does not allow anything other than slave power on the estate roads- when you live with it every day, you get used to this vile stench of industrial pollution. But when you’ve been living in a totally clean slave-powered world, you get very sensitive to it and notice it immediately.”

“But they haven’t invented the slave-driven jet yet, so I suppose we have to continue to make some use of this vile technology. You couldn’t get back to the USA, then come and visit me again, if we had to rely on galleys to row you across the Atlantic! Although, looking at those kitsch “ancient Greek” movies that Hollywood used to make, I think a few months on a galley with all those sweating, muscled galley slaves chained to their benches and oars might be quite fun. Even though Hollywood had no real idea of how to portray slaves, some of those films were quite fun!”

As we arrived at the gate house they were discussing the next visit, and I understood that it would not be for a year because the friend only had four weeks vacation, like most Americans, and simply could not visit the Overseer again because he could not get more time off from his job. Who was the real slave, I wondered?

As the time came for the limousine to take the friend away to the airport, they stopped talking, and had that sort of longing, embarrassed silence that lovers often have before a long separation. They hugged each other, then kissed passionately, and finally the friend was driven off in the limo.

The Overseer got up in to the rickshaw, and I saw the glint of tears in the corner of his eyes. He pointed me back to the central complex, and I set off at a light jog. I was expecting to be commanded to go faster, but the Overseer was obviously wrapped in his thoughts, and allowed me to continue at an easy pace back to the Bungalow.

He got down from the rickshaw, and tethered me outside the bungalow door. I wondered what other trips he had in mind for us that evening before I could go back to the stables, but instead of just bounding up the steps as he usually did, he turned to me and said “You disgraced me today. You protested when I was describing your planned rape, and those tears at the end were unforgivable. You almost spoiled the last day of my friend’s vacation”.

“Slaves do not protest. Slaves do not have emotions, causing tears. I know I had your body tamed, and I believed I had your mind to the point where you had accepted that you were a pony slave, and no longer a man. But yesterday proved me wrong.”

“Perhaps I am a little at fault, because you have been constantly exposed to English this week, and it has probably brought back some thoughts of your previous life that you had started to bury. But looking back on your whole time here, I think I can see little flashes of independence asserting themselves, or trying to assert themselves.”

“You’ll never be happy as a slave until you completely accept that you are just an object, here to do whatever your master commands. You do not have opinions about anything. Your only concern is that you fully obey your master’s every wish, to the slightest degree. Your body is not ‘yours’, it’s the Sheikh’s. And if I order your body to do something, you should be proud to do it – no, I’m wrong – being ‘proud’ means that you experience some thought. You should do it because it is inconceivable that you should not do it.”

“You are not at this point in your slavery, and not even as far along the road as I thought you were. Starting tomorrow, I will be adopting a more rigorous training regime for you. When you first came, we used a harsh physical regime to fashion your body into the proper state for a thoroughbred pony ,that would be a credit to its driver. My new regime will be equally rigorous, but it will train your mind and shape it so that it is appropriate for a thoroughbred pony.”

“The last time I had such a wilful pony, it was the whip that enabled me to train him. I subjected him to continuous bouts of harsh punishment, each morning and evening, even though he had behaved perfectly during the day. He had to learn that there was nothing in his performance that could in any way affect whether he was punished or not – he would be punished just because it pleased me to have him punished. It took seven weeks before he broke down and since then he has been a model slave. He still bears the whip lash marks in many places of course – this was not the light whip I used on you today, but the heavy bull whip that is guaranteed to break the flesh and is truly agonising – and if he was still capable of being ‘proud’, I think he would be ‘proud’ of the scars because they are a symbol of his new inner mental freedom as a slave.”

“But I’m not going to use the lash on you. Your problem is not physical, its a mental one, that gets expressed physically. And I suspect it’s tied up with your sexuality and your perception of yourself as a man. You still think of yourself as having some control over your body, and that there are some things that ‘a man’ does and some things ‘a man’ does not. But that’s wrong, as firstly you are a slave, and secondly there is nothing that a slave does or does not do if it pleases his master. I know that before you were enslaved you were a ‘stud’, proud of your prowess with women and disgusted at the thought of relations with other men. I think I detected over these past days that you became less and less pleased with fucking the breeders as time went on, and were trying to bond with those other slaves. I expected you to relish being used by the two South Africans, and that’s why I arranged for them to be the ones who first took your ass.”

“But I’m wrong – somewhere, deep down, although you can touch another man’s body now, and don’t mind them jerking you off, there’s a sticking point – there are still some things ‘men’ don’t do as far as you are concerned. Well, let me tell you, there aren’t!”

“I’m going to use your notion of your own sexuality as the key to remaking your whole personality, and turning you into the perfect slave.”

“I’m going to leave you tethered here tonight, and don’t expect anything to keep you warm like last time! I want you to have an uncomfortable night, so you stay awake and think about what I have said. Tomorrow I will start to reshape you, and so this is the last chance you will have to enjoy your own thoughts.”

With that, he went up the steps, and I was left there, tightly tethered so that I could not move more than a metre or so, and certainly could not sit down. It was going to be a long night.

…to be continued. In the next installment, our poor pony will suffer dreadful abuse, to break his spirit. In part 14 we will find out more about the Overseer, in an usual twist to the plot, and finally, in part 15, various plot lines will be resolved and we will see how the characters we have been reading about will live out the rest of their lives.

 

To be continued …

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