Today I am 26 years old and living in the Sheikhdom of Kuwait. My name is Achmed Ben Njemsi, but it was not always so -- a mere nine years ago they called me Benny.... At that time I was an unemployed nineteen year old, with the splendid name of Benny, mooching around the streets of Munich, and bored, for what employer is looking for a drop-out high-schoolboy with a scanty knowledge of English and a sluggish inclination to work? I had learnt nothing, yet I was 'molto potente' and horny for sex with men.
At school I had heard at some time or other of 'a healthy mind in a healthy body', so I wanted to do something for my neglected mind and went to a Body-building Center.
Christ, there were some blokes there ... real men!! Like the models in my wet dreams, only here they were flesh and blood!
I fell for one of them at once: a southern type, I reckoned, about thirty years old, with a walrus moustache, and crinkly black hair on his muscular chest and sturdy legs. Although weight-lifting, which he was in the middle of practicing, does not appeal to me much, I joined him.
What's more, he was clearly not indifferent to me either, for after training he asked me quite out of the blue if I would like to go and have a shower with him.
Would I like to? Would I indeed!! In my balls my bottled up juices were already beginning to bubble, and they almost overflowed, when my new-found friend took off his briefs: the fellow had two testicles as big as billiard balls, surrounded by a smooth-skinned sack, from which hung a heavy tool with fat glands! My eyes positively glued themselves to his private parts, in a few seconds my prick stood up as if in a raging storm ....
"Shall we go to your place, or do you want to come to mine?"
He didn't need to ask. With my weapon throbbing in my pants I went to his flat, which had certainly not been furnished on the cheap!
Paul, as my new friend was called, mixed me a cocktail and asked me a couple of standard questions:
"Well then, my young out of work friend, if you like, I might have something for you. It's abroad, but there's a lot of money in it. It is definitely only for good-looking guys who are quick to make their minds up, and who are 100% discreet
"Are you interested? Honestly? O.K., then, get undressed, I want to try you out!"
Overjoyed with anticipation, I dropped all my inner inhibitions and undressed.
As he slipped off his briefs, a monster of a prick sprang out in front of me, and I stared at it as if hypnotized, like a rabbit in front of a snake.
Paul forced me down on my knees in front of him, squeezed my nostrils together, and without shilly-shallying, pushed his gigantic tool into my mouth, which I had opened to gasp for breath.
I choked. He let go of my nose, seized me by the ears and firmly pulled my mouth along the length of his shaft.
I forced my mouth open, because my jaws were hurting. In my fight for breath, my arms clasped him round his thighs, and my hands sought desperately for the root of his tool, in order to give my mouth some relief.
I only managed to grab his heavy, bulging ball sack. And hardly had I found some support there, when the gagging cock in my gullet swelled to an enormous size, pushed itself still deeper in, in spite of my choking, and then spurted out its hot lava.
I had no alternative but to swallow.
After I had gotten my breath again, he wanted to try out my 'Adonis body' as he called it. And how he tried it out!
With ultra thoroughness he examined my muscular legs and my round buttocks, pulled uninhibitedly at my bulging balls, measured the width and length of my still stiff prick, slapped my stomach muscles, and even my wide-open mouth had to stand up to his searching examination!
Did he want to use me as a model? I felt rather more like I was at a cattle auction!
My examiner ran this fingers down my spine, suddenly yanked my buttocks apart and drove his dry thumb into my ass-hole. I howled and strove to wriggle free, but quick as lightning his free hand had my ball sack firmly in his iron grip.
"Oh, you are still a virgin, are you? Not to worry. But that will soon have to be altered!"
At last he released me, and I was now rather uncertain about his intentions, at the same time I was curious. Did he intend to rob me of my virginity himself?
Over a farewell drink he said,
"O.K. I think you're suitable for this job. Tomorrow we'll meet in the morning at the Chinese Tower at nine o'clock.
"Be on time or you can forget it. Only bring essential clothes, and don't forget your passport. You won't need any money, you can get some from me."
We met as arranged; I threw my bag on the back seat of his car, a BMW 633 CSI, and got in.
"We're going to Marseilles, if you know where that is."
"Sure," I replied.
I knew that Marseilles was in the south of France. But of the dangers of this port I didn't then have the faintest idea.
Paul knew the city well. He drove like a native through the narrow, rather seedy streets in the harbor quarter. There a massive gate opened on to a noble, imposing house. Three sturdy men in their middle thirties greeted Paul and me as well like old friends. Paul introduced me --
"This is young Benny. And, Benny, these are Marcel, Dominique and Caesar, your future work colleagues."
He invited me in for a drink of welcome. After the long journey in this heat I accepted gratefully and drank in great gulps....
When I came to again, I felt like a crane was slowly dragging me up from the depths of the sea up to the surface. Yet everything remained pitch dark. And my skull throbbed as if my brain was a diesel engine.
Slowly my senses regained their sharpness, and the noises became identifiable. There really was a diesel engine!
At last my mind grasped the truth: I was lying stark naked, chained and sweating in a stuffy, pitch dark ship's hold. There were no people near me -- only the monotonous throbbing of a ship's engine and the steady swaying of the ship's floor; so we were at sea.
I urgently needed to piss; yet with my hands and legs chained behind my back I had no option but simply to let it spurt out. After a short time I was lying in a cold puddle of my own piss. Oh God -- into what sort of trap had I fallen, like an idiot!
Some time later -- it seemed to me like hours -- I felt someone approach with long strides and start fiddling with my arm and foot chains.
"Paul?" I said.
My throat constricted with anxiety.
"Shut up, idiot!"
I heard, as if from a long way off, and suddenly it was clear to me why no one turned on a light in this pitch darkness: I had a giant hood, or rather a sack, over my head!
I was seized by the arm and dragged upright; suddenly I received such a blow in the balls that I saw stars in spite of my hood.
"You pig!" somebody yelled at me in English, "Pissing without permission and right here on the floor. I'll teach you!"
My unseen tormentor threw me down on my stomach across a large barrel or a sort of drum, gripped my head between his thighs so firmly, that I could not hear anything any more. Almost immediately my naked buttocks felt what seemed like a foretaste of hell: a springy cane rained down burning strokes like fire on my wildly dancing ass -- and, because he was beating me lengthwise, on my upper thighs as well.
Not until after eleven strokes did the pain force me to stop counting. I fell into a state of panic, wanted to wriggle out of his grip, to thrash about and lash out, but the all-embracing thighs held my head as if it was in a vice!
I screamed blue murder, yet the cane went on falling without mercy. Perhaps two dozen or four dozen -- who knows -- I was out of my mind and howling like a dog for mercy.
Up till now I had never learned a lesson as quickly as I did through that thrashing with a cane. Never again would I piss or even shit without permission!
My first day on the ship was over, and at last I was taken to another room. There only my hand chains were removed. The smell of food penetrated my hood. But I waited a long time before I cautiously pulled it off. After getting accustomed to the long missed daylight, I saw before me on the table a nourishing meal of meat and salad and tinned fruit. I gulped it all down. Then I heard a tinny voice command:
"Put on your hood."
I obeyed like lightning -- my stripes were only too fresh.
Day and night I was locked up in the hold, chained and hooded. The only change came at the regular times for relieving myself and mealtimes -- the only time I was allowed to remove my hood.
I almost never saw anyone else, though I heard my guards cursing and bawling and shouting commands. And I heard other, younger voices moaning and howling and screaming -- no, yelling with pain!
I was obviously not the only prisoner here on this death trap. And from hour to hour my fear crystallized into certainty: I had fallen into the hands of slave-traders!
My only consolation was, I was sure they wanted to deliver their wares healthy and in peak physical condition. Anyone who lies in a hold day in day out will very quickly descend to the condition of a wet rag. To counter this, my work colleagues, as Paul had called them, had taken precautionary measures: once each morning and once each afternoon there was a trip up on deck.
Instead of my hood, I was blindfolded so I could breathe freely but not see my guards. My feet chains were removed, but my hands were chained to the bars of an apparatus which reminded me of parallel bars in a gym. But here the floor was a conveyor belt, which they set moving. Jogging in place, so to speak.
But it wasn't like real jogging because in Munich, I could take a pause, when I needed to have a breather. Here I wasn't given a pause at all, and when I felt myself dragging and panting, I'd immediately hear an angry,
"Go, go, faster!"
That would not have been so bad, if a flailing cane had not lent appropriate urgency to this command.
I ran as fast as my legs and lungs would let me. After fifteen minutes or so, I was struggling for air and my legs felt like lead. But a good twenty minutes was the minimum demanded, and the whistling cane helped me push myself to last this 'basic quota' in brutally painful fashion.
In the end I was so exhausted that I didn't even have strength enough to scream.
Still, I very quickly got into condition. Although from day to day the sun was burning more fiercely on the deck, on the eighth day I was already up to thirty-five minutes on the tread-mill. Long distance sprinting! Yes, here I had my bodybuilding free, but with a cane as teacher!
On the late afternoon of the ninth day, our boat tied up in a harbor. I had no idea where; only the dry, hot air made me suppose that we must be somewhere in the Arab peninsula.
I was kept below decks until midnight. Then, firmly gagged but without my hood, my legs free but with my hands cuffed behind my back, they led me down the gangplank onto firm land, where a really long Cadillac limousine was waiting.
Here too I saw my companions in suffering for the first time. One was a blond young man who looked considerably younger than me, at most 16 years old. I later found out he was nineteen, like me -- he just looked so much younger. A simple loin cloth covered his bulbous, narrow, much striped ass.
He cast pleading eyes to the other similarly gagged and chained fellow-prisoner -- an appeal for help. But this other young man could not help him, although he looked at least twenty-two years old and was quite large and muscular with an athletic, broad-shouldered body.
Three men dressed in Arab clothes loaded us into the Cadillac limousine -- the 'big-boy' and me on the back seat, and the small guy they put in the boot. My eyes were blindfolded, but if I twisted my head just so, I could see just a little -- that's how I know what they did.
With blinds drawn the car rushed almost silently through the clear night. We drove at a furious rate for hours on end until dawn, then a steadily worsening road forced us to go slower.
Roughly two hours after sunrise we drove through a small town and then for another hour through hot desert sand, which stirred up a giant cloud of dust behind our vehicle. Then, in the middle of the desert, like a mirage, there appeared a vast fortress-like palace with oriental towers and battlements.
A large gate opened, and the limousine came to a halt in a spacious courtyard. The Arabs had already removed our blindfolds, shortly after we drove through the small town so our eyes were almost used to the light when the doors were opened and we were dragged out.
Naked and chained, and our joints stiff, the three men herded us into a brightly-lit room in the massive palace. 'The owner must be stinking rich!' I wanted to whisper that to the other two, but I bit my tongue.
Suddenly I heard pattering feet. It sounded like a lumbering dog. As the padding got nearer, there was also a swishing noise -- like the whistle of a whip.
I felt a chill run down my spine. Our three guards jumped to attention as their 'Big Boss' entered the room.
At first sight my blood froze in my veins! The Sheikh was a full bearded giant of a man. He looked very dark. He was well over six feet tall and weighed at least four hundred pounds, I guessed.
Behind, on a diamond encrusted leash, he led a little blond European man, about my age, who was walking on all fours like a dog. The young man's well striped swollen buttocks bore witness to frequent application of the dog-whip, which he had to carry crosswise in his mouth.
The amazing thing about the 'dogs' being led on a leash was that the leash was not around the young man's neck, but fixed to a ring in the root of his scrotum, so that his glistening testicles were pulled upwards with merciless cruelty. -- There were tears in the resigned eyes of the little man.
The Sheikh first inspected the largest of us three slaves (I no longer had any kind of illusions about our status), then me and finally the small guy -- the one I still thought was sixteen.
My new owner roughly kneaded my leg muscles, tested the hardness of my buttocks, pulled them brutally apart and stretched my ass-hole, gripped my testicles with his fist so powerfully, that I screamed with pain behind my gag.
Then he whistled to his 'dog' whose softly sucking mouth had to lick my prick erect at great speed. A guard jammed a ruler at the root of my prick and pulled the head against it, measuring it. Then he showed the Sheikh I had a seven inch long flagpole.
The examination tauntingly reminded me of Paul, who was now more than two thousand miles away. The Sheikh gave his attendants some orders in Arabic, clearly concerning us. Thereupon I was locked up naked, chained and gagged in a cool, barred cell.
Meanwhile I was terribly thirsty, and the dry gag tormented me even more than the chains.
At last a sturdy, well-built man of about thirty entered. On a ledge he placed some marvelous smelling soup with several lumps of meat and a jug of cold water. The man removed my gag and took my chains off.
I wanted to hurl myself on the jug of water, but a swishing whip made me pause. The man bared his already erect prick and signalled to me in a way I could not fail to understand what he wanted -- first I had to suck him off, then I could eat and drink!
Like a starving man I swallowed his fat cock, and after only a short time his spunk spewed forth. I swallowed, almost greedily, for there are worse things -- thirst for instance! I was so thirsty that I would have drunk his piss, if that had been the price for the jug of water.
The nourishing meal and the fresh water restored my strength. Even better, they no longer made me wear the gag and the burdensome chains.
I now had plenty of time to think. In the old days I would have spent the time wanking off, but now I was too depressed for that.
It was late in the afternoon, I presumed, when I was taken, stark naked of course, to a small room in the cellar. I just knew something bad was going to happen. And when I was dragged into this room looking like a mixture of a modern operating-theater and a medieval torture-chamber, they were just dragging out the little guy, naked.
I caught my breath in horror! His face was bloody. A small, gold nose-ring flashed through the blood. And he seemed to have aged about ten years. Worse, blood and saliva were oozing out of his now toothless mouth.
I nearly cried -- in shock, in empathetic sympathy, but more in fear that that was about to happen to me. Only incidentally I noticed a hole had been punched in the foreskin of his penis and closed with a padlock.
I choked with sheer panic. What sort of people had I fallen into the hands of?
The little man was dragged out and I was firmly tied to a gynecological chair -- only this one had special fixtures in which my arms and head could be strapped rigid. I was incapable of movement and helpless.
My legs were stretched high up with my knees to my shoulders and in this position I could feel my most intimate parts shamelessly put on full display. A brutal gag smothered my any possible protest, which in any case would have been quite futile.
While my head was being shaved bald by a torturer's assistant, a blacksmith who looked like a Mongolian boxer was busying himself with a glowing brazier.
My head felt cold, shaved clean, and they put a complete blindfold on me. Before I knew what was happening, I suddenly felt a terrible pulling on the bridge of my nose -- it felt like someone was pinching and pulling my bridge forward with a flat pair of pincers.
And there was worse to come -- I felt the press of something that suddenly burned intensely hot. It hissed as it was bored through my nasal septum, immediately over my mouth.
Blind, silent and unable to move, I had to endure the agony. But I also knew without being able to see, I had my first piece of clothing -- a nose-ring!
The burning pain started getting worse as the temperature cooled and my pain nerves came back alive. It was so intense I could see red, black, and white waves and spots and all sorts of kaleidoscope images.
Minutes later, the first waves of pain had started to abate and a noose was tied round my scrotum and my testicles were pulled viciously -- I could feel them stretching further and further from my crotch.
Another panic-stricken terror overwhelmed me -- I was sure I was going to be castrated. But, it seems just before my balls were ripped off, the sadistic thugs stopped pulling and wrapped a wet, ice-cold bit of cloth round my extended scrotum. My panic subsided a little.
Then suddenly I experienced the most hellish pain. Now they've cut off my sack! I firmly believed it. But no, it was my second piece of clothing -- a red-hot brass ring encircled my scrotum at its narrow neck!
For the longest time the sweat ran down my whole body in streams. When the ball-ring had cooled and squashed the root of my sack even tighter the torturers took away the damp linen cloth and, to my amazement, removed my gag.
But I had rejoiced too soon -- while I screamed with pain they forced a wide wooden wedge between my jaws. And now came the worst torture of all.
With a bent pair of pliers the thugs tore out four of my teeth -- the back molars on each side, top and bottom. Of course, without any anaesthetic -- I was only a slave after all! It would be a waste of money to use anesthetic on me!
I suffered unspeakable agony. And after barely an hour they released me from the torture chair, took off my blindfold, and another slave overseer took me away.
My mouth was bleeding. And I was now wearing my new 'adornments'. He drove me in front of him with swishing slashes from a stick into another room. This new room looked just like a horse-stable. Only there were no horses there.
With horror muted only by the repeated indignities I had already endured, I realized as I walked past, that, lying or kneeling in the stalls were young men -- like me, little more than teens -- with skins of every shade.
Their scrotums were all amazingly large and full, with a narrow ring round the necks, like mine. Each was chained to the wall of his stall by his scrotum ring.
And that's what happened to me -- the tethering chain between wall and scrotum-ring only let me lie or kneel. I had to 'feed' like a pig out of a stone trough.
The floor was covered in wood chips and when they left me, chained securely so I couldn't even think of escaping, I padded up a pile for a bed and curled up like a dog. I fell to sleep almost instantly despite the pain -- my exhaustion was so complete.
They woke me up in the evening some time. It was time for me to feed -- porridge with raw salad and boiled maize! A month ago I would have turned up my nose in disgust, but I was so ravishing hungry it seemed deliciously tempting. But the wounds in my mouth made me hesitate.
I thought I could allow myself the luxury of refusing to eat till my mouth was healed. But my reward for thinking followed at once -- the stable-master whipped my naked backside till I licked the trough spotlessly clean.
"Ponies must be strong!"
That was his telling explanation. My first acquaintance with his dog-whip was so painful that in the future I choked down every crumb which was put in front of me without hesitation.
I recovered quickly. Just three days after my 'dental treatment', the brutal and unfeeling stable-master dragged me out of my stall and harnessed me in front of a narrow sulky; I had already seen such vehicles at the trotting track in Munich-Dagolfing.
The stable-master handed me over to a young Arab. It was obvious to me the man was a 'pony-trainer'. I could see nothing good happening, but my worst fears were surpassed!
The trainer forced a steel bit into my mouth as if I was a horse. He pulled it so tight that the cross-piece sank into the hollow where my back molars had been -- and the reason for the teeth-yanking became obvious! My mouth was still sore and the steel bit grated against raw nerves! I wanted to scream, but kept myself from it.
Within seconds I realized the bit was one they'd never use on a horse! It was clearly designed to constantly remind the wearer that he was a worthless slave. The cross-piece had strap steel prongs that bit into the back of my jaw, the molar sockets, and my pulled back mouth. Not only that, but to the cross-piece had been welded an iron plate dotted with fine spikes! This plate pressed the 'pony's' tongue down brutally so that it was completely impossible for him to utter a word which sounded at all human.
I was now in truth reduced to the level of an animal, which at best could only groan or whinny! Even lower -- no animal would be abused with the spiked mouth plate!
My trainer tightened the spiked bit so severely with a neck strap that the corners of my mouth were pulled right back and the piercing pain in my taut lips brought tears to my eyes.
My hands were pulled back and firmly tied to the shafts of the sulky. An upper crossbar joined the two shafts and pressed into the hollow of my arched back, pulling my upper back almost horizontal while a lower crossbar in front was pulled forward, pressing my hips back and down so my legs were straight up and down on the ground. My head was pushed up with another bar so I could see forward over my stretched chest and belly. Seen from the side the position must have looked something like a lower case 'r' with my arms and upper torso pulled back and my head poked up like a bump on a log -- a stringed bump, with the tethers from the bit pulled back and loosely hanging between my tethered, stretched arms. The only part of me I could now move freely were my long legs.
My trainer didn't even let my testicles hang freely -- a rope from the driving seat to my narrow scrotum-ring pulled my balls tight back through my legs. The sense and purpose of this device did not become clear till later.
The trainer, who was called Abdul, got into the sulky and clicked his tongue. I correctly interpret this as an order to pull and tried to walk. It was awkward, lying back like I was. Balance just didn't seem right. But the sulky moved easily -- so easily I was surprised.
The trainer lightly tapped my right hand and I pulled to the right, then my left hand and I pulled to the left. He trotted me around for a while, letting me get used to pulling the surrey half lying down.
But after fifteen minutes or so, he trotted me into some sand. And immediately the sulky got heavier. The deeper the sand, the heavier it seemed. And now the sun in the cloudless sky was getting hot! I trotted and panted and the sweat ran down my face.
By the time I had run a good kilometer my ears were roaring. As from a distance I heard the command
"Gallop!"
and felt the order repeated at the same time on my stretched back arms -- five juicy strokes with the coachman's whip smacked across the flesh of my stretched tight pectorals, just missing my head each time!
Oh what pain a whip can induce!! In spite of my spiked bit, I howled like a dog that's been kicked. But apart from my trainer, not a human soul could hear my screams in this desert wilderness.
I galloped with my last reserves of strength.
"Faster!" yelled Abdul.
And he kept on whipping! The gentleness of a touch on my left arm or right was replaced with yanking the bit. The tormenting bit yanked my head brutally to the left, and I pulled to the left.
Now the sun was standing at the back of my head. I ran and panted and groaned. Stars flashed across my eyes, and yet the knotted whip went on biting into my taut skin with cruel regularity. My pectorals and upper arms must have already been glowing in a wild array of stripes.
At last I received a welcome,
"Trot!"
and on this command Abdul jerked the bit viciously so that my head was pulled hard back against the prop. I was by now just a heap of pain, like a beaten dog.
After about five minutes at the trot my legs felt like lead; I saw through a vail of tears the outline of my stable block. My panting grew a little quieter but my mouth had become quite dry.
Then the whip and the order
"Forwards, Gallop!"
struck me like a flash of lightening! I tried to summon up my last reserves, but my galloping was nevertheless little more than a fast trot. I felt absolutely exhausted, but Abdul had other ideas:
"At full speed!"
He cracked his whip mercilessly over his 'Pony'. I went a little faster, but not fast enough for Abdul! And for that reason Abdul resorted to his 'new' method of driving me. He no longer cracked his whip down on my pectorals but right into the tender whites of my arm under-arm-pits.
I bucked with pain like a bronco. Crack! Crack! whistled the whip into my stretched arm pits, all the time fiercely jerking my tightly stretched balls.
Blind with pain I rushed straight forwards, the 'lead' in my legs had disappeared. Where did I get these reserves of energy! Oh, the pain of those lashes -- like fire!! Now I knew what was meant by the saying -- 'the quickest and most successful teacher is a well-handled whip!'
Knees buckling, staggering rather than running I reached the entrance of the courtyard to the stable block, rushing forward like a crazy blind animal. Abdul pulled on the bit which tore the corners of my bleeding mouth still more, but my mind had gone and my legs were out of control. Before I could crash straight into a wall together with the sulky, Abdul yanked hard on my ball chain -- the pain shot through the lower half of my body like glowing lava, my legs instantly locked stock still as if rooted to the ground as the momentum of the surrey nearly ripped my legs from my thighs!
My lungs struggled for breath, rattling, my heart was racing, and my head throbbing, when the trainer unhitched me from the shafts and straightened me up, my head was swirling and I couldn't stand or walk without help.
Abdul half dragged me, feeling more dead than alive, across the courtyard to a large stone trough filled with cold water. With the bit still in my mouth he threw me in.
Slowly my feeling returned. Half mad with thirst I gulped down my own bath water.
Oh, my God! I thought later, as I lay in my stall, my chest and arms criss-crossed with welts, drained like an empty sack in my box, Will every day be like this!
I was not mistaken! This was 'my daily bread'.
Clearly, to 'celebrate the occasion', the stable master, who was called Ismat, had planned a baptism of fire for me. After my first outing, I crawled into the straw in my stall like a whipped hound. I had lain there for hardly two hours when I was suddenly and brutally dragged up by my ball-chain and led out of the box.
In front of me stood Ismat, laughing lasciviously and stark naked. His enormous tool stood up stiff before him like a battering ram. I sensed that I was finally about to lose my virginity, as Ismat strapped me down over a special leather-covered bench, clipped my nose-ring into a snap link provided for the purpose. My chest and arms were afire, rubbing roughly against the hard leather.
But my chest wasn't what Ismat was after. He roughly paddled my cramp-knotted buttocks then grabbed the mounds and pulled them apart. Two fat fingers widened my swollen ass-hole so viciously that I screamed out loud.
Suddenly, a searing pain shot through me -- I howled like an animal, when the stable master's enormous prick, forced its way slowly through my sphincter and bored right into my innards.
The robber of my virginity didn't stop till his whole tool, right up to his fat, bouncing ball-sack, was pushed inside me and I felt like I was being impaled up to my diaphragm. His stomach hairs rubbed like sandpaper against the tender skin of my freshly paddled ass.
Ismat fucked me ruthlessly. For him I was not a beloved friend but an object. A thoroughly whipped slave, there to be abused!
At last Ismat shot his load, and I felt the shock waves of his steam-hammer inside me. He pulled his semi-stiff instrument out of my bowels. Then my eyes almost shot out of their sockets with terror -- Ismat was holding his monstrous blood and shit-smeared organ in front of my mouth, which was still sore from the bit. He boxed my ears and shouted,
"Open your snout! Suck it!"
I felt nauseous to the point of vomiting and kept my lips closed. I should not have done that!
Ismat pulled a rope down from a pulley in the ceiling and fixed the end with a loop to my ball-ring. Then he yanked down on the other end of the rope, and my balls were snap-stretched full out -- and how!
Frothing at the mouth with pain, I yelled -- I thought he was going to yank my balls off! And now my stable master had unrestricted access to my mouth!
I sucked and licked and choked everything down, just to get some relief from the merciless stretching of my balls! I licked freely and with abandon, until his breeding weapon was spotlessly clean.
When Ismat chained me back in my stall again, by ball-sack had turned purple and swollen to the size of a lemons. The whole night I groaned in agony.
Such was the course of my joyless existence for the following weeks. Twice a day I slaved away as a pony, tethered to this surrey and that wagon in a seeming infinite variations, getting me used to pulling anything in any harness my master's whim chose. I was trained and drilled every day till I nearly collapsed, gasping for breath. And in the evenings I was fucked by the stable master or one of his assistants.
That was my daily existence. My body was never free of weals -- my pectorals, my back, my buttocks, my thighs, my arms, my arm pits. Every day some place. And every night my buttocks were paddled before my daily rape. With the exercise and paddling they became muscular and swollen like two overblown balloons.
Even so, I got accustomed to the daily gallops. After five weeks I was in the condition which the Sheikh demanded of his pony-slaves. Already I was doing ninety minutes twice a day -- though not without the rigorous encouragement from the whip of course.
Then came the first test run with the Sheikh. I was harnessed in a more-or-less conventional manner, with the small of my back pressed against one bar and my upper and lower belly pressed against two other bars; my arms were pulled back and my elbows were tied to the surrey shafts, then my hands, right next to my chest, so my arms stuck back sort of like the 'arm' on a figure 4.
This was one of the positions I was most trained in. It left my back and buttocks exposed for whipping -- probably a lot safer than the way I was harnessed the first day out. And an advantage, as far as the driver was concerned, my balls were pulled back at the base of my buttocks so a carefully aimed crack of the whip would hit them, making me do whatever I might have been reluctant to do.
But the Sheikh's sulky was, because of its more lavish upholstery, considerably heavier than what I was used to. In addition to which the Sheikh was at least double the weight of my former trainer Abdul. This all added up to a lot harder pull for me.
Something else: there was a new gadget I'd never met before on my owner's carriage. I noticed but thought it was just something for show until it was used on me. There was a short rod between the shafts; it had a crank-handle with a cord at the end of the driver's seat, while at the front end there was a conical wooden plunger, similar to the bayonet on a rifle. The plunger was as thick as a thumb at its front end, but as wide as a wine-bottle at its back end.
While trotting I started to feel my Sheikh's whip. I was used to a whip by now, but what a difference!! While I used to groan under Abdul's knotted whip, this whip tore yowling whinnies from my gagged throat. The Sheikh was using a thin riding whip with steel inlays!
I literally ran for my life, for at every stroke I thought the whip was slicing through my muscles and would soon open my spin and cut it in half!
After half an hour's quick trotting I was at the end of my strength. I fell into a blind panic when I heard the shout,
"Gallop!"
from behind. Giving my best, I summoned up my last reserves of strength. Still the Sheikh kept on whipping me, urging me on with,
"Go! Go! Go!"
Suddenly the whip lashes stopped and, instead, a sharp penetrating pain shot through my lower body. Now I understood! The conical plunger was being irresistible screwed into my ass-hole! Inch by inch, my rear entrance was being stretched without my being able to get out of the way. Only run, run, race onwards!
I no longer knew where I was running, but just responded to the pressure of the spiked bit.
When the plunger was half driven in, I thought my ass-hole would tear apart. Yet the pain got deeper, as if boiling oil was scalding my intestines. Later, I found out why -- the ass-hole plunger was filled with pepper. It gave me pain from deep inside all the way through to my finger tips. The pain was son intense I foamed at the mouth!!!!
With my very last strength being dragged from me, I managed to last quarter of an hour, and then, near to collapse, I was only able to be stopped by a monstrous jerk on my ball-chain.
I spitted up blood and lost consciousness. How I got to my stall I don't know. I woke up in my stall when Ismat patted my thighs and said,
"The Sheikh said you are a good pony."
Did he? Well that didn't make me any happier!
I also got my reward the next day -- I was dragged to the medieval operating theater, where the Mongolian blacksmith was ready waiting for me with his brazier.
I had thought I had already experienced the heights and depths of pain, but far from it. I still had to savor the extremes of torment to the very dregs.
I was now branded like a cow!! But not just in one place like the fortunate cow! Oh no! The number 38 was burnt into the side of my right breast, onto my left upper arm and onto my neck -- without mercy!
I was frightened and confused. Not only was there the pain, there was also the horrible stench of burning flesh. I howled in my throat like a monkey; my eyes glazed over in a crazy stare.
During the branding of my lower neck (so that the sulky driver can always see the number of his pony) my thumping heart raced at two hundred beats a minute or more, and I collapsed. Around me it was all dark!
For twelve days I was 'unfit for sulky service'. Chained in my stall I suffered the terrible agony of recovery while the brand marks slowly healed. I'm sure the pain wouldn't have been nearly as bad and all consuming if my mind had been kept off it by hard training! But rest and recover was what I was supposed to do, and that's exactly what I did.
Since the branding, I have been 'Pony No. 38, property of the Sheikh'.
During my recuperation, my muscles had become weaker again, and it was hard getting back into the 'groove' again.
This time I was paired with another 'pony' in a double sulky. I was hitched to the right side and waited curiously for my companion on the left.
Who can imagine my surprise, when Ismat harnessed a European girl, about nineteen years old, alongside me!! Her scalp was shaved, like mine. She had striking long, muscular legs; her narrow, protruding buttocks were criss-crossed with old and new stripes. She also had one of those nose-rings. But where I had to wear a ball-ring, she had a small padlock, the link of which was pulled through two holes in her stretched, shaved vaginal lips.
The poor young woman made me feel sorry for her. Her firm right breast also bore a brand mark: 21.
Our trainer paid as much attention to the 'pony-girl' as he did to me. We were hounded and whipped, and in the process the gasping woman even had to endure lashes to her cunt. So it went day after day. We were trained together and we became a team.
One day the Sheikh in person came into my stall after training and with his own hands examined my balls and my penis. My tool was no bigger, but my balls had become much fatter through torture.
Ten minutes later I knew why the Sheikh was so interested in my balls -- my sulky partner was led in by her nose chain -- and without her padlock! The Sheikh snapped his finger and pointed to my prick and to his mouth. She evidently correctly interpreted that as an order to suck tool stiff, which the frightened woman did at once.
Soon as I was hard, she was tied down on a punishment bench and I had to do my unpleasant duty, driven on with lashes of the whip. The young woman howled as I screwed her. And I would rather have had a hunky man under me. But who asks a slave what he wants?
As soon as I had ejaculated, they tore me out of the breeding-mare by my ball-ring and took her away. For the next week I had to mount her once a day the same way. After that they lay more and more female slaves beneath me.
Not until a good eight months later did I see my first 'wife' again. She was very pregnant and had swollen 'udders'.
But her condition did not stop the Sheikh from harnessing her, together with me, in front of a double carriage! With sufficient apprehension, I noticed that this time there were two pepper plungers -- one behind each our ass-holes! I dreaded this method of urging us on even more than the Sheikh's steel inlaid crop.
Again he flogged the last drops of strength out of us -- and gave his pregnant 'brood mare' just as many merciless whiplashes as me, his 'stallion'. I tried, as much as I could, to ease the burden of the pitiful woman. She was still surprisingly nimble in spite of her fat belly, but tired a lot easier, so I drew on my last reserves of energy to do more than my part.
[No More POSTS STORY not Yet Endding]
At school I had heard at some time or other of 'a healthy mind in a healthy body', so I wanted to do something for my neglected mind and went to a Body-building Center.
Christ, there were some blokes there ... real men!! Like the models in my wet dreams, only here they were flesh and blood!
I fell for one of them at once: a southern type, I reckoned, about thirty years old, with a walrus moustache, and crinkly black hair on his muscular chest and sturdy legs. Although weight-lifting, which he was in the middle of practicing, does not appeal to me much, I joined him.
What's more, he was clearly not indifferent to me either, for after training he asked me quite out of the blue if I would like to go and have a shower with him.
Would I like to? Would I indeed!! In my balls my bottled up juices were already beginning to bubble, and they almost overflowed, when my new-found friend took off his briefs: the fellow had two testicles as big as billiard balls, surrounded by a smooth-skinned sack, from which hung a heavy tool with fat glands! My eyes positively glued themselves to his private parts, in a few seconds my prick stood up as if in a raging storm ....
"Shall we go to your place, or do you want to come to mine?"
He didn't need to ask. With my weapon throbbing in my pants I went to his flat, which had certainly not been furnished on the cheap!
Paul, as my new friend was called, mixed me a cocktail and asked me a couple of standard questions:
"Well then, my young out of work friend, if you like, I might have something for you. It's abroad, but there's a lot of money in it. It is definitely only for good-looking guys who are quick to make their minds up, and who are 100% discreet
"Are you interested? Honestly? O.K., then, get undressed, I want to try you out!"
Overjoyed with anticipation, I dropped all my inner inhibitions and undressed.
As he slipped off his briefs, a monster of a prick sprang out in front of me, and I stared at it as if hypnotized, like a rabbit in front of a snake.
Paul forced me down on my knees in front of him, squeezed my nostrils together, and without shilly-shallying, pushed his gigantic tool into my mouth, which I had opened to gasp for breath.
I choked. He let go of my nose, seized me by the ears and firmly pulled my mouth along the length of his shaft.
I forced my mouth open, because my jaws were hurting. In my fight for breath, my arms clasped him round his thighs, and my hands sought desperately for the root of his tool, in order to give my mouth some relief.
I only managed to grab his heavy, bulging ball sack. And hardly had I found some support there, when the gagging cock in my gullet swelled to an enormous size, pushed itself still deeper in, in spite of my choking, and then spurted out its hot lava.
I had no alternative but to swallow.
After I had gotten my breath again, he wanted to try out my 'Adonis body' as he called it. And how he tried it out!
With ultra thoroughness he examined my muscular legs and my round buttocks, pulled uninhibitedly at my bulging balls, measured the width and length of my still stiff prick, slapped my stomach muscles, and even my wide-open mouth had to stand up to his searching examination!
Did he want to use me as a model? I felt rather more like I was at a cattle auction!
My examiner ran this fingers down my spine, suddenly yanked my buttocks apart and drove his dry thumb into my ass-hole. I howled and strove to wriggle free, but quick as lightning his free hand had my ball sack firmly in his iron grip.
"Oh, you are still a virgin, are you? Not to worry. But that will soon have to be altered!"
At last he released me, and I was now rather uncertain about his intentions, at the same time I was curious. Did he intend to rob me of my virginity himself?
Over a farewell drink he said,
"O.K. I think you're suitable for this job. Tomorrow we'll meet in the morning at the Chinese Tower at nine o'clock.
"Be on time or you can forget it. Only bring essential clothes, and don't forget your passport. You won't need any money, you can get some from me."
We met as arranged; I threw my bag on the back seat of his car, a BMW 633 CSI, and got in.
"We're going to Marseilles, if you know where that is."
"Sure," I replied.
I knew that Marseilles was in the south of France. But of the dangers of this port I didn't then have the faintest idea.
Paul knew the city well. He drove like a native through the narrow, rather seedy streets in the harbor quarter. There a massive gate opened on to a noble, imposing house. Three sturdy men in their middle thirties greeted Paul and me as well like old friends. Paul introduced me --
"This is young Benny. And, Benny, these are Marcel, Dominique and Caesar, your future work colleagues."
He invited me in for a drink of welcome. After the long journey in this heat I accepted gratefully and drank in great gulps....
When I came to again, I felt like a crane was slowly dragging me up from the depths of the sea up to the surface. Yet everything remained pitch dark. And my skull throbbed as if my brain was a diesel engine.
Slowly my senses regained their sharpness, and the noises became identifiable. There really was a diesel engine!
At last my mind grasped the truth: I was lying stark naked, chained and sweating in a stuffy, pitch dark ship's hold. There were no people near me -- only the monotonous throbbing of a ship's engine and the steady swaying of the ship's floor; so we were at sea.
I urgently needed to piss; yet with my hands and legs chained behind my back I had no option but simply to let it spurt out. After a short time I was lying in a cold puddle of my own piss. Oh God -- into what sort of trap had I fallen, like an idiot!
Some time later -- it seemed to me like hours -- I felt someone approach with long strides and start fiddling with my arm and foot chains.
"Paul?" I said.
My throat constricted with anxiety.
"Shut up, idiot!"
I heard, as if from a long way off, and suddenly it was clear to me why no one turned on a light in this pitch darkness: I had a giant hood, or rather a sack, over my head!
I was seized by the arm and dragged upright; suddenly I received such a blow in the balls that I saw stars in spite of my hood.
"You pig!" somebody yelled at me in English, "Pissing without permission and right here on the floor. I'll teach you!"
My unseen tormentor threw me down on my stomach across a large barrel or a sort of drum, gripped my head between his thighs so firmly, that I could not hear anything any more. Almost immediately my naked buttocks felt what seemed like a foretaste of hell: a springy cane rained down burning strokes like fire on my wildly dancing ass -- and, because he was beating me lengthwise, on my upper thighs as well.
Not until after eleven strokes did the pain force me to stop counting. I fell into a state of panic, wanted to wriggle out of his grip, to thrash about and lash out, but the all-embracing thighs held my head as if it was in a vice!
I screamed blue murder, yet the cane went on falling without mercy. Perhaps two dozen or four dozen -- who knows -- I was out of my mind and howling like a dog for mercy.
Up till now I had never learned a lesson as quickly as I did through that thrashing with a cane. Never again would I piss or even shit without permission!
My first day on the ship was over, and at last I was taken to another room. There only my hand chains were removed. The smell of food penetrated my hood. But I waited a long time before I cautiously pulled it off. After getting accustomed to the long missed daylight, I saw before me on the table a nourishing meal of meat and salad and tinned fruit. I gulped it all down. Then I heard a tinny voice command:
"Put on your hood."
I obeyed like lightning -- my stripes were only too fresh.
Day and night I was locked up in the hold, chained and hooded. The only change came at the regular times for relieving myself and mealtimes -- the only time I was allowed to remove my hood.
I almost never saw anyone else, though I heard my guards cursing and bawling and shouting commands. And I heard other, younger voices moaning and howling and screaming -- no, yelling with pain!
I was obviously not the only prisoner here on this death trap. And from hour to hour my fear crystallized into certainty: I had fallen into the hands of slave-traders!
My only consolation was, I was sure they wanted to deliver their wares healthy and in peak physical condition. Anyone who lies in a hold day in day out will very quickly descend to the condition of a wet rag. To counter this, my work colleagues, as Paul had called them, had taken precautionary measures: once each morning and once each afternoon there was a trip up on deck.
Instead of my hood, I was blindfolded so I could breathe freely but not see my guards. My feet chains were removed, but my hands were chained to the bars of an apparatus which reminded me of parallel bars in a gym. But here the floor was a conveyor belt, which they set moving. Jogging in place, so to speak.
But it wasn't like real jogging because in Munich, I could take a pause, when I needed to have a breather. Here I wasn't given a pause at all, and when I felt myself dragging and panting, I'd immediately hear an angry,
"Go, go, faster!"
That would not have been so bad, if a flailing cane had not lent appropriate urgency to this command.
I ran as fast as my legs and lungs would let me. After fifteen minutes or so, I was struggling for air and my legs felt like lead. But a good twenty minutes was the minimum demanded, and the whistling cane helped me push myself to last this 'basic quota' in brutally painful fashion.
In the end I was so exhausted that I didn't even have strength enough to scream.
Still, I very quickly got into condition. Although from day to day the sun was burning more fiercely on the deck, on the eighth day I was already up to thirty-five minutes on the tread-mill. Long distance sprinting! Yes, here I had my bodybuilding free, but with a cane as teacher!
On the late afternoon of the ninth day, our boat tied up in a harbor. I had no idea where; only the dry, hot air made me suppose that we must be somewhere in the Arab peninsula.
I was kept below decks until midnight. Then, firmly gagged but without my hood, my legs free but with my hands cuffed behind my back, they led me down the gangplank onto firm land, where a really long Cadillac limousine was waiting.
Here too I saw my companions in suffering for the first time. One was a blond young man who looked considerably younger than me, at most 16 years old. I later found out he was nineteen, like me -- he just looked so much younger. A simple loin cloth covered his bulbous, narrow, much striped ass.
He cast pleading eyes to the other similarly gagged and chained fellow-prisoner -- an appeal for help. But this other young man could not help him, although he looked at least twenty-two years old and was quite large and muscular with an athletic, broad-shouldered body.
Three men dressed in Arab clothes loaded us into the Cadillac limousine -- the 'big-boy' and me on the back seat, and the small guy they put in the boot. My eyes were blindfolded, but if I twisted my head just so, I could see just a little -- that's how I know what they did.
With blinds drawn the car rushed almost silently through the clear night. We drove at a furious rate for hours on end until dawn, then a steadily worsening road forced us to go slower.
Roughly two hours after sunrise we drove through a small town and then for another hour through hot desert sand, which stirred up a giant cloud of dust behind our vehicle. Then, in the middle of the desert, like a mirage, there appeared a vast fortress-like palace with oriental towers and battlements.
A large gate opened, and the limousine came to a halt in a spacious courtyard. The Arabs had already removed our blindfolds, shortly after we drove through the small town so our eyes were almost used to the light when the doors were opened and we were dragged out.
Naked and chained, and our joints stiff, the three men herded us into a brightly-lit room in the massive palace. 'The owner must be stinking rich!' I wanted to whisper that to the other two, but I bit my tongue.
Suddenly I heard pattering feet. It sounded like a lumbering dog. As the padding got nearer, there was also a swishing noise -- like the whistle of a whip.
I felt a chill run down my spine. Our three guards jumped to attention as their 'Big Boss' entered the room.
At first sight my blood froze in my veins! The Sheikh was a full bearded giant of a man. He looked very dark. He was well over six feet tall and weighed at least four hundred pounds, I guessed.
Behind, on a diamond encrusted leash, he led a little blond European man, about my age, who was walking on all fours like a dog. The young man's well striped swollen buttocks bore witness to frequent application of the dog-whip, which he had to carry crosswise in his mouth.
The amazing thing about the 'dogs' being led on a leash was that the leash was not around the young man's neck, but fixed to a ring in the root of his scrotum, so that his glistening testicles were pulled upwards with merciless cruelty. -- There were tears in the resigned eyes of the little man.
The Sheikh first inspected the largest of us three slaves (I no longer had any kind of illusions about our status), then me and finally the small guy -- the one I still thought was sixteen.
My new owner roughly kneaded my leg muscles, tested the hardness of my buttocks, pulled them brutally apart and stretched my ass-hole, gripped my testicles with his fist so powerfully, that I screamed with pain behind my gag.
Then he whistled to his 'dog' whose softly sucking mouth had to lick my prick erect at great speed. A guard jammed a ruler at the root of my prick and pulled the head against it, measuring it. Then he showed the Sheikh I had a seven inch long flagpole.
The examination tauntingly reminded me of Paul, who was now more than two thousand miles away. The Sheikh gave his attendants some orders in Arabic, clearly concerning us. Thereupon I was locked up naked, chained and gagged in a cool, barred cell.
Meanwhile I was terribly thirsty, and the dry gag tormented me even more than the chains.
At last a sturdy, well-built man of about thirty entered. On a ledge he placed some marvelous smelling soup with several lumps of meat and a jug of cold water. The man removed my gag and took my chains off.
I wanted to hurl myself on the jug of water, but a swishing whip made me pause. The man bared his already erect prick and signalled to me in a way I could not fail to understand what he wanted -- first I had to suck him off, then I could eat and drink!
Like a starving man I swallowed his fat cock, and after only a short time his spunk spewed forth. I swallowed, almost greedily, for there are worse things -- thirst for instance! I was so thirsty that I would have drunk his piss, if that had been the price for the jug of water.
The nourishing meal and the fresh water restored my strength. Even better, they no longer made me wear the gag and the burdensome chains.
I now had plenty of time to think. In the old days I would have spent the time wanking off, but now I was too depressed for that.
It was late in the afternoon, I presumed, when I was taken, stark naked of course, to a small room in the cellar. I just knew something bad was going to happen. And when I was dragged into this room looking like a mixture of a modern operating-theater and a medieval torture-chamber, they were just dragging out the little guy, naked.
I caught my breath in horror! His face was bloody. A small, gold nose-ring flashed through the blood. And he seemed to have aged about ten years. Worse, blood and saliva were oozing out of his now toothless mouth.
I nearly cried -- in shock, in empathetic sympathy, but more in fear that that was about to happen to me. Only incidentally I noticed a hole had been punched in the foreskin of his penis and closed with a padlock.
I choked with sheer panic. What sort of people had I fallen into the hands of?
The little man was dragged out and I was firmly tied to a gynecological chair -- only this one had special fixtures in which my arms and head could be strapped rigid. I was incapable of movement and helpless.
My legs were stretched high up with my knees to my shoulders and in this position I could feel my most intimate parts shamelessly put on full display. A brutal gag smothered my any possible protest, which in any case would have been quite futile.
While my head was being shaved bald by a torturer's assistant, a blacksmith who looked like a Mongolian boxer was busying himself with a glowing brazier.
My head felt cold, shaved clean, and they put a complete blindfold on me. Before I knew what was happening, I suddenly felt a terrible pulling on the bridge of my nose -- it felt like someone was pinching and pulling my bridge forward with a flat pair of pincers.
And there was worse to come -- I felt the press of something that suddenly burned intensely hot. It hissed as it was bored through my nasal septum, immediately over my mouth.
Blind, silent and unable to move, I had to endure the agony. But I also knew without being able to see, I had my first piece of clothing -- a nose-ring!
The burning pain started getting worse as the temperature cooled and my pain nerves came back alive. It was so intense I could see red, black, and white waves and spots and all sorts of kaleidoscope images.
Minutes later, the first waves of pain had started to abate and a noose was tied round my scrotum and my testicles were pulled viciously -- I could feel them stretching further and further from my crotch.
Another panic-stricken terror overwhelmed me -- I was sure I was going to be castrated. But, it seems just before my balls were ripped off, the sadistic thugs stopped pulling and wrapped a wet, ice-cold bit of cloth round my extended scrotum. My panic subsided a little.
Then suddenly I experienced the most hellish pain. Now they've cut off my sack! I firmly believed it. But no, it was my second piece of clothing -- a red-hot brass ring encircled my scrotum at its narrow neck!
For the longest time the sweat ran down my whole body in streams. When the ball-ring had cooled and squashed the root of my sack even tighter the torturers took away the damp linen cloth and, to my amazement, removed my gag.
But I had rejoiced too soon -- while I screamed with pain they forced a wide wooden wedge between my jaws. And now came the worst torture of all.
With a bent pair of pliers the thugs tore out four of my teeth -- the back molars on each side, top and bottom. Of course, without any anaesthetic -- I was only a slave after all! It would be a waste of money to use anesthetic on me!
I suffered unspeakable agony. And after barely an hour they released me from the torture chair, took off my blindfold, and another slave overseer took me away.
My mouth was bleeding. And I was now wearing my new 'adornments'. He drove me in front of him with swishing slashes from a stick into another room. This new room looked just like a horse-stable. Only there were no horses there.
With horror muted only by the repeated indignities I had already endured, I realized as I walked past, that, lying or kneeling in the stalls were young men -- like me, little more than teens -- with skins of every shade.
Their scrotums were all amazingly large and full, with a narrow ring round the necks, like mine. Each was chained to the wall of his stall by his scrotum ring.
And that's what happened to me -- the tethering chain between wall and scrotum-ring only let me lie or kneel. I had to 'feed' like a pig out of a stone trough.
The floor was covered in wood chips and when they left me, chained securely so I couldn't even think of escaping, I padded up a pile for a bed and curled up like a dog. I fell to sleep almost instantly despite the pain -- my exhaustion was so complete.
They woke me up in the evening some time. It was time for me to feed -- porridge with raw salad and boiled maize! A month ago I would have turned up my nose in disgust, but I was so ravishing hungry it seemed deliciously tempting. But the wounds in my mouth made me hesitate.
I thought I could allow myself the luxury of refusing to eat till my mouth was healed. But my reward for thinking followed at once -- the stable-master whipped my naked backside till I licked the trough spotlessly clean.
"Ponies must be strong!"
That was his telling explanation. My first acquaintance with his dog-whip was so painful that in the future I choked down every crumb which was put in front of me without hesitation.
I recovered quickly. Just three days after my 'dental treatment', the brutal and unfeeling stable-master dragged me out of my stall and harnessed me in front of a narrow sulky; I had already seen such vehicles at the trotting track in Munich-Dagolfing.
The stable-master handed me over to a young Arab. It was obvious to me the man was a 'pony-trainer'. I could see nothing good happening, but my worst fears were surpassed!
The trainer forced a steel bit into my mouth as if I was a horse. He pulled it so tight that the cross-piece sank into the hollow where my back molars had been -- and the reason for the teeth-yanking became obvious! My mouth was still sore and the steel bit grated against raw nerves! I wanted to scream, but kept myself from it.
Within seconds I realized the bit was one they'd never use on a horse! It was clearly designed to constantly remind the wearer that he was a worthless slave. The cross-piece had strap steel prongs that bit into the back of my jaw, the molar sockets, and my pulled back mouth. Not only that, but to the cross-piece had been welded an iron plate dotted with fine spikes! This plate pressed the 'pony's' tongue down brutally so that it was completely impossible for him to utter a word which sounded at all human.
I was now in truth reduced to the level of an animal, which at best could only groan or whinny! Even lower -- no animal would be abused with the spiked mouth plate!
My trainer tightened the spiked bit so severely with a neck strap that the corners of my mouth were pulled right back and the piercing pain in my taut lips brought tears to my eyes.
My hands were pulled back and firmly tied to the shafts of the sulky. An upper crossbar joined the two shafts and pressed into the hollow of my arched back, pulling my upper back almost horizontal while a lower crossbar in front was pulled forward, pressing my hips back and down so my legs were straight up and down on the ground. My head was pushed up with another bar so I could see forward over my stretched chest and belly. Seen from the side the position must have looked something like a lower case 'r' with my arms and upper torso pulled back and my head poked up like a bump on a log -- a stringed bump, with the tethers from the bit pulled back and loosely hanging between my tethered, stretched arms. The only part of me I could now move freely were my long legs.
My trainer didn't even let my testicles hang freely -- a rope from the driving seat to my narrow scrotum-ring pulled my balls tight back through my legs. The sense and purpose of this device did not become clear till later.
The trainer, who was called Abdul, got into the sulky and clicked his tongue. I correctly interpret this as an order to pull and tried to walk. It was awkward, lying back like I was. Balance just didn't seem right. But the sulky moved easily -- so easily I was surprised.
The trainer lightly tapped my right hand and I pulled to the right, then my left hand and I pulled to the left. He trotted me around for a while, letting me get used to pulling the surrey half lying down.
But after fifteen minutes or so, he trotted me into some sand. And immediately the sulky got heavier. The deeper the sand, the heavier it seemed. And now the sun in the cloudless sky was getting hot! I trotted and panted and the sweat ran down my face.
By the time I had run a good kilometer my ears were roaring. As from a distance I heard the command
"Gallop!"
and felt the order repeated at the same time on my stretched back arms -- five juicy strokes with the coachman's whip smacked across the flesh of my stretched tight pectorals, just missing my head each time!
Oh what pain a whip can induce!! In spite of my spiked bit, I howled like a dog that's been kicked. But apart from my trainer, not a human soul could hear my screams in this desert wilderness.
I galloped with my last reserves of strength.
"Faster!" yelled Abdul.
And he kept on whipping! The gentleness of a touch on my left arm or right was replaced with yanking the bit. The tormenting bit yanked my head brutally to the left, and I pulled to the left.
Now the sun was standing at the back of my head. I ran and panted and groaned. Stars flashed across my eyes, and yet the knotted whip went on biting into my taut skin with cruel regularity. My pectorals and upper arms must have already been glowing in a wild array of stripes.
At last I received a welcome,
"Trot!"
and on this command Abdul jerked the bit viciously so that my head was pulled hard back against the prop. I was by now just a heap of pain, like a beaten dog.
After about five minutes at the trot my legs felt like lead; I saw through a vail of tears the outline of my stable block. My panting grew a little quieter but my mouth had become quite dry.
Then the whip and the order
"Forwards, Gallop!"
struck me like a flash of lightening! I tried to summon up my last reserves, but my galloping was nevertheless little more than a fast trot. I felt absolutely exhausted, but Abdul had other ideas:
"At full speed!"
He cracked his whip mercilessly over his 'Pony'. I went a little faster, but not fast enough for Abdul! And for that reason Abdul resorted to his 'new' method of driving me. He no longer cracked his whip down on my pectorals but right into the tender whites of my arm under-arm-pits.
I bucked with pain like a bronco. Crack! Crack! whistled the whip into my stretched arm pits, all the time fiercely jerking my tightly stretched balls.
Blind with pain I rushed straight forwards, the 'lead' in my legs had disappeared. Where did I get these reserves of energy! Oh, the pain of those lashes -- like fire!! Now I knew what was meant by the saying -- 'the quickest and most successful teacher is a well-handled whip!'
Knees buckling, staggering rather than running I reached the entrance of the courtyard to the stable block, rushing forward like a crazy blind animal. Abdul pulled on the bit which tore the corners of my bleeding mouth still more, but my mind had gone and my legs were out of control. Before I could crash straight into a wall together with the sulky, Abdul yanked hard on my ball chain -- the pain shot through the lower half of my body like glowing lava, my legs instantly locked stock still as if rooted to the ground as the momentum of the surrey nearly ripped my legs from my thighs!
My lungs struggled for breath, rattling, my heart was racing, and my head throbbing, when the trainer unhitched me from the shafts and straightened me up, my head was swirling and I couldn't stand or walk without help.
Abdul half dragged me, feeling more dead than alive, across the courtyard to a large stone trough filled with cold water. With the bit still in my mouth he threw me in.
Slowly my feeling returned. Half mad with thirst I gulped down my own bath water.
Oh, my God! I thought later, as I lay in my stall, my chest and arms criss-crossed with welts, drained like an empty sack in my box, Will every day be like this!
I was not mistaken! This was 'my daily bread'.
Clearly, to 'celebrate the occasion', the stable master, who was called Ismat, had planned a baptism of fire for me. After my first outing, I crawled into the straw in my stall like a whipped hound. I had lain there for hardly two hours when I was suddenly and brutally dragged up by my ball-chain and led out of the box.
In front of me stood Ismat, laughing lasciviously and stark naked. His enormous tool stood up stiff before him like a battering ram. I sensed that I was finally about to lose my virginity, as Ismat strapped me down over a special leather-covered bench, clipped my nose-ring into a snap link provided for the purpose. My chest and arms were afire, rubbing roughly against the hard leather.
But my chest wasn't what Ismat was after. He roughly paddled my cramp-knotted buttocks then grabbed the mounds and pulled them apart. Two fat fingers widened my swollen ass-hole so viciously that I screamed out loud.
Suddenly, a searing pain shot through me -- I howled like an animal, when the stable master's enormous prick, forced its way slowly through my sphincter and bored right into my innards.
The robber of my virginity didn't stop till his whole tool, right up to his fat, bouncing ball-sack, was pushed inside me and I felt like I was being impaled up to my diaphragm. His stomach hairs rubbed like sandpaper against the tender skin of my freshly paddled ass.
Ismat fucked me ruthlessly. For him I was not a beloved friend but an object. A thoroughly whipped slave, there to be abused!
At last Ismat shot his load, and I felt the shock waves of his steam-hammer inside me. He pulled his semi-stiff instrument out of my bowels. Then my eyes almost shot out of their sockets with terror -- Ismat was holding his monstrous blood and shit-smeared organ in front of my mouth, which was still sore from the bit. He boxed my ears and shouted,
"Open your snout! Suck it!"
I felt nauseous to the point of vomiting and kept my lips closed. I should not have done that!
Ismat pulled a rope down from a pulley in the ceiling and fixed the end with a loop to my ball-ring. Then he yanked down on the other end of the rope, and my balls were snap-stretched full out -- and how!
Frothing at the mouth with pain, I yelled -- I thought he was going to yank my balls off! And now my stable master had unrestricted access to my mouth!
I sucked and licked and choked everything down, just to get some relief from the merciless stretching of my balls! I licked freely and with abandon, until his breeding weapon was spotlessly clean.
When Ismat chained me back in my stall again, by ball-sack had turned purple and swollen to the size of a lemons. The whole night I groaned in agony.
Such was the course of my joyless existence for the following weeks. Twice a day I slaved away as a pony, tethered to this surrey and that wagon in a seeming infinite variations, getting me used to pulling anything in any harness my master's whim chose. I was trained and drilled every day till I nearly collapsed, gasping for breath. And in the evenings I was fucked by the stable master or one of his assistants.
That was my daily existence. My body was never free of weals -- my pectorals, my back, my buttocks, my thighs, my arms, my arm pits. Every day some place. And every night my buttocks were paddled before my daily rape. With the exercise and paddling they became muscular and swollen like two overblown balloons.
Even so, I got accustomed to the daily gallops. After five weeks I was in the condition which the Sheikh demanded of his pony-slaves. Already I was doing ninety minutes twice a day -- though not without the rigorous encouragement from the whip of course.
Then came the first test run with the Sheikh. I was harnessed in a more-or-less conventional manner, with the small of my back pressed against one bar and my upper and lower belly pressed against two other bars; my arms were pulled back and my elbows were tied to the surrey shafts, then my hands, right next to my chest, so my arms stuck back sort of like the 'arm' on a figure 4.
This was one of the positions I was most trained in. It left my back and buttocks exposed for whipping -- probably a lot safer than the way I was harnessed the first day out. And an advantage, as far as the driver was concerned, my balls were pulled back at the base of my buttocks so a carefully aimed crack of the whip would hit them, making me do whatever I might have been reluctant to do.
But the Sheikh's sulky was, because of its more lavish upholstery, considerably heavier than what I was used to. In addition to which the Sheikh was at least double the weight of my former trainer Abdul. This all added up to a lot harder pull for me.
Something else: there was a new gadget I'd never met before on my owner's carriage. I noticed but thought it was just something for show until it was used on me. There was a short rod between the shafts; it had a crank-handle with a cord at the end of the driver's seat, while at the front end there was a conical wooden plunger, similar to the bayonet on a rifle. The plunger was as thick as a thumb at its front end, but as wide as a wine-bottle at its back end.
While trotting I started to feel my Sheikh's whip. I was used to a whip by now, but what a difference!! While I used to groan under Abdul's knotted whip, this whip tore yowling whinnies from my gagged throat. The Sheikh was using a thin riding whip with steel inlays!
I literally ran for my life, for at every stroke I thought the whip was slicing through my muscles and would soon open my spin and cut it in half!
After half an hour's quick trotting I was at the end of my strength. I fell into a blind panic when I heard the shout,
"Gallop!"
from behind. Giving my best, I summoned up my last reserves of strength. Still the Sheikh kept on whipping me, urging me on with,
"Go! Go! Go!"
Suddenly the whip lashes stopped and, instead, a sharp penetrating pain shot through my lower body. Now I understood! The conical plunger was being irresistible screwed into my ass-hole! Inch by inch, my rear entrance was being stretched without my being able to get out of the way. Only run, run, race onwards!
I no longer knew where I was running, but just responded to the pressure of the spiked bit.
When the plunger was half driven in, I thought my ass-hole would tear apart. Yet the pain got deeper, as if boiling oil was scalding my intestines. Later, I found out why -- the ass-hole plunger was filled with pepper. It gave me pain from deep inside all the way through to my finger tips. The pain was son intense I foamed at the mouth!!!!
With my very last strength being dragged from me, I managed to last quarter of an hour, and then, near to collapse, I was only able to be stopped by a monstrous jerk on my ball-chain.
I spitted up blood and lost consciousness. How I got to my stall I don't know. I woke up in my stall when Ismat patted my thighs and said,
"The Sheikh said you are a good pony."
Did he? Well that didn't make me any happier!
I also got my reward the next day -- I was dragged to the medieval operating theater, where the Mongolian blacksmith was ready waiting for me with his brazier.
I had thought I had already experienced the heights and depths of pain, but far from it. I still had to savor the extremes of torment to the very dregs.
I was now branded like a cow!! But not just in one place like the fortunate cow! Oh no! The number 38 was burnt into the side of my right breast, onto my left upper arm and onto my neck -- without mercy!
I was frightened and confused. Not only was there the pain, there was also the horrible stench of burning flesh. I howled in my throat like a monkey; my eyes glazed over in a crazy stare.
During the branding of my lower neck (so that the sulky driver can always see the number of his pony) my thumping heart raced at two hundred beats a minute or more, and I collapsed. Around me it was all dark!
For twelve days I was 'unfit for sulky service'. Chained in my stall I suffered the terrible agony of recovery while the brand marks slowly healed. I'm sure the pain wouldn't have been nearly as bad and all consuming if my mind had been kept off it by hard training! But rest and recover was what I was supposed to do, and that's exactly what I did.
Since the branding, I have been 'Pony No. 38, property of the Sheikh'.
During my recuperation, my muscles had become weaker again, and it was hard getting back into the 'groove' again.
This time I was paired with another 'pony' in a double sulky. I was hitched to the right side and waited curiously for my companion on the left.
Who can imagine my surprise, when Ismat harnessed a European girl, about nineteen years old, alongside me!! Her scalp was shaved, like mine. She had striking long, muscular legs; her narrow, protruding buttocks were criss-crossed with old and new stripes. She also had one of those nose-rings. But where I had to wear a ball-ring, she had a small padlock, the link of which was pulled through two holes in her stretched, shaved vaginal lips.
The poor young woman made me feel sorry for her. Her firm right breast also bore a brand mark: 21.
Our trainer paid as much attention to the 'pony-girl' as he did to me. We were hounded and whipped, and in the process the gasping woman even had to endure lashes to her cunt. So it went day after day. We were trained together and we became a team.
One day the Sheikh in person came into my stall after training and with his own hands examined my balls and my penis. My tool was no bigger, but my balls had become much fatter through torture.
Ten minutes later I knew why the Sheikh was so interested in my balls -- my sulky partner was led in by her nose chain -- and without her padlock! The Sheikh snapped his finger and pointed to my prick and to his mouth. She evidently correctly interpreted that as an order to suck tool stiff, which the frightened woman did at once.
Soon as I was hard, she was tied down on a punishment bench and I had to do my unpleasant duty, driven on with lashes of the whip. The young woman howled as I screwed her. And I would rather have had a hunky man under me. But who asks a slave what he wants?
As soon as I had ejaculated, they tore me out of the breeding-mare by my ball-ring and took her away. For the next week I had to mount her once a day the same way. After that they lay more and more female slaves beneath me.
Not until a good eight months later did I see my first 'wife' again. She was very pregnant and had swollen 'udders'.
But her condition did not stop the Sheikh from harnessing her, together with me, in front of a double carriage! With sufficient apprehension, I noticed that this time there were two pepper plungers -- one behind each our ass-holes! I dreaded this method of urging us on even more than the Sheikh's steel inlaid crop.
Again he flogged the last drops of strength out of us -- and gave his pregnant 'brood mare' just as many merciless whiplashes as me, his 'stallion'. I tried, as much as I could, to ease the burden of the pitiful woman. She was still surprisingly nimble in spite of her fat belly, but tired a lot easier, so I drew on my last reserves of energy to do more than my part.
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