Cum Slaves Pt 11

He knew what a slut like me wanted, and he delivered. I didn’t have to look at him, only take his cock to help me get relief. He whispered humiliating things in my ear and often was cruel with his hands after I came.

Part 10


I was all yoked up and ready to go out in public as a pony boy for the first time, after six months of training. My legs were not only just long, but now strong, and so were my arms from balancing the choke. I was fed on slave chow, so my body was now made of lean muscle. I was trained to pull small rickshaws that seat eight passengers along, with seven other ponies. We were told every day that being a pony boy was the finest job for a slave. I’m not sure if it’s actually true but being told that we were fine ponies in the making was enough to make any slave proud after time.

My neck was in a thick black leather collar that also had an electric shock device attachment. A wooden bit was tied with a head harness to the back and hooked down to the yoke behind. My arms were strapped to my yoke and various hooks and leather straps kept all eight of us in position. We stood proud in the rows of four side by side, in front of our rickshaw.

We wore the high up pony boots you now see common place that were designed to keep the pony trotting with no issues of sores.

Our bodies were chemically sprayed to rid of us of body hair, and our heads continually shaved to crop one, in order to keep pests at bay. All eight of us were no more than two inches difference in height, and our physiques were all the same. On the farm where they raise pony boys, we got matched together based on our physique. It was relatively easy given at any one time there were 5,000 of us being raised as pony boys.

At the farm when you get matched with seven others to pull a rickshaw, you each get branded with a unique barcode that comprised of not just your identifier, but also that of the group. It was in case a pony boy ever got away, the group missing one member could be tracked back. There was also a symbol of a pony boy branded over the barcode. It was a silhouette of a horse.

The most humiliating aspect of being a pony boy was that we were never hung like horses. Quite the opposite in fact. They shrunk our cocks using chastity over time, and they were useless nubs of the standard three inches. They were sensitive and since we were never given ejaculations, sometimes a pony boy would leak and he would have to let the precum and cum dribble down his leg, straight into his boot. I hadn’t stroked my cock for longer than I could remember, but I hadn’t fucked anyone with my nub for at least eight months. I was constantly horny, and dripping, and so were my fellow slaves. It didn’t help having a glass plug inserted in our arses. They were only ever taken out overnight for the pony boys to use the bathroom in the stables, or for cleaning, and also when a free man felt like giving a good thrashing to our branded butts.

Before being a pony boy, I had never been fucked, nowadays I beg for it. I even whine and make the noises of a horse when in my stable because I yearn for cock. At night time when all the pony boys were in their stables it was a cacophony of whining and sounds of lust. Any free man that entered the stables were entitled to fuck a slave boy. It happened often given in our stables alone we had over 3,000 visitors a day. On average I would say we each get fucked about five nights a week, sometimes more than once. I used to hate the idea of being fucked, but now I crave it. I crave any attention that helps me cum through my useless pathetic nub.

The first few times I was fucked I hated it and struggled hard to take a cock.

The training of my hole involved being taken to a barn where a hundred pony boys would get fucked by automatic fucking machines. I’m unsure how long I was there in total. I just know that eventually I could only ever trickle out cum. That training continued for a while. I also learnt valuable lessons in pleasure because it wasn’t just about being strapped down and fucked mechanically.

The stable hands also liked to experiment on pony boys, using a range of equipment to get their bodies sensitive. I was given electric nipple clamps that pulsed with every pounding of the machine. Over time it made my nipples swell, and since then, even the slightest breeze would set off a dribble of precum down my leg as I trot.

After the training of fucking pony boys get sent to a public arena in the stables complex. There we beg to be fucked with our bits out of our mouths so the free men could hear our desperation. Eventually, after wave upon wave of humiliating taunting and laughing and jeering from the Freemen, they fucked me good and hard.

After that experience I would beg through my gag and stick out my ass, wiggling it at any free man that passed by. Some laughed, others slapped my ass, and if it was unplugged, they would finger it. Others verbally abused me, and some ignored me. Probably more humiliating getting ignored, nowadays.

On my first night being in the stables I saw a fucking of an eager slave by the ugliest man I ever met — the farm’s owner. That same night he made me clean his cock clean. I felt pity for the slave as he was fucked and used. It repulsed me when he came without any stimulation to his nub.

Soon after my time in the fucking machine barn I discovered the owner’s cock was an expert in getting a slave off. It was only seven inches, but it was full of engorged veins, and girthy too. He knew what a slut like me wanted, and he delivered. I didn’t have to look at him, only take his cock to help me get relief. He whispered humiliating things in my ear and often was cruel with his hands after I came. He fucked me every month, and when I saw him, I make noises through my gag to get his attention. I often heard other slaves do the same.

That wasn’t my most humiliating experience in the stables though.

One night about three months in I could hear some laughter from a few stalls up. Some young men were on a night out and decided to go to the stables for some fun. It was typical of college students, and before my training as a pony boy I would have been doing the same. Fucking slave ass doesn’t get you on rape charges.

A shriek escaped my body when I heard a familiar voice from the group of young men. My old frat buddy Wey West.

“My, my, what have we here?” He whistled and the others came over.

“Found it” he proclaimed, clearly looking for me and referring to me as the ‘it’ I was seen by society nowadays.

The other voices were all familiar too. All of the men were from my former frat house.

“We’ve been told you are somewhat a slut these days,” said Wey. “That I can believe!”

He and the frat boys laughed. He looked at me with a glint in his eyes. “I have permission to remove your gag. You are not to talk directly to anyone. When I remove this gag, you are to only tell us who you want to fuck you. And then you have to beg and say ‘please fuck me’. Have you got it, slave?”.

I nodded.

I thought about it. I thought about the styles of fuck I imagined they would all have. I went through in my slut mind how each of them would behave when given a pony boy like me.

I felt Wey press his finger into my unplugged hole. I whined and grinded back into his finger as he sniggered, and the others all laughed and taunted me.

I thought of Wey and how he would be slick. I thought of Mikey B and how he fucked a girl who shouted “you’re too big!”. I then thought about Clay, an English guy who I’d seen abusing slaves in the arena here on the farm. He would give me what I needed. I knew I would be fucked by all of them eventually, and probably all night, but the one to fuck me first was going to be Clay. I was dripping according to Wey as he continued to tease and taunt me, saying humiliating things as I continued to grind my hole against his finger. “It is creaming up over us fucking it. It, who would have a name like that?”

They released the gag and waited in silence.

I bowed my head in shame. “Clay, sir… “Please fuck me!”, Everyone laughed.

Wey smirked. “Ok, everyone cough up the bet! It was Clay after all!”

A few moments passed as money was exchanged. I heard Clay strip at the side of me whilst the others listened in silence. He leaned into my ear and whispered. “I’m going to take my time and be a cruel fuck, as it turns us both on so much.” He then took off his last garment, his shirt. “I’ll come back with the winnings and request a private room one night. This is for starters. You can be assured I’ll be back.”

He fucked me hard. He twisted my now permanently swollen nipples and bit my earlobes. He groaned and grunted into my ears with humiliating messages. He told me to beg for his harsh fucking and I did. I was probably the first whoever begged for it like that from him.

I came three times while he fucked long and hard as the others stood in front of me. Despite the others desperate for their turn, they watched in glee and admiration of their friend. The third ejaculation was my hardest and the one that sent him over the edge. He shot his load as I shot mine. I didn’t have much long to rest as he dropped onto the stable floor and Wey took his place using Clay’s heavy thick load as his lube. Some other ponies became receivers of their free spunk that night, but I was the star attraction.

The realization took hold as I waited outside of the stable to my first day of being a pony on the city streets. I craved humiliation and cock. I was no different to all the other obliging slave boys running round shackled to their rickshaws, carrying their Freemen passengers.

For the record Clay came back for more. Once a week. First, we had a private room, and then we were in the arena where he got paid for the entertainment of fucking me. Now he waited outside the gates as he had promised to catch a glimpse of me as I left the stables for the first time. I already devised if he could ever afford me, he would buy me. My cock was leaking at the thought.

Cum Slaves Pt 12

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3 thoughts on “Cum Slaves Pt 11

  1. Robert says:

    Having 3 or 4 totally unrelated characters switching back and forth every chapter is so confusing. Pick one and stick with it.

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