Shannon and Sean Pt. 02

Shannon and Sean, Pt. 02

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace--usually as punishment for serious crime, foreclosure when a person pledged his/her body as collateral for a loan and was then unable to pay, or in this instance voluntary self-indenture. Eighteen years of age is the minimum for anyone in this world to be enslaved or have any intimate/sexual contact with slaves. Thanks to Joe Doe for helpful suggestions. This is pure fantasy; please don't try this at home, even if you know some young people who need some sense knocked into them.)

(Sean O'Brien's perspective)

I was slave naked, collared, gagged, butt-plugged, and kneeling in an oversized poodle cage with my wrists zip-tied behind my back, after which they, along with my two ankles, had been restrained to the back of the cage. My genitals had been shorn of hair, making me appear much younger than my 18 years, even if my half-erect prick DID look longer. I had no control over the cage as it slid back and forth inside the darkened and chilly back of a panel van. In turn, that van was rolling down an unknown highway to an uncertain fate that probably involved me becoming a pony boy, a tacked up, nearly-naked beast of burden and occasional sex toy for whoever controlled me, no matter how repellent I might find her or (ugh) him. That destination, mentioned only vaguely by an Amazonian slave wrangler who had stretched my rear passage with the plug, explained why my unidentified new owner had required my chest to be pierced with two large and painful metal rings, still smarting just behind my nipples. At that moment they were the ONLY parts of me that felt smart--the rest of me was convinced that I was terminally dumb to voluntarily agree to a year of slavery.

Next to me was a similar cage containing another restrained, shaved, nude, and pierced slave, one that (except for her curves and long hair) bore a considerable resemblance to me, my twin sister Shannon. With our parents dead in a traffic accident, our wealthy grandfather had insisted that we "learn some discipline" by spending the ultimate "gap year" away from college as self-indentured slaves. We could have refused, but then he would have cut us out of the will. Today was still only the first day of that servitude, and already we'd experienced real humiliation at the Longhorn Slave Market, sold into bondage at a place where we were (or had been and someday would be again--slaves have no property) part owners. Just the thought of the public sex display I'd put on with Shannon two hours earlier caused my dick to swell and grow painfully; I wished there was some way I could get my hands free to give myself some relief.

I had always known that Shannon was a cute female child who grew into a voluptuous goddess--long honey-blond hair, high cheekbones, generous mouth, flawless skin, tanned and taut body, tits and ass to die for. No surprise that she had been head cheerleader at our high school and a varsity cheerleader even as a freshman at the college where we'd just finished our first semester. For years, I had done my best NOT to be a pervert about my twin--resolutely resisting the temptation to peek at her body in the shower or at the pool, let alone day-dream about how much fun it would be to fondle and penetrate her. Then, in our very first day of slavery, someone destroyed all my mental reservations by demanding that we put on a 69 display in the middle of the Longhorn's gift shop! I'm only human, folks. The best I can say is that I licked her to orgasm at the same moment her lips and tongue had provoked my white protein discharge down her lovely throat. I could only hope that wherever we were headed would not ask for a repeat performance. In fact, most slavers deliberately deprived their livestock of sexual relief, believing that "sluts" were more docile and less scheming if their minds were pre-occupied with achieving orgasm.

After what seemed like hours of crouching in that uncomfortable, demeaning, and powerless position, I became aware that the van had finally slowed, apparently leaving the highway. The humming of the tires on asphalt gave way to the crunch of gravel. Twenty more minutes and innumerable turns followed before it paused and slowly backed up, the reverse signal "beeping" moronically. The engine shut off and a few minutes later, the rear doors were thrown open. Next, a forklift removed our cages, turned around 180 degrees, and deposited them on cold concrete. (I just assumed the concrete was cold, given that everything else was chilly in December at this unidentified Texas building. Thirty seconds later, my knees confirmed my assumption as my dick started to shrivel from the cold.) The next sounds I heard were two "beeps" indicating that someone had electronically scanned the bills of lading on the outside of our cages. Of all the symbols that indicated slaves were property rather than human beings, that sound, when we were transferred to a new inventory like two loaves of cheap bread, was the most humiliating.

I felt rather than saw someone cutting the zip ties that secured my wrists (still bound together) and ankles to the cage. A booted and blue-jeaned pair of legs unlocked and swung open the cage door, after which a loud but vaguely feminine voice directed:

"Crawl forward until you reach the red line on the floor, then STOP and DO NOT MOVE again without permission."

Still gagged, I was unable to talk, so I did my best to comply, aware out of the corner of my eye that my sister was moving beside me, her magnificent ta-tas swaying as she crawled on her knees. Once again, I felt pity that she had to be a helpless female in such an environment where I was unable to protect her, but then I became aware (trying to look around without obviously moving my head) that most of the clothed, free people in sight were also women. I had been intimidated by the imposing female slave wranglers at the Longhorn. However, the people on this ranch, few of whom were as big as Mistress Willow (who had goosed my butt while pushing me around the slave market, casually warning me to "get over" having to suck cock) were nonetheless attractive, mature women, looking at ME as if I were beneath their contempt. Which was only reality for a fresh-caught slave.

I felt someone cut loose the canvas gag in my mouth before installing leather cuffs on my wrists and then cutting the zip-tie below them. A low but very feminine voice ordered "Up, boy" and lifted on my left forearm to hurry me into the vertical. In a moment, I found myself sitting on a work bench next to my sister, who looked as defenseless and worried as I felt. Somebody who dressed like a cowboy but talked like a physician gently examined our freshly-cut nipple piercings before spraying them with antiseptic and pain killer, then covering them with gauze and unceremoniously shoving a small tube of liquid antibiotic into our months, demanding we each swallow.

When this rough-and-ready substitute for a slave veterinarian pronounced us healthy, I heard the same loud female voice from earlier instruct him--"while you're at it, might as well give them their first shots. The filly is already well developed, so just give her 5 cc's of horny juice in each boob; based on the weight in his records, the stallion looks like he needs about 20 cc's of stud juice in the butt." Unable to resist in any way, I found myself abruptly hauled off the bench, turned around, and upended over it, fully exposing my defenseless ass. A cold antiseptic wipe touched my butt briefly, after which a sharp needle went into my upraised left buttock. Ordinarily I hate getting shots, but I wanted to avoid adding to Shannon's alarm, so I stifled the usual groan.

Next we were set up as ponies. I'll spare you the details of how these women pushed us around. Suffice it to say that I could not have resisted even if I had tried. Before I could blink, each of us had thigh-high boots with small horseshoes on the soles, plus a canvas tube restraining our forearms, parallel to each other, behind our backs. An elaborate head harness held a large bit between our teeth, with reins at each end leading behind our backs (a second set of reins, running through our nipple rings, weren't added until a week later, when the wounds had healed.) Tight waist restraints compressed our bellies but only emphasized the protruding bare buttocks at a result--despite my misery I couldn't help remarking how fabulous Shannon's muscular butt looked when outlined like that. Her waist covering extended upward to provide quarter-cup supports to her breasts.

I thought the worst step was the installation of chastity belts, each connected with a cord across our "taints" to the center of our waists behind us--a mesh triangle for her and a #@$%& cock harness for me (the only thing worse than having an ice bag held against my dick for 3 minutes, forcing me to shrink down there, was the nearly-constant pain whenever I got an erection thereafter.) PLUS the ring at the scrotum end of this monstrosity could shock me where it really hurt. Meanwhile, someone strapped bulky collars around our necks, collars that not only could shock us but also translated whatever we said into horse sounds ranging from whinnies to snorts. We were now completely dumb animals, not that it mattered--no one ever wanted a slave's opinion.

Shannon and I had done our best to accept this treatment and all the restraints, but she started crying quietly when one of the wranglers cut her long blond side tresses, of which she was very proud, leaving a ponytail in the back while the short hair on the sides of her head looked almost like a guy's haircut. I didn't understand that shearing--we expected to be used as sex objects, but why would someone deliberately mar her beauty?

Her tears provoked almost the only gesture of compassion on the part of our captors. The older, dark-haired woman, whom I later learned was the stable boss, Mary Jacobs, made a shushing sound like a mother and gently hugged and rubbed the helpless filly who had begun the day as my sister. "Don't worry, Shamrock," she murmured in a reassuring tone. "You'll soon have your beautiful hair back, but we need those tresses to make proper ponytails for both of you."

(You guessed it--the next morning, when we were again tacked up for another exhausting day of "horsing around," BOTH of us got long, blond ponytails, held in place in our tails by butt plugs! It took quite a while to adjust to the dual sensations of stuffed colons and all that soft hair rubbing against our butts and inner thighs. When they first shoved that monster up my keyster, I whined, causing one of the female wranglers to laugh, "A butt virgin? You'd better get used to taking it up the ass every day, my cute little slave boy. If I don't miss my guess, you're going to make some master's dick REAL happy with that pretty mouth and tush." Tears welled up in my eyes as she inflated the dildo to make a tight fit in my backside. It was not falling out, that was for sure.)

Back to that first day at the ranch. One more horror--After the hair shearing, Mistress Mary (who was indeed "quite contrary" where we were concerned) looked us over, running her hands casually over our rear ends and thereby giving me my first experience of blue balls and bent prick in my new chastity belt. She remarked in passing that "Ordinarily, we'd give you the Spinning Wheel brand right now, but since you're only being trained here, your owner asked us to hold off on branding for another day." Saying which, she gave each of us a hand spank so sharp that I imagined her handprint was visible right where I would have been branded. Oh, well, at least no branding to add to the misery, not for the moment, anyhow! The hard slap on my ass was meant to demonstrate her total power over me, including the fact that when and where my ass got branded would be her decision and my (as yet unidentified) owner's, not mine. For some strange reason that thought made my cock stir, at least until the cage caught me, preventing me from even taking pleasure in my helpless submission.

After strapping us into these strange arrangements, we were given the privilege of mid-day eating--I can hardly term it a meal. The food itself wasn't bad--some kind of warm stew, mostly vegetables but with a few random pieces of chicken mixed in. However, once again, as at the Longhorn, we had to eat on our knees, wrists bound behind us and a wrangler periodically pushing our faces into the stew dish or into a water dish (which at least removed some of the food stuck to my face). Nutritious but undignified and hardly appetizing.

Next, the wranglers seemed determined to work us to death. I had thought I was in fairly good shape, and Shannon ran even more miles every week than did I. Still, when you're running on a treadmill with your hands behind your back, plus in this case a leash tied around the base of the scrotum and connected to the machine in front of you, it's more than a little difficult. I was terrified of tripping and de-balling myself. Besides, Mistress Mary and the other females supervising us began to insist that we lift our knees high with every pace. They started out fairly slow, but soon cranked up the treadmills to four or five miles per hour. After half an hour of this, Shannon and I were staggering, barely keeping up with the machines. At least we didn't need to worry about the cold--not until they let us take a rest, when the sweat I'd produced quickly cooled me down, even inside the barn where we were exercising.

Treadmill, break, stretching, practice walking, and back again all afternoon. Especially during the practice walking, we got whacked on the butt or zapped electrically whenever our "forelegs" failed to come to perfectly horizontal on each step.

It must have been about 5 p.m. when the stable boss called it a day, but only after she had dispassionately and thoroughly critiqued us as being spoiled, overweight, out of shape, inattentive, and not very bright. Once again, I certainly didn't feel very smart on reflecting that I had voluntarily let myself in for such treatment!

After that, a female wrangler, her fingers WAY up our ass cracks, walked us into separate "stalls"--the stalls were actually almost civilized, each with a cot, blankets, shower, sink, and toilet. My keeper, Mistress Joanne, managed to fondle me thoroughly while removing all of my tack EXCEPT the shock collars (neck and dick) and that fracking chastity belt. Of course, her toying with me only made my tired body try to pump more blood into my groin--ouch again. She told me I had 45 minutes to shower, relieve myself, and drink water, after which she expected me to kneel in "Slave Spread," facing the gate to the stall--which gate she kept locked. I managed to clean myself up and assume the required position; although naked and exposed, it felt good to be able, at least temporarily, to move my arms. Being slightly rested, I couldn't help reflecting that Joanne was a VERY attractive woman--brown hair, at least 5 foot 9, quite muscular and wearing skin-tight jeans and blouse. It just seemed too bad my dick wasn't free to invite her to play!

When she came back, she did play, but it wasn't much fun for me. First, she cuffed my hands in front of me, had me lie on my back on the cot, and then used locks and a chain to tether my wrists over my head. My ankles were similarly restrained at the bottom corners of the cot, leaving me open and helpless. Only then did she unlock and remove that chastity belt, after which she gave me a leisurely groping and hand job that--of course!--stopped just short of letting me ejaculate. For five minutes she just talked to me, instructing me on the duties of a pony without touching me. When she resumed her edging, it got even worse--this time, the female wrangler casually removed her blouse and bra to reveal a pair of good sized and perky breasts. She wasn't as well endowed as my sister, and in fact on a woman of her height her boobs--probably B cups--looked almost small, but she drove me crazy with them, casually bending over to drag them across my face and even rub my straining dick into her cleavage! By now, I'd spent a day and a half in an environment of highly-sexualized slavery, but had only come once. It's a good thing that the cot was bolted to the floor or I would have flipped it over, and heavy knows that would have hurt my erection even more.

"Nice set of balls on you," she remarked, talking more to herself than to me. "I hope they let you keep 'em," she added casually, which prompted my eyes to bulge with fear. "I might have Mary test your seed, and if you got good swimmers, we'll tie you up to the milking machine once a week or so. High quality slave ejaculate is a nice little side business, and fun for you, although the machine settings will probably drive you crazy. Gets a bigger load if they tease you for a while, especially with a shock dildo up your tail, or so the vets say. I dunno. I do think our slave vet is a real bitch, she just loves clipping male slaves."

They had to know that I was only a temporary slave. I had heard horror stories about indentures who "accidentally" lost their nuts. Texas law frowned upon gelding, although the fine was minimal and the compensation was limited to $1000, which was less than I had paid for my alligator boots.

Meanwhile, her on-again, off-again teasing continued for what seemed like forever, but was probably only 45 minutes. At the end, she casually stretched her arms over her head, causing her naked breasts to rise up--Damn, that woman looked fine!--then teasingly restored her clothing and went out, leaving me naked and helpless, my erection doing an excellent imitation of a pink flagpole. I should have guessed what came next--she returned with another bag of ice that promptly and painfully killed my hard on. Then she released my ankles, had me roll on my side, and used her finger and thumb to point my dick at a chamber pot kind of thing to urinate. Only after that did she re-install the chastity belt, release my wrists, and lock me into the stall for the night. On the way out, she told me that an alarm would go off early tomorrow morning--at that time I would have 20 minutes to fold my blankets, relieve myself, brush my teeth, and don my boots and waistband thing before waiting in Slave Spread for someone to restrain my arms and re-install the head harness. It's a good thing I was exhausted, otherwise I would never have gotten any sleep, thinking about her edging.

*****

(Shannon O'Brien's perspective)

I was about to lose it when they started cutting my hair; the stable boss reassuring me led me to hope this year might be survivable. I had expected humiliation and sex, but exercising in such strange restraints was a bit much.

That evening, after they removed my tack (but not that chastity belt) and allowed me to shower, I felt much better. That is, I WAS feeling better until three male wranglers showed up. Before I knew it, I was restrained on my back, with my rear end at one end of the cot, ankles tied to the cot legs, and cuffed hands stretched out over my head and tied to the other end. Think about it--I was completely naked and helpless, at the mercy of three rather hunky male strangers.

Who proceeded to use me in almost every way imaginable. One guy straddled my chest, whipped out a rather substantial dick, and proceeded to jerk himself off between my boobs--at least he was careful not to jar my tender pierced nipples. A second guy then installed a ring gag to hold my mouth open, straddled my HEAD and--well, you get the idea. Under other circumstances, I might almost have enjoyed licking such a prodigious probe, but with my mouth blocked open all I could do was lick a little while attempting to breathe around the intruder despite the weight on my ribcage.