by Mark Andrews
He was off the mark of course and in any case that led to a dead end for he could find no further trace of the two men. But then, in a conversation with my parents when he reported those facts, they mentioned I had once had a date with a man I had called Masoud, a very wealthy Arab whom I hadn’t liked. Again, he did his sums and this time came up trumps.
Using his contacts in army intelligence, (who were at that time, in the middle of the Iraqi campaign, vitally interested in everything that happened in the Middle East) he discovered that both Waleed and his son Masoud were out of their country, visiting their other home. He flew over here and tracked them down, now sure he was onto something.
Of course I was ignorant of all this. It only came to light when the rescue was effected and that wasn’t to be for another week or so. And in the meantime, the date for my second impregnation was fast approaching. This time I actually welcomed it. By now, my conditioning was complete. I was a dog. I no longer pined for my former life but thought only of my training, my next race, and above all, the new litter of pups I was soon going to be carrying. I wondered if they would again be Afghan Hounds. I hoped so for I had so loved those beautiful little puppies and often wondered what happened to them.
Using all the skills he had learned in that special regiment, my brother followed them, particularly Masoud, as he moved from his father’s handsome palace to the warehouse. At first, he had no idea the warehouse was anything but perhaps a storehouse for one of their enterprises, but when they seemed to visit it very often, in Masoud’s case, every day, he began to suspect there was more, much more, to this dilapidated building than a mere repository for merchandise.
Oh how right he was.
Having decided the place was fishy, he decided to investigate that night. I won’t go into the details of how he gained entry but when he saw the dog track and the stands around it, being worldly-wise, he decided the girls that he suspected were being kept there were being used for human pony races. Again, he was off the mark but it didn’t matter.
The track floor was deserted at that hour of the night but he moved around, careful of any sensors that might have been installed, and eventually found the stairs that led down to our kennels and all the other rooms down there.
What he now discovered sent shock-waves through his mind and body. And yet he still hadn’t seen the whole horror of it. He found our kennels and saw some of us sleeping inside them but he hadn’t seen the clitoral ring and chains and above all he didn’t see that each of us was legless.
He had seen (and photographed on his special digital camera) enough however to know that a rescue was needed.
He now returned to England and reported his findings to his CO. The colonel was as astonished and outraged at his report and the photos that accompanied it to report up the line. It got as far as the PM and he and the Foreign Secretary apparently conferred on how best to deal with the matter.
The trouble was, the little country in which we were held had no diplomatic ties with Britain or the US. Not a great deal was known of it or its government and certainly not if the ‘white slave pony’ operations were known to it or not.
It was decided to use the expertise of Richard’s regiment and although there were apparently some doubts voiced as to his objectivity in carrying out the mission, his cool head and previous record dictated he command it.
There were already British ships in the Gulf and Richard and his unit were flown out to one of them. From there, they planned our rescue. They were only vaguely aware of how many of us there were but knew it to be dozens. Getting us all out of the place covertly was going to be difficult, if not fraught with danger for us all.
As it happened, it wasn’t necessary.
The coincidence of the two operations coming together quite independently of each other though is truly remarkable. It seems the government of that small country had finally got a whiff of what was going on in the huge building and was planning a raid of its own. It was going to use its own army to raid the place and, while you may find this hard to believe, Richard’s unit actually bumped into the local one, just as the pair of them were about to enter the ground floor part of the building at one in the morning.
Richard told me there was a fierce exchange at first but when the local commander realised that Richard was there to rescue his young sister, he calmed down and they decided to mount a joint operation.
It all went very smoothly although the language barrier did cause a few minor hiccups between the British soldiers and the local ones. To cut a long story short, we slave dogs were awakened to find a company of soldiers in uniform standing outside our kennels and our trainers now under arrest.
When I actually saw Richard, I went berserk, screaming out his name - the first time I had uttered a single word in months. He rushed over and drew me out of the kennel - and then he saw that I was legless (and now sported a penis just like his own) and he started back in shock which quickly turned into horror as his eyes moved to the other slaves as they emerged from their kennels.
When he saw my paws and tail, they had to restrain him from attacking our trainers. They had brought an army medical officer with them and he quickly went into action, removing our tails and paws and then giving us some clothing to cover our nakedness.
You might find this strange but we hated the cloth on our skins. We had been naked for so long now that it felt like sandpaper. We put up with it, however. The luxury of having our private parts covered was just wonderful.
Richard saw to our removal to the aircraft carrier where the MO, assisted by the ship’s own medical staff, carried out more extensive examinations on our bodies, but then he returned to the small city to explain to its leaders why he was there and to ask what they might be intending for Masoud, his father and all the other ‘slave-owners’ who had perpetrated this horror on us.
He was assured, by the country’s president himself (who had been wakened in the early hours of the morning with the startling news of the human dog kennels), that even now, Masoud and his cronies were being rounded up.
He asked Richard what his government’s attitude might be to a confiscation of the assets of the dozen or so perpetrators for distribution to us in return for a private trial that would end in them being incarcerated for life.
My brother told him he had no authority to speak on behalf of the British Government, or for that matter for those of the other nationals who made up the slaves in the kennels but that he would pass on the offer to the government in London.
Privately, he told me it would be in our interests to accept it. If once the media got wind of this bizarre story, our lives would be a misery. We would be freaks for the rest of our lives. I agreed with him and, now that we could all talk to each other, so did Morinaga, Melanie and Tunza.
We also agreed that we wanted to be together and so asked Richard if he could arrange for all four of us to go to Britain. “That’s where you’re going anyway, people,” he said. “What happens to you after that will be a matter for the consular authorities of your own countries and the immigration officials in ours - but I will do everything in my power to see that your wishes are carried out.”
Once we were home, courtesy of the RAF, they rushed us all to a military hospital where experts were brought in to see about new legs for us.
Of course my parents visited us and so did Morinaga’s father and mother. Melanie’s people were soon on hand and then she was able to greet them. When she told them she wished to be with me and the two boys, they were saddened but I think they realised she had built a bond with us that was very important to her.
Tunza was an orphan and had no relatives that he knew of. He came from Nigeria and had worked as a labourer on the wharves before being sighted by his owner and kidnapped as I had been. He had nothing to lead him to want to return to his own country and I asked Dad and Richard to use all their influence
to obtain residency status for my two foreign friends.
Mother and Dad took to Morinaga straight away. Like most Japanese, he was the essence of politeness toward them and I knew they were not concerned about the difference in our race. Heavens, these days, mixed marriages are perfectly acceptable.
Another surprise was the news that each of we former slaves were going to become overnight millionaires. The government of that small country had contacted its counterpart in Waleed’s own country and it had agreed that in order to prevent an international incident, it would agree to confiscate all of his wide-ranging assets and make them available to us. Waleed cooperated for if he hadn’t, they told him that he and his son would both be castrated by the elastrator, placed on public exhibition and then impaled on a sharp pole to die by what is possibly the most painful death other than by fire that I can imagine.
He capitulated and the pair of them, together with their other conspirators in the nefarious kennels operation, lost every penny they owned and now toil at hard labour in that small country.
I had the temerity to suggest they ought to be castrated in exactly the same manner - by the elastrator - as they had done to Tunza, and, would you believe, when he formally requested it, the government agreed. Each of them is now a eunuch - a total castrate - and oh how they deserve it!
Morinaga and I are married now. So are Tunza and Melanie.
We have formed a household between the four of us. A rather strange household, I will be the first to admit but it came about because of Tunza. As a eunuch, he cannot of course beget children but he and Melanie desperately wanted them. The only male Tunza and Melanie would even think of to father their child was Morinaga.
A weird situation? You bet!
What it meant in reality was that we had really to form a marriage of the four of us. I discussed it with Mother and Dad and they were, as always, the most understanding of parents. It was Dad who suggested that my studies might now be properly abandoned for the time being and that pending a decision on what Morinaga and Tunza were going to do with their lives, we occupy the lodge on the estate. It had been vacant for years but it was a sound building and could be made habitable again very quickly.
We took up his offer and then we discussed the sleeping arrangements.
We pussy-footed around the question for a while but then Tunza came out with it: “Why don’t we try all sleeping together? If we don’t like it, we can always go back to the more usual arrangement but since I cannot ever properly make love to Melanie and since we have agreed that Morinaga is going to sire our children as well as yours, why don’t we just accept it and see what happens?”
We all fell into each other’s arms, half crying, half laughing as we decided to take his advice.
I haven’t yet mentioned our new legs.
The development of prosthetics has come a million miles since the old peg-legs of the Nineteenth Century. In our case, losing our knees with our legs meant that if we weren’t going to walk in a stiff parody of a normal walk, they would have to build knee joints into our new legs.
The results are quite incredible. I can now walk every bit as well as I ever did and while running is a little more difficult, I can do it.
And it’s the same with the other three. All of us can walk quite normally now although learning to stand erect again was hard at first. Compare it to learning to get around on all fours. Try it. Get down on your hands and knees and move around the room like that for a few minutes. Before long, your back will ache; so will your neck and various other muscles will also start to rebel.
We had to go through that process but once our muscles adjusted to the new demands being made on them, it seemed almost natural for us to get around like that, especially once our legs had been removed and the paws placed over our hands and the stumps of our thighs.
Now we had to go through a reverse of that process, learning to stand erect and to walk all over again. It wasn’t easy, believe me, but we persevered and, as I say, can now walk quite normally.
I did say we returned to that country once.
It was at the invitation of its government who seemed to be at pains to redress the wrong that had been done to us and they said it was to receive our cheques since they had now apparently cashed in much of the accumulated wealth of Waleed, Masoud and the other millionaires who made up our former owners.
We went and were pleasantly surprised at the reception given us by the president and his government. He had a surprise for us, he said. No, not our cheques, although he said he thought we might also be surprised at the size of them.
We were, too. Or rather, staggered, more like. We each received the equivalent of over twenty million pounds sterling! Between the four of us who now shared the lodge at my father’s estate, we had eighty million pounds plus of disposable income. We were staggered. Yes, we knew our former owners were wealthy but there were dozens of us slaves. How many precisely I’m not sure, something around seventy or perhaps even eighty. I think. That meant the net assets of our owners which had so far been realised had to be over one and a half billion pounds - and there was more to come, so the president said.
But then he invited us to the prison wherein were held Waleed, Masoud, and all the others. We accepted with alacrity. I wanted nothing more right then than to see the boot on the other foot. Vengeance? Yes, and I make no bones about it. What Masoud did to me and their respective owners did to the other three of us was about as bad as anything I have ever heard of. I wanted nothing more than to see them brought down.
I wasn’t prepared for how low that was, however.
The prison was old. Very old. It had been a fort in the old days and it boasted many underground cells. Our former masters were incarcerated in a series of these. All in a row. Masoud and his father were in one and other pairs occupied the rest.
All were naked and quite filthy. They clearly hadn’t been allowed to bathe since we had left all those weeks ago. They also looked haggard, their hair dishevelled and I grinned as I thought of how fastidious Masoud and his father had formerly been about their personal cleanliness.
I noted, though, that they still all had their genitals and I thought I knew what the ‘surprise’ was. I was right.
We were accompanied by the president himself and he ordered that the prisoners be brought out and up into the courtyard in the middle of the castle. We were escorted to seats while they were chained, by their genitals, in a line facing us. And now began their ritual punishment.
First, they were plucked. Yes, just like spring chickens! The first of them, Waleed, was unlocked from the coffle and spreadeagled between two sturdy wooden posts. There were three sets of these pairs of posts and after he was secured, the soldiers went back for Masoud who was to occupy the middle set, followed by another former millionaire.
Then four soldiers moved up to each of them, all armed with a pair of tweezers and they proceeded to strip every hair from their three bodies, starting with their heads but moving down both sides until they were as naked as the proverbial jay-bird. They then smeared them with the same depilatory they had ordered to be used on us.
Once Waleed was stripped bare of every last hair on his body and moaning in the pain of having his hairs so rudely plucked from his body, one of their medical officers moved up, holding the dreaded elastrator in his hand. It had already been loaded with the tiny rubber ring and while a soldier held up Waleed’s genitals, the doctor slipped the well-stretched ring over the whole package, pushing it right up to his naked groin just as they had to Tunza, all those months ago.
He was sitting beside me (with Morinaga on my left) and I reached out to hold his hand as the ring slipped off the instrument and fastened itself around the root of his penis and scrotum.
But I wanted to see Masoud ringed and I leaned over and asked the president if I could go out to watch as the man I so hated was cast
rated. He grinned and nodded. “Of course, Mrs Morinaga, please do.”
I got up and staring straight into his eyes, walked easily up to him to stand to one side as the doctor fitted the second ring to the instrument. I asked if I could hold up his genitals and he smiled and nodded. I reached out while Masoud struggled in the bonds holding his arms and legs outstretched in a long ‘X’.
“Bitch you were, and always will be,” he spat.
I smiled. “And eunuch you will soon be, dog,” I replied.
But the president heard his words and was out of his seat in a trice. “For that you will all be further punished,” he grated. “Doctor, how soon can you remove their legs, just as they did to these poor people?”
“I can start today, Excellency, if it is your wish. It will take a few days to do them all, however.”
“Do this one first. And let any of these people who wish to watch attend the operations. These scum thought they could treat my country’s laws and the very basics of common humanity with impunity. Let us show them differently!”
Masoud’s face went white and he tried to stammer an apology but it was too late. His, his father’s and all the other men’s fate was sealed.
We four and some of the others did go along to watch as Masoud’s legs were surgically removed but we tired of it after that.
We did stay to watch as their genital organs shrivelled up just as Tunza’s had but after that we left for home, thanking the president effusively for his courtesy towards us.
The millions we now controlled were vastly more than we needed and so we decided to set up a trust fund to help the children of Africa who had lost their limbs to disease or accident and we travel the length and breadth of that vast continent with our team of prosthetics experts, seeking out people who have need of the same legs we walk on so easily.
