The Breeder

by Mark Andrews

  They didn’t care, though. They liked to see us in pain and they kept whipping us, either with the massive bullwhips two of them wielded very expertly, the whippy canes the others held, or the long-tined prodders they all had.

  Round and round that track we went. There were no rests. Kim wanted to find out how fit we were and when we saw what he did to those who collapsed, each of the rest of us forced ourselves to stay with it.

  Two girls collapsed within seconds of one another and they allowed the coffle to stop while they were detached. Then, while two of the very muscular guards held one girl’s arms and legs outstretched, one of the assistant trainers, grinning sadistically activated his prodder and drove it right into the girl’s quim, holding it there for long seconds while she bucked around as she lay there on the track. She didn’t scream. She couldn’t, her vocal chords were paralysed, but her eyes were wide open and wild with the agony of those shocks that must have been giving her more pain than anything I can imagine. Yes, I had been shocked in my vagina, but only for a second or so. That trainer held the two sharp prongs inside her most sensitive area for ages - what seemed like minutes!

  Then they left her to curl up into a foetal ball, hugging her knees up to her breasts and crying in great wracking sobs while they attended to the other girl. She too suffered horribly from this inhuman treatment but then the two girls were asked if they now felt ‘refreshed’ and if not, would they like another dose or were they now ready to rejoin the coffle.

  They jumped to their feet with alacrity and were locked back to the iron rods and believe me, there wasn’t another one of us who succumbed to exhaustion that first afternoon.

  We were naked, of course. We hadn’t been allowed even a rag to cover our privates since we had been kidnapped and in the factory, we had become inured to it. But now we were out in the open and it all came crashing in on us again. On the rails of the track were a number of other men, some in military uniforms, others not, but all of them were looking in at us with obvious prurient interest and this underlined to us our new status as human animals.

  Kim worked us to real exhaustion. Round and round that track at this so difficult gait, and every time one of us failed to raise her knees to the required height - so that our thighs were perfectly horizontal, up rushed one of the trainers, poking the ultra-sharp tines of his prodder into her bottom cheek or breasts or vagina and screaming at her to get her legs up.

  It was all in Korean, of course. We had perforce to learn this language in the factory and I am now very fluent in it but it was hard at first for to our western ears it sounded like gibberish. Not for long however. When you face the high voltage shocks from the prodders as an alternative to learning your lessons, you learn them very well - and very quickly.

  At dusk, when we were just about all in, he allowed the trainers to rest us, walking us back to the huge building alongside the training track. As we entered it I stared around me in wonder. It really was a huge barn - or, more correctly, stables. The floor was brick and to the left were stalls on either side of a central passage while on the right were the tackle rooms and housing for the gigs. The stalls were narrow, much narrower than would be necessary for equine horses being only three feet wide and seven or eight deep. On the floor inside these stalls was straw.

  I realised, with a shock, that these were going to be our new accommodations. We really were ponies. And they were going to house us as such.

  I was also in for another shock. So far I had only seen female slaves. In the factory, every single one of us ‘breeding sows’ was necessarily female but now I saw that inside some of the stalls stood male slaves - or what had once been male.

  Every one of them had been gelded. True! But not only were their testicles gone - so were their penises. Down there they were quite naked of any genitalia - or even any evidence that they had once possessed them. They were foreign, too, of course. I later found out that they were males who had been chosen to remain by the President and had been spirited away to this place where the operations had been performed on them.

  Each was tall, muscular and handsome and they hailed from every part of the world. Again I had reason to recoil in horror from the depths of depravity to which this President would go in his hatred of foreigners.

  We were allocated stalls and I found myself allocated to one opposite a beautifully muscled black gelding. God was he beautiful! He was well over six feet six and he had a body to match - and how! Broad shoulders, a just as broad chest with two slabs of muscles on it; rippled belly, slender waist, magnificent thighs and a real bubble butt. To my surprise, as I looked at his naked groin, I felt awash, not of sorrow or sympathy as you might expect, but admiration for his now so sexless body - he really looked extraordinarily sexy without his genitals! Weird? You’re right, but that’s how I felt at that moment.

  We smiled at each other and I felt another wave of emotion pass over me as I stared into his handsome, chocolate-brown and noble face. I loved this man! I didn’t know him. Hell, I didn’t even know his name ... but I loved him, I was sure of that.

  We were fed then. At least it was no longer by means of the hateful tubes that wormed their way down into our bellies and injected our food directly into them. No, but it wasn’t all that much better.

  The bricks at the front of the two rows of stalls had a spoon drain built into them that ran down past the front of each stall and one of the trainers now wheeled a trolley down the passage, doling out large spoonfuls of mush into the drain in front of each occupied stall.

  We were required to stand at the entrance to our stalls, legs spread wide open, hands up behind our heads and elbows pulled right back, bellies sucked in and all other muscles in full tension while Mr Kim strolled down the passage behind the trolley, eyeing off each slave, males on one side, females on the other, looking for a sign of rebellion or lack of attention. His prodder was clipped to his belt and in his hand was a cane that he kept slapping into the open palm of his other hand as he strolled up the passage.

  When each occupied stall had a pile of the mush in front of his and her stall, he explained what we were to do. “At the command, slaves will drop to knees, keeping hands in place. At second command, lower faces to mush. At third command, begin to feed.

  “This is to be accomplished quickly. Any slave not finished in time allowed will be whipped. At fourth command, raise bodies when each position will be inspected and punishments for failure allocated. Slaves who have failed will be collected and hung upside down in passage until morning when punishment will be administered. Slaves who have been obedient will wait for fifth command and will then rise to feet and prepare for sleep.”

  The trainers now went down the line of us females and locked rings to our vaginal labia (you will remember Alicia and I were pierced there on my arrival at the factory) and then locked them to chains dangling from the backs of each stall.

  “One!” came the barked command. As one, we all dropped to our knees, retaining the shameful pose. I say shameful but they also showed both us females as well as the males opposite us off splendidly. As I glanced up the line of stalls beside me, I could see how well the firm breasts of my sisters in misery were displayed but over the aisle, the row of some dozen or so males also looked absolutely stupendous. Again I marvelled that I found their bodies really magnificent without the appendages that should have been dangling between their thighs.

  I wondered what they thought about losing them, staring into the eyes of the handsome black man opposite me and trying to read his mind. To my shock, I felt a glimmering of understanding. Was it my imagination or was he trying to reassure me that while he mourned their loss he had now come to grips with it?

  “Two!” the trainer screamed and each of us now lowered his or her head and upper body down over the piles of mush. Now this was more difficult - much more difficult. As our centres of gravity shifted, it became harder and harder
to keep our feet on the floor behind us and most girls simply fell face first into the mush. I stared across at the males and was shocked to see they had managed it - to a man. We would learn, but it would take time.

  Kim and his men just laughed at our distress, though, and went up and down the row of upended female slaves, lashing us as we stayed there, face down in the mush and trying to breathe as we waited for the third command, not daring to eat before it came.

  When it did, we hoed into that mush as if it was our last meal every one of us anxious to avoid the punishment Kim had decreed awaited us if we failed to finish on time. I wolfed the food down, finding it strange to actually eat with my mouth for the first time in over six months but deciding it was vastly better than the method used to feed us in the factory.

  There was only one girl who failed - and none of the males. She was singled out after our places had been inspected and was released from her chain, her ankles manacled and then hoisted up by them by a winch in the centre of the aisle to dangle there, upside down all night, waiting for a flogging the next morning.

  The rest of us were allowed to sleep.

  And sleep I did. I was all in. I had thought myself as fit as it was possible to be after my half year at the factory but that half a day trotting around the track had taken a lot out of me.

  But before I fell asleep, I wondered what on earth we were in for now. Ponies, yes, but what for? What dreadful plans did President Sun have in mind for us now?

  Chapter 4

  We weren’t to find out the precise details of that for quite a few days but in the meantime were put to more exercise designed to train us for our role as pony-slaves - whatever our purpose in that role might be.

  Alicia was with my batch of transferees; Jenny had already gone. I suppose there were about thirty six of us females there once our batch arrived and there were also eight males. The females chosen for this new role were all the tallest and among the most muscular of all the girls in the factory but now they worked our muscles even more, as well as keeping up the so difficult gait training.

  In the gym attached to our stables they had another of the hated capstans, but this one was not a load-bearing model. Rather, it was designed to teach us to high-step our legs in perfect unison with each other. It had only two spokes and those were set opposite to each other. At five points along the spoke, which was set at neck height for us uniformly tall girls, there were a series of leather collars and we had to stand at (and in front of) these while the trainers buckled them around our necks. Then we had to reach up and grasp the bar of the spoke behind our necks.

  As we were being attached, five of the males were brought in and similarly buckled to the other spoke. Their function now became clear. They were used to train us to be as strong and as fast as they were! They had been gelded partly out of the President’s delight in hurting us foreigners and also (albeit mistakenly) so they wouldn’t be attractive to us girls. How wrong he was.

  The males had been trained to run at a uniformly cracking pace although they too had to lift their legs as high as we did - and in unison, the same as us. Of course we couldn’t see them for we were enjoined to look straight ahead at all times and were warned that even a swivelling of our eyes to glance at the magnificent human geldings across the shaft from us would merit a whipping.

  We shuddered, as one. We had just witnessed the girl’s dreadful punishment and it was indelibly imprinted on each of our brains just how awful it was. Remember, she had been left hanging upside down from the rafters all night and that in itself must have been horrible but added to that, she wouldn’t have been able to sleep and all night she must have been thinking about her coming punishment.

  When they said she was to be whipped, I assumed they meant literally. They didn’t. She was flogged with a leather paddle. This is a heavy instrument made of two thick sheets of leather sewn together. It then forms a blade six inches wide and a foot long and at the handle end it then tapers to be fitted into and fixed solidly to the handle, a sturdy piece of hardwood that had been shaped to fit a man’s hand.

  The girl was lowered from her position high above us so that her buttocks were about level with our chests and then one of the guards, the biggest one there, stripped off his shirt and holding the paddle like a tennis racquet, proceeded to wale into the soft flesh of her backside with a vicious ferocity that would have aced the finest tennis player on the planet.

  He relished his work, making each horrible stroke a work of art, landing the blade of the paddle fair in the centre of her cheekily protruding rear and rapidly turning it pink, red, crimson, purple and then into a bleeding mess.

  Each stroke caused her naked body to arch forward of course and her scream was heart-rending, at least to us watching slaves. Her hands then reached up to try and ease the burning heat in her bottom and her body twisted and writhed as her agony grew with each additional stroke.

  He gave her twenty. Yes, really! A score of strokes, each delivered at full force by the brutal guard while the other trainers and guards looked on gleefully, drinking in her distress, for you will recall the citizens had been brainwashed ever since the coup into believing that all foreigners were devils, out to destroy their country and place it under the yoke of the Americans and other Western powers.

  They left her hanging there while we were fed and washed (in much the same manner as back at the factory) and then moved to the gymnasium. As far as I knew, she was still there, hanging forlornly with her bruised and bleeding bottom unattended.

  As a result though, not a one of us moved our eyes or our heads from the forward-looking position. They certainly knew how to instil fear into us and they did it all the time, without let-up until I, and every other slave there was obedient down to the last letter...

  At the command, we all moved off, the males forcing the pace, which was quite fast, while we girls were watched carefully, even the slightest lapse resulting in the application of a switch under our thighs, or if the offence was deemed more serious, the prodder tines being thrust into our rear, or, if they could manage it as we trotted along, our anuses or even our vaginas.

  They were fair, I suppose, not punishing us if we didn’t deserve it and for that at least I was grateful but that was small potatoes, for the effort and concentration required were all-encompassing. There was no load on the capstan and indeed, the males driving it were actually pushing us girls but it was the necessity to stay in time with each other and to raise our knees endlessly, minute after minute, hour after hour that was so hard.

  Obviously though, they were determined that we learn this horrible gait and to maintain it for hours on end - again for what purpose we had no idea.

  Accordingly, we were kept on the capstan all morning; round and round, the rate changing as the trainer in charge called out for the men to speed it up or slow down but we still had to judge the change in speed to a nicety, matching those on either side of us to maintain the perfection of our steps. I have seen movies of chorus-line girls kicking up their heels but I can assure you that we were better. We had to be or face the smarting lash of a birch sapling under our thighs or across our bottoms, or worse, the dreadful shocks from the prodders.

  We were rested then, cooled off first in the concrete ablution area, for which I was very glad for after five hours of endless prancing, I was not only tired but also hot and sweaty and the cooling blast of the hoses on our flesh was very welcome. After the rest period - it wasn’t lunch for we weren’t fed, we spent the afternoon at more exercises, these to hone our already fine muscles even more and to strengthen them - for God knows what.

  Nobody failed to feed properly that night or the next morning and all the next day Jenny and I were paired in a real gig, but what a gig.

  Most people know what a rickshaw is? If not, it’s a light two-wheeled vehicle with two handles and pulled by young (and not so young) men in some Asian co
untries. This was nothing like that. Yes, it was light and had two wheels and the seating area over the axle but its handles were not of the type to allow us to grasp them and pull it.

  First of all, our hands were not free to grasp them even if they had been of that type. They were secured very firmly behind our backs, the upper arms being bound together with clear plastic tape and then the forearms raised up and their wrists secured back up to the upper arms with the same tape. They used this tape because it was nigh invisible.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it... You probably won’t believe what I am about to describe. Good heavens, I wouldn’t believe it if it was told to me, but it happened to me and it is true. The gigs each had a six foot long central pole coming out from under the floor of the vehicle and this then divided in two in a U-shape. At the end of each of the arms of the ‘U’ there was the arrangement that you will find difficult to believe.

  First, set back from the very end about six inches was a large dildo made from hard rubber, this was angled forward slightly and its base was fixed solidly to the shaft. In front of this was another, slightly smaller dildo that angled backwards. It however was not fixed to the shaft but to a collar that could slide up and down the shaft and these collars had a butterfly nut on their underside with which to lock them in place.

  Have you guessed how this arrangement was used? Horrible, isn’t it?

  If you have, you will know that the rear dildo was designed to penetrate our anuses. Two of the trainers knelt on the outside of the pair of us and while lifting the poles up, inserted them firmly into our rectums.

  We moaned of course and fidgeted at the pain of the anal intrusion but it took only a warning noise from Jenny’s trainer and we both quickly subsided. They all had the prodders and they were within grasp. Then, while they now slid the other dildo backwards along the two poles, they lowered them enough to insert the ends of the frontal dildos into our vaginas.