Pet Slaves

by Mark Andrews

  We were then hosed down. On the other side of the ablutions room there was a narrow recess. It was three feet wide and ran the length of the room, easily holding twelve of our number. We had to step down into it and then the heavens opened above us. There was a huge pipe and it had one inch openings every two feet. When the massive valve was turned a torrent of water thundered down on our naked bodies. It lasted fifteen seconds and was then turned off. We had to soap our bodies in the next fifteen seconds and then the torrent was turned on again. We used our hands to wipe our own bodies and those of our neighbours as dry as possible and then a rag was passed down the line to finish off the job.

  In less than two minutes we had been cleaned and passed out of the room to the feeding room. There we were fed from more doggy bowls and were given only a few minutes to wolf down the food and then we began our training proper.

  Some of us went straight up to the track, others went into the gym and still others, me included, went to the clinic to have our stumps examined. There were three of us that morning and the doctor was waiting for us. Because our legs had been removed, it was more than a little difficult for us to climb up into the gynaecological chair for him to perform the examination.

  But we still had to do it. They won’t going to lift us up into it and so two boxes, one a foot high, the other two feet, were placed at its foot. The first dog, a male, climbed up, with some difficulty, and laid his body down on the chair, then raised his thighs, hooking them into the stirrups.

  The doctor removed the paw arrangement from his left thigh and examined the stump very carefully, pronouncing himself very satisfied with the way it was progressing. He replaced the appendage and then did the same with the other thigh.

  But he didn’t restrict himself merely to an examination of the boy’s two thighs. This one, a very handsome Japanese lad, had a superb body. The doctor, was clearly into handsome young males and spent a long time feeling and fondling his skin and his muscles. I blushed a deep crimson as I watched him caressing the boy’s body for he obviously hated it.

  After the next boy was similarly dealt with, it was my turn.

  Having watched the two boys climb into the chair, I followed suit. I lay there, staring up at this hated man’s face and wondered if he would deal with my body as he had those of the two boys. He did.

  Yes, he examined the two stumps very professionally and pronounced them in perfect condition. But once he had replaced the dog’s paws onto my thighs, then he began with the same horribly indecent fondling of my flesh. I had thought him homosexual. He now proved himself to be definitely bisexual, but with a leaning to the heterosexual. I say this, because he spent at least twice as much time fondling my body as he had with either of the two boys.

  He wasn’t brutal. He caressed my breasts very softly, tweaking the nipples but using the balls of his fingers to delight in the softness of my bosom flesh and then allow them to trace all over my body. He wasn’t wearing a gown and his trousers clearly outlined the power and the enormity of his sexual organ.

  My face was crimson and the blush extended right down my neck to my chest. I felt utterly dreadful. Humiliated, ashamed, used and abused. I felt like a thing; an object, a worthless piece of trash. A slave. Of course that was what I was. I knew it. I thought I had come to accept it. My humiliation right then proved I had not. But then I saw the triumph on his face. He was clearly exhilarated by my shame. That was not on. Once more, I took hold of myself and forced my mind to lie there and accept what he was doing to my body and even to pretend to a delight in his fingering of my flesh.

  It worked. As my blush receded and a lecherous smile appeared on my face, I saw his expression change from triumph and lust to a sort of doubt. I had seen with the two boys that they had been unable to change their shame as I had and his lecherous expression had not changed throughout his examination of their bodies.

  It did now. He clearly did not know what to make of my apparent change of heart. I exulted. But I was careful not to show it. Instead, I made out as if I was glorying in his fingers doing their indecent dancing all over my flesh. He quickly desisted and ordered me to follow the boys to the gym where I was to begin work on strengthening my muscles.

  I won’t go into the various exercises I was made to perform to begin the strengthening process which would enable me to perform adequately as a human dog. I am sure you can imagine what they were, and how hard they made us work. I think the Arabs might well know as much about physical exercise as they do about medicine. To put it bluntly, they literally worked us until we dropped. Without a doubt, it was the hardest work I have ever done in my life.

  When it was over, as a newcomer, I was allowed an hour’s rest. As time passed, this recovery period would be gradually shortened until I was able to go directly from the gym to the training track without any pause whatsoever.

  I didn’t exactly pass out from the exertions in the gym, but it wasn’t far short. The muscles in my thighs, bottom and belly were all shaking like a jelly while my heart was going hammer and tongs, and my lungs were gasping for air. I had thought I was as fit as the proverbial fiddle; they showed me I was anything but. And yet the other slaves in the gym were quite able to perform the exercises allocated to them apparently without any problem whatsoever. I felt ashamed and suitably chastened by my pride and by the obvious slackness of my body.

  As I rested in my kennel, I resolved to work my body as hard as was humanly possible to make it as fit or better as those other boys and girls in the kennel. Accordingly, when they came for me to take me up to the track, I put my whole effort into the training they devised for me.

  As you can imagine, this involved learning to trot around their track as a dog does. Yes, it was totally demeaning. We were all stark naked. We were down on our hands and knees. Our hands and the stumps of our knees were encased in very realistic-looking dog paws and each of us was wearing a dog’s tail poking out of our rectums.

  But I knew I had to put all this out of my mind. To have wallowed in the misery of our situation could only have led to despair. And I wasn’t going to go down that road. Instead, I was going to be the best damned human dog that had ever graced those kennels. Accordingly, I listened carefully to my trainer’s instructions but also watched the other slaves as they sped around the track.

  Actually, I found it quite amazing how fast they were able to move. Try it! You can’t move very fast at all, can you? There are three reasons for this: the first is that you are not used to perambulating on your hands and knees. The second, is that your muscles are not used to the strange attitude of your body. The third, is that your knees soon become very sore.

  With us, from the very outset of our time in the kennels, we were kept down on our hands and the stumps of our knees; the gym work and the training on the track soon developed our muscles for our new roles in life; and of course, we no longer had knees. The paw arrangement allowed us to use our thighs perfectly adequately as the back legs of a human dog and, as I saw, those other slaves were trotting around the track at a fine pace.

  Of course it looked weird. Weird and totally demeaning to the boy and girls slaves who were being put through their paces. For a moment, however, I put myself in the place of the men who would come and watch the races as we performed them. And I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that the spectacle would be absolutely incredible. I am not for one moment excusing it, or what they did to us, I am merely stating that the sight of half a dozen naked, legless and tailed human dogs trotting around that track in a succession of races would be a perfectly fantastic sight.

  As a budding anthropologist, I was vitally interested in what makes human beings tick. I was well aware that the men involved in this activity were fabulously rich, that they were probably more than somewhat jaded in their sensual pleasures and that the ability to turn athletic and handsome or beautiful boys and girls into human dogs by the removal of their legs
and the additions of tails and paws as more or less permanent components of their bodies must have given them an extraordinary sense of power.

  But no doubt you want to hear how I went on that first day on the track. Not bad, if I do say so myself. Of course, I was nothing like as fast as those other boys and girls speeding around the tan-bark track. This material was used because it provided a further buffer between our rear paws and the stumps of our thighs.

  My trainer, a young Arab by the name of Tareef, took me down onto the track itself and then tapped my naked rear with his prodder. The shock wasn’t as bad there as if he had rammed it into my vagina, but it was still horrible. It was certainly effective, however. I took off as fast as my thighs and hands would permit, following the other human dogs around the track while he trotted alongside me, gingering up my bottom when he thought I wasn’t performing as well as I could.

  I have to say that the trainers were fair. They didn’t punish us unnecessarily. And, at least during training, they did not interfere with our bodies. You will remember I mentioned the doctor was not at all averse to feeling and fondling my body in the course of his examinations. Neither were the trainers, but not during our formal training periods.

  When the training periods for the day were over, after we had passed our wastes and been cleaned and fed, if they wanted to use our bodies they were at liberty to do so. The only proviso was that they might well have to do it in front of their employers. This didn’t seem to faze them, however.

  A room had been set up especially for this activity so it was very clear that they had the permission of and indeed were encouraged to use us sexually. The slaves were not separated as to gender. The boys selected to be raped had to perform in the same room as we girls. I wasn’t chosen for a few days and had no idea we were available to be used in this manner.

  When I was and trotted along on my four pins to this special room with the other girl and two boys, I didn’t understand what was going to be required of me even after entering the room. To my naive eyes, it looked like a small theatrette. There was a small semi-circular stage with four small wooden tables each sitting on a turntable arranged around its perimeter. Beyond the stage were three rows of seats. They were very comfortable, followed the semi-circular front contour of the stage and were tiered.

  I looked in puzzlement at this arrangement but then, as each of my companion slaves were led up to one of the tables and ordered to mount them, a glimmering of understanding began to filter into my brain. This was confirmed when a few of our Arab masters, including Masoud, entered and took their seats down below us.

  My suspicions were further confirmed when four of our trainers, naked, entered the room, mounted the stage and then the four tables. My first partner, if you can call him that, was my own trainer. At that moment, the turntables started up and each of the tables began to revolve so that those bastards up there in the seats beyond the stage had a perfect view of the action on the four tables.

  Our tails had been removed. This meant they could rape us girls anally as well as in the more normal manner. In my case, it was up my rectum. You will remember, I was still a virgin. Masoud was well aware of this and had only ever raped me anally himself. I thought he was probably saving my virginity for himself. In this I was proved to be correct.

  That didn’t make my anal rape any the more acceptable however. It was as utterly horrible as every other time. If I had felt bad as a concubine-in-training in Masoud’s harem and then worse as a dog in the kennels, now I felt utterly mortified that I was being forced to perform as a whore for the pleasure my body gave my trainer, and the gratification which Masoud and his friends derived from watching the act.

  Remember, we were human dogs. Our legs had been removed. We were not chained down but we nevertheless had very little freedom of movement. All our trainers had to do was to lean over us, grasp our shoulders and then ram their filthy cocks into whichever orifice they chose. Of course we could have collapsed our thighs so that they were on the same axis as our torsos, but if we had done that it would have been exceedingly difficult to have got them back up again and in any case, all the training and conditioning had been to lead us to stay up on all fours at all times during the day. In any case, if we had been so foolish as to have committed such a heinous act, especially in front of our masters, we would have been in for very severe and painful punishment. No, resistance was indeed futile and so, as I had with the training, I decided to pretend to an extreme enjoyment in my trainer’s rape of my body.

  I therefore wiggled my bottom, made gurgling noises of pleasure and generally behaved as a wanton slut. As my turntable revolved and I was able to see Masoud’s face, I could see the astonishment written all over it. Remember, this was the man I had spurned back in England and more recently in his own harem. Now, right in front of him, I was behaving like a whore on heat. Yes I was ashamed. But I had realised that resistance to their obscene demands brought nothing but trouble and pain.

  It was a calculated ploy. On the one hand, it might get me into even more trouble. I had rejected Masoud and yet here I was accepting his trainer with apparent delight. On the other hand, and this is what I had hoped for, he might take it that I had realised the error of my ways and was now a compliant slave. If that was the case he might even bring me back into harem, perhaps as a curiosity.

  It worked, at least partially. He did take the latter view, but he wasn’t about to forgive me to the extent that he would take me back. What he did decide was to give me a last chance to surrender my body to him.

  I capitulated. God knows what he would have done to me if I had refused him a third time and so, after Tareef had had his way with me, while the other three slaves were returned to their kennels, I was taken to yet another room, this one set up quite luxuriously and with a bed in its centre. The bed was covered with a satin sheet and satin-covered cushions.

  As always, they gave us no leeway for our lack of legs and I had to use my arms and thighs to climb onto it. I managed it, with some difficulty, and then lay there on my back, waiting for Masoud to appear.

  He did, in his own good time, and then quickly shed his robes and undergarments to display his admittedly splendid body to me. This time, recognising how foolish I had been, at least with respect to his sensibilities, I made the appropriate noises of approbation about his body. I wasn’t lying. He really was a handsome devil and he clearly worked hard to keep his body slim, supple and athletic.

  I also told him what a magnificent set of genitals he possessed. That too was very true. His penis was long and thick. It emerged from a perfectly flat lower belly that was as naked of hair as my own. His testicles were also large and pendulous.

  I hated this man as I would never have believed I could hate anyone. But I discovered that I was a consummate actor. The performance I gave then would have made Sir Laurence Olivier proud.

  I stared up at him with adoring eyes. I used my bottom to wiggle my sexual organs at him and at the same time begged his forgiveness for my former rudeness and lack of appreciation for him, his position and even more importantly his utterly fabulous body. I reached up towards him with my hands and implored him too use me in any way he desired. To consider me as the whore I had been only a few minutes earlier; as the most lovely of his harem slaves; or as the meanest slut in his wonderful city.

  He was fooled. I have always been able to read a person’s face. His now told me that he was convinced that my recent conditioning and training had turned me around. That I was now an abject slave, ready to perform in any way he chose to give him pleasure.

  At that moment, it was the taking of my cherry that was on his agenda. He actually smiled at me as he informed me that he was going to do me the great honour of taking my virginity.

  I felt an incredible wash of sadness pass over me as he said the words. I had always hoped to be able to present my husband with a virgin body. But I did not l
et it show through to Masoud. Indeed, in this day and age, my attitude was rather strange to say the least.

  As he had stood there and stared down at me, his penis had gradually engorged and stood straight up his muscly belly. It was quivering in desire and he lost no time in climbing over me, ramming the massive organ into me and breaking my hymen in one long thrust.

  He then settled his body down over mine, and began to rut. It was horrible - and it was wonderful! Impossible? I can’t possibly have felt both emotions at the same time? I could and I did.

  Horrible that I was surrendering my cherry to the man I hated most in the world. Wonderful, that I had discovered that the real thing, as opposed to my masturbatory exercises, was a thousand times better than I could have possibly imagined. On the one hand, I wanted his admittedly beautiful body off mine; but on the other I wanted him to rape me until I fell asleep, exhausted.

  I have to admit he was a superb lover. Let’s face it, the Arabs are the descendants of the people who wrote The Thousand and One Nights. They had been exponents of the art of love for hundreds of years. And I now believe that that is as true now as it was in the days of Haroun-al-Rashid, the celebrated caliph. Accordingly, I decided to sink my hatred of the man and sublimate it to the wonderful sensations he was creating in my body.

  He did make it go on forever. Well, at least for a couple of hours or so. I have no idea how many orgasms he brought me to. It seemed like hundreds but must have been dozens. And I suppose I must have given him pleasure too for he seemed pleased with me, for once.

  That was further indicated by the fact that he left me to sleep the rest of that night on that wonderful bed on a real satin sheet surrounded by satin pillows.

  Would you believe, I actually felt a shred of goodwill towards him, and that’s saying something.

  Chapter 5

  I will now jump ahead to my first race meeting.

  The training had been most arduous, very thorough and had turned my body from a human athlete into that of a racing greyhound. It was actually quite astonishing how fast we could run around their track. Our arms and thighs moved like an ant’s: so fast that it looked like a blur.