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Worldslide - I Train Pony Slaves (Mark Andrews)

Worldslide - I Train Pony Slaves by Mark Andrews

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I am transported to another dimension of Earth where slavery has always been in existence. It has been a secret fetish of mine since puberty although never practised for fear of disapproval of friends and family. I am independently wealthy and once realised I could move between worlds, converted some of my funds into diamonds and returned to that other world, there to set up a boutique slave dealership and slave pony training centre. This is my story.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 3 / 2016

No. words: 35200

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Fem Dom - F/M, Male Dom - M/M

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter 1

Every science fiction buff has heard of ‘Sliding’ and of the Fifth Dimension, in which other nearly identical worlds (actually, other universes) exist in the same time and place as ours but few believe it really exists, or if it does, that one can travel to and from other worlds.
This theory was expounded in the TV series Sliders in which the stars slid along a sort of vortex between the two worlds and had adventures on them but were never able to return to their own Earth.
Well, I discovered that it did! Or rather, someone on another world discovered me and my secret fetish and decided I might make a fine partner for him.
My name is Richard Scott and I was lucky enough to be born to extremely wealthy parents and to be their only child. I was a good student and did well at all my subjects but sport was my real forte and I played cricket and football both for Geelong Grammar and Melbourne University (where I later graduated as a Bachelor of Physical Education). Of course I had no intentions of becoming a Phys. Ed. Teacher; I just wanted to expand my knowledge of the subject and use it to train my body to be the very best it could be.
My secret fetish was slavery. Oh I went through puberty with all the usual relationships: a succession of girlfriends; experiments with fellow male athletes and all the rest of it but as soon as I heard of sexual slavery, my heart took a million-kilometre leap.
I immediately researched it on the Net and found that while it did exist all over the world, it was very much clandestine. And further, it was held in contempt by 99% of the population, yes, even the consensual sections of it. As a result, while I continued to delve and to secretly print out and store all manner of pictures of both male and female (for I am bisexual and enjoy both equally) naked slaves in various positions and undergoing training, discipline, display and sale and these images (and sometimes the stories that accompanied them) were the fuel for my secret masturbatory practices
I knew enough about the Web to be very, very careful what I accessed and particularly what I printed out. I despise those who abuse and use children and have never even thought of them in such a horrible situation, but mud sticks and I didn’t want it being thrown in the first place.
What I didn’t know was that certain people on these other worlds know how to establish links and to move between them. And that’s how I came to meet Jerry, in full, Jeremiah Arthur Winthrop.
He just appeared in my bedroom one night, when I was surfing the Net looking for more slavery photos. I wasn’t frightened by it. More interested, I would say. It started out as a silvery, shimmering outline that then rapidly took shape, substance and colour and within about half a minute, actually became a living, breathing, smiling young man of about my age (then 25) who greeted me as if we were old friends and then proceeded to explain who and what he was.
“Hello Richard. My name is Jerry Winthrop and I’m from another Earth…”
He then went on to explain all about sliding, the Fifth Dimension and how he had stumbled on to the means of travelling between worlds.
I responded with awe, excitement and what followed was an intense conversation between two very excited young men. We spoke quietly for I didn’t want my parents to discover my secret fetish and he had come solely because of it.
It seemed he had similar views as me and when he discovered I came from a wealthy family, decided to come and see me to discuss his project. What was it? He wanted to set up and run a top-of-the-market slave dealership and training centre to cover all aspects of slavery but particularly slave-pony-carting.
I stared at him, not too sure what he was on about for while I knew about pony-carting vaguely, had no idea of its ramifications. And so he expounded on them.
It was a wonderful first meeting and while I didn’t really understand how he thought I could help him, invited him to come back soon for us to talk some more.
Needless to say, my masturbatory exercises that night were wonderful.

I should mention my mother and father, here. They were both wonderful people and brought me up to respect others; to have a care for those less well off than me and to seek to give rather than take from society. That’s the way they lived their lives and I loved them for it.
They respected my desire to improve my body and mind and believed I would soon settle down, find a wife and continue on the family line. I took after dad in a physical way, too, am tall, naturally well-built (although I expanded on that with my Phys. Ed. Course and my love of all sports). I am fair-haired with blue eyes and a good complexion, all inherited from him.
At the time Jerry appeared for the first time, I was between girlfriends and had abandoned (for good, I thought) the sexual experiments with my male friends. I had found, over the years, that while I naturally preferred the real thing with an athletic girl, when there wasn’t one around, my own mental images of naked slaves under the lash or whatever were almost as good. Note that I said athletic rather than beautiful. I had always gravitated to the more muscular, girl-next-door type with a fresh face rather than a ravishing beauty with generous breasts, wasp waist and wide hips and so these were always the type I favoured in my ramblings on the Web. I had a secret cache of these photos and stories hidden in a compartment I built into my walk-in wardrobe/dressing room in my suite.
Jerry came back a week or so later and we talked some more and now I began to understand that he wanted me to come to his world, where slavery had always existed and to partner (and finance) him in setting up a top-of-the-market slave dealership with a first class training section including a gymnasium of course to hone and tone their bodies, classrooms where skills were taught and disciplinary areas to punish infringements. But he added that pony-slaves were the cream of the market and he wanted to select and train the very best slaves on offer and then sell them for huge profit.
Again I stared at him in awe. “Look, Jerry, your idea is wonderful and the very thought of it thrills me to the very core of my being, but I can’t just up stakes and come to your world. What would my parents think? And added to that, while they may be very, very rich, I am not. I have an allowance and it is generous, but I have no access to the sort of funds you are talking about…”
He looked disappointed but then brightened up. “Well, it doesn’t have to be tomorrow, Rick. I love dreaming about it and now that I know you enjoy talking about it, too, can I still come and see you when I can?”
“Of course, Jerry. I look forward to your visits now, but I want to learn more about your planet…”
He grinned. “Well, why not. Don’t you ever go away for holidays or something? Why couldn’t you plan for a week’s trip somewhere and then, instead of going away, I will come and bring you to my Earth. I’m not wealthy like you but I am a Phys. Ed. Teacher at a school and I have a tiny apartment and little car and I am due for holidays soon…”
What an adventure, I thought. And yes, of course I could arrange a trip to coincide with his holidays.
“What about money, Jerry? Is mine any good?”
He looked at it and said as far as he could see it was identical. His Australia used the same notes as ours so I could bring mine with me.

What a visit that was.
I said my goodbyes to my parents and took a taxi to the airport for my ostensible flight to Bali. And there I met Jerry and we departed, but not to Bali.
The process of sliding was simplicity itself. He had a small controller into which he tapped instructions and then, while holding my hand firmly, pressed the GO button and all I felt was a tingling sensation, alternate blackness and a few stars for three or four seconds, culminating in arrival at his unit on his planet.
He grinned at me. It really is that precise, Rick. Just in case, here’s how you use it…” and he showed me the method and the codes I would need to get home in case anything happened to him. He also showed me the location of a spare controller.
It was late at night, the same as on my Earth and he apologised for the one bed in the unit. “I’d love to share with you if you’re that way inclined, but if not, I will sleep on the sofa and you can have the bed.”
I smiled. “Sharing is fine, Jerry. In my teens, I played around with some of my friends. I haven’t for years but I don’t mind sharing the bed with you at all.”
I didn’t, either. I have said I am fair and blue-eyed. He had brown soft curly hair and brown eyes and I knew his body was as muscular as mine. It showed through even clothed. Naked, which was the way we both slept, his body was a dream. Beautiful skin, finely wrought, highly defined muscles and a pleasant face. No, I would be pleased to share with him and see what came of it.
We didn’t actually fuck that first night, but we certainly played and I enjoyed his embraces and his fingers all over my body and of course my own roved just as freely over his superb muscles – particularly his splendid eight-pack and so clean-cut chest. That’s not to say the rest of him wasn’t great, too: boulder-like, broad shoulders, beautifully shaped thighs and calves and a set of genitals any man would be proud of.
There was one thing I thought strange – and even more wonderful. He had had his whole body, from his eyelashes down depilated nude of hair – permanently. I asked him about it and he told me all slaves on their planet were, by law, not only naked of clothes, but also of body hair. He grinned and went on: “I liked their appearance and had my own done, too, although in my case I went to a treatment centre for free people where it is done painlessly. Slaves are dipped into what is called the Hot Tank. It is cheap but it really is very hot and they come out looking like boiled lobsters for a while.”
“Well, I think it looks great. Can we have my body done while I’m here?”
“Sure can…”

That week, I learned heaps about his planet. The similarities were startling; but so were the differences. Their government, buildings and some of the people were the same. My own family did not exist there, for example. (If it had, I would not have been welcome there, for obvious reasons). But apart from that, the only real difference was that slavery had always existed there – all over the planet.
Slaves could be made in various ways: by the courts, as a result of a criminal conviction that merited the punishment of slavery, either for a period or for life. By debt, when a man or woman could have their bodies seized as payment or part payment of a debt. And a parent could sell his or her son or daughter under certain circumstances of necessity. They had to be eighteen and still domiciled in the family home (which was an incentive for youngsters to move out by the eve of their eighteenth birthday). But by far the most common method was by the breeding of slaves.
Any human being born of a female slave was, ipso facto a slave for life. A person born of a free woman but sired by a slave, was not and many women used a particularly handsome and muscular slave to sire their children. And it didn’t seem to matter if they were married or not. A weedy or insignificant man would far rather have as his son, a handsome muscular boy than a replica of himself.
Accordingly, while many ordinary family men bred their slaves for profit, there were also slave breeding houses where slaves were mated scientifically (and publicly for a price) and the offspring then trained physically, mentally and vocationally for whatever role seemed best for them.
Jerry took me to some of these houses and also to the stand-alone dealerships which abounded all over Melbourne and its suburbs. As he had inferred, these varied from distinctly sleazy, run-down establishments to the top-of-the-town institutions whose efficiency and urbanity and the display of nothing but top quality naked and nude slaves was out of this world.
As we walked through that owned by Scabbard and Drass in central Melbourne I remarked on it and Jerry told me this firm was the leader in the field.
“This is the place I modelled my ideas on, Rick. But they only market slaves, buying them from the breeding houses and sometimes privately. What I want to do is to create the whole operation: breed new slaves as well as buying likely product from various sources; then train them as we saw elsewhere and market them with the same skill and accomplishment as we see here.”
“I understand, Jerry. And I am as excited about the idea as you. It’s not possible at the moment, but perhaps one day…?”
He grinned. “We never know what’s just around the corner, do we Rick?”
We prowled around the rather plainly (but tastefully) decorated sales rooms labelled: Male General, Female General, Male and Female Muscle Hunks, Effeminate Males and Butch Females, and much smaller specialty rooms featuring musicians, chefs, clerks, eunuchs, etc, etc. It was a huge building boasting many floors, in many ways like a department store.
We spent the day there, lunching at the in-house restaurant but going through every room to check out the top quality merchandise.
For example, in the Female General sales room, the slaves were displayed on short columns a half-metre high and topped with a Corinthian capital. There were four rows of the columns and twenty in each. Row 1 featured Caucasian slaves graded as to their build.
They varied from the voluptuous to the athletic although none here were heavily muscled (they were in another room we would visit later) and while I favour the athletic, I knew the more softly rounded girls would be popular with the majority of men (and possibly female buyers of women, too).
We wandered down this row, staring up at the naked beauty and sheer magnificence of these young women. General slaves for sale here were aged between eighteen, the legal aged of enslavement, and late twenties. We weren’t allowed to touch them. Any customer breaking this rule was escorted out of the building and told not to return.
The next row featured Asian women. I am more than somewhat partial to the exotic and I really like Asian women (and men for that matter) and as I stared up at these so truly naked beauties, my loins ached in desire.
The third row displayed black women. And they were just as beautiful as the other two. The fourth row showed off mixed-race types.
I could have stayed in that room all day but Jerry now steered me into the Male General room. The arrangement here was the same as next door, the first row featuring white slaves.
And every one of these twenty items were handsome, superbly muscled and were (like every other slave in this room as in the female room) following a pre-ordained sequence to piped music that showed off their muscles and their bodies in general to a tee.
Each of them was erect at the moment, but then at a certain point in the music, they allowed their cocks to slacken but otherwise continued with their performance.
But then, about five minutes later, while we were moving down the next row, which featured Asian men, the next cue came and they all erected their members. I tried not to appear incredulous at the performances but it wasn’t easy.
Again, Jerry had to almost literally drag me out of this room to inspect the muscle hunks room. Here, there were six rows: male Caucasian, Asian and black and the same for females. The men were huge, bulging with ugly (to me, anyway) muscle. A couple of them were eunuchs, lacking cocks as well as balls and I stared in awe at the so smooth blank region of their groins that had formerly boasted their genitalia. I asked Jerry how they urinated and he whispered back that such men have their urinary tract punctured down between their legs, just in front of the anus and usually wee at the same time as they defecate.
I figuratively mopped my brow as we moved to the columns containing other classes of male hunks and then to the females, who were only slightly smaller in size than the males.
“Who would want such huge slaves, Jerry?” I asked then.
“Oh many, Rick. They are useful in factories to move heavy objects, for pulling ploughs and the like on a farm or perhaps a pair or more of them on a heavy cart.”
The next room housed the effeminate males and butch females but these did not interest either of us and we gave them only a cursory look over. I find effeminate men faintly repellent and butch women even more so.
We also glanced into the specialty rooms for the musicians, chefs, clerks and the like but then we moved into the room devoted to eunuchs. Yes, we had seen a couple of them in the muscle hunk room, but here, their bodies were much more pleasing, athletic and their faces handsome. None had either balls or a cock and I asked Jerry how this had come about.
“If they have committed a sexual offence such as rape, interfering with a minor or serious assaults, for example, the judge may (and in some cases must) order their castration. Other reasons may be medical, or a decision by the selling parent to have the son castrated for such slaves are worth a great deal more than whole slaves.”
“Good God,” I said. “And do many parents sell their children in this way?”
“No. Thank goodness. You will usually find that unless the parent hates the child for some reason or in cases of dire penury, they will struggle along. But most kids leave the nest before their eighteenth birthday anyway. The risk is always there and actually, I think it’s a good way of making the youngster find his own feet.
“What sort of employment are they used for?” I asked then.
He grinned. “You’ve heard of harem eunuchs presumably?”
“I have.”
“Imagine a wealthy plutocrat presenting his wife with a eunuch as her ‘powder slave’?”
I stared at him again and then grinned. “No!!!?”
“Yes!!! The lady has this handsome and muscular but sexually useless naked male slave to wait on her hand and foot and many of them are quite despotic in ruling his life, keeping a short quirt handy to whip his bottom or his belly or even up between his thighs but some form a real attachment to their slave, I’ve heard.”
“Oh Heavens. I really do want to come here and get involved in all of this, Jerry. But you know I can’t. Not yet…”
“Of course I understand and as I said before, there’s no hurry.”

Author Information

a prolific BDSM writer who lives on the Gold Coast of Australia. His books have been delighting Olympia Press customers for many years and now he is one of Fiction4All's exclusive authors.


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