Pony Slave Stories

Pony Slave Stories
Mama Candace shortly after her water broke.
Josh checks to see if the calf is in the right position. He heard the calf gasping for air so a vet was called.
Jake & Josh tied a rope around the calf’s hoof and pulled to help delivery.
Dr. Miki Mannino-Skaggs administers an epidural.
The Dr. checks the position of the calf.
Pull chains were fastened to the hoofs.
George is a large, 120-125 lb calf.
Upending George to clear fluid from his lungs. And that’s cow dung on Josh’s pants, not his own.
The Doc checks to see if there’s a twin.
Candace licks George clean, which results in a swirling pattern in the hair. That’s where we get the term “cowlick.”
Email (Required) Name (Required) Website
Posted by Greg Lhamon | Jul 24, 2014 | Learn , Wit | 0 |
I was sitting in church minding my own business when my friend Dave leaned over and asked me the oddest question:
“We’re going to castrate a few bulls today. Wanna help?”
How could I say no? I mean, if you have even a smidgeon of curiosity or sense of adventure you just can’t pass up an opportunity like that.
Our good friends Dave and Deb Matthews are farmers. Mostly crops but some cattle too.
They have six sons: Josh, Jake, Jordan, Jonah, Jeremiah, and Jesse. Josh, the oldest, is 30 and Jesse is 14. Farming is hard work. But having six built-in farm hands makes things a lot easier. I showed up at the farm that afternoon in clean jeans and new boots. My first mistake. By the end of the day, clumps of cow dung clung to my clothes and my new Red Wings.
“Here comes the slicker,” Josh yelled as I walked up. “Just when we’re about to finish.”
“Well, I wanted to give you guys time to practice before the master arrived.”
The Matthews boys like to call me “city-slicker.” I’ve spent decades hunting and fishing and I live on 3 acres outside of town. But those acres are in a subdivision. So, the label fits, I suppose.
“I’ve got a job for you,” David said. He handed me a rod with a sponge on the end. “When we lock the bull down in the squeeze chute, dip the sponge into that bucket there and swab the back of it’s neck.”
I’m not sure exactly what the medicine was for, but I was glad my job was working on the top side of the bull.
“Just curious…why do you castrate steers in the first place?” I asked.
“They’re bulls now. They’re not steers until we snip ’em.”
“So, why do you snip the bulls?” I asked.
“Lot’s of reasons,” Dave said. “But the main reason is that we’re raising them for meat. And if a steer can’t have sex then he spends all of his time eating instead. Fattens ’em up.”
“Ahh. Sounds a lot like humans,” I said.
A couple of the younger Matthews’ boys were out in the pasture driving the bulls toward a cattle sweep. A sweep is a large, circular carousel that operates like a revolving door. The cattle enter the sweep and then one of the guys pushes the revolving gate which moves the bull around the circle until it empties into an alleyway. The bulls move down the alleyway to the squeeze chute. It is a fascinating and sophisticated system of gates and doors and alleys. (If you’re interested, this video will give you a good idea of how a cattle sweep works .).
The purpose of the squeeze chute is to hold the bull securely so that it doesn’t hurt itself during the procedure. What looks like a steel pipe fence on either side squeezes the bull in place.
Once the bull was secure, I swabbed the back of its neck with the medicine. My part was done.
And that’s when things got interesting. (Note: If you are at all squeamish, you may want to skim right on down to the next section).
This is what the guy did who was working on the business end of the bull.
First, he took some calipers that had blades on either side and sliced open the bull’s scrotum. Then he reached inside the scrotum above the testicles and wrapped his fingers around the cord (vas deferens) that attaches the testicles to whatever else is up there (I did not squat down to look).
Then he just pulled the testicles off.
At this point, the newly minted steer started to dance.
The guy tossed the bull’s testicles into a bucket (remind me not to eat any mysterious fried foods at the Matthews house) while another guy released the squeeze chute and opened the gate.
The steer’s erratic cha-cha lasted just a minute or two. Seriously, just a couple of minutes. Then the bull started grazing, because, you know, you might as well eat, right?
I gotta say, this city-slicker was amazed by the whole process.
Earlier this week, Deb announced on Facebook that one of their cows was about to calf. She invited all who were interested to come view the event.
Man, I wish I could’ve made it out to the farm.
Thankfully, Deb is an outstanding photographer who runs a business called Studio 156 . She shoots family portraits, senior pictures, baby bump photos, and the like.
So, she chronicled the entire event in pictures. With her permission, I’ve created a gallery of the birth.
These photos are of a live birth, which means things get a little messy. So, like before, if you are squeamish just keep scrolling.
It occurs to me that the Matthews — and other farmers — see more of the arc of life than the rest of us. Or at least they see it more often.
The events of our lives are marked in decades. Childhood, adolescence, marriage, kids, career, retirement, death.
But the work life of a farmer is measured in months. Cultivate, fertilize, plant, harvest. Birth a calf, nurture it, help it grow, sell it as food.
They see the whole span of life in the space of one year. Every year.
The American farmer experiences joy and triumph, to be sure, but sometimes loss is his steady companion.
Needed rain doesn’t fall and crops wither. A herd is devastated by an infectious respiratory disorder. Calves die unexpectedly. And even when they reap a bumper crop, profits are sometimes gutted when commodity prices move against them.
At times it must feel like a lottery.
So, why do they do it? Why do they spend small fortunes on equipment and seed and medicine and feed when the end result is speculative?
They do it for the pure love of the work.
Dave will tell you that farming is in his blood, his DNA. The joy that comes with the harvest and the cattle auction is somehow worth the long hours and backaches, the callouses and the weathered skin.
He works 18 hour days during the harvest so that you and I have steak and sweet corn for our summer cookouts.
How can we repay the small farmer for his sacrifice? Here are a few ideas:
I can tell you from personal experience, the people who grow our food are hard-working, salt-of-the-earth folks. They’re worthy of our respect.
Questions: How do you support local farmers? Do you use a food co-op? Shop locally? Leave a comment below.
Get each new post in your inbox. And never any spam.
Designed by Elegant Themes | Powered by WordPress
Get my future posts before anyone else. Subscribe below and I'll email you thoughts on work, family life, and more...with a dash of humor.

One more step
Please complete the security check to access www.fictionpress.com

Please stand by, while we are checking your browser...
Please enable Cookies and reload the page.
Completing the CAPTCHA proves you are a human and gives you temporary access to the web property.
If you are on a personal connection, like at home, you can run an anti-virus scan on your device to make sure it is not infected with malware.
If you are at an office or shared network, you can ask the network administrator to run a scan across the network looking for misconfigured or infected devices.
Another way to prevent getting this page in the future is to use Privacy Pass. Check out the browser extension in the Firefox Add-ons Store .

Cloudflare Ray ID: 7288ac4068045aae
•

Your IP:
Click to reveal
46.8.11.140
•

Performance & security by Cloudflare

This is a story I made up and wanted to share with people, hope you enjoy it.

P.S. This is not a real a story, only a fantasy.

Tommy was 13 the day when his life was fully changed.
It was Friday, the day Tommy would go to his room and talk to his friends on social networks or applications, he was home alone, as it was like this everyday. Tommy, who has a stunningly beautiful mother at the age of 30 with wonderful size 8 feet and 2 sisters that are adopted when their mother was 21, are both blonde with size 7 feet, one of which was 17 and the other 18, his father had died after a plane crash. Tommy would usually make his sisters and mother angry by his natural aggression to them, but this week, he was grounded with no computer in his room and couldn't leave his room after school hours. He was extremely bored, so he decided to ride his bike, even if it was against the rules of his punishment, but he went on to ride it anyways. After about 2 hours he parked his bike back home and opened the door, there his mother and sisters stood there.
"What on earth were you thinking Tommy?!" Yelled his mother.
"I was bored so I went for a bike ride, but that's none of your business, bitch." Replied Tommy.
His mother was just an inch from beating him, but that never worked, Tommy was a true paintballer, he could rarely feel pain.
"That's another week for you Tommy, cussing at your mother is a terrible sin." Said his mother.
But Tommy didn't care... at all.
"Can it skank!" Tommy said with anger coming from his voice.
"Go to your room we will arrange what will your punishment be. NOW!" Said his mother angrily.
Tommy could never stand his mother's screaming so he went to his room immediately. After fifteen minutes Tommy heard his name called by his mother from the Entertainment room.
"Tommy come down here, I want to apologize for the screaming and drama I did fifteen minutes ago."
Tommy rushed down and saw his mother and sisters sitting down in front of the television.
"You can watch T.V. if you're that bored." Said his mother
"Cool, where's the remote though?" Replied Tommy.
His mother had told him that she forgot where she put it and asked him to find it under the sofa, as she reminded him that it might have been there. Tommy went down on his knees and hands to look for the remote, but as he saw the remote he felt the pressure from his mother and sisters hands pressing on to his hands and simply bringing them behind his back and tying them up.
"OH WHAT THE F**K LET ME GO!!" Tommy screamed out.
His mom and his sisters dragged him to the sofa and moved the carpet, it seems that they have installed chain loops for Tommy to hold him and prevent him from escaping. His mom stood over him, she was still in her business dress, pantyhose and high heels.
"Listen, we've got you now, you're ours. You will follow every single command that we give you from now on."
"NO LET ME GO NOW!" He flinched and moved, but nothing worked.
His mother attached the loops and chains of his to the loops on the ground.
"I told you once, if you don't follow our commands, we will call the police, and set you up in a way that it would seem that you wanted to brutally murder us. So you've got 2 options."
His mother took off her high heels and held it in her hands.
"Now this is extremely necessary. I know, I know, I've been on this heels like, aaaalllll day, but you gotta accept your consequences, we're not taking shit from you anymore. So get ready to give up your life to us now."
Tommy shook his head and accepted the consequences.
"Alright here we go, first whiff for our new family owned slave"
She lowered her high heel to his face and placed the smelliest part of her foot, the toes. He inhaled, coughed and gagged he did, but he knew what his job was and had to do it. His mother and sisters laughed as hard as they could. The youngest of the two sisters took off her Puma high tops that she wore all day at cheerleading.
"Hey loser, I've been at cheerleading all day today, mind if you take whiff of what that smells like?"
"Yes Josie, I do, if it is your command and wish." Said Tommy
"Excuse me? My name isn't Josie for you anymore, from now on you will call me Goddess!" Said Josie
"Yes Goddess, you are the most powerful one and rule me. I am meant to be stepped on and nothing more." Replied Tommy
"That's better." Said Summer, Tommy's oldest sister
Their mother smiled with happiness in her, seeing her daughters dominating her son as well as her. She always thought that men are nothing more but snakes and deserve this kind of treatment from women. Josie placed her Puma on his face and held it there for a minute straight. Tommy almost died without any air in him. Summer, his older sister took off her knee high boot and placed it on his face after her younger sister was done. After several minutes they all finished choking him with their terrible foot odor inside of their shoes, boots and heels.
"Okay dear, now you need to clean our shoes, the inside and the outside, we've been walking on dirt and they're really dirty. I mean, you can't expect me to go to work with dirty heels like these will you now?" Said Mary, Tommy's mother.
"No! Smelling them is the last straw, but licking them?! I mean that's just degrading!" Tommy replied.
"Oh dear, you are a comedian aren't you? You know what's going to happen if you don't do it dear. I'm not going to clean my heels for something I didn't do, so as default you'll do it. Oh, and also you'll clean everything that I do to them too!" His mother told him with a sweet voice.
So he got to it, knowing he would have to do this for the rest of his life. After what seemed like hours to Tommy, he was finally done with licking the dirtiness from the outside of their shoes and the sweat from the inside of their shoes.
"That's right dear, suck it up. You will be doing this for the rest of your life. Oh yes and I've planned out what we're going to do to you tomorrow and so forth." Said her mother sweetly.

Part 2 will be continued soon.
All( 0 ) 0 0 0 0 0 0
Interested in pre-owned items for sale?
PRODUCTS Tapatalk Groups Tapatalk Mobile App
SUPPORT Support Forum Submit Security Incident
ABOUT US LinkedIn Crunchbase
Brand New Apple iPhone 13 Pro Max - 128GB - Alpine Green. Br...

65
A Caning By Miss Spiteful
Always On The Bare
A Visit To Greenwich
At My Lady's Pleasure
Ball Shackle Story
Charles
George
I Met Claire In A Coffee Shop
Judicial Bastinado
Judicial Punishment
Kevin's Poem
Kim
Long Weekend
Long Weekend Conclusion
Loving Domination
My Visit
Penitence
Plimsolls
Robin's Electrical Torture
Shoeshine Boy
Slave To The Cane
The Basement
The Cleaning Maid
The Colony
The Escape Artist
The Huntress Caning
The Language School
The Worm's View
Webb Encounters
Z

Chapter 8 - I Settle Into My Life As A Slave

The following week passed slowly. As she said, I was left on my chain, ignored by everybody, the entire week. I seriously wanted to get off my chain. I had spent hours examining every link of my chain. Every link was securely welded. I had carefully explored my collar, and the padlock, with my fingers. They were heavy steel, with no possible way to get them off. The chain was attached to a heavy steel ring, which was bolted into a huge stone block at the end of the wall, by the gate. There was no escape from the chain. They had made sure I could not escape!
I was left to spend the week totally naked, on my chain. I had at most one gate-opening to do each day, and I did them as efficiently as I could. I did not dare get another punishment. Most days I had absolutely nothing to do. I just waited, a slave, on my chain.
The next Sunday, I was taken back to the pillories again. This time I only had twenty strokes. When I say ’only’, I simply mean I didn’t get additional strokes. I was allowed one minute to masturbate, in full view of the ladies. Then I got twenty strokes from the black bitch with her leather strap. The twenty strokes were still absolute agony, and left me weeping with pain. But at least I didn’t get seventy, as one of the other poor slaves did.
As I stood locked in my pillory, listening to his screams and watching the ladies laughing as he was strapped, I resolved yet again to be a perfect slave! I would be content to live on my chain! I would be completely docile and respectful and obedient! I realized that the Ladies here had perfected a method of converting men into total slaves! They used good heavy chains and regular hard strappings! After experiencing the chain, and a good hard strapping in the pillory, none of us would ever intentionally be disobedient, ever again! We each knew we could not ever get off our chain! And we each knew the consequences of not being good! We had all been made into total slaves. Even me.
I think I spent almost three months on my chain by the gate. I lost track of the exact date, but it must have been about three months. I gradually grew very lean and fit. I did have extra strokes on two occasions, by being too slow with the gate. In my opinion, the two ladies who accused me of being slow, were unreasonable, but I had to accept the punishment. I was simply informed that I would get extra strokes. I was not asked to speak, so I had to accept in silence.
After three or four months, the summer was ending, and I was moved, escorted in tight shackles, to indoor barn work. In the barn, before my shackles were removed, I was padlocked into an even heavier collar, with an even heavier chain. My new chain was longer, about 30 feet long. Heavy thick steel links. There was no escape from this chain. The end of my chain ended in a thick steel ring that slid on a horizontal steel beam bolted to one wall of the barn. I could move along the entire barn on my chain, by sliding the ring along the beam. The steel beam did not extend to the door however, and my chain pulled me up just short of the door. The windows were set high in the wall, and were heavily barred.
My supervisor visited me in the Barn. She gestured to me, to stop work. I immediately ran and knelt before her, the closest to her that my chain would let me. I missed her! She had been strict, but decent. She had been kind to me. I respected her.
She stood before me. I knelt naked, chained, at her feet. I so wanted to touch her. But I dared not. She passed her hand though my hair.
“I’ve come to say goodbye, dear Peter. We must all move on. You could only be our gate slave for a short time. We need our slaves for harder work, to keep the farm going. I managed to get you transferred to a chain in the Barn. I hope you are grateful. The Barn is much easier work than work the fields! You would not like being a chained slave in the fields! You have a new supervisor now. You must obey her as you would me. I hope you don’t think I was too cruel with you. I was strict, as I had to be. But you endured so well! I was proud to be your supervisor. We have a new slave coming tomorro
Fucking A Female Dog
Carapuchinha
Literotica Silk Stocking Lover

Pony Slave Stories

Report Page