Phillip's Story
"Today,
I learn the Truth about Phillip"
By:
Jean-Christophe
(© 2011-2013 by the author)
The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's
consent. Comments are appreciated at...
Chapter 9
The Polo Tournament
Each year Master plays host to a polo
tournament.
Master lives on a spacious allotment of six acres which is both remote from
neighbouring houses and heavily treed which gives it a high level of privacy
thus making it the ideal venue for the tournament.
The tournament is a high point of the social summer calendar for our Black
Superior Owners and much planning goes into making it the unqualified success
that it is.
The day's activities commence in the morning and two matches are played before
lunch when the Superiors break for a leisurely and pleasant BBQ meal cooked and
served by their white slaves.
These matches attract a lot of interest and also serve as a popular, picnic day
for the Black Superiors. Their friendly conversations and happy laughter as they
socialize add to the festivities of the occasion.
Then, in the afternoon, another two games are played after which the winning
team is rewarded by the losing ponies. Master then hosts a lavish dinner for the
team members, the owners of the polo ponies and those who have simply come to
watch the polo teams in action. The day's festivities wind up with the Superiors
dancing outdoors on a patio overlooking the gardens and pool area.
It's a fun-filled day for the Superiors but less so for their slaves all of whom
are hard pressed to cope with the impatient demands of Master and his guests.
The weeks leading up to the tournament are onerous ones for me. So much has to
be done to prepare for the day. Of great importance is the preparation of the
playing field. It must be level and clear of all impediments that could cause
injury to the ponies. And of course those are matters that I attend to as
Master's slave. Additionally, I must mow the grass and keep it looking good for
the day. And the gardens must be attended to and maintained to the high
standards that Master expects and demands of me.
Then too there are the pool and BBQ areas to be made ready. If the day is warm
then most probably the younger Superiors will want to cool off in the
swimming-pool and the adjacent cabana and showers must be prepared for their
use.
Added to these duties is my role as Master's polo pony. Master has ridden me in
these tournaments for a number of years and being used as a polo pony is among
the hardest and most arduous of my many duties as a slave.
Perhaps this is made more so by my poor abilities to serve as Master's pony. I
know my performance has disappointed him in recent years and I do try my hardest
to please him and make him proud of me. But, putting it simply, I lack the
stamina and endurance to last the distance. The area of the polo field is forty
feet by twenty feet and this might not seem a large area. However, when you are
down on all fours, wearing blinkers with a bit in your mouth and with a rider
sitting astride you, then the area is greatly magnified.
Speed and endurance are called for by your rider and you must be responsive to
his demands. You must trust his judgments and you must respond immediately to
any command he issues to you through his use of the reins and bit. The rider
tells you when he wants you to turn in a particular direction by a sharp tug of
the reins. With your field of vision limited by your blinkers you learn
instinctively to turn right when the bit bites into the right side of your mouth
and the reverse is true when he wants you to turn left.
When greater speed is called for you learn to respond to the cruel cut of your
rider's crop. The stinging of the crop can be likened to being stung in multiple
places by a swarm of angry bees or wasps. The crop's pain is ceaseless and it
has the ability to wrap itself to the contours of your body. One moment it is
cutting across your quivering ass and the next it can be your heaving chest or
trembling belly that feels the pain. But the worst of all is when your rider
uses his crop on your tender, exposed balls.
No words can describe the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach as your
balls are hit. You can't vocalise the agony you feel for the obvious reason that
the bit reduces your scream of outraged pain to a series of animal -like grunts.
There is no escaping the crop in the expert hands of an experienced rider and my
Master is most accomplished. You can't run from the crop's fiery sting; it seeks
out those areas of your body not yet feeling pain and in your blind panic you
crawl faster in the vain hope of outrunning it. But there is no escape for you
as the polo pony. You must endure and suffer for your rider's sake.
For my part I panic and become disoriented and I think this is partly the
problem for me. And then I never seem to have the speed and endurance to keep up
with my fellow ponies.
This year Master has told me I am to do better and he has decided on a rigorous
training program for me. As a prelude to my training, Master received a parcel
and I watched as he opened it in my presence. I shivered when I saw what it was
that Master was unwrapping; he'd bought a new crop which he then immediately
tried out on me. This whip has been designed for use on human ponies and is
shorter than the standard crop used by our Black Superiors; nevertheless its
pain isn't diminished by its smaller size. If anything, it seems to wrap itself
around the contours of the pony's body and I suspect it is designed for use on
the pony's ass and balls. Master was pleased with his purchase and he was
impatient to try it out on me. The pain was intense and I knew Master was giving
me an early warning that I must perform better or suffer the painful
consequences.
For the next few weeks Master had me out on the polo field very early in the
morning before the heat of the day. Nevertheless Master's impatient demands soon
had me sweating profusely. Master had thought also of a new method of training
me and for the first time, I was blindfolded.
How can I describe the sheer panic I felt as I was blindfolded? I was full of
unreasoning fear and really I should have known better and to place my trust in
my Master's superior judgement of what was best for me. Soon, I understood the
purpose of Master's exercise was to attune my responses to his orders without
anything else distracting me. The idea was that I'd hear Master's commands and
to feel them transmitted to me through his use of the reins and bit or his use
of the new crop.
From Master, I learned that a polo player and his pony are a team and that a
co-ordinated effort was necessary for the player to be successful. The player
has to establish a good rapport with his pony and to try and put him at his
ease. The pony for his part must place all his confidence and trust in his rider
and he must learn to interpret what his rider expects him to do.
Because of the mid-summer heat, Master would practise early in the morning
beginning at 7.00 AM and riding me until 9.00 AM. Those two hours were stressful
for me and the first time Master used the blindfold on me I was terrified and in
my blind panic I was very unresponsive to Master's commands. Master persevered
for a while and when I didn't respond, he had to resort to using the crop to
"calm" me.
As the blows rained down on me it did help to settle me. It helped to focus my
mind on my Master and his instructions. Without my vision, my senses of hearing
and touch were heightened. My mind was closed to everything other than Master's
spoken commands and my body responded to the touch of his hands on the reins -
and of course, the cruel cut of his crop.
And Master usually rode me in the nude!
This was a bonus. The touch of my Master's nakedness pressing against my own
naked body soothed me. I derived great pleasure from the feel of his ass and his
cock and balls slithering against my sweat sodden back. Master was usually
mightily aroused and as you would respect, I responded in kind.
I tried my hardest to fulfil Master's expectations of me but I knew that I fell
short of them. I hoped desperately that I wouldn't disappoint Master on the day
of the tournament and cause him to lose face in front of his Superior friends.
And this did have the effect of making me want to do better and I
conscientiously applied myself to my training. All I could hope for was a good
showing on the day of the tournament.
The day of the polo games dawned with the promise of sunny, warm - but not
overly hot - weather. As Master's pony, I was glad on both accounts. Certainly,
good weather makes the day more pleasant for the Superiors and the fact that it
wouldn't be too hot boded well for the ponies that'd be hard pressed in the four
matches to be played over the course of the tournament.
These matches are always strenuous for the ponies and even in mild weather we
become overheated and sweat copiously which adds further to our discomfort.
I awoke early and began my duties while Master still slept. I had so much to do.
There were refreshments and drinks to be made ready for the arrival of Master's
guests, seating to be put out for the spectators use, the pool to be readied for
use by any young Superiors who might attend and finally a final check of the
polo ground to make sure all was in readiness for the players and their ponies.
Then it was time to take Master his early morning black coffee without sugar
and, when he was ready, to shower and dress him. After, I served him breakfast I
had my own light meal of cold cereal and accompanied Master on his pre-match
tour of inspection to ensure all was in readiness for the day.
Master did find fault with a few things and I was punished for my dereliction of
duty and made to attend to them under his stern supervision.
All was now in readiness for the arrival of the other polo players, their ponies
and the Superior spectators. I stood behind Master as he greeted his guests and
once he'd done so, I stepped forward, fell to my knees and crawled forward to
kiss their feet in homage and to welcome them to my Master's home.
There were some twenty Superiors, both Masters and Mistresses for me to welcome
and added to this number were eight younger Superiors who'd come to watch. Of
course, I paid the same homage to these younger Superiors as I did to the more
adult ones. It must be remembered that all Blacks - regardless of age or
background - are my Superiors and as a white slave I must at all times pay my
respects to them and show them all due deference.
Included among the Superiors were the Vet and his nurse who were attending for
the first time. On a recent visit to the Vet, Master had told him of the polo
games and he expressed an interest in witnessing the tournament. The nurse too
had been enthusiastic about watching the human ponies being put through their
paces and Master had extended a warm invitation to both attend. Interestingly, I
learned that the Vet and his nurse are a married couple and they were attending
with their own white slaves.
The Vet's presence was to prove providential. He was able to give the ponies
pre-match inspections to ensure their fitness to run and to monitor their
well-being between the matches. Fortunately, these inter-game inspections showed
the ponies' injuries were minor and consisted of nothing worse that crop welts
to their bodies and asses The Vet minutely inspected the reddened, welted balls
of each pony for any swellings or trauma and found them to be sound. He declared
any pain we suffered was of no lasting consequence and our owners had no reason
to be concerned.
The ponies' owners were appreciative of the Vet's interest and input. They
thanked him and after talks, it was decided that he should be present at all
future tournaments to act in an "official" capacity as the tournament's
veterinarian.
Greeting so many Superiors at the same time proved time consuming but I was
determined to show them that my Master has a white slave of whom he can be
proud.
Most Superiors were accompanied by their own white slaves. I never did get their
final number but I estimate there were twenty to twenty-five slaves of both
sexes.
Of course, the first thing these slaves did on arrival was to shuck down and pay
homage to all the Black Superiors. For the remainder of the time they served
their Superiors as naked white slaves. The slaves took great pleasure in serving
and making sure all the onerous demands of their Black Masters and Mistresses
were quickly and efficiently met.
While the Superiors socialized and relaxed over refreshments preparations for
the first two matches were underway.
There were two teams each of three riders and three ponies and these had been
designated as red team and blue team. I was assigned to the blue team together
with Sir Kyle's - Master's brother - slave Jem and another slave friend of mine
simply called Jim. All three of us had a blue silk scarf tied around our necks
to identify us to the spectators. The other team had identical red silk scarves
tied around their necks.
Jem had told me previously that he was to serve as Sir Kyle's polo pony. He was
extremely nervous about this in case he failed his Master's expectations of him.
The more I have to do with Jem the more impressed I have become. He obviously
loves his Master with every fibre of his being and I know there's no instruction
he wouldn't obey above and beyond his abilities.
Recently, Jem told me a little of his background. He is from a southern family
who believes absolutely in white supremacy and it wasn't until he'd met his
future Master that he became familiar with the tenets of Black Rule. Over a
period of two years, Sir Kyle exposed Jem to the idea that it is the natural
order of things for the inferior white race to serve the Superior Black Race as
its slaves much as my own Master had done with me. Jem now believes implicitly
in the tenets of Black Supremacy and give unquestioning obedience to his Black
Master. I admire Jem for his commitment and I stand in awe of his love and
devotion for my Master's brother, Sir Kyle and his nephew, Sir Jon. Jem is in
every sense a true white slave to the Black Race.
It truly surprises me how white slaves commit to their Black Owners, I remember,
my Master once telling me that the more educated the white the easier it was for
him to realize his basic inferiority and to gladly embrace his slavery. There
was great wisdom in Master's words. When I think of the white slaves in our
circle, I recognize that all are highly educated and in many instances are high
performing professionals.
All six ponies were lined up alongside of each other for inspection before the
first match commenced. We were placed on all fours with our heads facing forward
and our asses pointing to the rear. I can't say how long we waited patiently for
our inspections to begin but gradually the Superiors drifted over to where we
were lined up and began to closely scrutinize us.
At first they were content to discuss us and to compare us with each other. The
Superiors discussed the lines of our bodies and speculated among themselves
which of us would demonstrate the most endurance and prove to be the strongest
and fastest runners.
Our bodies were available for closer, physical inspection and all six of us
suffered hands roaming over our nakedness gauging the width and strength of our
shoulders and back; our legs and thighs were squeezed to test their thickness
and muscle tone and more than once I had my ass cheeks spread wide so that my
asshole could be viewed and fingered. I didn't bother to count how Superior
fingers entered me. Like my feelings, this was of no consequence to me.
Hands reached between my thighs and pulled my hairless scrotum down and out
through my legs making my balls easier to inspect. Like my fellow ponies, I
stood docilely as my balls were rolled between the Superiors thumbs and
forefingers before my cock was stripped back and "milked" in a test for its
hardness. Of course the final part of the inspection was the examination of our
mouths and teeth. We had to hold out mouths open as fingers were run over our
teeth testing their evenness and we were made to poke out our moist tongues for
inspection. Even our nostrils were pinched to test our lung capacity and our
eyes examined to see that we were clear-eyed, bushy-tailed and alert.
More than once I received a complimentary pat on the ass as a Superior inspected
me. The Superiors were gathered round in a group and they discussed each pony's
potential before placing bets on which team would win their match.
As they did so, the Superiors petted us much as one does with real ponies. Our
heads were ruffled and our asses playfully patted or loudly slapped amongst a
lot of ribald laughter about the size and shape of our asses, the nerve induced
puckering of our sphincters and our low hanging balls. And inevitably, scorn was
poured on the miniscule size of our "puny white cocks".
Meanwhile, as we were inspected, the Superiors were attended by their white
slaves who stood silently in the background with platters of savouries and
pitchers of cool drinks for them.
After all bets had been placed and the final inspection of all six ponies, the
Vet declared us as fit and gave his approval for the game to begin.
Each pony wore knee pads for protection and was fitted with blinkers and a
special bridle and bit. These bits had been especially made for "human ponies"
and were contoured to fit the shapes of our mouths. It has to be said they are
very uncomfortable and when the rider pulls on the reins they cause much pain as
the metal bits cut into the sides of our mouths.
Each rider is equipped with a wooden mallet and a riding crop. Some riders wore
sharp spurs but fortunately Master didn't and so I was spared the pain of having
needle-sharp spurs digging into my unprotected, naked flesh.
The programme for the day allowed for two matches to be played in the morning
when the match would break for a BBQ luncheon after which another two matches
would be played.
The rules were quite simple. The playing field was forty feet in length by
twenty feet in width and the two opposing teams lined up on opposite ends of the
ground. A large wooden ball was used and the idea was for each team to score by
hitting the ball between its wickets. The first team to score three points was
declared the winner and the aim of the other team was to prevent its opponents
from scoring.
A Mistress was given the honour of starting each match. She would stand in the
centre of the playing field and drop the ball to the ground. Once it hit the
ground, the players would gallop their ponies forward in an effort to reach the
ball first and to try and score.
Of course, we ponies weren't spared by our riders. Much rested on their winning.
To win was to bring credit to the winning team; to lose would be a "loss of
face" - an unpardonable sin on the part of their white ponies. Our riders lashed
us unmercifully with both tongues and crops. Master's use his crop on me was
unrelenting and no part of my body was spared. Cruelly, I was whipped on the
chest, the sides, my ass and my cock and balls. Soon my body was a mass of
painful, red welts.
Whether it was from freshness or because our riders drove us relentlessly
forward, it is hard to say: we won our first match but lost the second one. The
break for lunch was a welcome break after our two hard fought games. Of course
there wasn't any rest for us. Temporarily, released from our pony duties we took
our place alongside the other white slaves to cook and serve a BBQ lunch to our
Superiors. The day was pleasantly warm and the junior Superiors were able to
relax and cool off in Master's swimming pool.
After lunch we played two more matches and each one became progressively harder.
Certainly my energies flagged and I couldn't maintain the pace Master expected
of me. I could sense his growing impatience - and anger - with me and my poor
performance and I feared for the repercussions. I knew there would be a price to
pay for angering Master and I was filled with dread.
I wasn't able to keep pace with my two team ponies, Jem and Jim and I suppose I
was the one who dragged the team down to an ignominious defeat. We lost both
games and the overall score for the tournament was that blue team had won one
match but lost the other three to the red team.
There is no lonelier place to be than to be a loser. In the name of good
sportsmanship, you have to stand as the winning team celebrate their victory and
receive the congratulations of the spectators. I stood dejectedly and watched as
Master and his two team mates congratulated the winning riders knowing how
bitterly disappointed Master was feeling. How many times had he told me in the
weeks leading up to the tournament that he wanted to win and how much effort had
he put into training me to do better than I had done. I had disappointed my
Master and caused him to lose face in front of his Superior friends and guests.
But I harboured a secret with went part way to explaining my poor performance
but in no way excused it. For the past few days I'd been troubled with an
intestinal complaint which had unfortunately made me very tired and manifested
itself rather nastily on the day of the tournament.
However, I offer that as a reason only and not as an excuse for my poor
performance. There can be no excuse for a white slave who disappoints his Black
Master!
Despite my disappointment, I vowed to do better in future and I meant it too.
But to my shame, I once more failed my Master.
Later, Master spent a weekend at another Superior' beach-house. There were other
of his Superior friends present and of course, there was great emphasis given to
outdoor beach activities. Naturally, this involved the white slaves being ridden
by their Black owners along the sandy beach. Again, I underperformed and
disgraced myself causing Master to lose face in front of his friends. When we
returned home Master implemented a strict regime of punishment for me involving
frequent caning and, after my evening duties were completed, Master made me
spend long periods standing facing a wall while I reflected on my shortcomings.
The evening of the polo tournament, Master hosted a formal dinner for his
Superior guests. It was an enjoyable evening for them and it was made more so by
the efforts of their white slaves to ensure all went as my Master intended.
After dinner, Master's guests danced to music on the outdoor patio overlooking
the gardens. The slaves were on duty and constantly at the beck and call of
their Masters and Mistresses until they began to depart for home at 1.00 AM.
It had proved a long, hard day for me and it had been exacerbated by my pony
duties and of course my stomach upset. I was literally "dead on my feet" and I
desperately needed to rest and sleep.
But this wasn't to be!
Before he went to bed, Master told me I couldn't retire until the house was
tidied up and restored to the condition that he demands I maintain it at all
times. Only when that had been done could I sleep but then I was to be up as
soon as it was light enough for me to work outdoors.
Working as silently as I could so that I didn't disturb Master's sleep I moved
through all the downstairs rooms gathering up all plates, dishes, glasses and
cutlery that were lying around and loaded them into the dishwasher. I worked to
clean up the kitchen - to be fair the females slaves had tried to do so before
they left with their owners - but I knew their efforts weren't up to my Master's
exacting requirements. So I worked hard to have his kitchen sparkling clean and
back to just the way my Master likes it to be.
Finally, I cleaned the guest bathroom and vacuumed all the rugs in the
living-rooms. By now it was almost 4.00 AM and finally, I managed to crawl
quietly to my sleeping spot on the floor alongside Master's bed and get some
long overdue sleep.
All too soon, it was daylight and by 6.00 AM, I was outdoors working hard to
clean up after yesterday's festivities. I had to clean the swimming pool, the
pool-house and the barbecue pit. Then, there was the trash to be picked up from
the lawns and placed into garbage bags.
This took me all morning - a morning of constant hard work and I was bone
achingly tired - and it was only interrupted when my Master appeared at about
10.00 AM to check on my progress.
It was time for me to break from outdoor chores and move indoors to prepare
Master's breakfast and coffee. Master decided to eat outdoors, on the patio, and
to read the Sunday newspapers. Master relaxed in the nude as he ate his
breakfast and read his paper while I returned to my duties.
These weren't finished until 1.00 PM when Master ordered to dress after which he
sent me to the do the weekly grocery shopping. The rest of the day and evening
were spent in serving Master's needs and when he finally dismissed me and told
me I could sleep, I needed no second telling. I was already dead tired and
immediately fell into a deep sleep.
Without doubt, the tournament was a resounding success and a highlight of the
Black Superiors' social calendar. I know Master was pleased with the day but
bitterly disappointed that his team had lost out to its opponents.
I was a major contributor to this defeat and I felt Master's displeasure for
some quite some time afterwards.
Still there is always next year's tournament to look forward to. And who knows -
perhaps I can make amends next time!
I will certainly try harder!
To be continued...
Posted: 04/12/13