Ultimate shoulder rides

Part 2
As soon as my rider addressed her stern words to me, I knew what would follow immediately. But, as if she wanted to increase my anxious tension even further, perhaps even enjoy it, nothing happened for a few long seconds, there was an icy silence. But then she angrily cracked the riding whip even harder on my sweaty fur, once, twice, three times, hitting me mercilessly with full force. Then came the dreaded, powerful kicks with her boot heels into my flanks: “Go on! Faster! You're not a riding horse, you're a lame billy goat! Move your lazy ass!” The spurs hit me, as always, exactly in the “right” place, right in the very sensitive lower rib cage! I could have screamed out loud! Then more violent kicks followed and, I had already suspected it, her painful riding whip again, hitting me no less violently. She had to notice that I was giving it my all...

I got these series from Jule at irregular intervals, sometimes even, like this time, with an angry verbal announcement. She obviously didn't care at all how hard her riding slave was trying and the sweat was running down my battered body. That's just how she was: she seemed to really enjoy pushing me on with ever greater energy, even when the path was steep and strenuous. She wanted to really get to grips with her tired, two-legged horse, to mobilize his last reserves. For Jule, this was just part of riding her slave, it was really fun and enjoyable for her. It was natural that I was trying my best, she certainly felt that too. But that was no reason for my rider to hold back, it was almost independent of how hard I was trying. I had no chance of escaping her whip or her spurs.

So I just dragged myself along as if I were on drugs. If only there was a short, flat stretch of the path so that I could at least recover for a little while. But no, it was constantly uphill, sometimes it was steeper, sometimes a little less steep. Every step I took was torture for me. But my young rider, who was sitting in the saddle noticeably impatient, still wasn't going fast enough! Where was I supposed to get the strength to comply with her wishes?

I really don't know whether I actually ran faster again after such a painful series. I couldn't even notice it myself because I was so exhausted, I just kept mechanically putting one foot in front of the other. But it is conceivable that I actually ran faster again because of the pain and panic, unconsciously, without really noticing it. In any case, Jule sat back in the saddle a little more calmly afterwards. But maybe she just wanted to gather fresh strength for the next gruesome series. For me, the torture on this damned path continued unabated. My rider wasn't getting any lighter, I had the feeling that she was getting heavier and heavier, even though she was now sitting more calmly in the shoulder saddle. Maybe she was now smoking a cigarette in peace and quiet, maybe she was taking some photos of this "great" mountain tour or just observing the great outdoors from her elevated seat.

So Jule also liked to relax and just sit in the saddle and let me keep trotting. She put her boots comfortably in the stirrups. Then I could feel her full enjoyment, how her two-legged friend had to work hard under her bottom during these phases. But in return he was allowed to carry her, to enjoy the privilege of having such a good rider in the saddle, one who led him safely by the reins. She liked these thoughts, which is why she liked two-legged riding so much, especially when it was really sporty.

In any case, despite all the scolding she gave me, her exhausted, "good-for-nothing" stallion, she was pretty happy with me. I think Jule was actually very happy with her riding slave. She always had fun in the saddle, riding me like a horse, or maybe like a stupid pack mule! Here she could really let off steam on me, could freely indulge her whims, that was the impression I often had of her. No path was too difficult for her, as a good rider she always trusted herself to ride me on extreme routes. Even if I arrived at the finish line staggering but she was still in the saddle, my divine rider had achieved everything.
End of Part 2

A magnificent description of "happiness in slavery" for both under and above ... I love it !

Part 4
But while the farmer's whip simply caused me pain, it was different when his daughter swung the whip. At first I couldn't explain it, I even had erotic thoughts when I got the whip from her, when she demanded more effort from me. Yes, even if it was sometimes more violent and painful than when the farmer drove me on. It was true that no woman had ever hit me with a whip before. Was there really a difference, man or woman? Up until now it had only been rough guys who smelled bad who had caused me such pain, but now it was a young lady who was also attractive. But it was the same pain that I felt? How could that be?

The way she held the whip in her hand and kept putting it on her shoulder literally drew my attention. She also occasionally sat sideways on the plough with her firm bottom and I had to pull her across the field. When we went a little slower, she would say in a pleasant, feminine voice, "What's wrong? I'm not too heavy for you! Come on, pull, don't be so tired! Try a little harder! I'm not the kind of person that you have to go at a snail's pace, hahahah! Come on, carry on!" and then I got the whip again. She enjoyed it and kept laughing out loud. I groaned because it was really hard to pull the plough like that, but the pain of the leather whip was something completely different, it didn't even bother me, quite the opposite.

I was even happy when she held me by the long reins and drove me across the field, I liked to work hard for her. Somehow the young lady noticed this too, and perhaps she was surprised by my somewhat strange behavior. She gradually became more and more cocky. Then she was probably pretty fed up with running next to the plough. While I was still bending forward, pulling the farming implement through the ground, she climbed up behind me and jumped onto my shoulders. She happily dangled her legs in front of my chest: "You're a strong guy, you certainly don't mind carrying me a bit, hahahah, it's much better this way!" Now I had a rider sitting on my shoulders and a plough that I had to pull like a draft ox. It was an incredible effort, but somehow it was nice how she sat there, a pleasant change.

By chance the farmer came by some time later and wanted to check on his daughter to see how the ploughing was going. When he saw what she had done to me, how she was sitting there laughing on my shoulders, he was surprised at first, but then he laughed out loud: “Great idea, I’ll have to remember that when I need a little relief from work, hahahah! After all, what do we have such a strong ox for? Hahahaha!”

How did I feel, as a dull draft ox, with my pretty rider? I could hardly explain it, because it was a crazy grind to pull that damned plough alone. Now the daughter of the house was sitting on my shoulders, still in a great mood, of course, as you can easily imagine. When I took over the walking for her, and she didn’t have to walk a single step, she was of course absolutely thrilled with her great idea. I could hardly explain it, but it was nice, it was pleasant to feel her on me like that. I even had erotic thoughts again, despite the increased strain on my battered body.

The next day she had swapped the long whip for a real riding whip. After a short time it had become natural that she no longer walked beside me when ploughing the field, but sat comfortably on my shoulders like a rider. She often took off her shoes and let her bare, very pretty feet dangle in front of my chest. But she also liked to pull the riding whip across my fur, it was probably part of her motivation. I still liked what she was doing to me! But I broke out in a sweat just imagining that the farmer might ride me like that one day. I hoped that this was just a bad joke and that he had no intention of actually sitting on my shoulders. But with his daughter it was more of a pleasure when she sat on me like a rider.
End of Part 4

Our friend came to this farm as a slave at the age of 17. There he initially did strenuous but "normal" work as a farmhand, and grew up physically in the process. He is 188cm tall and weighed around 85 kilos at the time. He is a rather dark guy with white skin, dark brown eyes and dark, medium-length hair. At the time, the farmer still had a somewhat older ox that he could harness to the plough. His young slave often led this animal while plowing. Then at some point it no longer worked, he was simply too old, and the four-legged animal was slaughtered. Then the farmer tried unsuccessfully to use his only cow for this work, but quickly gave up.

There was no money for a new ox. So it happened as it had to: one day his slave, who had now grown up, was harnessed and led by the reins like a draft ox. This was of course a terrible drudgery at first, often both had to pull the plough when the whip was no longer helping. But after just a few weeks this was significantly better, the slave became stronger, especially his legs, but also his back muscles and neck. A real "forehead neck" had formed after a few months. He had also gained weight noticeably, now weighing over 100 kilos, and had become a real muscle man through the strenuous work. There was no longer any need to buy an ox, it worked so well anyway.

Many other medium-sized farms also used slaves to plough the fields. They were often black. There were many farmers with colored slaves who believed that black people were more suited to this kind of work. They then had a yoke on their shoulders and the implement was attached to the side. The farmer then walked behind the plough and kept his black draft ox moving with a long whip.

Some keep exclusively black slaves, who were also used for other horse-related things such as pulling horse-drawn carts, single-axle and multi-axle vehicles. Many of the blacks were also ridden on two legs by men and women. Here too, some were of the opinion that colored people, who were often called "blacks" in analogy to horses, were particularly well suited as riding slaves, at least that's what the satisfied riders said.
Max

Hi Max, thank you for this freaking fantastic piece, the slave market part of the story become one of my favorite, I wish I could see how it went the auction, choosing slaves by their built and negotiate the price, I'd save every penny just so I could buy a strong pony slave just like him, bravo, well written!
However, I feel that the slave's potential is far from explored, since he is a giant muscle mule, theoretically he could be much much more durable than the slaves/carriers in your other stories, which they were pushed to much more extreme situation, please do not waste this good slave, he needs to reach his real potential, could you please not to end the story here?