Friday, May 18, 2018

She loved the scenery, the speed, seeing the animal running desperately.


I spent much of my youth on family farms, especially in the summers.

My cousin Phillip was very kind and excellent company, we loved riding in the carriages in the stuffy and hot afternoons. I especially liked to feel the breeze on my face when Phillip made those animals run faster as we came down the hills. Phillip knew how to make the animals run; he handled his whips very skillfully. He made his bullwhips snap in the air before hitting the back, butt, and thighs of the beasts. The farm had many of them, many beautiful young and strong, very accustomed to pulling the carriages.

About two hours after lunch, after digestion in the middle of the afternoon, Phillip picked out an animal, tied it to my favorite carriage. He invited me to the ride, he knew the roads, the paths, the topography, and he knew how to make the tour fun and enjoyable. We chatted excitedly, cheerfully. He told stories, jokes, and did everything to make me happier.

I loved the scenery, the speed, seeing the animal running desperately. When I asked for more speed, Phillip gave the animal more painful reasons to run. We used to go on rides practically every afternoon, I knew the tips, I wore a cloak over my dress, I knew that the dust, sweat and blood of the animal would sneeze and stain all our clothes.

Phillip used to explain how to choose the best racing animals. He said that he did not like slaves who were small, thin or light, unable to pull carriages or take longer walks. He said that the castrated were not the best either, because they lacked courage, and were too fat. I also agreed cause I enjoy watching it`s scrotum and penis sway as they ran, it was funny.
We both prefer the servants whose tongues were cut, it moaned lower, made less noise and gossip.

Our favorite animal was about thirty, hairy, strong and fat, with large, heavy genitals. It`s leather was bright and well marked and wounded by the countless lashes. My uncle had blinded it when the animal was young when he realized that it was running too fast to avoid escape attempts. I loved to notice that even without having its eyes the animal cried a lot when was whipped or tortured. In spite of everything I thought he was very beautiful, muscular, strong, virile, and he was even more handsome running and pulling our carriage.


Those were good times!


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