My little brother, my pet! Sixth part.

Throughout veterinary school, I fell in love with a colleague, Daisy, the most beautiful and talented veterinarian in the class.

She was very skilled with surgery and large animal deliveries, and we both wanted to work on farms raising beef cattle. Throughout our brief courtship, she frequented the house I shared with my classmates and spent much time with my bizarre slut younger brother.

She didn't show any difficulty or pass any moral judgments about him being treated like a bitch, with his permanent nudity, not even the fact that he sucked the dicks of every man in the house. She surprised me with her practical reasoning: she thought it was great that my colleagues satisfied their sexual needs with my fag and not with prostitutes or dating city girls, and she was delighted to see that it was the tidiest student house on campus cause our slave tidied up the house, washed the clothes, and the dishes every day. She hated housework.

I was afraid the girls would think I was crazy for having a brother who was as perverted as the college bitch, but for her, that was more of an advantage.

When we married, my parents and older brother, Jack, came to the festivities. Nobody wanted to see Charlie; they didn't even ask if he was alive. He was kept in the cage during those days not to embarrass any guests.

After the wedding festivities, when we were packing up to move to the farm, I told him that Dad, Mom, and Jack had been in town, and they didn't even want to hear from him. It reiterated that he was a piece of shit, a disgusting, despicable beast that belonged only to me and now my wife.

He wept as he listened, but I couldn't tell if it was from sadness or happiness. I never wanted to, nor could I understand that stupid, perverted shit.

When I finished school, we married and moved to a vast farm in the country's interior. Me, she, and my little slave bitch went to live in a massive house with a backyard.

My uncle asked me to help select the best riding beasts when I was still a teenager.

My uncle asked me to help select the best riding beasts when I was still a teenager. His farm bred human beasts by developing strains that were fitter, stronger, and more resistant to being ridden.

His animals were more than two meters tall, weighed more than 175 kilos, and were very strong and resistant. In addition to their size and strength, they needed to be virile, they received massive doses of hormones, so they were hairy, and their sexual organs were enormous.

On the other hand, they needed to be calm and obedient. Therefore, their brains were underdeveloped and treated with drugs, making them even more dumb and addicted. That's why they were docile, silly, and scared like two-year-olds. They were terrified, moaned, and cried often. The animals were selected and genetically altered to have the desired characteristics, and hormones and steroids change puppies from birth. Those born smaller were castrated, corrected by steroids and hormones, and sold for less noble and heavy work or slaughter.

In a few decades and generations, the animals were very different from the original breeders; they became bigger, much more robust, docile, and obedient.

I loved riding the fields on horseback every day. I took long walks, 20 and 30 kilometers, alternating rhythmic and calm trot and speed running stretches. When I returned to the stables and delivered the animals, I defined the treatment they would receive from the handlers for their performance during the ride.

If the beast fulfilled the entire tour with quality, it would get a bath, food, and the rest it deserved.

If the slut lost rhythm or lacked the breath to finish the ride at the desired speed, I set the number of lashes it would receive from 100 to 500 violent lashes on the back.

I never had any bond of affection or sympathy with these despicable animals; I did not identify them, recognize them or know their names. Their hides were covered with marks and wounds from beatings; they bleed easily, and even when washed, they stank and accumulate fleas and attract flies. They weren't pretty like dogs and horses, and I thought it was disgusting how they pissed and shit while walking. But I was an excellent jockey; I knew how to ride them, giving precise commands with the harness and the stimulus with the spurs and the cattle prod.

My little brother, my pet! Fifth part.

In the veterinary course, all students were allowed to take their pets to clinical classes. The idea was to be able to undergo treatments and exams and learn and train to deal with different types of mammals. My classmates from the student residence already knew my bizarre younger brother, and practically all of my classmates were already used to Charlie naked and on all fours, whether in our house or at our parties.

Thus, only the clinical professor showed some strangeness to the unprecedented situation. But it wasn't difficult for him to recognize that it was a beautiful didactic opportunity to show all students the similarities and differences between human organs and those of other mammals. We just had to sign a series of existing documents and forms for people who volunteered for experiments and clinical and laboratory tests. Charlie was already of legal age, and my parents also signed the endowment and agreement authorizations.

Each group of students worked with an animal on the bench; my group comprised my closest friends and a few female friends. With time and practice, I can say that none of us had any trouble or difficulty doing all sorts of experiments and procedures with our didactic material. It didn't complain or feel embarrassed even because we saw that the fag accepted that this was his role. It was evident that many times the pain and the fact that he was being oppressed in public turned him on; his cock was often hard and spurting.

We did several experiments with him. We inject vast amounts of hormones, adrenaline, and a wide range of drugs, to test the effects and reactions. We try its resistance to pain, burns, hunger, cold, heat, and electrical shock.

Several times we opened his scrotum and pulled his balls out to see if he could still cum, and it did a lot! While other groups anesthetized their animals for work, we muzzled them. He moaned like an animal when the pain was the strongest, but he coped well with everything we did.

When no professor was present at the clinic, we were even more sadistic. Some friends of mine were sadists, and they took particular pleasure in seeing him in a lot of pain. However, I can say that it was with them that I learned that Charlie felt joy and horny with all the suffering and humiliation they caused.

The bitch was indeed a slut masochistic!