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.