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Author's Note: Author's Note: I re-discovered this partial story on an old PC. I started it about five years ago and decided to play around with it again while on holiday. As per my other story, my command of written English especially punctuation has never been that good, so please allow a little leeway. Once again I am into a dark tale of non-consensual slavery and human-animal play. If people are interested, I will add additional chapters as and when I can. Sorry if it's a bit slow, but that is how I write
Chapter 1 - Background to an Idea
It was around seven one evening in late spring when I first discovered what was to change my life entirely. As usual there was nothing on TV likely to capture my attention for very long despite the plethora of channels available. The usual crop of soap operas, much-repeated news, moronic reality and game shows and second-rate documentaries on obscure topics seemed the standard fare on offer.
Consequently, and as so often before I turned to the internet for entertainment. Did I want to play one of the online games I subscribed to? No. I wasn't in the mood for killing monsters or chatting with guildmates, most of whom would be absent anyway having moved to pasture new as the latest generation of multi-player pixels became available for electronic violence, or maybe they were huddled alone over there Xbox's or whatever.
Browse books to buy or peruse eBay, nope, loads of unread material on both my kindle and iPad already and eBay was just impulse browsing anyway, nothing I needed desperately or probably needed at all. Holiday browse again perhaps? I had not had a holiday as such for many years. I usually stayed at home and pottered about the farm. This year I had semi made up my mind to do something different. Book a package holiday to somewhere exotic. Nice, but I wasn't a 'laze around on the beach in a bikini' type person. I was not much of a 'bikini babe' anyway. Being somewhat petite in stature and slightly underdeveloped in the bust department. I don't so much need a top, more a small strip of ribbon.
That left my other fancy that was slowly growing, Pony trekking. I had taken riding lessons when I was younger and had also worked Saturday afternoons as a stable girl at my local riding school. I had enjoyed that, especially the ponies and young colts and fillies. I was always a little scared of the older stallions and bigger mares, something to do with my diminutive size I suppose, even today only standing four feet ten in my bare feet. They wouldn't have let me ride one anyway although I had a yen to do so. I remembered the smell still, a heady mixture of horse, earth, sweat, dung, fresh straw, leather tack, that overall animal odour.
I also nearly had my first orgasm on a pony while out one Sunday afternoon, trotting at the tail end of a string of fourteen-year old's. My beast being more than a touch overweight was inclined to be lazy, and we kept on falling behind the group. Mrs Frobisher was the lead rider and also owned the riding school that was a part of the farm she ran with her husband. She cantered back to me. "Keep up girl, keep up, don't let him lag like that."
"How?" I had asked somewhat apologetically. I was slightly scared of Mrs Frobisher. She was at least six feet tall, lean but with a good figure, harsh-voiced and always with a semi-permanent haughty, superior expression on her face. In her younger days, she had been a successful show jumper and even competed for team GB at the Olympics. I had the impression that she wasn't entirely happy in her marriage and rather resented her present circumstances. A fact confirmed a few years later when she featured in all the tabloid newspapers for a few days after catching her husband and a young (but legal age) stable girl in a very compromising situation. All she'd done was lash out a few times with her riding crop.
She was arrested for assault following a complaint from the girl's parents, and naturally, all the tabloids made a meal of it. 'Horse Mistress flogs amorous stable girl', etc. A whole bevvy of similar headlines abounded as I recalled for the next few days and then again at the magistrates hearing. She got off with a fine and a number of hour's community service. She also got the riding school and a fair part of her ex-husband's farm in the subsequent divorce. Her husband got the (pregnant) stable girl much to the latter's parents' fury. They boycotted the eventual wedding entirely.
"Use your whip girl. What do you think it's for? It's not some damn fashion accessory to your outfit" she had snapped while simultaneously dragging on her reins and wheeled the large stallion she was mounted on around and galloped back to the front of the group. " Teach the lazy beast who is in charge" she shouted over her shoulder.
I was always impressed with her horsemanship. The commanding presence she exerted over all her mounts. There were one or two known troublemakers stalled in the stables. Large stallions. Students were not allowed to ride them, and those helping in the stables had to be accompanied by a more experienced handler if having anything to do with them. Inevitably these were the mounts Mrs Frobisher chose. Rarely was there any resistance shown to her. The one occasion I saw one get rather frisky and jumpy after mounting she had savagely hauled its head nearly upright on a tight rein, while shouting "still" a few times and lashing out several times with her riding crop on its flank and rump, it immediately quieted.
I took her advice, indeed her command and applied a light swipe to my mounts rump with the switch I carried. Indeed, it was the first time I had ever used it. Well, not entirely true. I can recall admiring my reflection in the bedroom mirror while outfitted in jodhpurs, jacket, hat, and shiny high black riding boots and then giving my bottom an experimental tap. A little too hard. It hurt. Quite the perfect little equestrian aged fourteen. Looking back now I can also remember feeling a slight tingle within me at the time although I did not recognise why.
The light swipe did not affect my mount one iota and slightly fearful of lagging further behind and incurring a second visit from Mrs Frobisher; I applied a couple of harder ones. I had no real reason to be afraid of her. She was just one of those people that you inevitably feel a little apprehensively about. I think it was partly her height and also the commanding and rather intolerant air she had about her. My school headmistress also had that same effect on pupils and parents alike. My father defined it as the 'don't mess with me' aura!
A couple of harder swipes with the crop and the young filly I was riding leapt forward. I had to rein back a touch; otherwise, I'd have soon been up front alongside the formidable Mrs Frobisher. However, the trotting motion, up and down up and down as I bumped in the saddle and the act of cropping the beast, exerting my will had a rather peculiar effect on me. I felt growing wetness at my crotch and a strong sense of sexual arousal. I wasn't naive about such things. I knew all about orgasms from the modern women's magazines available plus numerous chats with school girlfriends and the odd sex lesson our senior school curriculum insisted we have. Those lessons as I recall were clinically biological and predominantly aimed at the various methods for avoiding getting pregnant rather than on the joys of sex.
I didn't achieve orgasm, but the sensation was quite delicious, and I was a bit disappointed when we arrived back at the stables to the mundane chores of removing saddles and tack and rubbing down our mounts. I raced back home and up to my bedroom. Boots, jodhpurs, and panties off and then laying back on my bed stimulating myself with my fingers. It wasn't the first time I'd played with myself; I'd indulged before but never achieved any success other than a certain initial dampness. I had never been to that 'heaven' where Gloria Johnson claimed to go every time she masturbated accompanied by a picture of her favourite boy band member. Three times last night she would gleefully boast during our between lesson breaks.
Maybe my problem was that I never had a favourite boy band member or girl band member come to that or anyone else. I know my parents worried about me. I never had a boyfriend. I remember once hearing my mother remark when she thought I was not around, that at least I wasn't interested in girls either thank goodness. On reflection, I think my parents were perhaps more than a bit homophobic. They needn't have worried. True I was not the least interested in boys. In general, I found them clumsy, loutish, unattractive and tedious. Girls I got on with better but only in a social context as friends and schoolmates. As I grew older, my circle of friends lessened considerably as their interests blossomed to encompass romance, relationships, marriage, children and so forth. I rarely kept in touch with people.
My first ever orgasm and probably the most intense I would experience for a long time was while laying back on my bed after that Sunday afternoon ride. I came almost as soon as I started to finger myself and then a second and third time. That was the only time I'd ever achieved multiple orgasms despite trying on other occasions since. Strange that I never examined the reasons as to why I climaxed so quickly that day and why I enjoyed the quick succession of repetitions. In hindsight now, of course, I understand the reason. It was that heady combination of pony movement coupled with the exhilarating feeling of masterful omnipotence over the beast beneath me as I cropped it into submission to my will. Sadly, despite the intensity of the experience it rapidly passed from my memory. An excited fourteen-year-old would relate not just one, but three orgasms achieved yesterday to her circle of friends the next day. Yes, three. Wow, cool, like unbelievable and similar responses but a tedious algebra lesson followed by an equally dull geography period soon dulled the memory of a pleasant experience and more importantly what had triggered it.
I never hit the same high again. A couple more years at school followed by Uni. The odd short relationship. I lost my virginity at the advanced age of nineteen to a slightly older guy with whom I thought I was in love. It didn't last. We split up after a few months. Our lovemaking became monotonous and tedious. Always the missionary position. Always him poking me and coming after a short spate of thrusts. I realised one night that I loathed the guy. That was also the night he wanted me to suck his dick. I remember looking with repulsion at the reddened stubby half erect organ he was pathetically waving at me. The one that had poked me almost every night for the last three months and yet had never done anything for me other than empty it's seed into my vagina. Yes, I was on the pill, and no lover boy would not use a condom on account of being Catholic. That's about as far as his religion went. Never went to church or anything but a good excuse for riding me bareback!
I refused even to contemplate what he wanted. We rowed and split the next day thank god. He was my first and to date, my last lover. I surreptitiously bought a little vibrator on a girlfriends advice and used that on the rare occasions I felt randy which wasn't very often. After Uni I remained single, went into accountancy, became I suppose, a reliable but boring little mouse. I was a natural loner. My sex life was non-existent, and my only intimate contact never went beyond the odd annual boozy good-natured grope at the Xmas office party in the finance department of the big London company that employed me.
My parents sadly both passed on, and I inherited the family home if you could call it that. An isolated old farmhouse well off the beaten track about twenty minutes' drive from Norwich in Norfolk. It had once been the centrepiece of a thriving farm, but most of the surrounding land had long since been sold off leaving just the main house, some outbuildings in various states of decay, a wooded area and a couple of smallish overgrown paddocks.
My mother who had survived my father by a couple of years died around the time I was made redundant due to a significant takeover of my firm by a prominent German multi-national company. They offered me another post, but I decided to opt for redundancy and take advantage of a generous offer that was available. I didn't need it as my parents had been reasonably well off and never been big spenders. I was also bored and truth to tell, rather lonely in the capital. I felt it might be nice to return to Norfolk and take up residence in the country again. I needed a lifestyle change, but never could have I envisaged at the time that it would lead to such a significant difference in my life and interests and also have a very severe and unfortunate impact on others.
Ok, so the bikini was probably out. I didn't have one anyway. What did I want from a holiday? Romance? Not really. I'd never hankered after Mr. right and having just turned thirty felt even less interested in it. Sun? Nice but I could live without it. Anyway, I burned pretty easy. I was never one to go bronze or pine for the tanning parlour. Company? Perhaps. I was becoming something of a recluse. Probably have to go on some sort version of a package holiday to get that and what kind of company would it be? Possibly unwelcome, potentially dull, also inescapable for a set period. Hmmm.
An activity holiday perhaps. What about going riding again or pony trekking then? Maybe the company would be more interesting with a common theme. Were there holidays that went from a to b through to c and so forth rather than just out and back from the same stables every day. My first proper holiday for a long time and I warmed to the theme and switched on my desktop PC. As the hard drive beeped and LED's flashed, my life was about to change and so would that of a young woman living in another country far away. Neither of us knew it yet, but our futures were to be linked, one for better and one for worse and for me, it would not be the worse!
Chapter 2 - An idea better than Pony Trekking
God, this thing, gets slower I thought. Ah, ready, finally. Fast broadband internet was about the only thing I missed from London. Our local connection speed was adequate at best. What was I looking for? Pony trekking, girls around my own age for company, holiday. My fingers tapped out the words pony, girl, holiday trekking into the search engine followed by the return key. The results came up, and I clicked automatically on the first link without paying much attention to it. I was half thinking of getting a coffee and went to make one even as I clicked on the key. I needed to feed my dog as well.
I sat down again. I stared at the image on the screen in front of me. I don't recall how long I sat and stared at the screen. It can't have been all that long. It felt like a long time. It was without a doubt one of those 'life changing' moments. Maybe such events always seem to last for a long time even if in reality they are only a few seconds long.
There was an image on the screen. A drawing or rather what I believe is called a CG image. It depicted a near naked young woman, nude apart from a rather severe-looking black leather body harness that restrained her. On her head, she wore another type of harness with a tall red feather-like plume sticking up vertically. Her face was contorted into a fearful grimace, her eyes flashing a mixture of fear, anger, apathy, and despair. It was all there. The artist was terrific whoever he or maybe she was. A bar partly covered her mouth, a bit, in fact, just like people used on horses I realised as I took in the details in the picture. Her long naked legs were sheathed in black knee-high length high heeled boots - no not high heeled, there were no heels, they ended in what looked like horses hoofs of all things. Her breasts, thighs and flanks were crisscrossed with numerous wicked red stripes.
A wide leather belt encircled the young woman's waist and was attached on each side to a pair of long wooden shafts leading back to a small two-wheeled buggy type of cart upon which two figures were seated. Both of them were women and lounging in cushioned comfort on their unusual conveyance. On the right sat an older woman negligently holding a long set of reins in her gloved right hand. The reins led forward to the bit in the harnessed girls mouth. The woman was mature and formally dressed in red riding coat, dressage style top hat, leather gloves, beige jodhpurs tucked into gleaming black riding boots. Next to her wearing a short summer dress sat a smaller and much younger looking girl with long blonde hair framing a rather innocent and angelic looking face. However, there was nothing innocent about the long, vicious whip she was wielding as she flicked it forward clearly aiming to add yet another painful red stripe to the tormented girl between the shafts. Nor was there anything innocent in the way the older woman had her left arm right around her youthful companion, a leather gloved hand visibly fondling the younger girl's left breast.
I stared at the picture quite mesmerised for some seconds. Of course, I'd seen porn before. Who hasn't? The internet is full of such stuff not that I had ever conscientiously gone looking for such. It just wasn't my thing - or rather hadn't been up to now. That was about to change.
That picture fascinated me. It hit me in the right spot almost like an electric shock. Talk about triggers being pulled, or buttons pressed, we'll mine were well and truly pulled and pushed and I went off instantly just as if I was a gun being fired. Unconsciously I parted my thighs, and my right hand reached down to massage my crotch. I was hot and wet just from looking at that one image.
The expression on that poor bound girl's face and the way the two women were using her to pull that cart as if it was the most normal thing in the world. The older woman's relaxed posture and her obvious interest in the girl beside her rather than the unfortunate woman in front of her. The casual way she almost seemed to be ignoring the woman on the end of her reins as if such a thing was an everyday norm in her world. The laughing face of the young girl as she wielded that nasty looking whip without any apparent concern as to the pain she might be causing her victim. Indeed, her expression gave the impression that she delighted in leaving those vicious red stripes on her helpless victim's skin. Again, such practice was evidently the norm in their particular world.
I continued to stare fascinated by the image. I imagined that carriage bouncing along pulled by the woman in the bondage harness. How fast could she go? How did she manage in those horses heeled like boots? That whip must hurt. Could she even scream with that bit like a gag in her mouth? I noticed that her arms were tightly and probably painfully bound behind her back. She had no way to escape, no option, no refusal just had to run and pull and hope to avoid that whip through her efforts. Was she whipped all the time or just to speed her up? How must those exposed breasts bounce about? Was she doing this for fun like some sort of masochist? Surely not. They were treating her like....like she was merely an animal!
My fingers found what they were looking for between my legs and began to massage my clit. I was very wet, wetter down there than I had been in years. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd had my fingers down there or even used my vibrator where ever it was now. In my imagination, I sat in that cart. I held the reins and that long whip. Forget the little blonde, I wasn't gay and fondling some teens tits was not likely to turn me on. The woman in harness though was a different matter. Those bouncing tits and arse cheeks! How I would have liked to wield the whip on them and make them jiggle and dance to my tune. Did that mean I was a closet BDSM type gay? No, she was not a woman, she was a sort of animal, a helpless beast to be used at my behest. I came at that moment in what was for me a pretty massive orgasm that seemed to go on for quite a while. I shuddered and groaned in pleasure, my juices flowing freely to saturate my panties and jeans. The aroma of an aroused and sexually sated woman filled the air banishing the odour of fresh coffee from my desk space.
I spent the next few hours exploring further. What a great medium the internet was. I book-marked the page in my favourites and also created a file folder titled 'horse girls' to save the image on my screen. Sipping my coffee slowly, I began to utilise the seemingly infinite resources of the world wide web. To my disappointment, the picture that had caught my attention so effectively seemed to be a one-off. It was titled 'Madam's afternoon ride .' The site I was on seemed to be a bondage one. There were variously themed subsections, rubber, lesbian, leather, indoor, outdoor, etc. The one I had landed on was called 'pet girls'. I perused a succession of drawings and photos, some singles, some part of a series and all depicting woman in one way or another either willing or unwilling imitating some form of an animal. There were many cats and kittens, dogs and puppies, cows with huge breasts, a couple of exotic birds and one or two other types. However, by far the most numerous were the horse like girls. There must have been a couple of hundred of them. Ponygirls was the standard tag.
The site was a free one put together by someone with pictures they had collected off the internet. Indeed, they said this was just a small sample of their collection, and for a small one-off fee, you could have full access to the main collection. God, if this was a small sample, then how big was the main collection and how much of this stuff was there on the internet? The mind boggled. Was it legal anyway to put pictures up that you didn't own? Probably not but that was only a brief passing thought as I investigated further.
I renamed my recently created folder. I called it human animals and added a subfolder titled ponygirls. My interest was well and truly captured. I spent several hours on that site and then on a few others. I was right there was loads of material out there in the vast void that was the internet.
I typed 'pony girl' into the search engines or 'pet girl' and began saving bookmarks. I created a favourites folder specially for them. I quickly found out that the material fell into several categories. There were photos and drawings or some other types of art. The photos tended to fall into two types. There were high-quality glossy girlie magazine-type images of harnessed girls invariably smiling at the camera. Smiling! Many of them single poses but occasionally a duo. I also came across a few that included a scantily clad or near nude whip-wielding mistress. The makeup was always immaculate. Rouged cheeks, gleaming white teeth clamped down on loosely applied mouth bits, between glossy red lips. Leather or latex harness glistening in its pristine newness. Not a red whip mark to be seen. No blood sweat and tears here. Page three with a bit and head harnesses. Hmmm. I'd bet anything that all those fearsome looking leather harness straps would have hardly even been tightened either. Mustn't leave any marks on that nubile flesh because of the little darlings next photo-shoot!
The other type of photos looked somewhat more homemade frequently being of a smaller size and much lower quality. They tended to depict a variety of woman of all ages in an extensive range of head and body harnesses. In general, these women were older than the glossy professional models, and many of the pictures were taken outside rather than studio posed. They wore their different outfits and harnesses with a bit more realism and not quite so many fixed smiles although not one looked truly terrified. Unlike the posed bimbo's many of the pictures often featured a master type figure rather than a mistress. Many of the photo's seemed to have been taken at some event or gathering. They had that sameness and feeling to them. Apparently, the people posing were couples, mostly Male/female although there were the occasional Female/female and even a couple of Male/male ones. I also saw a few wearing those horse style boots rather than the stilettos the glossy models always wore.
They pulled carts, stood waiting patiently with reins looped over posts and rails or were led by about by their owners, some in pairs some single. Others wore saddles of varying sizes. Most stood upright, but some were down on all fours. One or two even wore nosebags or had their heads in water troughs. Despite the plethora of whips and crops on display, hardly a single one appeared to have been used on any of the subjects.
I liked the art pictures much better. The range was huge from simple pen and ink sketches through to large detailed computer-generated images. The subject was a popular one. There were lots in a sort of Japanese Asian cartoony style that I disliked. Way too many of those images of huge-eyed women and girls in what I thought were rather weak and unrealistic drawings. Maybe that was just my western perspective as some people must like them from the amount available.
Over the course of the next day or so, I soon established a portfolio of pictures that appealed to me. Generally faithful to life type images of harnessed and helpless women being used as beasts of burden as they laboured for their respective mistresses. (The ones with masters didn't do anything for me). Pulling carts or buggies, being ridden, or even ploughing fields and always under the threat of whip or crop. Those that carried the marks of such implements were the ones I liked best.
A frantic search through my dressing table saw my little pink vibrator emerge from its long hibernation and that weekend it saw more use than in most of the previous decade. Thank god the batteries were still good! I remember laying back on my bed late Saturday afternoon. Legs wide apart, post-orgasmic juices trickling down on to the damp duvet cover, breasts still heaving in the aftermath of my third orgasm of the day. Three! Just what the hell was going on?
My favourite was a sequence featuring a ponygirl called Beauty. It probably shouldn't even have been available. It was a 'jailbait' series as it featured a very young pre-pubescent girl. There were thirty frames, all in colour, very well drawn. There were no cartoon-like speech bubbles or attendant written narrative, merely headings that left the viewer to use their own imagination. I never found out who the artist was nor came across any more examples of their work though I frequently looked.
The first few frames featured an auction attended by Mary-Beth and her mother. They were going to buy a pony for her birthday, but not just any old pony, it was to be a human one.
Several frames were labelled choices one, two, three, etc. as Mary-Beth and her mother closely inspected various human ponies both male and female. I loved the way the artist had captured the hopeless emotion expressed on the faces of the helplessly restrained creatures as they were intimately examined.
Another set was simply labelled auction one, two three, etc. Mary-Beth and her mother sat in the front row of a small group of people as bidding commenced. The buyers were a diverse group. They ranged from corpulent businessmen, Arabs in traditional dress, women of various ages from a pair of gorgeous looking young model types to an aged and wicked looking well-dressed matron. The latter also sat in the front row casually holding the leash of a human male dog that knelt beside her. African style leaders, a man in severe religious robes and a dark-eyed woman wearing the traditional head to foot black burka common in some ultra-conservative countries.
Some frames featured the ponies on the auction block, others the successful buyers leading away their new purchases. The one showing the two young models leading away a tall pony boy was particularly good. The terrified expression on his face contrasting with the cruel one on one of the model types already wielding her crop viciously.
There was one frame titled purchase as Mary-Beth bought a strong muscular Amazon type ponygirl. The remaining frames were titled training, riding, and broken. Mary-Beth aided by her mother and a whip ruthlessly trained the girl who was not the only occupant of the stables as other ponies both male and female featured. Mary-Beth's mother apparently had quite a collection. The final frame showed the mother riding in an elegant carriage pulled by two pairs of well whip marked ponies, Males in front and females behind. Next to her rode young Mary-Beth, black riding hat, red coat, jodhpurs, boots, crop, and spurs. Her mount the unfortunate Amazon now bent forward, harnessed, helpless, saddled, bridled and broken. A proud Mary-Beth rode at her ease while her sweaty mount marked savagely from crop and spurs desperately ran alongside the carriage carrying her young burden.
I often returned to that set and exercised my pink sex toy as well as my imagination. I remembered my riding orgasm of many years before. God if only I could have had my own Amazon! I fantasied a lot. Did I want some pretty pet all dolled up in lipstick and mascara, smelling sweet and straight out of a men's wank mag........no I wanted a sweating, smelly rebellious animal carrying the marks of my crop, cane, and whip on her wretched hide? I remembered Mrs Frobisher. I would stand no nonsense from my strong, proud filly or mare. I would show them who was boss and tame her. I wanted to saddle her, ride her, rake my sharp pointed spurs down her long hind legs and hear her whinny in pain and fear!
My pink vibrator was certainly getting a lot of overtime; I even bought a second larger one plus a battery charger and some rechargeable batteries off eBay. I spent hours on the internet looking at one site after another and accumulated quite a collection of photos, artwork, video clips and stories. Even Amazon I discovered had a reasonable amount of erotic fiction Kindle books available on or related to the theme.
My favourite writer always amused me. He or she had a number of excellent stories on the subject, always very dark and extremely non-consensual. They invariably always started off with a bold, italic preamble warning, to the effect that what they were writing about was not very nice and not to read if you were easily offended, etc. Also, that the story was pure fiction and that the events described would be utterly abhorrent if carried out in reality with the appalling degree of cruelty and degradation inflicted.
Really? It was the descriptions of 'cruelty and degradation' being inflicted that turned me on. I suspect that I am by no means alone in that. However, how many people had the means to turn their fantasy's into reality? Did people do that, and that question started me on a whole new train of research.
Once again the internet provided me with a vast amount of material. God, if the police ever took a look at my hard drive, they'd have all the evidence they'd ever need! Kidnappings were reasonably common it seemed, sadly too often involving children. Now that was genuinely abhorrent, and I had absolutely no interest in that. There were several well-documented cases of long-term kidnappings that had all ended with the victim's release and the captor's imprisonment. I frequently wondered just how many cases there were that had gone undocumented because no one had ever found out about them?
Many of the stories and books I'd read revolved around wealthy influential people who invariably had super discrete private estates where they trained, bought and sold stock, even bred them also frequently held races or auctions of their many unwilling captives. Did such places exist? Was there a global network of owners? Did some nubile Hollywood starlet have her private kennel complete with a quartet of human male dogs that she'd whipped into grovelling canine obedience? Did some Arab princess control a stable of helpless male and female equines? Did some corrupt African potentate regularly take a carriage for a spin with half a dozen white two-legged mares and stallions harnessed between the tracers?
Well if they did, I certainly had no way of finding out. Indeed, I strongly suspected that poking one's nose into such situations would neither be wise or prudent. I had no desire to end up in a kennel or a stall as a forgotten missing person statistic. Anyway, who would even report me?
That sent me to bed with another line of thought to consider. Just how many people did go missing every year? Yes, there was often a major outcry when a child or young woman went missing, articles in the daily newspapers, on the news, regular updates and appeals from the police to the public. Yet one was always reading about kids running away from home, homeless people and the like. Surely there was a lot of, of.... sort of undocumented people out there. People who would not be missed because they were already missing?
Chapter 3 - Planning and execution of an idea
I remember precisely when the idea came to me. My very own road to Damascus moment. I'd run out of groceries again. I was always doing that. I wasn't a fussy eater and rarely planned my meals just eating what I had in the refrigerator or cupboards. On this occasion, I had let things run on for too long, and the cupboard was bare thus necessitating an emergency run to my nearest supermarket. I'd gone out to the old stable building I used as a garage for my rather elderly little car.
I'd half thought of getting a horse a couple of times and taking up riding again but then always discarded the idea. Too much work and was I actually all that keen? I stared momentarily at the old empty stalls. I had sat up late the previous night having found a lengthy new story on the internet, quite a juicy non-consensual one and my vibrator had also seen some extended use. I stopped dead. But what about....no...it was impossible....silly. I seem to remember shaking a little. But what if it was possible?
What if instead of looking at a miscellaneous collection of mouldering old junk I was staring at my very own ponygirl. My ponygirl bridled and bitted, tethered in her stall, the apprehension no fear in her eyes as I, her owner approached. The recent marks of my whip visible on pale hide overlaying the many older ones that crisscrossed on buttocks, back and breasts. The stench of sweat, stale piss and shit, leather tack and unwashed animal odour and above all, fear. What if? Indeed, what if? I drove to the supermarket that day deep in thought.
That probably would have been the end of it, but a couple of days later I was in the nearby village. Most people go to the post office to buy stamps and the like. My local village post office sells them along with about a zillion other things being a small convenience store as well. It was the last place I would have expected to find a human pony!
Well to be honest the Asian couple who ran it did not sell me one although it was probably about the only thing they didn't stock. I'd been astonished the previous week by them having an ink cartridge for my old printer! No, it was a conversation I accidentally overheard while waiting to return a 'wrong item' back to an eBay seller.
Two plump farmers wives, at least I assumed that's who they were stood talking before me in the short queue.
"Of course, they are all illegals, no one knows about them".
"Where does he get them from"?
"Some gangmaster, he calls him up and tells him how many he needs for the job and for how long. He pays the guy less than the minimum wage who then probably pays them a pittance, plus they get board and lodgings deducted while they are on the job whatever it is. Potato picking, veg peeling or whatever."
"That's what it amounts to. Men and women. He's been nabbed by the authorities before, but he still does it. Says it's cheaper to pay the fine and carry on than hire proper people. Half of them apparently do a runner anyway from those caravans of his and who knows where they end up?
"Surprised he's got the guts for something like that. My Charlie knows him, ses he 's weaker than a piece of wet toilet tissue and folds at the slightest pressure he does. All mouth and now't in his trousers!"
My ears had picked up. I had been idly contemplating a tin of Irish stew on a nearby shelf as a quick and easy lunch item when my attention switched. The conversation died as one woman became the next customer at the grill. My mind worked fast, so fast that being by nature rather a shy and reserved person I surprised myself.
"Was that Bob Jenkins farm you were talking about?" I enquired in a slightly disapproving tone. "I heard he'd been in trouble again with the immigration people."
The woman turned to look at me and shook her head. No love, never heard of him although it wouldn't surprise me, half of them are on the fiddle these days."
I laughed. "So, what's new."
"True", the woman shook her head. "It were that Thomas Granger, him that has Grange Farm down Church road aways."
Conversation ceased at that point as it was her turn to be served. I don't think I ever saw her again. It's funny the way things can turn out. That brief, casual chat was another major turning point in my journey towards human pony ownership.
A quick survey via Google maps showed me the location of Grange farm and a day in town looking at back copies of the local newspaper gave me some background information on farmer Grangers previous conviction. Google maps even showed the caravans that he used to accommodate his illegals. The only downside was that according to the report in the paper the magistrates had indicated that they would be less lenient were he to be caught employing illegal labour again. Had I discovered something too late?
The farm was about eight miles from my house by road and on the opposite side of the village. I drove past for the first time the following morning, slowing down both ways to peer through a rather sparse hedgerow. Fortunately, the caravans were parked not too far from the narrow country lane. Evidently, farmer Granger didn't give a four xxxx who saw what was going on. There were three dilapidated caravans parked at the edge of a field on a crumbling strip of concrete. Maybe they were just too far gone to be moved. I saw at least three flat tyres, and two caravans leaned to one side. That was not the first time I reconnoitred the site. I did that twice a week for the next two months. I was on the verge of giving up when finally, I spotted some garments hanging on a line sagging between one caravan and a nearby tree.
Next day I parked my car near the church which gave the road its name, hoisted a small pack on my back, slung a pair of cheap binoculars around my neck and went bird watching. I giggled a bit at the thought. Well, I was after one type of particular bird, wasn't I? Anyway, it was just a game. Sometimes I took Raven the young black German shepherd dog I'd recently bought for company.
My bird watching trips lasted for about a fortnight. By then I had realised that all the occupants of the caravans were male. I briefly contemplated having a Ponyboy but quickly dismissed the idea. I had an entire hard drive full of ponygirl material, and any ponyboys or mention of them was merely peripheral to my primary interest. It was a big disappointment but also a relief, no more tramping up and down that damn lane pretending to be interested in birds and dog walking.
The caravans were empty so far as I could see when I next drove that way, and it was approaching winter now, so I assumed that they would be empty till the spring. Maybe even a lot longer if the farmer had mended his ways.
I wasn't idle though, far from it. My fantasy had now become a semi-serious hobby. I had already acquired numerous items from various sources via the internet. It amused me whenever I received a parcel from the postal service or a delivery firm. Did they know they were delivering an item of bondage equipment or a nasty whip or crop, perhaps a piece of particular tack? No, of course, they didn't. It did, however, make me 'visitor conscious'. My old farm buildings were set back away from the road and with lightly wooded areas on both sides plus a couple of fields to the rear again surrounded by woods. Nevertheless, I decided as part of my plan I would cut out as many unnecessary visitors as I could. I thereby made arrangements for mail and parcels to be left at the village post office and for a fee, my non-postal deliveries.
Strange, but making such plans added immensely to my sexual stimulation even if it was all fantasy. They were all part of the Master Plan. Hell, I remember thinking to myself 'Masterplan', I wasn't exactly going to invade occupied Europe! Still, it was my plan, and even if it was just a harmless bit of imaginary fun, it had to be foolproof, at least in my mind. The one thing I 'd noted from my research was that spontaneity never worked. I intended that no book about me and my victim would ever appear on Amazon! That was in the highly unlikely event of my ever having one.
The kit arriving in my various parcels was not cheap. I did not want the bondage 'play set' stuff sold in sex shops, eBay, and popular online exotic lingerie sites. I wanted the real thing. Well made, heavy, durable, inescapable, and unfortunately always highly expensive. Luckily I could afford it. At some point, my little hobby must have crossed the line between fantasy and reality but the line was blurred, and I wasn't conscious of it. I could afford it. Maybe I'd advertise for a play partner one day?
I spent time (and more money) out in the old stable building. I had the roof checked and all the rotten timbers and broken or missing roof tiles replaced. That alone cost a small fortune. The same company put in a water supply for me along with a heater and a large stainless-steel sink. Another significant expense was the electrics. A complete rewire and then the addition of security lighting, a security system, and a surveillance system. I told that company I was going to start a small riding school and maybe take in a few liveries, so I wanted everything to be secure. A new door frame and heavy wooden door complete with security lock finished off the project. I told myself it all needed doing anyway, I used it as a garage and maybe I ought to treat my self to a more expensive sexier car.
I'd been so busy organising my stable and equipment as well as maintaining the daily internet browsing that I'd almost forgotten about the farm caravans. I had also been partly mulling over plans b, c and even d, as various ideas occurred to me. None of which, however, were all that practicable. I was less than five feet tall and certainly not built to overpower someone much bigger physically. Nor did I have access to the things people in stories always had. They always knew shadowy kidnappers or were shoving needles into people or putting cloths over their faces with chemicals that instantly knocked them out. Either that or they had access to electric stunning devices which were all illegal and unobtainable in the UK.
I was taking a shortcut heading for a dental appointment when I noticed there were lights on in the caravan windows as I drove past. They were still on when I returned, so I braked and drove quite slowly. To my delight, I saw two people exit one caravan and cross over to the largest of the three, and they were both women. How old or what they looked like I could not tell from a brief view of their backs, I just knew from their clothing and hair and movement that they were women. Anyway, if they were illegals and looking for work, they were much more likely to be young. I drove home trying to remember where I'd dumped the binoculars.
Next day I resumed my bird watching activities. Parking at the church was safe due to the ongoing national decline in church attendance. The local vicar now had responsibilities for five parishes and five churches, so I'd never yet seen him or anyone else there. There was a service but only about once a month other than Christmas and Easter.
I made three trips that week, slowly walking past the site twice on each outing. I timed it wrong on one occasion and saw no one. The other two outings proved more rewarding. There were at least three men in the large caravan, a couple with a small child in the middle one and I thought three maybe four women in the third and a couple of them seemed quite young looking. One, in particular, had caught my eye. She wore her blonde hair in a long single plait down her back. Tall, broad-shouldered, big build but not fat, athletic looking, not a runner, more of a thrower, javelin maybe rather than shot or discus. Just the right size and shape for a diminutive riders saddle pony!
Well, the right wild pony had been identified. Now how to cut it out from the herd, rope it and bring it home. There were more people resident in total than I had reckoned on. Were they related? Did they all know each other and would anyone who went missing be reported? Were they actually all illegals? Key questions but not ones I could easily obtain an answer too.
Well, there was one way to find out, and I was all equipped to carry out my plan. It was by no means the best plan in the world and would require a degree of luck, but if I could somehow trigger the initial part. If the cards fell my way, then I was confident I could achieve my goal. I drove home and spent twenty-four hours in a very thoughtful mood. Fantasy was one thing - but kidnapping, I mean kidnapping for real, not play acting was, well crazy to put it mildly.
I went to bed thinking of the Amazon presumably sound asleep in the caravan just a few miles away. My Amazon, my Beauty, my future ponygirl. I made my mind up and sometime in the early hours finally dropped off into a trouble-filled sleep whereby I seemed to be continually running down dark country lanes pursued by giant ponygirls dressed in police uniforms.
Nightmares aside my resolve remained unaltered, and I passed a slow day, nervously sipping numerous cups of coffee, forever glancing at the clock, and trying to maintain an aura of calm against my growing feelings of tense anticipation.
I returned after it became dark and then using an old second-hand cell phone plus a prepaid SIM card I called the farm. A woman answered so I asked if I could speak to a Mister Thomas Granger. There was a silence and a sound as though the phone had been put down carefully. I waited until a male voice said hello in a not very friendly tone.
"Hello, hello, is Mr Granger?" I asked in a badly accented voice.
"What do you want, who wants me?"
"Is Klara from Poland, you don't know me but I been working some nights down at Fox and Hounds in Little Topping, barmaid and washer of dishes".
"So what?" he snorted angrily.
"So what is Immigration people" I hissed. "They coming to see you maybe tonight."
There was a pause then, "Shit! How do you know that? Where are you? Why are you calling me?"
"I outside pub on cell phone. They all in pub eating bar meals, I serve, I hear talk. Two womens and three men. Big van and car outside. I hear they come to you, know about people there, I no like, I once big problem with immigration border peoples. They say Grange Farm on Church street, I look yellow pages so give warning try help peoples like me have no big problems. I go now bye bye".
I cut the call off. Five out of ten I thought to myself, gawd I probably sounded more like a Mrs Ravi at the post office than an East European!
I had parked off the road in the sparsely grassed and gravelled entrance to a field just around a corner from the site I was watching. I got out of my car and walked a little nearer taking good care to remain in the additional darkness provided by the gloom of the trees. I doubted if any traffic would be about, the road was hardly used during the day let alone later, and I could easily melt out of sight should I spot any approaching lights. I had no doubts now that at least some of the occupants across the road were illegal but would farmer Granger panic? Was he indeed as weak as a piece of wet loo paper and if so, would he take action tonight?
Just as I had suspected, it wasn't long before I saw lights and heard a vehicle on the other side of the rickety hedge row. Raised voices and shouts, angry voices, a child was screaming, there was the sound of a heavy smack, and then it yelled even louder now joined by a wailing woman and more voices raised in argument. Another voice bellowed "quiet, quiet the lot of you, do as I tell ya". The sounds subsided into a babble of muted protests. A series of bangs and slams followed as doors were opened and closed noisily. I approached closer to risk a peep.
A large four-wheel-drive vehicle was parked there. People were throwing things hastily into the open rear, bags, suitcases a child's buggy. A large man in shirt sleeves despite the cold was saying something to a small group of people, emphasising points by frequently smacking his clenched right fist against his open left palm. I heard snatches of conversation, "safe place, before they get here, bound to come soon, tomorrow first thing, can't risk it again, be better off there." The man had his wallet out now and was passing out notes. His voice trailed off as some agreement was reached. I held my breath, so far so good, now.....
The farmer slammed the rear tail cover of his vehicle shut or tried to. It wouldn't close so with a curse he lifted it again, reached inside and hauled out a medium sized soft bag. He slammed the tail shut and tossed the bag towards the group of watching people. The woman with the small child seized it.
"Get in, three and three," he gestured with a finger. The woman and child complete with bag scrambled into the passenger seat, the four men cramming themselves into the three rear ones. "It's working" I breathed to myself. Somehow I'd just known that bully could be panicked into action and that things would pan out just like this. How I knew, well don't ask. Call it feminine intuition if you want. I did know that there had only ever seemed to be one road vehicle on his farm and he was the only person I had ever seen driving it.
The farmer looked at his wristwatch, tapped it and said something to the four watching women. He touched his watch again as if emphasising a point then strode purposely to his vehicle, started it, and hastily drove off. I waited quietly, and moments later it emerged onto the road and turned away from where I lurked driving off quickly in the opposite direction.
I stayed still and silent in the dark. This was it; this was where I crossed my Rubicon or did I? Did I have the courage to carry on? I could go back to my car, drive home, go back to being little miss average and ordinary. I'd done nothing wrong, just made a prank phone call that's all. Back to my humdrum existence, back to the pink vibrator and internet fantasies. Back to being an honest woman, not a sadistic sick pervert!
The moment passed. Where was the fun in that? Just over that hedge was my 'Beauty', my very own wild ponygirl and all I had to do was go and fetch her. There might not, probably, indeed maybe certainly would never be a similar chance. I was ready; all was ready, my equipment was all to hand as was the moment. Heart pounding, I walked quickly back to my car.
I turned left after entering the farm gates. I knew the way from google maps; the dirt track was rougher than I'd allowed for but passable. Thank goodness there had been no heavy rain recently otherwise I might have had problems. Getting bogged down was not part of my planning nor had I prepared an adequate excuse should that happen. As I bounced and lurched toward the lighted caravans a sentence, I'd once read in a book came to mind. 'It was always the little things, the ones you never considered that went wrong'. There was truth in that.
I reached the firmer ground and performed a three-point turn. The four women came out of their van looking somewhat wary as they realised it was a stranger. I eyed them up quickly. My Beauty was there standing even taller than I had thought her, she towered over a smaller, younger-looking petite dark-haired girl who leaned into her as if seeking protection. The other two were not worthy of my interest. One was much older, middle-aged, lined face and very tired looking, shoulders drooping and unlikely to be very fit. Not very attractive and certain to sag somewhat in the haunches and udder departments. I wanted an animal that would be pleasing to the eye not a tired out old candidate for the knackers yard.
The other girl was, well quite fat, certainly not obese but had clearly patronised too many fast food outlets on a frequent basis. Nor was she very tall. At a pinch, rigorously exercised and slimmed down, maybe a second-rate cart puller only. Not very easy on the eye either. Plain, spotty, and decidedly dumpy. Not a keeper!
It ran through my mind even as I spoke that I was becoming an expert 'stock woman'. "Anyone speak English," I asked in a crisp voice.
My Beauty nodded. "Please, I do a little". Somehow I knew it would be her that answered, out of all of them I sensed that she was the most intelligent.
"Please what is..."
"No time" I barked. "Mr Granger sent me; I held up my cell phone. "Immigration people on their way, no time for talk. I need to take one to my house now....no; please don't argue. I will remove boxes and come back for one, two three". I pointed at them.
The boxes stacked in the rear seats of my little car were yet another facet of my careful planning. There was only room for one person in the vehicle, in the passenger seat and I had doctored that seat belt with a couple of DIY alterations.
"You", I pointed to Beauty, "get your bags and get in, quickly now".
The girl shook her head and pointed to the older woman. Oh god, I thought, don't tell me it's all about to go pear-shaped! Up to this point, I had felt confident and in charge of the situation. Doubts began to hit me, could I actually carry this off, how long had I got?
"No", I shouted genuinely angry and stamped my foot. "You, I want someone who can speak English first", I pointed at Beauty.
The girl shook her head again; she gestured with her right hand across her body at the smaller girl and at the same time put her left arm protectively around her and hugged her close to her.
"No, I only go with my girlfriend".
I stared hard for a second. No, yes, I was a woman, I sensed it. They were lesbians! When Beauty said girlfriend, she meant it and not in a 'bestie' type way. My mind raced, how to handle this, could I handle the situation. I reacted virtually without thinking.
"Alright, get in" I gestured to my small car, and added, "wait, go get your bags. Bags ", I repeated and mimed picking up a suitcase in each hand.
As they disappeared, I opened a rear door, pushed, and pummeled at the assorted cardboard boxes stacked there and cleared the seat behind the passenger one. They were all empty, so it wasn't difficult. I left the door open and opened the boot just as the two girls came up. They had one sizeable soft holdall each of them grasping a handle while clutching another smaller bag and shoulder bag each. I grabbed the big holdall and crammed it into my small boot space. There was another bag in there with a drawstring closure which I moved out of the way I wanted that one on top, and I definitely did not want anyone looking inside. I grabbed one of the smaller bags from the petite dark-haired girl, stuffed that in one side and added my bag to the other before slamming the boot closed.
"Inside quick" I panted "no you bigger in front, keep the bag on lap" I gestured to my midriff as Beauty made to open the passenger door for her friend. "You there" I gestured and waited till the smaller girl squeezed herself into the space that I had cleared before slamming the door.
Beauty was in her seat with the door closed as I got into the driver's seat.
"You wait, ten minutes" I called to the other two women, tapping my wristwatch and holding up my fingers and thumbs. "Seatbelt please" I gestured to Beauty.
She had been vainly pulling at it and continued to tug at the unyielding webbing. I reached over, grabbed the metal fastening, pushed the bag on her lap forwards with my elbow and pulled hard. She yelled a little as the tight strap forced her backwards hard up against the seat back, belt taunt across her waist. I thought for a moment I had got my measurements wrong. It was tight, tighter than I had allowed for but with another firm tug, a wince from her, the fitting slid into the locking slot with a satisfying click. I reached beneath it and pushed home the locking pin that I had fitted. No way the metal tongue was going to come out of the slot without first removing that concealed pin, and that was not going to shift. I knew I'd tried; it had taken me over half an hour to get the damn thing back out from its awkward place. The spring-loaded ball bearings at the end held it very firmly.
"To tight, too tight", she moaned fingers scrabbling first at the strap across her chest and then at the locking fitting by her hip. I had started the engine and was moving off. "Leave it" I snapped, lifting my hand from the gear lever, and slapping down lightly on hers. "Only a few minutes" I added feeling exultant and yet?
It really was only a few minutes to my place, and that posed a problem. My DIY alteration to the seat belt would hopefully hold Beauty captive until more secure arrangements could be applied. However, what to do about her friend in the back? My plans had not allowed for that, and I needed to come up with something fast. She might be a lot smaller than Beauty, but she still topped me by a good couple of inches and having been engaged in physical farm work was going to be both fitter and stronger. Plus, if the pair were lesbians, she'd no doubt fight like a tiger at the first hint of danger to her lover.
I could have driven around aimlessly for a while to give me time to think but options around the area were limited, and there was no way I wanted anyone on the busier roads to see my passengers and me. Besides, I had said only a few minutes, I didn't want them getting alarmed plus my alterations to the seatbelt were a cause for concern as they had been a bit rough and ready. In theory, the release mechanism that fed more of the belt was jammed, and my locking pin held the other end fast...but for how long against a determined struggling person, one who was bigger than I had allowed for?
I glanced sideways as my mind raced. Beauty continued to struggle with the tight seat belt strap. I stole several glances, and the image was delightful, the diagonal strap was stretched taut against her chest She was wearing a tight, ribbed fawn sweater, one of those very clingy ones that conceal but also reveal exciting contours and I found those large shapely mounds that jiggled as she wriggled very interesting. Not just interesting but highly arousing. I began to feel more than a little damp.
A part of my mind had been telling me not to be so bloody stupid, drive to the railway station in the next village, dump them both in the car park and get the hell out of it. However, the more I caught glimpses of those tantalising mounds quivering under that figure-hugging sweater, the faster that thought headed in the direction of my brains equivalent of the emergency exit!
I hit one of the numerous potholes in the poorly maintained road, the car bumped, we all bounced briefly in our seats, but Beauty also squealed and gave an extra-large jiggle. I just happened to be sneaking another quick look and never noticed the 'emergency exit door' opening and shutting as rationality finally fled.
She was no longer strapped beside me in the passenger seat but chained naked other than the gleaming black harness I had bound her in, to a post in my stable, squealing in pain, rage, fear, and humiliation as I reached out to fondle and squeeze one of her large udders. No, correction, my udder, they belonged to me now! I mentally salivated at the vision.
I drove straight to my farm. An idea was forming in my mind plus I knew that the tools I would need were readily to hand. "Nearly there". I told them as I slowed, flicked on an indicator, and swung through the open gate into my drive the headlamps illuminating the twists, turns and the trees lining the narrow passageway. I drove straight through the open door of the stable and applied the handbrake. Beauty was still banging away at the seatbelt release. I killed the engine and tried to help her.
"Sorry, looks like it's jammed solid. Wait I will get something to help". I turned to look at the girl in the back. She was a pretty little thing, short bobbed hair curling inwards, big green eyes and cute full bow lips. She resembled a shorter, dark-haired Taylor Swift a little. Something stirred within me. Something unexpected. Maybe this was a bonus situation in a big way. "See if you can help her", I said forgetting that she might not understand me, but I did wave my hand towards her girlfriend.
I got out, retrieved my drawstring bag from the boot, rummaged around on my tool bench then collected a couple more items from a drawer containing some of my more specialised equipment. When I returned to the car young cutie lips was out of the vehicle pulling at the top of the passenger seat belt. I hoped it would hold. It did for she gave that up, leaned into the car across Beauty and also started to struggle with the release mechanism. That's what I had anticipated and was ready for. It was far too easy this 'capture' business. Who needed stun guns, needles and chloroform anyway.
I pulled a pair of leg irons from my bag, bent down and quickly locked each one around her ankles just above her trainers. They had a simple ratchet fastening mechanism. Click, push to the required tightness and then they could only be loosened and released with a special key. A length of chain ran between them allowing a limited amount of movement. It only took a moment. Beauty had not even seen me doing it, but cutie lips had felt it. She suddenly squealed and made to back out.
I reached down grabbed the chain between her ankles and yanked hard backwards and upwards. There was another squeal, two squeals in fact as Beauty saw but probably didn't realise what I was doing. Cutie lips had slipped two-thirds of the way out of the car just her chest and head on Beauties lap. I yanked hard again and let go as she thumped heavily face down on to the ground. In another quick motion, I slipped a handcuff bracelet around her right wrist as she sought to push herself up. It was then easy-peasy to half kneel on her back drag her right wrist across to the centre of her back where her left hand was helpfully groping blindly. Click, and she was secure.
Secure, never again to enjoy the sort of freedom of her old life. Mine for now and forever even if she was being very noisy about it. Screaming and shouting in some unintelligible language, although I did understand the odd English swear word. I might have to wash the little bitches mouth out if she talked like that! Amazing how foreigners always seemed to pick up the very worst elements of our vocabulary before anything else?
Beauty was also shouting at me. She too had lapsed into her native language, and this was no time to relax. She was thrashing around frantically, and I could see that it wouldn't be long before something gave. The job was only half done, less than half done because if she got loose being so much bigger and stronger, then I really would be in trouble. Suppose that happened and I was the one lying helpless on the dirt floor, and they rummaged around and discovered all my other 'toys'!
I pulled a craft knife out of my pocket, one of those with portioned sliding blades that you can break pieces off to keep the end sharp. I slid the blade out with my thumb and held it in front of her eyes. "Shut up" I shouted. "Shut up and stay still".
She froze, eyes fearfully fixed on the sharp blade only a few inches away. A sort of whimper escaped her. I was exultant; I sensed the fight had gone out of her for the moment. It would return, I'd be very disappointed if it didn't, anyway I was sure the plans I had in store for her would soon rekindle that fighting spirit. What human being wants to be turned into an animal at the end of a whip?
I waggled the knife. "Do as I say, and you won't get hurt?" I told her. Well, not just yet I told myself. "Hold your hands out in front". I thought for a moment she was going to resist. She half shook her head then still looking with frightened eyes at me and back to the knife did as I ordered. Using one hand, knife now held against her throat I snapped another pair of cuffs on her then crouched down and a pair of leg irons soon decorated her ankles as well. Good job I had invested plenty of money and not been miserly with the number of my purchases.
I stepped back with a massive sigh of relief. I was shaking, really shaking. I felt faint, weak and light headed. I'd done it. Really done it. Actually, really gone and damn well done it and not just with one, I'd got two of the bitches!
As I calmed down a little, I became conscious of a couple of things. One, that familiar sensation between my legs. I was suddenly aware that I was aroused, really aroused, hot and wet and it wouldn't take much to push me over the edge. The urge to plunge my fingers into my pants was almost irresistible. I did resist it though. The other thing I now realised was that cutie lips was still screaming her damn head off! She must have been doing it all the while, but I'd been too engrossed to notice. I did now though. Her voice was cracking; she must have nearly screamed herself hoarse. Good job I had no neighbours. I lashed out with a foot. "Shut the fuck up you stupid bitch". I kicked her twice more. "Quiet".
She got the message and subsided into a spate of gasping whimpers. I went back to one of my equipment draws and found what I wanted. A pair of bright red ball gags, one still sealed in its crinkly plastic packaging. Unique, expensive ball gags that would allow various attachments to be fastened or inserted. They would shut the bitches up, and they might as well get used to them. They'd be spending a lot of time wearing them or something similar for me.
Cutie lips wasn't too cooperative, but you eventually have to open your mouth if someone is pinching your nostrils closed. In it popped with a bit of forcing and the strap quickly fastened. She had beautiful even white teeth, small and dainty looking and healthy pink gums; I ran my finger around them purely to enjoy the sheer delight in touching my new possession. Oh, what fun we were going to have. Well, I was.
Beauty wanted to talk or rather argue and threaten. I listened to the tirade in broken English for all of fifteen seconds or so and then got bored of it. Nothing had registered anyway; I was too wound up and tense to pay any attention to that babble. I just grabbed her by the back of the neck offered the gag up to her mouth and pushed it home. I must have caught her lip as she was bleeding very slightly from the corner of her mouth after I'd finished securing the strap. I noticed that she didn't have gleaming white teeth, hers were larger, more yellow, and stank of tobacco. Well, that's something she's just given up, period!
I was exhausted, utterly exhausted. I felt weak at the knees. I needed to go and sit down for a minute or two, maybe even get a coffee. I looked at my captives. Neither was going anywhere but just to be on the safe side, I dragged out a length of heavy chain. I ran it around a stout post, secured it with a large padlock and the used two more locks to fasten the two ends, one to each chain on the leg irons.
Two wild fillies hunted, roped, captured, and delivered. I went for my coffee not forgetting to close the stable door and set the security alarm. Might as well get used to it. I headed for the kitchen thoughtfully. Did I really need two ponies? Cutie lips certainly wasn't big enough to ride, and I didn't have a cart to harness her too nor did I have anywhere to run her if I had one. What about a show pony? Trouble was I would never have access to any venue to display her and once trained maybe I might get bored. Perhaps then something else? Well, I had plenty of time now to think about it, and it was an interesting problem to have. She was rather cute. I put my knife down on the countertop. Probably going to need it shortly to slash the passenger seat belt webbing to release Beauty. Wonder how I will explain that to the garage I mused humming happily to myself as I reached for the electric kettle.
Chapter 4 - Contemplation on an idea
I sipped my coffee and nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie. It was probably going to be a long evening. I needed to get Beauty out of the car and secured in her stall. Maybe? No need to do anything else. I wanted to be fresh and to have plenty of time to enjoy grooming and dressing her in harness for the first time. That could wait till tomorrow when I had the leisure to take my time fully savouring the restrictions I would bind her in. No doubt some of my more corporal toys would also get their first chance to play. I shivered in delightful anticipation. Oh, how she was going to squeal and dance for me.
But what about the addition? Little miss cutie pie the clit licker. I bet she was the fem in that little setup. I think I already knew in part the answer to that question. I was even a little shocked at myself, but she was adorable and such beautiful white teeth and pink gums and almost certainly a nice pink tongue. I could not spend all my time in the stable so wouldn't it also be nice to be able to play indoors as well?
Suddenly my life was going to get very interesting and very entertaining. All my Christmas's coming at once and with a completely unexpected bonus present. My fingers were reaching between my legs even as I mused. I bet little miss cutie has a nice pert white little bum. Beauty gets the stable cane, and her face in a bucket of mush and little miss cutie receives the paddle on her bum and her head between my legs, and I'll bet she even knows what to do. Well if not she'll soon learn and so will I!
I resisted the delicious urge to probe further with my fingers. Those days might well be over now I had a possible alternative available, and my little pink vibrators might still get a bit of use but rarely on me and to tease rather than satisfy. Anyway, I still had work to do and a decision to make. I already knew what was intended for Beauty and there would be no deviations. No change of plan and above all no mercy shown. Her fate was already sealed, I had wanted a pony, and that's what she would be by tomorrow evening and would remain so for as far into the future as I could imagine.
Little cutie, well a sort of idea was beginning to form. I needed to think upon it a bit, well for perhaps more than a bit and I needed to see a whole lot more of her than I had so far. I also wanted to have a look through the bags they'd brought with them. I might need to do a bit more research via the internet as well, but I was an expert now at that.
I sipped more of my coffee and then as Raven was frisking around being more than a little demanding and tiresome I fed him with double rations to keep him happy. I was too tired to take him out for our customary evening walk down the lane, so he could have a run around the grounds instead in a minute.
It was, how to explain it? Well, sort of strange. I sat there quietly in comfort with my mug of cheap instant coffee calmly surveying my living room with all its usual accumulated clutter. Discarded clothes that should have been placed in the laundry bin, books big and small, assorted scattered shoes and boots in singles and pairs, abandoned dog toys, various household bills and other pieces of paper haphazardly arranged on my computer desk. Raven, appetite now partially sated was noisily shoving his heavy feeding bowl around the floor with his nose trying to see if there was anything edible underneath, his tail wagging back and forth frantically as usual. It was normal all so very normal and yet, my thought drifted out to the stable...surreal!
A peculiar sense of calm came over me as I tried to analyse just how I felt. Did I feel anything? Did I feel any different at all? Was I fearful or anxious in any way? Did I feel a sense of guilt at what I had just done and what I would soon be doing? The answer to each question quite honestly was no. No, I did not feel anything other than a growing sense of anticipation and excitement.
Did that make me a monster I wondered as I slowly drank my coffee? I hadn't suddenly grown two heads or sharp fangs, I was still me, or was I? I clicked my tongue and held my hand out as Raven bounded hopefully over to lick my fingers. "Good doggie." I patted him on the head, "Good boy". Well, at least I had one friend who thought I was just the same.
Surreal was the word that constantly drifted in and out of my thoughts as I sat there. I was sitting here comfortably almost but not quite like any other evening, but out there, in the stable? I had just kidnapped two young women, two human beings who up till a half hour or so ago had been entirely free individuals. They had family, friends, hopes, and dreams, ambitions and much much more and now...now I had them tied up and helpless in my old stable fearfully awaiting my return with no idea of what was in store for them. Were they terrified, almost certainly, I knew I would have been if the tables were turned?
My coffee was almost finished. Well, the tables were not going to turn, ever. That was one realisation that was dawning on me. I suppose it was one aspect I had not wholly thought though caught up as I was in all my erotic internet images and stories. I now had two unwilling 'guests', no prisoners and they were both lifers. I had kidnapped them, really kidnapped them! I could go out there and let them go, somehow apologise, try and pass everything off as a silly joke gone wrong, laugh, say sorry big mistake, and walk away from it somehow.
No, I told myself I would not do that. The three of us would soon be bound together for the rest of our lives. Literally bound in their case. There would be no turning back once I started, couldn't be. I was about to become a ruthless, sadistic pervert of the worst kind. I was going to do things to those poor girls that any normal sane person would find utterly repugnant.
I drained the final drops of coffee. Was I really that sick? Did I feel that sick? Did I feel my sanity slowly slipping away? No, I didn't. I was still me I had not changed. I could imagine how the media would portray me if I were ever caught, how people would view me and feel about me, but did I care? No. In a short while, tomorrow perhaps, I was going to start torturing those girls, I was going to bind them tightly, whip them, force objects into them to violate their most private parts and all the while listening to them screaming for my pleasure.
I rose from my chair and went to the kitchen pausing to place my empty mug in the plastic washing up bowl. Time to start playing with my animals. I was human they were not and that in my mind was now the difference. I didn't expect the judge or jury to understand that, but I did, and that was all that mattered.
Chapter 5 - Safe and secure (added: 2018/11/10)
It was growing late and decidedly chilly when I returned to the stables. I switched the electric heating on, it would be expensive, but worth it, I didn't want the occupants going down with flu or something similar. Illness was a bridge we'd have to cross if or when it cropped up.
Cutie was covered in dust as though she had been rolling around on the dirt floor trying to free herself. She hadn't of course, and all she'd achieved was to get herself rather filthy. She glared at me angrily through moist, hate-filled eyes. She truly was cute, more so with that dirt-streaked face. My fingers positively ached to open that little package and see what I now owned. Owned what a delightful feeling.
Business before pleasure though as they say and first things first. I removed the craft knife from my pocket and went over to my car. "Oh, stop that" I snapped as Beauty flinched away or at least tried to. I extended the blade an inch or so and began to saw through the seat belt webbing. It proved an easier task than I had anticipated and soon parted allowing Beauty to fall forwards in the seat. I thumbed the blade back into the handle and replaced the knife in my pocket making a mental note to myself, never leave things like that loosely laying around. No point in spending a fortune on security if you then got careless with a cheap throwaway knife! I picked up the half-empty holdall she's carried from around her feet and casually tossed it over against one of the vacant stalls.
I unlocked the padlock that secured the long chain to the shorter one and grabbed her ankle chain pulling her legs towards the car door. Beauty was shaking her head from side to side quite violently and twisting her upper body around as if that would somehow help her.
I sighed. I didn't have time for this, I wanted her out of the car and quickly with minimum fuss. I did not want a fight. I was tired, weary and not in the mood. Any humanity that remained within me about this situation was fast ebbing away and unlikely ever to return. I had wanted to savour the moment when I punished her for the first time. That sorta went out of the window.
I grabbed her firmly by that thick long blonde mane, yanked her head around and then delivered a stinging slap to her left cheek. Well, it stung me, so I guess it must have been far worse for her. "Out", I roared, striking her again and then bracing myself, heaved her bodily out of the seat and let her drop to the ground.
"Still", I barked as she made to roll around and emphasised my command with the toe end of my booted foot in her ribs hard enough to draw forth another muffled squeal of pain, protest and probably rage.
I was exceedingly tired; maybe it was the adrenaline rush fading away now I was on the home straight. I must have been way more hyped up than I had realised. I felt bone-weary also a little dizzy and light-headed, even a touch nauseous. Not ill but just in desperate need of my bed. I also recognised the unwelcome signs of a migraine attack hovering on the horizon. A glass of milk, a couple of aspirin and a few hours' sleep in a dark room and I would be GTG as my online guild mates might say!
First things first though. I needed to sleep with a clear conscience. 'Whoops', the wrong word probably never will have a clear conscience again I mused as I looked down at my two helpless captives. Not secure enough though for my peace of mind, especially Beauty whose hand remained cuffed in front of her.
I went over to Cutie Lips, rolled her half over so I could check her cuffs, they were okay, but there was enough play in them to click up another notch without damaging her. Her leg irons also went up another notch and the chain securing her to the post was secure. I still wasn't going to take any chances, not on the first night, belt and braces time.
A few minutes later I had added a couple of heavy-duty two-inch-wide leather harness straps. One just above the knees and pulled tight, the second longer one wrapped around the upper torso just below the bust line to keep both arms tight up against her back. Not exactly a proper 'reverse prayer' but still not very comfortable but it wouldn't restrict her circulation. I ignored the sounds emerging from behind her gag as I tugged the straps tight with the aid of the roller buckles.
As a final consideration I pulled a couple of decomposing foam mattresses out from a corner of the stable, they smelt quite vile and what remained of their original coverings was obscured by an unpleasant combination of stains and dank mould. They had been an afterthought to my stable and equipment preparations. I'd taken my final load of junk down to the skips at the local recycling depot and spotted them. A couple of pounds had changed hands with a bald old man in a yellow safety jacket, not sure that he believed my improbable story as to why I wanted them for my dogs, but I had half envisaged the possibility of the present situation. I'd only wanted one at the time, but he bargained better than me!
I almost giggled to myself as I heaved Cutie onto her 'deluxe' berth for the night. Technically I suppose I wasn't all that kind and considerate considering the sort of future activities I had planned. 'Comfort' was not going to be a regular feature of these animal lives. I didn't want them doing any lasting damage to themselves, not on the first night, not till I got them secure properly. The 'damage' would commence on the morrow, and I would be the one to instigate it.
Beauty received similar treatment, but I took the additional precaution of using my knife again once I'd got her face down on the filthy rank smelling mattress. I half knelt on her back and pulled her head back, the flat blade of the knife at her throat. I told her that I was going to free one of her hands and she had better put it behind her back if she wanted to keep breathing.
"I only need one of you", I hissed in her ear "So if I get any trouble I might get rid of the spare". I grabbed a handful of blonde mane and gave it a savage twist. "Comprehend?". Maybe the wrong word to use given English wasn't her primary language, but I think she had already gotten the point.
I felt her throat move under the flat of the knife blade as she gave a great gulp and tried to nod while muffled whimpering sounds came from behind the gag. As soon as one hand was free, she obeyed and obediently held them behind her back. Silly bitch. I shuffled backwards slightly, perched astride her big bum, grabbed the uncuffed wrist and secured it to the cuffed one. Last chance gone I thought to myself. I squeezed the warm body with my knees, nice, can't wait till I do this when she's up on her hoofs and I am on her back.
I repeated the same routine with the straps and checked her chain. It needed shortening a little; I did not want them able to get too close in the night either to try and help each other or for mutual comfort. I was unquestionably ready to call it a day, but there was one last thing to do.
Back to one of my 'toy' drawers and ripped open another cellophane wrapped rectangular box. I suppose for hygiene reasons I ought to have thoroughly washed the enclosed plastic water bottle out before using it. I couldn't be bothered. I gave it a quick rinse under the cold tap then filled it two thirds full and screwed on the cap with a curved narrow metal drinking tube.
My first attempt at force feeding or in this case forced drinking didn't go at all well. I hooked a fingernail in the notch at the front of the ball gags, flipped up the small round cover and forced the tube through and into Cuties mouth. Didn't want the animals dying of dehydration on the first night! There was an awful lot of choking, spluttering and so forth. I wasn't at all versed in this nor were they. I got wet, and so did they. I ended up taking the simple route by briefly loosening the gag straps, pinching nostrils, and tipping water down their throats so that they had to swallow.
I also found their attempts to talk highly annoying. Well, that was one irritation I would start correcting on the morrow. Once I was satisfied that both my animals had been sufficiently watered, I popped the red ball gags back in. No doubt most of the liquid would come out overnight, in fact, my nose told me that Cutie had already loosed an embarrassing dribble and maybe something else. Embarrassment was something to which she and her friend would become accustomed. I had not gone to the additional expense of adding a lavatory to my stable so like any other barn animal they would learn to go in the dirt!
I looked down at my two 'wrapped' packages. They both glared back at me through frightened yet angry moist eyes as tears left wet streaks down the sides of their faces. They wriggled slightly attempting to find a comfortable position, and I thought I could heap whimpers escaping from behind the bright red balls stretching their mouths. I wondered for a moment, did they have any idea about what was going to happen to them?
Rape that was probably the worst they could envisage. By me? Hell, they might even enjoy that. Yes, I would rape them with my toys but worse I would violate not only their bodies but more importantly their minds as well. They had no idea!
I had a last check of all the restraints, probably overkill I thought. A last look round. Lights on or off I mused for a second. Off, I flicked the switch. Two sets of frightened but very distinct muffled squeals sounded in the darkness. I smiled, exited the building and set the alarm. Mission Impossible accomplished.
Chapter 6 - A second idea (added: 2018/11/10)
I slept extremely well. I'd given poor Raven a quick run around the stable yard, a very quick run much to his displeasure then headed straight for my bed and slept like the proverbial log. Usually, I am a relatively light sleeper, but on this occasion, I had 'zonked' and built up a huge stack of Z's.
Usually, I don't bother to set my alarm clock; my body clock is good enough to wake me most days and anyway the wretched thing is far too loud and persistent. Cheap oriental technology at its fiendish worst! I awoke in an instant the moment it went off to jarringly interrupt my ever so beautiful slumber. I yawned, reached over to try and hit the snooze button and was about to roll over, then froze. Shit! I sat bolt upright as just for one second, I panicked. A moment of complete stomach-churning panic. In an instant, everything that had happened the previous evening flashed across my mind. The girls, the stable, kidnap......the authorities, police, arrest....... what?
I banged my hand down on the device silencing its clamour and took a deep breath. No, there was no siren blaring, no thundering knocks upon my front door, no jarring crash as booted feet kicked it open, no blue uniformed intruders pounding up the staircase. Nothing but the sound of my heavy breathing and from downstairs, Raven scratching urgently at the kitchen door wanting either his breakfast or to go out, probably both.
I leapt out of bed and crossed to a monitor cum tv on my bedroom wall. A steady green light told me that nobody had tried to open the stable door since I had set the alarm. The main image showed an infrared picture of two human forms still stretched out on the floor, both obviously still alive although of course there was no reason why they shouldn't be. I should have added a few more refinements I thought, the ability to remotely control the lights and then I could switch to visual mode. Oh well, maybe a future improvement.
It was still early and dark outside, but I was fully awake now and eager for the fun to begin. My fun anyway. I didn't intend to rush it though. This first day would be unique, after that it would become more routine. Perhaps routine was not quite what I meant but the days would become somewhat similar and monotonous for those two animals waiting out there, and that first element of terrified surprise would have gone as the long-term realisation of their terrible predicament slowly dawned upon them.
How many times had I fantasised about this, read so many wicked non-consensual stories, viewed the many internet kinky internet images and soon I would be doing the very same things I'd dreamed of doing to my own helpless and utterly non-consenting victim or victims I quickly reminded myself. Victims! I hugged myself, two of the little dears, well one little and one not so little.
I composed myself. I was hot again, very hot but now was not the time. I was going to have one humongous orgasm later in the day followed by a whole series more almost as big but that was for later. I needed to prepare myself. First impressions are important, and mine would last for the rest of their miserable lives.
That was a long time I reflected. It was a sobering thought then I suddenly giggled. 'Well, have to live with it now, can't exactly sell em both on eBay in six months' time can I'?
They say familiarity breeds contempt, and that is true. Just a few hours ago I had done something evil, totally mindbogglingly terrible and unforgivable but already it almost felt quite normal. Weird! I felt no regrets, no qualms, no misgivings whatsoever. Those two creatures in the stable belonged to me and me alone. They were as much mine as was my dog the only difference being I was likely to be a whole lot kinder to him.
I stripped off my warm, comfortable jimjams and went for a hot shower. I couldn't help contrasting my situation with theirs. Here I was all warm and cosy and of course completely free, enjoying a gentle spray of hot water. I would emerge clean and fresh while they lay terrified in their own stinking animal odours. God, I was enjoying this, I really must be a vile sadist! Did I care? No, I didn't. Not one jot.
I was never one for makeup other than the basics when needed. I didn't regularly put on an 'Instagram' selfie face. However, I wanted to look my best. There would be plenty of times when they would see me in the raw, in more way than one but today was special. I wasn't going to go over the top though. Foundation, a smattering of mascara, eyebrow pencil, lined pink lips, etc. I looked good I thought perusing my reflection a little while later in the vanity table mirror. Maybe they'll even take a fancy to me, but not for long I suspect, not once the cane begins to bite and they begin to howl!
A shiver ran through me. Oh god, I could hardly wait. Oh, how I wanted to hear screams and pleas for mercy, how I wanted to see my helpless victim singing and dancing to my tune, to see those cruel raised red stripes on lily-white flesh. Hmm, well they had both looked a bit sun-browned! Oh well, maybe the main target areas would be lily white, anyway who cared, tanned or white, the effect of the stripe would still be the same and just as pleasing to my eyes.
I chose my outfit with equal care. A dash of scent here and there and then I dressed. Tight fitting beige riding breeches, pristine white sleeveless blouse complimented by a narrow black bandana around my neck. A glossy two-inch wide black leather belt and a pair of expensive knee-high kitten heeled tan leather boots. I also tucked a pair of thin black leather gloves into my belt. Sexy yet sadistic was the image I was aiming for and looking in my full-length mirror I was almost satisfied.
I went back and used the perfume spray a bit more extravagantly. Poo! A whole lot too much but never mind. I wasn't about to attend a mother's union meeting at the church hall. I was going to lord it over the two filthy, smelly animals in the stable, my animals and this was but another string to my bow as they started to learn their place in the new pecking order.
I made an instant coffee, fed Raven who promptly gulped his food down at his usual ferocious speed and when no more was forthcoming, resumed one of his favourite activities, humping the rectangular leather pouffe in my lounge cum utility room. I gave him the usual casual soft kick. "Off" I shouted. He was young and active, and I had not had him seen to yet, he did tend to make a somewhat sticky and unpleasant mess sometimes on one end of it if left unchecked. He was big and strong and still growing. Too big really for little me to handle and the vet had said he would get worse and harder to control if he didn't get neutered soon. He needed the opp to calm him down unless of course, I found a bitch for him!
I froze. Another idea had struck me. No, no I couldn't. That really would be too cruel, too horrible, but then again why not. I'd gone to bed with a tentative idea forming about little miss cutie the previous night. Could she become a sort of 'human lap dog' following me around leashed and made to crawl to heel on all fours? I'd got my pony so why not add a sweet little poodle like bitch to the collection for my entertainment and amusement? She could even sleep in a basket in my bedroom! I took a sip of coffee and eyed the leather pouffe speculatively. I was only kinda contemplating using one end of her for personal use, the other apart from receiving the paddle, cane and dildo would be sort of spare wouldn't it?
I crossed over to my PC and booted it up while reflectively sipping my coffee. A few clicks of the mouse and my 'pet girl' folder opened followed by my puppy folder. I browsed through various images that had always excited me. Next to ponygirls, puppy girls had been my next best favourite. I was never terribly attracted to the big udder hucow type pictures and stories or any other types of animals. As always, I soon became hot and wet and once again had to resist scrabbling at my panties. Plenty of time for that later when it was time to play for real.
I was amazed at how calm I was considering what awaited me in the stable building. Why was I not rushing over there to 'play' with my new toys? Well, I was not in a hurry, there was plenty of time, they weren't going, anywhere were they?
There it was. 'Penny the puppy girl series. The little bitch on a leash being taken for a walk by her mistress, part naked, waddling along on knee and elbow paws with her legs and arms doubled up and helpless. She was cute with her short hair tied in two bunches with pink ribbons high on her head, so they flopped down either side almost like droopy dog ears. I had a good collection of 'Penny' art.
Poor Penny was always pictured trapped near naked or inside her doggie costume, an intricate figure-hugging furry suit that covered her from head to foot leaving only her face, breasts, cunt and buttocks exposed. A cute stubby little puppy tail emerged from her anus which she was forced to wag from time to time indicated by clever little lines on the artwork as she wiggled her bottom.
I clicked through them. Penny is squatting to relieve herself. Penny with a well-reddened backside. Penny is fetching the ball or the stick. Penny getting the cane across her rump from the Mistress's young daughter. Penny head down in her pink bowl with the big P on it gobbling up her doggie food. Penny looking mournful chained outside for the night in her pink kennel. Penny with tongue lolling out about to get busy in the bushy mound between her Mistress's spread legs.
Then I found the images I was seeking. The Penny and Butch pictures. Penny, the puppy girl, lived in her kennel outside. Butch, the great big real dog, had a comfy basket by the fire inside. Penny lived on canned dog food and biscuits. Butch lived on steak, chicken and other tasty treats. Penny frequently got whipped and beaten. Butch got cuddled and cossetted. Penny was always on a leash or restrained in some fashion. Butch was free to roam and come and go as he pleased.
I'd never been too keen on the Penny and Butch ones being more interested in Penny and her female owners, but I now looked at them anew. Butch was often vigorously humping poor Penny. Well, certainly being more than humped judging by the artistic movement lines she was being well and truly deep fucked! Penny was being bound across a low padded bench by her Mistress. Butch was sniffing at her rear his tails wagging in excitement. The young daughter stood nearby, cane in hand, a delighted, yet malicious look on her face as she gleeful waited to see Penny serviced by her canine lover.
My fingers crept downwards again as I looked at the expression of horror drawn so cleverly on Penny the Puppy dogs face. Gosh, this was vile, cruel and degrading but oh so sexy in a hideously fascinating way if you weren't Penny of course.
I turned and looked first at my leather pouffe and then eyed the hovering Raven speculatively. He was already a big, heavy dog and still growing. Young and vigorous. I wondered how big he was down there and was it even practical to make him do that or would he merely do it off his own back if suitably aroused?
I'd read stories, but they invariably had sprays and scents of bitch dogs in heat to excite the males. Did such things exist? How did dog breeders go about it? I foresaw a whole new line of internet research beckoning for me and could you get a high-quality puppy suit like that anywhere?
I clicked through the folder until I found another image, a one-off black and white drawing. It depicted a grossly fat wrinkled old woman in a transparent nightgown with the hem pulled up to her waist. She lay back relaxing at her ease on a long divan, legs apart, a long slender rod gripped in one hand the other holding a leash linked to the neck of the young blonde face down between her widespread plump thighs. The slaves back looked well marked from the rod, but that was least of her problems. Just as she serviced her mistress, a colossal drooling mastiff was behind and gripping her tightly with its front paws as it serviced her. The drawing was titled 'flogged and knotted'.
As I looked at the monitor, a delicious spasm shook me. Oh my god, to have the power to do that to another woman. How humiliating, how sickening, how absolutely gross, both ends at once, what she must think and feel? I shuddered even at the thought of it. Yet, how thrilling, how divine to have that sort of power over the cute little bitch. Just one simple click of my fingers and she would be there ready to satisfy me and to service her canine master, after a modicum of training of course!
I'd made my decision. Beauties fate had been decided a long time ago by that first ponygirl piece of artwork. Another might have just determined that of the spare. I was judge, jury and executioner and felt no guilt or conscience. Just like the young girl in the Penny drawing, I would watch with gleeful delight, and maybe Raven would calm down a bit more if he could shoot his seed into the little bitch on a regular basis? That'll make her squeal I bet. Well, she might even get to like it? At least she might have a chance to enjoy the odd orgasm, whereas poor Beauty is going to remain one hundred per cent celibate!
I swallowed the last of my now somewhat tepid coffee, stood up and slid my craft knife into a hip pocket. It was time to switch off the pc and go and play for real.