Old McDonald had a Farm...

Chapter four

I saw the folded note almost immediately as I clumped down the old wooden staircase, having had an excellent night's sleep, well mostly excellent once I’d dropped off and that must have been a good two hours and more after I’d first climbed into bed. The internal walls in the old building might mirror the exterior ones almost in thickness, but the internal doors weren’t all that substantial. Certainly not original, for they were more modern and far less robust, and so I’d heard pretty much everything that had gone on in the main bedroom opposite, and a lot had gone on! Or maybe gone in for most of the noise, the shrieks and squeals had emanated from a certain maid who was evidently not enjoying her late evening activities in the same way that her Master and Mistress were.

The big bed had been soft, warm, comfortable and very welcoming, but my initial attempts at stacking Z’s were thwarted before they’d had a chance to start by the goings on across the short upstairs passage. Unintentional but unavoidable eavesdropping on my part quickly fired up my imagination, followed by another and more physical part of my anatomy residing within my pyjama bottoms. It didn’t need much imagination to imagine what was happening in the main bedroom and who was the lucky or perhaps unlucky recipient of all the attention. The fact that it was also the rotund, motherly Bessie doing what she was doing after Robbie had finished did stretch the old mental capacity, though! Not the only thing upstairs that was being stretched, judging by the conversation and those squeals!

I hit the bottom stair, yawned and looked about. There was no one around and just the one place setting at the big kitchen table with the note sitting upright on the side plate, a used and folded manila envelope that had my hosts post office box address on one side and on the other when I unfolded it, a message to me probably via a red Sharpie or similar. 

Dear Sleepyhead,

We hardworking country folk rise early but decided not to wake you as it was your first day, and perhaps we might have kept you awake last night. Apologies if things got a little noisy, as you may have noticed. She will insist on squealing so much! Robbie is out running a few errands, first around the village and then on to the big supermarket with my shopping list, so he’ll be away most of the morning. 

Unless you’ve changed, I remembered you as a ‘light’ breakfast man, so the coffee jug should still be warm on its base in the kitchen. I don’t do croissants, but you’ll find fresh bread by the toaster, cereal, milk, butter and preserves on the table.

Bessie

PS: If you're desperate for something more substantial, bacon and eggs are in the fridge, and a frying pan is on the stove. DIY! 

PPS: I’m over in the stable, so feel free to come and join me when you’ve finished.

PPPS: Feel free means come over and work for your bloody keep as soon as you’ve finished stuffing yourself, Rip Van Winkle!!!!!!

I grinned to myself, thinking one exclamation mark would have sufficed as I screwed it up, then seeing no obvious trash bin headed for the kitchen wondering where Baby was as I disposed of the note in a flip-top bin. How the hell did they dispose of their rubbish way out here I wondered as I looked around for the coffee jug. My local bin men kicked up a hell of a fuss if the wheelie bins weren’t out by the roadside ready to empty and refused to take them if the contents raised the lid by even half an inch above the closed limit. There was no way one of their trucks could navigate down that entrance track, was there?

The coffee was still hot and smelt good as I picked the glass jug up to sniff and popped two slices of medium-thickness brown granary bread into the toaster. A few minutes later, I sat munching toast and marmalade, having decided to give the various cereals a miss. I am one of those weird people who, when at home, tended to eat my cornflakes or muesli more often as an evening dessert than for breakfast when I fancied some, usually with a chopped-up banana or some strawberries or similar fruit.

‘Join her in the stable’ To do what I wondered, but it was undoubtedly an exciting prospect. Indeed, that very thought in my mind had caused me to leap out of bed with far more enthusiasm than I usually displayed in the morning, even on non-working days. I glanced at my watch and then the big clock on the mantlepiece. Rip Van Winkle, indeed! I wondered what time they got up, thinking back to what must have been quite an energetic night for the two of them or, make that, the three of them. Or maybe two of them was more accurate after all? I reconsidered chewing slowly through a mouthful of toast and marmalade. I suspected the third participant's involvement had been somewhat passive and, by the sound of it, not particularly enthusiastic!”

Initially, we’d lingered over our after-dinner coffee while I listened to their continuing tale of astonishing kidnap and imprisonment. They both seemed perfectly happy to relate it to me without the slightest hesitation or hint of guilt. My mind replayed the conversation as I slowly munched through my simple breakfast. 

“Of course, we had a big discussion that night about what to do with them, didn’t we?” Bessie was saying to Robbie. I mean, seven of them and all in one go. Seven! I mean, two would have been something but seven. I mean seven.” She kept repeating that number and shaking her head as though still as much in awe of their evil deed as I was.

“As I said earlier, you know, about all our Christmas’s coming at once,” Robbie told me. “I mean, that’s somewhat apt, for we were like a couple of excited kids just old enough to start appreciating Xmas morning for the first time but completely overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of presents and what to play with first!” he suddenly laughed. “Well,’’ maybe a little different, for we could see what was in the various packages before we’d unwrapped them!” he conceded. 

“Not that it spoilt the fun of unwrapping them one bit!” Bessie giggled.

I heard what they were saying, but it wasn’t entirely registering. Well, it must have done, for I could sort of mentally record it and then play it back later that night. Still, my eyes and most of my thoughts were busy elsewhere as Baby scurried around collecting dishes and then returned with a tray to dispense coffee cups, cream jug and filter cafeteria. Five out there in the stable, and this one made six, so there was still one more to go, but that could wait for now. I was already overloaded, and my entire focus or most of it, was on the poor wretch she’d called ‘Baby’.

I could see why, indeed knew why and wasn’t all that surprised. Well, yes, I was, in one sense, that of them actually having such a... a thing at their beck and call. Sissyificaton, stories of enforced cross-dressing male to female were another of Bessie’s regular imaginative contributions to the website we both favoured. Like me, her primary preference was for the human equine and occasionally encompassed other demeaning forms of animal dehumanisation for her subjects. However, the sissy maid was not a complete rarity.   

I noticed that the youth had a peculiar way of walking and wondered if it was something he’d been trained to do or perhaps it was the six-inch spike-heeled stilettos on his feet. Not the easiest of footwear to wear, I’d imagine, and maybe something else added to his odd gait. I noticed the large pink flange of a butt plug when he bent forward to serve Bessie. A very sizeable flange, so presumably, whatever they’d thrust up his anal passage was also on the plus size! I thought about Dopey out there in the stable and didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out why their sissy house slave was so plugged. 

Who was Baby, and where did he, or perhaps she might be more gender appropriate under the circumstances, fit into the equation? And a fascinating equation it was as well. Add seven free human beings to two outwardly friendly civilised human beings but with perverted ambitions, and that equalled seven unfortunates in very demeaning captivity and two very happy perverts! I thought there was probably something wrong with that, at least in the mathematical sense rather than the moral. Then again, mathematics had never been a strong point of mine, especially equations.

“It was so exciting”, Bessie said gleefully, clapping her hands together. “I don’t even remember putting that gun down or whatever I did with it. Somehow, all that is a bit of a blank now I look back. Suddenly, they were all face down, wriggling and flopping around like fish out of water, and Robbie here going around with whatever came to hand, bits of old rope, rags, even my tights off the clothes airer and also silencing all that annoying noise they were making. Sheesh, my, if you could have heard that racket!” she raised her hands momentarily to her ears and shook her head. “Talk about raising the roof!”

“Shock wearing off, I expect. I’m surprised they didn’t hear all those protestations and silly shrieks down in the village, eh girl?” Robbie sipped contentedly at his coffee while his free hand ran up Baby’s stockinged leg and settled possessively on her right buttock cheek, gently squeezing and massaging. “Not that hitting all those high notes did one iota of good!” he chuckled. “Seven little fishes not even wriggling on the line but already unhooked and in the basket, ready to be prepped for the fish market, only we weren’t about to sell our catch to anyone!”

He and his wife beamed at each other, and that smug feeling of self-satisfaction radiating off the pair was so thick you could almost touch it. I wondered if I was the first, the only one they’d invited here or revealed their amazing secret to and asked them that.

“Don’t be silly!” Bessie had seemingly been very surprised by my question. “Why on earth would we want to do that? You’re the first and will almost certainly be the only one to visit and see them. Heavens, what sort of foolish people do you think we are?”

I shrugged, feeling a trifle perplexed. What sort of people? Well, how about evil, nasty, cruel, sadistic, criminal people do, for starters? I’d just been curious to know if, besides myself, they had any other contacts in the BDSM world, perhaps on a more practical basis since my involvement stemmed purely from my literary imagination. Were there others or maybe some shadowy secret background organisation they belonged to akin to those both of us had written about? Evidently not from their joint indignant response!

“We may have been perhaps rather foolish, one might say, taking such a risk”, Robbie chuckled, maybe thinking along the same lines I was. “But as to being downright foolish, then no. We discussed the possibility of inviting you to visit in some depth, but...well, here you are, and correct me if I’m wrong”  he paused and cocked a curious eye at me. “I haven’t detected any great urge on your part to dash off down the road, returning post-haste with the admirable custodians of law and order”.

I grinned and reached into my pocket to retrieve my cell phone. “Who needs to dash off anywhere these days?” I smirked and then stopped. “If you can get a signal”, I amended, staring at my uncooperative device.

Robbie chuckled. “In that case, you’d better get your running shoes on, Laddie, or alternatively hang around until we give you the log-on password for our humble little system. Well, it's supposed to be simple, but the damn thing sometimes baffles me.”

“Robbie is very analogue, as you know”, Bessie laughed. “He does a sort of double bluff pretending he’s no tech nerd and then thinks he secretly does know his Apple from his Arse, but I know better. I learned years ago that leaving him to tape an episode of something on the VHS recorder would be a disaster. Now then, let's hear from you. Will you be staying with us for just tonight, the weekend, the whole week, or would you like to get the hell out of Dodge tonight and maybe pay a call upon Constable Evans in his charming cottage down the village?”

“Or better still, the pub at this time of night!” Robbie added, looking at his watch. “Our local representative of the law is a tad over fond of the ‘old liquid sherbet’, as they say”. 

“Far too fond!” Bessie added critically. “and more substantial fodder. He makes Robbie and me look slim by comparison!”

“No”,  I said loudly, thinking the conversation was drifting off course and deciding it was time to amend that.

“No, what?” Robbie looked at me with a quizzical smile.

I gave him an indulgent smile in return. “No, I am not about to run off and seek assistance from your portly local representative of the law nor any other official personage, regardless of shape!“ I assured them, sitting up and hesitating for a moment. Then I reached out a tentative hand and ran a finger up the top of a stockinged leg over the smooth hairless thigh and up and onto a raised purple weal on a heavily whip-marked rump delighting in the reluctant twitch its owner gave yet dared not resist. “I might just inflict myself upon you for the next seven days or so!”

“That's a tenner you owe me, Honey”, Bessie exclaimed with a delighted laugh.

“Eh? “I looked at her, and then at the sour face Robbie was pulling. 

Bessie smiled at me. “Oh, just a little bet Robbie and I had this morning during breakfast—ten pounds on whether you would stay the whole week. I said you would, but he reckoned the weekend if that, and then you’d get cold feet, take a week or two to think about things and then come back. No way, Jose, I told him!”

I grinned at her, added several more fingers, and then my whole palm to that sensitive, quivering, abused flesh and winked. “Call it practical research; besides, we always were on the same wavelength!” I moved a finger sideways and tapped on the pink flange. Just how big an intruder was affixed to it, I wondered. 

*****

I swallowed my last morsel of breakfast toast and eyed the coffee jug. I was tempted to indulge in a second cup, but almost immediately, the thought of missing anything interesting pony-wise killed that off. I drained the dregs from my mug and conscientiously cleared the table, taking everything into the small kitchen. I debated for a moment about the washing up but decided there was no need. Anyway, as Robbie had said the previous evening, they had an alternative to the dishwasher that was undoubtedly much more entertaining to use. 

It was noticeably colder when I exited the farmhouse, partly due to the occasional gust of wind which hadn’t been around the previous evening. The sky was clear and cloudless but a touch on the nippy side in terms of temperature. I’d noticed that chill while getting dressed and decided to wear the sweater I’d brought ‘just in case’. I wasn’t the only one who thought that as Bessie looked around and waved to me.

“Fed, watered, and ready for work,” Bessie called, clapping her hands together and then pointing at the four harnessed human equines standing patiently nearby, just as obediently as their four-legged working equivalents might have done. The fact that the cuddly, motherly seeming Bessie had a vicious-looking quirt dangling from a leather loop around her wrist and two of those unique ponies had small rivulets of blood running down their thighs already from the vivid stripes above might have played some part in their seeming docility.

Bessie wasn’t a sight to stimulate those aficionados with a penchant for fetching leather-clad, dominant riding mistresses by any means. My friend was decidedly lacking in both the figure and looks department and clad in a thick turtle-necked sweater, bib and brace denim dungarees and a quilted gilet in a horrible shade of mauve. She was wearing a pair of rubber boots, but your average fetishist would have been hard put to find anything erotic about that pair of functional green Wellingtons to wank over!

However, she wasn’t the focus of my attention as I crossed the dusty farmyard to join her, for my eyes were firmly fixed on the four ponies harnessed to that strange-looking long cart with no less than three pairs of sturdy bicycle wheels with the thicker mountain bike tyres, not the thin road or racing ones. I recognised the four ponies harnessed in pairs between the long pole-like shafts, for I’d met them all the previous evening. A site that was both incongruous and yet at the same time highly erotic and stimulating, at least to me it was. Maybe Joe Ordinary would have been somewhat amazed, disgusted and angry, but I’d burned my boats by that point.  

Two gorgeous mares and two beautiful fillies that I’d met the evening before. The very sight of them standing there shivering and shuffling their hoof-booted feet up and down was one of the most cock tingling sights I’d ever seen. Jeez, if I was feeling that nip in the air, how must they feel standing there displaying all they’d got wearing nothing but their boots, collars, armbinder, bridle and harness straps? None of it designed to cover nor provide warmth to the unfortunate wearer. I could almost see the goosebumps forming on their exposed flesh.

“Had you breakfast?” Bessie asked, straightening up from whatever she’d been fiddling with on the other side of the cart and moving towards her harnessed team.

“Yes, thank you.” I nodded. “I saw your note. I settled on a few slices of toast and that delicious lemon marmalade. Homemade, wasn’t it?

Bessie chuckled. “Yep, but don’t look at me if you want to take a few Jars back with you. Not my handiwork. They sell it in the post office, someone in the village makes it and several varieties of jam. Ready for a little work up that way?” she gestured with her crop up the steepish-looking track that led upwards away from the farm towards the hills. 

“What kind of work?” I asked cautiously, which prompted an immediate hearty laugh 

“Don’t fret yourself—no need to look so wary. We won’t be the ones doing the sweating. I promise you that, and, on that note, the sooner these animals start working up a sweat, the better they will feel. Just look at the size of the nipples on Peaches here! The cold has that effect on them, and hers seem very affected! Get one of those in your eye, and you’ll know about it!” she laughed. “Now, just you wait on a moment while I finish off, and then we’ll see about warming them up.”

I watched as she tucked her long crop under one arm and almost marched onto the stable like a drill sergeant taking leave of her parade. I wondered if she had ever been in the military as she disappeared through the big doors. I knew something of Robbie's early life and background but hardly any of Bessie’s. There was always a certain casualness about Robbie, whereas his wife could sometimes be very precise and controlled. 

She was right about the nipples, though. The cold air was clearly affecting their udders as four sets of pink nipples stood out proud and prominently from the heavy surrounding areolas. Evidently a family trait and naturally irresistible to a couple of fingers with nothing better to do while the quartet waited on their owner, especially as Peaches happened to be the nearest of the quartet to me. 

I was paying my third visit over to the stable occupants since arriving the evening before, but this time, the four females were outside and harnessed, ready for work, as Bessie had stated. I rubbed that hard little tube of flesh between finger and thumb while staring at them in the same incredulous way I’d done the previous evening when Robbie introduced me, if that’s the correct term, to the ‘rest of their little herd’ as he put it after dinner. Was that, no, not even twenty-four hours ago, barely a dozen!

*****

Baby was screaming behind us by the time Robbie had fiddled about getting the stable door open and invited me to resume the ‘grand tour’, as he put it. Listening to those agonised shrieks, I wondered if he/she was suffering because of that relatively minor slip-up with the coffee or if Bessie had saved up a whole day's worth of such minor transgressions. Scary, Robbie had said! Well, I’d always known which of my friends was the most dominant one, and I suspected he was right regarding which of them the captive human livestock feared most.

“Grand tour?” I quizzed good-humouredly.

Robbie chuckled as he guided me in and switched on the lights. “Well, not quite as grand as one of those oil-soaked Arab Prince chappies who keeps a hundred or so expensive thoroughbreds in his English or French racing stable but grand, even impressive by our more modest standards. Hell, when have you last seen anything to compete?” he laughed. 

“Fair point, you've got me there”, I admitted. “Oil-rich is, I think, the term you meant. You know, Bessie and I’ve written about such in the past, but in terms of them owning other racing livestock. I wonder if such stables do exist. Especially now after seeing this,” I added as we walked down towards the stalls, having entered via the big main entrance again.”

“Well, I met more than a few of them in London, Paris, New York, etc. Back when I was working in the City and, some of them were definitely soaked a lot of the time once off the leash, only it wasn’t oil! He chuckled. “Why, especially now? Oh yes, I see what you mean,” he responded as I pointed down towards the doorway leading to the stalls. “We’ve just got a small farm, whereas if you control and virtually own an entire country.... endless possibilities and all that!” he chuckled. “Plus, no fear of the authorities discovering your little hobby because you are the authorities!”

“Authority”, I corrected, “Well, maybe both will suffice”.

“Thanks!” My brief reply hadn’t meant to be critical or sarcastic, but his tone spoke volumes; then, he grinned at me and rubbed his hands together, stopping by the first stall. “Now, let us see. Peaches over there, along with Dopey, have already had the privilege of meeting you.” he paused and chuckled again. “If meeting you is to be a privilege, and somehow, I expect not if you stay the week!”

I flashed him a thin smile as he repeated that impulsive hand-rubbing action. Robbie was clearly a little hyped up and thoroughly enjoying himself. Then again, looking left and right along the stalls and what they contained, why shouldn’t he be given the circumstances? I was outwardly trying to maintain my calm facade but was possibly even more hyped internally than he was.

“Now, this fine mare here is one of my favourites.” he gestured into the end stall next to the area turned into storage. “Well, to be honest, they are all my favourites”, he chuckled and winked at me. “I suppose it depends on which animal I happen to be working with at the time...or perhaps doing something else with it, eh?” This time, you could have added the word dirty to that chuckle for all it implied. “Sometimes having these animals to do all the hard work and hauling about the farm is more exhausting than not having them would be!”

“How so?” I asked without thinking, still admiring his ‘favourite’.

I happened to be looking directly into the eyes of the human pony as he spoke and couldn’t miss the flicker in those lovely, if sad, staring eyes as that one word registered. Animal, that indeed summed up what I was looking at, didn’t it, regarding how it was dressed and kept. The woman, the mare, had an excellent figure and long, shapely legs, a high plume of golden blonde hair and a pair of udders many women would have killed to possess, although not with all those cruel whip marks marring them. All of it on view to me, and yet somehow, she was no longer quite human, was she? Well, kind of yes and no!

Yes, perhaps in the sterile atmosphere of a fetish studio photo shoot or similar and smiling the sort of toothpaste advert gleaming white teeth and glossy-lipped smile all models use for the camera. But here, shuffling about in a stinky straw and dirt-lined spartan stall, grimed, dishevelled and tethered as she was. Her teeth were partially on view but clamped firmly upon the unyielding bit in her generous mouth. A mouth incapable of smiling under that duress and almost certainly wouldn’t have done had it free to do so. But no! Humanity was present, but not to the immediate fore was my primary impression taking in the overall picture. Then again, that might have just been me seeing what I wanted to see.

Perhaps I’d written too many long-winded descriptions of similar unfortunates, both male and female, in my stories to see much beyond the bestial aspect and, more importantly, nor did I want to as the poor thing stared at me with such a beseeching look in those sad pleading eyes. A part of me was a little uncomfortable, but only a tiny part, but I did automatically cast a hasty glance towards the stable doors.

“Four months and counting”, Robbie said, correctly interpreting my apprehensive glance. “Nobody is going to come looking, so don’t fret yourself about it. And we’re finally getting some use out of them and not afore time too!”

“Only now?” I queried in surprise.”I thought...well, from what you’d said about Dopey and then last  night..”

“Oh,  I didn’t mean that sort of thing. No, I mean real work, not a bit of rumpy-pumpy! Hell, I took a fancy to this one that very first evening. Bessie helped me haul it over the sofa arm and gave her a taste of things to come. Two tasters, in fact, for Bessie warmed her up with a thick doubled-up leather belt before I got to play!” he reached out and squeezed the nearest breast. “Then she grabbed hold of these two beauties and gave them a right mashing while I was pounding her pony cunt” he chuckled and nodded along the row of stalls. “The rest of the gang were still face down, rolling about on the floor, of course, but it didn't take a degree in rocket science to know what was going on for them as couldn’t see for themselves!” 

I shook my head, trying to fix that improbable image in my mind, somehow knowing both of them, but failed. Instead, I looked at the multitude of ropes, leather tack and harness straps hanging from various wooden pegs in the space where a stall had been removed. There looked to be enough of the stuff to outfit an entire battery of old-style horse artillery, and it wasn’t flimsy-looking stuff either.

“You actually use them to work, work the farm, I mean?”

“Sure do.” Robbie grinned, releasing a breast and patting the captive pony on the head. “Couldn’t have happened at a more appropriate moment. I was thinking of buying a second-hand tractor, even picked one out and had a trial go on it.” he paused and nodded to himself. “That was fun once I got the hang of it, so I still might buy one. It would be more appropriate with a trailer on for tackling the weekly rubbish bag run down the drive to the collection point and similar. Had a black bin bag burst on me the other week and stank the bloody car out. Can’t exactly use this lot down near the public road, can we?” he nodded towards the stalls.

I said nothing, merely shaking my spinning head as I followed his gaze. Were they really being used as beasts of burden, as he so casually stated?

“This one's still a bit troublesome,” Robbie said, then pulled a face, adding, “Well, forget that remark. They all can be, but in this ones case, let's make that very troublesome with a capital Vee. She never seems to let up, so don’t give her so much as an inch. That goes for all of them, so please always keep that in mind! This one is the worst of the bunch. Can’t seem to accept her new life and doesn’t seem to like it one bit,” he chortled. “I wonder why?”

“Yeah, I can see that.” I nodded towards the ‘animals’ most prominent assets. “Someone seems to like her, though or at least favour one part of her anatomy!”. 

“You should see her rump, and why not? Why look when you can also feel? Heck, that's far more fun, eh?” He leered at me as he flipped the catch on the stall's low door and invited me to enter. “Oh, almost forgetting my manners. Meet Cream, Cream, meet our honoured guest who isn’t going to do a thing for you, by the way. At least not what you want him to do, nor will he tell tales after he leaves. That's the way the cookie’s going to crumble, girl! He laughed, reaching out to unlatch the stall, and I eagerly followed him into the small enclosure.

“Cosy, is it not?” Robbie grinned, reaching out and easily hauling the pony towards him even though, on her hooves, she was taller. “Must have been a little tight when the real thing was in here, but roomy enough for one of these animals on its own.” he paused and chuckled. “What’s that old expression? Not enough room to swing a cat! We don’t run to a nine-tailed version, only canes and crops used here for on-the-spot discipline. Anything more serious or formal is a trip through yon doorway to get strapped to one of our more appropriate stable furnishings. Here, have a look at her!”

He quickly spun the struggling Cream around, yanking her head down so that her rump and thighs were prominently displayed. Given the apparent obduracy of the woman he was handling, I was amazed at the sheer ease with which he did it. Those boots, the harness and the cruel armbinder, rendered her completely helpless when handled thus. She might possess a brain far superior to the four-legged equivalent, but lacking that creature's natural strength, she could not resist her owner.

“Bit of a mess. Eh?” Robbie stated without the slightest trace of guilt or sympathy in his voice. “And we’re probably not even approaching the halfway stage with this one!”

“What....oh yes. No, not a pretty sight,” I agreed, snapping out of my momentary stupor. The implications of the word ‘owner’ had suddenly registered with me, the full impact as I stared at the stall's hapless occupant. Owned, totally owned, and she wasn’t the only one!

“Mostly Bessie’s handi...STILL, Stay still, you stupid animal, unless you want to go to bed with two dozen from the paddle or worse on top of today's additions.” He patted the squirming figure on her tortured bottom, shaking her savagely simultaneously. “Bessie's handiwork”, he finished with an odd note of pride in his voice as though showing a piece of artwork. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. I’d actually murmured four and a bit months to myself again as I looked at the captive woman’s mutilated bottom, her rump, as my hosts would no doubt call it. That lattice of scars, cuts and wheals over her jutting white breasts was bad enough, but her entire rear end and thighs were one mass of black, blue, purple and red bruises with hardly a piece of unsullied skin to be seen. I wasn’t sure whether to admire the woman or pity her, for she must have had some spirit to have endured that and, what had he said, not even be at the halfway stage yet!” 

“Had you arrived a few hours earlier, you’d have seen Bessie delivering her latest dusting with our stable cane”, he chuckled. “Every home, or in our case, stable, should have one and ours is pretty darn meaty.” He grinned and lightly patted Cream on her flayed bottom, and I noted she flinched and squealed into her bit almost before he’d made contact. “Now you know you’ve only got yourself to blame, Creamy girl! Behave yourself, and you’ll find life gets a lot better or betterish.” he winked at me and then maliciously nipped a prominent purple ridge of abused flesh, eliciting an instant muted scream as she jumped and broke free of his grasp.

A moment later, we stood outside again, looking over the stall door as the anguished pony hopped about trying to relieve the agony that savage pinch must have caused her, Robbie still chuckling as he said. “Well, I did say only betterish, didn’t I? By the way, this fine mare is the sister, younger sister by a couple of years to Peaches next door. Peaches and Cream! He shrugged. “Don’t blame me. Bessie named almost all of them, not me!”

“Sister?”

“Younger sister, yes. Well, don’t sound so surprised; they were all one family. We told you that!”

Cream had turned her back on us, and with her bridle head harness concealing most of her face, I doubt it would have been obvious even if she’d been an identical twin. I took a pace back to peer into the neighbouring stall at Peaches, still patiently standing with her nose tethered by that short chain. Cream was taller, assuming their heavy hoof boots were the same height and visibly simmer. That's not to say her older sister was fat; she wasn’t, but there was more to her around the bottom, hips and midriff. 

“Neither of them bad lookers either”, Robbie added helpfully before adding, “Not that it matters now and certainly doesn’t count for anything!”

“I thought you said Bessie favoured the one next door, the older sister. That's why she’s pierced and ringed and fastened up like that, by that horrible nose ring?”

“You’re not too keen on that, are you? I don’t recall you including such in your stories.”

I nodded and then shook my head. “No, I have never personally been a big fan of piercings of any sort nor tattoos, so I rarely write about such. I’ve had some negative comments on the site to the effect that mine aren’t real ponygirls or boys because of that, but” I shrugged, “I’m happy, so I don’t give a damn!”

Robbie suddenly laughed. “Well, here it's a case of genuine hands-on learning experience and experimentation, and I’ll be interested to see how that affects your literary creativity. I hope yours can be stimulated and rekindled, for being hands-on with the real thing has surely killed off Bessie’s for the time being. 

Understandable, I thought, looking up and down the stalls and their hapless occupants, then back to the dejected figure of Cream. Bessie now had a far more tangible outlet to satisfy her interest in human equines and all it involved. Younger sister, he’d said, and how young, I wondered, for Cream lacked the thicker figure of her sister in the adjoining stall. Late thirties, early forties, no, somehow, I sensed not. I’d never been good at judging an attractive woman's age, and now, with virtually no facial features to look at, it was impossible. I did notice the stretch marks on Peaches; this one also displayed them, but not to the same extent. I looked down towards the other stalls beyond the storage areas and the original entrance doorway.

Robbie chuckled and retook my arm, gently pulling me forward. “Yes, admirable as she is, let us meet the other members of our little herd. You’ve met the dominant stallion,” he broke off to give a short, derisive bark of laughter. “Not that he’s able to be very dominant or do anything very stallionish for that matter. Likewise, you’ve seen the two mares, so now it's time for more favourites. Younger flesh,” he leered and smacked his lips somewhat theatrically and exaggeratedly.

The nearest two stalls were occupied while the furthest one by the external wall was devoid of any occupant. Robbie stopped midway between the first two enclosures, releasing his grip on my arm and waving from one captive figure to the other. “Cherry and Damson,” he grinned. “Cute duo, eh? Two more Bessie named, you remember her “Peartree farm story, one of her early efforts?”

“What?” I reluctantly switched my attention from the two decidedly nubile figures to consider his question and, after a moment’s thought, came up with several answers. Yes, I remembered and had marked it as a favourite some years back. Also, if I recall correctly, it was one of the stories Amazon decided was far too hot for them. Set on a fruit farm in the American southwest, it featured a family, Mom, Pop, son and daughter. They’d also kept a range of exotic two-legged pets in the most miserable conditions imaginable. Physical contrasts had been the story's central theme, for the family had all been somewhat obese. In contrast, their wretched livestock was kept at the opposite end of the scale, beaten and starved to near skeleton-like status reminiscent of concentration camp inmates. 

There had also been a very subtle and unstated hint of cannibalism running throughout, sort of on the fringe but never coming to the fore. I’d thought it was very well written in that respect, although it had been savage enough even without that aspect. I also recalled something else: all the unfortunate captive human animals living on the edge of starvation had been callously named after items of food or fruit.

“Exactly,” Robbie chuckled. He’d intently watched my face, and understanding must have shown as I worked my way towards that last point. 

“Peaches and Cream, Plum and Damson! I get the picture”.

“I didn’t get a look in,” he admitted. “Even Dopey was merely a kind of, what would you call it, a work-in-progress name, but it sort of stuck, so I think the poor thing is saddled with it now, no pun intended. Like Baby, not exactly imaginative and a wee bit obvious but dammed appropriate”.

“Simple and easy to remember,” I said. “Not as demeaning as some the pair of us have used besides....” I stopped, and it was my turn to chuckle and his turn to look puzzled. “It used to take me an age sometimes to come up with the derogatory and demeaning name I wanted. 

“Similar but different farm story, only this time for real”, Robbie laughed, patting his paunch. Betty and I aren’t quite in the same class as Ma and Pop Clemson and offspring, not yet, anyway. Nor have we reduced our livestock to skin and bone and don’t intend to do so.”

“What about eating them? “I grinned a grin which instantly grew even wider at the sudden reaction my words provoked from both stall occupants to my words. 

“Now that’s put the wind up them!” Robbie laughed, also catching that movement. “Don’t panic, my sexy young beauties. Besides, we’d fatten you both up first, I expect. That aspect of her story caused a lot of discussion in the comment sections, and she’s never said if the family did that, not even to me.”

I nodded. “She dropped enough hints. I was one of those who commented on that very fact. As I recall, she was quite graphic in her meal descriptions, the banquets the family ate, often with some of their household pets watching on and then those the livestock attempted to exist on. Hell, I remember thinking at the time that was some impressive writing being able to describe next to nothing so eloquently and in several paragraphs!”

“Probably going through one of those god-awful diet phases when she did that. It is easy to wax lyrical about food, even near empty plates, when you live similarly on a sliver of lettuce and two health crackers daily. He tapped his belly again and grinned. “I expect it was a very short phase. They always were every new dietary fad, but none stayed the distance! Now, back to business. Plumb or Damson. The daughters, something to warm the cockles of your heart, eh, Laddie? Which of these mouth-watering fillies do you fancy we should start with? I mean, look at those jutting young firm udders. Fair makes your fingers itch, does it not?

Both or either would have been my answer to that question, and it wasn't the cockles of my heart that were warmed or motivated, either. Recalling Robbie and Dopey earlier, I felt myself stirring almost uncomfortably as I surveyed the youthful pair, and all that was on show to my admiring and decidedly lustful gaze. I also somehow knew that before the week was out, I’d have the opportunity to get far more intimately acquainted with both of them, which only added to that uncomfortable, restricted feeling! Although I only thought about it later, this was probably when any remaining scruples on my part waved goodbye.

“This one is Plumb, and a very ripe little plumb she is, too!” Robbie moved to the right-hand stall, taking the decision out of my hands. “Might as well keep moving down the bus in the same order while we’re about it. This superb filly came out of Peaches some eighteen years ago, a slimmed-down version of her broodmare. If that's the right technical term and a fine specimen she is, I think you’ll agree. Takes after her mother in the udders department but has hardly an ounce of sag yet in these beauties. My god, talk about an erotic bounce when this one starts moving; now that's a sight to gladden these old eyes, not to mention stirring ones manly appendage into life!” he winked and tapped his crotch with one finger. “Come on in and say hello properly he said, ushering me into the stall.

Plumb was the smallest of all the ponies I’d seen by several inches and, unlike the two mares, was trying to do the very opposite with her eyes. Whereas they’d fixed on me like a pair of magnets latching onto a steel bar in their desperation to somehow communicate their foolish expectations to me, this one behaved oppositely. She tried to turn her back to me, shuffling around as best she could because that high-posture collar obviously limited her neck movement.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Robbie was having none of it and roughly twisted her back to face the front of her stall. “No need to be bashful just because we have a visitor, Plumb. I expect you’ll get to know him quite well before the end of the week.” He turned to me with a broad wink and chuckled, nodding his head sideways towards the stalls we’d visited earlier. “Driving last year's model is fun, but you don’t need to wait twelve months to take the latest edition for a spin if the fancy takes you, eh!” he laughed, repeating that suggestive wink. “Bessie has taken quite a shine to this sporty little number. She likes to add her own gear stick, though, whenever they go for a drive,” Robbie laughed coarsely, “nudge nudge, know what I mean?”

Plumb’s eyes were desperate and filled with tears, trying to look anywhere but at me, and her cheeks glowed red with shame and embarrassment, the bits of them that I could discern anyway behind her bridle straps. She squirmed in Robbie's tight grasp, mewing like a cat into her bit as he ran his free hand over her tightly harnessed young body.

“Got something up top as well, this one, right up top, I mean, up here in the attic.” he stopped pawing at her and tapped her on the head. “Was all set to start university to study law, weren’t you, girl?” he grinned at me and dropped his hand down to a pert up, thrusting firm breast. “Bit of a come down for the little grey cells, eh?” he chuckled. “Come on, Laddie, no need to be bashful. Plumb here is well used to being handled by her owners, aren't you, girl?”

The girl, of course, could no answer other than those pathetic mewing sounds that indicated she was understandably less than delighted by Robbie's suggestion. Nor did her eyes and flaming cheeks support his statement. I gained the distinct impression that being handled, and all that simple phrase entailed was the last thing the young girl wanted. Not that it stopped me from taking up the offer, of course, and closing my hand upon a tempting young breast

“Nice?” Robbie made the single word a question as we exited the stall. “Now admit it. How often have you seen a pretty young floozy like that virtually flashing everything she’s got under a skimpy summer outfit while walking down the street, eh? Felt the old fingers and maybe something else twitch, and not a thing you can do about it unless you wanted a quick trip to the local magistrate court!” he chuckled. “No such restrictions here, Laddie”.

“Nor even the skimpy summer outfit”, I acknowledged, looking back at Plumb, who’d turned her back on us as soon as she was free to do so. I wondered how long she’d continue with those pathetic sounds and the tears that had started when my hands sampled that delicious, tightly harnessed young flesh.

It would have been a considerable exaggeration to say I’d bowled Robbie over in my rush, but that was a very leery, knowing chuckle he’d produced as I pushed past him to sample the indicated goods. Nor for one second did I consider the poor creature in front of me and any feelings she might have about the situation. Likewise, it would have been another case of overemphasis to say my fingers were twitching, but they were indeed eager. Not an attitude shared by the cute little filly cowering so helplessly backwards as they made contact.

So utterly helpless, defenceless and kept like that for…I shook my head and felt like pinching myself, never mind soft young female flesh. Kept like that for four months, four months plus. I’d probably still have been sanding outside that stall with my mouth open had not Robbie tugged me down to the last of the occupied stalls.

*****

Bessie had harnessed the two older mares nearest the cart with their progeny in front, and they just stood there, all four of them almost as patiently as a team of real equines might have stood apart from the constant shuffling of feet, hooves, I mean since they all wore hoof boots. I’d seen similar images in various forms and written about them myself, but to stand there and see it in the flesh was something else altogether. I felt myself shiver, and it wasn’t from feeling cold.

It was also in the flesh, and they were shivering slightly. I made a mental note to ask my hosts how they intended to keep them throughout the approaching winter. Was there heating in the old stable? There must be. What about the ponies themselves? Would they wear some sort of body suit as the temperature dropped, or would they work them as they were? Then again, did Bessie and Robbie even know, for this was all unexplored territory, wasn’t it? Writing about such was all very well but how did it stack up against the constraints of reality?

Peaches and Cream, and in front of them, their respective daughters. I wondered if that was deliberate positioning of them by Bessie and decided it was—the taller figure of Peaches on the left and her shorter sister on the right. Plumb was harnessed in front of her mother and shorter by a couple of inches than her cousin Damson next to her. Maybe that had been the intention to sort of visually balance them out, but….I shook myself. It wasn’t important, was it and perhaps it was just a random arrangement.

I couldn’t resist spontaneously moving closer and enjoying a second helping of Damson’s prominent assets. The previous evening, I’d almost been in a trance, like a dream world where everything wasn’t quite real. By the time we’d moved on to the second young filly, I was probably more on auto-pilot than hands-on. At least, that’s how I’d felt as we’d left the stable shortly after. I couldn’t even remember leaving now I thought about it. One moment, I’d been sampling another pair of juicy-looking young udders, and the next, back over in the house saying goodnight to Bessie and declining further refreshments as I headed upstairs to bed.

Late-night nibbles and drinks hadn’t been the only thing I’d refused, for I’d also declined to take Baby with me to prove she was far more comforting than a hot water bottle, as Bessie had put it. I was tired and feeling more than a little overwhelmed by everything, and felt a definite need to relax on my own and try to get my mind into gear. “Well, she won’t be going anywhere if you change your mind”, had been Bessie's parting comment.

Maybe I should have taken up that offer, for at least I’d have spared myself from listening to that racket in the main bedroom as Baby ‘comforted’ her two owners. It was probably also somewhat psychological in that was I ready to be so ‘comforted’ by such a creature, and no doubt more than a little gay aversion on my part. That didn’t seem to be bothering my friend Robbie over much, though, did it?

My friends evidently adhered to the KISS principle when it came to ponytack. Keep It Simple Stupid. I’d mentioned that to Robbie the previous evening, recalling that Bessie had always been quite elaborate in her story descriptions of various corsets and harness sets, especially when it came to tightly constraining bellies and midriffs as well as breast or, should I say, udder support.

“Practicalities, Laddie. We decided against it”, had been his laconic reply. “Expensive extra, not that we couldn’t have afforded it, but why bother? They’re not here to pose for fetish pictures or to be displayed as pretty show ponies. Owning them is enough to make me randy without the need for any such additions. Their udders will bounce nicely with or without any support, and it is not as if they’ll get enough pony fodder to develop fat bellies. Not with all the additional healthy exercise! The two mares have already lost a few surplus pounds in that department!”

I could see his point looking at four pairs of unrestrained brea…udders, four bellies, the two seniors not quite as flat and firm as their daughters and four shaven prominent sex mounds. The latter seemed a family trait, with young Damson being particularly evident in that department. She was a year older than her cousin and had been a trainee nurse until circumstances cut that career option short.

She was also a virgin when captured and still a virgin; Robbie had cackled delightedly, stroking the poor girl’s head. “Something we’re saving for a rainy day, eh pony?” he’d giggled, tapping that prominent labia with his free hand. “Of course, they were all backdoor virgins, every one which is no longer the case, not even for this cutie. Bessie did this one. Took her time too!” he’d laughed so cruelly.

Another gust of that sporadic cold wind wafted down from the hills behind me, and I noted all four of them were shivering visibly now. Unlike me, they had hardly anything to protect them from the elements. I could appreciate what Robie had meant by expense. Those knee-high hoof boots looked pretty substantial, and no doubt they’d have to be. I glanced up the track leading towards the hills. They wouldn’t have come cheap either. Off the peg, as they used to say or made to measure, I wondered. I’d once browsed around on the internet out of curiosity and found that such things did exist and several fetish footwear companies made them, but even the cheapest ‘play type’ had come with a pretty hefty price tag.

I smiled as another random thought occurred as I looked down at the sizeable hoof portion of Damson's boots. Years ago, I recalled an old uncle, great uncle to be precise, presenting me with a big clasp knife he’d had from his grandfather. There was just one large blade and another long-curved round device that ended in a point. ‘For removing stones from horses hooves,’ he’d told me. I still had it somewhere at home now I came to think about it. I switched my gaze towards the hills and the stone-walled fields up that track, wondering if my hosts had such a thing or needed one. Did hoof boots pick up stones?

Damson accepted my hands with none of the reticence her cousin had shown, just as she’d done the previous evening. I’d touched and fondled all five ponies now, and she was by far the most passive, but her jutting tit…her udders just begged to be touched again, so I did. Fingers weren’t the only thing that had regularly touched them, though. They were just as marked and scared from the whip as the rest of her young body as I stepped back to enjoy the view again.

Nineteen years old and the twin of the sissified Baby. “But hardly identical”, Robbie had laughed, “this one has all the lumps and bumps in the right places that her brother lacks, but he’s almost as pretty, probably why Bessie decided he was perfect for what she wanted. Not a bad pair of pins on him either in those sexy stockings and a better bum fuck, too, by my reckoning. Leastways, his  squeals are so much more satisfying!” 

It wasn’t only the weather that those skimpy outfits provided zero protection against but also the whips of their owners. Apart from boots, armbinders, posture collars and bridle, they were open and vulnerable, and this filly’s body showed it. Thighs, bottoms, belly, breasts, and shoulders all carried the marks of her owner's whips. The scale of cruelty was unbelievable, incredible, I thought, looking around at the bleak countryside to ascertain that this wasn’t some bizarre dream I was having. 

Curiosity prompted me to abandon the ponies momentarily and take a quick peek in the back of the cart to see what it contained. I was no expert but that farm machinery, well it wasn’t precisely machinery for apart from a couple of large hinges, there seemed to be a lack of anything mechanical. Like I said, I was no expert, but those two things nearest the back looked suspiciously like ploughs. The old fashions sort with handles at the back and a single steel blade type thing at the business end—the kind I’d seen in old drawings and similar artwork pulled by a horse or two. I stood there for a moment or two, taking it in. Additional healthy exercise, he’d said!

I won’t say I was stunned, for there was no reason I should have been considering everything else. However, it was still something of a revelation to realise they hadn’t been kidding about putting them to work, and it wouldn’t be the easiest form of employment either, would it? Jeez- fucking-us! I trembled and glanced forward at the four ponies. Four fucking months! I seemed unable to get that out of my head and not to forget that extra ‘bit’. Bloody hell!

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Bessie appeared not from the open doorway but from around the side of the stable behind me. She must have gone through the building to one of the other outbuildings. 

“Had a little chore to do first?” she said cheerfully. “Now come on you, heel!”

My jaw dropped, and I gaped at her or rather not at her, but at what she had on the other end of the leash she was tugging on. I’d almost forgotten with so much else to look at and think about, but the number seven suddenly flashed into my mind. I should have guessed was the thought that immediately followed!