Old McDonald had a Farm...

Chapter five

“I wasn’t trying to keep this one a secret, nothing like that and HEEL, Damn you!” Bessie snarled, lashing out with a green boot while simultaneously yanking hard on the leash. Her green boots might have been made of rubber, but they looked to be heavy industrial-quality ones and might even have had reinforced toe caps. They certainly looked sturdy enough, and I wouldn’t have liked my rib cage to have been on the receiving end.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. This fucking creature would try a saint's patience at times, wouldn’t you, pup?” Her boot lashed out again but lacked the venom of the previous kick.

Almost without thinking about it, I pointed downwards. “He’s?”

“Cream’s husband or was till I reassigned him to other duties. He lives in the house normally, but I kenneled him in an old shed last night. I didn’t want to overload you, plus he’d been pissing me off, so a night crammed into a small dog crate now and then is good for him. Bessie smirked, cutting in quickly and pulling the grovelling man forward so I could get a better view. “Now stay while your Mistress talks to our visitor. This doesn’t concern you, Bozo, so behave, and maybe the nice man will take you for extra walkies later.”

That seemed to amuse her for some reason, and she succumbed to a short fit of uncontrolled hilarity.

“Bozo?” I queried.

“Not guilty this time”, Bessie shrugged. “Robbie called him a ‘right Bozo’, and it stuck a bit like Dopey in there on his lonesome” She nodded towards the open stable door and frowned. “Now that’s one name that maybe does need changing!”

“Before he gets too used to it?”

Bessie gave me a quizzical look. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of afore we get too used to it. Custom and practice and all that goes with it. These fuckers” she nudged Bozo with her booted foot,” will get used to whatever we want. What do you think of him then? I always wanted a dog, but my mother was way too house-proud for pets of any kind. ‘All that mess and hair everywhere, Sweetie.’ Bessie mimicked. “Not even a caged hamster, and after I got married, I found out Robbie’s got an allergy to fur and stuff. It doesn’t always affect him, but when it does, he goes all red and blotchy, and it’s quite painful. He does look funny, though,” she laughed, adding, “I can be very cruel at times, he tells me!”

I gave her a long hard look and then glanced down at Bozo. “I’ve noticed!”

“Oh phooey, he doesn’t count, do you poochie? None of them do come to that.” She nudged the figure with her foot. “One has to be cruel to be kind; otherwise, they will never learn and never adapt, and this one is as bad as his wife when it comes to adapting”.

It took me a moment, but my mind made the connection. I glanced towards the cart with its harnessed team. “He’s Cream's husband?”

Bessie shrugged indifferently and pulled a face. “I thought I just told you that! Yes, he was mated to that mettlesome mare, but he’s my big doggie woggy now, aren’t you, boy?”

A rhetorical question because there was no way Bozo could answer, not with what looked like a large rubber bone clenched in his teeth. Not so much clenched but firmly wedged there, I could see the retaining straps on either side disappearing around behind his neck.

“Where did you get that suit, that dog suit?” I eyed the wretched creature head to toe. It fitted like a second skin and certainly wasn’t skimpy material-wise. Made to measure, I wondered, and if so, it must have cost a fortune.

“Nope, well, yes, kind of, but not as much as you might imagine,” Bessie chuckled, shaking her head as she correctly interpreted my look. “You were wondering about my boy's furry doggie skin and how much it cost, weren’t you?”

I nodded slightly. “That thought had crossed my mind. Some specialist fetish company, no doubt?”

“Stay, I said,” Bessie growled and made as though to kick again but restrained herself. The lowly Bozo, of course, couldn't know that, and he flinched sideways or tried to, only to be yanked cruelly back into place with another curt “Stay! Emphasised by a pointing finger”.

I shivered at the sheer horror of it, of his predicament. Like the nearby shivering ponies, I’d seen pictures of such dogs and written about them, but seeing one in the flesh, or more apt, in the dog suit, was something else entirely! Human in shape but reduced to being a grovelling cur at the boots of his Mistress.

“Stay, Bessie cautioned once more, nudging her human dog non too gently with the toe end of her right boot. “A little on the expensive side, but nowhere near what you might think”, she returned to my question. Got it off eBay, would you believe?” she laughed.

I blinked. You’re kidding me!”

“Nope,” she laughed delightedly, shaking her head. “It's not on the UK one. I was browsing around and found the usual flimsy fetish wannabe stuff. You know what I mean, like that crap the supermarkets sell for Halloween and similar. One good sneeze and it falls to pieces, that’s if it doesn’t go up in flames at the merest hint of a naked flame! Sheeesh, imagine this bad boy in one of those, I don’t think. A couple of rips and over the hills and far away in an instant!”

I nodded. “Cheap and nasty, no doubt made in some Asian sweatshop by malnourished ten-year-olds whereas that”, I pointed downwards “, does look a somewhat substantive garment; I mean, it would have to be”, I looked around the farmyard. It wasn’t exactly tidy nor the opposite, but very much as one would have expected a small farmyard to look like. Apart from the rough stone walls, there was enough general clutter lying around in conditions varying from new to unrecognisable rusted heaps of scrap iron whose original purpose now long forgotten. Not exactly a place likely to be kind to someone crawling about on their hands and knees or, rather, knees and elbows!

“Garment” Bessie snorted derisively. “Hardly that! These,” she emphasised, plucking at the front of that horrible mauve gilet. “are garments! Bob wears garments, you wear garments, whereas this animal wears nothing but his fucking doggie collar. The rest, puppy mask, extra furry hide and tail are now as much a part of him as that thing dangling between his rear legs. Take a closer look. We aren’t keeping anybody waiting, are we?” She chuckled as she finished looking pointedly towards her unhappy pony team.

I followed her head, glancing towards the shivering ponies for a couple of seconds even as I heard her say, “Down, boy!” It took me a moment, and then I realised she was talking to me and not Bozo, and then it clicked what she meant when she added, “Go on get closer to him and have a good look. I’m rather proud of that suit and all it entailed getting the uncooperative bugger into the bloody thing!”

I grinned at her and moved closer, squatting down on my haunches to go eyeball to eyeball almost with her human puppy while she tapped the poor wretch on the nose with her long switch and repeated yet again, “Stay!”

Bozo stared straight back at me, and boy, was he one angry bunny or, perhaps more aptly, one very angry puppy! Hell, if he’d been a real hound, he’d probably have been rabid to get that sort of wild look in his eyes. Just for a second, I actually felt scared until my brain took in the bigger picture, the panoramic view as it were, and my mouth slowly twitched into a malevolent smile.

There was no pleading please help me look discernible in his enraged eyes as we stared at each other, not a hint of that sudden hope I’d seen briefly flare in those of the ponies. Alongside that feral glint, there was also one of intelligence. Intelligence and understanding and the poor thing in front of me knew instinctively, even before I’d smiled, that any expectations in the freedom line were dead as the Dodo. Deader, in fact, for should one of those funny-looking flightless birds be discovered alive on some remote island, it could expect to spend its life in cosseted security. Whereas Bozo and I both knew that while he’d also live out his life in a secure environment, cosseting would never feature on his owner's agenda!

That was evident as I manoeuvred to view him from the opposite end. His head moved to follow me, but any further attempt at movement was swiftly arrested by another quiet but menacingly growled “Stay!” that froze him immediately.

Despite his size, Bessie’s ‘big doggie’ posed no problem to anyone other than himself via his cruelly tortured physique. Big and angry he might be but also about as helpless as a born babe or, more appropriately, a kitten or puppy that’s only recently opened its eyes to the world and started taking its first wobbly exploratory steps.

That puppy suit fitted like the proverbial glove, and then I grinned, thinking of my own winter experiences with such garments. He certainly wouldn’t be leaving that thing on the train or tube as I’d done by accident more than once, not with that fit. I could see where the various pieces joined together, but there was no hint of an opening, a zip or whatever. It was as though he’d been poured into it or had it been stitched upon him. Unlikly, Bessie, I knew for sure was no needlewoman!

I’d once suggested she buy a darning needle when she was complaining that ‘Robbie’s big toes simply ate socks!’. Her response had been to glare at me and tell me that her fingers were too fat, and besides, she was neither a tailor nor seamstress and brought his socks by the dozen or two dozen pairs at a time. I recalled the instance for when Bessie glared at you like that; you knew you’d been glared at. The look was almost physical in its intensity.

Bar his face, the lightly textured material covered almost his entire body, stretching from his forehead and chin to his upthrust feet. Almost, for the suit had openings of varying sizes at specific locations, none of them difficult to guess why such ‘access holes’ existed. There was one at the crotch where I was surprised to see his sizeable cock and ball sac dangling freely. I’d have thought they’d have put that thing under lock and key before doing anything else. His entire rump was also exposed to view, presumably the better for his Mistress to apply and then survey her handiwork. Bessie might not be very enthusiastic with a sewing needle, but the tops of his thighs and bottom cheeks demonstrated considerable skill, not to say dedication, wielding other things better grasped by ‘fat fingers’.

I slowly straightened up, groaning and working my shoulders and upper back as I stood upright, hearing Bessie’s deep chuckle.

“Getting old’s a bitch is in not!”

“Lack of exercise lately.” It was my turn to glare at her as I made my excuse. She wasn’t deceived and winked at me as she yanked hard on the leash again. “Well, we can’t stand here all day, can we? Come on, Bozo, nicely to heel, show mama’s guest what a good boy you are,” she laughed as she spun on her heel and winked at me again. “You’ve already had a little taster this morning, so let's not try my patience any more!”

Bessie might have still been looking at me, but her words weren’t for me, nor was the implement in her hand that had probably delivered that taster. At least she didn’t set off a brisk pace, more the opposite, which was perhaps the one concession she did make to the poor creature on the end of the leash. Hardly surprising, though, given the visible effort Bozo had to put in to even keep his head at her heel even at that leisurely progression.

“Cute, is it not?” Bessie chuckled, looking first at me and then down at her pup. “Took a while but worth the effort, and he’s been improving by the day lately. Who’s a good boy, then? Such a cute waddle!”

It was hard to imagine that that thing down there was human. I mean, it was, but I mean, hell! Worth the effort, and what effort? Whose, hers or his? Hers I could imagine, imagine and see, his entire rump and upper visible thighs were a mass of bruised and scarred flesh oozing blood from that ‘little taster’. Yet how could he resist?

He couldn’t, was the short answer, and he was short, very short because of the stubby little legs he was cruelly forced to walk upon. That suit was tight and no doubt uncomfortable to wear, especially 24/7, but the bindings about his arms and legs were the real killer. Free and standing tall on his own two feet, he’d have made mincemeat of the short, plump woman who controlled him so complexly and so cruelly. However, height, weight and bulk meant nothing when your limbs were bent double and securely contained in thick leather pouch-like contraptions on your arms and legs.

“Ordered them from the states via the internet. A company in Texas that makes them and similar stuff as a sort of sideline. We got some of the pony gear from them as well. Mostly, they make saddles and western-style stuff, even cowboy gun belts. I bought Robbie one of those for his birthday, along with a blank-firing six-shooter. He loved it. He’s probably got a copy of every western movie ever made, my tubby fella, the man with a ‘pauncho and no mane’!”

I grinned. “That’s cruel! Rather neat but still cruel.”

Bessie giggled. “One of my pet names, besides my Goldi, started losing his locks in his late teens, so it's no big deal, and I’m no candidate for Slimer of the Year either! Do the job, don’t they?” she nodded downwards at the pouches. “His tails nothing special found that on a bog-standard cheapo internet UK lingerie and sex aid site, but it suffices. It’s got a nice fat butt plug on the end that stays in twenty-four-seven other than when I allow him to cock his leg in the dirt.

I nodded. The pouch-like contraptions certainly did do the job. Bozo shuffled along on his elbows and knees, his limbs bent double and constrained in those thick leather pouch-like bondage garments securely strapped around his ankles and upper thighs to form his stubby rear legs. Similar fastenings secured his wrists and upper arms to form his forelegs. I noted that paw-shaped padded leather fittings formed the base of his new limbs under his knees and elbows.

“Press studs” Bessie paused, kicking Bozo to a halt as she watched me. “Pretty neat. They leave nice little doggy prints in the damp mud, and if they get worn or too wet, they pop right off, and you can fit new ones. I ordered several sets in different sizes. “Too rocky here, but wait till we get further up there thataway”, she gestured with her long switch. “A couple of nice gooey places for doggie woggie to waddle through and leave nice paw prints along the way if I choose! He seems to hate them for some reason, but” she laughed and waved the end of his leash at me. “Not much choice, eh?”

“Not for anything”, I noted quietly, awed at her casual cruelty. Bessie had such a sweet smile on her motherly face, and yet? That figure of four and a bit months stubbornly would not exit my mind. My back had a twinge just from squatting down, but what about him with his limbs doubled up like that? Did she ever release them? Silly question, I decided as she explained further.

“Of course, it was a while till I had them. We were pretty unprepared when I think back. Very unprepared. She gestured towards the ponies, “hardly enough proper bondage gear, even for one. Silly, really, when you consider acquiring one of those creatures was a major reason for our move here. It wasn’t till the third day, or was it the fourth?” She frowned and then shrugged. “No matter; I had to use ropes and some straps first and then bought a humbler for his balls. I got that off eBay as well, and not some cheap crappy thing either. Well, it was fairly cheap but decently made, black varnished wood and stainless-steel bolts, looked the business as well as doing the business.” She stopped and tapped Bozo with her foot. “Just loved that bit of kit, didn’t you, boy?”

Bozo, of course, didn’t answer, didn’t even attempt to raise his head and look up, but a sort of shudder did catch my eye. Anger or resignation, I wondered or maybe the recollection of that humbler. My eyes followed that thin leather leash from his collar to Bessie’s hand, and what could he do anyway? Nothing, she was in total control, and that poor fucker knew it and if he irritated her in the slightest, well, that long switch of hers was no ornament!

“Amazing how such a simple device cut him down to size. Cuffs around his ankles and short but substantial chains leading to his humbler, and all he could do was crawl around unless he wanted to rip his fucking balls off! Came near to doing that a couple of times, didn’t you, boy, afore mummy and her whip taught you your appropriate place! I don’t suppose you have access to any putty-out, sleepy sleep stuff by any chance?”

“What?”

“You know, what you call it. Knock out stuff, not sedatives, but the kind of gunk that knocks you right out for a couple of hours. Totally zonked, not just dopey and drowsy for a bit.

Comprehension dawned. “You mean like?” I thought for a second. “Chloroform, that sort of thing? No, I haven’t. Why on earth should I?”

Bessie pulled a face. “No reason, I just thought I’d ask on impulse. I didn’t think you would have. That's his second suit, and no doubt it won’t be too long before we have to go through the hassle of getting him into a new one.”

“Difficult”, I observed, realising where she was coming from. A remark that produced an instant loud snort plus another kick on the ribs for the unfortunate Bozo.

“Difficult!” Her voice rose several octaves. “I’ll say it’s difficult! Damn, near impossible, more like. Talk about putting a condom on a snake, gee whiz, treble that with brass knobs on!”

I glanced down at the suited figure and could imagine the struggle he would have put up. Perhaps more so the second time if he’d already spent months wearing the first one. Like the ponies, it was impossible to see any expression. That big bone gag dominated the lower part of his face, whereas his nose and upper part were hidden behind that silly puppy mask with its shiny black button nose giving him a flat-faced pug-like look.

“Tried a variety of masks and hoods on him. Bloody expensive as well in a couple of cases. Damn, snouts were too big and got in the way of his tongue, so I eventually settled on this one. Leastways, this is the one he wears most. It gives him the right kind of look without his doggie nose blocking things. Watch”.

Bessie tapped her switch lightly upon his exposed rump and thrust one filthy green rubber boot under his flattened black nose. “Lick boy, lick!” she commanded and somehow managed to snap her fingers despite holding his leash.

Bozo initially pulled his head back but instantly thrust it forward again as Bessie’s arm rose and fell, and this time the touch of her switch upon his left rump cheek was anything but gentle. He squealed into his bone gag, wriggling in agony, but I noted that his face remained mashed hard against his Mistress’s muddy boot, a pink tongue franticly licking lest a second such stroke descend.

Bessie manoeuvred her foot slightly to allow him access to fresh areas of dark clinging mud or worse recalling the mess I’d seen in some pony stalls. Jesus, how low had the poor bastard fallen!

“Impressed?” Besse laughed. “I’ve always felt I had a way with animals. Hell, I sometimes think I should take this up for a living. I make one hell of a trainer, don’t you think?”

I looked from her cheerful face to the poor thing avidly papping at her boot and back to her. “I’m not sure most pet owners would approve of your methods,” I said pointedly, nodding towards that switch threatening the poor creature at her feet.

“Needs must”, Bessie retorted with an offhand shrug. “Maybe I should admit to a touch of favouritism with this one, and perhaps he did receive a wee bit more attention than the others. She snapped her fingers again and shuffled slightly to offer her other boot. It wasn’t easy to get him to this stage so quickly, but we persevered, didn’t we, boy? No, no, no, we don’t want any lazy tongues today, do we? Finish that nice juicy bit off and make Mummy’s boot nice and shiny for her”.

The switch rose and fell again, not quite as aggressively as before but still hard enough to produce that muted reaction from the wretched man on the receiving end and another livid stripe across his rump cheek.

“One thing we decided on right from the outset,” Bessie grimly noted where I was looking. “Robbie and I don’t go in for half-measures here, not ever!”

I nodded. “So, I’d noted. I can see the evidence.” then I remembered a question I’d meant to ask a few minutes back. I took a couple of paces sideways and used my shoe to point between Bozo’s rear limbs. “You’ve left him completely free, unlike Dopey or Baby. Is that for the humbler?”

Bessie shook her head. “Nope, don’t need it now he’s got his special puppy leg fittings. Maybe as a punishment, but there are plenty of other ways I can do that!” she flashed a thin-lipped smile at me. “Like I said, no half-measures! No, Robbie tends to use that on Dopey these days if he wants to add a little extra discomfort overnight. A night in the humbler makes for a humble puppy or pony the next day, eh?” she laughed.

I nodded absently and bent forward to get a better look at the subject or subjects under discussion and was suitably impressed.

“No shrinking violet, is he?” Bessie sniggered. “Wait till you see it fully stretched; I’ll bet that bolshie-minded mare he was married to enjoyed many a good romp on it! No, I like to see him like that, especially when he’s doing a fast waddle in front of me under a little encouragement,” she hefted her switch meaningfully. “His cock and balls look so cute swinging about like that!”

“No doubt humping the furniture as well when you're not looking!” I teased.

“Of course!” My little jibe immediately fell flat. “And I do look. That’s what randy pups do, and this one can get very randy with another form of encouragement.” She giggled, wriggling her fingers. “It doesn’t take much to get you standing proud, for mummy does it. Boy?”

I gaped at her. Did she really allow him to do that and to …

“No!” Bessie filled in the blank quickly. “Humpy pumpy, yes, cumey womey, no! Good little puppy dogs must learn control, and if they don’t, well, we all know what vets do to prevent such rampant squirty mischief, don’t we?” Bessie chuckled, making a sniping motion. “Only in his case, it won’t be a vet that does it, and we already know about the lack of suitable snozey snooze juice, don’t we?”

“You wouldn’t?” I gasped.

Bessie gave me an amused look and pointed to her pony team and then her mouth. “Appearances deceive; if there was any butter in here, it got melted and swallowed some time ago” She smiled and nodded towards Bozo’s well-thrashed rump. “No prisoners, no half measures and no mercy! Now come along; we can’t stand about here all day, can we?”

I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or the dog as she abruptly turned on her heel. Me, I decided for Bozo received a very hard jerk on his leash to yank him into forward motion toward the waiting ponies.

“That’s what you wanted to put him to sleep for!” I exclaimed as it clicked.

“Put him to sleep! Why on earth would I want to do that? He’s still perfectly healthy! Heel damn you!”

I shook my head. She really was getting onto pet ownership big time, wasn't she? “No, I didn’t mean that; what’s the word for it? Euthanasia, no! I meant you wanted him out cold to make it easier to get that dog suit on him”.

Betty stopped dead again, her left leg instinctively kicking out at Bozo as he banged into her legs, and that switch rose and fell once more. The action was automatic, I realised with a slight chill, the woman was beyond even thinking about her actions upon the poor wretch and that no doubt went for all of them. ‘No half-measures’.

“It would make it so much easier for Robie and me. Last time, we had him strapped over a hurdle in the stable, and by then, I’d taught him what happens to disobedient, uncooperative pups, but it was still a hell of a chore. This one is about due to be replaced. Partly my fault because I tend to whip the suit hard at times, not just those strategic openings, and it is not good for that material, whatever it is. Plus, he’s still losing weight, so it’s not quite such a good fit as when we first put him in it.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then chuckled, adding, “Well, the weight loss is my fault as well. I’ll have to consider feeding him a better-quality diet once his new suit is on”.

I thought about that as she fell silent, looking down at her unusual puppy on the end of his leash and then asked the question that had come to mind. A question I was a tad reluctant to ask because I was almost sure what the answer would be. I got confirmation of those suspicions by immediate return.

“What do you feed it, him, I mean, on?”

Bessie seemed surprised by the question, even doing a moderate double-take as she stared back at me. “What do you think, pheasant and best Russian black caviar? No, of course not! Bozo’s gets a yummy bowl of own brand doggy chunks from our local supermarket along with some scrunchy doggie biscuits twice a day plus the occasional leftovers when we scrape the dinner plates,” she paused and patted her midriff with a giggle. “Not that the pair of us leave that much on our plates, as you can see!”

I stared down at Bozo for a moment and then looked at the ponies and then exclaimed slowly. “Jeeeeeez!”

“Oh, I don’t know”, Bessie extemporised, “Taking everything into account, I think they are all doing pretty damn well. A few bouts of tummy upsets, but that’s about all. Besides, we keep their bowels deliberately loose anyway. We haven’t lost a single one and certainly don’t intend to either! But remind me later to get the tape out and measure Puppy Boy here. I want to order a new suit for him, maybe a couple, and that woman needs a ton of measurements, including some from places no tailor would ever go! I found her on the French eBay site, by the way. Now then, let me just get that plank”.

We’d slowly meandered back to the farm cart and its harnessed team of two-legged equines. Bessie looped the end of the leash over a convenient cleat and manoeuvred a long wooden plank from where it leaned against a nearby wall to the rear of the cart to form a ramp. It was grey with age, exposure to the elements, and very rough in places.

“C’mon, pup, hup, hup.” She snapped her fingers and whacked the plank with her switch. “Hup boy, hup, that’s a good doggie, here.”

I watched open-mouthed as Bozo scurried as best he could up the makeshift ramp and fell over the tailgate into the cart. I couldn’t see what Bessie had taken from her pocket and tossed towards him because it bounced off his partial dog mask, rolled till he pounced on it, and immediately gobbled it up. Having disposed of it in half a second, he twisted around and rose up on his knees, his stubby forelimbs wiggling in their leather pouches, his mouth open and tongue extended.

“My God!” I whispered as Bessie casually tossed what must be another treat to her human dog, who stretched higher to accurately catch it in his mouth before resuming his customary lowly position to chew and swallow whatever he’d just been fed rather noisily.

Bessie chuckled delightedly. “You wouldn’t believe how long it took us night after night to get that right, but he does love his treats. Climb up there on the left-hand side seat while I put this back. He manages to get into the cart pretty well, don’t you think? Of course, I knocked all the old nails out, and his paw pads protect from nasty splinters.” She returned the plank to its original position and then heaved herself up beside me. “No way I could get him in the cart; otherwise. Of course, it’s a bit of an optical illusion, he looks smaller than he is when he’s down on his cute little legs, but he’s a big bugger and a right bastard to heave about weight-wise!”

I looked backwards and nodded. I realised I was beginning to see him through her eyes as a dog rather than a human. He was a big chap or had been till Bessie laid him low quite literally, making him seem smaller somehow, just as she said until you took a good long look at him.

“Take us all day to get up there at his pace if I tied the fucker on behind”, she laughed, looking about and taking up a set of reins and swapping her switch for a long carriage whip in a convenient socket to her right. “Ready?”

I was still looking thoughtfully backwards and turned to meet her broad, cheerful, questioning face.

“Just one thing.”

“Shoot”.

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “That suit of his, did you really get it off eBay?”

Bessie paused, her right hand half raised as though to lash out with the whip, her left holding two sets of reins that led forward to the bridles of the front pair of ponies, and let out a low chuckle.

“Sure did. Well, at least the initial contact came that way. Don’t they say you can buy almost anything on that site or something to that effect? I did a Google search, and one of the hits led me to an eBay listing. Naturally, I thought, yeah, yeah, cheap crap, some sort of play costume but then I saw the price tag”.

“Expensive?”

“Mmmm, yes and no would be my answer to that. The initial quote did raise the odd eyebrow, or both of them in Robbie’s case! Let's say he was less than impressed until we received the parcel. He’s always had an eye for quality despite invariably looking like someone dragged backwards through a haystack when out of his executive suits, and boy, was he impressed when we opened the box. ”

I looked backwards again and then back to the beaming smile on my hostess's face. “Struck gold at the first attempt, then?”

“Platinum, boy, platinum and worth every penny or Euro cent in this case! Given the quality, material and work that’s gone into it, I am well pleased, and like I said earlier, not too expensive, taking that into account. I loved the few accompanying photos on the original listing, but the price was only there as a guide. She had a couple of suits available ready-made for the listing but asked interested people to contact her for made-to-measure ones and more ‘intimate details’, in inverted commas, so I did”.

“She?” I queried and looked up as I felt a drop of rain touch my cheek.

Bessie followed suit and looked up at the greying sky. “Threatening a little, but it’ll pass. You learn a bit of weather lore living out here. It looks grey and nasty, but the clouds are moving, and lighter stuff will come in quickly. A few specks won’t hurt us or them,” she gestured forward with her whip.

“Not the rain anyway”, I said pointedly, glancing at that same nasty-looking carriage whip in her hand.

Bessie shrugged. “I like to think of it as my version of the ignition key; otherwise, we’ll be sitting here all day if I don’t start the engine or engines—only four horsepower or pony power but sufficient for our modest needs. Anyway, let me finish off the puppy suit story just in case my forecasting ability goes South of the border.” she glanced up. “I don’t think it will, but better safe than sorry if we need to dash for shelter while it makes its damn mind up!”

“So you had to take a lot of measurements for this she, whoever she was?”

“Hell yes, I could have outfitted an entire society wedding, brides, bridesmaids, groom, best man and half the attendant family members. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the form she sent had two pages of boxes to fill in.” Bessie paused, her eye narrowing. I have certain suspicions.

“Oh yes, what?”

Bessie said nothing for a moment while another couple of wind-driven raindrops managed to hit me. “Her introductory letter said she’d made them for fun, having made the first for her husband and another for his brother. They were the ones that featured in the photos she sent me, along with all the other bumf and the order forms. Robbie and I argued about them, me saying yes and him saying no, although since we got the suits, he’s come around to my side. Couldn’t see their faces because they wore big doggie masks, but…”

“And brother” I mused. “That sounds kind of odd to me”.

“Yeah,” Bessie looked up again. “Clearing up, I told you it would, but yes. I thought that was rather odd as well. The more I looked at the pictures, the more I suspected her models might not willingly pose in those suits. Then when you take all the palaver, we had getting Bozo back there suited up, all sorts of fastenings and hidden zips and even a few stitches needed in places. Heck, even if he’d worn it voluntarily, it wouldn’t have been that easy getting what’s effectively a complete second skin on him!”

“Looks good though”, I acknowledged, looking behind once more.

“Hmm, way better than just good” Bessie agreed. “Having bought one suit and been so pleased, I immediately ordered a second one, and now I intend to order a couple more. I wish I knew a bit more about her, though.”

“Why not send her a few photos of your puppy?” I suggested. “Maybe with a very….what could you call it, a very oblique sort of hint that while you are exceptionally pleased with the product, your pup is far less happy with it for certain reasons. She can’t see his face with that mask on, right?”

Bessie didn’t say anything, but she also glanced backwards, looked at me, and nodded, her eyes narrowed. “Interesting idea, I’ll give that some consideration.” then she held her hand out. “Stopped, told you it would if you could even call those few drops starting. Now, hang on to your hat. Time for your first pony cart ride”.

I instinctively gripped the rather rickety frame of the equally dubious seat I was sitting on as she raised the whip and paused to laugh. “Hey, loosen up. You’ll be looking for a seat belt next. Remember, only four horsepower and dumbed down two-legged horsepower at that. Never had a rickshaw ride out East? Ready?”

I nodded but didn’t loosen my grip much to her obvious amusement.

“Alright, you lazy animals, time to start earning your keep.” the whip rose and cracked but not in empty air but hard upon Peach's flank, leaving an immediate bloody stripe. “Hup, hup, move it, you useless fuckers, move it!” the whip cracked out again and again as she shook the reins up and down.

The cart lurched into somewhat ungainly movement as the four ponies threw themselves forward, each desperate to avoid more stokes from that whip in her hand. A vain hope as Bessie left vicious stripe after stripe upon their rumps, and in some cases, I suspected from the way her arm swung, breasts and bellies maybe as well.

Bessie paused momentarily from her efforts to encourage the team and glanced at me. Her eyes were alight with enthusiasm, and her whole body radiated with the pleasure she was feeling at that moment. An image from a long-forgotten history book from my first formative years in junior school suddenly shot into my mind. A picture of a wild and zealous Queen Boadicea flogging her foam-flecked, wild-eyed chariot team as she and her army bore down upon the invading Roman legions.

“Hup, hup, move it, you lazy beasts!” her voice rose in a rising mantra over the accompanying repeated whip cracks upon helpless pony flesh as the cart picked up speed and headed for the track leading to higher ground. I could understand that look in her eye and the thrill she felt as our four helpless human beasts strained, struggled and squealed into their mouth-bits as they endeavoured to obey her will and escape that merciless whip. No half-measures, not ever!