The Random Recollections of Birthday Boy

Part 6.

Recollections of Birthday Boy 6

Midday or thereabouts, he guessed; not that it mattered much, at least to him. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do or anywhere else to go. If he did, his appointment diary would be empty, as it had been for two years. No, make that two and a bit years now. Two years plus a bloody bit! A few more weeks and that ‘bit’ would turn into a month, then a second, and eventually twelve months! Another twelve long, painfully long, and dull months relived only through constant humiliation, and more humiliation as if this insane captivity weren’t enough. He pondered that for a moment and then shivered. There was also the pain, the agony that always came with such humiliations!

A strange captivity that would have been horrendous enough on its own; however, there were all the extras that came with his crazy situation. Only he wasn’t the mad one, was he? Well, not yet, but maybe in another year or so... he shivered at the thought of another year that might become yet another and another. Twelve more months, less, and it would be three years! How long then before he truly went mad, before the mind-numbing insanity took hold? He looked around at his stall, the building that housed it, and, of course, himself, the centrepiece. Yes, another year, and he’d be ready, wouldn’t he? Prepared to welcome insanity as a blissful release into mindless, unthinking, uncaring oblivion and maybe, as an added bonus, wouldn’t even notice the accompanying humiliation and pain, especially the pain.

Could he ever get used to pain or ignore it, he wondered. It wasn’t like having a bad leg, back, or persistent toothache. People got used to living with things like arthritis and similar ailments, didn’t they? Or at least they became accustomed to it, especially since they had medications. Unlike… he glanced up, but lying in the flattened straw and dirt of his stall, he couldn’t see them from his lowly position. He didn’t need to see them, though—the evil ‘toys’ hanging innocently on their hooks, waiting for the next time Kelly pondered which to use on his helpless captive body!

He’d felt them all, some more often than others, but each had caused pain. The kind of pain he doubted anyone could ever get used to, and the effects lingered. Yeah, they bloody well lingered, he thought, shifting his body slightly. Last night, it had been the bloody ‘stable cane’ — the long, thick bamboo with the crook handle, the bigger brother of those once used a century ago, in Victorian red brick schools on the posteriors of ill-behaved juveniles.

In this case, it was the mother of the brat who had used the horrible thing upon him purely for her personal amusement and sadistic sexual arousal. If he rose on his knees, he would be able to see that dreadful device, as it was kept separate from its fellow instruments of torture, hanging from its curved handle on a wooden support post near the entrance to his crude stall. ‘Conveniently to hand’, as Kelly once put it. Convenient for her and for quickly correcting his many perceived imperfections. Equally, a handy reminder for him of her power over him every time he looked out from his stall. A less than subtle reminder of both his lowly status and her absolute authority!

He shifted position again, wincing as he did. Christ, it still fucking hurt and would continue to do so for quite some time, as he knew from bitter experience, nor would the latest wounds be allowed the luxury of healing without further pain. No, his bottom, his rump as they called it, was far too tempting a target for that! Nor did they need any excuse to beat him. Another lesson bitterly learned over two, no, two and a bit long and painful years. No matter how hard he tried to please them, it made no difference. They were all sadists, and sadists like to hurt people; he was so convenient and readily available as a target—a ‘no-brainer’, as the saying goes for them.

He also tried to please them. It wasn’t because the brat, his teenage Mistress, Kelly, had broken him. Or had she? That was an internal argument he had with himself from time to time, and he usually pushed it to one side before reaching any definite conclusion, probably because he was afraid to consider the implications of any conclusion he might reach!

He was afraid most of the time whenever he thought about it. He quailed at the slightest sound while locked in his stall, alone and waiting for the next visit from his callous young owner. He was afraid even when fast asleep and dreaming of days past—a life and freedom now denied to him. How often did some random, unknown sound wake him in the middle of the night? On a few occasions, it even caused him to leap to his... his feet—sod thinking of them as bloody hooves! To jump up and rush to the front of his stall to stand ‘proud,’ as his owner called it. To stand tall, stiff, and rigid to greet her arrival as a respectful, obedient, well-trained pony should. To stand there sweating with fear, sleep banished as the realisation of a ‘false alarm’ slowly dawned on him while the main lights remained off.

He melancholically reflected on that and its implications. Maybe... maybe she had broken him, or was it simply his natural reaction to fear? Fear of her and what she could and did do to him all too often. Not so long ago, he had been a soldier, a warrior. He had served in Afghanistan, in Helmand province. He had fought against the Taliban, and he had been frightened out there. Frightened of being hit by a bullet, of IEDS- those improvised explosive devices they planted everywhere- and most of all, of being captured. That was the greatest fear of all, because they all knew what those animals did to those unfortunate enough to fall into their savage hands.

But, and it was a big but, you only spent so much time on patrol, out on operations in the field, didn’t you? Most of your detachment was spent at base, eating, sleeping, and so forth. That fear element in your belly was dormant most of the time until the next time you left camp to take on the bad guys. Whereas here, it never left, never slept. You only had to open your eyes to see those evil things hanging so innocently from their hooks, and Kelly, a mere girl and teenager... but then, maybe the Taliban would have been a better option. It would have been terrible, painful, brutal, but it would have been quick. Or quick compared to two bloody interminable years!

It's strange how your perception shifts. They say age does that to you, but so do circumstances, as he was painfully aware of in his current confinement. Bloody hell, at least if those crazy bastards had got their hands on him, he’d be dead by now—dead and out of it—rather than... He scowled at the bare wooden planks that formed his stall, his prison cell in an old, crumbling stone barn that was his... he tried to think of that American term—his maximum security prison. Super Max, or something like that, they called them.

And for what? At least those bloody savages believed they had a just cause. They fought for their God, their beliefs, and their country. They had fought just like their fathers or even great-grandfathers before them, and so on, three times over, against an invading British army intent on subduing their land—and they always won. Since 1838, four campaigns in Afghanistan, and the score was three–nil to the local tribesmen. His sergeant had shared that bit of history while they waited for the long flight out, gloomily predicting they’d get their ‘bloody arses kicked’ just as they had on three previous occasions when they wore red coats and carried muskets instead of camo kit and SA80 battle rifles.

None of them had paid any attention, of course, all being too wound up and excited, as countless generations of young would-be warriors had been before. Even his sergeant had admitted that at least it was a change from the bloody barracks routine with all its endless bull, drill, and boredom! He’d been right on that score, and now, thinking about it, equally right about ‘getting their arses kicked!’. The score was now four-nil to the locals as far as the Brits were concerned, and one-nil for the Yanks!

That all happened after his time out there, the withdrawal and subsequent collapse. He’d been damn glad to get out of that sorry country, though… but he paused his thoughts to glance around again. Yeah, better Helmand and everything that came with it than this—this fucking shithole! These were the real savages, the ones who kept him here, not the impoverished villagers he’d met out there. He remembered how he and his mates saved chocolate bars from their ration packs to give to grateful kids—young, happy, dirty-faced children, while their smiling elders watched on, which had been one of the major issues. Their enemies didn’t wear uniforms, so they blended in with everyone else. That kid’s smiling dad might have that same smile when he slowly cut your balls off a fortnight later after a patrol—things went tits up! There was no shortage of such horror stories floating around; most of them he’d heard during the first few days at Camp Bastion.

He shuddered, for ironically, that terrible threat had not diminished, not for him anyway, despite his return to ‘civilisation’. Indeed, the evil threat to his masculinity had never been greater! His manhood, his ‘useless ornaments’ as Kelly contemptuously described them, was no longer his. They belonged to her now, as she was only too fond of emphasising, and twice the teenage brat had scared the life out of him. Once, literally, when his bowls gave way since that horrible tail tube, she’d stuck up his rectum, denied him any control, yet another of the humiliations heaped upon him by a slip of a girl ten years his junior and barely half his weight!

He had an excuse, though, because he genuinely believed she was going to do it; she was so furious—pot boiling over with uncontrollable rage. He saw it in her eyes as she clutched that bloody box cutter she had snatched up, pressing it hard against his balls. Luckily, she pushed the flat of the blade so forcefully, not the razor-sharp edge, but he wasn't sure if that was accidental or deliberate. He hoped it was the latter, but with Kelly, you could never be certain; the girl could be impulsive at times, in a vicious way. He lived in constant fear of those moments when her irrational temper tantrums might flare up, as if they could have grave and lasting consequences for him.

It was the fact that she could do it that terrified him, and given her sadistic nature, he did not doubt that she would do it if she ever decided to take that drastic step. There was nothing he could do to stop her either, and those two occasions weren’t the only times she had brought up the idea of making a ‘gelding’ out of him. The bloody topic inevitably surfaced on those rare occasions, and it amused her to remove his ‘stallion restrainer’ for grooming. Another one of their stupid terms. His stallion restrainer rather than his cock cage chastity device because that’s what it was. Chastity. Did that not mean abstaining from sexual intercourse? Hell, he couldn’t even wank or rub himself against the wall, could he? Christ, it had been so long he’d probably explode like a damned… like a damned, what do you call them… like a geyser, squirting a mile high! Old what was it….Faithful? That one in one of the US National Parks.

Young, strong, nimble fingers with sparkly painted nails, teasing him to full erection, inevitably accompanied by giggling teenage mirth. Fingers no longer as hesitant and curious as they’d once been in those early days. Confident, controlling, cruel fingers! The evil brat always seemed to find it amusing when she released his cock, his useless ‘big boy tackle’ and handled him so intimately. Technically, she did it to sponge him down and clean his ‘dirtiness’ during the more prolonged fortnightly grooming session. Kelly never bothered to release him during the alternate weekly one, partly, he assumed, out of laziness and partly because such treats were not good for him, or so she said. ‘Too much excitement might spoil her lovely big boy!’

Excitement! Treats! She called it a bloody treat. Being wanked off but without the final, all-relieving ‘off’ element by his sadistic young owner, and purely for her entertainment—not his! Even worse was how his body inevitably responded, and until now, there hadn’t been a thing he could do to stop it. He’d tried relaxing completely, tried the opposite, tensing his body, trying to lock bones, muscles, and sinews into indifferent, unresponsive tissue. Unfortunately, his body had always betrayed him, so he’d long since given up trying to deny his young captor that erect, proud teasing victory that amused her so much.

Jesus, he felt utterly exposed! Having his stiffly upright and desperate cock flicked casually back and forth by a belligerent finger was not only mildly painful but also immensely embarrassing, not to mention revealing just how vulnerable and helpless he truly was. Bridled and bitted as he was, he couldn’t so much as spit in his tormentor's face, not that he would. He’d done that once to show his anger and contempt, but only once, for he’d subsequently paid an excruciating price for his ‘filthy behaviour’.

Yeah, and he probably still bore the scars on his thighs and buttocks from that futile moment of rebellious disrespect. That thought made him shift position again, slowly and carefully, to ease the latest pain in his backside. Not just the exterior, either, for last night had brought a new horror down upon him. His damn butt was hurting as much from the inside as from that awful caning he’d received on its exterior. Equally so, his manly pride, what tatters remained, at his latest humiliation courtesy of the brat's beautiful mother!

He was thirsty and, to his surprise, hungry for once. That was a new feeling, because he usually had to force himself to eat, or rather, gulp down the foul slops they fed him, and do so within the allotted time, unless he wanted to be punished. Yeah, as if he would be desperate to feel the kiss of a cane, paddle or whip! Stupid expression!

Allotted time! Yes, those who fed him had far more important and worthwhile things to do with their time than watch him eat, if you could even call slurping down that muck eating! They had lives to live, things to do, jobs, work, education, entertainment, and all the rest of it. Meanwhile, what did he have? Nothing but tedium, boredom, and more tedium… which was generally better than the alternative, which was usually painful and/or humiliating to an extreme extent!

Still, it felt strange because he couldn’t remember feeling hungry since those early months of his captivity, as he’d always been what his mother called a ‘healthy eater’. Not that she meant him being a vegetarian or a health food fanatic, quite the opposite, given his fondness for burgers and chips, but rather that his appetite had been quite voracious. He’d carried that trait into adulthood, which is why he’d spent so much time jogging and at the gym, then with the demanding physical training instructors after he joined up. Afterwards, he and his mates would head for the canteen, enjoying pie and chips with a few beers, only to quickly undo some of the good work those loud-mouthed, PTI corporals had strived for.

Army food had been unexpectedly good despite all the jokes he’d heard about it before enlisting and the silly comments he and his mates had made about it in the mess hall. Even out in Afghanistan, they’d been well fed, and the daily 24-hour general ration packs had been quite decent. MREs, meals ready to eat, the US lads called them. Menus varied, and they’d all had their favourites. God, how he’d love to rip one open now and indulge himself. Hell, even that stale joke his sergeant used every meal break in the field would be welcome now. ‘If they didn’t like the grub provided, he could always arrange for them to go back half a century or so to a daily tin of ‘Bully beef’ and two rock-hard army biscuits!’ That would be acceptable, even welcome, compared to what he ate now. Bully beef, that was corned beef, wasn’t it?

His mind was wandering, wasn’t it, but so what. At least that bit of him was still free to do so, and given how he felt, any diversion was welcome. Never before had he endeavoured to spend so much of his time asleep or trying to sleep. Indeed, in one sense, he’d once regarded sleeping as being something of a waste of valuable time. Now he held the opposite view; sleep provided an alternative reality to his actual one. Waking was always so depressing!

His stomach must have shrunk, he decided. Kelly wasn’t exactly generous with portions, which was both a good and bad thing. Good in the sense that there was less foul yuck to eat to make a gleaming clean trough for inspection, and the unpleasant ordeal was swiftly over. Bad, especially in the early days when his belly felt constantly empty and he hungered for more, even if it was disgusting. But his young owner was quick to point out that ‘it was good and healthy pony feed to keep him strong and fit, ‘we don’t want to be a fat and flabby pony, do we?’

Hardly! There was no chance of his ever gaining weight from what she fed him. Out of condition, perhaps, since he hardly received any real exercise, certainly not compared to his old life. He shuffled again in the straw. The three F’s dominated his thoughts and controlled his waking hours, haunting his dreams at night. Freedom, Food, and Fucking! The three F’s that were forever denied him. He shifted again, unable to find a comfortable position, and thinking of the three F’s brought his mind back to the unwelcome but unavoidable memories of the previous evening. He hadn’t been granted freedom, nor had he partaken of the food, and as for the third F, well, yes, he’d played a starring role in that, but not for his benefit or that longed-for ‘geyser moment’.

He shuffled uncomfortably around again upon his wafer-thin straw bedding, thinking bitter thoughts. Yeah, he’d been top of the bloody bill last night, hadn’t he, but unfortunately it hadn’t been a solo performance. No, his captor's senior had provided full accompanying support, as had that fucking stable cane he so dreaded! He’d been the one centre-stage, though, the one doing all the singing and dancing! His thoughts drifted back to the previous evening.

*****

It must have been a couple of hours later when Kelly’s mother returned, after she’d put him back in his stall and even given him a quick rub down with that tatty old towel Kelly kept on a nearby hook for such moments. A couple of years ago, he’d have found being rubbed that way by a woman like her highly erotic and stimulating, but now, well, he was hardly in a position to act on such thoughts and feelings, was he? And even trying would be, well, impossible. He did his best to avoid twitching, for he'd learned such blatant disrespect could cause instant offence, with all those nasty ‘toys’ so near at hand to cure such foolishness!

The woman had fed and watered him and finally departed, leaving him fervently hoping that was to be it for the night, even though she’d left the lights fully on rather than dimmed. Another horrible day in this dreadful place with these contemptible people was over, until it all started again tomorrow, no doubt when Kelly, the brat, returned from her... her amorous overnight adventure.

Strange that her mother knew what she was doing but didn’t seem one bit bothered or care about it. Then again, he looked around his stall and out into the stable. Why should he find that odd? She was the perverted bitch who’d spotted him that day, and because of her, he was stuck in this foul prison, enduring this ridiculous and bizarre captivity. Compared to that and what he suffered inside, her pretty teenage daughter being fucked by her boyfriend was almost insignificant, wasn’t it? He was still brooding on that when the bastards arrived, the wife announcing their arrival loudly and commandingly.

“On your feet, Trooper, boy. Front and centre for your owners, Daddy’s home and feeling randy,” he heard her mocking laughter even before he saw them as he scrambled hastily to his feet to stand in his normal ‘proud’ position right at the forefront of his meagre stall as he had been so remorselessly trained, instantly ready to be viewed and inspected by those who claimed ownership over him.

‘Daddy’s home and feeling horny.’ What the hell? Then, as the two of them came into view, he gasped against his mouth, bit, and any thoughts of a quiet night in his stall vanishing. Instead, they were replaced by a dreadful feeling that his miserable life, such as it was, could and would take yet another turn for the worse. The evil woman immediately confirmed this fact as she stood before him, her eyes sparkling with a cruel delight.

“Can’t get enough of me today, eh, Trooper?” she giggled. “But why should my randy hubby have all the fun while I play wallflower? What do you think of this version, sexy enough for you?”

He stared at her as she made a slow and graceful turn in front of him. His eyes felt as though they were bulging out of their sockets, and with good reason, as she pirouetted in front of his stall wearing nothing but a sheer black negligee. Sexy enough! Christ, the bitch was flaunting herself about as nude as you could get, bar a thin film of gauzy material that might as well not have been there in terms of transparency. Christ, but she was a sexy piece, and he automatically shuddered and desperately braced himself as self-control instinctively said goodbye!

“Over there, honey, over there,” she pointed towards Kelly's homework desk as her husband entered carrying a couple of semi-folded plastic garden loungers. The sort appears annually in every big supermarket during the summer months. “And the padded cushion coverings, don’t forget those. I don’t want to spend the rest of the evening with pressure ridge all up my bottom and back or made in China indented into my bum cheek!”

The man grunted sourly, dropped the furniture in the designated spot without so much as a glance in his near-naked wife's direction or at Trooper, and slouched back out, watched by his wife, who gave an odd, disapproving grunt, shrugged, and turned back to face her captive, wrinkling her nose slightly. “You’ll have to excuse him; he’s still miffed about having to drop out of his silly golf tournament. He’ll snap out of it once we start having a bit of fun, a few nibbles, plus a glass or two of bubbly. So, what do you think, not bad, is it, boy?” She giggled and did another twirl to show off her magnificent figure through the full-length gossamer negligée. “I bought this yonks ago for my bottom drawer and first wore it on my wedding night. Had to add a new waist slash, though. Someone ripped that in his eagerness to get it open.” She chuckled. “No prizes for guessing who. We both know what an impatient randy bugger…no pun intended; he can be!”

Trooper could only gape at her, and if his jaw had not been tightly bitted, it would undoubtedly have dropped further. The daughter, Kelly, was a charming little stunner, but compared to her mother—well, under different circumstances, if he had been free to choose, there would only have been one winner in his mind. His eyes widened as the woman stepped closer, casually loosening her waist sash and opening the revealing gown to give him a full, uninterrupted view, not that it had been excessively obscured before.

Not too bad for an ageing mare and mother to a sexy young filly, eh, boy? A bit heavier around the hips and udders these days, and a lot hairier around the love mound, but otherwise pretty darn good, even if I say so myself. Not counting the extra couple of pounds on my backside, I could well do without, but we’ll ignore those for now, won’t we, Trooper?” she smirked. “Hubby certainly appreciated the view all those years ago. But I really shouldn’t say things like that, it’s so depressing, don’t you think?” Then she giggled again in that same silly way her daughter often did. “Looks like someone else appreciates the view as well. Getting twitchy, are we, you naughty boy?

He was becoming aroused and uncomfortably aware of the situation, feeling doubly uneasy. The sinister device fitted around his manhood prevented him from achieving an erection, but didn’t stop a certain degree of initial movement as his penis attempted the impossible, which was the physical cause of his discomfort. The other reason was mental: he feared what might happen once his ‘twitchiness’ was noticed as it had been.

He didn’t often twitch these days; thanks to all the beatings he’d endured for being so ‘disrespectful’ to his alluring young owner. That’s not to say it still didn’t happen, for he was a healthy, red-blooded male who hadn’t been allowed any sexual release in over two years. Add a cute, pretty, and sexy teenager with a fondness for minimal clothing, and sometimes nature would take its natural course even if the brat had a cane or whip in her hand.

He noted with relief that her mother seemed more amused than annoyed by his transgression. She merely smiled knowingly and moved away to set up the two loungers next to Kelly's flogging bench, the same one her father occasionally used for a more intimate and humiliating form of debasement. He swallowed hard. ‘Daddy's home and feeling randy, ’ and what had she said towards the end of their earlier outing? He’d been tired and fed up, looking forward to being back in his stall and barely listening, but he began to shiver as memory returned, watching her arrange the padded covering on the two loungers and place the small table her husband had brought between them.

“Don’t forget my bag; I’ll need what's in it later,” she shouted after him and then muttered something inaudible, patting one of the loungers' cushion covers into place before returning to his stall and flicking the catch. Oh, to be able to do that just once!

“Talk to oneself, or might as well, when he’s in one of his mawkish moods, eh, Trooper? Now, boy, out you come, don’t be shy!” she laughed, clipping on his nasal tether and pulling him forward towards that bench he’d spent so much time bent over.

He obeyed immediately, though not out of any sense of obedience. His instincts were to resist, dig his heels—or rather, his hoofs—into the dirt, lean back, and oppose her at every turn. He had a pretty good idea of what the upcoming spectacle would involve, and taking the leading role was not to his liking. Unfortunately, with a metal ring threaded through your nose, you had no choice but to comply or endure agonising pain in your nasal bones.

He staggered forward, trying to motivate his reluctant legs, wondering why it hurt so much when almost every other, well, quite a few girls these days had similar nasal piercings, didn’t they? Then again, they had small rings, whereas he had a bloody massive one like the kind used on cows and bulls. The humiliating similarity did not escape him. He suspected the woman holding the other end of that tether had used her medical knowledge to pierce him in a way those other ‘cosmetic’ piercers avoided.

Over you go, boy, you know the drill. Go on, bend over, tch, now don’t mess me about, you silly animal! That’s better. Make yourself useful. You’ll only make it worse for yourself, so don’t be foolish.

‘Make it worse!’ He had no choice but to follow her instructions. He had a better chance of being elected Pope or President of the US than escaping this madness, and the odds against either happening meant, well... they'd probably cause the biggest and most powerful computer ever built to blow its circuit board trying to do that calculation. That, once its AI brain had finished laughing its electronic head off at him!

She didn’t bother to loop his nasal tether around that little cleat in front of his face. She knew he wouldn’t move as her nimble fingers fastened the various straps around his legs and body that would hold him bent forward, helpless, to await his fate. Once finished, she gently patted his left buttock cheek as a sign of approval. If he could, he’d have ground his teeth together in frustration, but his mouth bit prevented that simple act.

There was a clinking and rattling sound nearby, and since his neck and head were not restrained—at least not to the bench—he could turn around to find the source of the noise. A loud POP made him flinch, and the woman chuckled as he felt her hand pat his bottom again, as if to reassure him.

Nothing to worry about, big lad. Just the cork from a bottle of chilled bubbly being popped!

He watched as the man plunged the bottle back into the ice bucket on the small table, rattled it around, grunted again, and then poured two glasses, holding one out to his wife with yet another grunt.

“Tumblers”, she protested, “You brought plastic disposable tumblers for Champagne, really!”

The guy shrugged, seeming amused as his wife took her drink from his outstretched hand. “So, what, save on the washing up, won’t it! C’mon, it’s a stable we’re in and apart from that animal, no one else is here, are they? Not like we’re hosting a garden party for the Lord Mayor or anything like that. Jeez! Have a few swigs of that and let your hair down. Relax and watch me take Trooper for a nice little gallop,” he smirked and helped himself to something crunchy from a bowl to chew noisily.

Trooper stiffened in his tight bonds as he stared at the callous couple. Being taken for a ride was what he’d feared from the start, and it wouldn’t involve having a saddle thrown over him nor anything ‘little or nice’ for him. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor probably the last, but at least it didn’t last as long as one of Kelly’s beatings, humiliating and degrading though it was. Nor would it be the first time he’d been brutally sodomised in front of an audience, but…

“Well, you can hold your horses and keep your dick in your pants for now, sweetheart. Kelly told me I could do whatever I damn well liked to the animal, and I’m just in the mood for a bit of ‘damning,’ so I get to play with it first. You relax, enjoy the show, and sip that stuff slowly – I don’t want to have you hiccupping next to me all night long! It’s champagne, not draught beer. You’re not at the nineteenth hole with your mates now, remember. Go easy on those things as well; just because they’re there, you don’t have to scoff the lot!”

Trooper watched as the man gave another grunt and mockingly raised his tumbler to his wife before relaxing on the lounger, wriggling and stretching to find a comfortable position. He saw Trooper's head turn towards him and gave a big grin, closing one eye in a suggestive wink before taking another sip of champagne, followed by a handful of ‘nibbles’.

“Times, they are a-changing, Trooper.” She was now back in front of him, leaning forward so that his gaze was automatically drawn to those stunning curves so provocatively displayed beneath a thin, transparent covering. The breasts of a lovely mature woman—full, firm, crowned with thick nipples amid large areolas. One was pointing directly at him, so close yet so distant and... oh shit, he felt himself responding.

“Hey, boy, pay attention!” A glossy, pink-tipped fingernail reached out and tapped him on the nose. A light pink shade, the woman never used heavy makeup; she was too classy for that. Always subtly enhancing rather than covering or disguising the ‘cracks’ he’d noticed. Not that such thoughts were at all relevant to his current circumstances.

The slender finger tapped again, neither forcefully nor gently, but with a persistence that demanded his full attention to her words. Similarly, that waft of warm, feminine scent and expensive perfume assaulted his nostrils as she leaned closer, heightening his growing twitchy desires. He doubted she was even aware of that aspect of her presence, as she was always delicately scented, but then again, perhaps she was fully aware!

“Daddy and I have been thinking about you, Trooper. Kelly’s enjoyed her fun for what, two years now, a bit more than two, isn’t it?” She smiled at him, not expecting an answer, nor would she have smiled if he could respond and chose to do so. They both knew the rules of the stable, and his saying anything at all in ‘human talk’ was probably at the very top of the no-no list!

Anyway, our sweet little girl is growing up fast, and like all teenagers, her interests are changing. Oh, don’t be alarmed, boy!” the finger tapped again. “I don’t mean you’ll be forgotten or end up at the church jumble sale like most of her Barbie dolls and things did. No, I think you’ll definitely feature in her life for a long time to come, just... well, maybe not quite as often as before. Besides, she’ll be heading to Uni before long... or once she decides what she wants to study. Heaven's, that seems to change by the day, doesn’t it, Sweetie?

“Oh, get in with it, her husband”, grunted. “It’s bad enough listening to you talk to that cat and that Squirrel that sits on the kitchen window ledge without you adding that dumb animal to your contact list!”

“Tch, just ignore Mister Grumpy, Trooper, now…. where was I?”

“Kelly’s waning interest!” her husband provided.

He gave an involuntary twitch in his bonds at that. Did it mean, could it mean... a brief impossible hope? But no, they couldn’t, could they, even if he promised never to say a word. No, they were not that stupid... they... such hope as he’d momentarily had died instantly at her following words.

“Daddy and I’ve decided we should take a greater interest in you, boy. Won’t that be fun? I mean, otherwise, when she’s away during term time, going skiing or backpacking to exotic locations, you’d be here all on your lonesome and going mad with boredom, I expect. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Speak for yourself, was his immediate unspoken response to that remark. Yes, he hated the boredom, the tedium, the monotony of his life, but it was better than those times when someone ‘took an interest in him’. Those were not enjoyable times, far from it! He moved his head slightly and with difficulty so that his gaze shifted from that gently bobbing breast to her face, his eyes pleading with every ounce of his emotional being—a waste of effort he realised just as quickly.

“Additionally, consider our perspective. We accommodate you, feed you, look after you, and even clothe you. Well, sort of clothe you”, she giggled, and he felt her tug on one of his harness straps. “You know what I mean, so we think, no, we’ve decided that you should at least earn your keep. I mean, fair is it not?” She smiled and tenderly stroked his cheek between his head bridle harness with the same finger.

“Entertain you?” her husband offered sarcastically as another benefit with a cruel laugh.

He shuddered so violently that the entire bench trembled slightly. ‘Entertain’ is that what they called it? Entertainment! Perhaps that action was transmitted to the woman leaning close, or perhaps not.

“Entertain? Hmmm," she queried. “No, I think not. I somehow doubt Trooper here finds anything about his situation entertaining, eh, boy? Entertaining and amusing for us but not, I fear, for this fine animal of ours” She pursed her lips and frowned in thought. “Occupying, maybe. We keep him occupied and….and… what's a word for not being bored or ignored?”

There came a sound as if her husband had momentarily choked on his drink, and then the guy coughed and cleared his throat. “How the fuck should I know. I don’t do crossword puzzles!” was the blunt response. “What about engaged, stimulated, or….or….to hell with it. Stop talking to it and spouting drivel. Get on with it if you must. I want to fuck it, and if I drink much more of this stuff, I’ll be playing Mister Droopy, not Mister Rampant Bull, and that won’t suit my mood!”

Tch! Don’t drink so much then. I was only explaining how things will be from now on to poor Trooper here, just as we discussed with Kelly. I mean, it's only fair that he... yes, I agree, he’s only a dumb captive animal, so it’s not that important. I just thought, well...

Yeah, yeah, so now it knows. Big deal, so let's get on with it. What was it you said, occupying the damn animal? Otherwise, we’ll still be sitting here when Kelly gets back in the morning!

The warm scent vanished, replaced by a familiar but unwelcome sound that immediately drew his attention back to the woman, his Mistress, as Kelly had named her. The three M’s she mentioned early in his captivity: Mistress, Master, and Me — your lovely young owner. The three bastards who dominated and controlled his life, such as it was. Initially, he refused to think of them as such, viewing it as a small act of rebellion he could indulge in without risking pain, but he had long since accepted them as such.

To him, they were the four B’s, bastards every one! The Bastard wife and her Bastard Husband and the double B, the Bastard Brat! But leaving that aside, it was that familiar, even unique, swishing sound that had caught his attention, and he turned his head to look, even as that equally familiar sensation of dread filled his belly. It was the sound of a long, flexible bamboo cane cleaving empty air, and he knew at once, even before she spoke, which one it was.

“Now then, Trooper, I… oh, bother, I think I can lose this thing for now," she plucked at the front of her negligee. “It’s not as if it’s cold in here this evening, is it? And a little arm exercise will soon warm me up..." She paused and giggled. “Warm us both up nicely, I think, eh, boy? Kelly says she gets quite a sweat on some days when you’ve been particularly naughty. Excuse me for one second."

The woman vanished from sight for just a second and then reappeared, missing the flimsy garment, completely au naturel — as the saying goes. Not that he paid much attention to her display, which was still worthy of any glossy magazine centre fold. No, his eyes were fixed on what she held in her right hand: the stable cane, probably the one ‘toy’ he dreaded above all others.

“Now then, Trooper, as I recall, I promised you a touch of the stable cane earlier, and you wouldn’t want me to… to…oh, what’s the word I’m looking for?

“Bloody hell”, her husband exploded, and then, more composed, offered “, Renegade, no, renege, that’s it. Renege, to break your word, go back on something you’ve promised,” her husband supplied and then laughed. “Maybe I should buy myself one of those crossword books!”

“What a clever clogs I married, eh, Trooper. I’m sure neither of us would want me to rena... renege on my promise, so let's remove that nasty mouth bit. You’ve already had your supper, so you can sing for your breakfast instead,” she chuckled, leaning forward. Those heavily scented breasts, suddenly caressing his face, were no consolation whatsoever for what he was about to receive.

Oh, by the way, just as a little extra, after hubby’s finished, I recently had a chat with Jenny, one of my friends from work. She’s a physiotherapist, quite petite really, unlike many of them. A sweet girl, but she’s also very gay and quite a dominant little bitch. She always prefers girls who are bigger than her and loves to have wild sex with them!

He stared at her, a new sinking feeling in his belly as she smiled at him so sweetly, absently flexing that cane so ominously in her hands. However, for once, it wasn’t that horrible cane that his mind was focusing on as his eyes took in that smile on her face.

“I bought myself one of those dildo strap-on harnesses as recommended by Jenny as being up to the job fun-wise for me, although of course I made no mention of you” The woman broke off into a fit of giggles at that point that took her a few seconds to recover from. “She….she thinks hubby and I are going to experiment!” she giggled again.

“Yeah, as if,’ came an amused grunt from the sun-lounger, followed by the clink and gurgle of a glass being topped up.

Wicked, eh, Trooper. Something new for both of us, but don’t worry, I’ve only got the one dildo at the moment, and it’s not exactly a monster, well, not compared to some I saw in Jenny’s catalogue. " She giggled. “But it’ll keep us both entertained, or what was it... occupied for now, eh boy!”