The Random Recollections of Birthday Boy

The Random Recollections of Birthday Boy Part – 7

Well, that was an evening to remember, wasn’t it, Trooper? But all good things come to an end, and now it’s bedtime. Some of us have to go to work in the morning, you know, but we must do this again soon, and I’m sure we will now that Kelly is not so jealously protective. Other girlie interests will occupy her now, boy, like I said, but don’t worry; I’m sure you won't be neglected. Oh, but I've told you all about that already, haven’t I, silly me!

She’d given him that sweet yet meaningless comforting smile, the same one she’d offered before starting to cane him earlier. It was also the same expression the ruthless woman had on her beautiful face when she stood stark naked before him, flaunting all she possessed, plus that obscene rubber thing protruding from her groin on the belt-like harness she wore.

The husband didn't linger, leaving just moments after withdrawing his shrinking cock from Trooper's abused rectum. The guy pulled up his pants, topped off a plastic tumbler with more champagne, and declared he felt knackered and was heading to bed, adding 'try not to wake me when you're done playing with it' as an afterthought as he ambled away.

"Charming," his wife muttered sourly. “I get sticky seconds, and he can’t even be bothered to watch me in action for the first time. Oh well, not to worry, eh boy.” The woman, his Mistress, had laughed, “Never take up golf, Trooper, it seems to sour one's sunny disposition somewhat!” Then she’d giggled in that same silly way her evil daughter often did.

“Not that there’s much chance of that or you taking up anything else, is there, Trooper? So, no need for me to tiptoe around you just because a silly little white ball wouldn’t go down the rabbit holes. And talking of holes...” she repeated that silly giggle and reached down with one hand to waggle that monstrous black phallus in an obscene manner before his horrified gaze.

Yeah, some fucking night to remember, he thought gloomily, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and he’d consciously included the F word in that moody reflection because it seemed singularly appropriate given what had happened to him. ‘We must do this again sometime soon.’

Those had been the bitches’ departing words, accompanied by a gentle, almost loving caress of his right cheek after he’d been led back to his stall. Neglected, yeah, as if! Now it looked as though he’d have three of them to worry about 24/7, not just one, and one had been more than bad enough. He finally drifted off to sleep, with that horrible thought dominating his mind, and it offered no comfort at all. For two long years, Kelly's parents had mainly been background figures, except for those times when her lecherous father decided he would serve as a temporary substitute for his wife in one degrading way! A degradation that had doubled and worsened last night, thanks to a monstrous, hard rubber phallus.

It seemed that the rules had changed if the previous evening’s activities served as a taster for what was to come, and he did not like the new flavour. He hadn’t enjoyed the old one, but this one, this one…his thoughts faded, unable to find a suitable word as his mind drifted back a few hours. Two of the bastards, two of them!

It had started with a beating, what else? ‘A little something to warm us all up. Get us in the mood for some fun!’ That’s what the bitch had said as she stood before him, flexing that horrible cane and smiling so sweetly down at him. Unfortunately for him, Kelly’s designated ‘stable cane’ was neither little nor fun, at least not for the recipient of its cutting bite! It was long and thick yet flexible, so it lost none of that… that swishyness his tormentors seemed to appreciate.

It also bloody well hurt, and by the time the woman was finished, his bottom wasn’t just warm but red fucking hot, and he was yowling in agony. Singing for his supper, as she called it. Neither was the full-frontal view of the gorgeous naked woman in action via Kelly's large mirror any comfort as he writhed helplessly on that hated bench. That erotic dance of the stinging bamboo didn’t affect him in the slightest, but that didn’t apply to the woman’s husband, who was sipping chilled champagne and watching his energetic wife from the comfort of a nearby lounger.

Trooper had caught a glimpse of him now and then in the mirror, as his tormentor danced from side to side, swinging that dreadful implement in her hand. He perhaps owed the bastard somewhat for ending his thrashing earlier than the woman behind him had intended. Not that the reprieve, if it could be called that, made any less his pain and humiliation. It was merely a shift in direction and emphasis.

“That’s enough for now.” The man stood up and grabbed his wife’s wrist as she raised her right arm for another strike. “You can thrash his arse to bloody mush later, but humping a red-raw bleeding lump of meat isn’t to my taste. Leave him be for a bit while I have my fun — watching you has got me all worked up and horny, and I'm not in a patient mood!”

“Phewfff!” his wife mouthed somewhat regretfully and then giggled. “Oh, alright. I know what you're like when you’re in the mood, heavens, I ought to by now! Wham, bam, and thank you, ma’am!” Trooper felt his bottom being gently patted. “Patience has never been his strong suit; that’s why he can’t get his golf handicap down. Always far too eager to whack that silly little white ball again rather than taking time to think about his shot first. Enjoy the fun, boy, and don’t go away. Talking of whacking, I’ve not finished with you yet, not by a long shot!” That gentle tap, almost a caress, was repeated. “We intend to get our money's worth tonight!”

Yeah, well, they’d got their money's worth and more, hadn’t they? They had been Troopers' last bitter thoughts in the early hours as sleep finally overtook him, and he dozed, woke, dozed, woke, and so on. He woke again, sensing it was time for breakfast, but no breakfast appeared, even though he was up and on his feet, his hooves waiting as required, but no one came. Eventually, his disturbed night overwhelmed him, and he settled back into his miserable straw bed, promptly falling asleep for a few more hours. Sleep was his refuge, his escape from the tedium and horror of his wretched existence.

That blessed realm of the subconscious where he was free and a man again, not the bizarre human captive pony of a crazy teenage girl and her mad, perverted family. A world of boundless liberty, free from pain, fear, and humiliation. Sometimes, when he awoke to the harsh reality of the ‘real’ world, he could, for a time, sink his mind back into that world he had just so reluctantly left. Other times, far too often, as with most dreams, reality banished them far too quickly. In one sense, however, he was fortunate in that he had no pressing engagements awaiting his attention once he woke. He didn’t even have to worry about getting washed or dressed, making it easier to sink back into that dream world than it would have been otherwise.

That’s when he’d awoken from a deep, dreamless sleep and judged it to be midday or thereabouts, with all the time he needed to recall what had happened the day and evening before. Yes, time wasn’t something he was short of, was it! No, that was something he had in abundance! He considered lying down again, weighing the pros and cons, not that there was much to think about either way, and had decided that standing around doing nothing wasn’t very entertaining. It never was, so he might as well, he decided, settling down once more when the stable doors opened.

“Hey there, boy, did you miss me?”

His response was automatic, triggered by a thousand strokes from whip and cane. He scrambled frantically to his feet and virtually hurled himself to the front of his stall, thrusting himself up against the rough wood of the low door where Kelly was already standing, smiling in at him. Hooves, not feet, a little voice from deep within his sleepy mind chided him. Still, he ignored the correction, pushing it aside because he’d be damned if he was going to allow his mind to start subconsciously adopting their ridiculous jargon.

Christ, but the little bitch must have moved like greased lightning to get there, whereas she normally sauntered in slowly. But thank God she was smiling, not scowling, he thought as he assumed the required attentive, straight-backed stance on his side of the low stall door, ready for his young owner's inspection. In two years, two and a bit, he’d become a genuine expert when it came to reading the expressions on Kelly's pretty face and what these were likely to signal for him. Likewise, that look in her sparkling young eyes.

He was supposed to stare rigidly ahead at a faded chalk cross on the far wall that Kelly had placed there ages ago when first training him in the etiquette required of a captive stallion, especially when its attractive young owner first entered the stable for the day's activities. He did so automatically, but he risked letting his eyes briefly flick sideways and downwards despite the rigid posture collar that pushed his chin up. Such an infraction would have been immediately noticed in the early days, with punishment swiftly following, usually upon his behind!

That still happened, of course, depending on Kelly’s mood, but equally, some innate sixth sense usually warned him when the girl was in one of her ‘difficult’ moods, regardless of any facial expression or look in those cold blue eyes of hers. However, today, that instinct marked her as on the higher end of the positive, good-mood scale; therefore, that glance was low risk. That cheerful ‘Hey there, boy, did you miss me?’ was another positive indicator.

Yes, the beaming cheerful smile was there along with a, well, not exactly loving look in those youthful sparkling blue eyes, but it definitely wasn’t one of irritation, anger or worse! Mind you, Trooper reminded himself. Kelly was a mercurial little brat and could change in an instant, and all too frequently because of some other factor beyond his control. He was still carrying the marks and scars from that nasty little episode about six weeks back.

The girl had started that morning in a somewhat sunny, amiable mood, until she had a major row with her father just outside the stable. Trooper had no idea what it had been about, still hadn’t, even though he had been the one who ultimately bore the brunt of the teenager's fury. The girl had stormed over to the house, where mummy must have backed her dad, for she was in towering rage when she returned to the stable and dragged him over her whipping bench.

He'd long since decided that Kelly was a bit of a ‘spoiled brat’ and, heck, he only needed to look at himself in a mirror for proof of that. If he had a mirror in his stall, that was, and his very miserable existence here was down to her doting parents. Not getting her own way about something was probably a rare experience for the girl; thus, her ire was considerable, to say the least, and vindictive.

Her day had worsened, as did his inevitably. Kelly hadn’t even started using him as a whipping boy, nor had she selected anything from her extensive collection of wicked punishments, when her mobile rang. Worsening still, it was Debbie calling to tell her about a lie ‘you know who’ was spreading about her and a boy named Ken. That prompted shrieks of indignant rage, and, well, his day was already heading downhill fast, reaching the crumbling cliff edge at that point. He’d fainted three times during the hour that followed!

*****

“It was divine, I mean like, really divine, take me to heaven and back, all that kind of silly sounding but cool shit and stuff!” Kelly sighed, then suddenly giggled. “I mean, you must have had orgasms in the past, eh, Trooper? I’ll bet a big handsome boy like you wasn’t a virgin, right? How was it for you?” She giggled again. “Wishful thinking, though, now, boy. Water under the bridge, as Grandma used to say when I was little.” She gave a short bark of laughter. “Not that she’d have used it in the same context, Daddy’s mother was a proper old prude! Anyway, no sticky spurts and cummy cums for pretty Miss Kelly’s big beastie boy anymore!”

She reached down and cupped his scrotum, squeezing gently, her fingers massaging his balls—first one, then the other—through the thin layer of skin. He winced instinctively, even though, for once, she wasn’t hurting him. He just felt so... so damned helpless, as he had so many times before. The urge to pull away from her was almost impossible to resist, but he had to hold back because he was so incapacitated, harnessed, hoof-booted, and handicapped. He was being teased, but that was infinitely better than what might happen if he irritated his young owner and triggered her mercurial temper!

Just mere feet away was a rack of painful implements that this terrible teen was only too adept at using on him and wouldn’t hesitate to do so immediately if he gave her the slightest reason. The young girl terrified him, primarily when she handled his genitalia like that. Her genitalia, he gloomily corrected himself, for the sadistic brat owned him, every part of him and was free to do with him as she wished, whenever she wished and for as long as she wished!

“Of course, Tony doesn’t quite match a stallion like you,” Kelly mused, tapping his cock cage with one finger and making him wince as a dagger-like nail slipped through a gap to stab his bent cock. “That’s okay, but he’s quite big enough for me, plus his cock is a wild and free entity, unlike this sad specimen!” She giggled, digging the plastic stuck on the fingernail into him again.

He hated it when she messed him about in that area. That phrase ‘because I can’ inevitably loomed large in his mind, along with the word ‘gelding!’ and how completely helpless he was. Fortunately, today her mood was one of bubbly good humour and her actions perhaps more from habit and familiarity rather than with any malicious intent.

“And talk about stamina, oh yes, like a ton of that! He plays rugby, you know, Captain of the school team and takes his fitness seriously. Size, stamina and staying power, that’s what mummy once told me makes for a happy and contented pussy, and I was one very happy and contented little kitty last night”.

Kelly was talking to herself again, a habit she’d developed more and more lately, he’d noticed. Well, partly talking to herself and partly to him, as if she were somehow sharing her youthful thoughts and secrets aloud instead of writing them in a secret diary or confiding in her closest friends. In a way, she was, because she could speak freely in front of him, knowing he was almost entirely mute, and the few times he wasn’t, were rare. Moreover, any attempt on his part to speak would be swiftly and ruthlessly shut down before he managed more than a few words! Besides, who would he be likely to talk to anyway, and if he somehow could speak to a stranger, Kelly’s love life would be the last thing on his list of priorities!

In a way, he had become the teenagers’ ‘invisible friend' as far as these one-sided conversations were concerned, although 'friend' was probably a stretch given their relationship. About a week earlier, he had endured a lengthy rant about period pain, since it was that time of the month for her. Afterwards, having vented verbally at him, she decided to thrash his bottom so she wouldn’t feel as if she was suffering alone.

“Yes, indeed, I had a very satisfied pussy, a little sore, but I mean what else?” Kelly continued while still absently fondling his ball sac. We were at it like half the night and more, but oh so satisfying and much more fun than a solo session with a vibrator! It does take two to tango after all. How about you, Trooper? I gather I wasn’t the only one pole dancing, so to speak. I hear you had a busy night, too. Do you enjoy receiving a good fuck in your pony pussy?”

It was a rhetorical question, as both Kelly and Trooper knew. She did not require or expect an answer from him, and he couldn’t answer because of his mouth bit. Besides, both knew what would happen if he so much as mouthed a single comprehensible word! Kelly wouldn’t mind, of course. Oh yes, she might express her disappointment at his silly forgetfulness, at his dumb animal stupidity, but she’d be only too delighted to have a ‘genuine’ reason to correct his foolish error rather than some imaginary transgression. He couldn’t even trust the girls’ ‘sunshine’ moods!

It was also a bloody stupid question. Oh yes, he loved being sodomised by her damn parents! Being raped by them was the highlight of his day! Having that bastard's cock up his arse was something he looked forward to, and as for that….that thing her mother had violated him with! Yeah, didn’t he just love every minute he spent in this hellhole and of course, no one had savagely beaten him for at least a couple of hours! He felt as though he’d burst from sheer… but then his pique was interrupted.

“Come out of there, come on out here where the light is better,” she ordered, her fingers snapping as if to reinforce her authority. “Over here, let's have a look and feel at the damage, eh, boy,” she said, pushing at him so he moved a pace or two and bent forward while she swung the low door to his stall closed, flicking the simple catch. Oh, to have the use of his hands like that, even for half a second, to do that simple thing, he sighed as she moved behind him. “I’ve a duty of care after all!” she chuckled. “As a responsible owner, of course. I saw Mummy’s new toy, by the way; she left it on the kitchen top near the sink—would you believe? Gee, talk about unhygienic, and she’s a nurse!”

He felt a small hand on his bottom and winced as fingernails traced over severely sore spots, then his buttock cheeks were pushed slightly apart by curious fingers. Christ, there was no end to the humiliation, was there? He winced again as a hand lightly slapped his right buttock cheek.

“Shuffle back a bit and bend forward. Come on, boy, move you stupid animal!” The hand slapped again, a little harder. “That’s it, better, now bend forward so I can see, that’s better!”

He obeyed automatically and almost but not quite unthinkingly. The resentment, the feeling of gross unfairness at his lot, of his humiliation, bitterly lingered. Maybe one day he wouldn’t feel that brief surge, but that would be the day she finally broke him, wouldn’t it? He winced again as two small fingers dug into his flesh, on either side of his anus, prising his buttocks' cheeks apart.

“Mmmm, your pussy looks a bit sore, boy. Mind you, I’m not surprised. Daddy tends to get aggressive when he’s in one of his moods, and I’ll bet Mummy gave you a right old pounding. That double-headed thing of hers is pretty impressive even at her end, and once that started tickling her clit, she’d have been in no mood to stop. I’ll bet it got noisy in here, knowing how she squeals when she’s having fun, and talking of noise, your mouth bit strap looks a shade too tight. I think I’ll let you have a bit of freedom there, but don’t think you can break the rules, silly, otherwise,” he winced in agony as she deliberately used her fingernails to pinch a swollen ridge of cane-bruised flesh. “Now be a good pony and stay as you are, and I’ll get some antiseptic cream!” She slapped him for a third time, but again it was light, well, light by her standards!

He remained as ordered, what else? Legs apart, leaning forward, buttocks raised. It wasn’t an easy position to hold, especially without arms to help balance. He waited and waited, growing increasingly uncomfortable, so he risked shuffling a few feet forward to rest his head on a horizontal wooden beam on the side of his stall, wondering what the girl was up to. How long does it take to fetch a tube of antiseptic cream? Had she gone over to the house?

Perhaps she had, but clearly something else had distracted her. Something far more important than him and his sore spots. She was speaking softly on her mobile to someone when she returned. Likely one of her many friends, judging by the giggles. That made sense: he was pretty low down, probably at the bottom of Kelly’s priorities. Leaving him to 'stay as he was’ while she talked on the phone was to be expected. His discomfort meant nothing to her. Besides, how did that compare to over two years of being tethered, harnessed, and stalled? But if he disobeyed her and stood up, he could almost be sure to become her primary focus, and that wouldn’t be pleasant! Not for him and Christ! The bitch was walking away again; phone held to her ear…

*****

Thank heavens for that wooden crossbeam, Trooper thought, as he shifted slightly to ease some of the discomfort caused by his stance. Likewise, the cruel posture collar locked around his neck was stiff and rigid enough to support him in the unnatural pose the brat had left him in. He despised the damned thing just as much as he detested everything else strapped or locked about his body, but at least for once, he was gaining some benefit from the horrible bondage device. Or should that be garment, he wondered?

He'd taken a chance and shuffled forward a few feet and was able to test his head and neck against a wooden beam to alleviate some of the discomfort from the stance the wretched girl had left him in. It was a risk, a calculated risk, and he was banking on her good mood and desperately hoping that whoever was on the other end of her phone call wouldn’t deliver any bad or negative news. Kelly, he’d learned, was a girl who just adored malicious gossip so long as it was about other people she knew and not her.

It didn’t take much to set the sadistic little brat off; he knew only too well by now. The expression ‘water off a duck's back’ meant nothing to Kelly. The girl could fly into an instant rage at the merest hint of an implied slight, and he was always first in line to suffer the consequences of said rage. Being extremely attractive and vivacious, with what he suspected were well-heeled parents, the girl was evidently popular and had quite a large circle of friends in that world denied to him—the one outside the stall, stable, and plough field. Indeed, having listened to the end of countless phone calls, he knew she had many friends and that it was also inevitable that such a girl had a fair share of enemies. Well, maybe not enemies—that was perhaps a bit strong... well, apart from him! He’d cheerfully throttle the brat without a second thought should the unlikely opportunity ever arise. No, but from the one-sided conversations he’d overheard, there were those she couldn’t stand, and presumably vice versa! Hopefully, one of them hadn’t been slagging her off again!

He sighed. Not that there was anything he could do if they had. Christ, what a bloody come down to think that his well-being was often partly dependent on a bloody teen's fragile ego and self-image that could be bruised and tarnished by the slightest bit of trivial girlish gossip! That he could be led by the nose to a bench and soundly whipped just because the brat's pert little nose was momentarily out of joint. Incredible, but also unfortunately only too true!

She had loosened his bit quite a lot, hadn’t she? So, he worked his stiff jaw back and forth and even indulged himself by uttering a few quiet curses, safe in the knowledge that Kelly was too far away to hear him breaking that cardinal rule. ‘Dumb animals like him were just that, DUMB!’ Or at least unintelligible in terms of recognisable human speech, even unrecognisable speech, come to that. Screaming and bawling in agony was, of course, perfectly acceptable and, unfortunately for him, all too frequently encouraged!

Trooper had pondered that ‘dumbness’ from time to time. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do or occupy his mind. Time was the one commodity he had in plenty—hours and hours of mindless monotony when his captors left him alone in his hated stall! The philosophy of life, or in his case, human captive pony life. Yes, he had plenty of time to ponder such mysteries, hadn’t he? Were they frightened of letting him speak naturally? Did that make him more human than animal, and therefore, did they feel guilty? He doubted it. They knew he was human, and they didn’t give... give a shit, a bloody damn about it, did they? No, the fact that he was a fellow human being was the whole point of this absurd exercise in perversity.

No, by denying him the privilege of speech and keeping him as they did, they condemned him to the status of a beast, a mere captive animal of the lowest order, the very lowest. Domestic pets had far more rights and better treatment than he did; even pigs in their sties and cows in the field and byre lived freer and more satisfying lives, especially by their needs. They weren’t likely to crave a book to read or any form of printed matter and yearn for… for… food, he generalised. Thinking about individual favourites had become far too painful a pastime. You didn’t always need a whip or a cane to cause pain!

Yes, the bastards must be just as aware of the mental anguish he was suffering; that must be another factor in the ‘fun’ of owning a captive human being. Day by day, they went on with their lives- perfectly ordinary, everyday lives- while he… he existed in a bizarre limbo, a living object of amusement for his evil tormentors. His life was anything but normal, and he inhabited a world of constant discomfort, humiliation, and pain. A timeless world that neither moved forward nor backwards but was always a frozen now, and he was only too aware that he was ageing within it and going nowhere slowly, indeed not going anywhere at all!

Still no sign of the brat, and why had she let his mouth go free? That usually only happened at feeding time or… he suddenly shivered. Or when he was being punished. That was the one exception to the speech rule. They liked to hear him make a noise then, didn’t they, the bastards! Somehow, they never paid much attention to such lapses when he was being flogged. He’d begged, begged, and pleaded back in those early days, but it hadn’t made the slightest difference. He suddenly shivered. Was he about due for another of those ‘because I can’ sessions? His mind drifted back a few weeks and more.

His mouth bit hadn’t been loosened that time, but instead Kelly had removed it entirely once she’d strapped him securely to her punishment bench. He hadn’t been mute for the better part of an hour, either, far from it with his mouth bit removed. “Plenty of exercise for his pony lungs!” Kelly had commented on that fact as she mercilessly subjected him to one of her ‘because I can’ floggings! He’d become very familiar with those over his two-plus years of captivity. He’d been on the receiving end of the first one of those more than two years ago, towards the end of his first month as the birthday present of a very nubile and sadistic sixteen-year-old girl!

The wicked brat had led him to the very same bench he was on then, using that cruel nasal tether that caused him so much pain. The one they still occasionally used to control him, as the slightest pressure on the heavy ring piercing his septum was unbearable, leaving him no choice but to obey and meekly follow the hand that held it. Besides, in his heavy, restrictive leather harness, clumsy hoof boots, and being denied the use of arms and hands, what else could he do but obey?

Nowadays, it was mostly those imperious finger clicks that he responded to with the promptness expected of him. He might be free from that terrible tether, but what choice did he have, and worse, he’d been wrong that day when trying to gauge the mood of little Miss Sadism personified. That beaming, bubbly, and sunny exterior had been a lie as soon as it became apparent. Just like that time two years ago.

“Today will be different,” the lithe blonde teenager had announced once she’d secured him to the usual bench that first time, he was to undergo one of those sessions. “This is to show you that I can and can whenever I want. But don’t think you're about to have a holiday or anything silly like that! This is not going to be about training or obedience, which is just as well. Judging by your miserable performance so far, we have a veritable mountain to climb before you’ll be an acceptable pony, obedience-wise, silly boy! Still, we will get there in the end, and time is not important; indeed, the longer it takes, the more I shall enjoy our journey.” She paused and sniggered. “However, you, Trooper, most certainly rest assured, will not!”

She’d been right; he hadn’t enjoyed it at all, and in his view, there was no difference between what the girl considered a ‘formal’ training session, a ‘because I can’ session, and those savage ‘punishment’ beatings she administered for perceived or imagined significant misdemeanours. They all hurt both physically and in the egotistical sense.

A week or two ago, as a free and unrestrained man, he might have been amused, maybe even laughed aloud at that threatening note in the young girl's voice as she emphasised those last two words, ‘will not!’. Yes, Missy, as if! But he wasn’t free now, was he? No, far from it, and he was very restricted and utterly helpless. The past weeks had shown him just how incredibly helpless he was and who held the upper hand, and that certainly wasn’t him, for he no longer had any hands. Not the ones he could use anyway! Hell, he couldn’t even see them! If his nose itched, he had to rub it against the side of his stall because he couldn’t scratch it. They said it was the human brain that mainly defined and separated man from animals, which was undoubtedly true, but having hands and fingers made a pretty big difference as well, he’d realised!

Her hands rested on her hips as she stepped back slightly to better survey him during a brief break in the agonising session. As usual, Kelly was dressed casually, unlike her stunning mother, who always looked the opposite—cool, elegant, and sophisticated. The mother was invariably impeccably made up, as if she were about to do a photo shoot for a high-end glossy fashion magazine rather than her shift at the local hospital, wherever local was.

Her daughter, on the other hand, was always fresh-faced, pert, and pretty, without trying to look ten years older with fake tan, heavy make-up, pumped-up lips, and false eyelashes, like many teenagers her age nowadays. Nor did she go for facial piercings or visible tattoos. Today, she styled her lightly tinted blonde hair into two untidy Harley Quinn-style bunches that made her look even younger—and sexier.

Pink trainers, white ankle socks with ruffled tops, blue, low-slung, ultra-brief hipster denim shorts, and above the flat expanse of her belly, an abbreviated pink ribbed crop top. The two small humps and prominent nipples that stretched the thin material indicated she wasn’t wearing a bra, but she probably didn’t need to be, nor was Kelly shy about removing her top when flogging him!

Twice already he’d heard that giggle followed by, “Phew, warm work, eh, boy, this pony training. Still no pain, no gain as the saying goes,” but she was the one inflicting the pain, the humiliation, the sheer fucking craziness, wasn’t she? The one presumably gaining some sadistic, perverse satisfaction from what she was doing to him. Not about training or obedience, the evil brat had told him initially, but it was going to be a… she’d paused and screwed up her pretty face to consider before coming up with that silly but ominous answer, “Because I can, Trooper,” she’d giggled. “Because I can!”

“Now be good and don’t run away, Trooper,” another giggle accompanied by a gentle pat on his bruised and blistered bottom. There would be a brief pause as she shrugged out of her skimpy top, carefully folded it, placed it on her desk, and then sauntered back to him, apparently completely unconcerned. He’d watched his eyes widening, his attention divided between the girls' blatant topless nudity and the wooden punishment paddle she held in her right hand, casually tapping it against her left palm. Nor could he miss that sickeningly sweet yet horribly cruel smile of hers. Because she could and would!

She was young, attractive, and confident, and she knew it and flaunted it! He was a healthy, red-blooded male, and under different circumstances, he would have found that appealing, despite the ten-year age gap between them. Even now, as he looked at her, he felt an involuntary twitch; the girl wasn’t jailbait age-wise, was she? But in these strange circumstances, it was not the most suitable moment for his lower body to betray him.

Kelly kept watching him as he squirmed uncomfortably, his upper body strapped to her flogging bench, with his lower half positioned to her advantage, legs splayed and strapped at the ankles. There was no point in his struggling; he already knew that from bitter experience, especially with the nasal tether looped around a wooden cleat. He had been a regular weightlifter at the barracks gym where he was stationed, but a few heavy-duty leather straps and a slender strip of leather cord in the hands of a lightweight young girl rendered his muscles useless and impotent. He couldn't escape and knew it, as did the young girl so calmly watching him. Kelly was the spider, and he was the fly, helplessly trapped in her sticky web. She might joke, but both knew he was going nowhere. Running away was not an option!

Even walking wasn’t easy in those dreadful hoof boots, but it didn’t matter. He’d be on that hateful bench until the little devil released him; he had learned that simple fact the first morning she had unwillingly taken him there. There was no alternative except yanking his head back and physically ripping the ring from his face, from wherever it was threaded through — and that was unthinkable given the agony a minor tug on his leash could cause. He’d probably just faint or collapse from the excruciating pain anyway, so what would it really achieve? Anyway, doing that wouldn’t magically release any of the other straps, would it!

Moreover, even if by some miracle he could manage that and hadn’t collapsed in a writhing or inert heap of pain on the floor, he wouldn't be much better off. True, he’d only be facing a young, slight girl, barely half his weight and significantly shorter, but she was completely free and mobile, while he was not. He had horrible, heavy, hoof-like boots strapped to his legs and could hardly walk, let alone move swiftly in such clumsy footwear. He was naked, restrained in a leather harness with his arms twisted behind his back, rendering him useless. He couldn’t even open the door of this barn or whatever he was confined in, let alone run for help! He didn’t know where he was and given the noise he made when the brat tortured him, there was probably no one nearby who could come to his aid!

Typical! You disgusting, filthy-minded primitive animal!” Kelly had shifted sideways, and her sharp young eyes caught that movement — that weak attempt his stiffening cock made to respond to her blatantly provocative topless pose. He should have guessed, but what could he have done to control himself? After all, it was only a slight twitch!

Her bright blue eyes held his for a long moment, then she smiled—yet there was no hint of warmth in either her smile or her eyes. She then turned and sauntered over to her toy rack, knowing his gaze would still be following her—not for her cute backside or breasts this time.

“Decisions, decisions, eh, Trooper? What best to deal with such a naughty boy and leave a lasting impression!”

He watched, knowing that the sadistic brat was deliberately prolonging this, adding to her amusement and his torment without using any effort. It felt like an eternity until she reached out and began to unhook various dreadful tools from their respective hooks, then returned to the bench to stand before him.

This one is new to both of us, I believe. You’re familiar with the others, I think — not intimately yet, but that will come with time. They all bite, of course, some more than others, but it all counts in the end. They’ll all make you sing so beautifully for me while you gradually learn what the word obedience truly means—likewise, absolute respect and total submission to your pretty young owner.

Kelly had laid out the four dreadful objects before him, and she was right about one thing: he did recognise them. He already knew them by sight, name, and worst of all, by feel! The wooden paddle, her favourite ‘warmer upper’ for the terrible things to come. A short but painful riding switch with a small leather flap on the end that seared like hell: a bamboo cane, one of many she had hanging on that bloody rack. The cane hurt worse than the others, much worse. Such a simple, almost harmless-looking thing, a mere stick, and yet that was what finally started him screaming, breaking his manly resistance so that he’d begun singing sweetly for her, as she termed it!

He was thankful, if that was the right word considering the circumstances, that she hadn’t included one of her many whips in the ominous collection laid out before him. The object she held was unfamiliar to him, yet! The new one, as she called it, but he suspected that was about to change. It was another fairly innocent-looking item, about two feet long and made of thick brown leather. One end was shaped like a handle and ended with a small loop, presumably for hanging it on its hook. Above the shaped handle, for the remaining three-quarters or so of its length, the leather was evenly split. Whatever it was, it looked distinctly ominous, and the very fact that it was part of her ‘toy’ collection suggested it boded ill for him.

“Kind of an odd-looking thing, isn’t it?” Kelly held the thing up by that loop between two fingers, letting it dangle in front of her. “I was online looking at whips; it’s amazing what you can buy online—none of your cheap costume eBay party stuff, either, on that particular site. Serious players only, I guess. It makes you wonder how many other Troopers there are out there, doesn’t it?” She giggled and added, “Maybe I’m not the only girl with a big, dumb, two-legged brute of a Stallion to train, tease, and tickle with my toys!”

Tease and tickle! Is that what she called it? Bloody teasing! Laying that cane across his thighs with all her strength—teasing! Beating his bottom to jelly with that paddle to warm it up for whip and cane—tickling! He’d been so indignant that he’d, well, not spoken aloud; he caught himself at the very last moment, which showed how effective the young Miss’s toys had already been. He erupted in a kind of incomprehensible vocal splutter that served to amuse rather than annoy his youthful tormentor.

I came across these online and thought, well, why not? I didn’t have any in my toy collection to play with, and now I do. I bought three—brown, black, and a lovely pink one. These are known as split-tailed tawse or the Scottish tawse. When schools used to allow corporal punishment on children, I mean, how barbaric can you get? Imagine being permitted to beat innocent kids! I mean, these things must have hurt!

He stared at her. The girl sounded genuinely upset, even shocked! This same teenage girl, who had committed the most horrific acts against him, calmly assured him that she would continue to do so for a long time to come. The girl who, when she casually mentioned her ‘toy collection’, wasn’t referring to her Barbie dolls or teddy bears! No, she was talking about instruments of sheer torture. A collection already large enough to impress even the most zealous member of the infamous Spanish Inquisition!

“They only used it in Scotland, I believe—boys and girls both, usually with the hand palm up. Right or left, I wonder. Probably the non-writing hand, as it was used in schools. It was also called the strap or the belt, which makes sense when you look at it. I did a bit of research on Wikipedia out of curiosity. Apparently, those being punished had to stand in front of the class with their hands out, palms upwards, and use the other hand underneath for support. I guess that means they got hit with some force,” she paused, seeming to think, then shook herself and smiled at him.

It didn’t specify how many strokes, but I doubt it was more than a couple, six at the most, which would be nothing for a big, tough guy like you, eh, Trooper? You could handle six of the best, the very best, quite easily, I expect? She giggled again and then, gripping the tawse handle seemingly absent-mindedly, delivered a blow across the palm of her left hand, then yelped. “Oooohhh, that hurt!”

She blew on her palm and wiggled her fingers, then blew on it again. "Well, I won’t try that again in a hurry! That hurt, but then that’s good news for one of us and bad news for the other, eh, boy? Anyway, don’t get hung up about hands because you haven’t got any, have you? But don’t worry, you won’t miss out on the fun. Right at the bottom of the article, it said that the tawse was also used for judicial corporal punishment in Scotland as an alternative to the more usual birch. Courts could sentence boys over fourteen but under sixteen to up to thirty-six strokes with an extra-heavy tawse for any offence. This was administered to the offender's bare buttocks. I paid extra attention to that bit,” she giggled.

She gave him that sweet smile again and lightly tapped him on the head with the tawse, and then walked around behind him, and he felt a small hand squeeze his freshly paddled left buttock cheek, making him wince. The squeeze hadn’t been hard, almost gentle, but the flesh was still raw and livid from her last extended bout of ‘teasing!’

So, we’re alright then, not breaking any rules. Bum bums can be blistered instead of hands, Wiki says so, and since you’re a big boy, we can do without the under-sixteen, thirty-six stroke limit, I think!” She squeezed again and let out another giggle. “I’ll have to look into the ‘extra-heavy’ tawse they mentioned, though, but for now, we’ll see how we get on with these. Judging by my poor hand, your bot isn’t going to like them very much when I let rip. Maybe it will get used to them over time!

That had been, then, the end of his first month or so, and this was now, and she’d been right. His bottom hadn’t liked them or anything else the evil brat had used on it in the past two years, as she added to her collection of horrible things for ‘us’ to try. Nor had it become accustomed to the agony of such abuse, and of course, Kelly had discovered that the centuries-old Edinburgh leather goods firm that made them was still in business, mainly producing expensive saddles, related riding tack, and a variety of upmarket leather handbags and other bags to order.

They also crafted tawse’s as ‘collectors' pieces’, the standard ones used in schools, but were quite pleased to produce an upgraded, heavier version on special request. It even included an ornate note in Gothic script saying ‘strictly for display purposes only’. How amusing Kelly found that, reading it aloud and showing it to him while giggling before blatantly disregarding that silly instruction as she eagerly used her latest ‘toy’ on his helpless bottom!

That terrible thing had been introduced during another one of those ‘because I can, fun’ sessions she included between his ‘regular’ training sessions. To Kelly, there seemed to be a clear distinction in her mind between these sessions and a purpose. He was simply an animal to her, admittedly a human animal, but still a captive wild feral beast she owned—one to be broken, trained, and tamed to her exacting standards… whatever they were! Training was training, and fun was fun, for her anyway!

Training sessions involved repeatedly performing the same pointless, dull tasks as the cruel brat systematically and brutally dismantled his humanity. How many hours had he spent at the end of a lunge line, proudly high-stepping under the threat of her whip? Pointless activity and beatings defined his lot, along with hours and hours of endless, mind-numbing tedium standing tethered in his stall as his life slowly slipped away.

Fun sessions lacked any clear aim or purpose, serving only to indulge her sadistic whims as he was strapped to a bench or whipping frame to be tormented purely for Kelly's amusement whenever she felt like it. Occasionally, it was due to a bad mood, and he feared those moments most. He had heard of the phrase ‘making someone a whipping boy’ but never imagined he would end up as one, especially in the most literal sense!

He considered that, then realised he was neither stalled nor tethered and was completely unsupervised, a rare occurrence. Not counting those cameras high on the walls, but if the brat was elsewhere, focused on her phone call, and no one else was around...? It was a lengthy pause while he pondered. Two years ago, hell, even a year ago, would he have still been crouched like this? Answer, no! He’d have been trying to escape as best he could to freedom and the real world beyond this crazy setup, but…

And it was a big but, especially considering how handicapped he was with hoof boots, pony harness, etc. Christ almighty! How much time had he already wasted dwelling on other things! Was he a man or a mouse? He tentatively straightened up and turned to look towards the stable doors, but they were obscured from view by his and the other stalls. Neither man nor mouse, but the captive two-legged pony of an eighteen-year-old sadistic girl. He gave an involuntary shiver at that thought, pondering just how savage Kelly could be, or perhaps had been so far on occasion. To what extent the evil brat might go was as yet unknown, but….He shivered again as that ‘but’ repeated, there had been some horrible hints. He was under no illusions about how an escape bid would be viewed!

Despite his clumsy hoof boots, he shuffled back a few more steps. Freedom? The large wooden doors were shut, no, slightly open, with a broad strip of bright daylight in the crack between them. He could, he could, he took a cautious step and then another, freezing with genuine fear as a shadow suddenly appeared in that crack, a small shadow. He couldn’t and hurriedly scuttled back to his previous position, leaning forward as he did so, silently cursing his own slowness, stupidity, and cowardice. He could hear her mocking voice in his mind, ‘Had your chance, boy, and muffed it!’

“Sorry, Trooper,” Kelly actually said, somewhat cheerfully but with zero sincerity in her voice. “Got caught up in real life, as they say, you know how that goes.” She stopped short and giggled. “Well, maybe not these days. My, what a fantastic life you’ve got, not a worry in the world, no responsibilities, no cares, and nothing to do but laze around all day and, most importantly, no fucking exams to revise for and worry about either! Sheesh, you must think you're in heaven, eh, boy?”

Trooper pushed his head down hard against that unyielding wooden beam to stop himself from doing the unthinkable and responding. What was that phrase the tennis guy, the one who was always arguing with umpires, used to say? ‘You cannot be serious!’ Heaven, this was her idea of fucking heaven! The imperious sound of finger clicks spared him further indignant thought. That demanded his immediate attention.

“Up, Boy. Up and back to your stall, come on, chop chop, or would you rather I provide some motivation for a lazy animal!”

Motivation—her kind of motivation—was the last thing he wanted, so he obeyed with alacrity. The girl also had a plastic container with a spatula sticking out of one hand, and whatever it was, his stomach desired it. There was a time when the brat had to beat him hard to get him to eat, but that was long past. He was always hungry now, and his taste buds had long since withdrawn their objections to his diet on practical grounds. A) Better to eat than to be beaten; and B) While hardly the highlight of his day, his belly craved food, and whatever it was, it was never that disgusting and sometimes, even a little tasty.

It was towards the end of his delayed breakfast that Kelly dropped the latest bombshell. The girl had carried on talking about trivia that, out of habit, went in one ear and straight out the other, a grumbling rant about her English literature teacher and a set book she hated. He was too busy slurping down his liquidised breakfast to pay much attention, and the days when his tongue left anything other than a spotless stainless steel food bowl were long gone. His eager tongue chased every morsel of the gloop. It wasn’t at all bad. A very runny scrambled egg that was still pretty warm with oatmeal or muesli mixed in, along with some chopped apple.

Likewise, Kelly rarely bothered to glance at the chunky Apple Watch on her slim wrist to time his efforts. His hunger and her whips had quelled any tendency he had to linger over his ‘delicious’ meals. The girl didn’t even bother to look at his bowl when he finished and stepped back, letting her pick it up. She had her phone out again and was frowning at something on the screen, even though he hadn’t heard it ring. She automatically picked up his bowl and was halfway out of her stall when she suddenly turned around and, almost as an afterthought, threw it at him.

Oh, by the way, Trooper. You might have company soon. You’ve managed to get Mummy all fired up, and she’s quite taken with the idea of having her own pony, would you believe? Of course, she fancies a filly or mare – isn’t that cute?" Kelly blew him a kiss, flicked the catch on his stall door closed, gave him a big smile and turned to walk away. Then, as if remembering something, she stopped to look back and added.

“Oh, and of course, Daddy’s been moaning about you again, standing around all day doing nothing and costing him. Silly, isn’t it? I bet he spends more on one stupid golf club than it costs to keep you here for a whole year. But… well, he’s always been a bit of a scrooge moneywise. He’s been moaning no end about electricity bills recently. I mean, it's not as if he’s short of the stuff, what with what he inherited and his company and everything! Still, I gather one of his buddies at his golf club has given him an idea. Do you know what a treadmill is, Trooper? I’ll bet you do!”.

The girl giggled, blew him another kiss, and then, staring again at her mobile, exited the stable, leaving him standing there, gazing into the space she’d vacated. Have company, treadmill, what the hell. They wouldn’t dare, would they? He looked around at all the things he was so damn familiar with, and yes, his wasn’t the only stall in the building. But electricity, a bloody treadmill! You didn’t need to be an Einstein to put the two together, nor to work out the whos and whys of that idea. Christ, if he’d been thinking earlier that his terrible life was about to take a turn for the worse, if the brats’ parents became more involved. Hell, never mind a turn, it sounded like the evil bastards were planning to start spinning the bloody handle, not just turn it!

He sighed long and hard into his bit she’d automatically refastened, plus she’d forgotten about that antiseptic cream as well, hadn’t she!