The Random Recollections of Birthday Boy

Part – 8

 Memories, reminiscences, recollections- call them what you want. Thoughts of happier times when he was a free man, a human being with a life to lead, a fulfilling life, not merely existing because someone else allowed him to. A time when he could make choices and decisions, some important, even complex, that would have an impact on his day, perhaps even his life and lifestyle. Others were more mundane, such as what to wear, what to eat, or when to… shit!

That last unspoken word was meant as an expletive and was not intended to be part of his mental rant about daily lifestyle choices he’d once taken for granted. Mind you, it was damn relevant, humiliatingly so, to his present situation, was it not!  He glanced up and repeated himself. “Shit, shit and fucking shit!”

He’d dropped even further behind. How the hell… but that didn’t matter. He needed to catch up, make up the deficit, and he was running out of time. The bloody monitor thing didn’t lie, did it? Leastways, he had to assume it was accurate. It was, in a way, both primitive and sophisticated. The screen looked like it had been salvaged from an old fourteen-or fifteen-inch laptop, and it didn’t do much other than show the time, his required total and his remaining time. That wasn’t his problem, well, yes, the remaining time element was a problem and a serious, not to mention potentially damaging, one. It also showed his shortfall, or, should it ever happen, how far ahead of his required total number of circuits he was.

So far, he’d never yet managed to be in credit for more than a couple of minutes, and that almost always just after he’d started, when his legs were fresh. The damage to him wasn’t from that improvised bit of kit, which was effectively his electronic master in one sense. Trooper threw himself forward, trying to up the pace. Christ, but he felt knackered, and there were still thirty minutes to go. Could he make it up in that time, given how weary his legs felt? Four hours he’d been condemned to put in, keeping that screen in the green, and it wasn’t. It was red. Four bloody hours on the wretched machine, round and round, playing fucking ‘hamster’, as Kelly called it, the giggling, sadistic little brat. The teenage girl who’d deprived him of his freedom, his life, even his clothing, and likewise his need or ability to make decisions and choices about anything. The young girl who owned him, fed him, even washed and bathed him, such as it was, and also…beat the shit out of him with her nasty toys whenever she felt like it.

Yeah, and while his mind was on that subject, she sometimes literally beat the shit out of him. His backside sported a long, horse-like tail because, to all intents and purposes, that’s what he was, a two-legged human pony. Only he wasn’t human, not in her eyes or those of her parents. Or yes, he was, and they fucking well knew it, but they treated him like a real horse, in a way no responsible, caring equine owner would ever have treated their animal.

He hated the long tail, but then he hated everything else: the clumsy hoof boots on his feet and calves, the restrictive body harness, the arm binder behind his back that effectively denied him the use of his arms and hands, rendering him helpless. The cruel posture collar around his neck held his head up and barely mobile, a head that was bound in a network of bridle straps and also held the cruel bit in his mouth, which denied him the ability to speak. Not that he’d ever be foolish enough to attempt to do so. Ponies don’t talk; they snort, whinny and neigh, as did he. Kelly’s whips had very effectively taught him that lesson. Oh yes, if his bit was removed, he could holler, howl and scream; that was allowed by his young owner, but anything resembling human speech was a definite no-no! Try that, and he’d soon be doing even more hollering, howling and screaming!

He hated and feared the whips and canes the girl used on him, but they were infrequent visitors to his body, unlike that bloody tail, or not so much the damn tail as the evil thing it was attached to. His anus was permanently plugged, not just with an ordinary sex-toy butt plug, if you could describe such an item as ordinary. No, this thing that invaded his anal passage did more than abuse his rectum and provide support for that long horse's tail. It had a tube in it, was hollow, and was designed to hold his sphincter muscles permanently open, thus removing all self-control over his anal excretory function.

In simple terms, he could not hold anything that passed through his gut and bowels in. He was open, and when the slop they fed him had passed through his system, there was nothing to stop it coming out, and it did. He literally shat himself where he stood, just as a real equine might have done, only the difference was that he was far more conscious of the act and of how humiliating and degrading it was, or had been. He was also apt to do it under duress, such as being whipped or caned, much to the brat’s amusement! Maybe ‘infrequent’ hadn’t been quite the appropriate term, for Kelly could be relied upon to use those painful toys of hers far too frequently!

He’d been suffering from that loss of control for so long now that it had almost become normal, just like everything else, crazy as that seemed. Sleeping on the dirt floor of his stall, with a thin veneer of flattened straw for a mattress. Wearing his pony gear twenty-four-seven. The endless tedium of his captivity, day after day, with nothing to focus on or stimulate his mind. No books or magazines, TV or internet, nothing to occupy the long hours he spent in his stall. Eating and drinking from his big food bowls like the animal he was supposed to be, and all the rest of it! No, normal was perhaps not a word he would use. What the hell was normal about any of this? It was hell, a living hell to which he was…. shit, shit and more shit, and he didn’t mean that in the sense of what had run out of his tail tube thirty minutes or so back, soiling his legs, his boots and the dirt floor beneath them.

No, he’d allowed himself to become distracted again, and another ten minutes had slipped by almost unnoticed. He glared at the little screen. It was so unfair. All those long, endless hours of absolute, mind-numbing tedium, when he’d stood in his stall each hour feeling like a day, and now… now his failure on that screen in big red numerals, with only another fifteen minutes left to fulfil his required quota. Worse, he’d fallen even further behind and had zero chance of making up the deficit. He was now in a damage-limitation situation, and he was the one who’d be getting damaged!

Four, or it soon would be four hours, of what amounted to heavy fucking labour, and the damn screen font wasn’t even warning orange but bloody red, and if it stayed red, there most probably would be blood, his! He also knew it was no good; his legs were beginning to go, and all the swearing, all the regret, all the wishful thinking in the world wouldn’t make them any better. It was so unfair, so damn unfair! Two years ago, he’d been super fit, run a couple of half marathons, and been a regular at the gym on his base. What the hell did the fuckers expect of him after he’d spent all his time standing in his stall and doing sweet fuck all for two years!

What they expected, of course, was for him, in the words of Kelly’s father, to ‘earn his keep’.  Earn his fucking keep! Oh yeah, he must be costing them a fortune, what with the price of fresh straw whenever Kelly could be bothered to change it, and the uber-expensive sawdust and sand that lined the floor of his stall. Likewise, the… the…he faltered, unable to think of a suitable high-end word to describe the food they fed him twice a day, which was about as far from high-end as you could imagine! Leftovers plus overboiled and mashed-up root veg, along with anything else that came to hand, to be liquidised and poured into his feeding bowl, his horsey trough, to be sucked up!

Even that, he twisted his head and scowled at it. That thing he was secured to was a cheap, homemade knock-up that he’d quickly come to hate, loath and fear, as he did the brat’s sizeable ‘toy’ collection. Kelly told him that her dad had got the idea watching a western on TV one night, and naturally, she’d thought it pretty cool! Just what she’d been looking for to keep him, Trooper, fit and entertained, to stop him from getting bored and broody!

He automatically glanced at the screen again as he strode past. Yeah, very considerate of the girl, not! Given a choice, not that he’d get one, and despite the mundane, soul-destroying monotony of his existence, he’d go back to being bored, broody and lacking entertainment in a flash! Anything but this, and then the inevitable consequences of his failure, his laziness, his evident lack of cooperation and blatant unwillingness to make himself useful. Worse, his lack of gratitude for all they did for him in terms of board and lodging, and total freedom from any form of worry or responsibility!

Kelly had gleefully shown him a video clip she’d found on the internet, bubbling with excitement as she outlined what she had in mind for him, or rather what daddy had in mind as soon as the horrible thing was ready. The moment she’d waved her iPad in his face, he’d known what was intended and didn’t need the explanation, but he’d still got one.

The video was almost certainly from a western, probably a spaghetti one, although that was irrelevant. He’d obediently peered at the thing, initially feeling somewhat perplexed. A raggedly dressed young boy with a straw hat, seated on a donkey harnessed to a long pole attached to a central post, was driving a very primitive-looking gear and wheel. Attached to the wheel were clay pots, which, as the wheel rotated, dipped into a low-walled pool and then, as they rotated, transferred the water into a wooden trough, presumably a primitive irrigation system leading to the fields, but why…

The clip was barely five seconds long, if that, and he’d stared uncomprehendingly at the black screen for a brief moment, his brain more concerned with whether it was a donkey or a mule and what the difference between such animals was. Then it made the connection…Donkey/Mule = Equine = Him!

“Electricity,” Kelly had supplied the answer even as that thought occurred to him. “I mean, it's not as if we need water in this country, is it? And it's cheap anyway, leastways compared to electricity, so Daddy’s decided you should earn your keep instead of standing around doing nothing all day. Pretty cool, eh, boy? Of course, it will be pretty minimal, but it all counts towards keeping the bills down, doesn’t it! I mean, everything, just everything, is going up and getting so expensive nowadays! You’ve no idea. You almost need a mortgage to buy a Big Mac, but then…” She’d giggled and reached out to pat him gently on the cheek. “You don’t have to worry about such mundane things anymore, do you, Trooper! Who’s a lucky boy, then?”

That was the task he had been engaged in for most of the past four hours. He was, in the words of Kelly’s father, ‘earning his keep’, and as for lucky, pah! Perhaps that’s why he’d fallen behind, lost in memories of those ‘happier’ times, and, subconsciously, lost his focus, slowed down without realising it, and… well, that was all irrelevant now. He should have kept at least half an eye on that damn monitor, shouldn’t he!

It was mounted on top of the electric gizmo thingy over there on a bench by the wall, an innocent-looking old-style PC case that still had a gaping rectangular slot where its floppy drive had presumably been. That’s what he’d surmised, anyway, as it was too small for a DVD, so the thing must be ancient or at least… old! He’d had plenty of time to look at the damn thing, hadn’t he, once every circuit if he chose to look at it. Were the original motherboard and other bits in there, repurposed, he wondered, or had Daddy’s ‘clever friend’ merely used the case as a convenient box for whatever electronic bits he’d put in there?

He did another circuit, having already forgotten about his need to pick up the pace. They’d moved him for the better part of the day while the horrible device was being installed. He’d been walked over to the huge four-car-plus garage and tethered in one corner while his bloody ‘hamster wheel’ was unloaded and assembled in one corner of the stable.

“Better if you’re not there, just in case,” Kelly had told him quite seriously. “Daddy’s old school friend is a bit… well, he’s autistic, but he’s all there and not stupid or anything. He can be a bit, er… slow, but he’s an absolute wizard with electronics and building mechanical things. Very Heath Robinson, Daddy says. I had no idea what that meant, but he just laughed and told me to Google it- very helpful, thank you, not! Anyway, I did, and apparently the guy was a British cartoonist and illustrator like a hundred years ago who drew whimsically elaborate machines to achieve simple objectives. Like that stop-go, plasticine guy with the dog in the short movies. Wallace and Gromit! Kind of neat, eh, boy, and it sums up what Daddy has in mind for you, with a few refinements I suggested, of course. We wouldn’t want things to be too simple, would we?”

Trooper ground his teeth as he recalled the brat's statement. No, of course, ‘we’ or rather ‘she’ wouldn’t want ‘things’ too simple or easy, would she! Oh no, Daddy’s crazy… no, that wasn’t fair. Autism didn’t mean people were crazy; it just probably meant they built fiendish devices to a bizarre specification without asking too many questions. What had they told the guy, especially about the motive power source? Bugger all, probably! For a day or two after being introduced to this latest form of misery, he’d harboured a faint hope that maybe the inventor, the creator of this new torture, might have put two and two together and come up with four, but evidently not.

From what Kelly had said and from conversations he’d overheard between the girl and her parents, Daddy’s clever friend wasn’t the curious type and would already have forgotten all about his horrible creation, totally focused on his next project. Besides, who the hell, in their right minds, could envisage this crazy situation? This… this fucking hamster wheel, only with a human occupant rather than a furry little rodent.

Technically, that wasn’t a very accurate description for Kelly to have adopted, since it wasn’t a wheel and didn’t rotate in a vertical position. This thing was more akin to one of the old-style capstans sailors had used to raise anchors and similar items via sheer muscle power before steam supplanted the age of sail. Instead of many slots for wooden capstan bars, it had three fixed metal arms. Why three? There was only one of him, after all! Aesthetics, maybe, or balance, but none of that mattered to him. All that mattered was that, instead of turning easily to generate its minuscule quantity of electricity, the damn thing took one hell of a lot of effort.

It was somehow geared and thus could be altered via the keyboard next to that antique PC case. Kelly could make his life miserable with a few simple finger taps, and the brat was still experimenting. Set the time, the number of turns he was assigned, and so forth. Worse, she could set the… resistance of the thing, not electrical resistance, but how easily the bloody thing turned. Of course, she’d quickly discovered that at one end of the scale he could do a fast trot, hauling that arm around behind him like it was a feather, as he made himself dizzy running in a tight circle.

The girl saved those settings for when she was present, wanting him to run while encouraging his efforts in the usual painful way. Half an hour was about all he could manage on those settings before his legs gave out or he fainted from the inevitable dizzy spell such motion produced. Mostly, though, she set the horrid thing at the other end of the scale so that it felt like he was dragging a steam locomotive behind him. Just getting the thing going was an effort, which of course provided the girl with an opportunity to ‘encourage’ him, painfully! Then, having done that, she was free to go about her business, leaving him labouring to try and achieve the target she’d set, and by now she’d garnered enough experience to set targets that were, at least in theory, achievable!

The carrot-and-stick approach, Kelly called it. Good ponies put the effort in and earned the carrot or a nice treat of some sort and avoided the ‘stick’. Lazy ponies, of course, got the stick, as she so sweetly put it, meaning being on the wrong end of one of her painful toys. So far, it had been stick, stick, stick, and yet more stick! Whatever treat she had in mind remained firmly in its box, bag, packet or whatever. That was if such even existed! A thought occurred to him, a very improbable one, but still… maybe, just maybe, if he had, say, three good sessions in a row and achieved his set targets, then perhaps she’d finally allow him to achieve that ultimate…

His wishful thinking upon orgasmic paradise temporarily regained was abruptly interrupted by a harsh buzzer, and a moment later, he was brought to an abrupt halt facing that monitor screen as whatever brake the device had engaged then made a clicking sound and was free again. Sometimes it did that, and other times not, when the buzzer sounded. Time up, but whether he continued to labour depended on how Kelly had set the wretched thing, and that, in turn, depended on the brat's mood. Either the brake came on, stayed on, or it didn’t, and if it didn’t, then he had to keep walking, keep moving around and around, no excuses accepted. The last time that had happened, he must have put in at least an extra hour or so, not that it made any difference. He’d failed, as usual, to achieve his target within the set time and so received her stick. That extra hour counted for nought.

He was wearing blinkers today, so his vision was restricted, and they added yet another element to her control and his misery. They didn’t hurt or chafe, and their restriction was not physical in the way his pony tack and harness bound him. Instead, they restricted his vision, and he didn’t like that very much. But then, if he were to draw up a list of things he didn’t like, being blinkered would not be anywhere near the number one position of personal hates. No, far from it. The blinkers were merely an irritation and didn’t hurt!

The building that housed both him and the contraption, as he called it, was big, more of a barn with a couple of horse stalls than a proper stable, not that he’d ever been to one. He’d seen pictures of them, though. Usually long, low buildings with rows of the traditional double door, top and bottom split doors leading to stalls. The contraption, the treadmill, had been erected in one corner, away from the big entrance doors. If both were open, as they were now, he’d usually see Kelly or anyone else approaching from the house. The blinkers restricted that view, and anyway, he’d been so focused on his endless task and accompanying bitter thoughts that he might not have seen her anyway, regardless of being deliberately reduced to tunnel vision. It was her cheery shout that alerted him as he strove to regain his momentum.

“Hey-ya, boy. Did you miss me, Trooper?”

She was behind him when the greeting came, so he had to make another half-revolution on his ‘hamster wheel’ before he saw her. The glimpse was fleeting, for he dared not stop. Kelly was a mercurial brat, at least with him. The girl could go from sunshine to shadow in an instant, and once the storm clouds appeared, there was usually little chance of the sun breaking out again. Not until she’d finished with him, anyway!

She was strolling through the barn doors, looking gorgeous in her youth. The girl had matured in the two and whatever years she’d owned him, yet she still looked the same. He’d been a sixteenth birthday present from her doting parents. Every girl wants a pony, so they say, and she’d got one, only it was a more unusual, perhaps unique one she’d set her evil little black heart on. She wanted a two-legged one, a stallion or a colt, and he was the one who’d drawn the short straw after gratefully accepting a lift from mummy and daddy on a dark, dank, wet day when he’d foolishly chosen to hitchhike.

The girl had been a petite, cute, and very pretty teenager, and now, well, she was still a teen, having recently celebrated her eighteenth birthday. She was still cute and petite, but that prettiness had matured into a younger version of her beautiful mother without those extra inches height-wise. Not that much younger, though, for her damn mother, the bitch who had chosen him, drugged him, and dressed him while he was unconscious in the horrible, restrictive, pongy gear, could easily pass for her daughter's older sister at times.

She and her husband were away for a few days on a cultural break, visiting Stratford-on-Avon, the town where playwright William Shakespeare was born and later buried. It was to be a relaxing long weekend in an old coaching inn renowned for its Michelin-starred restaurant, with a couple of plays at the Royal Shakespeare Company's theatre in the evenings. ‘Bard, bed, board, booze and bawdiness,’ Kelly had joked. ‘Lots of bawdiness, I expect. Mummy always gets extra randy on those sorts of trips, and Daddy, well, you know very well what Daddy’s like.’

Kelly had told him that the day before, during his grooming session, she’d aimed the ice-cold jet of water from the hose at him while he was dancing from one booted foot to the other under it. Oh yes, he knew what her fucking daddy was like, the bastard. Mummy wasn’t the only one in the family to get randy; her husband, her partner in crime, who’d driven the vehicle he’d so gratefully climbed into as a free man, accepted a hot drink from a thermos and later awoke as a captive pony! 

Initially, he’d only been raped and sodomised by the bastard when his wife was away on one of her trips, but of late, such horrendous occurrences seemed to have become a regular event. Not so much because his wife was away or at work, but simply because he was conveniently available, and if the bastard found himself with a hard-on, the stable was only yards from the house, with a readily available solution. Him! Why should he bother his wife if she was busy preparing lunch or whatever?

Otherwise, he hardly ever saw the bastard, and yet… well, he hated all three of them, the evil, evil, evil fuckers! How innocently he’d gratefully accepted that proffered lift, and what a price he was paying for it. What was a brief, minor wetting on a chilly, damp day compared to his ongoing, endless hell! A hell now made worse thanks to the addition of that bloody machine at the fucking ‘bum-bandits’ bastard's behest.

Kelly had told him about her parents' absence while grooming him. The girl liked to do that, talking to him while she performed such chores. Grooming, mucking out his stall, or while he gulped down his breakfast or supper. Such conversations were, of course, entirely one-sided, and besides, what would he have to talk about? He stood in his stall all morning, crapped in the dirt. He spent an hour on the pony walker and got his arse soundly whipped. He spent the rest of the afternoon standing in his stall and crapped in the dirt again. Oh yes, all highly riveting stuff which the girl knew about anyway.

Kelly had something of a garrulous nature, and if she weren’t talking to him, she’d probably be chatting on her mobile to one of her many friends. None of whom, he assumed, would have the slightest knowledge or awareness of the unique captive pet standing nearby. In every respect bar one, the girl was no different from any other teenage girl her age. But that one exception was him; he was that singular difference.

Still, the fact that she was alone for a few days was of interest, and hopefully, Daddy would be well spent for the next few weeks. It wasn’t that the bastard visited him every day or even every week, but it was degrading and humiliating. If not physically painful, it was mentally painful to be so used by another man or woman; come to that, Kelly's mother had raped his anus on more than one occasion as well!

The girl herself had never done that to him, not used him that way. Oh yes, he was permanently butt-plugged with his tail tube, thanks to her, and his rear was no stranger to the large collection of dildos, phalluses and butt plugs. The little bitch had enough perverse stuff to stock a sex shop, and that was without adding the comprehensive selection of whips, paddles, tawse’s, canes, floggers and other horrible things, especially back in those early days, when the thought of owning a pony like him, a full-grown male stallion, had been so fascinating to the young brat. If she wasn’t beating his ass, the young girl was amusing herself by filling it with one of her many penetrating toys, and the collection had grown over the years.

“Lookee, Trooper, look what I’ve got. That nice van man has delivered some new goodies for us to play with!” There she’d be, gleefully waving a bloody Amazon box at him. Amazon, for Christ's sake, delivering a box of bloody horrors to torture his rectum with! Amazon, for fuck’s sake, and it wasn’t just sex toys either; some of those evil things innocently dangling on her toy rack had come from that popular online source. “Not bad, eh, boy, considering it was listed as a novelty item” had been one of the brat's callous observations as she hovered by the rack trying to decide where to hang her latest acquisition. There had been nothing ‘novel’ so far as he’d been concerned about the beating it had just delivered!

His mind switched back to anal toys and those early days of his captivity. Christ, how humiliating had that been, and even now, the fact that he was so helpless, so utterly and completely helpless, and if she chose to play with one of these wretched silicone or plastic things, there was fuck all he could do about it… accept be fucked he thought wryly!

The girl had stopped half in, half out of the building, cell phone glued to her ear as she twisted first one way and then the other, concentrating on her call and giggling repeatedly. Kelly was a champion giggler, and all too often, he was the focus of her amusement. Not, repeat not that he ever found anything remotely amusing about his situation as a whole nor any of the ‘extra’ little games she had constantly introduced to make his miserable life a veritable living hell!

Another revolution, another few watts or amps generated, or a fraction of such units. Another glimpse of the young madam who effectively ruled his life with a rod of iron. No, make that one of bamboo, the dreaded stable cane, long, thick and very flexible, hanging so innocently on its hook near his stall, so that he was always conscious of the horrid thing that had striped his bottom and thighs so often.

The girl was an absolute peach and knew it, which made his captivity and her ownership of him even worse. Total, absolute ownership and mastery of him, but would it have been any different if she had been overweight and ugly, or some old crone? He’d still be wearing tack, stalled and beaten, wouldn’t he? So what difference would it have made? One of many questions he sometimes pondered while standing in his stall all day with nothing else to occupy him. Would he have preferred that if given a choice?

Stupid and pointless question, anyway, wasn’t it! He allowed himself a wry grin. Yeah, the good old days before this wretched contraption had been installed. Back then, not so long ago, there were times when he’d have done almost anything to get out of that damn stall and stretch his legs… by himself, of course! It was invariably bad news, humiliating, degrading, and almost always agonisingly painful when Kelly led him from the stall. That wasn’t the kind of temporary freedom he yearned for, if you could call it freedom.

Now he was out of the stinking, confined space, alone and getting all the leg exercise he could have wished for, and a whole lot more. Maybe it would be different if he could jog or run, but no, all he could do was plod around in circles, dragging that arm and everything it entailed behind him, his legs, back and calves protesting. For once, it wasn’t Kelly's toys that were causing him pain. He’d never thought he’d be homesick for those long, long days of monumental tedium in his stall, but he was.

“No, really, no… she didn’t, you mean… Seriously?” Kelly’s voice rose in an incredulous half-scream, then she subsided into another prolonged bout of giggles. No doubt some monumental yet totally inconsequential piece of teenage trivia, involving someone she knew, had just been imparted to her. How many times had he heard one end of such earth-shattering (NOT) conversations? He looked at her again as she came into his blinker-restricted view for a moment while he completed yet another revolution.

The weather had been hot recently, which naturally added to his discomfort, for although the stable had some heating for the colder months, there was no air conditioning. The best he could hope for was that some of the big roofs' skylights would be opened and the stable doors left wide open; otherwise, the heat tended to build up inside the building to the point where it became uncomfortable. Playing bloody hamster was bad enough as it was without having to do it in a sauna or sweat box! At least he was appropriately dressed, or rather undressed, for the monotonous task!

He’d been about to dismiss it as a pointless task, but had consciously altered his approach, for there was a logical reason for what he was doing, even if that didn’t alter its monotony or ignominy! He was generating electricity, albeit probably in minute amounts. How much, he wondered, enough to boil a kettle? Probably not. Heat quickly gobbled up power, didn't it? Maybe enough to keep Kelly's bedside light illuminated for ten minutes later on. All his effort for that, and in some distant control room, would a minuscule twitch of a needle on a dial alert an electrical engineer to think, ah, they’ve got Trooper earning his keep again? Highly unlikely!

The girl was still on her phone, coming back into view as he plodded around. Kelly, likewise, was dressed comfortably for the rising thermometer. Then again, apart from those outdoor sessions when she’d hitched him to the plough or devised some other ‘game’ to play, and dressed appropriately, the brat invariably dressed down. Personal choice, or to tease him? Trooper was never sure but suspected a little of each. Kelly was no shrinking violet when it came to exposing her sharply young teen body and hadn’t been since that very first meeting two and a bit years back!

Long, honey-blonde hair that showed recent, casual use of a curling iron and the usual smidgen of light make-up to enhance what nature had endowed her with. Kelly was no orange-faced influencer with half the contents of the local stores' beauty counters smeared on her face. She was a natural, like her mother, though the latter tended to use a tad more facial paint, tastefully, for she was that sort of woman.

Another circuit, and now she was half-bent over, phone still clamped to her right ear, giggling like crazy, left arm jerking up and down as though to make a point. A glint of metal caught his eye, and he let out an involuntary grunt into his mouthpiece, momentarily losing his rhythm and having to exert himself a little extra to keep that bar behind him moving. He shouldn’t have been surprised, for he’d seen the key many times. It hung on a chain around the girl’s neck and had done so for two-and-a-bit years. The sun had caught it as it slipped from her low-cut top, dangling freely as she stooped forward. Why she should adopt such a posture for her phone call and make the frenzied accompanying movements with her left arm and hand, he knew not. He did, however, know that key catching the sun was what could unlock his captive manhood should the little bitch allow him such temporary freedom.

He was a stallion, not a colt, at least that’s how they described him in their stupid equine terminology. Kelly’s big, strong stallion ponyboy. Yeah, some strength, like Samson of an earlier age. He was also captive-bound in a tight leather harness, helpless, his muscles of no use whatsoever, and that’s assuming he had any muscles or strength left in his arms. They’d been out of action for so long in their armbinder that he doubted he could have lifted an… an egg cup, let alone do anything else. As for stallion, yeah, some stallion! That was a laugh. For a while, while his manhood was held captive, he was one hundred per cent gelding and had virtually forgotten what it was like to ejaculate, to empty his balls of spunk in a spasm of orgasmic ecstasy!

Oh yes, he’d had quite a few erections courtesy of a giggling teenager's hand during his grooming sessions and sometimes while strapped to her whipping bench. Unfortunately, his hardons were for her titillation and amusement, not his, as her fingers stroked and teased, but never allowed the release he craved.  Almost a couple of times in the early days of his captivity, on account of the brat's inexperience, but even then she’d stopped short every time, no doubt some primordial inbuilt sense warning her of what was about to happen.

Doubtlessly, the evil brat had become a juvenile expert on the…twitchiness of the male cock, with no risk whatsoever to her own virginity. Probably a source of ‘expert’ knowledge for her female friends, who must have wondered where the hell she acquired such intimate knowledge while remaining so innocent and chaste. Innocent? That was a laugh, was it not! Nor was Kelly a virgin anymore; she’d lost that about six months back to her current beau. An experience she gleefully recounted, chapter and verse, as the saying goes, the next time she groomed him. It hadn’t taken her teasing fingers long to excite him that time either, as she recounted her…her ecstatic surrender. Nor had she become any less verbal about it. ‘Oh, poor boy, my poor Trooper. So near, so very near and yet so far!’ 

In those early days, she’d been younger and inexperienced, far more cautious, but certainly in no way naive about what she was doing, nor about the effect her teasing fingers were having on him. The incessant giggles proved that! Then would come the inevitable price to be paid for ‘his fun’, as she deemed it. There were guys he’d read about who would pay prostitutes to beat them, to whip them, and would doubtlessly get huge hard-ons while the bitches did it. He was normal, though, and the opposite; the mere threat of being beaten could make him droop, and always did, but that did not make any difference to his youthful owner. He’d had the pleasure, or what she called pleasure, the absolute privilege of having his ‘stallion’ bit stroked and caressed by his kindly young owner. What a lucky boy he was! Also, obviously, a dirty-minded, randy male animal who’d not learned to control himself and so would now have to suffer pain for such disrespectful impertinence towards said young owner!

It was an unequal partnership; he took a certain amount of pleasure in one half of the process, whereas Kelly, the sadistic brat, enjoyed both halves: the tease and deny, then the beating! He hated himself for his reaction, but he couldn’t help it. He was a hot-blooded male at an age when his vitality was at its absolute peak. Always so near and yet so fucking far!

Trooper completed another circuit and sighed. The chances of him even reaching that winning post, of breaching that invisible tape as he crossed the line, were diminishing, he realised with every wash and extended grooming session. In the early days, the girl had been younger, less practised, and her fingers had been less sure, curious but inexperienced. There had been more than one occasion when…when perhaps just one more second, one more touch, one more…He sighed again; it hadn’t happened. Almost, so near and yet so far! Maybe he’d played his part in those failures, his anger, rage, and, above all, sheer disbelief at the ludicrous situation he found himself in, all combining to rob him of that ultimate pleasure he so longed for.

Perhaps if he’d been just a shade more relaxed, hung loose as the old saying went, but… Yeah, as if! He’d been drugged, abducted, forced into a ridiculous and highly uncomfortable bondage suit and then systematically abused and tortured by a sadistic teenager half his size and weight. Oh yes, hang loose, go with the flow, stay cool….yeah, some fucking chance! Besides, he’d no way of knowing back then that it was only the start of the nightmare!

He glanced through the open door again at the lithesome young hottie, still giggling away on her cell phone, the usual inane trivia, he assumed. It hadn’t changed much in the two years, and whatever months he’d had to listen to her end of it. No, on second thoughts, that wasn’t quite true. Some aspects had matured slightly. It had moved on from who was dating who or had been seen out with someone to who was screwing who, or at least rumoured to be dropping her knickers regularly, and who for, and so forth. Still, all very trivial, but evidently highly important to Kelly and her extensive circle of female contacts. Almost always female, he’d noted, and the few calls she exchanged with boys were invariably far shorter and much more mundane, not counting XXXXXX, her current boyfriend! 

“He’s not, NO!” the shriek came from the doorway. “No, no, listen, he’s not. N, I’m telling you. Shelly told me. She’s seen it. He’s tiny, yes, no… listen. They all got smashed and went skinny-dipping the other month at Bobby Sanders’ house. Shelly says you’d have to take a what's it… a magnifying glass to bed with you to find it on him, yes, yes, I’m telling you. Teeny-weeny!” There came more giggles, and Kelly absently moved a few paces further away from the stable doors, her voice dropping low as if to deliver some new piece of ‘sensational’ trivia.

Cocks, he assumed. The male sex organ! Cocks and tits, another favourite topic of mobile phone conversation. A couple of her friends… or rather, girls she knew… had recently had breast augmentation for their eighteenth birthdays. Jesus, what kind of birthday present was that, presumably paid for by their parents? What would you like for your birthday, darling? Bigger tits, okay, sweetheart! What a bloody silly world it was!

Kelly was scathing in such cases, and he knew why. A slight touch of the green-eyed monster was creeping in, for she was, well, not exactly flat-chested, but definitely lacked her gorgeous mother’s cleavage. ‘Bumps’ was the girl’s own term, and he’d seen those bumps on many occasions. Too many for a red-blooded male wearing a cruelly restrictive cock cage! The girl wasn’t flat-chested, but her self-deprecation about her ‘bumps’ wasn’t entirely inaccurate, and she rarely wore a bra. ‘Perky’ was how Kelly described her young breasts when she flaunted them before him. ‘Neat, eh Trooper, not fucking cow’s udders like some of those plastic bimbo magazine bimbos you probably used to wank over!’

Besides, the chances of her getting such a frontal enhancement were slim, indeed, probably zero. Her mother was a nurse and disapproved of ‘interfering’, as she sarcastically put it, with what nature had provided. ‘Those silly girls are far too young and will regret it ten, twenty years down the line, you can count on that! You're perfectly fine as you are, Pet, and will only get better, trust me.’ All very well, Trooper had thought at the time, being in earshot of the conversation, but to a teenager, ten or twenty years down the line was light-years away, unimaginably distant and far off.

No, her fucking evil parents were not prepared to shell out for a boob job for the brat, considering her too young and the surgery inappropriate. Yeah, but they were the ones who’d drugged him, kidnapped him, imprisoned him, and then, all trussed up, given him as a sixteenth birthday present to Kelly, the bastards. Find the morality in that if you can! He ground his teeth in a sudden spurt of rage and, for one brief, very brief second, felt as though he were inundated with superhuman strength, not for the first time either. Sadly, even as his muscles automatically bunched for that leap to freedom, breaking all bonds and restraints… reality crashed down upon him as Kelly called from the doorway.

“Sorry, Trooper, had to break off and deal with other things, you know how it is, RL intervening, but I’m finished now!” The girl paused by the stable door, putting a finger to her lower lip, looking at him but not really looking at him as she considered something. “That’s odd, isn’t it? Break and brake. Why do we have two words spelt differently when they both virtually mean the same thing? B.R.A.K.E and B.R.E.A.K. I mean, to brake is to stop, and to break off is to stop what you're doing.”

What the fuck, break or brake, and did it matter? As for RL? Christ, real bloody life! What the hell did the silly little brat think this was… some bloody computer gamer or something! He was here, here in reality, not on some pixelated screen, not something in a magazine, or … or some childish imaginary friend, or the perverse equivalent in her evil mind. Real life intervening, what the hell!

Had his head harness and cruel bit allowed it, Trooper's jaw would have dropped as he moved past her in his endless circuit. Now he was consciously making an effort to ‘high step’ in the required manner, and equally aware that he hadn’t been doing so for the last few hours, despite the damn video cameras, and hadn’t even been doing it for the five minutes or so while the girl had been standing in or near the open doors. Damn! He was far more concerned with that and with what the immediate future might hold for him, given that he’d fallen short of her set targets on that wretched monitor screen. To hell with the… the irregularities, or whatever you wanted to call them, in the bloody language. He couldn’t, or rather wasn’t allowed to, speak, so what did it matter to him!

Kelly, with only half an eye on him, was still looking at her phone screen. She sighed and thrust it in the right rear pocket of her abbreviated shorts before striding purposely forwards, one finger outstretched, ready to hit the appropriate key or button on that control keyboard thing. A moment later, when she judged him in the right position, it pressed downwards, and he was immediately pulled up short as the arm behind him locked tight.

He’d expected it, of course, but somehow, he was still surprised by his abrupt halt after dragging the thing round and round for so many hours. His brain had been ready, but not his legs, and besides, he’d been distracted by something, or rather someone else. His body had betrayed him, and he’d instinctively got a hard-on, or at least the twitching desire for his cock to once more recklessly attempt to breach the boundaries set by the stainless-steel cage that imprisoned it.

He silently cursed but to no avail. His body did that to him and had done so at times for two years and more, or rather a combination of his body and that of his young owner. Christ, but you’d think by now and after all the horrors she’d done to him, he’d be immune to her provocative young charms, but no! His red-blooded male hormones or whatever kicked in even though he knew what was likely to be happening to him in the next few minutes.

“Trooper!” Her voice was neither soft nor loud, yet it sounded to his ears like the doomsday bell! How the hell could the girl manage to sound both disappointed and elated at the same time with just one word, his name, rather, the name she’d given him? Even then, as his stomach churned and sank, his groin still gave a hopeful twitch, and it wasn’t because he was a damn masochistic pervert, salivating over what he was about to receive at her less-than-tender young hands for his failures.

No, it was the way Kelly casually stood there, thumbs tucked into the waistband of her low-slung hipster denim shorts, shaking her long blonde hair from side to side in disapproval as her sparkling bright blue eyes regarded him with a mixture of amused contempt. She’d changed outfits since she’d fed him his usual horrible breakfast and then led him over here to ‘earn his keep’. The green rubber boots, brown slacks and matching roll-neck jumper had been swapped for abbreviated shorts that exposed half her bum cheeks, shocking pink trainers and a skimpy short-sleeved, near-translucent white shirt knotted to expose her midriff and doing nothing to conceal her braless bumps. Hell, she was a little peach, a ripe peach at that, so no wonder he’d twitched at the sight of the girl!

“I had hoped that you’d at least make an effort this time,” Kelly sighed, stretching out a finger and hooking the monitor slightly so he could see the screen more easily. “Look!” The finger tapped the flat surface. “I mean, it wasn’t as if I set you an impossible target, and I even lowered its resistance thing by a level to make things easier!” Her voice rose in indignation. Normally it would have been a case of her giving a convincing performance, given that she’d set him an impossible task, and both knew it. This time, though, it seemed her irritation- or was it indignation? Either way, he sensed it was genuine.

“I mean, you had, what, four and a bit hours, and you’ve still fallen short again, well short. Look!” Her finger tapped the screen again, and her tone, for once, confirmed that her ire wasn’t entirely assumed. It seemed his young owner had genuinely thought he might achieve the set target, which was a first in his experience, and the realisation was like an abrupt kick in the stomach. It effectively killed those foolish twitches, killed them stone dead! Nor did the surreal irony of the situation escape him. He was not permitted to talk, not to be human, and yet she was quite happy to tap on a bloody monitor screen and expect him to read it.

“I… I mean, really, Trooper, it’s….” The girl broke off and glowered at him. Her voice was still low, with none of that shrillness that invariably crept in when she was angry, or, more usually, simulating such anger. Her calmer attitude frightened him, and he tried to back away, but that arm he was attached to prevented any such retreat, not that there was anywhere for him to flee to. There never was, and whatever was coming his way would be inescapable. It always was.

Kelly looked at the chunky white Apple Watch on her slim wrist, her face screwing up in thought as she continued to stare at the device as though considering various options. Finally, she nodded, a gesture more for herself than for him, as though she’d reached a decision that had needed considerable thought.

“I have, or rather had, a date for tonight,” she told him. “I had hoped to walk over here, find that you’d actually made yourself useful for once, but evidently that was foolish of me. You haven’t even worked up a sweat, have you? Made no effort at all, despite my doing my best to make things easy for you. Now it seems I must change my plans, but…” She paused and shrugged. “I wasn’t in the mood to go out anyway, so maybe we can salvage something from your disobedience and outright laziness.” She paused again and looked him up and down. “Yes, maybe this is a suitable moment. I’ve been considering it for a while. I’ve even dropped a couple of hints, not that such seeds seemed to germinate, but then, he’s not, well…” She broke off again before adding, “Even mummy thought it would be okay with him when I mentioned it. So… let’s give it a whirl, eh, boy?”

He hadn’t the slightest idea what Kelly was talking about and wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Still, at least the inevitable had been delayed if only for a couple of minutes, he realised, as the girl promptly flounced off towards her toy rack and, without hesitation, plucked a short, heavy dog whip from its hook and returned, running the braided leather business end through her hands.

“UmmmIIItriiiied!” His muted protest was in vain, and besides, he knew very well he hadn’t tried, not overmuch, anyway. Perhaps he could have met her targets, but that would never be known now. It was true he’d allowed himself to get distracted and had spent most of his time on the damn contraption, wool-gathering and doing the bare minimum, not that there was a bare minimum anyway! Now he was going to be flogged by a teenage brat for his failure. Not that it would be a new experience for him. It would still bloody well hurt, though.

“Good job he only fitted three arms to this thing and not four,” Kelly said from behind him. “Gives me more room to get a good swing at Mister Horsey’s lazy arsey tarsy!”

Her experienced whip arm swung three times and then, to his surprise, stopped. The three stripes had been agonising, and for a brief, very brief moment he almost said ‘thank you’ as she released his mouth bit. Idiot! Kelly wasn’t being lenient; she was missing the vocal accompaniment he invariably provided for her on such occasions.

“Whoops, wouldn’t want to miss your delightful singing, would I?” the girl giggled in his ear, providing confirmation. “Just a quick dozen or maybe a baker's dozen plus, and then I’ll restart your hamster wheel while I go and get ready for later.  That’ll give you a chance to make amends for your laziness. Now how’s that for me being kind?”

His gritted teeth didn’t even survive the first blow, which ensured he started singing the moment the leather kissed his tender skin. The expression ‘cruel to be kind’ came into his mind as he danced and howled while the second searing stripe fell across his bottom. Only with Kelly did the ‘kind’ bit never seem to materialise, and what did she mean by later? Then he was too busy dancing and screaming to pursue the matter any further, as his mind emptied of all rational thought in favour of what Kelly called…his ‘singing!’