Pony Ranch

Pony Ranch Chapter eleven

“I think you’re right about that!” Mandy chuckled and promptly hit the horn, giving it an extra-long burst followed by several shorter ones out of pure irritation. “Idiot! She snarled as we swerved violently to the left to avoid a large car that had hurtled around the bend, almost astride the white lines down the middle of the road.

“He was on his cell phone, fucking idiot!” Suzy yelled, her head twisting to aim the last two words at the motorist who’d flashed past.

“Typical BMW driver” Sarah shrugged. “A bloody sales rep or similar, I expect. Think they own the damn roads just because they’ve been given a big flashy German company car!”

“Well, what with the price of road tax related to engine size these days, they’ve got a point I quipped, only for my attempted sally to immediately fall short.

“Hey, girl!” Mandy snorted, tapping the dashboard of the big Range Rover. “Her Majesties Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency isn’t exactly giving me a free ride road tax-wise for this big brute, you know, and I’m not driving on the wrong side of the road, am I?”

“He’s probably just enjoyed an early lunch with a client, wine included and all on expenses or something similar. You know the sort,” Suzy interceded. “Anyway, it’s His Majesties, DVLA, these days, not hers!”.

“His, hers!” Mandy muttered something under her breath and added, “About time they sorted out all these damn potholes. Did you see that one a mile or so back? I read they were going to spend millions over the next five years on new cycleways while some places have holes you could trap a fucking elephant in!”

Sarah, who occupied the front passenger seat, half twisted around and winked at us. I knew what she meant, as did Suzy, who shared the rear seat with me. Our glamorous and extremely wealthy driver had numerous what one might call triggers that invariably set her off. The deplorable state of the country's roads was one. A recent report on BBC News suggested it would take at least nine years and cost twelve billion pounds to deal with all the existing potholes in the country’s road network, assuming they started work immediately. That was unlikely, given that there was no money available nor much enthusiasm at either local or national governmental levels for such a mammoth project.

“They’ll be okay, boss,” Sarah assured her, nodding backwards. She meant the occupants of the horsebox Mandy was towing. They’re well-secured and padded. We’ve just got seat belts, so that swerve affected us more than them. I wouldn’t worry about the livestock.” It was a gentle reminder that whizzed past her employer unnoticed.

“Bloody potholes!” Mandy muttered, seemingly to have already forgotten the BMW driver in favour of one of her pet peeves. Where the hell does it go? I mean, we car drivers pay the damn road tax, don’t we, and what do we get for it…bloody cycleways for those that pay nothing and complain like fuck if you happen to pass them a fraction too near because they refuse to use the damn things anyway! We’ve as much right to be on the public road as you!” she mimicked in a creaky falsetto voice.

“Hey, hey! Calm down and slow down!” Big Sarah cautioned, remember what we’re towing, woman!” It was more an order than a warning, but she’d worked for Mandy for a long time and was more friend than an employee, not to mention being her occasional Dom when her beautiful boss was in a rare subby mood.

Mandy glanced down at the speedo and immediately slowed. “Whoops,” she acknowledged apologetically. I got a bit carried away there for a moment, ladies. Foot down and hobby horsing rather than thinking pony horsey!” Her eyes flicked upwards to the rear-view mirror, checking the box behind, and just for a second, hers caught mine as Sarah grunted in approval.

There was a certain amused something in that brief look that made me recall a conversation I’d had with her about Sarah. We’d been looking at her dressage ponies when there was a startled squeal and commotion further down the big stable. Sarah had appeared from a stall, half dragging, half carrying young Suzy, and disappeared up the stairs to the staff apartment with the struggling protesting girl. I’d cast a quizzical eye at my host.

Mandy had laughed. “Occupational hazard, you might call it for the girls. Sarah gets an urgent case of the hots every so often while working on a pony, and Suzy seems the favourite of the month at the moment for providing instant relief to her affliction” She cocked her head to one side, pretending to listen. “Spanking, licking or a darn good dildo dicking, maybe all three. I should know; she never does easy on me, and I’m overdue a session. Maybe I got lucky today because you were here!”

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised by anything that went on in this outlandish equine palace of pain and pleasure the woman had created for herself but had still stared at her in amazement. Before I could even open my mouth to say something, there came a loud squeal from the staff flat balcony above, accompanied by a curious slapping sound followed by more squeals and a protesting squeak that ended in a giggle and then became a full-on protesting squeak as that curious slap sounded again.

“Rubber slapper”, Mandy commented. “Her favourite, Sarah’s, that is. I doubt Suzy is a big fan; I know I’m not. The one she uses on us isn’t as bad nor quite as painful as the one I use on these beauties,” she nodded towards her dressage pair, the statuesque Nordic sisters, “but it’s bad enough. It hurts, but there is very little damage to the skin. But still, a very hot bot bot afterwards, mind you. Let’s go have a cuppa; the pain and pleasure with Suzy on the receiving end tends to get a little noisy either way!”

My curiosity had certainly been aroused, and Mandy explained it further to me as we walked over to the big house. “It’s not exactly part of her job agreement, Sarah’s, I mean. It's more of what you might call a self-induced unusual perk, and we’re all fair game, even me. It’s kind of sexy and somewhat exciting being suddenly grabbed and forced to sub once in a while when you’re not expecting it. Want in? I’m sure Sarah would be delighted to add you to her victim list!” The woman had laughed mischievously as she said that.

“No, thank you”, I promptly replied. I’d handled those rubber slappers Mandy used on her prize ponies and seen her use them, and I had no desire to feel one on my backside, even if Sarah’s was less painful, which I doubted! Those squeals of young Suzy sounded pretty genuine, and besides, being forced to sub by Sarah had no appeal. I mean, I liked her, and she was a great tutor, but I’d prefer to leave our relationship at that. Indeed, the idea of being ‘dicked’ with big Sarah on the business end of a dildo was rather alarming!

It was not a regular occurrence, at least for her. Mandy had told me that over coffee, and I’d almost forgotten about it. For some reason, that little interchange between the front seats brought it back, and I wondered if that’s what had been in Mandy’s mind during that brief interval when our eyes met in the mirror. I shrugged, then again, maybe not; she’d probably forgotten all about it. I looked at my watch, about another hour from what they’d said when we set off after loading Candyfloss into the horse box.

“Are we nearly there yet, mum?” Suzy piped up from beside me in a whiny little girl's voice, having noticed what I was doing.

“Smack the annoying little brat's head!” Sarah advised me, and the mood in the car rapidly changed back to how it had been for most of the journey—like a giggling quartet of irrepressible schoolgirls on the back seat of the coach on a school outing, as Mandy had laughingly put it earlier. She was probably right about that, for we had giggled a lot for no real reason other than enjoying the day and mutual good company—the four of us in the big Range Rover. I doubted if Suzy’s Candyfloss and a male pony Mandy was selling on behalf of its owner were enjoying the journey quite so much!

I did as Sarah had suggested, but gently, with a single finger extended, telling Suzy to “Shush!” Then, I glanced back at the horsebox swaying innocently behind us before settling deeper into the soft, accommodating leather of the rear seat, my drowsy mind drifting back a few hours and beyond.

*****

“You’re excited”, Sally laughed, “I recognise all the usual signs!”

“Signs! What signs?” I put the plate I was wiping in its proper place and turned to face my diminutive lover. “What signs are you talking about?”

Sally grinned at me and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Um, let me see. There’s the blank expression, the constant pacing around, and then there’s the doing things over and over unthinkingly because your mind is elsewhere, and…”

“I do not do things over and over!”  I interrupted indignantly.

“No?” Her pretty little eyebrows shot upwards. “So why have you been trying to wear a hole in that plate with the dish towel? You’ve been wiping that same blue plate for at least five minutes while looking out the window. It’s not as though they will appear by magic out in the yard. We’ve more high-tech security stuff than the local city gaol!”

“What?”

“Gaol, pokey, prison, lock-up…”

“I know what the bloody word means, Missy”, I snapped back, throwing the dish towel back at her.

Sally caught it and promptly tossed it back. “That monitor will alert us when they approach the gate, plus the alarm will go off if they try to open the bottom gate. Remember, we have to let them in from up here. Honestly, girl, relax a bit, or you’ll get me all hyped up as well!” She finished.

I glared at her, but Sally was right. I was excited, and it would have been silly to deny it, although I was a little surprised by her perception, given we hadn’t been a twosome all that long. Then again, why not, for I’d already learned to recognise the advance warning signs that heralded one of the depressive bouts my gorgeous doll-like lover occasionally suffered from. Size mattered to Sally, and her cruel lack of it did occasionally have a debilitating mental effect on her.

Mandy and Bob had warned me about that more than once, and it was during those depressive periods that she was at her most savage, particularly with the two big working Stallions Bob owned. He’d told me that on one occasion, while they were away on a business trip and Sarah was in town for the day, she’d had two young stable girls secure them upon whipping frames one afternoon. ‘If Sarah hadn’t returned earlier that evening than she’d intended, I’d have ended up having to use the tractor a lot more about the estate. Bob had commented, ‘Nothing like as much fun as harnessing up those two huge beasts. But even so, it had been the better part of six weeks before they were fit for anything!’

Just before I returned home, he’d quietly taken me aside to remind me of that savagery. He nodded towards the horse box Sally and Suzy led the reluctant Medusa towards. I’d understood the message, and to date, so far, so good. Sally was prone to minor bouts of depression, but she also wasn’t one to hide her feelings, and I’d quickly learned to recognise the signs and, to quote the old western movie term, ‘head them off at the pass’ when dark clouds threatened. Sally, I’d discovered, was very receptive to my chosen erotic methods of preventing such depressive bouts from taking a firm hold!

I immediately understood where Bob was coming from with his quiet warning. Because of her job, she hadn’t been resident full time with Bob and Mandy, nor, I suspected,  would those big brutes have survived over long had that been the case. Medusa and Sally made for a perfect match—well, perfect from Sally’s perspective, but hardly a marriage made in heaven from the big Russian ex-bodyguard's point of view. Still, that was irrelevant, and Bob didn’t have to imply that finding a suitable replacement wouldn’t be easy. He was exceedingly wealthy, but, well, yes, such creatures don’t grow on trees, and I’d had a similar short conversation with Mandy only the day before.

We’d been in the stable examining Pavlova, Mandy’s gorgeous ex-ballerina pony whose lapsed dancing career was about to be revived, although under entirely new ownership, as the saying goes. Ownership under a regime far stricter and more punishing than the severest and most demanding Bolshoi chorographers could have devised and one that had already left its mark from the number of livid stripes decorating that previously pristine white skin. Mrs Mafioso had clearly not been a sun worshiper, for there was no hint of a bikini outline on that pale, lean body nor the slightest sign of a tan.

The stable building I’d noted on entering was somewhat tranquil, quieter than it had been for a couple of days. Not that it was usually a noisy place to work for the residents, the reluctant occupants of the numerous stalls didn’t make a lot of noise, nor could they with their mouths firmly bitted. The noise and it did get noisy, came when one of them was being disciplined. Many such punishments were ‘on the spot’ instant and painful for lapses in behaviour or foolish spurts of rebellion. The sounds of bamboo or leather kissing naked ponyhide oft exceed the muted squeals of those on the receiving end.

Mouth bits and similar impediments were usually removed for more formal and prolonged session of chastisement. This was partly because it gave the animal a greater opportunity to fill its lungs and thus express its humiliating agony at full volume and partly because every such miserable creature in the stable would hear a verbal reminder of what awaited those who might feel a similar desire to transgress. “Whip one pony good and hard, and the entire stable gets the message!” Sarah had told me once.

Sally emerged from the tack room and hurried past with her arms full of more straps and outsize pink leather items without glancing into Pavlova’s stall. Mandy was frowning as I raised a questioning eyebrow and then shook her head. “Where the hell did that lot come from? Has she been ordering outsize stuff on the quiet I wonder? I was surprised we had enough to outfit that Amazon the other day, let alone enough for Sally to experiment with rounds two and three!”   

“Sarah did tell me that she keeps a pretty good range of gear to hand,” I told her. “Maybe that’s how?” Sally’s little equipment excursion also explained the lack of noise in the stable, for Medusa’s mouth had been almost continually unimpeded since her arrival and she’d undoubtedly got a healthy pair of lungs on her. My tiny lover had been enthusiastically conducting that cacophony with various nasty batons ever since the big beast's arrival.

“Hmm, I’ll have to look into that then. There are limits!” Mandy scowled. “Sarah knows my tastes, graceful unicorns, lithesome antelope, and beautiful gazelles. I don’t need to stockpile gear to outfit the female equivalent of bull bloody elephants! At least Sally’s finally giving Medusa a break; you’ll need to keep a firm eye on her once you get home; remember that if she gets into one of her low moods. Now, talking of graceful creatures, this skittish beauty is more my style!” 

As I followed my indignant host's example, running an appraising hand over the struggling animal, I guessed she was about the same age as Mandy, maybe a year or two older, but not by much. A classic beauty just like her owner, but several inches taller due to those long legs that now ended in hoof boots, adding even more inches to her delightful slender figure. Mandy stood on the other side of the beautiful helpless creature, her leather gloved hand alternating between rump and breast as she savoured the warm trembling feel of the latest freshly caught mare to grace her stable.

I was doing likewise and equally enjoying the sensation under my palm and fingers. A few moments before, Mandy had winked at me and said with a laugh, “Just like a new car at first, eh!”

I nodded, knowing instinctively what she meant even though I’d only ever owned one new vehicle, my latest modest car. In the past, I’d somewhat wistfully sat in a few pristine models at the car dealers before heading for those in the outside lot at far lower price but with far higher mileage! My dad had always traded in the family run-about for the latest model every two years, so I wasn’t unfamiliar with that unique new car interior smell and the excitement accompanying such ownership.

Pity it wore off so quickly as would this unique sensation under my fingers; likewise, that thrill of touching fresh quivering pony hide. A trembling mixture of anger, fear, outrage and lord knows how many other emotions were affecting the creature as it felt our hands upon it and could do nothing to prevent it. That feeling of total omnipotence on my part set against the absolute helplessness of this brand-new pony and the shock, horror and disbelief it must be feeling both for the present and the future.

Just like the new car, it would quickly lose that freshness, that initial loathing of our touch as a certain familiarity, a degree of reluctant acceptance, of surrendering to the inevitable overcame it. It was only a minor acceptance, admittedly, but you could feel it, even sense it. If I stroked one of the other stable inmates, there would be that same trembling, that same hatred, that same feeling of helpless rage, but more out of fear of the known rather than the unknown. That was the difference. That newness, if I can call it so in Pavlova, was born more out of rage, anger, outrage and fear of the unknown still mingled with hope and in a week or so, it would be subtly different. Those marks on her lily-white hide delivered by the same hand that was softly caressing her would already have started that process. Just as the first few miles on the new car's mileometer started to banish that unique interior smell, the whip and horror of stable life would replace foolish hope with grim daily reality.

“Pavlova is a suitable name,” Mandy said. “Pavlova was a great Russian dancer, one of the first female ballerinas to travel worldwide. She was in a class way beyond anything this chorus girl could aspire to be, even if it hadn’t decided to mate with your Goldie. No doubt prompted by greed for Madam, as was here, evidently possessed very expensive tastes!”

I recalled the clothing Mandy had gleefully ripped off her latest acquisition, not that it had been salvageable anyway, not after the wearer's uncomfortable packaged journey to the stall she now occupied. Besides, she looked and certainly felt way better the way she was now, naked bar the various items of pony tack. I nodded and tweaked a pert nipple between my fingers while looking directly into a pair of beautiful but outraged eyes that silently expressed the same hatred that indignantly but mutely emerged from her silenced mouth.

“A little too expensive”, Mandy continued, her hand massaging one taught buttock cheek. “I gather that pertinent question started to be asked by hubby’s bosses, the legal ones, not his mafioso ones, as to how the bitch could afford to flaunt herself in such finery on his salary. I mean, yes, they’re all bloody bent and on the take over there. Still, I gather Pavlova, here, wasn’t as discreet as she should have been, even allowing for ‘official’ governmental corruption leeway, and believe me, that was probably a very sizeable allowance!”

The lovely mare writhed all the more beneath our hands but harnessed as she was and held in the centre of her stall by a long, taut nylon tether affixed to her posture collar, the other end leading upwards to a pully in the rafters and down to a cleat on the wall. Mandy had hauled it so tight that, well, on tip-toes would be incorrect since her toes were hidden within her hoof boots, but the steel hoofs under the boots were barely touching the dirt floor of her stall. She might writhe under our cruel hands, but her options to avoid such unwanted intimate attention were zilch!

The writhing and muted squeals became even more frantic as Mandy’s proprietary hand slipped lower and began to explore a freshly shaven mound. I got the impression that her discomfort wasn’t entirely due to the humiliation, for the area looked a little red against the surrounding alabaster skin and possibly sore. I recalled that her female treasures had initially been hidden behind a veritable forest of dark curly hair.

“Yes,” Mandy continued her theme. “The barren old soviet years might have ended, and while designer labels are undoubtedly available, they are not necessarily affordable to the wives of civil service employees, even those in the upper echelon and certainly not on the scale of this bitch’s spending! Even if your Goldie over there hadn’t blotted his copybook big time with his criminal ‘unofficial’ employers, I expect this silly bitch’s extravagance would have been causing alarm bells to ring with them as much as in the halls of the Kremlin or wherever! You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes or an Albert Einstein to know that one plus one does not add up to ten! Silly girl!” The massaging hand suddenly plunged a couple of leather-covered fingers into Pavlova’s recently shaven cunt and nipped a very sensitive piece of flesh.

The mare's eyes bulged, and she made frantic, incomprehensible strangling noises into her ball gag, which I noted Mandy was still using rather than a standard pony bit. From how she was freely talking, I guessed that the animal had a good command of the English Language and that Mandy was aware of that fact. You didn’t always need to use whip or crop to be cruel, and I expect every owner was familiar with adding verbal insult to injury.

That had been another topic for discussion over coffee with the girls as we took our regular mid-morning break from routine chores. I learned that some owners and trainers were only interested in or preferred fresh-captured livestock that didn’t understand the language of their new owners. That lack of comprehension tended to make it seem more of an animal, at least in their eyes. It learned as any such creature does by the repetition of curt, simple commands enforced by frequent application of the whip. My Beauty fell into that category when I thought about it.

Then there was the opposite side of the coin: those who could understand every word, which could also be amusing. Did they learn any faster? This had been the subject of debate, and there had been no general agreement. Sarah had looked at her watch before ushering everybody back to work and finished the discussion by saying, “Maybe it is a bonus; there is a certain extra element of delicious cruelty knowing the creature you’re handling can understand every word and the accompanying implications” she’d shrugged, simultaneously making an up and down motion with her right arm. “Then again, it makes no difference in the long run, does it, for the language of the whip is the simplest of all to learn!”

If that were true, then Medusa, Sally’s huge new mare, was probably already halfway towards complete fluency in that particular language. My sadistic tiny lover had virtually lived in the stable since the return of Mandy and Bob from Russia, along with their latest two-legged equine acquisitions. I’d heard Sarah enquire with a perfectly straight face if madam would like a mattress or a camp bed placed in the stall for convenience. Sally had paused the latest ‘language lesson’ only to stick her tongue out and tell the Head Stable girl to ‘fuck off’ before resuming Medusa’s intense tuition.

The temporary absence of those brutal ongoing lessons was suddenly very noticeable by the absence of noise emanating from Medusa’s stall. Generally, the place was relatively peaceful, with only the usual rustle and stirrings of the other occupants in their stalls and the sounds of the stable girls at work. By noise, you could substitute screaming and shrieking with a whole lot of verbal expletives. Not all of the latter in her native language for Medusa, it seemed, had a pretty good command of English or at least the coarser elements of it! While my mother tongue might be international, the language of diplomacy, commerce, and science. It also served effectively at the opposite end of the scale. I’d read somewhere that the word ‘fuck’ was globally by far the most heavily used expletive!

I glanced down the stalls towards the one Sally had disappeared into with that armful of leather tack and assumed her mare, the giant Russian ex-bodyguard, was getting a new ‘fit’ to use the abbreviation every girl teen seems to use on social media these days for her latest outfit. I did know that the big Russian woman was unlikely to find the ‘fit’, using the word in the conventional sense, comfortable. Did any pony? I pondered momentarily, wondering if there was a difference between becoming accustomed to wearing something and being comfortable. I recalled my hated school uniform necktie. I loathed that feeling of being slowly strangled, so it went on outside the school gates and was immediately ripped off the moment I exited—a comfort denied to our captive human animals.

Watching Mandy that morning, I was amused to note that my host wasn’t all that different from Sally in terms of being fascinated by her gorgeous Russian mare, her latest arrival. I glanced around the numerous stalls housing their captive occupants, wondering how many others had preceded them and lived their miserable lives as dictated by the woman beside me. She was a lovely, vibrant, and charming woman, but one who could make those poor creatures' horrible lives even more terrible merely on a whim!

As I've said previously, Pavlova was a beauty of the first order. A classic stunner who probably could have made it big in the model world with the right agency behind her. I wondered if there were any top model agencies in Russia. Moscow wasn’t exactly known as one of the world's fashion capitals, was it? The big four, as they are called, New York, London, Paris, and what was the fourth, the Italian one? I deliberated for a second, not Rome or Venice; no, it was “Milan!” I exclaimed aloud.

I wasn’t into fashion, never had been. I didn’t possess a single pair of ripped jeans or baggy tracksuit bottoms, jogging pants or whatever they called them, but I’d had the occasional glimpse of such glitzy shows on TV. A few years earlier, the owner of that trembling flesh under my fingers would have fitted right in strutting her stuff along the catwalk before an admiring, well-heeled audience. The models always seemed to move exceedingly fast and invariably displayed a sort of composed arrogance that was almost challenging. At least that’s how it seemed to me, and Pavlova could have managed that without even trying I’d have wagered. A far cry from that look on her face now!

Tall and slender, she had high Slavic cheekbones that added to her beauty and, at the same time, endowed her with a somewhat imperious, kind of regal look despite her present predicament. I wondered how long she’d keep that mane of silky chestnut hair that cascaded down her back almost to her waist, or rather, how long her new owner would allow the mare to keep it. Somebody, maybe Mandy herself, had given it a good wash and brushed all the tangles out of it, compared to when I’d first seen her fresh out of the delivery crate.

“What?” Mandy turned to give me a quizzical look, although her hands continued to enjoy the cringing flesh beneath them, I noted with a smile. “Milan! What about Milan?”

I started, breaking out of my reverie. “Nothing, nothing important” I widened my smile, which morphed into a grin as she shook her head, giving me an odd look before returning her attention to the hapless mare and immediately confirming why we got on so well together. We shared that certain chemistry and that smooth dovetailing we’d had right from our first meeting. Well, once I’d got over my shock of seeing her appear in my tatty old barn as was that evening! A meeting of minds, of kindred spirits and so forth, as her words mirrored my thoughts.

“It never changes”, Mandy mused aloud. “The excitement of having fresh wild pony flesh under your hands for the first time, although I doubt the animal shares that view!” she chuckled.

“Well, that settled my train of thought and answered an unspoken question, and I could understand why. Every pony was different and yet the same, was it not? I knew instinctively, unlikely as it was, that if ten, twenty, even a hundred such creatures passed through my hands, I’d never get tired of that excitement Mandy was talking about. I couldn’t let it pass with a jibe, though.

“Hardly first time, Ma’am” I gave her that impudent grin again. ”You’ve had your talons on or in this poor creature ever since you got home, and Bob told me you couldn’t resist having a couple of quick gropes even when they were in transit!”

“Rubbish”, she snapped, withdrawing one slim hand, looking at it for a second, then holding it out towards me with her fingers spread. “Bob talks way too much, and look, I don’t have talons! As nature intended, bar a little regular file maintenance and a delicate touch of nail gloss. All homegrown, completely au natural, as the French say. Not a hint of acrylic or what have you. I can assure you that there is nothing false about this ageing carcass!”

I chuckled and gave her a knowing wink. Ageing carcass was being a trifle harsh on herself, given how she looked. However, I knew where she was coming from, despite our relatively brief acquaintance, for  I’d heard the rant often enough. Any mention of young girls and ‘beauty improvements’ would set her off on an angry tirade about falsies, lip fillers, boob jobs, and what have you. Maybe irritable rather than angry, but it was no use pointing out that many women, me included, hadn’t been born with quite the same formidable weapons in our natural beauty arsenal that she had. Most of us, in fact, and whilst I didn’t personally feel a need to extend my nails, tits, lips or eyelashes, I wasn’t going to condone those who did.

I sensed another rant coming on and was about to make some mollifying remark to head her off before she started on about ‘teenage freaks’ and what were their silly mothers thinking of or something along those lines! Similar body enhancements that equally applied to ponies, such as tattoos and piercings, being another hobby horse of hers if I can use the expression. That had been another topic of discussion over morning coffee with the girls when I’d mentioned it. Piercings for various rings for control and enhancement had always featured to a degree in a lot of the ‘human equine’ literature I’d read and the artwork I’d collected. Was that the norm in reality, with Mandy being an exception or merely bog standard literary artistic licence?

There were a couple of ponies stabled I’d noted that sported such rings through their nipples, and one also with a large and, to me, unsightly nasal ring dangling down over its bitted mouth. One of the nipple-ringed ones was Candyfloss, the pink-haired old mare belonging to Suzy, and the others belonged to private owners. Mandy, the girls told me, didn’t like such enhancements, although her show dressage show ponies were lightly tattooed but only facially in place of make-up. Lips, eyeliner, shadow, etc. “She’s started experimenting with ‘caterpillars’, Sarah had told me, then laughed at my expression before adding, you know, false eyelashes, those exaggerated ones. Hairy caterpillar attachments, she calls them!”

Sarah had no firm opinion one way or the other, and I gathered that Mandy wasn’t by any means unique in her aversion to bodily modifications. “Maybe sixty- forty in favour of such modifications globally”, Sarah had surmised as we prepared to return to work. “Maybe a bit more, but don’t quote on that, but definitely much higher in Asia and the Arab world, almost standard practice over there, males as well”.

She hadn’t elaborated whether she meant piercings, tattoos, or both, and I hadn’t asked. I’d been thinking of her boss’s collection of gorgeous show ponies, thinking about the discrete way their faces were tattooed. It was subtle but very impressive and certainly made their facial features stand out despite the bit and bridle that tended to make the animal's facial features less obvious. Beauty wasn’t a bad-looking filly, as she was, but a few hours or whatever it took under the needle might not be a bad thing. Not for me, anyway and food for thought.

“Likewise,” I‘d said, removing my hand from Pavlova and holding it up. “I can’t even be bothered to paint my nails. As a young teen, I tried it a few times years ago but found it too fiddly and time-consuming, so I never bothered. Too much damn fussing about!”

“You have nice nails”, Mandy complimented. “I had a stable girl a few years ago, Toni; she’s working for someone else now. Lovely girl and very efficient but her finger ends, yuk! She was a nail-biter, and I used to cringe every time I saw her hands and…”

She stopped and turned her head, as did I. A loud, agonised shriek shattered the relative quiet of the stable, followed by another and, a moment later, a third. There was a pause and then a fourth and fifth. Then we could hear Sally's voice. She was speaking slowly and not quite loud enough to hear the words, but we both recognised the tone!

 “Goodness!” Mandy exclaimed, turning back to Pavlova. “Almost as loud as those squeals someone’s pretty daughter was making last night up in my private little top-floor apartment. My, what a troublesome young miss you’ve dropped! All she had to do was crawl obediently between my legs and put her luscious tongue to work where her new Mistress would most appreciate it, and I certainly wasn’t expecting perfection, not for her first time. Not the only one with a healthy pair of lungs. Maybe I should have also put her in a stall!” she turned to me. “I trust I didn’t keep you awake while I was encouraging the young Miss to be a smidgen more cooperative?”

My hand had resumed its exploration of pony flesh, and I felt said animal start violently at Mandy's casually spoken words. Hardly surprising, though, given the circumstances, and if looks could kill, then that one, in Pavlova’s eyes, would have interested the defence department. Turn that glint in them into a laser weapon, and you’d soon be incinerating your enemies. As it was, that look she threw at Mandy as she threw herself forward seemed almost enough to make the air sizzle, and I was almost surprised to see my friend still standing there, wholly unscorched and unfazed!

Heck, I’d been on the end of enough similar hostile glares from my Beauty, still was, but never one like that. A worthy ten plus on the one-to-ten intensity scale of ‘if looks could kill’. Unfortunately for Pavlova, they can’t, and besides, she was wasting her ammunition on Mandy. I doubt if it even registered with my glamorous friend, and that other old chestnut came to mind. ‘Water off a duck’s back!’. I wondered how many ponies had stood in a similar helpless position over the years, and not a single one had prevailed over the woman standing before them.

“Didn’t hear a thing” I smiled at her. “Turned in early and read for a bit and didn’t even wake when Sally crept into bed once she’d finished with Medusa”. Mandy and I simultaneously turned our heads inquisitively and looked down the stable, but silence prevailed once more. We looked at each other, shrugged and turned back to Pavlova, who was endeavouring to stamp her hoofs in the dirt and resuming those futile struggles against the bindings that restrained her. I'd noted that both new and old ponies did that a lot, but then, they didn’t have much else to occupy them most of the time, did they and I suppose ‘hope springs eternal’. It seemed my morning for old sayings and cliches.

“Oh, don’t go getting yourself into a state, silly pony!” Mandy stroked the livid creature lightly in a manner presumably intended to be reassuring. Pavlova’s body language clearly indicated it was having the opposite effect, as did her expression or what I could see behind bridle straps—actions which didn’t sit very well with her new owner. Mandy gave up the gentle strokes and reached to grasp the animal's bridle and pull its face near hers.

“Get real, you stupid beast from the East! I can do anything, and I mean anything, I want with and to you and at any time and not just you. You’ve already felt my whip, haven’t you? Yes,” she paused and shook the bridle savagely. “Yes, and you didn’t like that one teeny little bit, did you? Well, I’ve only just started, and since you’re purely a private project and not destined for the show ring, there are no restraints on me regarding this lily-white hide of yours, none whatsoever! No fastidious judge will knock marks off because the canvas isn’t blank! Your daughter irritated me last night, and her skin soon learned what a bad idea that was” Her hand shook the bridle again.

“Your silly little bitch didn’t want to show me how affectionate she could be, so once I’d finished turning her butt into zebra hide with my cane, I showed her just how loving I could be courtesy of a large strap-on dildo. Mind how she squealed, but then she was a virgin front and back, wasn’t she? But not anymore!”

Mandy suddenly laughed and looked at me. “I’ll admit I did get a little bit carried away, but it was fun, and my latest pretty might be a little sore inside and out, but she’ll get over it. I got the distinct impression that mama here had been something of a Puritan when it came to her progeny, at least as far as practical experimentation went for them” She paused and chucked wickedly and tweaked the nearest bare nipple. “I don’t know how clued up the brat was on sapphic theory, but the little bitch caught on quick enough once I’d got myself suitably tooled up! No, no, NO!” she admonished, this time nipping the same nipple viciously between those natural and very firmly fixed fingernails!

“I expect poor Bob will be feeling lonely alone in that big bed of yours”, I chided.

“Oh, pish and tish!” she exclaimed. “He’s well used to it by now; besides, it’s not that big, standard King size and nothing special! He’s like you. He reads for a bit and then zonks, usually long before I go to bed unless I’m elsewhere, otherwise engaged for the night. I expect he’ll be even more fatigued after all the energy he’ll be spending on, or maybe I should say, up, his latest ponyboy. You notice how he shot off right after breakfast instead of lingering over his second coffee and perusing the financial news in his morning paper as he usually does?”

I nodded. “He did seem a little eager this morning.”

“Phhffff! Eager, I’ll say he was, and it had nothing to do with share prices. Didn’t you see how he gobbled up his bacon and eggs, shovelling it in with hardly a hint of anything touching his teeth? I’m surprised he didn’t choke! Boiler stoking, not eating, I call it when he gets excited. The idiot will be sucking on his indigestion tablets by lunchtime, and he’s not supposed to take them with his other tablets”.

“Other tablets?”

Mandy laughed. “He calls them his ‘keepy-uppy’ pills!”

I frowned, somewhat perplexed. “Keepy-uppy?” I could remember playing that in the garden with my dad as a kid.

Mandy laughed again and held one forefinger upwards, wiggling it. “No, Honey, not keeping a soccer ball in the air without letting it touch the ground! I keep telling him to go easy they’re not the best things for his heart at his age.”

“Oh!” I nodded as her meaning suddenly clicked, as did the eager bit. A little earlier, I’d glanced out of the big bedroom bay window before heading down to breakfast and paused momentarily, watching as Sarah exited the stable, leading out two ponyboys. “I get it. I saw Sarah with two of his pretty ponies harnessed to a cart earlier.

“Fresh meat”, she chuckled, diverting her raised finger to tease Pavlova’s left nipple. “If you’d hung about, you’d have seen young Buttercup being fastened on behind. I wasn’t the only one having a quick grope on the way home, by the way. That handsome colt has got the cutest rump on it, and right about now, I expect it will be on the receiving end of some very loving attention. Very deep and penetrating loving attention!” she laughed and then slapped Pavlova hard. “No, No, silly pony, behave. I was saving the whip for later when I feel more energised, but if ….”

“Now, what do they want!” This time, the loud, irritated words came from directly in front of me rather than from the depths of my memory.

I jerked out of my extended reverie at that loud, irritated exclamation from Mandy as she slowed to a stop and pulled partly onto the grass roadside verge as a police car moved slowly past and pulled in just ahead with a blue light flashing ominously on its roof bar. Four heads swivelled following it, but mine was the only one that uttered a squeak of alarm.