Pony Ranch

Chapter 16

The cute young groom had excused himself and headed towards the stable building to return the impressive Stallion to its stall. He’d advised us that most of the auction stock was still to arrive. Some are coming this evening, and one seller was arriving early tomorrow morning, but they’d all be available for viewing by the scheduled time, 11 a.m. A buffet lunch was planned for midday, and the auction would commence at 1 p.m. prompt. Then he’d grinned and added, ‘ish!’ knowing his boss.

Sir Jeffrey's new facility was certainly impressive. It was big, light, and airy but still with that distinctive smell or aroma, if you prefer, of captive human equines. Why did they stink so much, I wondered? Or did normal, I mean, stables with real horses smell the same? It wasn’t just shit and piss either, nor other identifiable things but a particular something else that gave it that unique pong. Well, I assumed it was unique, but maybe one day I’d get the chance to visit a ‘normal’ stable, but then again, maybe not. I’d no interest in the four-legged variety after all. I made one of those immediately forgotten mental notes to ask my more knowledgeable companions.

“I doubt he’ll be splashing out on fixing the house plumbing any time soon,” Sarah observed, gazing around the facility as we stood in the entrance, looking across to where the ‘Gals’, as Dolly called them, were exercising their respective, newly acquired ponies. This lot must have cost him quite a packet!”

“We all spend far more than we should on our little hobbies,” Mandy chuckled, winking at me, and then laughed, presumably at my expression.

Little hobby! I thought of her sizeable operation and what it must cost to run, and that was leaving aside what she must spend on new livestock. I recalled my mother’s modest little hobbies or interests, as my father had called them. Flower arranging, dressmaking and collecting souvenir pottery depicting various royal family members. The latter, I recalled, had been carefully wrapped in paper and placed into several cardboard boxes by me when sorting things out after her funeral. I’d forgotten all about them until now. They were stored in my loft by the water tanks. Maybe I should get them out and let Sally rummage through them, as she is a royalist fan, and if not, perhaps a few extra pennies for the kitty if I eBay’d them. Mum always said she’d got one or two rarer pieces in her collection.

I glanced around the building again. It was certainly big enough to provide space for a small factory operation, and I suppose, in one sense, it was one. Rather than manufacturing inanimate objects, its prime purpose was to produce live ones. To train human equines, male human equines predominantly if not exclusively from what I’d gathered, and in a sense, I suppose you could deem that a form of manufacturing or at least breaking and re-moulding such unfortunate subjects.

There was ample open space in the middle, holding pens or stalls on one side. On the other, tack, equipment and kit rooms plus what must be a staff rest room from what I could see through the open door. I doubted that the captive livestock ever got to sit on those chairs or watch that big TV I could see mounted on the wall. A sizeable area at the far end was devoted to parking space for various carts and carriages ranging from ultra-lightweight singletons to a huge open carriage that could have easily accommodated six people plus a driver. I know there are specific names for various horse-drawn carriage types, but I could only think of two. The famous London two-wheeler Hansom cabs that Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson were always diving into on their diverse errands and the old Stagecoaches of the American West.

“Big”, I muttered to myself.

“You think? Mandy sounded very surprised and pulled a face. “What, that thing? You think so! Looks somewhat puny to me. I’d have thrown that one back if I’d caught it. Real scrawny runt of the litter type! Nothing remotely big about it!”

I didn’t bother to correct Mandy, for we were obviously looking at different things. I’d been eyeing that impressive open carriage and its plush green leather upholstery and speculating how many ponyboys you’d need to haul it at a respectable pace. Six, but no. Would even eight be enough if that thing had a full passenger load? Ten, twelve, hell, what a sight that would be. Imagine sitting on the driving seat, and another thought struck me. “You’d need one hell of a long whip, and could you even…..” I spoke my thoughts aloud without intending to and trailed off as I contemplated the idea. Maybe not harnessed in pairs as I was used to seeing, but what about in threes or even four abreast? A standard carriage whip could easily reach all of them, wouldn’t it?

“Why? Looks more like someone already given him a good thrashing with the stable cane to me!”

My three companions were gathered around a harnessed figure bent over a whipping hurdle that had caught their eye while my attention had been elsewhere. Runt was probably apt, for I’d never seen such a small and skinny pony. His harness tack was a horrible dayglow lime green, which I didn’t find terribly appealing, nor did it appear to fit its underweight recipient very well, as Sarah noted.

“Looks like they need to go a size or two smaller or put some additional holes in those straps. Talk about leaving wriggle room!”

“I don’t think there’s room; they’re already as tight as they can go”, Mandy observed. “Besides, it doesn’t look like it has the strength for a single wiggle. What an awful colour!”

“Hideous” Dolly agreed. “You’ve got to admit that most of his livestock looks pretty damn impressive in their luminous eye-catching get-up, but not this one. I’m unsure if it’s the colour or the pathetic creature wearing it. Probably both, and  I wonder where he gets it from and how they get heavy harness leather to….to what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Fluoresce?” I offered. “I was wondering the same thing?”

The four of us poked and peered curiously at the skinny youth's harness, hardly paying attention to him. He remained comatose throughout, and it was only the fact that he was warm and I could see his prominent ribs moving up and down as he breathed that showed he was still alive.

“Skin and bone”, Sarah muttered derisively as she scratched at a leather strap with her fingernails. “If they served me this fucker on a plate, I’d send it back to the kitchen and tell them I’m not a veggie, so give me one with at least a little meat on! The colour of this leather harness he’s wearing is only surface covering by the look of it, not paint, maybe some form of dye or pigment, but it’s not gone very deep. Pretty tenacious though, my fingernails not shifting it!”. 

Mandy leaned forward to look at the strap Sarah had been rubbing. “I wonder what his story is?” The youth showed some sign of life, flinching and emitting a barely audible muted exclamation into his mouth bit as she absently poked his skinny rump with her forefinger. A bleeding, welted rump that showed every sign of having been thrashed recently and well thrashed at that by a cane, as she’d observed.

“I can’t see it lasting all that long in daily use” One of Dolly’s hands had joined the harness investigation. “I mean, the ones I’ve seen stalled or in use usually look so pristine. Maybe they’ve just dressed them all up in their Sunday best outfits for the auction, and then it will be back to their scruffy work-a-day outfits afterwards?” she said it slowly in the tone of one who hasn’t convinced herself, let alone anyone else.

“Maybe,” Mandy said dubiously as she stood up. “I’d be surprised if the old skinflint ran to two sets of harness tack for them, and whenever I’ve called in, they’ve always been….” she paused.

“Dressed to impress”, Sarah supplied. “I’ve never seen them in anything ordinary either! Maybe this stuff is more durable than it looks” She flicked her fingernails several times. “I hope it's not radioactive or something silly like that”.

“I’ll buttonhole him tonight at dinner,” Dolly said. “And about this weedy little colt. I’m just as curious about him as his tack. Now, how about those mares that helpful young man mentioned? My fingers have the urge to sample something other than male pony flesh,” she laughed, flexing her fingers like talons. “They’re over there where the youngsters are playing, I see”.

“I wouldn’t worry yourself, dear,” Mandy said as we walked on, seeing Sarah still staring thoughtfully at her fingers. “I mean, livestock is far too valuable to dress them in something that would kill them simply for personal vanity. That dayglow material is everywhere these days in one form or another. You don’t see roadmenders and the like suddenly kneeling on their backs with their feet in the air when you drive up the motorway, do you? Whoops, another luminescent jacket casualty!”

Mandy followed Dolly and didn’t see Sarah lean close and whisper to me. “Hmmfff. The impatient way she drives past or through roadworks, I'm thinking it’s not the material in those flashy jackets that’ll kill some poor devil one day!

I nodded. Mandy, I’d noted, wasn’t the most patient or forgiving of drivers, plus her vocabulary of the coarser elements of the English language was impressive should some wayward motorist give her cause to demonstrate it!

*****

“Having fun?” Mandy enquired as we approached the motorised pony walkers in the furthest corner of the building. There were three of them, one in the corner and two in front of it, and unlike others I’d seen, they only had two revolving arms. I thought it was a bit of a waste, but when would they ever have twelve or even nine ponies on them? Mandy had several at her estate, indoors and outside, but the most I could recall seeing was three ponies at one time, which was spread between two walkers.

“Overkill”, I muttered.

“Eh?” Mandy switched her attention to me.

“Talking to myself”, I admitted sheepishly.

She stared at me for a second, then laughed. “Bob’s started doing that. He covers himself by saying he’s merely addressing the most intelligent person in the room when I point it out, as if!” she sniffed derisively. “ I call it advancing senility. I caught him with his pants off rogering young Poppy in the stable the other afternoon not long ago”.

I frowned, wondering what was so unusual about that. I’d seen Bob in action several times with one of his young ponyboys. That was their primary function; was it not other than pulling his carts? In fact, the carts merely transported them and himself to one of those speciality mounting stations he had dotted about the estate, where, as Mandy put it, he duly and enthusiastically rogered them!

“Wearing odd socks!” Mandy exclaimed, having translated my look. “They weren’t even the same colour and pattern, never mind the length, and he hadn’t even noticed!”

“Worrying,” Suzy said, taking a step backwards to join us. Wearing odd socks is probably the second sign of madness after talking to yourself. I’d take him to a head shrink if I were you, pronto.” She giggled and dodged out of the way as Mandy aimed a casual slap in her direction.

“Don’t get cheek, girl, and I’ll remind you that you’ve only got your immature little hands on yonder ponyboy courtesy of nice Uncle Bob's bank account, so behave if you want to keep him; otherwise, he may end up over a hurdle having his bum vigorously pounded by Captain odd socks!”

“I’m so sorry” The girl's insincere grin belied that sentiment, I thought. Besides, I knew she had little to fear. Bob got on well with all of Mandy’s stable girls, but Suzy was definitely his favourite and probably more of a surrogate granddaughter than an employee. That reminded me of something. I knew Mandy had a son and daughter. I’d seen their pictures in the house, and she’d talked about her daughter's pony the first time I visited, but she’d hardly mentioned them since. A  family rift, maybe I wondered, and did she have any grandchildren? I made another mental note. Suzy or maybe Sarah would know, and Sally certainly would once I returned home.

“Heya, Aunty Dolly” Charlie half turned and smiled at us. “Look what Mandy and Sarah kindly brought me for my un-birthday present”.

“Bought, not brought, Missy!” Mandy corrected, wagging one admonishing finger. “You can start being possessive once she is bought and I’ve received a cheque…but by the look of Pandora, I’m wasting my breath if I talk about damaging the goods!”

Charlie giggled and pouted. “Oh, I’m just letting her know who’s boss with a few love taps; you know how it goes and don’t worry. Grandaddy will pay up; he always does”.

The girl gave Mandy an impudent grin and promptly returned her attention to her new acquisition, who just happened to be conveniently near as she kept pace with that relentless mechanical arm above her. The girl's whip flicked out immediately, making the shapely creature jump and squeal as the tip expertly caught her left rump cheek with a familiar crack.

“Yes, but it’s the length of the ‘always’ that worries me Mandy muttered sourly to the rest of us.

“Waste of a finger wag there, methinks, boss”, Sarah sniggered and then laughed at the look Mandy gave her.

I could understand my friend's frustration, or maybe irritation would be a better word. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that she was a serious person as such, indeed far from it. She had a wicked sense of humour and was pretty relaxed and easy-going most of the time. Well, except for the training of her ponies and similar, of course. But it wasn’t hard to sense that young Charlie's somewhat offhand approach to the finer points of property ownership had annoyed her. I mean, Pandora didn’t even belong to Mandy, did she? My friend had brought her to sell to the highest bidder on her client's behalf. A responsibility she would take seriously, and while reasonably happy to indulge the youngster for a suitable price, the girl's casual and seemingly indifferent attitude was not entirely to her liking.

“Hey, it’s okay, Boss,” Sarah said seriously in response to that look she’d just received. “We brought her to sell, and we have and don’t worry, we’ll get a good price”.

“I wasn’t aware that we’d discussed a price”, Mandy answered with a touch of asperity as Charlie's whip found a tender and rather juicy-looking pony udder to bite. I couldn’t answer for Mandy, of course, but there is something about seeing a gorgeous firm udder bounce under the whip like that invariably gets my juices flowing. I have to ration myself with Beauty, but… my eyes wandered across to the two other female ponies on the far walker and lingered thoughtfully. I had a few pennies in the bank, and I knew Sally wasn’t exactly a pauper.

Sarah put a restraining hand lightly on Mandy's shoulder and leaned nearer. “Nope, we haven't yet, but we will, won’t we? And given the goods have been somewhat damaged by a certain young lady, someone else will have to pay up, won’t he? It's his responsibility, so no argument! I’m sure you have a suitable price in mind, given that our merchandise is no longer suitable for the auction tomorrow…..” her voice trailed off as a calculating smile grew on her employer's face.

Pandora squealed again as that same udder received similar enthusiastic treatment, and this time, Charlie did put a hand to her mouth and mutter, “Whoopsie!” as she threw a suitably apologetic, not to say worried, look in Mandy’s direction.

The big smile she got in return clearly disconcerted the girl, as did the imaginary figure Mandy traced in the air with her forefinger. It puzzled me for a second until Sarah chuckled, and I realised it must represent a pound sign. Given that smile and how she stretched her arm, I thought it must be quite a sizeable pound sign.

‘Gals, ’ Dolly had called them a few moments ago, I remembered as I looked at those two ponies, one male, one female, obediently stepping in the usual circle dictated by the walkers relentless arm. They had no choice, not when fasted to those impersonal tethers and in fear of the eager waiting whips of said Gals. They had no choice but to keep on stepping. Gals….maybe young savages would be a better term!

I eyed the two hapless creatures walking that endless walk to nowhere, noting that their new owners hadn’t been slow in leaving their marks or marks plural upon their unfortunate acquisitions. Indeed, it felt like we’d hardly been here five minutes.

“Kind of cute but also worrying”, Sarah noted, her thoughts mirroring mine. “I sometimes wonder if it’s a good thing letting them loose in the stable at such a young age!”

“I heard that, Charlie,” called out. She paused briefly as she gauged the moment, then flicked her lash out again with practised ease. Her free hand made an obscene gesture behind her back and aimed in our direction.

“Charming!” Sarah muttered.

I surveyed Pandora, wondering how old Charlie had been when encountering her first pony. Using a whip that accurately or efficiently wasn’t as easy as it looked. That was one lesson I’d learned early on, and subsequently spent hours flogging bales of hay and similar inanimate objects. Even when you’d, to a certain extent, mastered the art of that ‘whiplash’ arm action, there was still the question of aim and accuracy and how much of the tip you wanted to land on sensitive flesh. Also, the question of force is no less critical. I suspected that there was some pretty impressive physics involved in what that teen was doing to Pandora, although I doubted the animal would be thinking along those same lines right now.

There was a considerable difference in the intensity of a whipping, and one had to exercise high self-control. Fortunately, that was another early lesson I’d learned before I’d wrought too much damage on Beauties tender hide. Flogging a beast invariably got me worked up in a sexual sense as my innate sadism came to the surface. It was all too easy to let those delicious hedonistic sensations of absolute power and heartless cruelty override common sense.

It was not just self-pleasure either, for I recalled one episode when Sarah suddenly appeared at my side to put a restraining hand on my whip arm back at Mandy’s stable. I’d awoken in a foul mood, snapped irritably at everybody for the first hour or so, and then Beauty made the mistake of annoying me when I was grooming her. I’d immediately dragged her down to one of the whipping hurdles, secured the poor animal across it and equipped myself with the nastiest-looking whip I could find.

The whip had been long, far longer than I was used to and much heavier, so my clumsiness with it and the fact that Beauty wasn’t bitted and thus screaming her head off when I did successfully land a painful stroke undoubtedly saved the poor thing from perhaps a life-changing beating. Sarah’s hand and quiet verbal caution had quickly restored me to my senses before I’d done any lasting damage. I still shake a little when I recall the incident and wonder how long I would have gone on if Beauty hadn’t been shouting the place down!

What would have happened had Mandy not suddenly appeared in my stable that day? I sometimes wondered how long Beauty would have lasted had I been left to my own devices. There was a streak in me that was not very nice, well, given that I was undoubtedly not a very nice person anyway, at least as far as pony ownership and interest went! Maybe we’d both been lucky that day, although I doubt Beauty appreciated it. My desires and ambitions to own such a pony might have been quickly cut short by my sadistic enthusiasm!

Sarah had taken me aside for a coffee and a chat to cool down. After we’d returned Beauty to her stall, she showed me a variety of whips and told me a little about them and how she would advise their use and when. Sarah followed that up after coffee the following morning with a rather unsavoury but illustrative practical demonstration she’d arranged. She took young Madeleine and me to the paddock behind the stable, where she had two fresh pig carcasses hanging up, no doubt delivered earlier by the local village butcher or maybe a nearby farmer. If memory serves me right, Dr Watson records in one of his short stories a certain Mister Sherlock Holmes beating up on a similar carcass to assess the effect of beating and bruising after death or some similar reason.

Our experiments for the next hour or so had less to do with budding criminal forensic research and more with degrees of outright plain damage. Sarah demonstrated her skill with various whips and invited us to do similar. The pigs didn’t mind, of course, but between the three of us, we energetically ruined a lot of good bacon that session. Our rather bizarre practice covered everything from light kisses that hardly damaged the flesh yet could still be exceedingly painful to ripping those dead carcasses to pieces. Indeed, having got the bit between our teeth, excuse the expression. Madeleine and I were somewhat shocked several times when we looked closely at the damage our enthusiastic handiwork had wrought, especially in the final sessions when we’d worked ourselves up to doing evil upon those dead pigs! Which, of course, is why you don’t grab a particularly large, heavy, and vicious whip and flog a helpless pony when you’re in the grip of a terrible rage, reasonable or otherwise. Lesson learned!

“Think about what you are doing, ladies, and don’t be horrible. There’s no excuse for random cruelty,” was one of Sarah’s points when we had yet another coffee on the nearby picnic benches a little later. I recalled her sounding slightly shocked as she’d stopped me half-killing Beauty the day before. Likewise, I remember young Maddy looking at me with her eyebrows arched questioningly at her words, and we’d both glanced instinctively towards the stable and its hapless occupants. ‘Random cruelty!’ Talk about having double standards! But I also understood, or kind of understood, what Sarah was getting at. I mean, I’d flog Beauty without a second thought, wouldn’t I? The idea of hitting or kicking my young pup Raven appalled me, even if he had done something wrong as the rascal frequently did!

That latter bit wasn’t quite what she’d meant, but losing one's rag around such valuable and unique two-legged animals was not a good idea. Some, well, most of the ponies in Mandy's stable bore the marks and scars of many floggings, but that was inevitable, except for her beautiful show and dressage ponies. Their hides never felt anything other than the rubber slapper, but I’d seen her apply that and even accepted a light, playful slap from it myself, and even that stung far worse than I’d imagined it would. Fifty or so of those would be unimaginably painful!

Ultimately, there had to be a specific method to our sadistic madness and flogging a pony to death merely for personal amusement wasn’t considered good etiquette nor very practical. Yes, they needed to be disciplined and trained, and the whip was a very effective tutor in that respect, but we did that for a reason. I’m pretty positive our captive livestock would take issue on that point, but they weren’t in any position to do so, were they?

Not that Sarah was being a killjoy in any way. She had winked at us and made up both giggle by saying, ‘If it was, em…..personal amusement and a certain delicious physical stimulation we desired rather than simply good old fashioned obedience discipline? Well, just don’t be silly. You can have a lot of fun without killing the poor things. Remember the old motto. If you eat all the jam today, there will be no jam to spread on your bread tomorrow. I prefer cane and paddle when I’m in that sort of… playful mood, and maybe the tawse as well! Leave whips for more serious sessions! ’

I recalled all of that as Charlie's vertical finger generated a loud snort of indignation from Sarah and a slight sniff of disapproval from Mandy on my other side.

“Charming!” Dolly muttered, echoing Sarah of a moment before, adding, “Manners, girl, manners maketh the madam!”

Charlie turned her head and gave us an adorably innocent cheeky grin. Just for a second, she looked like a cute, mischievous ten-year-old before turning her attention back to Pandora plodding along in her circle.

“Sarah grunted and then nodded as I whispered, “Spoilt brat” in her ear her ear “and you're not going to change that!”.

Adorable though,” Mandy murmured with a wink at the pair of us. “Come on, Dolly, let us look at those other two as you suggested.” She gave the girl an indulgent smile, and they headed toward the other walker with her friend.

I thought it was not quite the word I would have used, looking at those fresh whip marks that marred Pandora's rump and flanks as the poor creature high-stepped for all she was worth, clearly desperate to avoid more ‘adorability’ if I can put it like that. Still, resuming my early train of thought,  I admired her handiwork. Given her upbringing, maybe she had been using a whip since the age of twelve or…I shrugged, perhaps even earlier. When had Mandy introduced her kids to her hobby, I made another of those ‘immediately to be forgotten’ mental notes as the girl whip cracked yet again on her pony’s firm rump.

“Can I borrow that one for a minute or two?” A frown creased Suzy’s pretty face as she shook her coiled whip and looked at it closely. “This one I borrowed isn’t working properly!”

Cue a certain amount of loud hilarity from three of the spectators, I merely smiled, and that was mainly at the puzzled expression on my young friend's face, but I was still caught in the vexed full volume “FUCK OFF!” she directed at us as she tossed the whip aside.

We took the hint, or at least Mandy did, returning a few yards and grabbing Sarah's arm, wheeling her away before she could say anything. Clearly, the big woman wanted to, but hilarity stifled her verbal ability to respond promptly. “Not working!” was all she could get out. As Mandy half led, half dragged her Stable Mistress towards the other occupied walker with its two mares.

Dolly, also chuckling, followed them. I hovered for a second as Charlie grinned at her new friend, tossed her whip to Suzy, folded her arms, and stood watching her new pony with a thoughtful look on her sweet, young face.

“Penny for….” I paused as a rapid movement caught my eye. A whip cracked loudly upon pony hide, and Candi squealed aloud, his mouth bit presumably looser than that of Pandoras. That didn’t surprise me, for Suzy was like me; we loved hearing them squeal, and she wasn’t wasting any more time. “Thoughts”, I finished as Suzy emitted a satisfied grunt.

“Piercings! Nipple rings, bells and suchlike,” Charlie responded without taking her eyes off her new acquisition. Grandad does not go in for them, and besides, I don’t think they look right on boy ponies but girl ones. What do you think?”

“Mmmm,” I considered eyeing Pandora. “Personally, I’m not a fan, and I know Mandy isn’t, but it’s early days for me. I’ve only come into pony ownership recently, so I’ve not seen many such animals. Maybe I'll be better positioned to decide when I’m a little more experienced”.

Candi squealed and jumped twice as the whip caught him again, and I heard Sarah call from the other walker. “Found one that works then?” the amusement still evident in her voice.

“Bitch”, Suzy muttered and sent her whip flying out again.

Charlie looked at me and giggled again, looking way younger than she was—not that she was that old, anyway. Then she returned her attention to Pandora. “Only recently?” her tone was curious.

“Hey!” Mandy waved at me. “We’re thinking of heading back, so come over here and bring that cack-handed brat with you unless she wants to walk back to the village.”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow” I chuckled and then looked at the ‘brat’. “Ready?” Suzy scowled and made as though to deliver one more blow to her new ponyboy but decided against it and offered the whip back to Charlie.

“It was the damn handle on that one”, she muttered, pointing to the whip she’d discarded. “It just wouldn’t, you know!” she made a whip-cracking motion as she joined me.

Charlie cut in. “Leave him on here to get a bit more exercise. I’ll put him back in his stall for you. Can’t guarantee that I won’t use a little additional encouragement, though,” she finished with another wicked giggle as she reclaimed her whip, sensing Suzy’s indecision.” He looks kind of funny, though without a tail. Grandaddy always like them to have tails and…” she sniggered. “We all know what that means for them and their poor poopy chutes!”

“Okay,” Suzy nodded and then raised a warning finger. “But not too much encouragement, oh, and no, tail. I don’t want him spoiled that way yet,” she said, giving Candi an evil grin. “He’s just felt my whip for the first time, well, hardly felt it”, she corrected herself. I’ll save his first tail experience for when I get him home, and we can both appreciate the moment when I deflower him for the first time, so no, and I repeat, No Tail!”

Charlie giggled. “Wouldn’t dream of it, and deflowering them has a different meaning here…well similar, I suppose, and Grandaddy always attends to that himself for their first few times! See you later.

I paused momentarily to look at the two ponies as Suzy stalked away, muttering something under her breath. They made a handsome pair coupled like that on the same walker. From what Helga had told us, the twenty-year-old wild Australian colt had never felt the savage caress of the lash until now. He stumbled ungainly around, almost as though he was intoxicated, dragged along by the arm of the mechanical walker, unlike the more graceful, experienced, high-stepping Pandora. A vivid contrast, I thought, reminded me of the first time I’d had Beauty and Goldie harnessed likewise back at my place, although Beauty was nowhere as polished yet as Pandora was. Poor boy, but then I knew from my brief self-experiments how hard it was to move in those chunky pony hoof boots!

Knowing Bob’s tastes, I was a little surprised he’d let this one get away, but then he was decidedly hunky and probably good-looking as well under his bit and bridle. Under very different circumstances and knowing my bisexual young blonde friend’s tastes, his caged boat might have found a very warm and accommodating port! Unfortunately for him, he’d inadvertently sailed into decidedly unfriendly seas, been boarded by pirates of the most merciless and mercenary kind, and no hungry sharks were awaiting his walk off a very short plank. Had I been plodding around in his place and knowing Suzy, I’d have opted for the sharks!

Ponies are mute, or at least supposed to be, in terms of human speech. Communication is a one-way process and a very simple one at that. Basic commands enforced by the whip and frequent repetition till the animals learned, and unless they wanted a well-stripped hide, they better learn fast. There were some owners, I’d been told, who were a little more…well, I was going to say lenient, but that’s not quite the word I was looking for. ‘Idiotic!’ was the term Mandy had used with an accompanying loud derisive snort when discussing it.

Apparently, they allowed or encouraged some rudimentary form of two-way communication based on the animal stamping a designated hoof, one for no and two for yes. That sort of thing. ‘Downright stupid’ had been Mandy’s opinion. ‘Why should I be interested in what a fucking pony thinks about something or understands what I want? That’s what my whip is for. To teach it what I want! Not asking them what they fancy for their fucking breakfasts!’.

Thinking about it later, I decided that I fully agreed with her on that one. Heavens, go too far down that route, and you’ll end up having a conversation with the beasts, wouldn’t you? Limited, perhaps, but where did you then draw the line? Did I stand there tacking Goldie up with him, repeatedly stamping one hoof whenever I asked if that last strap was too tight? Foolishness!

That didn’t mean the captive human animals couldn’t communicate, for we can do that in many ways. Body language being one, and facial expressions are another. Admittedly, you couldn’t see much of their faces, what with mouth bits and bridles, but unless blindfolded, you could always see their eyes. I’d only been an owner of such creatures for a short time. Still, looking at Candi, I suddenly realised how much more perceptive or perhaps receptive I’d become towards such subtle subliminal signals of acute despair.

I could see that mute appeal for help in his eyes and the shock in them every time he approached. There was always shock, that look of utter disbelief. That ‘this can’t be happening’ despairing look the new ones always had. I hadn’t seen many newly caught animals, but I’d seen enough to be very familiar with that traumatised look they all had in their eyes. Indeed, my stallion, Goldie, back home still had it to a major extent despite all he’d been through to date, which invariably gave me an additional kick every time I entered his stall, especially with a whip or cane in my hand. He couldn’t seem to comprehend what had happened, what was happening to him and worst of all, what would continue happening to him. How delightful!

On the other hand, Pandora, the twenty-four-year-old filly, had that same dull, dispirited look in her eyes that so many ponies I’d seen recently had. They knew it had happened to them, and they had no silly illusions left about their lives being any different. The animal might have a new owner for better or worse, but in the owner’s eyes, it would still be nothing more than an animal. Pandora did have a gorgeous long mane, though, and such a lily-white skin as though she’d rarely been out of doors during her captivity and hardly marked with the lattice of old whip marks and scars that many such ponies displayed on their hides.

I wondered how long she'd been in captivity and why her slender body was so unmarked. Maybe her previous owner had preferred something akin to Mandy's rubber slapper, for clearly, the animal had received training the way she high-stepped so elegantly. Head up, back straight and firm udders thrust out as a good ponygirl should display herself. Two delightful bouncing orbs that, until recently, very recently, had shown not a mark or scar but that I suspected was about to change, indeed already had, I noted on one.

Unlike Candi, it wasn’t me the poor things eyes sought with each revolution I noticed but the diminutive young figure next to me, and I was pretty sure that wicked length of braided leather the girl was holding in her right hand was the focus of such attention. Looking at those red stripes that marred Pandora’s once pristine white hide, the poor creature had good reason to do so. Those eyes might be sad and dispirited, but something else was blatantly apparent in them: fear! The pony was terrified of her new youthful owner, and although I couldn’t be sure, I suspected the wretched creature was also physically trembling with every high step she took.

“Supposing your grandad says no,” I said, nodding towards Pandora. “I can’t see Mandy being thrilled now you’ve…” I was going to say spoilt the goods but amended it. “made your mark on her”.

Charlie looked at me for a moment and then sniggered. “Now, there’s an interesting idea. I’ll have to give some serious thought to that. Something simple that kind of says me but subtly. I don’t have a mark yet, nor does any of Grandad's stock, apart from the usual tattoo behind the lower lip. He doesn’t like branding them, but my, wouldn’t this gorgeous animal look good with my mark on one of those lovely white rump cheeks!”

Oh dear, I thought, noticing that I wasn’t the only one to hear what Charlie had said as Pandora almost missed a step. You sometimes tend to forget that they are not actual animals but intelligent creatures no different from yourself. Well, I suppose there was quite a significant difference, given the respective circumstances! A very significant difference, I told myself as the whip cracked again and another Pandora’s white gained another savage red stripe!

However, Charlie's words reminded me of something I’d half-forgotten. There was, so I’d been informed, an actual international registry of human livestock. Although all my animals had been registered via Mandy, plus Sally’s Medusa, none had been inner lip tattooed, which was a requirement. I’d better have a word and get that sorted when I return home. Mandy had said it wasn’t urgent unless I was thinking of selling one of them, but I was one of those people who didn’t like loose ends ‘flapping’ about, as it were. That nurse cum vet Mandy used would be able to do it, I assumed, and anyway, I wanted her to come and do a routine general health check on my livestock.

“What happens if he’s unwilling to dip into his pocket?” I asked, saving Pandora’s hide from another painful stipe as Charlie raised her arm. I didn’t know how much Mandy had been hoping to get for Pandora on behalf of her owner but looking at the animal, quite a lot, I suspected, and from what had been said, I gather the old guy was something of a miser. The girl pouted, lowered her arm, and then shrugged, giving me another cute, mischievous smile.

“Oh, I’m not going to worry about that! Grandpappy will do precisely what I want him to do. He may say no, once or twice, but that’s how he is and always has been, but I’ve never found it a problem,” she giggled and then that whip did flash out, and Pandora squealed and jumped again, and now neither orb was unsullied.

“Best of both worlds”, I observed.

“How so?” Charlie threw me a curious look.

I nodded towards Pandora. “She seems pretty docile, and yet she’s like a blank piece of paper, her pony hide, I mean.”

Charlie laughed. “Not quite as blank as she was a few hours ago! I'm not sure about the docility either; I bet I can light a fire in her. I’ve done it before to Ponyboys, who seemed to have lost their fighting spirit. Maybe a touch of firewater will liven her up a bit.”

My expression must have shown my bewilderment, for the girl laughed again. “Figging, you know what that means, don’t you?”

I nodded as the proverbial penny tumbled downwards. I did know about the practice of inserting a piece of skinned ginger root into the human anus in order to generate an acute burning sensation. Or rather, I’d read about it but had never tried it.

“They keep a few jars of the stuff handy”, Charlie continued. “Grandaddy’s recipe. He calls it ‘Firewater, ' but it's not liquid; it's more of a kind of gunk-like runny grease, super hot, and lasting for hours. It’s horrible; I got curious once and touched a fingertip to my tongue. Yukky yowzer, don’t ever do that!”.

“Effective?”

Charlie gave a long, evil chuckle. “Yes, oh my, it’s very effective. Boy, do they squirm! I wonder how pretty boy there would like to feel a suitably coated latex finger up his virgin bum! No, only kidding,” she added quickly, seeing my disapproving expression. “Maybe just one” she hefted her whip and sighed as I shook my head.

 “Pity, alright, I won’t damage the goods”, the girl giggled. “I’ll stick with pretty here. Signed, sealed, and delivered with a loving kiss…of my whip, or soon will be,” the girl laughed, her eyes alight as she drew back her arm to await Pandora’s next pass. “The start of a beautiful relationship. Go tell Madam Morky to stop worrying and being so tiresome about a bit of money!”

I grinned at her and turned to join the others, just as Madam Morky herself shouted impatiently to hurry up and waved at me to join them with the other two ponies they were watching.

“See you later,” Charlie mouthed automatically as I moved away, no different from any other young girl these days. The cheeky lass at the checkout in the local supermarket invariably said the same as did the youngster with the improbable false eyelashes who served in the village fish and chip shop. Behind me, the whip cracked, and Pandora let out another semi-muted squeal of agony. No, perhaps not quite the same as other youngsters, I reflected, walking away!