Pony Life

Chapter 3

Suzy climbed down from the saddle and began fussing with the straps that secured the saddle on Candi’s back and shoulders. I watched listlessly for a moment, then my gaze fell upon the nearest outside whipping hurdle, still unoccupied but a silent reminder of the previous day's activity. There hadn’t been anything remotely ‘silent’ about that prolonged session I recalled.

‘Raw red rump meat, ’ that’s what Sally had said, and she hadn’t been joking either. I’d grown to love the tiny woman dearly, but there was a streak of savagery within her that could be frightening, and young Suzy wasn’t far behind in terms of outright cruelty. ‘A good trainer should always be objective’ was one of Big Sarah’s frequent, insightful quotes when talking about two-legged pony training during my time at Mandy’s estate. 

Sometimes, watching the ‘dynamic duo’ in action, I wondered what their aim was beyond the self-centred, sadistic satisfaction of inflicting pain on helpless creatures. Of course, they didn’t do so to an excessive degree; both were far more experienced than I was, but still! Perhaps a part of me remained somewhat soft-hearted, and …and I couldn’t think of the right word to express what I meant. Maybe I still had one foot firmly, or perhaps not so firmly, planted on the other side of the fence, that other world where the rules of normality and human decency applied.

Then again, I sighed, maybe not. I’d burnt that bridge the first time I caned Beauties' oh so tempting rump in that first delightful session. Even if it were possible to turn back the clock, I knew very well that I wouldn’t hesitate; I’d do it all over again, for I’d never felt such a clit tingling and heavenly sensation as I demonstrated my total authority upon the hapless, helpless, screaming creature!

“Good job, we haven’t any neighbours!” Sally commented, not for the first time, as she examined the split and splintered end of a long bamboo cane. Long compared to her anyway! Besides, short or long, it made little difference to the two helpless creatures on the receiving end of its cutting bite. They’d stopped screaming and shouting and settled into pain-wracked sobbing for the moment as they endeavoured to recover from all that vocal energy they’d so recently expended. 

Curious. I have always wondered how much effort the foolish creatures waste trying to fight against the tight bonds that hold them down. They rarely seemed to lie there and accept it, instead struggling and writhing against those unyielding straps and bindings in a futile display of squandered energy. Some primitive survival instinct kicks in, no doubt — like an animal caught in a trap, willing to lose its leg in a desperate attempt to escape, or perhaps it served to distract from the pain it was enduring and could not avoid.

I wondered whether there was any historical data available online. I mean, they had flogged criminals for centuries, hadn’t they, as well as slaves, like on the US plantations more recently than those who’d suffered in antiquity. Likewise, the military had used the lash for several hundred years to enforce rigid discipline. Had those so condemned accepted it stoically, or did their reactions vary depending on the individual and circumstances? There must be some written recollections available. It would be interesting to do some research, but then Sally interrupted my reverie and told me to stop daydreaming. "You look silly with that vacant, nobody-home expression on your face!”

Things had been somewhat noisy for the past half hour or so, so her comment about the lack of nearby neighbours was quite apt. The main outdoor punishment area, for want of a better term, was to the right of my old stable building; therefore, it was situated between those doing all the screaming and shouting and the woods leading down to the public road. Various tests had established that any sounds reaching a passing ear would be sufficiently indistinct not to attract interest.  

The brief ‘holiday’ our captive livestock had enjoyed was over. If it had been a holiday with Sally left in charge! Whether it was real or just in our collective imaginations, that contrary mood we sensed or thought we’d sensed had come to an end. I had amused Suzy earlier by repeating that old army joke my father had been fond of, although he could never have imagined these circumstances. ‘Gentlemen, the floggings will continue until morale in the regiment improves!’ or words to that effect. I doubted that the animals in my stable had any ‘morale’ in the traditional sense, whether collective or individual, and the floggings would carry on regardless, whether deserved or not. Pony morale, whether high, low, or more likely absent, was irrelevant!

Tony’s team had built two whipping hurdles and a St Andrews-style cross fitted with sturdy leather straps near the motorised pony walker. Overkill, I thought at the time, when surveying the myriad of astonishing ‘improvements and embellishments’ they’d made to my old farm. A right sadist's paradise! But back then, I’d never envisaged having a full stable, had I? Credit where credit was due, though. I had to admit that Mandy's contact had been a winner in every sense, for I couldn’t find fault with anything Tony’s team had done. The tech stuff virtually guaranteed my security and total privacy, the building work was top-notch, and likewise, the add-ons in terms of bondage equipment they’d provided or built. 

The two whipping hurdles weren’t just extremely sturdy, but you could also adjust their legs. A handy feature for someone like Sally, who, to use the politically correct term, was severely vertically challenged. They say love is blind, and to some extent, that’s true. The fact that the top of her head didn’t even reach my bust, and I was by no means tall, didn’t matter. We quickly settled into a cosy relationship like an old married couple and were blissfully happy. An interesting contrast, I sometimes thought, considering we’d come together because of mutual interests in making and keeping others far less happy. A very cruel interest, we continued to enjoy every single day.

Up to and including what Suzy had called a ‘screaming day for all’. I believe I’ve told you before that my dad was a big fan of cowboy films, and it wasn’t until I became a young teenager that I realised his frequent ‘All for one and one for all’ quote didn’t come from any John Ford or any other Western film. It actually originates from a completely different genre, Alexandre Dumas’s The Three Musketeers. However, I recall reading that it might have been credited even earlier to one of Shakespeare's lesser-known poems, or something similar.

Anyway, within context, that saying sprang into my mind for some reason as we led our livestock out into the fresh air en masse, or the ‘entire herd’ as Suzy laughingly put it. A first, both for them and us, for I’d never had the entire contents of my stable outside of their respective stalls before. ‘All for one and one for all, ’ or in this case. ‘All not one and more than one (whip stroke) for all!’ Well, I knew what I meant as we led the first pair out into the bright, welcoming sunlight.

Before leading out the animals, Suzy and I had carried out one of the interior whipping hurdles to add to the exterior ones, ‘the garden furniture’, being another of young Suzy’s witticisms for the sinister restraining devices beside the stable. Hardly apt, I thought, for it wasn’t as though the unwilling occupants would ever be lounging at ease, enjoying the fresh air as we sometimes did on the ‘real’ garden furniture.

“Noah’s Ark”, Sally had laughed from where she stood waiting, having adjusted two of the benches to a suitable height for her small arm and then explained as I gave her a puzzled look as I led Beauty from the stable. “You know, the animals, two by two and all that!”

“Except we’ve got six, all of the same species,” Suzy countered from behind me. “Mind you, they’re a pretty varied bunch, not that I’m complaining. I like a bit of variety when I’m feeling nasty!” she laughed, yanking hard on Goldie's neck tether as he stumbled along behind her, looking his usual ‘contrary’ self. Well, that was about to change, I thought with a cruel smile! Pride and that foolish, angry, feral spirit invariably took a sharp tumble under the merciless application of bamboo and leather lash.

My two, Beauty and Goldie, were the first pair out for the ‘welcome home party’, my terminology this time rather than Suzy’s. I resented that air of surliness about the creatures I’d sensed upon my return from Sir Jefferies' place. I mean, yes, it might well have been simply a figment of my imagination, and I would be the first to concede that I did indeed have a very active imagination! Besides, I wasn’t alone in sensing something was collectively amiss among the stable occupants, for Suzy and Sally had also mentioned that same feeling, and their combined experience meant they were far more in tune with such creatures than I!

Anyway, to a certain extent, all that was irrelevant. I didn’t need an excuse to beat any of my animals, did I? They belonged to me, I owned them lock, stock and barrel! Well, three of them anyway, and as the stable owner, I’d have visiting privileges on the other three in terms of cruelty. I realised that’s what I’d been missing, even though I’d only been away for a couple of days. That subconscious element of knowing they were there and available for my cruel pleasure whenever I wanted. That's what I’d missed.

I pondered that, wondering at how cruel I’d become. I dare say that Sir Jeffrey, being the obliging gentleman that he was, would have been quite happy to lend me a pony boy to beat to my heart's content. Well, at least for half an hour or so to work off that sadistic need I seemed to have acquired and subsequently missed. A kind of narcotic fix far more deadly in its way than Heroin or Cocaine, but in this case not for the user but the abused! It was like…like, and then I recalled something from years ago.

Well, not years ago as in aeons and the like, nor even stretching back to my childhood. Actually, not even that long ago, now I think about it. My first set of wheels, not counting one's faithful old bicycle, of course. My first car, my pride and joy, as your first motor usually is. A vehicle of dubious age, reliability, and suspiciously low mileage on the clock, but it meant mobility and freedom. Several months of proud ownership and glorious freedom, then waking one morning and realising with a shock that you’re back to being a mere pedestrian because the wretched thing reported sick for duty in the supermarket car park yesterday afternoon!

 ‘Gonna be a while, Miss, not many of these about now. Gotta order the parts special like’. The sucking in of teeth and then the speculative ‘Maybe, what, ten days, a week if we get lucky with the parts delivery’ and then of course the punch line. ‘Gonna cost you, I’m afraid!’ The punch line of garage mechanics the world over. 

Yeah, keeping that rust bucket on the road had cost, but it had been fun to drive, more so than any of its gleaming but more reliable successors. Maybe that was unfair to the newer vehicles I’d owned, and it was probably just nostalgia, but that feeling had been the same now that I thought about it, even though I’d only been away a couple of nights. That… what? That gap in my life, a feeling of something missing that had been almost identical; now I thought about it. No car then, and more recently, no pony to do evil upon should I feel in the mood to do so. Interesting, I concluded as I stalked into the stable to fetch the next pair of unfortunate creatures.

*****

“Quiet, quiet, and stand, stand still!” The long, thin crop Suzy was using flashed down twice, catching Candi on his right rump cheek as she wrenched on the reins attached to his mouth bit with her other hand. “Not bad, eh?” she grinned at me and waved her crop. “I think this strapping young colt is going to be a quick learner!”,

“We’ll see, but don’t start counting any chickens just yet, girl. You may end up being tossed off into a hedge before the day is out!" I cautioned her, my mind drifting back from its musings on the previous day. “I’ll admit you look the part in that outfit, though, if nothing else," I told her, and I walked back to where Goldie was squirming so foolishly against the straps of the hurdle I’d secured him upon. The sexy young miss in her riding outfit did look good perched confidently atop Candi, the very picture of a classy young lady at a fashionable riding event. However, while her attire was conventional, her choice of mount might have raised more than a few eyebrows in certain social circles.

Then again, perhaps not, I thought, absentmindedly gazing at Goldie's bloody rump. Many of those who took part in and supported such events came from the smaller, yet wealthier, segment of the population. Years ago, when the topic came up at a Sunday lunch, I recall my father saying that 99.9 per cent of people bought their daughters a bicycle for their birthday, and only 0.1 per cent, a pony. He then winked and grinned at me, asking, ‘What colour bike do you want next month, by the way?’

I remember my mother being annoyed at the time, but he was never very good at keeping secrets; besides, that’s what I’d asked for! I didn’t need to satisfy my curiosity by searching for hidden Christmas or birthday presents in advance, not the ones from my parents, anyway, with Dad blurting things out. Anyway, I had no desire to own a pony, and what would I have done with one where we lived in those days? A bicycle was much more convenient and practical for going to school or visiting my friends.

Still, based on what I’d learned over the past year or so, it became clear that owning two-legged ponies was also a pastime for the wealthier, influential, and more powerful members of society. Undoubtedly, this meant there would be a few players with a foothold in both types of equine pursuits, perhaps their ‘animals’ even sharing the same stable. An intriguing thought, and I made a mental note to ask those more knowledgeable than myself. Then I grinned as another idea came to mind, and I chuckled aloud. Were there any ‘poor’ owners of such special animals, or was I the only one, perhaps the very first? 

I gazed down at the thick-set, squirming ex-mafioso boss, noting how those golden body hairs of his glinted in the sunlight, so delightfully. I glanced back at Candi, so pristine white, though long confinement in Helga’s stable and the fact that Suzy had meticulously shaved his hide smooth, which detracted rather than added anything to his appearance, in my opinion. The girl hadn’t yet decided on what to do with that shaggy mane of hair, but she ought to leave him out in the sun more while we had it. Some sun bronzing wouldn’t go amiss!

Anyway, considering I had Mr. Grumpy there, along with Beauty and little Fluffy, I was hardly short of human livestock, was I? Likewise, even after buying Beanpole, I had more than a few pennies left in the bank, plus some other investments and savings accounts, so who was I to call myself poor? My humble estate might not be as large as Mandy's or Sir Jeffrey's, but I’d wager it was bigger than what some ultra-rich folk possessed. There must be a few unfortunate individuals locked away in super-expensive city terraced house basements or cramped outhouses, safely hidden from inquisitive neighbours. I might not own a luxury yacht moored at a fashionable Mediterranean port or a private jet, but I was doing pretty damn well, wasn’t I? The thought prompted that smug smile again that seemed to irritate my friends so much. 

“What’s so funny?” Suzy demanded from her lofty perch, and then that crop flicked up and down again twice, delivering more savage strokes as she jerked the reins tight. “Stand, stand still, you wretched creature!” That latter command somewhat contradicted the action of her crop as Candi squealed into his bit and hopped from one hoof to the other in agony, unintentionally threatening to unseat his rider.

“Fuck it! Stop that, you silly animal, unless you want to find out what life as a gelding will be like double quick!”

Evidently, Candi didn’t want to find out and somehow managed to still himself despite the flurry of crop strokes that landed mercilessly on his right buttock and thighs. I admired the poor thing's composure under the circumstances. That must have required a high level of self-control, considering how much that crop must have hurt and the unaccustomed burden on his back and shoulders, not to mention the sheer damn humiliation he must be feeling. I noticed the thin rivulets of blood running down his legs. Suzy had added spurs to her gleaming riding boots and hadn’t been shy about using them. 

Then again, I’d probably have quietened down and accepted the inevitable if I had been him. I doubted that Suzy would have carried out her terrible threat, not this early anyway in their one-sided relationship, but Candi wasn’t to know that. She’d barely had him a week, but I got the impression he started shaking the moment she looked at him. The girl was gorgeous, cute, sexy, and one hundred per cent female, but I doubted Candi appreciated that overmuch. She was also less than half his size and weight, yet it hadn’t taken her long at all to instil that terror of her into the Aussie boy. My Goldie tended to shake as well whenever I came near, only it wasn’t entirely fear that made him quiver when he looked at me. I smiled at that thought as well. That would change in time!

“My, we are playing Cheshire Cat today, aren’t we, or merely giving your teeth an airing?”

“Fuck off!” I retorted, “And I hope that poor bastard throws you in the dirt, I damn well would!”

Suzy laughed and raised her riding crop by way of a casual salute. “You wouldn’t dare, sweetie, believe me!”  she laughed as her gloved left hand gave the rein she was holding a light flick while that wicked looming crop in her right hand rose and fell again to kiss a bloody right rump cheek, but gently and without malice this time. “Walk on, boy, walk on. Let me see how good you can be, walk on. Don’t be shy. First time for both of us, but I know you can do it for me, and I promise I won’t be cruel, well, not too cruel,” she appended with a wicked little giggle.

Decidedly wobbly, I thought as I watched the two of them set off, but then riding a two-legged pony like that wasn’t exactly the most graceful of activities. I wouldn’t have admitted it, of course, but the first time I climbed into the saddle on Beauty, I found it somewhat frightening. I wasn’t that high off the ground, but somehow it felt like I was, not to mention feeling rather precariously perched! I’m not keen on heights anyway!  

Not the most practical nor elegant form of transport, I mused, but undeniably exhilarating once you got used to it and had broken your mount to saddle, stirrups, and spurs. Beauty was everything I could have dreamed of and more, once I climbed into the saddle. Practice makes perfect, and she’d improve with time, as I would. Still, it did feel a bit unstable and certainly looked ungainly from the spectator’s viewpoint. Somehow, in all those BDSM stories and drawings that had first fired my evil imagination, it had seemed much cooler and far more sophisticated!

No doubt some egghead boffin, with the help of a blackboard or, more likely nowadays, a whiteboard, could explain the physics of the situation — high centre of gravity plus imported forward momentum and all that. Whatever the equation, Suzy seemed less bothered than I had been as she turned and cheerfully waved that crop at me again before it swung swiftly down to do the job it was designed to do. So much for not being cruel!

“She should have called him ‘squeaker’ or something similar,” Sally remarked, emerging from the stable, wiping her hands on a rag as Candi’s muted squeal reached us. “He can kick up quite a racket even with his mouth bit in, and when it's out, well, you heard him yesterday. I bet they could have heard him in the next county! Next time, one of us had better nip down to the road and give the old eardrum a go, never mind relying on tech stuff. A real tough boy that one, not! You giving Goldie another thrashing?”

I nodded, and then another thought occurred to me. “There’s the X factor as well, of course, to add to the equation,” I muttered unintentionally aloud, my mind still contemplating the physics of human pony riding. You’d have to take into account the vagaries of your two-legged mount as well, and that would probably vary more between animals than with the four-legged equivalents I assumed! 

“Pardon! What, what X factor, what equation?”

I shook my head as though to clear it. “Oh, nothing, nothing important, Sweetie. I was thinking aloud”, I told her with a grin. “She’s probably riding him with a loose bit, but yes, he can be something of a squealer, I’ve noted. Why the rag?”

Sally shot me a funny look, then shrugged. “Because the paper towel holder in the wet area has run out, and we haven’t restocked the store cupboard, and I don’t think we’ve any left in the farmhouse kitchen either. Remind me to add a dozen rolls to the shopping list. I was squirting the axles on my favourite pony cart with WD-40 and managed to get it on my hands as well, but it no longer squeaks. Now that would have been irritating! Give me a hand to harness Beanpole, will you? I want to get her used to the cart before I try saddling the animal.”

“Sure”, I nodded and turned to follow her into the stable, absently noting that her diminutive bottom was just as cute in those tight junior miss shorts as Suzy’s tempting riding britches-clad posterior. Had been. “What irritation?” 

“Imagine harnessing Candi to that cart, what with him squeaking at every other step and that wretched wheel adding its metallic quota, hardly a recipe for a relaxing afternoon outing!” She tossed back over her shoulder with a laugh.

*****

I didn’t have much info about Beanpoles' history, specifically her recent equine history for Sally, but she didn’t seem to care and wasn’t even interested. Likewise, for her days as a sports teacher and whatever ‘normal’ life the leggy animal had previously lived. That had been another of Big Sarah’s lessons she’d imparted to me that time I’d assisted in Mandy’s stable, and no doubt Sally was of a similar mind.

“Never worry yourself about these creatures' past lives and history. That’s precisely what it is now—history and entirely irrelevant to the present and how they live now. It’s a waste of your time even thinking about it, so ditch any curiosity in that respect. The sooner they come to terms with the new reality and understand that all they need to worry about is the present, the easier our lives become and the more useful they become. They must learn; they will learn, they always learn in the end. The three L’s rule, I call it,” she said, then laughed and winked at me, adding,” Then there are three tools we use to reinforce those rules. Pain, fear, and total incapacity! Do everything right, and you will ultimately end up with an obedient and respectful two-legged animal. The only history that matters and is of interest starts from the moment it was cut from the herd in the wild until today. It had no other past, no history, and only one future”; then she laughed again, adding, “Hell, sometimes I think they ought to be grateful to us!”

Grateful! I’d blinked at that, and the expression on my face must have posed a question as I glanced at the fearful whip scarred filly in the stall I’d just helped groom.

“Sure”, Sarah had chuckled, running a big hand over the trembling pony's udders. “What has this young beauty to worry about? No worries about paying the rent, work, family, shopping or what to wear or how she looks. Doesn't even have to think about what to have for tea, do you, girl? Doesn’t need to think at all, come to that! Bed board and all she will ever need provided for her twenty-four-seven and hardly has to do a thing for it other than stand around looking cute and sexy most of the time”.

Sarah, I realised, was far more practically minded than I was, or perhaps it was the inevitable result of over twenty years of hands-on experience with two-legged ponies that led to her bland acceptance of what they were now, rather than what or who they had been previously. Whereas to me, that knowledge was an ever-present and vital part of my ownership of such entertaining creatures. The basics, at least, not every minute detail. Gaining a deeper understanding of their history, family life, and domestic arrangements, I suspected, would have made me more than a little uneasy. I mean, I do have a conscience, after all… it was just that I’d used the mental equivalent of Tippex or correction fluid, as you prefer, to conveniently cover the parts relevant to that aspect of my moral compass! 

My mind switched back to the present as I buckled the last strap linking Beanpole to the cart, and I guessed from her relative passivity that this wasn’t the first time the tall leggy beast had been so harnessed. She knew what we wanted and knew there was no way she could avoid what was coming. ‘Doesn’t need to think at all, come to that!’ I shuddered at the thought, and Sarah had said it so casually. I shook my head and stepped back. It was unthinkable, and the irony of my thought wasn’t lost on me.

“A bit docile, isn’t she?” Sally observed, and then seeing the hurt expression on my face,  quickly added, “Don’t be silly, Honey. I love her, she’s perfect, and I couldn’t possibly cope with two Medusas. Heaven’s one big angry animal is more than enough! We’d still be dragging that silly animal out of the stable, you know what she’s like, and there’s no way I’d ever be able to throw a saddle over her! Not unless I had a death wish, which I don’t!”

I grinned, wondering if she was selling herself short in that respect. Big Sarah, back at Mandy’s place, had complete control over Samsom and Hercules. Yet those two enormous, near-feral wild beasts were far more afraid of my tiny lover than they were of the big stable Mistress. I’d seen Sally in action with them, and when harnessed to her cart, they seemed more like frightened kittens than wild, angry stallions. Medusa would follow the same path, heading the same way, for Suzy had mentioned only the week before that the big mare was becoming a little more manageable during the morning feed. Perhaps I’d thought, but so far I’d seen little sign of such progress in the big Russian mare! 

Still, they always learn, that was what Sarah had said, and she was a very experienced pony trainer, I reminded myself, holding Beanpole steady by her bridle as Sally disappeared back into the stable. The animal was no trouble and stood there patiently, not that she had any other choice until Sally emerged with the Disney Princess shoulder bag she favoured, half open to reveal a couple of water bottles. The colourful child-size bag contrasted sharply with the long, lightweight carbon-fibre whip stick she held in her other hand. Her stallion tamer, as she called the horrible thing. Appropriate, I thought as she dropped its butt end into the convenient socket on the cart, for it had certainly ‘tamed’ Samson and Hercules, and now Medusa looked like a Zebra after every cart outing. Pink, purple and bloody red stripes upon her oversized ugly white hide rather than black and white! Now Beanpole was destined for a taster and probably more than just a taste of its savage bite!

Oh well, I’d bought the leggy filly, but I wasn’t going to let what little remained of my conscience trouble me. If it hadn’t been Sally, then someone else would have owned her; that’s how it went if you happened to be on the wrong side of a stall door. It was a sobering thought, though, how random chance could decide your fate. Some ponies I’d heard were brought to harness as specific orders from their prospective owners. My Beauty kind of fell into that category, although it was I who had done both the ordering in a way and the capturing from the wild. In one sense, Melons was a sideways example of that kind, and, of course, that meant such specially targeted animals were both rare and highly expensive.  

Indeed, Sarah had been somewhat surprised and whispered to me that Mandy had got herself a bargain when Sir Jeffreys had brought his auctioneer's gavel down for the third and final time on Melons. ‘Anywhere else with a bigger crowd and the bitch would have probably fetched, hell, maybe four, five, perhaps even ten times as much!’ I nodded sagely, but inwardly was wincing more than a little at the final price, and the thought of four times as much, let alone ten, was more than my ‘non-mega millionaire stroke billionaire’ mind could grasp. 

Beanpole, on the other hand, had been an accidental capture, an unplanned bonus. The targets had been her teenage netball team, not her, but once taken, her fate was sealed. I wondered if anyone had ever stalked me, especially during my days of living in the city. Had I ever been a ... well, it was highly unlikely that I’d ever be a ‘to order’ prospect. I smirked at that silly thought. I certainly wasn’t a minor celebrity, model or familiar face with looks and figure to match. No, I definitely wasn’t in that category if someone was willing to spend a lot of money, but perhaps a random opportunist grab? How many ponies found themselves in stalls through that route? The thought made me shiver as I glanced along my upraised arm towards Beanpole’s head.

She’d cost me quite a lot, hadn’t she? By my humble fiscal standards, anyway! A typical impulse buy, and that reminded me. I’d need to shuffle some money around in my various savings accounts before I forgot. Well worth it though, as Sally had been delighted and was enthusiastically showing her appreciation for the gift in very pleasurable ways every night, and I had no regrets. For such a small woman, she certainly had high reserves of energy!

“You can release her bridle now, thanks,” Sally told me after she finished shifting her adorable little bottom on the cart’s thinly cushioned seat until she was comfortable. She nodded as I did so and reached for her whip stick, her arm moving backwards. I did likewise, stepping out of the way with my feet. The lightweight two-seater, with its high bicycle-like wheels, was Sally’s favourite mainly because its pony shafts could be extended further than the others I had. Suzy and I liked to have a pony’s rump jiggling and bouncing within easy reach of our whip hands. When Sally used that dreadful whip stick, she preferred her target further away for the better ‘swing and sting’ effect, as she called it. 

Or thinking of the way Sarah always lumped things into three, maybe she should add ‘sing’ to that, I thought as she clicked her tongue encouragingly, jiggled the reins and flexed her arm, giving Beanpole the full swing and sting effect. Beanpole instantly provided the accompanying muted ‘sing’ through her mouth, but as she leapt forward at an impressive trot. I’d been correct in my assumption; it was not the animal's first time in such a situation. The first time she’d have felt that wicked thing, though, I thought as Sally swung her fearsome ’motivator’ again, and a second pained squeal the mouth bit to follow the first. 

I watched as the lightweight vehicle bounced over a few ruts, accelerated under several more motivational touches, then disappeared through the gap in the trees, moving at a decent pace. The tracks Tony’s guys had ‘landscaped’, if that’s the correct term, through the woods around my little estate were relatively narrow compared to those at Mandys. Still, by now we were familiar enough with them and the inevitable ‘awkward places ' to whip our ponies into a reasonable pace, and Sally was a very experienced charioteer, if I can use that word. She needed all her skills, though, for that two-seater was considerably wider than the singletons, but that was another reason she favoured it. Being a lot wider and heavier, it was damn near impossible for Medusa to capsize it as the feral creature had done a couple of times with the single seaters! Whether she’d attempt to do so again in another silly tantrum after that last time was debatable, given the thrashings Sally had administered. Thrashing with an S on the end because my gorgeous little lover hadn’t been satisfied with just one savage beating! 

And talking, or rather thinking of beatings that reminded me of my obligation to Mandy in terms of Melons. I glanced at Goldie's rump, which still looked almost as bad as it had when he’d been on the receiving end of that extended ‘attitude adjusting’ session we’d delivered to our captive livestock yesterday. There hadn’t been the slightest trace of rebellion in the bastard when I’d dragged him back to his stall, desperately trying to stay on his feet because he knew what would happen if he did collapse on me!

*****

Goldie really annoyed me, to be blunt, and I wasn’t in the mood to hold back! I mean, yes, I suppose being myself, the woman I am, deep down I probably did have some sympathy for his situation, for all their terrible circumstances, come to that. However, it was only a small bit of sympathy, and it was deep—very deep—down inside my... my whatever or wherever such deep-down feelings reside in a person’s character!

Anyway, it was way too far down to spare my big, handsome, golden boy the thrashing he deserved, or that I felt he deserved. That painful ‘reminder’, if I can use the term, was yet another one of Big Sarah’s little snippets of wisdom. I’d been at Mandy’s probably no more than a couple of days, and strolled over to the stable after breakfast to see how Beauty was settling in to her stall and then give the girls a hand with the usual daily chores. 

I’d not even reached Beauty when the commotion coming from another stall caught my attention, initiating a quick course change. Upon investigation, the ruckus and screams revealed Sarah administering a vigorous hiding to a pony with the aid of a fearsome bamboo cane. It was surprising, and I was a little taken aback, especially since just the day before, we had been discussing the various ponies as I helped her with the feeding and Bambi, she’d admitted was one of her favourites, perhaps even her most favourite!

Bambi was a young filly, the youngest animal Mandy owned and the most juvenile occupant of the stable. I knew that several of Bob’s pretty colts were somewhat on the youthful side, but not what I’d describe as ‘jail bait’, at least not in the accepted sense of the term. Indeed, he’d once told me that twenty-eight was his upper limit, and I’d not pried any further, deciding it was none of my business if he had a lower limit or what happened to them once they passed that upper one!

Of course, as far as ‘jail’ went, he was a prime candidate for a dozen or more life sentences anyway. Kidnap, unlawful imprisonment, male rape, torture, sexual abuse, and probably many more charges could be levied against him. What would one more misdemeanour matter! Mandy, likewise, though my glamorous friend, maintained a less... less intimate relationship with her human livestock. Those resident in the stables and kennels anyway. 

It was pretty odd, even strange, when I thought about it. That paradox, the contradiction, the incongruity… if that’s the word I’m searching for. On the one hand, Bob and Mandy were two of the nicest and most friendly people you could hope to meet, and I thoroughly enjoyed their company and hospitality. Yet there was that other side to them, that cruel and sadistic side, completely lacking in compassion and mercy, cold, unfeeling and seemingly devoid of human warmth and kindness… but no. I shook my head, no, that wasn’t true. Mandy was just the same, at least to me, whether we were chatting over a cup of coffee or jointly flogging an unruly pony! It wasn’t as if she suddenly had two heads or grew Dracula-like fangs or something! She was still the same cool, elegant, humorous woman to me, but no doubt the wretched pony would see her and me, for that matter, in a very different light!

I shook myself, for it was by no means the first time I’d had such thoughts and in a sense, it hadn’t entirely been Bob and Mandy that I’d been thinking about, for I was equally guilty, wasn't I? Nor was it guilt by association, for I’d blotted my copybook pretty damn effectively with Beauty and Fluffy before my affluent friends had entered my life. I’d had a dental appointment the previous week, and the surgery had been running late. I’d whiled away the time in the waiting room reading a magazine article about serial killers. For some reason, I’d suddenly pictured my own face there staring back at me among that plethora of horrible black and white police identity photos. Why were those old ones so…so odd-looking and slightly blurry, or so they seemed to me!

Oh well, I repeated that body shake, which of course did no good whatsoever. It would take far more than that to wash away my guilt. Not even facing up to a bloody hurricane or typhoon would do that, but somehow that simple twitch seemed to help shrug off such morbid thoughts. The chances of anyone waiting for an overdue dental appointment and viewing my ‘horrible’ photo were, thankfully, very slight, probably zero or thereabouts, thanks to Tony’s team, which, of course, wasn't good news for Goldie and his stablemates.

“Partly because I can and mainly because I feel this naughty little filly deserves it” That’s what Sarah had told me between savage strokes of her cane upon Bambi’s blistered rump. “This little minx has been acting up for the past week or so, and I’m not one to stand for such silliness. Time for a little ‘reminder’, I thought”.

Bambi Might have been young and super cute, but that hadn’t spared her from a savage thrashing, and I’d felt a tad squeamish listening to the poor little thing’s pathetic juvenile squeals. The adorable little animal was one of Mandy’s favourites, probably all the girls’ favourite, but that hadn’t spared it from that painful ‘reminder’. As head stable girl, Big Sarah had carte blanche to do as she wished to maintain order and discipline within the stable and wasn’t one to shirk her responsibilities. 

At the time, I’d found it a little disconcerting, but I was still pretty new to pony ownership back then, not that I’m much more knowledgeable now. I was definitely a little bit…perhaps softer, shall we say, than compared to now, I thought, eyeing Goldie's lacerated rump. Certainly no less heavy-handed, but then again, Goldie was a full-grown stallion, not a pretty little filly, so would I have been that different had he been on the receiving end?

Maybe, maybe not, I thought, automatically repeating that casually dismissive body shuffling for a third time that served to clear my conscience. Young Bambi had evidently pissed Sarah off with her attitude and earned that painful ‘reminder’ regardless of her cute and favourite status. Just as I’d felt my big golden boy and his stable mates had earned yesterday’s extended reminder! Of course, it could have all been in my mind, and the poor things were innocent of harbouring any rebellious thoughts. 

Then again, I hadn’t been the only one to sense a certain….certain what? A sea change, no, not that extreme, but a slight difference in the collective atmosphere of the stable. A hint of rebellion in the air, subliminal or otherwise, which, given how helpless the captive livestock were in their harnesses and what have you, hardly mattered. Goldie there had about as much chance of replacing Putin as he had of escaping from me! 

My body gave a fourth nonchalant shrug at that thought. Perhaps it was something tangible, or maybe just a figment of our collective imagination. As Suzy had said yesterday evening, while wielding a potato masher with the same energetic enthusiasm she’d shown earlier for whipping ponies. “Well, that was a fun afternoon, wasn't it, ladies?” She might have been talking about a walk in the park or something similar from the casual way she’d said it while adding a smidgen more milk to the potatoes she was mashing for our supper.

Poor Goldie, yes, it had been fun, at least for the three of us. But for the two-legged livestock, it was inevitably a lose/lose situation. It didn’t matter one jot whether they were guilty or innocent, rebellious or meek, angry or docile, surly or happy — their lives and the well-being of their hides depended entirely on the whims and mood of their respective owners and handlers. 

My eyes had still been absently focused on Goldie, and my mouth twitched into a slow grin. I glanced towards the woods and the hidden winding trails within, picturing those unwillingly trotting along them, then back to Goldie and the terrible damage I’d wrought upon his rump. ‘Happy’ was probably not an appropriate adjective to have included in that little list. No, not now, I thought about it and gave yet another involuntary shudder when I contemplated their miserable lives. Of course, the bloody things were rebellious and resentful, who the hell wouldn’t be!

I turned and strolled towards the open stable doorway, pondering and wondering if there was indeed a word I could have used as an alternative and rapidly concluding that there wasn’t. I mean, what the hell had Goldie and co to be happy about! Then, as I entered the old building, I saw Melons staring at me from the front of her stall; her eyes were filled with that familiar, mixed look of fear and hatred, plus a degree of sheer bewilderment. The latter was hardly surprising, given the abrupt upheaval and change to her pampered celebrity lifestyle.  

I paused and then shrugged, for what was probably the fifth or sixth time; this time, it was a conscious decision rather than an involuntary reflex. I returned the newly captured animal's hostile look with a beaming anticipatory smile, for why the fuck was I even filling my head with such pointless crap when there were far more entertaining things to think about! Indeed, the mare with her oversized, jutting udders had gotten off far too lightly yesterday, hadn’t she, as I’d focused primarily on Goldie and Beauty. Time perhaps to replace that bewildered look with another one more grounded in the certainty of what stable life was all about!