Pony Life

Chapter 5

Just like with the cane a few minutes earlier, Melons didn’t like the sight of me holding that fearsome-looking whip. Well, perhaps 'fearsome' was a bit of an exaggeration. I mean, it wasn’t even that intimidating compared to some of the ones I’d purchased, but then again, I’d never felt its sting or any of them, come to think of it. Nor had Melons, but that was about to change, and the pony sensed it. That was probably why her bowels started to loosen again—an impromptu release, which at least spared her for a few more circuits on the walker. I didn’t want my nice leather whip soiled with stinking wet pony poo, did I? Besides, who knows where some of that horrid liquid filth might fly off to as I bent my arm back, ready to strike!

Go on, pony, I thought, do your business for me and know that I’m watching, filthy animal that you are. Which, on reflection, was a tad unfair given that I was the one who was wholly responsible for the fact that she was soiling that worn circuit of trampled grass and dirt, and by no means the first member of my stable to do so. Plus, I always found the spectacle of the poor things helplessly doing what their bodies needed to do so amusing and entertaining. Weird, I know, but I got a kick out of it, and that’s all that mattered.

“Finished?” I called sarcastically as she stumbled past me, still dribbling. “I can wait, there's no hurry, pony”. Oh boy, if looks could kill, then I was on the end of a lethal blow, judging by her eyes. Still damp and moist, but with a fire burning inside hot enough to roast…Well, I was going to say chestnuts, but since I’d never roasted chestnuts, maybe that was the wrong term. Suffice it to say, I almost felt singed by that look, but not afraid, for why should I be? Besides, nasty as it was, she was an amateur in that department compared to Goldie and Medusa. Hell, that pair were gold medal candidates, whereas Melons wouldn’t even make bronze.

It seemed like an endless drip from her tail, soiling the ground, her lower legs, and her hoof boots equally, while silently filling the air with one key component of that unique stable smell: the essence of a captive human animal. Somehow, out here in the fresh air, I found it less stimulating and more pungent, minus the other accompanying stable aromas. It smelled exactly as it was: fresh human shit, and while I appreciated, even revelled in the psychological aspect, Melons was undoubtedly at the opposite end of the spectrum in terms of appreciation.

Furthermore, I reflected on the irony of it. Hadn’t I read somewhere that she was banned by at least one major airline and several prestigious hotel chains for being a hygiene and cleanliness fanatic of the highest and most unreasonable order? Possibly more about gaining publicity and notoriety, I suspected, at the expense of some unfortunate business rather than any genuine concern over trivial sanitation issues. I mean, throwing a tantrum and holding up three hundred people on a plane because you’ve spotted a minor stain on your first-class seat! Good material for a two-page centre spread in one of the less reputable Sunday tabloids, though, when you're dragged off said plane after a scuffle with security, your dress torn and one oversized boob hanging out!

I thought back to her first grooming session with Suzy, who’d mutter about doing her ‘Lowers’. The girl had no right to complain, as she was always the first to volunteer to do ‘lowers’, seemingly having a fascination with both girl and boy bits, front and rear. ‘Holes and hosepipe’ as she termed them. Suzy was also our ‘butt plug Queen’ when it came to playing pin the tail on the donkey. Something else she was usually first in line for when the time came. The most tightly clenched and puckered asshole stood no chance against her undoubted skill and determination in that department.

I glanced over at Goldie again. I don’t know whether it was Suzy or the tail in her hand, but the sight of the young girl with it after the weekly grooming session always sent him into an absolute frenzy. A pretty pointless exercise given we had the whip hand literally, and that sizeable butt plug tail was going to go where she intended it to go regardless of his futile antics. Suzy had next to no patience with uncooperative animals of the two-legged variety, and there was no escape. He’d learn eventually that one brief moment of penetrating humiliation at the hands of the young Miss was better than ten minutes of corrective therapy afterwards at the hands of an irritated young madam!

Melons had been stripped and tacked up back at Sir Jeffery’s place, ready to take pride of place at the auction, which in one way was a pity. It would have been fun to have unloaded her fully dressed at my stable and introduced the ‘animal’ to its new and future wardrobe ourselves. Then again, it had been amusing to see the bitch showing all she had on that podium, not that Miss Big tits should have found that unusual in any way, given her background. The circumstances, though, were very different from what she’d been used to for all those years. For far too many years, I thought now I’d had a chance to intimately examine Mandy’s latest purchase at close, very close quarters.

I grinned, and Miss more mutton than lamb, hadn’t liked that intimate examination one bit. I mean, for someone reportedly so fastidious, she had the filthiest mouth I’d ever encountered. ‘Fishwife’, my mother would have called her, which I think was Victorian slang for a coarse, brash, foul-mouthed, brassy woman, almost certainly from the lowest social class. Which, now I come to think about it, wasn’t an entirely inaccurate description of Melon’s over there.

Even Suzy, Miss Asbestos herself, had blinked at one point during a particularly foul outburst and said, “Remind me to look that one up later. It sounds yummy, and I’d love to know what it means before I use it on someone…or Something." She’d smiled sweetly at the spluttering, infuriated pony she was handling. That was about the time the youngster introduced Melon to her tail. I’d suggested we gag the animal or at least put a bit in its mouth, but Suzy wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Educational’ was the word she’d used to describe the noisy tirade. ’Repetitive and irritating’ was how I would have put it, but Sally and I were mere helpers, stretching and securing the filly over a hurdle. Susy was the one at the opposite end, bending forward and waggling plug and tail in front of the incensed new animal.

I fingered my whip as I watched Melons obediently complete another circle, noting that at least she’d enough sense not to try and fight the walker. There was only ever one winner when they did that, and it was never the pony. I’d made a bit of a fool of myself at Mandys on my first morning, watching two of the young stable girls exercising a couple of skittish ponies, trying to fight against the walker. At least it seemed that way, so I’d asked if they ever succeeded in doing that—an impromptu but foolish question.

“What do you think?” Big Sarah, who was giving me a tour, chuckled and nodded towards where a pair of whips had started to crack, not against empty air, either!

Likewise, when Suzy was wielding a tail plug, Melons might have recognised what it was and where it was going, but I doubted she had fully realised its full evil potential at that time. I doubted if any of them ever did, and no doubt the shock and the sheer humiliation of such an intimate violation and plugging was overwhelming. Only later, when a combination of pony diet and natural bodily functions came into play, would the additional horror become completely clear. I made a mental note to review footage from the stable to see if I could catch the new arrival experiencing that particular realisation.

Jeez, but the mare was like a dripping tap! I gave her another circuit and decided to let nature take its course for as long as it took, then wandered over to Goldie. The stallion watched me approach, lifting his head slightly to glare and mumble Something inaudible into his bit. Those fearsome looks of his had, to a degree, frightened me more than a little in the first few days I’d had him. The same with Sally’s Medusa, but my lover wasn’t the slightest bit phased as she handled her big, belligerent newly acquired mare. The proverbial water off a duck's back insofar as those intimidating looks went.

Right from the first time I’d seen her sitting on that carriage seat so small, so tiny and yet so confidently handling Bob’s enormous pair of giant stallions, I’d loved the diminutive woman. She was flawless, one of those virtually child-sized members of society who, despite their diminutive stature, were perfectly formed in every way. But there was nothing child-like about her mind and personality, as I well knew, as did Medusa and those poor stallions she’d terrified back at Mandy’s place.

What was that famous saying of Queen Elisabeth the First when a Spanish invasion threatened the country in the sixteenth century? ‘I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart of a lion…or was it a King?’. Something like that, anyway. My Sally was a bit like that. I dare say the first time those big boys saw her, they’d have felt themselves safe, even if they’d already suffered at the hands of Big Sarah and some of the stable girls.

Sally was approximately 50 inches tall and weighed around 30kg. Yeah, like many in the UK, I’m still not fully metric. I mean, the currency went decimal in 1970, I believe, and other stuff not long after. However, pubs still sell pints of beer, cars have mileometers, and road signs are in miles, yet petrol is sold in litres, not gallons. Beds are still measured in feet and inches; likewise, bed sheets, while butter and margarine, etc, are by kilos and grams and….well, to get back on point.

Samson and Hercules, that giant pair of stallions, might have thought they were dealing with little more than a child, but I expect Sally soon corrected them of that foolish notion; indeed, I knew she had. First impressions may count to some extent, but they can also be misleading, severely so, I would have imagined in this case. You’d have thought a degree of common sense would have kicked in, given their situation and total helplessness, but no, maybe they really were just a big dumb pair of stupid brain-dead beasts. Impressive in size, bulk and muscle but with nothing between their ears!

Sally had roused my passions one night in bed by gleefully relating how quickly she’d changed any perception of her that they might have briefly harboured regarding her size and potential lack of threat. Classic ASS-U-ME if they ‘assumed’ that she’d giggled, adding that they couldn’t have been more wrong. “I didn’t have my lovely long carbon fibre whip stick then, not for our first get together and cart outing, but I did find a lovely extra long thin cane in the main stable store room that was looking somewhat lonesome and unappreciated”, she’d giggled very wickedly. “It was almost as good, a kind of… what's the word I’m looking for…oh yes. A sort of prototype for the one I use now, and oh my, those two big boys soon learned to appreciate my new toy as well as becoming very….very respectful of little me!”

Yeah, I could imagine. That’s probably why Goldie hadn’t enjoyed himself overmuch in the two days I’d been away, and even less so yesterday when we’d collectively attended to that mutinous or perceived mutinous attitude that we’d sensed within the stable. I wasn’t the only one who’d beaten a little respect back into him, as Suzy had termed it. We’d actually briefly discussed the fairness of what we were about to do, given that it was just a …a feeling we had about their attitude rather than anything tangible.

That had come to a quick halt when Suzy had stood up, picked up her crop and wacked it hard against the leather arm of a sofa, saying, “Oh, this is silly. Why are we even wasting time and breath discussing it? I mean, does it matter? Do we really care, honestly? A little painful reminder of who’s who and where they are in the packing order from time to time doesn’t hurt, does it!”

Then she’d put a hand to her mouth as Sally and I laughed. “Whoops!”.

“Well, not us anyway”, I agreed, looking around for my crop, which of course was nowhere to be seen as usual.

The afternoon weather had been exceptionally nice, or good as they say across the big pond. Hot but not too hot, with a clear blue sky and just enough of a breeze to keep things fresh and... well, I know what I mean, which is all that counts. We were making the most of it, making hay while the sun shines, as the old saying goes, for in this country it might well be pissing down tomorrow! I recall driving two American colleagues from London to Manchester once in my working days. We’d stopped somewhere for a coffee and cake, which I’d described as ‘quite nice’. One of them had given me a rather funny look and said, “Yes, the cake was good!”

It had been early May when we departed a gloomy, damp London. Within ten miles, we were basking in glorious spring sunshine, only to be hit by savage rain squalls, followed by more sunshine. Then it clouded over and became chilly, we were treated to flurries of snow and a brief hailstorm before arriving in Manchester on a sunny but warm, muggy afternoon. Coming from a vast continent where the same weather pattern can extend for hundreds, even thousands of miles, they couldn’t believe the numerous variations we’d encountered in a few hours’ drive. Mind you, that trip was a bit extreme, even by British weather standards!

Anyway, nice or good, it was an opportune day for airing the stable, much as I like the ‘stable stink’, that reek of captive two-legged equines. It can become a case of too much of a good thing, so we had the doors wide open, along with a couple of other openings that were usually kept shut, to ventilate the place. Besides, it wouldn’t make that much difference once the occupants were returned to their stalls to sweat, crap, piss and so on. Deja vu by this time tomorrow and probably a lot earlier!

We’d brought the entire collection out to enjoy, well, perhaps not enjoy— but to get a healthy dose of fresh country afternoon air. Not that it was that fresh. My nearest neighbour must have been muck-spreading animal compost on his fields again, and that did cause my nose to wrinkle a tad. Strange, I could appreciate the stable aroma but not that distinct ‘countryside smell’. I could hear the distant drone of his tractor very faintly, the accompanying smell carried by the breeze being considerably more potent. He did keep a lot of pigs, and that reminded me of something.

The compost heap beside the stable was growing steadily. It wasn’t quite that big yet, but we regularly added to it, and at some point, I’d have to decide what to do about it. Six occupied pony stalls could produce quite a lot of material when we mucked them out and replaced the dirt, sand, sawdust, and straw bedding. There were also those other elements contributing to the pile, the genuinely organic material you might say, and certainly more recently produced than the rest of the stuff we shovelled. We’d discussed perhaps offering it to my neighbour in some form to spread on his fields, which would have been the simple, not to say most practical, solution.

“Bag it up and sell it. Stick them down there by the gate with an honesty box. Good for the roses and rhubarb….but maybe not…”Suzy’s bright suggestion had trailed off as the security implications kicked in. Bottom line, the last thing I wanted was anyone hanging around my entrance gate. Sooner or later, some curious soul would come wandering up the track, maybe to make me an ‘offer’ to buy in bulk or whatever.

One of those ‘sounds good on paper’ ideas that become less practical, or rather less desirable, the more one examines it. Suzy still believed there was some potential in the idea, perhaps with a local farmer, but I had doubts, as did Sally. I knew my petite lover had done her fair share of ‘muck spreading’ back at Mandy’s estate, using those two huge stallions, Samson and Hercules, to tow a specially adapted cart up and down some of the fields there. Maybe she could do the same once that old kitchen garden area had been cleared?

That was the difference, though. Mandy's property was vast and had a substantial wall surrounding it, but it had been built long ago when labour was cheap and planning permission rules were almost non-existent! My property was far smaller by comparison, but the trees I had did shield a few smaller areas that could be used for some agricultural purpose if I wished. Additionally, my security system was quite effective, and we had tweaked it sufficiently to reduce the number of false alarms. Now, if an alarm was triggered, there was about a ninety-nine per cent chance it was a member of the public setting it off rather than a curious badger or fox accidentally triggering it.

As I mentioned earlier, that had only happened once so far. On a very wet and windy winter day, Suzy and I 'rescued’—which is probably the right word—an elderly couple of walkers who had taken a shortcut, lost their way completely, and somehow stumbled into my little domain from behind. That is to say, the farmland and woods rather than the narrow country road at the bottom of my drive. They were cold, soaked to the skin, and clearly mad to have been out in that weather at that time of year, especially at their age. They admitted as much after we had escorted them to my farmhouse, dried them off, and poured copious amounts of hot, sweet tea down their throats.

It was no big deal from our perspective. The stable was locked, and simple, waterproof covers were already protecting all the external parts of the bondage furniture and other fittings. Plus, given time and weather, it had been fairly dark. Sally made sure that nothing incriminating was left lying around the kitchen and that the monitors weren’t displaying anything awkward by covering them with a couple of towels. (“What have you got against off switches!” had been Suzy’s sarcastic comment afterwards).

Anyway, as our young tech expert said later, after I had driven the grateful duo back to civilisation, it was a valuable test of all the security technology, and it had worked perfectly. Likewise, we’d combined seamlessly to ‘repel boarders’, to use the nautical term—a completely unrehearsed plan A. That led to speculative ‘what if’ discussions on plans B, C, D, and others until it became quite silly. There would be a time, though, when Suzy had returned to Mandy's and when one of us might be out on an errand, so the discussion did have a serious theme.

Although under other circumstances, it might not have been quite so necessary. We had all chuckled at that prospect as well, for there had been a brief moment earlier when the wife had been thanking us profusely for our kindness and hospitality, saying that they’d begun to feel as though they were going to be lost forever out there! Highly unlikely since they’d only been a few hundred yards from the minor road that ran past my property, not in the middle of the Amazon jungle. But that wasn’t what had prompted our amusement.

When she said that, the three of us had the same idea simultaneously. We instinctively shared a long speculative glance and then returned our attention to our guests. Not with these two, though, who must have been at least in their early seventies. Had they been, say, fifty, forty, or even thirty years younger, well? Lost and available. Interesting thought! Not that I had room to stable additional livestock. Something to keep in mind, though. Perhaps a Plan C or D. I’d reserve Plan B for an unexpected visit from more official types. Maybe we should schedule a dress rehearsal or two. At the time, I’d played it pretty cool, but inwardly I’d been delighted at how smoothly everything had gone. That sweet old couple had been none the wiser about what existed a few yards away across the farm yard.

Maybe I should consider contacting Tony again; his surveying skills seemed quite good when he first assessed what my place needed. Indeed, he had promised to call after a few months, to touch base, as he put it, and see how things were progressing. Perhaps I could dip into my piggy bank and look into an extension to the stable in some form. Plus, there was still a need to add an extra bedroom to the old farmhouse, maybe even two, especially with Suzy seemingly a regular resident and ‘bad’ Penny turning up often. Also, Sally had her piggy bank, which had grown considerably now she’d sold her house!

That train of thought brought me full circle to the growing manure heap. I’d gone from kidnapping Beauty and ending up with a bonus in the form of Fluffy to now stabling five other ponies. Wealth of a kind, you might say, beyond my wildest dreams! Don’t get me wrong, I certainly wasn’t complaining, but things had definitely snowballed rapidly beyond my modest fantasy of owning one female human pony. However, there were growing practical considerations to consider.

My musings were interrupted as Goldie gave a long, shuddering groan and shook himself. Well, he only had himself to blame, hadn’t he? The contradiction implicit in that thought made me smile, considering that he wasn’t strapped face down over that whipping hurdle, feeling sorry for himself, by mutual agreement, was he? Then, as he groaned again and muttered Something in guttural Russian that was probably not very nice. Undoubtedly due to the present circumstances, but somehow, I could never see him as the expensively dressed, powerful, corrupt bureaucrat and the even more powerful Moscow Mafia boss he’d once been.

I saw him solely in terms of what he was now, a big, unruly two-legged stallion covered with that delightful fuzz of golden body hair shining prettily in the sun. What else could I have called him but Goldie, my large, troublesome, golden boy? Anyway, upon reflection, I’d been right the first time, for he only had himself to blame for his predicament, and not just him. If he hadn’t been greedy and annoyed his mafioso counterparts, he wouldn’t have been dethroned and sold to Mandy and Bob, along with his family and ex-bodyguard Big Medusa.

I automatically looked along the farmyard towards the woods. Medusa was down that way, harnessed to a cart, taking Sally for a spin, with Beanpole jogging behind. I shook my head, idiot. No, she wasn’t. She was behind me in the stable, sulking in her stall. That had been Sally's original intention, but then she changed her mind and decided to harness Beanpole to the cart instead, to see how she performed.

‘A little jog together through the woods a few times.’ As she’d put it to stretch her new pony's legs, and since hers were far too short compared to Beanpole's, there was a better alternative than jogging! She could also wield that long, vicious whip stick she favoured far more effectively when seated on the cart she preferred for such outings!

Goldie emitted another long, drawn-out groan and shook himself, or tried to, for the straps that held him down had virtually zero give, thanks to those heavy-duty roller buckles—more of those ‘top-end’ purchases from my friends' German company, of course. One glance showed me what was bothering my big golden boy, apart from the savage damage I’d wrought upon his body since I’d returned from my little holiday.

Given the warm weather today, the local flies were out in force, naturally taking advantage of the bloody raw meat available! I’d seen Sally waving that stick whip around somewhat energetically when she drove away and wondered why until it clicked. We seemed to be overwhelmed by the damn things in the stable. Suzy had bought some of those old-fashioned sticky fly traps that hang down from the ceiling in curly strips at the local post office cum village shop, which sells everything. I was surprised by how effective they were, to the point where we had to change them frequently due to the sheer number of the wretched creatures covering them. Perhaps another reason to find a solution for that growing heap of pony refuse. Definitely, another site further away before the hot weather arrived. I’d find another spot, slightly more inconvenient maybe, but what’s an extra minute or so pushing a wheelbarrow compared to getting rid of these annoying things!

It wasn’t that we were overly worried about the ponies. I mean, it wasn’t like the flies were malaria-carrying mosquitoes or anything. A few insects buzzing around them might be annoying, but relatively insignificant compared to what we did to them! Besides, it was inevitable that the unsavoury stable would attract those wretched creatures at certain times of the year. Suzy said it happened in summer at Mandy’s huge aircraft-sized modern hangar of a building, despite the air conditioning and other refinements.

No, my concern was the old farmhouse. They could be irritating when we worked in the stable, but we could tolerate that. However, I didn’t want them inside the house, at least not in large numbers, and Sally detested them. Luckily, apart from a few, the stable was the preferred place for the irritating bugs to feast on bloody welts, pony sweat, piss and shit rather than venture into the much cleaner building across the yard designed for human habitation.

I wondered if a fly was technically a ‘bug’, idly watching them feasting upon Goldie's rump, or if that term was reserved for things that crawled rather than flew. I could have done Something to ease Goldie's discomfort, but why bother? If I waved a hand or a crop to shoo them away, they’d only be back five seconds later. The wretched creatures were persistent, so even if I covered those wounds with a light cloth or Something, they’d crawl underneath to keep on gorging themselves. Besides, flies didn’t bite, did they? So what was his problem? The blood they were greedily sucking up from all those oozing, swollen whip welts was already surplus to his needs. So why waste it?

Probably itched, but was that compared to a stroke from my cane or whip, I mused, walking around to view him from the front. Besides, why should I cover my handiwork? I’d earned the right to view that bloody mess I’d made of his rump, thighs and exposed portions of his back, upper and lower, my eyes lingering on those….well, hardly wounds. I mean, he wasn’t likely to die from them, was he? Painful, yes, otherwise what was the point of inflicting such damage, but it wasn’t like I’d pumped him full of bullets or hacked at him with an axe or similar. Besides, he was little more than an animal and a male one at that!

The stallion's back, or parts of it, were accessible to me on account of the new arm binder he was modelling for me. I sniggered quietly at that thought, given my ‘model’ had no choice in the matter of his restrictive attire. Very restrictive and highly uncomfortable, as an additional bonus, but not for him. I was the opposite; I preferred loose, even baggy clothes, as opposed to young Suzy, who invariably went for tight and skimpy ones. Personal preference, in her case, although I suspect an element of teasing was part of it, whether shopping at the local supermarket or flaunting herself in front of captive male ponies.

Subliminal or by design, I pondered and then, given that the young girl was the only one of us who could be bothered to add a dash of cosmetic warpaint to her face daily, it was probably the latter. Not the pretty Miss needed it, but maybe it was just a youth thing, as much as anything else, and why shouldn’t poor Goldi get a little thrill now and again? I grinned at the thought, for although I was no ugly duckling, I was no budding swan either, nor did I go in for ‘tight and skimpy!’

On second thoughts, I decided, looking down at the squirming figure, that maybe ‘thrill’ wasn’t quite the right word, and perhaps not even the right context. I’d seen Suzy in action with crop, whip and cane upon the big golden beast more than a few times, so perhaps the only ‘twitch’ he’d experience would be one of fear, possibly. I did like his new armbinder, though.

I’d acquired him, or to be strictly accurate, been given him, suitably outfitted, courtesy of Mandy’s well-equipped tack and harness room. As gifted, his armbinder was of the same conventional style I’d initially used on Beauty—the long-sleeve variety, reaching up to the shoulders, tightly laced. Sexy but also awkward, not to say a bit of a nuisance to put on and take off, so I was experimenting.

I wanted something simple yet ultra-secure that, at the same time, left a lot more pony hide exposed to the whip, and I was delighted with my latest purchase. A strong steel-reinforced restrictive girdle encircled Goldie's waist and lower back, a sort of cross between a girdle and a waspie corset. I found that pretty darn sexy in itself, and needless to say, its wearer didn’t, especially when I tweaked it that bit tighter!

The rear of the ‘garment’, for want of another word, supported two substantial cuffs about twenty centimetres long that secured his wrists and lower arms and boy had it been a bit of a struggle to get them to fit or rather him to fit them! It did tend to give him a slightly ‘chest out’ posture when he walked, and doubtlessly played havoc with his shoulder joints and muscles, but that didn’t bother me one bit. I liked it, in fact. As an additional precaution, his hands were enclosed in stiff leather mitts that prevented any silly business from happening.

The result was more pony hide on display and easily reachable. My right arm ached, and my ears still rang from his screams, plus it amused me to see him still wriggling like that as the insects drank their fill. Anyway, hadn’t healers and physicians used leeches long ago on wounds? Something like that, and they were a kind of bug, weren’t they? I wasn’t sure if they fell into the same biological group and quickly dismissed that idea. It was too hot for such thinking and of no real relevance or importance!

“Don’t worry, come the winter they’ll all have gone”, I told him, absentmindedly speaking as much to myself as to him, noting that there were several crawling over his tear-damp face. Tears now probably more out of intense anger and frustration rather than pain, I thought, bending forward to casually flick one of his nose with an extended forefinger. Did they die off or….I shook my head, then reconsidered. I doubted that flies migrated like the summer-only birds did. I was about to shake my head again, becoming hung up on trivia, but I paused as Goldie uttered a few more words in his native language, which were probably not very polite and aimed at me. His head was turned, and he was looking up at me, that all too familiar look back in his eyes, silly boy!

“Naughty, naughty”, I tapped his nose. “Mummy’s big ponyboy better not make mummy cross, unless we want another beating and to cry again for her” I used my palm to lift his chin and smiled down at his anguished face, noting with clit tingling pleasure that look of terror in his eyes, along with Something else. Shame and humiliation for he had wept and cried and begged me to stop, but I hadn’t, and it had been his second severe beating in two days.

Looking down at his bridled face with that all too familiar tingle between my legs, he nearly received a third such thrashing, then and there, the impudent fucker! My fingers twitched with the urge to make this Russian ‘hard man’ cry for me again as I methodically destroyed his masculine pride forever. The same female hand that had tapped his face, along with some simple woven leather strips and bamboo rods, had reduced him to tears, brought him low, and that’s where he would stay. Little more than the dirt beneath my boots, as far as his status went. The one time Mr Big was now a mr insignificant nobody and not even human!

“Wheeee!” It was a shout from Suzy that returned my attention to her as she emerged from the trees, waving her crop, and I removed my hand from under his chin and bitch slapped him hard across the face. Palm and then the back of my hand as his head sagged downwards. Then I grabbed one ear and shook his head hard, hissing. “I own you, boy, don’t forget that! Piss me off again, and I’ll castrate you and sell you to an Arab guy I know who keeps a harem of big ball-less boys like you. If you think that tail plug up your ass is bad, then you’ll find he’s got something far worse to ram up your shit chute every fucking night!” I spat in his face contemptuously and spun on my heel.

A bit exaggerated, maybe, but he always annoyed me with those ridiculous ‘you’ll be sorry one day’ angry looks of his, so pointless. Did he really think that one day he’d be a free man again? Of course, I didn’t know anyone like that, Arab or otherwise, but it would give him Something to think about, and for all I knew, there probably was such an individual somewhere. I mean, I’d already met some incredible characters so far, hadn’t I? And that was mainly within the pony scene.

Hell, the bastard ought to thank me for being around when they bought him; otherwise, he’d most likely have become a smaller version of Samson and Hercules and already been well ploughed by Bob’s sizeable manhood, or maybe ended up likewise at Sir Jeffery's place, or worse. I knew human ownership extended beyond the pony scene, though I had no idea how far. Heck, for all I knew, the pony scene might be a minor part of this exciting but thoroughly corrupt world I’d been privileged to join.

My friend Mandy, for example, I’d been told, kept her own harem of beautiful women confined somewhere on the top floor of her manor house, unseen except by her and her housekeeper. She’d never mentioned them to me; I’d only heard about them through idle gossip. No, that wasn’t entirely true, was it now that I think about it? After she’d shown me Goldie, we moved on to the rest of his family, and she told me his lovely young daughter was earmarked for her ‘collection’. The only member of the family not destined to spend their life in a stall, or at least not for now. My musings on that subject were interrupted by another of those girlish “Wheees’”

“Pretty neat, eh?” Suzy chuckled delightedly as Candi trotted awkwardly towards me, then jerked the reins, pulling him to an abrupt halt, before gently patting him on the head with one leather-gloved hand. “He’s a good boy, isn’t he? Show the nice lady your new trick, Candi. Go on, twirl for her — show her what you can do. Twirl, I said — now.” The girl's tone suddenly shifted from sweet, almost baby talk, to merciless young pony Mistress. Her long leather crop rose and flicked downwards, biting hard into pony flesh at that final word — twirl.

Candi’s anguished howl exited via his mouth bit and he immediately pirouetted around in a full circle, shuffling uneasily on his hooves as he manoeuvred, clearly conscious of the unaccustomed weight on his back. That saddle, the one I used on Beauty, wasn’t a very good fit for the colt. Although young Suzy was no heavyweight, she was certainly different from the sacks of sand she had used when he was running and trotting in circles on the pony walker a little earlier. Sally had told her she was ‘rushing her fences’ so to speak, but Suzy had disagreed.

I caught that flash of anger in his eyes, revealing that the ‘good boy’ was far from happy with the antics of the young lady sitting high on his back and shoulders. I sensed that some form of mutiny or rebellion simmered not too deeply within him, but that was Suzy’s problem. Besides, that look in his eyes had given me a new idea.

Perhaps a large mirror somewhere, so that when we were in such a position, we could also see the pony's frontal view when mounted, but then maybe not the more I considered it. With the bit, bridle, and head harness, not much was visible, and sitting way up there, you wouldn’t be able to see their reflected eyes very well, not to read those sad, silent messages in them anyway! Nice idea, but hardly very practical, I decided, discarding the idea almost immediately.

That was the issue with bridles, bits, and head harness tack, I concluded. Yes, they were useful, even essential, but they did somewhat hinder facial expressions and similar details. I didn’t need to beat a pony to experience a sadistic thrill; sometimes just looking at one gave me that same delightful feeling. A thrilling moment when you, well, bonding is probably the wrong word, but that fleeting click when you and the animal connect through its expression, body language, and the look in its eyes. Absolute misery and total mastery combining in that one moment!

Well, don’t be greedy, I told myself. You can’t have everything. I could grab a bridle anytime I fancied and look deep into a pair of sad but amusingly angry eyes and read all that was within, plus I was learning a whole new form of body language very quickly, wasn’t I? “Plenty of cake and you're eating most of it girl,” I muttered, and then, expecting some sarky comment, promptly glanced up at Candi’s rider.

“He’s adapting to it very well, isn’t he?” Suzy beamed at me, seemingly oblivious to everything but her new ponyboy as she patted it again. “I do like a quick learner.”

I glanced back at Goldie, who certainly wasn’t a quick learner, and then nodded to the girl. Personally, I agreed with Sally and thought the girl was rushing things too much, but who was I to say anything? The young Miss had been training such animals for much longer than I had as a relative newcomer. I wondered how long the colt had been confined in Helga’s stable and what horrors he had witnessed there. Physically, he had been almost untouched, but I wondered about his mental state. That German woman had given me the heebie-jeebies big time! What had he witnessed her doing to his sisters, and was I any different, though, or Sally?

Goldie's wife, son, and daughter were back at Mandy's place, and only Medusa had come with him here. I don’t know how long Sally’s enormous mare had worked for him, but I doubted he’d had much affection for his employee. Instinct plus what little I’d learned from Mandy and Bob. Well, she had certainly failed miserably at the final hurdle when it came to protecting her boss and his family, hadn’t she, and done herself no favours! That long, thin carbon fibre whip Sally preferred was truly shocking, and Medusa was doubtlessly renewing her acquaintance with its savage bite somewhere on the tracks among the trees. “Tch”, I clicked my tongue. No, she wasn’t. Why was that so fixed in my mind? Senility setting in early?

“Hey, pound for them?” Suzy chuckled, grinning down at me.

I stared at her. “What…. what's a pound?”

“Inflation, silly. It used to be a penny for your thoughts, but I expect it’s a lot more these days. You had that ‘nobody home’ look on your face again. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, I’ve noticed!” she finished with a giggle. “Knock, knock, but no response, only a long silence because nobody's there!”

“I was cogitating, an adjective which means thinking deeply”, I told her rather coldly, thinking that maybe I wasn’t the only one ‘losing her marbles’ before adding, “I’d be a little wary of him if I were you”, I cautioned, nodding at Candi, then cast another glance back at Goldie. “I know you’ve got a lot more experience than I have, but I wouldn’t start counting any chickens just yet, Missy!”

“Teach your Grandmother!” Suzy responded, sticking her tongue out and screwing her smooth young face into a hideous expression, then laughed. “No Cucking Fhance, my pretty boy knows what I’ll do to him if he gets sassy with me. Like I just said, he’s a quick learner. Now, walk on, boy. We’ll head down to the edge of the woods again, then we’ll walk back to the mounting point, doing those pretty high steps you started learning on the walker. Move!” The crop flashed up and down again. “Oh, and I believe it's a verb, not an adjective," she called back over her shoulder. “You were ‘doing’ with that blank, gormless expression on your ugly fizzog, not describing!”

“Clever clogs,” I muttered sourly, more so because I realised she was right on that one as I watched the duo lurch away again, wondering how long it would be before Candi received another good rump roasting. As previously mentioned, the girl rarely had much patience with such animals—two-legged ones, at least—yet I’d seen her spend hours trying to persuade young Raven to roll over and die for his country by lying still. A bit futile, considering she was pretty generous with the dog treats, and Raven was an intelligent dog. He had quickly mastered the first part perfectly—throwing himself down and rolling onto his back—but lying still with his feet in the air was never going to happen. He soon learned that the treat was usually given if he kept rolling, got back on his feet, wagged his tail eagerly, and thrust his long, wet tongue at the hand holding the treat bag. It worked every time! My young German Shepherd pup was no fool!

I smiled to myself at that memory. Now, Fluffy, my human bitch pup, could perform that trick perfectly and had learned it in a fraction of the time. Suzy had been equally generous with the ‘doggie treats’, although Fluffy was far less eager and appreciative of them than Raven, but I doubted they’d do her any harm. Of necessity, as a basic health precaution, I’d cut back somewhat on the canned ‘doggie chunks’ and similar, but like Pinocchio, my nose would grow if I said they didn’t feature at all. I’d be lying if I said they were entirely off the menu every week, nor were the ‘human suitable’ replacements in her food bowl anymore appealing!

Of course, having a human brain instead of a dog’s greatly aided the learning process, as did the trainer's ever-present riding crop. While Raven received a friendly pat on the head and a dog treat for failure, Fluffy had gotten a somewhat different kind of pat on her exposed doggy rump — one that notably accelerated her learning! That was one advantage we trainers of two-legged animals possessed over more traditional livestock trainers. We could work on both ends — head and rump, brain and bottom — with impunity and without any moral concern.

Candi staggered unsteadily back across the yard to the tall mounting post that Tony’s construction team had thoughtfully erected. I wouldn’t have thought of it, but he’d mostly followed Mandy’s instructions, and she knew about my wish to ride Beauty. Suzy swung easily in the saddle and gave me another big, beaming smile before shouting, “Whoa, boy!” and yanking hard on the reins, cruelly hurting his mouth via his bit.

She didn’t need to because Candi had stopped precisely at the post where his rider intended. Unfortunately for him, stopping wasn’t his decision to make. Having a human brain wasn’t always an advantage for two-legged livestock; in fact, it could turn out to be a painful handicap! Ponies stop when and where their riders command, not when they think it’s right to do so, but Suzy let it go, although I was pretty sure she’d noticed the lapse. Perhaps that little bitch did have a kind heart after all. I grinned at the silly thought and shook my head as she dismounted and led Candi back to the stable, absently waving her crop back and forth to ward off the hovering flies that followed.

Yes, I made a mental note to discuss moving the growing pile of dirt and pony droppings behind the stable to another location, perhaps during dinner when we were all together. Hardly a suitable mealtime topic, but given that the weather was becoming warmer, it had moved from the ‘nice to do’ category to the essential, before it got really hot. Well, what passed for hot in my country, I mused, glancing once more at Goldie and then looking over at Melon’s, who was sullenly strutting her stuff on the walker. I didn’t need to be an expert to read her body language.

I waved away a whole squadron of flies that had suddenly appeared around my head. Yeah, as an unashamedly confessed connoisseur of voyeuristically watching two-legged ponies shitting, these two creatures were real prospective champions of the art, and it was only likely to get worse. I grinned ruefully and sighed, thinking that in this case the adage was reversed. What comes down must go up, or in this case, be shovelled up!

Then I remembered I was still holding my whip, and if I must shovel fucking stinking pony shit, then those responsible for my labour must inevitably pay the price. Once more, my arm drew back, and that pathetic look in Goldie's filled eyes didn’t move me one jot!