Novella
Chapter 2 of 5
I paused momentarily outside the old wooden doors before I entered the stable taking a couple of deep breaths to calm myself. The moment I had continually fantasised about for months was at hand, and I wanted to savour it fully. I contemplated the old wooden doors without even consciously seeing them; my mind was being focused only on the magnificent creature that awaited beyond. I doubted that it would view my return with the same zeal that was already surging through me not that it mattered of course. Yesterday had been but the first small step on her journey from woman to captive beast. Today’s trip would be a whole lot more entertaining (for me), and I expected, very painful and considerably demeaning for her.
I wondered as I entered if I should say anything to her. ‘A cheery good morning pony, sleep well' or something of a similar ilk? No, I decided. Maybe on future mornings but not today. I didn’t want this animal getting any unnecessary 'human' brain stimulation, not today and probably likewise on any other day. To talk meant it would listen and understand and maybe even still feel like a human being. Foolish, that was something my Beauty would never be again, and the sooner she realised that simple fact then-then, the easier it would be for the both of us!
Also, I decided as I clicked on the light switches and crossed over to her stall, it would be less painful for one of us as well in the long run! Ironically it was a resolution I was to break immediately.
She was standing as I approached. Not straight and proudly upright, I noted with sudden disapproval. I hadn’t given a thought to any form of morning ritual until now. However, I suddenly found the sight of this splendid animal standing there dejected and slumped like the proverbial sack of potatoes highly irritating. The beast should be pleasing to my eye when I entered; she should be displaying her self to the full, a visual delight for her mistress and owner, not sagged and drooping like some sad, lifeless carcass!
I made an instant decision. I owned this damn creature; I was its mistress, I controlled it's every move and destiny, l fed and watered it, I harnessed it, stabled it, the fucking animal was mine. The only bloody thing it could do was blink, breathe and suffer under my whip. It couldn’t even lay down in the dirt unless I allowed it! My dominion over the creature was absolute, total, ultimate! Whether it lived or died was now solely up to me and my benevolence, and at that moment, I was not feeling very benevolent!
I was outraged. Fucking arrogant slovenly creature how dare it, how dare it to present itself to me like that! I strode quickly forward crop at the ready. “Stand up, stand straight you lazy fucking beast” I screamed. I grabbed at her bridle and thrust her head upwards while my crop swung up and down several times the flat leather tip impacting sharply on soft-bottom flesh.
The ungrateful beast. Well, I suppose on reflection I was more than a bit over the top given the circumstances of the situation. Here I was taking care of the animal, feeding, watering and sheltering it and... ok, ok so I know that was an absurd way for me to be thinking but for a brief moment that is exactly how I felt. Weird and irrational, I know, but I genuinely felt that big lazy beast was somehow spoiling my perfect moment!
I delivered three hard strokes to her prominent white rump and handicapped as I was by holding her bridle and the sudden resistance in her they were still pretty meaty. They certainly made her squeal into her loosely fitting ball-gag as the crop bit deep into her butt.
“Attention” I snarled, “stand straight, stand to attention when your owner enters, stand tall, straight, stand upright animal” I gave her another hard one. “Stand proud damn you, stand proud for me!”
Ok so I had immediately broken my talking resolve, but in this case, I could make an exception. The message quickly got across because she suddenly straightened up and I released my hold on the bridle to take a pace backwards shouting “still, stand still pony, stand straight” waving the crop in front of her face as I did so.
Yes, the message had got across. My evident anger, her complete helplessness plus a few hot spots on her bottom had ensured that. She stood stiff and panting slightly, her eyes flashing with anger, no not anger, more than that, rage, yes rage absolute but impotent rage! I tapped her on one thigh with my riding crop.
Even in my boots, I was conscious of how tall and powerfully built this barefoot pony of mine was yet I felt no concern or anxiety despite my inexperience as I handled her with impunity. Harnessed and helpless as she was the big beast posed no threat unless I did something stupid and I had no intention of doing that.
“Legs together, together now” I emphasised the order by flicking the tip of the crop against her left thigh lightly. “Tight together and stay still. Stand tall, stand straight and still my big Beauty!”
I had said it before, and I will repeat it. Beauty was a magnificent creature. Magnificent and mine all mine every single enraged bit of her, and despite my order, she was shaking ever so slightly. Shaking with fear or quivering with suppressed rage, both even? I didn’t mind, she was passive, and that showed she was learning her place, learning respect, and that was how it should and would be.
I used my crop to tap against her flank and keeping a firm hold of her bridle; I manoeuvred her into the centre of her stall. I released her so that I could walk around her a couple of times taking care to duck under the chains that still secured her in the stall. Her head attempted to follow me but my crop immediately rose to tap upon her harnessed face. "Still, stay still and face the front animal!" I snarled using the same implement to push at her head.
I was enjoying myself immensely. My dreams, my fantasies, my fucking god! This was real, real for fucking real, girl! You can imagine the effect this already having down below as it were. I thought last night had truly sated me, but now it merely felt like an appetiser. Training my very own ponygirl had finally started, and boy was I already on a high. I was reasonably sure that I would be pressing my reluctant little Fluffy into action long before the evening came around!
I stood in front of her to look her full in the face. I had to tilt my head back, yes she was so beautifully statuesque. Just for one fraction of a second, her angry eyes met mine but instantly dropped to stare downwards before I could even raise the crop an inch. I smiled, oh yes we were getting on fine. Training had commenced!
She stood there so tall so perfect and for the moment so subdued. Those magnificent udders were rising and falling with every breath: my, the wonderful wobble on them with every move she made. My eyes devoured her. Those oh so long sharply athletic legs, that overgrown bushy clump hiding goodness knows what yet to be explored, the defined waist, strong, broad shoulders but best of all the two generous tits that shivered and gently swayed so erotically before my greedy eyes. Those proud thrusting udders that were now mine as much as, indeed more mine than hers now. My fingers itched to touch but not yet. It was not the right moment to start intimately pawing at her. She would react and probably violently!
No, that would be for later when I had her securely fastened down and then the cane would quiet her. Quiet her in one way anyway but probably not vocally! I’d be disappointed; I thought if it did. Ironic wasn’t it? If I accidentally stood on one of Raven's paws and he yelped in pain I’d feel so contrite, yet I knew that I would flog my newly acquired animals without a second thought and what’s more, I would enjoy every moment of their suffering!
I continued to look her up and down, savouring my absolute power over her. My how big she was and how much strength was there in those long legs? How much in those arms that I had now rendered useless? Even in her bare feet, she towered over me, and when she got her hoof boots? Yes, what a titanic creature she would be then. Davina and a female Goliath, but the latter had had only death to contend with whereas fate would be far crueller to my giantess!
I reached out and gently probed her hairy snatch with the tip of my crop delighting in the way she flinched, her stomach suddenly being sucked in and she did have such a beautiful flat belly on her, nothing very surplus to work off around that midriff. She stood her ground though, the presence and threat of the crop enough to keep her stiff and still. Yes, the beast was learning fast, but I could see rebellion brewing in her eyes. Bewilderment, fatigue and fear had subdued her for now, but for how long?
Beast? Yes, I thought. Beast. Interesting, already I no longer saw or thought of her as a young woman. Strange I reflected, and in such a short time, I’d made that mental adjustment. Was it because of all those intense fantasies I’d had for so many months, so many stories read, and images viewed so that her conversion was just a mere formality in my mind? Was it that I wondered or something much deeper that only some Freudian physio analyst could explain? Did it matter and did I care anyway, no not one teeny weeny little bit!
I wondered what her labia looked like; how would it react to the touch of my crop on it? I pressed a little harder with the crop the leather flap pushing through the tight wire-like tangles of hair that covered her mons and bent as it encountered solid flesh. Beauty flinched sharply but remained obediently in place. I jiggled the crop a little delighting in the way she swallowed hard a couple of times and what I could see of her cheeks through her head harness began to change shade, white becoming the blushing red colour of shame.
Her eyes then lifted to catch my gaze. She glared at me in absolute hatred, and there was so much venom in that glance that had it happened in any other circumstance it would have frightened me. As it was, it merely amused and at the same time angered me. Almost without thinking, I took a step backwards, and my crop flashed up and down twice with deliberate aim and force — the end of the implement tip catching first one firm free-swinging breast and then the other.
This time she did move. My how she danced and howled into her gag any thought of rebellion I suspected immediately banished as I left my mark on her precious udders. She swung around to present her back to me and to protect herself. The sheer audacity of it disobeying what I had ordered. Well, the crop swung twice more, and two big fleshy white buttock cheeks now also carried my mark and this time I hadn’t held anything back—the tip and end of the crop biting deep into soft white flesh.
She spun around mutely yelping and then danced back around again as my crop caught her left tit again. I suppose we could have gone on like that all morning, but there were other more immediate tasks. There were mundane matters such as shovelling out that wet patch of sawdust where she’d relieved herself at some point and getting food and water into her. I mused upon the latter. Maybe later she certainly didn’t seem to be suffering, and the energy levels were still high. Ultimately, of course, we’d have a daily housekeeping routine, but not yet, not today, not when I so wanted to start playing.
I left her hopping up and down presumably in helpless suppressed rage and pain while I went to prepare for the mornings first training activities. There wouldn’t be much traditional ponygirl training done that day it was going to be more about humiliation and punishment for her and pleasure for me. I intended by the end of the day to have established our respective roles, and that one of us would know just how painful any form of wilful disobedience could be!
I ran an eye around the stable I looked around the old stable. Hmm, I muttered to myself. All my preparation, all my purchases had been to one end, dressing a ponygirl plus acquiring some essential bondage gear and a primary collection of punishment implements. Big pieces of apparatus had never even featured on the shopping list, probably because I never truly believed there would ever be a need for anything.
I’d joined a few online fetish dating sites, and the best I’d hoped for was meeting a suitable submissive girl interested in the pony-play scene. Such ‘play’ as it were would inevitably have been somewhat light and entirely consensual. Now I was faced with the ‘problem’ albeit a delightful one, of needing to securely fasten a very ‘unwilling’ ponygirl into a position where I could apply some decidedly ‘non-consensual’ punishment.
I’d have to go back to my favourite website for the long term. I knew that the company had a section of costly (what else) pieces of dungeon style furniture. I was going to need something that would be readily accessible at all times and easy to quickly fasten the animal in a suitable position whenever I felt the need. I would also leave it in view at all times as a 24/7 reminder, leave it somewhere that she could still see even when in her stall so that the terror of spending a few more hours upon it would be an ever-present threat!
Sheesh, no question about it I was becoming a thoroughly nasty bitch wasn’t I? The immediate problem though was what to use for now and probably the next few weeks? Not the sort of thing you could pop out and buy from the nearest Ikea store was it?
My sense of humour abruptly asserted itself, and I suddenly got a brief fit of the giggles. Flat-pack whipping benches! I had a quick mental image of me flogging a screaming struggling ponygirl, then the apparatus collapsing as per cheap flat-pack wardrobes and the like are prone to do when under stress! Stop it, I giggled to myself looking back over my shoulder, but Beauty was facing the other way and by the look of it, making strenuous efforts to free herself from that secure arm binding.
That would soon be the least of her worries. I collected myself. No that would not do at all. Apart from the danger that the bitch might get hurt it would hardly do much for my intended image as the sophisticated and aloof owner of the beast! I needed something both substantial and secure. Looks would matter not a damn!
I did one and then a second circuit of the building’s interior poking into all the cluttered corners telling myself off for not hiring a waste skip some time ago and clearing a lot of the rubbish out. I discounted the cheap papering table that I’d use to dress her on, far too flimsy once she started thrashing about in agony! There were a couple of places where I could fasten her erect that I made a note of. Yes, there would be times when I might need to do that, but for now, I wanted her horizontal, not vertical. I wanted her brought low. Low and helpless so that I looked down upon her and not the reverse.
I returned to something my eagle eye espied earlier buried under the junk. Possibly the very thing I had in mind with a few modifications. I’d tentatively moved a broken armchair to reveal several old rolled up lengths of mouldering carpet, and what was that? Was it, no, yes, yes it was I remembered it from yonks ago when I was a kid? I raked out the carpet, noting that all of this was having something of a soiling effect on my pristine wardrobe! A broken standard lamp still crowned with a rotting embroidered shade plus the remnants of a pine bookcase followed before I was able to heave my target free along with a thick cloud of dust, dead insects and other assorted bits of air-born muck!
Once I’d finished a coughing bout and blinked a couple of annoying dust specs out of my eyes I was able to assess what would become one of the few pieces of furniture my ponygirl would ever have the privilege of using. I smiled to myself; somehow, I thought that once Beauty became acquainted with the item, the option of standing in her stall might be a much more preferable option for her.
I remembered the piece as I said from years back. Formerly it had belonged to my grandmother, an aged lady whom I could barely remember who’d died when I was about four. I have vague recollections of an old tall red-brick terrace house with paint peeling off the outside windows in strips that blew in the breeze like signal flags. Inside always the overpowering smell of mould and damp and rotting vegetation from the many dead or decaying house plants everywhere. Thinking about it, I recalled my grandmother always seemed to smell equally musty and damp as she grudgingly doled out stale ginger biscuits from a rusty tin like some benevolent monarch dispensing alms to the local poor!
After she died, my parents had called in someone from a local auction house, and they cleared most of the contents, so they told me later. A few pieces they’d retained, and I was looking at one. An old Victorian leather chaise lounge that I recalled had briefly lived in our lounge for a year or two before being consigned to where I had just retrieved it. The brown leather was filthy but didn’t appear to have any cracks or cuts. The curved padded back that ran from the high-end two-thirds of the way to the low was loose, okay, I didn’t need that. I wriggled it a few times and then wrenched the whole thing away in one piece. Yuk, lots of grey woodlice scuttling away shunning the bright light. I shuddered; I hate insects, but then I wasn’t going to be the one strapped to it so not my problem!
A lot of the buttons were missing that formed the padded sections, but that was irrelevant. I gave it a thorough shaking. Probably riddled with woodworm and some rot but for now, it appeared sturdy enough. Well, I would soon find out wouldn’t I once Beauty started to thrash around. Not the most elegant of objects especially now I’d ripped the padded backrest off, but it should suffice in the short term.
I glanced sadly down at myself. My clothing was filthy, and I suspected my face wouldn’t be much different — not much point in getting changed though before I was finished. I dragged the piece over to my wet area and spent ten minutes hosing and scrubbing the damn thing down. I supposed any reputable furniture restorer would have been horrified at my callous treatment, but I didn’t care. As long as it lasted a couple of weeks that would be good enough and by the time something more appropriate arrived I expected Beauty would have become a good deal more docile. Biddable? Unlikely but we would both have found out much more about the extent of my cruelty. However, I suspected that my boundary might lie further away than I could foresee at the moment!
The old wood was far harder than I’d expected. Oak, Ebony, Teak? Who could tell under aeons of thick varnish? Armed with a screwdriver, some large brass wood screws and a selection of straps from my bondage equipment draw I was busily adding restraints in suitable locations. I had to break off and fetch my rechargeable hand drill from the house; otherwise, it would have taken me half the day. Anyway, if a job is worth doing its worth doing well, (it also takes a lot bloody longer of course!), I grumbled to myself, casting a glance towards Beauties stall. Hope the bitch appreciates all this, well on second thoughts I’m sure she won’t! At least she isn’t likely to come loose halfway through a good flogging and damage herself on the floor or something similar. Fucking hell, why do brass screw heads always bush so darned easily!
It was roughly two hours, or so later and I was back for round two. Once again, I was the pristine sweet-smelling little pony owning madam. The jodhpurs had been replaced by a new pair of skin-tight two-tone red and purple leggings and the top a thin white sleeveless clingy ribbed sweater. Freshly showered, scented, newly garbed and impatient for some serious action. Boots, gloves and of course my crop as before. I was beginning to regard that particular crop as my ‘badge of office’.
It was time I thought for some basic obedience training for my animal. Um, well perhaps training was the wrong term, it wouldn’t be doing any elegant dressage style high stepping at the end of the lunge line or the like. Today was going to be about imprinting my absolute 24/7 authority on the beast’s mind, and I’d do that by embossing various parts of her anatomy with painful livid raised wheals and bleeding welts!
That suddenly reminded me of something else. Embossing. Raised weal’s, branding irons. In almost every harsh ponygirl story I’d ever read the unfortunate creatures were branded with their owner’s personal mark at some point. I fully intended to do likewise, once I’d figured out just how to do it of course, where to get a suitable iron and what my mark should look like?
I giggled aloud causing Beauty to stop shuffling nervously in her stall and stare with big round eyes at me, which of course made me giggle even more. I’d just wondered how many hits ‘ponygirl branding’ received on Google which started me off and then the curious way she was looking at me. Oh, if only she knew. Well, I reflected collecting myself, the animal would understand at some point wouldn’t it and certainly would not like that knowledge. I shuddered a little myself at the thought of it, but the moment immediately passed as that permanently damp part of my anatomy sent a delicious spasm surging through me. Any doubts I might have harboured went south of the border at that point.
It did, however, bring up another point, one that had crossed my mind as I was showering the first time that day and thinking of what I’d already done to little Fluffy. First aid! In all the books and stories, the ponies and other unfortunates stoically absorbed a considerable degree of physical punishment yet were invariably ready the next day to provide tempting fleshy targets for their owners’ nasty toys. Their miraculous recovery rates would probably astound the average physician I’d often thought.
Unfortunately, both for me and my animals we lived in a world of ‘animal reality’ and my medical knowledge was somewhat lacking plus the meagre contents of my medical cupboard likewise. I was going to have to learn and learn quickly about my pets capacity to absorb and recover from chastisement and about the effects of all my evil little toys on human…. Correction, on animal flesh!
While the learning process would undoubtedly be a lot of fun for me a certain modicum of care needed to be taken, I must not get carried away as I had done last night, or I would soon have an empty stall and kennel — a sobering thought. Likewise, I’d better do a bit of medical research on the Internet about bruises and the like then do a bit of urgent shopping at the big pharmacy in town.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Beauty was still watching me and no doubt wondering why my face was screwed up in a pose of deep, thoughtful contemplation. I doubt she’d have appreciated what I was thinking about. The rigorous application of painful damage to soft flesh and then the repair so as to allow the cycle to be repeated ad infinitum!
Later I decided, worry about such things later. The creature wasn’t going to keel over on me after just one or even two ‘attitude adjustment’ sessions was it unless she had a weak heart or something similar. If so then nothing I was contemplating in the ‘aftercare’ department would be of much use anyway!
Experiment, I thought. I knew that I bruised easily, would this animal I wondered? I’d never had much interest in science, biology and the like. Still, it would be interesting to see how that big animal's tender white hide reacted to my painful toys, how quickly it recovered and would such treatment over time actually toughen it? Again, from the books and stories I’d read that element of ‘toughening’ over a prolonged period had cropped up. We’ll see I thought, we’ll see.
I glanced around for a suitable spot then dragged the makeshift whipping bench into the centre of the stable where Beauty could easily see it. All my DIY modifications had been done over on the far right-hand side, out of her line of sight. I gave it another vigorous shake. I’d already sat on it and bounced up and down a few times. Yes, all seemed in order, firm enough, and the old leather had dried off. I pushed down against the padded seat with my hand. Heck, the bitch should be thankful there was some give in it, much more comfortable for her than being strapped down on some rock-hard solid surface!
The dumb animal was still watching me, no doubt wondering what I was up to and would it involve her? Stupid creature, of course, it would involve her! Everything that happened in this stable would affect her one way or another, wouldn’t it? I collected my riding crop, gave her a long hard contemptuous look then raised it and brought it down in a couple of hard strikes against the padded leather surface. I saw and relished the look of alarm in her eyes and the way she abruptly flinched back almost stumbling.
The sound of leather on leather was quite delicious, and I wondered what the sound of leather repeatedly striking quivering pony hide would be like? No matter, equally delightful to my ears and much more entertaining I surmised, and of course, I was finally about to find out.
Premonition I thought. She was making plaintive noises again as I entered her stall, and I could even make out some of the words. Help, please, no and I am pretty sure ‘bitch’ also featured more than once from behind her loose gag as she quickly backed herself as far up against the stable wall as she could go. Maybe premonition was the wrong term as she must have divined my intentions, alarm and fright would probably be more accurate. Well, didn’t all sorts of animals have that sort of intuitive sixth sense when danger threatened?
That’s a solid wall behind you pony so don’t think you can fade away right through it I thought. Why do they always try and do that? Puppy girl had tried just the same with my bedroom wall! That is as far as you can go animal and we both know it and now is the time when you learn that saying aloud ‘no or bitch’ or any other word to your owner is not a good idea. Not a good idea at all even if I can hardly make it out!
Quickly unlocking the two chains that secured her in the stall then hooking my fingers into her bridle, I walked her out and over toward my latest improvisation. Surprisingly she offered little resistance probably because I had the riding crop waving menacingly in my other hand and she’d already had a taster of that. Next time I thought with some amusement, next time I do this I doubt she will be anything like as passive, not once she knows what this bench is for!
I steered her around to the raised end. The other with no back was far too low. This end, I could use either way. Bent one way her big upraised rump would be raised high just begging for my whip. The other way I could lay her lengthways face up and hook her legs over at the knees if I wanted to work on her big udders or cunt!
We stalled a couple of yards out when she caught sight of the straps I’d recently attached all undone and laid out awaiting the next or in this case, the first victim. All strapped up and hobbled as she was, she still had some strength in her the wild creature. I almost thought for a moment that she was going to get the better of me, which of course would be unthinkable! However, her restrictions plus my crop, some frantic tugging and a couple of heavy kicks from my boots, and she was hard up against the end of the old just lounger just where I wanted.
I quickly bent and secured her lower legs to the bench with one strap then grabbed her bridle again and yanked her forward and down. She tried to straighten up again as she once again started shouting semi-incomprehensible words, some in English and some in a foreign language. I reached for a length of cord with a metal hook threaded on it laying at the low end, snagged the hook onto one of her bridle straps then hauled in on the loose end of the cord.
Beauty had no choice but to lower her head as I hauled in the slack until she was literally ‘kissing’ the musty smelling tarnished old brown leather. I quickly looped the cord around a bit of spare wood I’d screwed on one stumpy wooden leg to use as a makeshift cleat. I had all the time in the world then to experiment with my straps and securely fasten the struggling creature in place tugging the leather as hard as I could through the roller buckles so that her skin bulged either side of the straps as I immobilised her.
Working quickly, I slackened the hobble chain and removed the strap on her lower legs and replaced it with the two small ones I had affixed to each of the corners. Now her legs were spread apart quite nicely, not a huge amount but enough for me to grab a good handful of helpless pony pussy if I felt the urge and I was positive that I would at some stage.
Pausing to take a quick breather, I took a moment to savour the sight of my struggling beast from this angle. What, I wondered would it feel like to be so helpless, so venerable, so exposed. What would feel like as some alien object was slowly inserted into your unwilling helpless pussy or anus? Well, I didn’t ever intend to find out personally, but I’d get a pretty good idea from her reactions, wouldn’t I?
To be on the safe side, I double-checked all the restraints. Not that it was all that necessary, even if she could have freed herself from that bench, she was still not in a position to go anywhere or even worse, attack me. Not with her arms tightly bound behind her back and a hobble chain on. Still, I’d decided that my approach at all times would be very much a belt and braces one. No point in getting into bad or lazy habits when the security of the animals was at stake and more importantly, my own safety.
I took a step or two back to admire my handiwork once more and enjoy the sight of the big creatures total and absolute helpless state. There she lay tightly stretched over my makeshift whipping bench, legs spread and held tight, arms incapacitated, big arse raised high and quivering ever so slightly before my delighted gaze. I spasmed and shuddered for a couple of seconds and had to hold myself ridged to stop myself cuming there and then just from looking at her.
Looking at her, yes. Oh my, looking down at her. Looking at my very own big strong beautiful Ponygirl and oh so delightfully vulnerable and we both knew it! Had someone offered me a million, no a billion-pound win on the lottery instead of that moment, there would be only one answer I would give, could possibly give.
I sauntered around to the front. I walked slow, deliberately thrusting the toes of my boots into the dirt floor to make a crunching sound. Her head twisted around to look up at me her chin running with rivulets of drool, so cute. Her eyes met mine. Hers upward-looking from that submissive position as befitted her lowly animal status, mine on high looking coldly down at my possession. What did she read in mine, and what did I read in hers?
Lust, lust and fear. Fear and contempt! I saw fear and maybe a touch of contempt in hers. Fear but fear of the unknown I suspected rather than fear of me. I was the contempt element. That would change, I would change it. I would replace that fear with terror, absolute terror and it would be of me and a few of my well-chosen toys of course! Contempt? No animal, I do not think that will last even till the end of the next hour. Respect, maybe not yet, but fear indeed!
The lust was mine, and it wasn’t sexual lust for her magnificent body at least not in the way some dyke might have salivated over her various physical attributes. My overpowering lust was that of the budding sadist, the eager purveyor of pain, suffering and abject misery. The desire to inflict humiliation and enforced dehumanisation upon a once free spirit now to be forever shackled and in permanent thraldom to my will. Ultimately to become nothing but a dumb beast to suffer under my whip for my delight and entertainment
I sneered contemptuously and pulled my black leather wrist gloves from my waistband conscious that she was watching as I slowly eased them over one hand and then the other stretching the thin, expensive leather the length of my fingers, flexing them in anticipation. It felt good; they were not lined, I wondered what a pair of leggings or a full catsuit made to measure would feel like against naked skin. I’d never been into the ‘leather/rubber mistress’ fetish, but maybe there was something in this second skin fitting kink after all?
Her eyes followed me again as my hand dropped to the riding crop hanging from my belt, and I saw them widen. I wondered if she could see the paperclip. Probably not. Once again I’d improvised, I felt that I should carry the crop with me at all times, my queenly sceptre or official badge of office, the visible symbol of my omnipotence. The implement in question dangled via its wrist loop from a large paperclip I’d twisted into a convenient belt hook. Incongruous but practical!
I glanced down at her, caught her eye again briefly then ignored her. I ran my hands along her armbinder checking everything was still tight and tweaking a couple of straps a little tighter. One hand slipped underneath her and explored her waist corset fingers sliding between leather and skin, ignoring the odd squeak she emitted. Maybe in a week or so, I’d take it in a notch or two, but for now, I was satisfied with the fit.
Her bridle also needed a few minor adjustments as did her gag. I’d left the latter relatively loose overnight, and so now I faced a decision, in or out? Should I replace it with one of my ‘bits’ that would in time become almost a permanent feature of the animal’s life? How much noise would she make when I started to beat her, I wondered and how far would it carry? Last night on reflection, little Fluffy had done some serious shrieking. I was a long way from my nearest neighbour and a fair distance from the road. Still?
Fuck it, I thought. Raven was running loose in the yard and even if he’d got bored and gone back in the back door was open. He’d soon be out, and I’d hear him barking I suspected if anyone approached, even if this creature was advertising its pain and misery to the world at large on full volume. The noise would be half the fun for me; otherwise, I might as well hang a dusty old rug over the washing line and beat the hell out of that.
The foolish beast would want to talk of course, but that wouldn’t be much of a distraction, and it had to learn, didn’t it? Idly I wondered what the word for mercy was in her language and would I understand it, but then that was a silly thought. Mercy was now a word lacking in my vocabulary and unlikely ever to return!
I’d been thinking about that trying to decide what was the best way to get the ‘basic rules’ for its future behaviour across. Yes, the whip, crop and cane would teach and enforce the necessary lessons but how to communicate the subject matter to the creature?
Technically it ought to be far easier than say training a dog. A dog learned by reward, punishment and repetition. Repetition of both command and task. The human-animal had a far more capable brain so there should be no problem, but that would mean talking to the animal, communicating with its understanding. Would that be out of character and detract from the dehumanisation process?
I walked back to her upraised rear end and absently ran a gloved palm over her right buttock. It felt so good, and I realised what I was doing. I also made my mind up. Simple. Just as with a dog or any other animal you trained, I would give commands, simple commands and adopt the same reward, punishment and repetition. Communication would be a one-way process. My ears would be deaf to any noise from the animal bar screams. If it wanted to waste its breath, so what, it would soon learn how ineffective that would be.
Mmmm, that big ass did feel good. I started to run both palms over enjoying the feel of smooth helpless pony flesh, all mine to fondle and squeeze and squeeze I did. I squeezed, and she squealed. Yup, that’s how I would play it, I decided. If the odd other thing slipped out, if I said something rather than a command, we’ll it happened with other animals, didn’t it? OK, so this one would understand but so what.
I’d half considered having a list of simple rules written on a board in her stall, but then that really would be silly wouldn’t it. That would be pandering to the creature’s humanity, and I was determined to avoid that. This animal would be forever denied that form of mental stimulant. In future, if it saw the slogan on a discarded plastic bag while we were out, she could consider that the intellectual highlight of her day, or even week!
My eager hand continued to roam, moving to her flanks. Mmmm, so smooth and yet so muscled, yes this beast was so, so very perfect for all I had in mind. My fingers strayed a little further down to her hairy mons. “Still”, I shouted as the wretched creature suddenly bucked and tried to protest. I abruptly withdrew my hand and used it to deliver three stinging slaps to her right rump. I know they stung her because my palm certainly felt them even with the glove, and she jumped about in her restraints, making those delightful muted protests.
Time, I thought to myself. Time to show this animal just who was boss. Time to make my mark, literally. Time to dispel any silly notions the creature might have about its present situation. I walked over and opened one of my wall cupboards. I paused to dwell on the contents. A delicious array of painful eye candy but I already knew which of those wicked ‘toy’s’ I would be using. Indeed, I had purchased three of them with just such prolonged and frequent usage in mind.
Hmm. I looked over my shoulder. I must remember to position the bench so that it can also see where I am standing and thereby all the fun items I have stored in these cupboards for our little training and obedience sessions. I selected one of my medium-thick canes and a simple wooden paddle. Not so much ‘cut and thrust’ I thought as ‘wham bam and followed by swish and cut’.
Oh, the look in her eyes when I walked back to her with my two toys. Now that was the sort of look guaranteed to send shivers of delight rippling through me. Oh my, oh yes. I ran my left wrist through the loop in the paddles handle and took hold of the tip of my bamboo cane. Oh my god, I almost orgasmed on the spot as I stood there flexing the cane and looking down into my lowly creatures terrified eyes. OH, MY FUCKING GOD!
Note: story continues in part four (part three really). Part three was loaded and removed in error but the system will not lose the part number!
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