Girlfriend Meets My Ponyboy!

My Girlfriends Herd, eight

 If our, or, to be strictly accurate, ‘her’ new training building or arena, as I tended to think of it, since Trixie was the one who’d demanded it, even though I’d paid for the fucking monstrosity. Still, I had this uncomfortable feeling that, as far as our joint venture in two-legged animal ownership, training, and use went, I was rapidly becoming the junior partner! Hell, even that score line of hers was against me in that respect. Four to one for the away team!

The latest addition, Dirtbag, was busy at the far end, whatever task his young Mistress had assigned him. Buttercup was high-stepping on the nearby pony walker for all she was worth. Perhaps galvanised by my sudden appearance, though more, I suspect, by the fresh whip marks oozing trickles of blood across her rump and fat thighs. Trixie was always a far better ‘motivator’ than I was. I had a conscience—or a conscience of sorts—whereas Trixie deemed it a meaningless word when it came to our livestock. How many times had I witnessed that indifferent shrug, that certain pout at her pretty lips, and heard her plaintive ‘But don’t be silly, Sweetie. They’re only animals after all!’

Telling her that might be so, but they were rather ‘specialised and unique’ animals, and they didn’t grow on trees or come in jumbo-sized bags from the local supermarket! Mind you, all she had to do was throw that score line of hers in my face, and that kind of negated my argument. Madam hadn’t exactly scored nil points in the acquisitions department, had she? Equally, although she’d not said anything, I had a distinct feeling she thought I was slacking in the acquisitions department. Then again, how many of the damn creatures did she think we should have? I’d fantasised about owning my own ponyboy, singular, not a fucking herd or an entire bloody zoo!

“Yoo-hoo!”

Trixie waved her carriage whip in greeting and blew me a kiss, making me feel a shade guilty about my recent thoughts. Perhaps the sadistic little bitch adored me for myself, after all, rather than for the opportunity I’d afforded her to indulge those sadistic inclinations to the full, or even to excess, knowing her!

She was seated comfortably and at ease in one of the ‘chariots’, as she called them. They did not resemble anything I’d seen in pictures of Ancient Rome, nor did they look like the one Charlton Heston had driven, if that’s the correct term, around that arena in ‘Ben Hur’. If my memory of that cinematic epic was correct, I believe it had four horses. In contrast, Trixie’s more modest, lightweight Sulky variant was being pulled by a single, sweat-soaked animal, specifically the gorgeous but off-limits Boobie. Strictly off-limits to me, that was, but not to that vicious whip Trixie was wielding.

My… what shall we call it? My sense of pique has probably given you the wrong impression of the new building. I wasn’t that upset about it, or even the damn cost. I could afford it. I had money in the bank, and my extensive investments were doing pretty well, better than expected in some cases, so I had no real reason to complain. Long term, I might even have ventured out in that direction myself, left to my own devices, because all that extra space certainly added an extra dimension to our activities, not to mention total security and privacy. I mean, we could hardly have raced those ‘chariots’ up and down the narrow public road that ran past my farmhouse, could we? Yes, it was pretty isolated, and if we did see anyone, you might as well check whether it was ‘blue moon time’; but it was public and accessible should ‘all and sundry’ decide to turn up!

“Whoa, whoa, girl!” Trixie deftly steered her cart, my term for them, towards me and hauled hard on the reins, bringing Boobie to a sudden halt. My, but she was a fine-looking filly, or perhaps mare, might be more apt, but either way the slim, long-legged beauty was always worth looking at. Our numero uno alpha A1 animal in terms of looks, but sadly, that’s all I was allowed to do. Even touching was a no-no, not that I hadn’t had a few surreptitious feels and squeezes when it was safe to do so. Well, I mean, what else when you see those proud, firm, jutting udders sticking out so temptingly? No wonder Trixie had named her Boobie.

A touch of the green-eyed monster, I’d assumed. That wasn’t to demean my diminutive lover; she had a lovely little pair of tits… well, chest bumps with sensitive nipples, but I found them most appealing. Besides, it saved on bra expenses! I’d said that to her once, intending it as a joke. Big mistake with a capital B, a… whatever the biggest cup size is mistake. I hadn’t realised just how self-conscious Madam was about her… frontage, or lack of it! The little bitch didn’t even need a whip; she could swing a mean palm!

That had been in the early days of our relationship, before I’d bought the old farm. I’d spent the better part of a week sleeping in the spare room of my apartment and nursing a black eye as an additional souvenir! I’d been a tad more wary of my mercurial little bedmate after that and could fully appreciate why she scared the hell out of our livestock. Consequently, I didn’t allow my eyes to linger too long on the tall, leggy beauty between the shafts of her cart.

Trixie had never told me why she’d hated the girl so much, but I strongly suspected looks had played a part. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Trixie’s a gorgeous little package, but yes, little might be the ‘key’ word. Bobie was probably almost a foot taller, with those endless, shapely legs, a slim, high waist, and the most perfect, firm breasts that nearly defied gravity. Jeez, she was one hell of a looker, even though her tits, those eye-catching udders, now bore the wheals and marks from Trixie’s whippings.

“Neat,” I complimented her on the manoeuvre as the cart scrunched to a halt beside me. “Been doing figure eights, I see,” I said, nodding towards the wheel marks in the dirt. “Fast ones too, I’d guess, by the state she’s in,” I added, nodding towards Boobie. Poor thing, I thought, wondering once again why Trixie had hated the woman so much. Yes, she was tall and had a sort of eye-catching natural grace even in harness tack, which Trixie lacked. My girlfriend was petite, and truth be told, well, I was going to say a tad clumsy, but that’s not quite the right word. Lacking in grace, no, not that either. Well, I wasn’t predisposed to seek out the correct term, and even less inclined to use it. I hadn’t forgotten that black eye she’d once given me!

I mean, in the looks department, Trixie could certainly hold her own, but if I’d had to choose one of them for a critical, classy, red-carpet, evening-gown-style function, I know which one would have caught the eye. Boobie could have confidently strutted her stuff down a Paris fashion show catwalk, whereas Trixie… yeah, nuff said. Tall, endless legs, centrefold perky, firm tits, a double yeah! Everything my cute little bedmate lacked, so maybe it was the complete-package exterior that had set her teeth on edge. I gathered that the animal wasn’t lacking upstairs in the old grey cells department either, so I wondered how the hell she could be coping with this turn of events?

Boobie had certainly been worked hard; one glance told me that. The animal wasn’t just damp with a sheen of sweat; in places, rivulets were forming and running down her magnificent body. A body that showed ample fresh evidence that the whip in Trixie’s hand wasn’t being held just for show. Then again, had there ever been an occasion when the girl had picked up a whip to look the part! Indeed, not these days, so far as our livestock was concerned. Whips, crops and canes were as much a part of my girlfriend's outfits as her trainers, abbreviated shorts and skimpy tops, and certainly weren’t ornamental additions!

I’d been thinking along those lines the other morning when I followed her across the yard to offer my assistance with the morning feed, should it be needed. Technically, I was superfluous, but I hadn’t watched her do the morning feed for a while, and since I was up and about with nothing better to do… well, why not? Her entry into the stable with her plastic bucket of slop triggered an instant response from the occupants. All three of them were on their hooves, standing at the front of their stalls almost as quickly as I could blink. Talk about alacrity! More than just standing, their rigid postures mirrored those of the guardsmen you see outside Buckingham Palace and similar places. Hell, I’d have bet that even the most persistent and ignorant foreign tourist might have got one of those guardsmen to crack before any of those awaiting Trixie's morning offering would have!

There was a whole heap of Femdom content on the internet featuring leather-clad, high-heeled, boot-wielding dominatrices, wasn't there? Much of it was inspired by the famous fetish artists of the fifties and sixties, such as Eric Stanton. Immaculately made-up, fearsome whip-wielding women in leather and heels, copied by a zillion professional dominatrices the world over, and yet….

I’d grinned at the comparison. Here was a very tousled little miss, yawning her pretty head off, wearing not a hint of make-up and carrying a rather scruffy yellow plastic bucket instead of a whip. Nor was she garbed in skyscraper-heeled boots, elbow-length gloves and a gleaming black leather outfit. No, this petite dominant had chosen a somewhat shapeless white sweater that had been through the washing machine too many times, a pair of baggy grey jogging bottoms and a pair of green rubber gardening boots.

Even if you included the ugly utilitarian rubber boots, it was hardly a picture to set the pulses racing of your average bdsm fetishist, I’d thought. Yet her appearance invariably had an immediate effect on our captive livestock, who sprang into the required position to demonstrate their absolute respect for their owners. Mr Stanton and co had maybe created an entire fetish industry, but in the end, none of it mattered. Apart from the whips, Trixie had achieved her reputation without playing leather dress-up games. She did own a few pairs of heeled boots, but they were hardly extreme spike heels and were more about fashion or perhaps about looking a little taller than about playing dominatrix.

Not that she ever played at being dominant. Trixie never ‘played’ games with any of them; she was always deadly serious, a lesson our livestock had learned very quickly. It wasn’t their eagerness to taste whatever foul concoction that bucket of hers contained that motivated them, but rather what she wasn’t carrying. There’s a saying that you’re never more than about a dozen feet from a rat wherever you are, which I’m pretty sure is pure garbage! However, in our case, you could say that we were never more than a dozen feet from a cane, whip, or paddle, which certainly was true. Trixie, sweet girl that she was, had very little patience with stubborn or disobedient two-legged captive animals!

“Stalks!” Trixie growled, a tad ominously, from her perch on the lightweight pony cart.

“Eh?” I returned to the present.

“Put your eyeballs back in, Honey. They’re out on stalks again and pointing in the wrong direction!”

I grinned at her. I had been looking at Boobie, true, but my thoughts had drifted off course, though Trixie wouldn’t have believed it. “Only looking, sweetheart, only looking, and there's no harm in that. A cat can look at a king, as they say, remember. I wasn’t even thinking of doing anything. I was focused on all that sweat, if you want to know, so kindly pull your horns in!”

That slightly suspicious look vanished, replaced by a radiant smile, then a frown. “It's that bloody temperature-control thingy. It's got a mind of its own. I turned it right down again, and it's still trying to play sauna. Turn the heating off, and it’s freezing in here; turn it on, and it's boiling. We paid all this money and got parboiled or frozen for the privilege! How many times must we call them out before they fix it? Another dozen!”

I winced inwardly at that ‘we’. As far as I was aware, only one of us had paid anything, but I suppose she was using the royal we on behalf of the operation, just as the queen does, or rather, these days, the king does when speaking on behalf of the nation. 

It was a trifle exaggerated, since I’d only had to call the installation company once, and that hadn’t had anything to do with the heating and air conditioning system. It would, however, be a significant hassle, as we'd have to dismantle and move a lot of the kit we’d installed to avoid awkward questions if they came on site. Even the dumbest contractor could probably have put two and two together and come up with four, and it would probably be a very inconvenient four for us!

“I’ll fix it,” I assured her. “I know what to do. The thermostat needs to be turned down a bit. That’s all. You complained about it being too cold to remember, so I turned it up. They warned me not to get too heavy-handed with the settings, and it seems they were right. Besides, it's not that hot in here. A shade over warm, I'll grant you, but I don’t see you sweating!”

“I’m not the one pulling the sulky, darling, or were your greedy, ogling eyes too busy elsewhere to notice! Poor Boobie is drenched. Look at her. It’s literally running off her. Poor thing, and…and what's so funny?” she finished on a suspicious note.

“Nothing, nothing at all," I hastily assured her. Madam had been in one of her ‘quirky’ moods, shall we say, ever since she got out of bed that morning, and I’d long since learned to keep my head below the parapet and out of the line of fire until it passed. It was an advantage I had, but unfortunately for them, our varied livestock did not. Poor Bozo was curled up in his basket, nursing a bruised ribcage from a savage kick for no reason whatsoever, other than that he happened to be convenient! It was probably just as well that we didn’t have a real dog, otherwise my conscience might be troubled at times! She’d once told me that she’d never been allowed a pet by her parents, so maybe that was why!

And, talking of eyes, that brief smile of mine hadn’t escaped my hawk-eyed young partner in crime. Actually, it struck me as amusing that she, on the one hand, seemed concerned about a bit of sweat on her cart pony, yet that same animal was well striped from the whip in her hand. The sweat was undoubtedly the result of the effort the poor creature was making to avoid feeling that whip. An exercise in… I abruptly paused my thoughts to stifle the grin that was about to show on my face. Not while she was in this kind of mood!

Yeah, but avoiding Trixie’s whip would be an exercise in futility for poor Boobie. No matter what she did or how well she performed, or any of them for that matter, they’d always feel the whip. I’d bet half the time, using it wasn’t even a conscious effort on Trixie’s part once it was in her hand. Then again, maybe not. I’d seen the expression of pure savage delight on her pretty face far too often!

“Well, don’t just stand there looking silly. What do you want?”

I grinned at her. “Nothing, light of my life. Just wandering around my… our estate,” I corrected quickly, perhaps too quickly, judging by the dark look she shot me. She didn’t say a word.

“What you got Dirtbag doing today?” I threw in before she had a chance to say anything else or to let my eyes' automatic attraction to the delectable Boobie take over again. “He looks busy.”

Trixie looked over her shoulder towards the far end of the new training building and nodded. “Yeah, he is. I had him muck out Tinky’s stall earlier because our big handsome boy is going through one of his extra-loose periods again, and his stall stank. Liquid shit all over the place. Why can’t he stand in the same place instead of dancing about, spraying it everywhere? I think he must do it on purpose to annoy me!”

“Maybe,” I agreed dubiously, though I doubted Tink would deliberately do anything to annoy her; he’d be far too fearful of what she might do to him should the mood take her. Besides, keeping them all ‘loose’, as she put it, was one of her main dietary aims, so I couldn’t see what she had to complain about. Her attitude was that the looser the better, and with their tail tubes keeping them permanently open, poor things had no control over when or where the stinking yuck came out. She’d been fascinated by that aspect of pony ownership ever since that first afternoon, when I’d shown her the dual-purpose plug inserted into Tink's anus.

Sphincter muscles are something we all take for granted, but deny them that control, and it was hardly surprising that they started dancing about when their bowels decided it was time to open the floodgates. Treble purpose, I suppose, if you considered that the plug eased the passage of cocks and dildos into that delightfully accommodating part of their anatomy when we were in the mood to give them a ‘little loving’, as Trixie occasionally put it.

 It was primarily designed to hold the animal’s long, replica tail, for a pony is not a pony without a tail. The fact that it seemed to emerge from the animal’s rectum added to the illusion and, no doubt, to its wearer’s discomfort. At least I imagined so, having never tried it myself.

Trixie had once tried, half-heartedly, to persuade me to let her tail plug me, as an experiment to see what it would feel like. Yeah, like I’d ever let her do that. She damn well knew it, hence the half-hearted bit. If she wanted to know what it felt like to have a plug with a hollow centre up your rear, holding your shit chute open twenty-four-seven, she could bloody well experiment on herself, not me! That was the main reason for using the horrible things, namely that once inserted, the poor creatures had no control over their bowel movements, especially if they had runny tummies thanks to their daily feeds.

Initially, it had been a whim on my part to fit Tink with one. The company I’d ordered it from made them solid, with only the tail attachment. I’d purchased his nice swishy ponytail from the same place, of course. Back then, I’d been more interested in keeping his pony cunt stretched and readily available for my cock to enjoy, so it was only a last-minute, whimsical decision to go for the more expensive variant. I’d soon realised, though, that it added an extra element of control and humiliation over him for me, and Trixie had been totally fascinated by that aspect of his miserable life from the moment I pointed it out. Tink’s diet had only gone in one direction after that, so the occasional splattering he’d suffered before her arrival had quickly become a prominent feature of his miserable life.

Looking back, had I not so equipped my handsome animal, I'd have had to ‘unplug’ him at least once, and maybe twice, a day, and probably take him for a walk like a pet dog so he could do his business. I hadn’t thought about that at the time, so I’d saved myself that chore, which was another bonus. Plus, of course, as Trixie commented, the whole unsavoury business was now more ‘natural’, more animal-like, which was fitting for a beast like him!

And that of the others I noted, looking at Boobie’s soiled lower limbs and hoof boots. The only animal who wasn’t similarly plugged was her human dog, Bozo, and after some debate with herself, she’d reluctantly purchased a more conventional puppy plug tail for him. Twice a day, morning and evening, one of us walked the ‘dog’ over to his poopy patch, removed his tail, and waited while he strained. Either he went, or he didn’t, and if it were the latter, he’d have no chance till the next time. I was more patient than Trixie, but he was far more fearful of her than of me.

Mind you, it wasn’t rocket science. Having a pup with loose bowels around the house wouldn’t have been a good idea! Watching Tinky or Boobie writhing with humiliation as they helplessly fouled themselves and the dirt floor of their stall was one thing, but not on the house carpets and wooden floors! Besides, with the leftovers Trixie added to his bowl, doggie chunks and biscuits, his diet was far more solid.

“Yes?” Trixie looked at me curiously again.

“Nothing, just daydreaming,” I grinned at her. “Or is that not allowed?”

Her response was to stick out a small pink tongue at me and say, “Depends on what you're dreaming about, Sweetie. I wouldn’t get any silly ideas about a certain mare in your immediate vicinity, if I were you!”

I opened my mouth and stuck mine right back at her, then jerked my head towards the ponywalker and its high-stepping occupant. Bozo’s other half, sporting a fresh set of livid red stripes across ample buttocks, thighs, and sizeable, fat, saggy udders. “Looks like you got there before me!’

Trixie’s eyes narrowed for a second as she looked at me suspiciously, then shrugged. “It was being lazy and unenthusiastic, tiresome. So, I decided a few reminders were overdue. It’s also earned itself a double session on the walker. I’d thought two hours, but now it can stay there for four, and if I see it dragging its feet instead of high-stepping… well, it’d better not! Now, if you’ll excuse us, Boobie’s impatient to continue with her exercise, and I wouldn’t want to keep her waiting!”

Boobie seemed to quiver, and I caught that look in her eyes that spoke a very different message. Had I not seen it so many times in Tinky’s, I might have quailed; it was so intense in its anger and hatred. The tall beauty's eyes spoke of revenge and… and… well, of a revenge possibly too terrible to contemplate if she ever had the opportunity to get free. But that was highly unlikely, and the poor thing knew that as well as I did, so she could quiver and glare all she liked!

I stepped back a pace as Trixie shook the reins she held in her left hand, while the whip in her right rose and then flicked forward. Boobie emitted a muted squeal into her bit and promptly trotted off as the whip cracked twice more across her bare buttocks. Trixie skilfully steered her in a tight turn and then along the right-hand wall of the building, following the left-hand circuit we’d established. Reality and what passed for normality were re-established for that handsome animal, and it served it right for looking at me in a threatening way!

I grinned at that thought. I doubted I’d been the intended target of that look, but she didn’t have eyes in the back of her pretty head. Given the chance, I knew which of us would be Boobie’s prime target for revenge and retribution, and it wouldn’t have been me. That was a good question, though. Perhaps one to pose during one of our pillow-talk discussions. If, say, Tinky and Boobie, had the opportunity to swap roles, how would they treat the pair of us?

I watched them do a couple of circuits at a fast trot before I realised my cock was straining my trousers once more, fully confirming its recovery from the previous night's exhausting activities. That final orgasm I’d given Trixie had come via my mouth, head down between her legs, because even that talented little pink tongue she was so fond of showing me had failed to reinvigorate my buddy for one final bout. Mr Floppy had tried his best, but Christ, she could be insatiable at times! Even if I’d had a white flag, it wouldn’t have been much use if the damn pole refused to rise and wave it!

Maybe I should take a video on my phone. The sight of the gorgeous, tall, naked bar her harness,  ponygirl trotting so elegantly for her diminutive owner certainly did something for the old love juices. Christ, Trixie had done an excellent job on the bitch, with those long, shapely legs rising in that mandatory high-stepping gait as Boobie swept past, hauling that cart. I say swept past, but given how she was wheezing and glistening with sweat, that was an illusion, and I wondered how long the poor creature could keep it up. Her hide was already pretty well stripped, and Trixie wasn’t one to hold back if Boobie failed to cover the distance. I’d once attempted to step in when I felt my sadistic little girlfriend was overstepping the mark and was probably doing more harm than good.

That wasn’t long after the delectable Annabell, as she’d once been called, had been acquired by her new owner, and she hadn’t fully realised how nasty that owner could be. Me neither, come to that, even though I’d seen her deliver a couple of savage beatings to poor old Tinky for no reason other than that she could and he couldn’t prevent her from doing so! Even so, the intensity had somewhat taken me aback and the sheer vehemence of that beating.

‘Fuck off and mind your own damn business’ had been the angry retort when I’d made a vain attempt to intervene after the poor animal had fainted dead away for the second time under the savage onslaught. “This thing belongs to me now. I caught it. I own it, and I’ll fucking well do as I like with it, so butt out! If you don’t like it, you can go and start getting something tasty for our supper. Go on, leave me to deal with this big-uddered, truculent bitch!’

‘You’ll mar the poor thing for life if you go on whipping her like that!’ I’d protested more for practical reasons than out of compassion. I’d delivered some pretty nasty beatings to Tink since I’d acquired him, but at least I’d broken him in gradually, though he’d never have thought so. Looking back, I’d probably been breaking us both in then, acclimatising, as I might put it, to the new situation. He’d never been beaten, and I’d never had a helpless ponyboy to beat to my heart’s content, so naturally I’d erred on the side of caution. Not that Tink would have agreed with that first session, I expect, from the way he’d howled. Macho male pride was no match for the cane and whip!

Trixie, on the other hand, wasn’t one to apply the brakes when she had a whip or a cane in her hand, which was why she scared our captive livestock a hell of a lot more than I did. I could see it in their eyes. They hated and feared me, but I doubt there was even one appropriate… what do you call them… adjective. Isn’t that the fella I’m looking for? One word that would describe how they felt towards my cute little girlfriend, with or without a whip. Terrified, scared, hated, detested, and so forth hardly served to describe how the poor fuckers regarded her. I mean, physically she was pretty small, compact, petite, and yet…

I’d seen Tink develop the ague trembling all over if she so much as glanced in his direction before that first week was out. She was only visiting, albeit far longer than she’d initially intended, when she caught me with my cock up his pony's cunt that afternoon. The little bitch always says that when she saw that, she was so shocked she almost got back into her car and drove straight back home, never wanting to see me again. Personally, I have doubts about the truth of that statement. Trixie has eyes like a damn hawk; very little escapes her attention, so I’d bet that even if she wasn’t aware of it, her brain had been subconsciously processing far more of that little scene than she initially thought. Besides, there was no way her curiosity would have let her walk away; not a fucking chance, knowing madam as I did!

Yeah, if Tink thought his unexpected new life with me had been bad, then, looking back on our brief time together, it must have seemed like… well, not exactly heaven, but certainly far better than the hell Trixie’s arrival and permanent presence brought him. My ‘hesitant’ approach had probably lasted a few weeks, whereas hers hadn’t lasted ten minutes once she started on the poor bastard. Or maybe make that five… seconds!

Three times she’d amused herself with him that first afternoon and evening. Twice she’d worked herself up to a state I’d never seen before and ridden herself to ultimate ecstasy on my old John Thomas. I’d just lain back and gripped the bedpost, leaving her to do all the work, desperately trying not to fall, as it were, before she was over the final fence. Then I’d had to oblige for a third time at one thirty in the fucking morning. I’d woken to find myself alone in bed, and through the open window I could hear the unmistakable sound of leather lash on human flesh once more, or pony hide, I should say, along with accompanying agonised squeals. Thinking back, that was about when I got the first inkling that my bachelor's life in country seclusion might be at an end!

‘Her life belongs to me now, likewise her pony hide, and I don’t give a fucking damn about marring my new animal, so fuck off and mind your own business’ had been her penultimate comment that time as I’d backed out of the stable, leaving the unfortunate Annabelle to her fate. The final one floated out the door after me in an entirely different tone. “Hey, Sweetie. Make it a cold supper and don’t go anywhere, I can’t find you. I’m going to be in the mood for a little loving when I’m done cooking this creature. We can eat later!’

When wasn’t the little bitch in the mood? I thought as I watched Boobie haul her around the training arena. That poor mare was indeed marked and marred for life now, just as I’d predicted, mind you. They’d all come to that, and I was equally guilty, wasn’t I? But then I shrugged. You don’t make omelettes without breaking eggs, do you? And whipping ponies was infinitely more fun than whisking eggs. I chuckled to myself, glancing left and right. I didn’t have anything planned for the day, as such. I was my own master in that respect… unless Trixie decided she needed something fetched from the village or wherever, in which case I quickly became the subordinate!

Coward, I grinned to myself. It wasn’t just our animals that were afraid of a sure young miss. My own track record when it came to asserting myself wasn’t overly brilliant. I thought as Boobie trotted elegantly past. Now she was a sight to delight the eye, with those legs stepping almost perfectly and her delicious udders bouncing so temptingly with every step. Twin creamy orbs, savagely marked with criss-crossing whip wheals, marred them, much as I’d predicted. Poor Boobie wasn’t likely to be featuring in any magazine centrefold spreads, I surmised, but at least she was being spared the whip for now, as Trixie concentrated more on steering the fast-moving lightweight cart.

I’d been wavering between Buttercup on the walker and Dirtbag, deciding which of them I would visit. I’d settled on Dirtbag as our latest arrival, but then I was being a bit silly, wasn’t I? Like I said, I was the master here, capital M, of them at least. I didn’t have any pressing engagements, so I had all the time in the world to spend with both, so why was I even thinking about it, silly boy!

Dirtbag flashed a fearful glance in my direction as I approached, then quickly looked away. Scumbags like him had to learn their place, and looking at their betters was not on the list of permissible things they were allowed to do. Indeed, that was a very short list compared to all the things he was not allowed to do. Unwritten lists that existed more in Trixie’s head than on paper, the rules as it were, changed as frequently as her moods, not that it really mattered. The poor fucker could have been the most perfect, diligent, hard-working slave, servant, worker, labourer, whatever, and it wouldn’t have saved his skin. Nothing would, and certainly not me. Compared to the delectable Annbell, on a scale of one to ten, he’d be lucky to get a one from me, whereas that gorgeous leggy bitch would be a solid ten, or ten plus even.  Oh yes, I’d doubtlessly fuck his skinny butt at some point to exert my dominance over him and because I could, but not today, I decided.

Yes, it was true. I’d once or twice, during heavy mucking-out and similar sessions, joked that we ought to get ourselves a ‘work slave’. I hadn’t been serious, though, and, knowing how much Trixie loathed such menial tasks, I ought to have been a tad more aware and kept my mouth firmly shut. I mean, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t already filled the bloody place with new two-legged animals. I’d left for a business trip to check in with my bank and investment managers, leaving her alone with Tinky. I’d arrived home to find that, in the meantime, not only had Boobie been added to the stable, but two overweight middle-aged walkers as well. Christ, imagine if I’d gone for a month or more rather than a couple of days!

Besides, Dirtbag was hardly built for manual labour, nor was he likely to develop much while Trixie was in charge of the local catering department. Her, ‘he’s beefy enough for our simple needs’, was, in my opinion, somewhat over-optimistic, given his scrawny, underweight, and undernourished figure. He’d not been eating too well or very regularly, by the look of him, for a long while, and while his meals might now be served periodically, I doubted he’d be filling out much anytime soon. Not via the daily contents of her plastic bucket, anyway!

I watched him struggle from one side of the building to the other, carrying a couple of heavy masonry blocks left over from the building's construction. There was a pile of them around the back, and the builders had offered to take them away along with some of the other clutter that had accumulated during construction. I’d initially said yes, but then changed my mind. I’d paid for them, hadn’t I? They might come in useful at some point, although I had no idea how. Trixie had found a use for them, though. ‘Block Drill’, she called it, a helpful way to keep Dirtbag fit and occupied when she didn’t have any other tasks for him. She’d had him carry a lot of them in here and stack them neatly against the far end wall, out of the way. That had taken him a day or so under her watchful eye and whip. He’d been a bit weaker and even more scrawny than he was now, so she’d allowed him to do it one block at a time, and those things were quite heavy. I’d raised an enquiring eyebrow at the time. I mean, they weren’t likely to come to any harm outside, were they? So why the need to bring them inside, although I’d had a vague suspicion?

It was confirmed a few days later when she led the poor wretch into the building and pointed to the blocks with her whip. ‘What are they doing there? They’ll get in my way. They should be stacked over there on that side, you stupid creature. Why did you leave them there? Move them, all of them now!’

Of course, there was no reason why they shouldn’t be stacked there, and they weren’t blocking anything. There was no reason for them to be stacked inside the building anyway. I knew that, as did Trixie, and I’m pretty sure Dirtbag did too. The only reason they were in there was to keep him occupied and still under her watchful eye while she amused herself with Boobie, who, despite all the ill treatment and loathsome food, was still far shapelier and more filled out where she should be!

I watched Dirtbag stagger past, bent forward under his double load of blocks. Trixie deemed him fit enough now to carry two, and I wondered how long it would be before she made him carry three. Quite a while, I suspected the poor fucker was clearly struggling with two. He reminded me of one of those adverts you see from time to time from an animal charity. Some poor, emaciated dog, with all its bones and ribs clearly visible through its skin, looking at you with big, sad, mournful eyes, begging for help.

Similar, but different in that Dirtbag wasn’t allowed to look at his better unless ordered to, and it didn’t matter how sad or mournful his eyes were; the sort of response he might elicit from us wouldn’t be the least bit charitable. I could count his ribs as well if I were so disposed, and there was little meat on his legs, arms, and well-whipped backside. Trixie had decided to let him ‘fatten up’ a bit, as she put it, before she branded him, and I suspected his teeth would follow soon after. She’d defanged, as it were, Tinky and Bozo, and, according to her, Dirtbag obviously hadn’t seen a dentist in years, so she’d probably be doing him a favour with those terrible dental pliers of hers.

Even the thought of it made me shiver. Yeah, wimp that I was. I could watch her beat them without being overly concerned, despite what I’d just said about Boobie. I’d watched her apply a heated branding iron to their hides with… well, yes, I’d found that bit shocking, and the smell of singeing flesh wasn’t particularly pleasant. Pulling teeth, though, was where I drew the line. I’d watched her start to render Tink's mouth more suitable for oral sex, but wimped out, her term, after the first few. I hadn’t even bothered to attend when she’d repeated the horror on poor Bozo. I mean, well, sheesh, and the little bitch seemed to find it amusing, even sexually arousing, and was somewhat disappointed later when it had taken quite a lot of effort on her part for me to rise to the occasion.

No doubt Trixie would have been perfectly at home in the brutal reality of a medieval torture chamber, with all its blood, guts and cruelty. I was not so much ‘wimpy’ as squeamish, and there were limits to my cruelty! At least the two females had been spared that horror. ‘Girls won’t bite’, I’d been told, and so far she’d been right, but since Boobie was off limits, the only pristine female mouth, as it were, I’d sampled belonged to Buttercup. That had been fun in the sense that the middle-aged creature had almost certainly never tasted cock until she was forced to accommodate mine. Fucking the plump, frigid bitch had been fun as well, but… hardy in the same category as Boobie was she, and once the novelty had worn off….

Yeah, that old expression about not looking at the mantelpiece while poking the fire might still hold true, but my gaze fell on Boobie as the cart passed by again. Yeah, there was a lot to be said for a nice mantelpiece, wasn’t there? I mused until Dirtbag managed to up-skittle himself, tumbling to the floor and shedding his blocks, or rather, my blocks, should I say!

“Pick them up, idiot!” I screamed at him, more out of habit than anything. When one of the creatures fucked up, you shouted at them, and… well, I was unarmed, so he got away with that one. Trixie habitually went about with a whip in her hand, or a cane or crop tucked in her belt. I think I mentioned before that she’d even gone to the supermarket once with a riding crop tucked beneath her waist belt. In contrast, I rarely cluttered myself with tools of the trade, as it were, since something suitable was usually to hand.

Not this time, though. I realised that as Dirtbag struggled to pick up his load, his fear of what I might do clearly overrode any common sense he had, so he was taking three times as long to perform that relatively simple task. Admittedly, those blocks were heavy, and that black chain and ball shackled to his right ankle didn’t help much. It did, however, serve its purpose, making the scrawny, naked figure with his shaggy, rough-cut hair and beard appear somewhat akin to the archetypal cartoonist's convict.

Another of Trixie’s internet purchases, this time from a legitimate eBay seller who sold all sorts of prop-like items, including executioners' axes and accompanying headsman’s blocks, thumb-screws (non-working), much to a certain female person’s disappointment, along with game and TV items featuring the Witcher series and Game of Thrones, etc. A pretty neat site, I’d thought, with some cool stuff available, and that’s where the ball and chain had come from, although it was now somewhat modified.

The ankle shackle and chain were pretty substantial, but the ball itself was lightweight aluminium, or something similar, painted black, with a screw-cap thingy you could undo to fill it with water if you wanted to make the thing a little more realistic, I suppose, when fitted to someone’s leg. Trixie had filled the thing with sand, along with a load of rusty old nuts and bolts she’d found in one of the tumbledown outhouses, then filled what space was left with some quick-setting, ready-mix cement, another leftover from the recent oversized annexe project.

Naturally, I’d found the whole idea highly amusing and teased her about it until she’d locked it around the poor chap's lower limb and then had to, what’s that expression you sometimes hear, although not very often these days. Eat craw or is it crow? Anyway, yeah, I had to admit she might be right, especially now that he’d been dragging it around long enough for the original gleaming surfaces to have become somewhat dulled, to the point where it looked pretty damn authentic. Well, scratch that. Given its weight, it was wholly authentic in terms of its purpose! The thing wasn’t so much heavy, well, yeah, it did have some awkward weight to it. But it was what I’d call the ‘inconvenience’ factor of having to drag the thing around permanently that was the main issue. Then again, that’s precisely what it was designed for!

Trixie had effectively demonstrated that out in the farmyard the morning she’d added this latest addition to his ‘outfit’, as she put it, to his ankle. I’d wisely kept quiet, but I’d hardly have described a thick leather dog collar, a stainless-steel cock cage and an ankle shackle as an ‘outfit’! Then, of course, she’d put it to the test, making the poor fucker drag it about the yard under the usual leather-braided motivation, and I’d been generous enough to admit she hadn’t been wrong.

More by accident than design, I suspected, but she’d got it about right in terms of both size and weight, with Dirtbag effectively restricted by the thing from rapid movement. More importantly, as she further demonstrated, he could be freed from the wrist chains he’d been wearing for additional safety, ours rather than his. I mean, you never knew, did you? For he had far more freedom than any of the others, and should the worm turn, he was definitely in the worm class. Well, a sudden bout of superhuman strength, driven by pain, fear and desperation, might prove decidedly unhealthy for one of us!

Now his hands and arms were entirely free to be put to good use, but as Trixie’s teasing whip demonstrated, urging him up and down the farmyard, that heavy ball effectively handicapped him unless you were foolish enough to get too close. Indeed, the sad fucker, driven to desperation by those agonising flicks she repeatedly delivered to his thin hide, had made a couple of attempts to close with his tormentor, much to her delight. Futile, of course, for the girl nimbly stepped out of range while he was brought up short by the anchor attached to his ankle. Then, of course, her whip chastised him all the more for being so silly!

We could probably have left him alone for brief periods, for he was hardly in a position to take off and head for ‘them thar hills’, was he, not quickly at any rate. Not that there were any hills around my place, but neither of us considered that a good idea. ‘Maybe in a couple of years, when it’s been well broken in’, Trixie had mused, and I’d laughed aloud, catching the look of horror on the poor creature's face at that casual remark.

To a certain extent, though, he could be left unsupervised while working like this, or even labouring outside, because of his other chains, which solved the potential problems I’d mentioned back in the stable a moment ago. I’d been sent on one of those ‘errands’ of hers after she’d found herself in need of the bathroom while supervising him one afternoon. My ‘why not pee in the dirt like he has to’ had not been received very kindly, and consequently, I’d been dispatched to buy a chain of varying lengths. I mean, hell, where the heck do you purchase chain? Then I’d had a brainwave, and rather than try the big DIY store, I’d headed for the river on the other side of the big town and found a yacht chandler that served the local marina. ‘Anchor chain, Sir? No problem. What size and how long?’

Trixie had several coils, well, not coils, the wrong term, but heaps of the stuff in various places, suitably fixed to non-moveable structures. The other end could be quickly padlocked to this ball chain so that he could move about while doing whatever task he was doing, yet remain firmly tethered within my farmyard or outbuilding area. The ‘belt and braces’ approach, I suppose you might call it. Overkill, perhaps, but neither of us was stupid enough to take silly chances, and most of the work Trixie had him doing was on the blind side of my property, away from that damn public track!

I was definitely making the poor fucker nervous as he fumbled while stacking those blocks, and then, well, galloped would be stretching the meaning of such a phrase way too much given his handicap. He reached down and hooked a couple of fingers into the fitting at the top of the ball, lifted it, and then headed back to the opposite wall, doing a sort of bent-low monkey shuffle, which is maybe the best way I can put it. Quite comic to watch, but faster than his normal one-foot-forward-and-one-foot-dragging gait when he was carrying those blocks or performing some other tasks.

‘A little faster that way,’ Trixie had decided, though it didn’t matter. I mean, it wasn’t as though Dirtbag had any other pressing engagements elsewhere, and block drill was merely a means of keeping him occupied till he was needed for some other menial chore. He really did resemble something out of a Victorian horror prison, didn’t he, minus the convict suit with arrowheads or whatever all over it. I couldn’t see Trixie ever providing such a thing for him; it would get in the way of her whip, for one thing. What would she do when the weather turned really cold? I wondered, but then shrugged. Not my problem. Another idea was forming in my mind, prompted by strict Victorian prison regimes.

I left him to it and retraced my steps to the opposite end, noting that the delectable Boobie was being unharnessed from the cart and led to the walker. No rest for the entirely innocent, I chuckled to myself, not with Trixie around to keep them occupied and suitably chastised and humiliated like poor Boobie there. Trixie was walking beside the tall ponygirl, holding the reins in her left hand while her right was possessively fondling and squeezing the nearest rump cheek. Beauty and the beast…but which was which?

“What’s so funny?” Trixie demanded, a tad suspiciously, stepping back and setting the walker in motion.

“Hey,” I raised both hands protectively. “Pull your damn horns in. Can’t a chap chuckle to himself without someone taking offence? Anyway, I’ve had an idea.”

“Really!”

How the hell can someone pack so much bloody, derisive sarcasm into one simple word? I decided to ignore that and elaborate on my idea, jerking my head back towards Dirtbag.

“I’ve just had a thought that might interest you regarding him”

Her cute little mouth opened, and I half expected another ‘Really’ to emerge, but she obviously thought better of it, and her expression became curious. “Yes?”

I grinned at her. “Yeah, I was watching him at work, such as it is, and then I started thinking about convicts, which led to Victorian prisons, pointless tasks, and the like”

“Go on?” Her curiosity was now aroused.

“Didn’t they once use to set them to rock-breaking tasks, smashing big boulders in quarries and similar, once upon a time?” I frowned. “Not sure why, but it’s something I’ve heard and read about.”

Trixie, who’d turned to check that her two victims were high-stepping in the expected manner, turned back to me. “Yes, I’ve heard that as well. Why… oh.” Her expression changed as our thought processes aligned on the same wavelength, and she nodded thoughtfully.

A few evenings ago, we’d been walking around the farmyard and the collection of dilapidated and derelict outbuildings that came with it. Trixie had been talking about making a vegetable garden behind the farmhouse, in an area convenient for the back door and the kitchen tap. Perhaps many years ago, that same spot had been used for just such a purpose, but now it was covered with masonry rubble and a half-collapsed old pigsty or some similar ruin.

Having green-fingered aspirations wasn’t something I’d have associated with her, but apparently she’d had one in her parents' garden when she was younger. ‘Not flowers and all that stuff’, she’d told me. ‘Mum and Dad were into all that, especially Daddy with his roses. I liked growing stuff we could use, I mean, eat. Beans, carrots, and even some potatoes. It was fun watching them grow and then eating them.

“There are other areas with far less… less crap lying about,” I’d advised her as we perused the site.

“Not so convenient for the back door or the water tap, though”.

“Yup,” I’d conceded dubiously, looking at the area. Thinking back, it seemed foolish that we hadn’t hit on the solution there and then.

Trixie's attention had now switched fully from the two female equines on the walker to her slave labourer scurrying back and forth with his pointless burdens. “Right side of the farmhouse,” she mused again, with plenty to keep him occupied. “No one can see him from the road, so if anything comes down, it should be if he’s working back there. I could place another chain there, and then I won’t even have to keep an eye on him.”

“Why not remove the ball altogether and just put him on a long chain? He might work more effectively that way.”

“Mmmm,” she considered the idea, then shook her head. “No, I don’t want him to get used to being without it. Morning, noon and night, he gets to drag that around, besides,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want him to think I was going soft or anything. Braces and belt, as you said the other day”

The other way around, but I didn’t bother to correct her. Instead, I glanced sideways at Boobie and Buttercup, noting their whip-marked bodies, very little of which was my handiwork—none at all, in fact, on one of them. “I doubt he’ll ever think that”, I muttered sourly.

“What?” Trixie shook her head again, then shrugged. “Let’s leave them to it and go have another look. Do we have one, by the way?”

I turned to follow her. “One what?”

“Sledgehammer, of course, Sweetie. We’ve got a decent wheelbarrow, plenty of shovels and spades, and there’s even a pickaxe somewhere, isn’t there? But didn’t they give them those big hammer things back in the day to break up big rocks?”

“If we haven’t, I can always buy one, I suppose.” Hell, it would be a damn sight cheaper than 99% of what I’d had to buy for her so far!

Trixie giggled. “Well, I wouldn’t want him complaining that he didn’t have the right equipment. Teamwork. You provide the site and equipment, he provides the labour, and I provide the appropriate...” she paused to giggle again. “Motivation!”

“Motivation!” I repeated to myself, glancing back as I followed her from the building into the stable, and, without thinking, muttered a silent apology to that hunched, scurrying figure. Then it was my turn to shrug indifferently. Besides, if he hit all that stuff hard enough, it would only be a small broken piece he’d have to shovel up, wouldn’t it? Not heavy blocks to lug around. I doubted he’d consider that much of a silver lining, though. Not with Trixie happily providing that motivation she’d just promised!

I grinned to myself at the prospect. What was I complaining about? Not that I was! The sadistic little Miss always looked so sexy and cute when she was in full flow, giving some poor creature a lesson it would long remember. Since the weather was pretty clement, I doubted she’d be overdressed while doing it. Stripping off gave her greater freedom when she was ‘educating’ one of them, as she put it. Absolute balls, I’d always thought. For me, it was just blatant exhibitionism!

Not that my eager little buddy below or I were ever going to complain about it. But that delightful visual prospect was still to come, and for now… well, oh gosh, what a big stiffie this big bad wolf had on! Now I could do the old John Wayne walk back to the house, couldn’t I, with the risk of exploding in my pants halfway! Such a waste. Since I’d paused for my erotic thoughts in the old stable, I looked around, smiled, and shouted after her, “Hey, put the kettle on, love, I’ll be along in a minute. Let’s have a brew and a break first.” Then I turned back. “Heya, Tinky, boy.”

They say great minds think alike, and presumably so do ‘not so great ones’… or maybe it was the massive bulge in the front of my trousers that put my handsome ponyboy into immediate reverse. A pretty futile exercise, given how cramped his stall was, and besides, I still didn’t have a whip in my hand, so why be such a silly boy! I had something quite different in mind, but it would probably be no less debasing for him. Maybe I should give him a choice one fine day, just out of curiosity, and see which he’d prefer.

I flicked the latch on the door to his stall. Mmmm, maybe prefer wasn’t quite the right word, looking at that expression in his eyes, and it was going to last for much longer than the minute I’d told Trixie. It always did!