A Tale Of Two Families

Chapter 30

They reined in, dismounted by a small lake, tethered their sweaty blowing mounts to a convenient branch, and seated themselves on a large fallen tree not far from the cloudy green water. Several optimistic ducks immediately appeared, along with three large Canada geese.

“We should have brought some bread with us”, Eva chuckled. “I wonder how they know to come for something to eat. I mean, this place is kinda remote, so nobody ever comes here. This side belongs to us and the other to the farmer guy I told you about”.

“Maybe they visit from elsewhere”, Heather replied. “Anyway, I hear you’re not supposed to give them bread”.

Eva turned to her friend in astonishment. “Why ever not?”

Heather had been looking towards their mounts, just checking on them, but twisted back around and chuckled at the look on Eva’s face. “Something to do with starvation, so I read somewhere. Apparently, bread has little nutritional value and fills their stomachs, so they don’t feel hungry and go hunting for the stuff they should eat. They can die of malnutrition, so I read”.

“Pfaff, stupid birds!” Eva exclaimed.

“Possibly. It never seemed to do much harm at the local park when I was a kid. Always masses of them there,” Heather commented, watching the disappointed birds swim away, “and I’ll bet people have been doing it since Roman times or whenever. I’d better go water them before we get too settled. They can also cool off a bit under the shade such as it is”.

“Bring a bottle for me”, Eva called as Heather stood up and headed towards Midnight and Patootie.

Heather waved an arm behind her back and muttered, “Lazy little slut!”

Eva laughed. “Hey, I heard that. There’s a chocolate bar in my saddlebags as well. Hopefully not gone all squishy. You can have half so long as you are nice to me”.

“Spoilt little bitch doesn’t deserve a big beautiful pony like you, does she?” Heather murmured after loosening its mouth bit. Eva patted the filly’s crop-marked left breast while holding the spouted water bottle to the animal’s mouth. “Steady girl, steady. Don’t choke yourself, and I hope you weren’t about to say anything coherent just then. You know very well that’s not a good idea, and much as I’d dislike having to, I’d be obliged to tell on you. For your own good, of course, in the long term because we both know that’s strictly verboten. The sooner we learn that and realise our life has changed forever, the better it will be. Well, marginally better,” she corrected herself.

She lightly tapped the pony on its nose and then fondled its left breast. “Such a shame to see what she was doing to these proud beauties, but we both know what happens to naughty, disobedient ponies.” Heather leaned forward and whispered, “Knowing your nasty little owner, I expect she’ll soon get bored with you, so who knows? My old mare is getting past it, so I might put in an offer for you myself. I’ve had a lot of mileage out of Jezebel, and you’re a bigger filly and younger than she was when I first acquired her.”

Heather jumped back slightly as Patootie gave a violent start, more from the words than Heather's sudden squeeze to her bruised breast. “Steady girl”, she laughed. “I’m not that bad; Jezebel was a special case, after all! I promise you’ll only ever feel my whip when you deserve to feel it, not for fun like that nasty little brat!”

“Hurry it up”, Eva called impatiently. “I’m thirsty and hungry!”

“Bad for your teeth, Kiddo”, Heather retorted, stretching up on tiptoes to raise the water bottle sufficiently high for Midnight to suck down desperately.

“Here”, she said a few minutes later, handing Eva the confectionary bar and a water bottle as she seated herself on the fallen log and then added, “Oh, give it here” as the girl struggled to release the nozzle.

“I can manage”, Eva snapped back as the bits of plastic preventing the nozzle from raising upward snapped. “Why do they have to make the damn things so fucking difficult!”

“Probably so’s people don’t lose a screw cap,” Heather said, taking the bottle from her and raising it to her lips. “Why buy them anyway? What’s wrong with tap water and a reusable bottle?”

Eva pulled a face. “Ours tastes funny. Fine for coffee, Tea and our animals but not for drinking neat, here.” she broke the chocolate bar in half, held the two pieces side by side and then handed Heather the smaller portion with a cheeky smile. Heather made no comment but broke off two pieces, put them on the log, and then nibbled on the remainder.

“Do ducks like chocolate?”

“I doubt it”, Heather replied. “nor do I think they’ll get an opportunity to try either”, she observed with a touch of sarcasm as her companion crammed the last couple of pieces into her mouth.

“Rhetorical question,” Eva shrugged. “Who are those for,” she asked, pointing at the two pieces of chocolate Heather had broken off. The suspicious note in her voice indicated that she knew exactly what they were for.

“What, not who?” Heather corrected her. “A reward for the ponies, of course; what else? We’ve had a nice little ride, and they’ve both been well-behaved!”

“Fuck that!” Eva scowled, grabbing the treats and promptly scoffing them. “Yes?” she added impudently a second later as Heather stared at her, veering betwixt anger and irritation and finally settled for a long sigh. No, she decided. She would not mention the girl to her boss as a potential future employee for one of her clients. To work with these unique animals, you had to have a certain empathy, an understanding that Eva lacked and never would have. Besides, she was far too mercurial as yet for any sort of responsible position.

Heather chose to say nothing, merely sighed again and reached for the water bottle. She made a mental note to chat with Patricia and maybe Alice before she departed. Alice, especially for she was more aware of her younger siblings’ inherent nastiness than perhaps her mother was. They were all nasty and sadistic, including herself; she had no foolish illusions about that. But there were limits so far as Heather was concerned. If a lame dog ran up to her, she’d try to see what was wrong with it or pat the poor thing on the head. In comparison, Eva might do the same or kick the wretched thing across the street without a second thought, depending on her mood. How soon would the brat tire of Patootie, she wondered?

“Are you staying on for Moonglow?” Eva asked, picking up a flattish stone and failing to skip it across the surface of the small lake. Her second attempt was no better, nor was the third.

Heather spotted a similar stone but resisted the temptation. Eva would only get all petulant if she succeeded or all smug if she failed, and Heather was not in the mood to deal with teenage angst. Besides, there was Patootie to consider. If Eva got into one of her ‘difficult’ moods, the pony would suffer unnecessarily, offending her professionalism. She’d promised Patricia that she’d keep an eye on things, but she’d rather not become involved if she didn’t have to, and it was no use asking what was his latest name, ‘fuck face’ to intervene. Patricia’s overtly masculine husband might be well endowed, or so she’d heard, but he’d long since been emasculated so far as having any authority went. He counted about as much as Patootie did so far as Eva was concerned!

“I’m not sure. Alice wants me to, but I need to speak to Margret again. Things aren’t too busy at the moment, one of those quiet periods that come along occasionally, so the stable is only about half full, mostly Margrets stock.

“How come?”

Heather shrugged. “It just happens. Several owners have collected the ponies we’d been breaking and training. A few of the others have been sold off, and a couple that were stabled with us have now gone to their owner's facilities, plus they have Jilly there now as well.”

“Who’s Jilly?

“New stable girl, sort of an apprentice, a bit older than you. Her mum owns a couple of ponies that we stable and comes down regularly to see them, and Jilly is doing her ‘gap year’ with us before she goes to Uni. Her mum is…well, let’s say Jilly travelled extensively when she was younger with her mother, so going off backpacking to see the world doesn’t hold much attraction, whereas working with our ponies does!

Eva picked up another stone, hefted it a few times, then changed her mind and dropped it. “That figures”, she muttered half to herself, glancing over towards their two tethered mounts. “So, will you be around when Moonglow drops?”

Heather shredded. “I expect so, but I don’t know why Alice is so keen. Maybe just returning the favour because she’s seen the same at Margret’s place.” She paused and chuckled, both the start and finish of the process, so to speak. It’s not as if I will be needed because Megan will be in attendance, and she’s the expert. She whizzed in and out the other week, you know, when you were in town. It's the little filly's first time, so she expects her to be running late. Have your elders decided on what they’ll do with it yet?” she looked penetrating at Eva. “They’ve been very vague when I’ve asked”.

“Elders!” Eva raised her eyebrows and then took another swig from her bottle. “Yeah, tell me about it. Blood out of a stone,” she turned quickly to Heather. “What does Margret do with them? I gather she’s had quite a few little foals out of her mares, right?”

Heather accepted the bottle Eva held out and took a long drink, wiping her mouth thoughtfully before she replied. “I wouldn’t exactly say a lot.” She paused. “Well, I suppose it depends on your definition. It's not a common occurrence, but I wouldn’t say it is a rare or unusual event in her stable, either. As a rule, many of them tend to be spoken for before they drop in most cases.”

“How so?” Eva was interested. “You mean kinda made to order?”

Heather laughed. “Well, yes,  I suppose in one or two instances. It’s not unusual for the prospective foal owners to be in attendance. Arab week, Kylie sometimes calls it. There’s huge and growing interest from that part of the world. I gather it has always been the local tradition to geld male livestock, so breeding them had been a rarity, and, NO, Eva!” Her tone changed abruptly, and she reached out and tapped Eva’s right hand. “That’s cruel and unnecessary. Leave the poor things alone!”

“Spoilsport!” Eva retorted but dropped the flat stone she’d been holding. The ducks were still hovering expectantly, and Heather had seen the sudden gleam in the girl’s eye and instinctively knew that Eva wasn’t thinking about trying to skim it out over the smooth surface of the water.

“They’re only fucking ducks!” Eva muttered sulkily.

“Perhaps so, but there is no need to be cruel to them, is there? I doubt they’d appreciate you lobbing rocks at them”.

Eva shrugged her shoulders dismissively and turned to her companion to say something but stopped short, obviously changing her mind before she continued. “Hey, what’s with all this cruel business anyhow? What about those Arab stallions and colts you just mentioned? Did they appreciate having their boy parts sliced off?” she challenged. “How does your Jezebel feel about what you’ve done to her? Did she appreciate you chopping her tongue out and all the rest of what you’ve done?”

It was Heather’s turn to shrug as she stood up, dusting herself down and checking her cell phone hadn’t gone AWOL from the pocket in her tight riding leggings. “Completely different situation, kiddo. Totally different. Now, how about putting them to a canter to stretch their legs and then I’ll race you the final stretch. You say ‘go’ once the house is in sight, and we’ll see how they compare. I reckon it might be close. What say you?”

Eva jumped up, ducks and drakes forgotten. “You’re on, and the loser gets to unsaddle them, rub them down, and deal with any extras,  Deal?”

Heather laughed. “Nope, no deal. You’re not getting your hands on Midnight via the backdoor for those dubious ‘extras’. No way,  your sister would kill me. I’m feeling like a cold beer and a bite to eat. What say you? Once we’ve settled them back in their stalls, we head for the village pub for a drink and a bar meal outside in that pretty beer garden with all the flowers. Loser pays?”

“Spoilsport”, Eva laughed, still eyeing Midnight up. “Okay, you’re on but on one condition”.

Heather was releasing Midnight's reins and paused, turning to Eva, who had climbed onto Patootie’s saddle. “What condition?”.

“Noointterfffe” Eva paused and removed her riding crop from between her teeth where she’d held it while untangling the reins of her mount and settling into her saddle. “No interference. If this dumb filly loses, then she and I will have a little on-the-spot corrective object lesson, and you,” Eva pointed the crop threateningly at Heather. “You keep your nose out of it, Miss Prissy. She’s not a fucking duck; she belongs to me, and as you just said, a completely different situation! Come on, let's head back. I need to check on this beast's mother and her auntie to ensure the lazy old bitches aren’t slacking!

Heather swung up onto Midnight's saddle, wriggled her bottom for a moment to settle herself and patted him on the head. “Now behave yourself, big boy, or I might just forget my promise to your owner and let her horrible little sister take you for a ride and you….NO Eva!”

Eva took no notice and carried on with what she was doing. “My pony, my rules and my spurs”, she snickered, flicking the points of the one she’d just fixed to her right boot, setting it spinning. “A little additional encouragement for my lovely Patootie won’t go amiss, methinks!”

*****

He was enjoying himself for once. No, that wasn’t entirely true, for he enjoyed himself most days, didn’t he? Every day since circumstances no longer required his participation in the daily rat race of commute and work due to financial necessity. Those days were almost, but not quite, a distant memory since he’d married Patricia. Nowadays, life had become one long round of indolent, sensual and sadistic pleasure in, if not luxurious, exceedingly comfortable surroundings.

He was stretched out on the big sofa, unshaven, unwashed and wearing nothing but a vest, pyjama bottoms and bedroom slippers. He also felt extremely comfortable, for opportunities to relax like this were rare. That was one of the prices he had to pay for his languid, pampered lifestyle. The downside was that it clashed with his natural inclination towards laziness and inherent indifference to his appearance. Patricia would have gone up in flames, the domestic equivalent of a thermonuclear explosion, had she walked in and seen him lounging about in his present ‘comfortable’ undressed state! He scowled absently at the wall, thinking how ironic that was given how little her various pets were permitted or required to wear!

Fortunately, he would not be disturbed for at least another few days. His wife and her eldest brat were on what she’d casually described as a fact-finding trip. That scary friend of hers, Margret, was somehow involved, and they were calling in on her after they’d been to France, presumably to discuss whatever ‘facts’ they found. As usual, neither of them had bothered to confide in him; he counted for about as much as a pet dog, not that they had one!

Well, not entirely true, he reflected, absently stroking the blonde hair of the figure kneeling between his legs. They had a couple of big guard dogs in the kennel, but they could hardly be described as family pets. The bloody things were more likely to rip your throat out if you tried to pet them or correction if he tried to pet them. His wife and Alice never seemed fazed by them, nor Eva come to that. Mind you, that was hardly surprising. The dogs knew when they were outclassed. He'd always take the dogs as the lesser evil when it came to being nasty, vicious and cruel.

There were the other ‘pets’, the more exotic ones. Now, those did count for less than him, infinitely less. Those two-legged ones out in the stable, kennel or here in the house like the obedient slut kneeling submissively before him with fresh cum smeared over her lips and chin, ungrateful little bitch that she was for not swallowing every drop! She’d pay for that omission later once he was in a more energetic frame of mind. You’d have thought by now she could eagerly swallow whatever his cock produced without having a choking fit and wasting her master's precious juices!

A clatter from the adjoining room disturbed his thought process, making him frown. Mumsie and her diminutive sister were no doubt working through that list of household chores his wife had posted to be done before her return. Not just done, but performed to her meticulous standards or else. Both women were very familiar with what the ‘or else’ threat would entail, especially as Eva had been charged with supervising them. Despite the lack of an overseeing eye, they were scurrying hither and thither between their normal daily chores like, like…. He shrugged; he couldn’t think of an appropriate metaphor, but it didn’t matter. He needn’t bother himself; in any case, Eva would run a critical eye over everything later, and she had carte blanche to apply some early ‘or else’ to the bitches should she not be satisfied.

The evil young sadist wouldn’t be, of course, but that wasn’t his problem. The only variable would be whether it was short and very unsweet or long and loud. It would be extremely painful for those who’d incurred the punishment, not to mention intensely humiliating, for those older bitches having to bend over and bare their backside to a brat less than half their age.

He shuffled into a lower position on the sofa, snapping his fingers as he did so. “Footstool”, he commanded. Girlie shuffled around and bent forward, still kneeling to support himself on his hands, his back raised for his master’s convenience to rest his outstretched feet upon. 

Above him, the man of the house reached for his iPad and settled deeper into the soft sofa with a sigh of contentment. He was alone and untroubled. Eva and that other bitch, Heather, who was undoubtedly overstaying her welcome by far too many weeks, had gone for a ride. A fucking ride! He snorted that to himself. Jesus, they actually did that, didn’t they on, those poor wretches? How did that big bastard Midnight feel about it, he wondered. Instead of being atop Alice himself, betwixt her thighs and plunging his enormous manhood into her pussy it was the other way around. The girl atop him, her thigh clamped around his helpless body as she rode him differently than when he was strapped to her fucking bench. Harnessed and helpless, sheesh, what a fucking miserable and demeaning life!

He glanced along his legs to the crouching youth, and no doubt that little bitch thought she was badly treated. Hell, he rode her every day, but that was…well, there was no comparison to those out in the stable. At least she was treated like a human being, unlike those poor fuckers. My, but he wouldn’t mind taking that big, unruly bastard Midnight for a ride one day, and he wouldn’t be using a saddle on him either. How would that big bad boy react to feeling a real cock up his ass instead of one of Alice’s lifeless toys, he wondered. That thought prompted his cock to show pleasurable signs of returning to life.

The sound of a vacuum cleaner starting in the next room made him look up. There were always those two in addition, which prompted another train of thought. They were both getting on a bit but still more than easy on the eye; otherwise, they wouldn’t be reluctantly sharing his wife's bed nearly every night. Both of them eminently fuckable with nice tits on them as well. Nice everything come to that, and he’d always had a bit of yen for Mumsie, hadn’t he?

The main hellcat was away, wasn’t she, but one of the damn kittens was still here, and then there was Mumsie herself. Would she say anything? Hell, she might not say a thing, might appreciate a real cock for a change instead of writhing beneath a strapon like a butterfly upon a collectors pin, he thought with a grin. That look of gratitude on her face when they’d driven down to collect her from the gruesome twosome. He’d also done the driving, so maybe she did owe him one for the road!

He put the iPad down again and stared at the ceiling for a second and then kicked Girlie as he snapped his fingers again, pointing towards his semi-erect cock as it thrust slowly out of the open fly in his pyjama bottoms. No words were required, and a moment later, he sighed contentedly at the silky touch of long strands of blonde hair caressing his belly as those soft, practised lips closed upon his manhood. He shuddered contentedly, returning his gaze to the ceiling and thinking back. The woman had smiled, hadn’t she, and that was the only time he’d ever seen any hint of gratitude in those beautiful, sad eyes that belonged to this little cocksuckers mama!

Patrica had warned him that they might be slightly different from what he was used to, and she hadn’t been wrong. He’d met most of what he privately termed his wife’s ‘nasty’ friends by this time, those that shared her predilections in a similar form. Most were perfectly normal people, at least seemingly in their daily lives. The common denominator was that they all had cash to spare, quite a considerable amount to spare in most cases, and many were also blessed with above-average looks in the appearance department. Maybe that was inherited for rich people rarely married ugly partners, did they?

A good point and one he himself was uncomfortably aware of that applied to his present situation. He was sitting comfortably primarily because of his good looks, rugged masculinity and large penis. All three being deemed essential by his wife, although she hadn’t availed herself of the latter overmuch recently, being so preoccupied with her damn bitches! The fact that he was also very virile and an accomplished lover had been the icing on the cake for his wife.

He wasn’t stupid, though and knew full well that he was merely an addition to her social status, her wardrobe that accompanied the expensive dresses, shoes and handbag to parties and similar functions. Not, he reminded himself, that she attended many these days as her other ‘interests’ occupied more of her time and attention. A worrying trend, he thought, for someone who, in many ways, was a virtual nonentity otherwise. At least so far as the other occupants of the house were concerned, those that ruled the roost!

“Slowly, girl, slowly, very slowly”, he grunted, patting the bobbing blonde head. “Keep daddy hard and hot. Let us make it long and slow, baby. You know how to do that, don’t you, babe? Yes, you’ve had enough practice, and then we’ll see if Daddy feels like taking you for a ride or simply filling that pretty little mouth again with lots of hot juicy cum, eh?”

The Gruesome twosome, his wife’s term, which he’d immediately mentally adopted upon first sight, seemed the exception to the usual rule. They’d fawned over him as though he was visiting royalty rather than blatantly ignoring him like that bitch Margret generally did. Nor did they seem to fit the wealth pattern unless they intended to outdo one Ebenezer Scrooge. If so, then they were achieving that goal quite successfully. But if it wasn’t money, they had it must be something else; otherwise, how the hell had they got their evil hands on that sexy little German piece of sweet young pussy?

To be fair, they were not his wife’s friends but friends or acquaintances of her older sister. Hopefully, the smelly bitch was being thoroughly seasick as her cruise ship headed for its next port of call, to be revealed when the inevitable postcard arrived. That, in his opinion, as he’d grumbled to Patricia, was an unnecessary extra security risk. Dragging the poor postie all the way to deliver one solitary damn card.

Patrica had somewhat scornfully pointed out that the letterbox was at the end of the drive, the other side of the gate, and the postman had to pass that to deliver to all the local farms and then probably the village, not to mention that army battle training place up on the moors. Even when they don’t have a load of squaddies, they must still have some permanent staff on-site! She’d told him all that at breakfast in the condescending tone you might use to explain something obvious to a five-year-old! He wasn’t a five-year-old, though, and resented both tone and the accompanying hilarity it caused from the other two bitches, three including that bitch, Heather.

He scowled to himself at that memory. “Slower, bitch!” he rapped his knuckles hard on Girlie's head purely out of sheer testiness rather than any lapse on her part as his thoughts returned to that recent visit.

Scrooges was right for their house, which had seemed semi-derelict and long overdue for a complete exterior overhaul and paint job. Or, better still, a demolition job! The dingy interior was not much better nor helped by that stale, musty smell that permeated everywhere and had even clung to their clothes when they returned. Indeed, the first thing Patricia had done when they got home was to drag Mumsie upstairs to the shower, strip herself off and then rid them both of that awful stink while intimately reacquainting herself with the woman’s mature body under the hot, soapy water!

He'd only hung around downstairs long enough to grab a coffee and make himself a sandwich because, although hungry, he couldn’t bring himself to eat anything they’d been offered earlier. Patricia had gone as far as nibbling half a stale chocolate biscuit, but that was about it, and neither had taken more than a couple of sips of coffee. Besides, it had been instant and by the taste a very inferior or cheap ‘own brand’ from a supermarket.

Patricia hadn’t wasted much time post showering, he’d noted upon opening the main bedroom door to find her sprawled upon the bed, hardly even dry with Mumsie’s head already buried between her legs. At the same time, Auntie stood in the corner, hands on head, watching while her sister energetically renewed her familiarity with his wife’s demanding cunt. Normal service swiftly resumed, although from what he’d heard earlier, Mumsie’s generous mouth hadn’t been idle since her foul sister had borrowed the woman. Did she know Patrica didn’t intend to give her back, he wondered?

As usual, the sight of a woman on woman made him randy, and he’d his own solution to that situation on hand, hadn’t he? Five minutes later, as he thrust into Girlie’s sissy cunt in the next room, he wondered if the little bitch’s mother was glad to be back, or perhaps that was the wrong term. Did she have a preference, and if so, was she slightly happier doing what she was doing next door with his wife? Was that preferable to doing the same with the Gruesome Twosome? She’d certainly looked to be showing a lot of enthusiasm, but then again, his wife’s ‘girls’ always did, didn’t they? No different, in fact, to the juicy little slut he was vigorously fucking. A lack of enthusiasm wasn’t acceptable, and the consequences for such were inevitably painful!

That made his mind up, and he rapped on the bobbing blonde head with his knuckles. “Up girl, up and over the chair, you know the one I mean. Daddy feels in the mood for something a little more vigorous, so let's replace sucky sucky with some fucky fucky!”

*****

Enthusiasm wasn’t the term Mumsie would have chosen not for her bedroom duties nor for the effort she put into her domestic chores. Her mind was mirroring that of her Master as she diligently went about her assigned tasks. Not that such attention mattered, well it did obviously, but whether a job was done to absolute perfection would make little difference when the malignant brat reviewed their work at the end of the day.

Eva was in charge for the moment, whereas it wasn’t unknown for her mother to acknowledge a task well done, even occasionally praising the minion responsible, but that would never occur to her youngest daughter. No matter how diligent the worker had been or how pleasing the result of their efforts might be, it was of no consequence to the girl. She would find fault regardless, and subsequent punishment rigorously and enthusiastically applied! 

Escape was impossible while those awful shock collars were locked around their necks. The queen bitch might be away, but there was not the slightest possibility of them flying the coop or any rebellion against those holding the upper hand. They had all tried that at least once and suffered the inevitable and agonising consequences. Eva had reminded her mother's ‘two old bitches’  of such consequences that first evening following her departure.

The car probably hadn’t even reached the end of the entrance drive before they’d been abruptly summoned by the malevolent little Princess bitch so she could impress her new, if temporary, authority upon them. Not that she needed to, for the brat had always been way above their lowly status in the household pecking order, and neither of them was a stranger to that long, slender cane she’d carried as though it were to be a baton of her stewardship during her senior's absence. A whippy baton the girl had wielded all too frequently, as Mumsie and her sister knew well.

Even as she diligently polished the big dining table, her mind was elsewhere. How could she be enthusiastic about what she’d just done or any of the obscene acts she was forced to perform daily? No, not even forced, for she hadn’t been dragged to the bed, nor had her head been grasped and firmly pushed down into that mass of dark, wiry pubic hair. No, her moist tongue was already flicking out to provide the dutiful pleasure her owner demanded, even as she’d voluntarily lowered her head after crawling up the bed when ordered.

Perhaps subconsciously, she had been enthusiastic, a little enthusiastic anyway. No doubt born out of gratitude and relief to be, well…. not precisely home but rescued from that house of hell with those two stinking sadistic harridans. The Gruesome Twosome, that’s what Patricia, her Mistress, had called them in the car driving back. A very apt description, she’d thought, although gruesome as an adjective barely described that awful, stinking, crazy, depraved pair. Then again, apart from the lack of hygiene, were they any different from the attractive woman in the front passenger seat who‘d already made it clear what service she expected immediately upon their return?

At least this time, she had a seat and wasn’t crammed into the car's boot, the trunk as the Americans called it, like she had been for that first long journey. Why trunk, she wondered and then come to that, why boot? It wasn’t important, and sitting on the seat was far more comfortable even if her hands had been handcuffed behind her back and her jaws clamped around a tight red ball gag. A trench coat, presumably Patricia’s, had been used to clothe her naked body, an itchy woolly scarf around her neck and lower face and a broad-brimmed floppy hat on her head.

In addition, the vehicle's windows were slightly tinted, so anyone outside might have difficulty seeing the interior. However, she’d still received a severe warning from her Mistress about the consequences of attempting ‘anything silly’ as she’d put it. The chances of succeeding being extremely slim to non-existent, and any such attempt would mean an immediate trip in the opposite direction once home. That meant the basement cellar rather than the bedroom, and no one willingly wanted to spend time in that infernal place, not with a woman like Patricia.

She’d also been warned and told off several times for not keeping her head down. Perhaps she’d pay a milder price for those infractions later, but it was worth it. Bit by bit, she’d raised her head slightly and, betwixt scarf and hat, managed to grab a narrow view of a world she’d once known as it flashed past the window. Besides, it seemed all such warnings were irrelevant, for the car hardly ever needed to stop and not once had it done so anywhere she might have been able to attract attention. They seemed to go from A to B with minimum civilisation in sight!

Her main concern was whether this was another brief break, another loan period as she was passed around like an old favoured book from reader to reader, becoming a little more tattered and careworn at the hands of each new reader, or was she going full circle? She couldn’t ask, of course, and certainly not with that huge red lump filling her mouth, but maybe later, if she was especially pleasing in the bedroom, such a question might be permitted and perhaps even answered.

She had spent what, three weeks maybe with that awful pair and every day had seemed an eternity and the nights even worse. Grateful as she was for her deliverance, she couldn’t help her eyes moistening a little at the thought of the young German girl she’d left behind, Sabrina. She was so young, so fragile looking, and so very pretty. The other two, yes, she felt a little sad for them as well, especially Wanker, and maybe the poor man could be redeemed someday. Alas, for Creature, it was probably far too late because he’d been cruelly pushed beyond any possible physical and mental recovery point.

The journey, even with something to surreptitiously look at, seemed interminable. Neither the driver nor her owner in the passenger seat seemed inclined to talk to each other as the miles slowly passed by, and so her mind drifted back a few hours to that hateful house.

Instead of being kicked out of Miss Agnes’s bed at first light to make herself useful in the kitchen, she’d been obliged to provide the evil bitch with ‘extrath’ as she deemed it. ‘Coth of whath coming later Gertie girl’. Those words had terrified her into a frenzied bout of extra enthusiastic cunnilingus upon Miss Agnes’s stinking cunt. Whatever was coming later would not be pleasant; experience had taught her that, but she’d been wrong on this occasion.

At breakfast, she had sensed a certain excitement in the pair mingled with something else, not quite anger but something similar and far more subdued. Indeed, as she and Wanker served the breakfast they’d prepared, neither mother nor daughter seemed quite their usual nasty selves. Well, no, that hadn’t quite been true. Poor Wanker had his ears soundly boxed for spilling a tiny drop of coffee on the tablecloth they insisted upon using. What difference would one more tiny stain matter on a piece of greasy cloth already covered in a multitude of stains and grey with grime and age, just like everything else in the horrible house?

 What a mockery it made of that time they had come to house and slave sit for her then owner and to train her to scrub and clean in addition to the more personal duties they demanded. A single spot of dirt, a wayward piece of fluff or a smidgen of grease left on a washed plate would have brought instant howls of rage along with swift accompanying correction from one or both of them back then.

Evidently, those rules were not so much suspended as non-existent in their own evil abode. Pots and pans, crockery and cutlery were the only exceptions. No, not entirely, for the fridge, freezer, and the pantry storage area were similar. Anything to do with food bar, the things that did the actual cooking! The only new thing about the ancient gas cooker was the bright red external gas bottle you could see through the grimed window. The cooker's enamelled white surface was stained and covered with years of burnt food residue, and the black interior was beyond belief. The microwave wasn’t too different, and even the electric toaster left a thick trail of carbonised breadcrumbs if you moved it.

Quite why they were like that and why everything in the building was both old and dilapidated, like the building itself, was beyond her comprehension, and there was no way she would have asked the two resident hags. They wouldn’t have told her anyway, would they? Wanker hadn’t when she’d asked, merely cringed away from her as though she was inflicted with some dreadful disease like leprosy. Did mother and daughter even notice anything, having lived among the dust, filth and decay for years?

Even the clothes they strolled around in were holed, moth-eaten, missing buttons, and rarely washed or ironed. Yet if they went shopping for a few hours, they were invariably dressed in their best. One Sunday morning a month, immediately after breakfast, they’d even use the bath and then groom themselves before donning their finest to attend the local church service. The three house slaves would be chained together, locked in the dingy basement containing the creature's cage, and left in the stinking darkness until they returned, changed, and then released. The latter usually performed with a flurry of blows, kicks and curses as normality returned for another hideous week!

It was as well they always clicked the basement light off after ensuring they were all secure. The first time Sabrina had seen Creature in his cage, the girl had a fit of hysterics and then fainted, Mumsie learned. The second time had produced a similar effect but without the faint, although she probably wished she had the way the two evil women tore into her for all the screaming! Not that her reaction was all that surprising; her own hadn’t been too dissimilar bar the hysterics and fainting.

Creature was hardly human, a mere shadow of what he once had been. He reminded her of Gollum in the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy but made far worse because he was human or had been! Naked, grey-white, unhealthy skin barely covering the bones within through severe malnourishment and surviving on the merest and foulest scraps thrown down on the dirt for him to salivate over. Denied even the dignity of a dog bowl as he shuffled his face in the dirt on the floor, seeking those few morsels that came his way.

Bald, his head cruelly scarred as though from acid and certainly by design rather than any accident. His nose, or remnants of one, was just an opening under his weak, watery, bulbous staring eyes and a loose drooling mouth that showed not a single tooth. Scurvy rather than deliberate cruelty she’d heard Claire say so indifferently once, an additional bonus for her on account of his meagre diet,  but as to the rest! An oversized black iron collar encircled his neck with rusty iron chains leading to similar fittings around his wrists and ankles, the latter too short to permit standing erect so that he’d long been reduced to the lowly status of an animal: a kept pet but light years from being a spoiled and pampered one.

He'd been a man once, but that must have been a long time ago, for nothing now remained of what he’d once possessed to prove that fact. It had gone the way of his nose, ears and fingers either at the beginning or sometime during his hideous confinement. No wonder poor little Sabrina had reacted in such a way at first sight of him when Miss Agness led him in on his leash!

The creature, for that, is what he’d become both in name and body and barely human could do nothing for himself but exist, if you could even call the cruel life his mistress enforced upon him, living! He was caged in near-permanent darkness, sleeping and crawling around his limited space amidst the stinking remains of his body waste. Not that his body had much to waste since he lived almost entirely on a liquid diet, a daily bowl of cold, weak soup and assorted scraps.

One of her daily duties had been to ‘prepare’ that soup, and she’d been punished more than once for trying to surreptitiously bulk up the poor thing’s food with a few tasty solids. It had been painful, but it hadn’t stopped her from doing it, and the only positive from the last three weeks was that she’d been able to do that almost every day. The gruesome twosome hadn’t been that fussy, and if it was liquid and in a bowl, they were too lazy to investigate further. She’d taken some slight satisfaction from that and was somewhat regretful that no one would continue. Wanker certainly wouldn’t, and he’d been horrified when he saw her discreetly chopping up a couple of cold sausages and burying them at the bottom of the feeding bowl. Thankfully, they hadn’t been missed, nor were any other meagre titbits she’d sneaked into the poor wretch's daily meal.

She’d always had suspicions about Creature's origin, and they were confirmed when Patricia and her slimeball of a husband arrived so unexpectedly. Unexpected for her anyway, but not it seemed to the two hags who’d fawned and kowtowed to them as though they were visiting royalty! Maybe they were as far as this criminally bizarre and thoroughly evil world they controlled went.

She’d been serving coffee to the four of them, five if you counted poor Sabina, dressed in the pink latex fetish schoolgirl outfit they favoured, complete with matching bows in her pigtailed hair and pink rubber ball gag. The poor kid was being appraised and fondled by Patrica; what else! Not that the young German girl would get a cup of what passed for coffee in the house!

Patrica had casually asked while cruelly petting the squirming young blonde's rubber-clad breasts, “I assume my ‘detestable brother-in-law is also in residence or has my sister finally put her poor ’creature’ out of its misery? Had him under the knife one time too many, perhaps?”

“Heth in hith cage downthtairs”, Miss Agness had gleefully lisped. “Thee thaid I could whip him whenever I want!” she giggled insanely in her stupid, shrill, childish voice. “He juth love coming here to play with me!”

Patrica had raised her eyebrows at that. “I can imagine!” she’d looked at her husband. “You haven’t seen him for a while, have you, love? Perhaps I should ask Agnes to show him to you again, just as a…a little refresher, a reminder. Knowing how Claire feels about you, I’m sure she’d be delighted to find room for another suitably adapted resident in her cellar. Infidelity comes with a high price in my family!”

Hunky hubby had spilt most of his coffee at that point and not said anything, not another word, until they were in the car and driving away. That had confirmed her suspicions about Creature and the severe penalty he was paying for whatever he’d done. Even thinking about it was almost too horrible to contemplate. Had Clare wielded that cruel knife, or had she arranged for someone else to perform such appalling cruelties? The woman was an out-and-out vicious sadist, as she’d found out many times, and the fact that she kept the poor wretch permanently in such miserable conditions tended towards an answer she didn’t want to consider.

An extra loud, high-pitched squeal from her youngest son brought her out of the reverie. Her body shuddered as she returned to the present, shutting those thoughts out and remembering how startled and grateful she’d been when the beautiful woman she’d served so sensually later that night had said they’d be taking her away shortly. Out of the blue, so casually said, so unexpected and from the ensuing conversation, it seemed she was being reclaimed permanently by her original owner. Back to Patrica's bed, perhaps back to her family or at least to see them again. That was assuming none of them had been loaned out like she had been or, worse, sold or given away in the unbelievably casual, cruel way these people treated people like her.

Seeing her sister there when they arrived back had been one hell of a shock to her, and she’d almost but not quite been startled into asking questions. Fortunately, the long months of painful training had checked that urge as she’d learned to speak only when permitted, rigidly enforced by cane, crop, paddle and palm slap. They’d shared one startled, horrified glance at each other before instantly lowering their eyes lest they irritate the woman who owned them. There would be time later both knew for secret whispered conversations.

The sight of her near-naked sister dropping submissively to her knees as they’d entered the hell house where it had all started was a shock that still lingered even though she now drew comfort from her sister's close presence. Half a year of purgatory, but perhaps the worst was over now that she was back. Another squeal from the adjoining room immediately killed that idiotic thought.

How could it be over when only a few yards away, her youngest son was being brutally sodomised while dressed and made up like a girl and always a very tarty one at that. Her daughter and eldest son were out there housed in a stable and kennel, treated like beasts, and her husband? Where was he now that he was no longer the babyfied plaything of that deranged brat? It felt as though a thousand questions were seething within her mind, yet knowing none would be answered had she dared to ask even one.

The clatter of horse's steel hooves that were not hooves on the gravel outside brought her up short, and she redoubled her polishing efforts. The brat was back, and the…… Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud, horrified shriek from the room on the other side, the big kitchen. An angry male voiced ‘What the fuck!’ followed her from the big lounge, but she paid no heed as she rushed into the kitchen. Her sister, naked apart from a garter belt, stockings, heels and a frilly apron, looked out of the window, her face deathly pale as she clutched at the draining board for support.

“No!” she gasped.

Mumsie joined her and looked at the two riders dismounting from their human ponies. The red-headed Heather swung down from the saddle on that massive black man, and behind him, the brat was doing likewise. Then Eva led her human pony forward, and even as her younger sister emitted a low moan of horror, she also recognised that pony even though it was naked apart from various leather straps and a small saddle.

The slightly stooped figure was covered in glistening sweat, and long rivulets of blood ran down its thighs and from its bruised and whip-marked bottom. It could hardly stand and staggered along behind the young girl as she tugged indifferently at its reins.

“Jenny!” the ponies aunt mouthed silently.