A Tale Of Two Families

Chapter thirty-two

“Whoa. Whoa, there, girl,” Eva commanded savagely, yanking hard on the short reins in her left hand and deliberately inflicting unnecessary pain on her sweaty, near-exhausted mount as it staggered thankfully to a halt. Of course, there was no need for such excess cruelty, for Patootie was unlikely to rebel, but the lightweight young girl comfortably mounted high on her back and shoulders wasn’t one to spare the rod, not ever!

In this case, the rod was a long, slender, flexible riding crop that simultaneously swished downwards along with the abrupt pull on the reins to descend with undue force on the pony’s right rump cheek. The pony harness and saddle ensured it was forced into a slightly stooped forward posture when ridden, leaving both its rump cheeks more exposed and prominent. Eva was not one to ignore such convenient targets for encouraging her flagging mount to greater efforts.

Front and back, it didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes capability to deduce that the lithesome blonde teen was right-handed and had a sadistic disposition. Both heaving breasts and quivering buttocks of her captive human mount were thoroughly bruised, scarred and marked, but more so those on the right, conveniently within reach for whatever implement of pain the girl was using. Her older sister might perhaps have considered her crop use more in terms of encouragement or motivation rather than pain, but not Eva. 

The pony, her pony, the helpless harnessed, naked human female equine who bore her weight and had done for the better part of the last hour, breathed rapidly and deeply, desperately conscious of little else other more than an urgent need to suck in as much air, as much life-giving oxygen as possible before fresh demands were made upon what little stamina and endurance it retained. The fresh pain from wounds in her breasts and buttocks cheeks inflicted by the vicious crop, the smarting, bleeding wounds upon both thighs inflicted by the cruel spurs attached to Eva’s expensive glossy riding boots, all secondary to that immediate and desperate need for air her lungs craved.

The wounds hurt, of course, and would continue to hurt for some time once they returned to the stable, nor was her suffering likely to be over even then. Undoubtedly, the brat on her back would add to, perhaps even double, the damage she’d already inflicted upon her helpless body before their cruel ride was finished. If that were not bad enough, there was always the possibility of an equally unpleasant epilogue depending on the evil girl's mood. Once back in her foul stall, a few heavy slaps or even a swift cropping as a parting gift by way of a ‘thank you’ was not unknown. Unfortunately, neither was a savage beating dependent on her perceived faults during the outing, real or imaginary; it made no difference. It never did, for Eva never needed an excuse to beat her captive human animal!

Eva paid little heed to the rasping breathing of the girl beneath her, indeed didn’t even notice Patootie’s desperate, laboured attempts to restore some stability to her tortured body, for it was nothing out of the ordinary so far as she was concerned. Patootie had been a regular gym goer and jogger before her capture, and Eva had chosen her partly because of her stature and fitness. A level of fitness further enhanced by several weeks of initial training at her mother's friend, Margrets stable and then by her own regular sessions as she remorselessly broke and trained her new acquisition.

A task that had proved a little disappointing for Patootie had succumbed far quicker than Eva had expected, a fact she put down to her own somewhat ruthless methods. Her sister and mother had shrugged it off as one of ‘those things that sometimes happens with such unique livestock!’.   Her mother had told her about one of Magaret’s stallions, a huge muscle-bound brute that hadn’t even lasted a week before her friend reduced him to cringing mindless obedience. ‘They all break eventually, some way quicker than others, darling. Just a matter of time, patience and technique’.

Eva knew that was both true and yet not true. Given the nature of the beasts, they could never be totally broken or fully trusted. That was something else her mother and Alice had frequently impressed upon her, as had her friend Heather. Despite her youth, the redhead was a knowledgeable and very efficient trainer of two-legged equines of all types. Indeed, that was one of the last things Heather had said to her, and they were almost on this very spot as they paused to give their mounts a similar breather before racing each other home.

Eva frowned at that memory, and her crop rose and fell again, and then a second time as Patootie squealed into her bit and danced from hoof to hoof in agony as the flap of the crop, either by design or accident, caught an extremely sore patch of flayed skin.

“QUIET,  Quiet, you stupid animal or I’ll whip your fucking hide raw! Quite I say!” The crop smacked into tended flesh a third time as Patootie squired and sobbed desperately, trying to still herself lest the young blonde became angry rather than merely irritated. There was a difference, as Patootie well knew, as did all those unfortunates who lived or perhaps existed, which might be a better term, confined within that evil estate the brat's mother owned.

It wasn’t so much that she had a competitive nature. More a dislike of losing that had roused Eva’s intense ire. Especially not losing to Heather, especially when her friend was mounted on her tired old nag. There was no way Jezebel should have beaten Patootie, yet she had been by a good dozen yards. Being beaten by Alice's massive stallion Midnight in a race, well, that was no surprise, was it, but fucking Jezabel! That sad, spiritless creature should have been quickly left in the dust by her younger, if admittedly less experienced, mount.

It hadn’t panned out that way, though, and she’d been the one with her eyes fixed on Jezebel’s oversized, whipped, scarred, bouncing rump on the final stretch as she led all the way to the stable no matter how hard she whipped her mount. Worse, Heather had begun to pull further ahead as they approached the buildings, no matter how hard she cropped and spurred Patootie. Naturally, it would never occur to Eva that she was at fault, for Heather was an experienced trainer and an accomplished rider of those two-legged equines capable of carrying such a burden. Besides, she’d been riding Jezebel for so long now that she knew her mounts, strengths and weaknesses by heart and needed neither crop nor raking spurs to get the best out of the mare. Besides, Heather would never have worn spurs anyway!

“Less of that and more practice for both of you is the best way to get results”, Heather had cautioned, watching Eva angrily take out her disappointment on Patootie's helpless hide before they unsaddled their respective mounts. “Try and get the animal on your side, reward as well as punish. Give her some encouragement, not just stick and spurs all the damn time!”

“I’ve only one side so far as this stupid, useless creature is concerned”, Eva had ground out between clenched teeth as Patootie writhed in helpless agony under a flurry of blows. “It’ll learn to do as I wish even if I have to kill it!”

“That’s enough, Eva” Heather had put out a restraining hand. “Otherwise, you will! You’ve done well to get her as docile as she is in such a brief time, and she’s far too good a pony to lose simply out of a fit of pique. As I said,  I’m impressed, but don’t over-egg your pudding, or she’ll go the other way. Sometimes, it’s virtually impossible to bring them back to a useful state when that happens. Don’t squander what you’ve already achieved, but don’t take that for granted either. I’ll guarantee there’s still plenty of fire in this one once she gets her second wind, as she will. She may seem compliant, but a good deal of that is probably delayed shock; I’ve seen it before, and in some cases, it can last for months and then one day…well, just be aware. Use her present docility to your advantage; don’t waste it or get too complacent, for heaven's sake. You know the rules. Never, repeat, never give them the benefit of the doubt or relax your guard for an instant. Being on the end of a flying kick from a hoof boot is no fun, believe me. Now come along, let's water and rub them down, then have a coffee, and after that, I need to start packing. Have you washed that blue top you borrowed last week?”.

Maybe she had been a bit hard on Patootie, Eva thought, thinking back to that conversation. Yes, she had noticed a certain change in Patootie's demeanour recently. The animal had of late become more difficult, not to mention surly, so maybe it was slowly emerging from that state of shock Heather had mentioned. She rather hoped so, for the last thing she wanted was an overly docile pony.

“Good girl, good girl”, Eva said with a self-satisfied grin, lightly patting her mounts bridled head and ruffling the growing Mohican she was cultivating that contrasted so vividly with the smooth bare sides of her pony's head. A large portion of the creature's original long, luxuriant hair was now doing duty as a tail, sprouting out of the pony's rear courtesy of the near-permanent anal plug in its rectum—no doubt in need of yet another hose down.

Human ponies were undoubtedly high-maintenance animals, and while owning one was massively cool, like maybe a 20+ on a scale of one to ten, that aspect was undoubtedly tedious once the novelty of regular cleaning and grooming began to wear off. More so if you were a lazy little bitch like her. Eva was a realist and intelligent enough to recognise her faults, some of them anyway. Besides, ‘lazy little bitch’ had been a regular mantra from both Mother and older sister for as long as he could remember.

All work and no play! That old adage was sadly true. Eva reflected, generously deciding to rest her pony for a few more minutes. This decision was made more out of practicality than compassion, for there was no fun to be had in trying to get an exhilarating final gallop out of a near-spent pony. But it was a bind; you had to put all that work in to keep your animal in tip-top condition. The training was fun, and, to a certain extent, so was the domestic side of owning an animal like Patootie, who wasn’t really an animal. That’s where the fun lay, but it could become tedious on a day-after-day basis. Who the hell likes mucking out? Yes, owning a pet, especially an exotic one, was both a responsibility and a privilege…also, unfortunately, a daily chore and one her mother was unreasonably insistent on!

“A few more minutes, girl, and then we’ll have a nice gallop back to the stable. You’ll like that!” Eva giggled, for even as she spoke that last part, she could feel the shudder her mount gave at the word gallop. Patootie knew too well what that involved physically, plus the encouragement her young rider would use upon her already exhausted body to drain those last few reserves of energy to the point she barely had enough strength or stamina left even to breathe, let alone run. The tall girl, once a free individual known as Jenny, looked ahead to the distant buildings and shuddered again. Why couldn't she collapse and die, to lay down in the dirt and expire, putting an end to all this? An end to the agony, the exhaustion, the demeaning never-ending humiliation, and all that accompanied her new life. Life it was no life! Maybe if she put that bit extra into it today….

Eva absently patted Patootie's head again. Maybe she ought to have watered her pony, but she shrugged; the bottle was behind her in the saddle pouch, plus she’d have to dismount to use it. That would be a hassle. Besides, it was damn near empty, and the fucking animal would have enough go in her to get back to her stall, and she could stick her head in the trough when they got there. The faster she ran, the quicker she could drink her fill. Alice and Miss Fusspot Heather would have insisted, but they weren't here, were they? She shrugged and patted her pony again, always far too obsessive, those two!

She looked at her Apple watch, perhaps allow a few more minutes; why not? Sitting out here atop her warm and wheezing pony was lovely, absently admiring the English countryside. Not too hot and with a gentle breeze blowing across the broad meadow. Ideal conditions for a gallop. A pity there wasn’t anyone around to take a photo; it would make a neat screensaver, would it not? She, in all her youthful commanding beauty, atop that big uddered sweaty cow of a pony.

Eva looked over her shoulder towards the woods she’d just trotted through. The contractors would be back next week, adding heaps more cameras and alarms all over the new land her mother was buying. A nature watch conservancy centre or some such improbable tale her mother had spun them as to why they needed it all, not that she was complaining nor Alice. It vastly extended the secure range they had to ride their hapless mounts, and even her mother could now enjoy an outing using a lightweight carriage she’d ordered in reasonable security. They’d still get the usual fucking walkers and so forth trespassing, but at least they’d be forewarned.

What was it her stepfather had said at dinner the other night? It was something about having ten times more stuff than the Berlin Wall ever had, and where were the landmines and machine guns? Well, maybe, but all that nonsense was before her time. She’d been to the German capital as part of a whirlwind school coach trip around Europe and seen it or a part of what remained. Still, all she could remember of Berlin were a couple of cute leather-jacketed German boys they’d chatted to in a Starbucks near their hotel one evening. Herman and… and some other blonde guy whose name she’d forgotten. Curt, Kurt, maybe?

Technically, she shouldn’t have been out there today, but when had she ever obeyed such rules? Besides, the two senior female members of the household were far too busy with their new moo-cows to worry about her and as for ‘Dickhead’, her useless stepfather, he would be equally busy with his latest bit of fluff. Not that she’d ever paid any heed to him anyway these days, and thinking about new boys that reminded her of something even though new was hardly the right term.

Whatever, Eva shrugged again as she contemplated that long, low new building that had seemingly gone up overnight not so long ago after her mother had returned from France all fired up about milking of all things. Not that it wasn't interesting to watch, but like pony ownership, it's a little too labour-intensive for her taste. It was bad enough being roped in now to do her share of the work around the stable. It was an unfair sharing of the workload, in her opinion, considering she only owned one pony, but her mother hadn’t accepted that perfectly logical argument. Patricia had pointed out that Alice also only owned one pony, Midnight, and she’d always done far more than her share of the mucking out and general work around the stables and kennels.

Not true, not true at all! Alice also owned Moonglow, that little filly, plus its recent and as yet unnamed progeny, and that damn thing took up far too much of her mother and Alice's time, so who had to make up that slack! Couldn’t they count? A very unfair comparison. Eva scowled, being very tempted to deliver another swipe of the crop to her pony out of pure malice, but decided against it. Responsibility was a word her mother had taken to using of late, but there were benefits to growing older and saying goodbye forever to her childhood and early teens, but it came with a price.

A price labelled responsibility and obligations, which translated into a degree of unwelcome work every day, pulling her weight now she was old enough, doing her bit as they put it. They being her mother and older sister, and besides, the fact that they no longer had that spare pair of hands available was entirely her fault. Something that Alice was still going on about. Honestly, her sister could be so tedious at times. Not only that, it was damned unfair, for she’d gotten nothing. They had four new animals or whatever between them, and what had she got…more fucking work than her stake merited, that what!

Eva was never inclined to spare the rod, but perhaps that last afterthought stayed in her hand and saved her mount a blow prompted purely by irritation at the perceived unfairness. Not that this would make a single iota of difference once she dug her spurs into Patooties thighs and whipped her into a gallop for that final stretch. She shook the short reins, leaned slightly forward, and whispered, “Ready, girl?”

It was, of course, a rhetorical question for Patootie could not answer, at least not coherently with that tight bit in her mouth, and besides, with or without, doing so would not have been a very sensible action. Any attempt at human speech would earn a severe thrashing, and given that thrashings were a near certantity anyway, most days, especially for a new arrival like Patootie, none of the stables occupants was inclined to try. They might not like it, but trying to communicate with their captor's stroke owners was not something to be advised and one of the first lessons all such captive ponies learned quickly and painfully!

“Good girl”, Eva repeated, wriggling her bottom around and settling into her saddle that bit more comfortably. They were lightweight and had to be given their designed usage. They were also somewhat narrow and took a little getting used to. Not exactly uncomfortable, not for the short outings two-legged ponies could manage, and slightly stimulating at that sweet spot between the rider's legs during a gallop. Eva hefted herself upwards, putting her total weight onto the dangling stirrups, then descended, wriggling again, making her pony stagger.

“Oh, stop that silliness”, she exclaimed irritably; this time, the crop accompanied her words. Eva smiled to herself as she felt Patootie stiffen and tense between her thighs just as she’d done a moment ago when she’d said, ‘Ready, girl?’ The animal clamped beneath knew only too well what was coming and knew there wasn’t a thing it could do about it. Eva revelled in that knowledge and the feeling of control and absolute power she had over the r human-girl beast she owned. That knowledge alone was enough to start those delicious sensations and delight her youthful womanly juices.

“GO!”

Patootie lunged desperately forward as spurs raked her thighs and crop viciously lashed down again and again in cruel encouragement. The end was in sight, and all she had to do was get there as fast as humanly possible, and that was the keyword or phrase, wasn’t it? Humanly possible, for despite all they did to her, all the stupidity, she was still physically a human being and not a four-legged equine, nor could she hope to match such in speed or grace. The latter may be at the walk or even trot, high stepping with Eva tapping out the rhythm with her crop against her thigh. ‘Step, step, step’ just as she’d done for hour after hour as her pony plodded around in circles tethered to an arm of the uncaring mechanical pony walker.

Only back there, the evil girl had always had a long whip in her hand, frequently cracking it in the air above Patootie's head or behind her bottom, making her jump and often lose a step or even stumble and then it wouldn’t be empty air that the whip cracked down upon to sear, even scar helpless flesh with its vicious bite! Just as it might once they returned to the stable, either that or the equally dreaded stable cane if she failed to please her sadistic young rider over the next few minutes. Those buildings were so near and yet so far to a human pony on the verge of exhaustive collapse, desperately trying to balance its remaining energy reserves regarding stamina versus speed. Too slow, and she’d suffer both now and later, too much, too fast, and she’d probably collapse into blissful unconsciousness half-way. Unfortunately, such bliss would be all too short, and the consequences would be long and too terrible even to contemplate.

Ironically, as she sped across the open fields, it was of Heather that Patootie thought. The cruel but efficient young redhead who’d introduced the incredulous newly caught girl to pony life for three mind-boggling weeks before her sadistic young owner took over. Cruel but ever practical, she would never have allowed Eva to race her like this at the end of their outing, not in this condition. Oh God, please let those buildings come nearer, let it stop, please. It didn’t, though, as crop and raking spurs continued to urge ever more effort from the exhausted girl so mercilessly.

*****

“That’s not just cruel but stupid!” Alice remarked crossly, eyeing her sister's mount as it staggered to a halt, barely able to remain standing. Get off it at once and stop being such a damn little idiot. Do you want to lose it because you will if you continue like that!”

“Fuck you!” Eva retorted automatically, but even as she said the words, she slid off Patootie's back, still holding the reins. She might not be as experienced as Heather or Alice in handling human equines, but in this case, that was irrelevant. One glance at her blown, indeed, overblown mount was enough to tell her that she had overdone it and not just by a little this time. This was a case of a lottle, if there was such a word, and perhaps for the first time since she’d taken full possession of the splendid filly, Eva felt a pang of guilt.

Only a tiny one, mind you, and the moment passed before it had even had time to register with the sadistic young blonde fully. Her glance, though, held no sympathy for the poor creature she’d virtually ridden to near death. Stupid useless animal embarrassing her like that in front of Alice, and of course, the bitch would have to have emerged from the new cow shed right on time, very much the wrong time! Well, she didn’t need another fucking lecture on animal husbandry, not from her sister or anyone else.

“I’ll deal with it!” Eva snapped, sensing Alice was about to add more unwanted verbals. “I know what to do, and contrary to what a certain interfering sister of mine might think, I’m not stupid. I’m interested in pushing boundaries and not blindly accepting what mummy of Miss know-it-all all Heather tells me as gospel so you can…can” She stopped short partly because she couldn’t think of a fresh expletive to use and partly because her sister had just shrugged indifferently and was already heading back into the new shed.

“Interfering bitch”, she muttered, leading Patootie into the shade of the extensive overhang of the single-story building's roof, wondering absently why they’d wasted so much material doing that. Useful shade, though, even though the day wasn’t excessively hot, she paused, raising an arm to look at the extensive damp patch in the armpit of her tight white top. Mmmm, sticky. Maybe it was hotter than she’d allowed, and Patootie looked pretty well played out, didn’t she? Maybe Alice hadn’t been playing older and wiser sister merely for the sake of it!

A large convenient eye bolt was sticking out of the masonry blocks to which she secured Patootie. Another oddity like the roof overhang or something else? Whatever and certainly not unusual for the house, stable and kennel all had such or similar securing points in numerous places. The water bottle she extracted from her saddle pouch was a little fuller than she’d thought, which was just as well for Eva, being Eva took a long swig from it herself before loosening her ponies bit and allowing the eager, indeed, desperate creature to empty the bottle.

“Steady girl, steady,” Eva cautioned, genuinely surprised at how fast her filly gulped down the precious liquid. Eva had found herself thirsty, but that was nothing compared to what her pony must have been feeling, and the animal's disappointment was noticeable as it strove to somehow prevent her from removing the bottle when it was empty.

“Heya girl, steady, steady! Wait on; it's empty. See, it’s all gone.” Eva tipped the container upside down and laughed. “Alright, don’t look at me like that. I’ll get some more. I could do with a drop more myself; I know how you feel.”

That might have been the understatement of the day or even of the entire year, and even Eva realised that looking at her woeful, exhausted mount swaying slightly as though about to collapse, which wasn't far from being true. Every inch of the beautiful animal's skin was visibly wet with sweat, and its leather harness soaked up the damp like blotting paper. Eva reached out, running her hand along one bloodied spur-raked thigh, then looked curiously at the amount of liquid on her fingers. Then, holding Patootie's bridle, she pulled the pony’s head down to peer into its sweat-streaked face and nodded to herself. Maybe she had been a tad too enthusiastic. The spark that was always there in the captive filly’s eyes was all but gone; the animal was so exhausted, and that wouldn’t do at all. No, the last thing Eva wanted was to own something like…like, she couldn’t remember the mare's name but one of those sad, old, worn-out creatures she’d ridden at Margret's stable. No, no way.

“Wait on, pony,” Eva patted Patooties' head and waved the empty water bottle. I’ll get us another drink, and then we can stroll back to the stable. It's only next door, and you can have a nice rest. Well, till tomorrow anyway,” she finished with a giggle, absently flicking a nipple on a whip-scarred jutting pony udder. “Don’t go away, will you,” she laughed, heading for the same entrance door Alice had used a minute or two before.

*****

It would get better with time, of course, it always did, but any frustration he felt was more than made up by the freshness, if that was the proper expression, he mused, looking into the enraged face of the young man secured before him. His thoughts, though, related to the other end of the helpless figure's anatomy and, in particular, that sweet spot between those gorgeous firm buttock cheeks Girlie had just finished scorching for him. Very effectively scorched, too, judging by the noise the muscular young man had emitted!

He was impressed; the sexy little bitch was showing a degree of aptitude he wouldn’t have expected under the circumstances, especially when you considered she was charged with flogging a relative, although probably not a close one, or was he? He frowned; he’d have to ask his wife about that. Women always were good at knowing things like that. Patricia would know; she damn well ought, given all the trouble, not to mention the vast expense she’d incurred in obtaining the two brothers. Girlies, hunky all-American football-playing cousins, first, second, third or whatever they were?

None of that mattered, though, now did it? It was water under the proverbial bridge so far as Princess and her brother were concerned, for they’d both kicked their last football—the American version, not the proper round football—and made their last crunching tackles. Apparently, one had been a Quarterback and the other a Running back, neither of which meant anything to him. He’d always been a soccer man, as they called it, and positions in American-style football were almost as alien to him as those on the Rugby field. Only the latter did not enter the sporting fray wearing motorcycle crash helmets and a ton of body armour! Nor did they stop the game every ten seconds to go into a collective huddle while they decided what to do next, as seemed to happen in that funny sport! Maybe it was something to do with advertising and commercial breaks, which appeared to rule everything on TV over there.

He shook himself out of his sporting reverie, seeing that Girlie was watching him with an odd look of curiosity on her pretty face. He considered her for a long moment. She wasn’t a bad-looking little bitch, was she, and even without all the face paint decidedly feminine in a cute way? He’d noted that right off all that time ago when he’d stopped beside the family's broken-down vehicle and marked him or rather her for his own. He’d broken in enough sissy little bitches to know a natural when he saw one. He gave her a reassuring grin or what was intended to be one, but she instantly flinched and rapidly looked away, which made him grin even more, but for a different reason.

He'd broken the little bitch to heel pretty damn quickly, hadn’t he? Yes, okay, so it has been his wife who had done the initial groundwork, hadn’t she that first evening in the master bedroom, but that had been short and, well, not very sweet for the little bitch, or bitch to be. Whereas he was the one who had truly mastered and broken the one-time youth, and it had primarily been his eager and demanding cock that had taken the bitch’s virginity both orally and anally. Canes, paddles and whips had their place, but there was nothing to beat a sizeable hungry cock repeatedly raping a new sissy bitch to bring them to heel and far more satisfying!

He eyed the big one-time ball player in front of him. Yeah, you're already not as tough as you thought you were bitch and certainly a lot less mouthy, and that’s not solely on account of Girlies paddle. He grinned; not over yet, babe, and we both know what Daddy’s got in store for his new Princess as afters, don’t we? He smiled and stared straight into those angry brown eyes, boiling with helpless fury as they stared defiantly back at him. Then they waivered as fear and horror joined anger in that visual cocktail of emotions, nor were they meeting his now, for they were fixed now upon something else. Something they already feared and loathed far more than any punishing implements Girlie might use upon their owner.

There were three of them in the bedroom, and only one was not dressed, and he was that one. Well, not entirely naked, for he was wearing a soft white towelling bathrobe that he found both comfortable and easy to discard as needed. In the ordinary course of events, to use the cliché, his somewhat fastidious wife would have taken issue with him for lounging around dressed or undressed like that at this time of day. However, she was too preoccupied with her new interests to worry too much about him. She hadn’t even taken time out from that stupid cow barn, shed or whatever to do what she’d customarily done in the past when he acquired a new prospective bitch but left him to perform that first introductory session.

He hadn’t minded that, and indeed, he even welcomed the opportunity. Virgin fresh meat to work on and completely unsullied rather than playing seconds once his sadistic wife had finished her customary brutal introductory session. How would this one have fared, he wondered, absently stroking the damp top of his erect cock with the tip of his index finger. Girlie had caved in way too quickly, hadn’t she, shrieking for him to fuck her, take her virginity, anything to stop the pain his wife had been inflicting, wimpy little coward that she’d proved to be!

Unlike this new one, it was likely to prove a much more challenging project that would undoubtedly have appealed to his gorgeous, if sadistic, wife under other circumstances. This one had some real fire in his belly, more so than any other bitch he’d ever owned or taken physically. But that had been the whole point from the beginning, from the moment he’d casually glanced at that photo she’d received from Auntie’s handbag. He had his fantasies, and his wife had hers and the financial wherewithal to indulge them fully. Plus, he’d benefited from the...what was that military term you heard on the news occasionally? He pondered for a moment, ah yes. Collateral damage or the other one, friendly fire, yes. In hitting her assigned target, the other poor bastard, the spare as it were, also got ‘taken out.’

That’s what had happened to Girlie there. He’d known immediately that Patricia, with her thing about good-looking mature bedmates, would want the bitch’s mother and Alice; she’d been going on about finding a sweet little filly for Midnight to cover for weeks. A shared glance between him and Eva, their minds in tandem for once as he’d slowed down on spec seeing that broken down car. The mother and pretty daughter had first caught his eye and thus sealed the family's fate, the dad catching young Eva’s who, like her sister, had plans of her own for a suitable subject, and that was that. Ambitious, certainly, but it proved both doable and absurdly simple. The two boys initially caught up in the abduction as friendly fire casualties, so to speak. He hadn’t initially thought about his own interests, but it hadn't taken long for….he frowned. He couldn’t even remember Girlie's given name now, not that it mattered, to catch his eye.

“You….you fu..fu..fucking perverted faggot!”

The words came slowly but with a venom that matched the hostile look in the speaker's eyes, but words were only words and couldn’t hurt him. ‘Sticks and stones’, and he was the one in control of the stick or rather the one held by his obedient surrogate. Besides, he wasn’t one, was he? Well, not in the full accusatory sense of what the silly fucker meant. He wasn’t gay, not in the least and didn’t for one moment think of himself along those lines. He was straight,  virile, well-endowed and decidedly macho. Maybe he should have brought ‘Princess’ into this same bedroom last night. Parica had got herself all worked up playing milkmaids or whatever all day and, for the first time in ages, felt the need for cock, a real hot throbbing eager cock rather than the usual unwilling female tongue coerced into satisfying her.

He smiled to himself. Christ, it had been some session; his wife hadn’t been that demanding in ages, so that silly bitch giving him the evil eye along with what verbal’s she’d got breath left for could think himself, correction, herself lucky otherwise, he’d be feeling a damn sight more virile today! Even so, he looked to the owner of those angry eyes, another half-hour or so of the ongoing softening up process to demonstrate to the sill bitch, who was the boss, the Master with a capital M. He’d be ready to, more than ready to give Princess another deep penetrating practical demonstration of his mastery over her. No, he wasn’t gay; he just liked fucking and abusing pretty little sissy bitches and, for a change, a great big ugly butch bitch like this one!

He considered that for a moment. Did that make him Bi? Maybe, he mused. Was he bisexual? Odd that he’d never given much thought to it before, to his sexuality in that sense. He’d never fancied another guy sexually had he, well, not anyone he would have defined as a guy, a man, a macho top like himself. He’d met gay tops more than once for being married to Patrica; it was inevitable that her circle would contain such people. In one sense, it was true they were no different from him other than the guys crawling at the other end of the chain were also guys, masculine good, looking hot bodied guys, not sissy bitches!

Princess was definitely more in the former category than the latter or would have been with another owner. The guy would never be in the same league as Girlie or the others he’d enjoyed, but that was the whole point. He wanted a change from simpering weak sissy bitches; well, not all of them had been weak, but none of them had been in the same class build-wise as this big brute. True, he was no Midnight, and he’d always had a yen to ride Alice's massive black stallion, but Princess wasn’t that far off, especially when compared to Girlie, was she?

“I’ll…..i’ll….just fucking wait you damn pervert, you……”

The voice trailed off again, which was hardly surprising. It was rasping and weak from all that shouting, bellowing, and screaming it had done for over two hours. No, make that two and a quarter hours, to be precise or thereabouts, he amended, glancing over at the ornate wall clock that had once belonged to his wife’s grandmother. The first in the matriarchal family line to have acquired and owned such creatures apparently and according to Patricia, a sweet but exceedingly cruel old lady.

His gaze lingered for a moment on the clocks-tarnished white porcelain face and then switched back to his bulky, unconvincing, struggling sissy. Sweet but exceedingly cruel, that summed up the latest female generations, didn’t it, or did it? He’d never considered it before, but why did his wife always say ‘exceedingly’ for that hinted at something beyond what his evil wife and offspring were capable of doing, did it not?

“….fucking queer, fucking bastard, fucking…” the voice he realised had been mumbling inaudibly for some time and after a couple of louder discernible words had returned to those barely audible mutterings as it expressed its grievance to an uncaring and unsympathetic audience. It was surprising that the bitch could talk at all, given how she raged and hollered and what have you between all the screaming and bellowing the past couple of weeks. All that silly noise and what had it got her, what had it achieved….nothing, zilch, nil, zero!

He'd still raped the bitch, hadn’t he? Fucked her silly and would do so again and again and again, so she might as well save her breath and energy and get used to the idea. Now Girlie had been a different kettle of fish, and between his two bitches he’d got the best of both worlds now. One who was likely to be still spitting, hissing and fighting this time next year and the one after and one deliciously compliant little love bunny!

A helpful little bunny who was proving, while perhaps not being a willing accomplice, was showing none of that initial hesitation she’d displayed when he’d first assigned her to the role of principal whip mistress. Self-preservation, he surmised, for she’d more than enough experience to know what would happen to her if she didn’t perform as expected and show some enthusiasm for the task while she was about it.

Was she enjoying the ‘temporary’ change of role? Debatable, he decided as his body gave a delighted little shudder, and he immediately removed the finger that had been absently rubbing the head of his massively engorged cock. Whoops, he chided himself. Much more of that, and he’d be accidentally spurting up at the ceiling rather than within the delightful confines of his new sissy bitch’s tight cunt. A dreadful waste of good masterly juices, not to mention energy, and Patrica had pretty much drained his reserves last night, so he’d need a day or two to recharge the old virility batteries fully. He’d still have enough in him for at least one decent shot in another half hour or so!

No, he decided as Girlie dropped her gaze as he stared thoughtfully at her. No, her apparent enthusiasm more likely stemmed from relief and selfish self-preservation. A reprieve that, for once, it wasn’t her bottom being flogged nor its sweet, accommodating orifice being savagely ploughed.

“…….fucking………” That was the only discernible word in another long, low, rambling, inaudible, exhausted diatribe, menacing in tone and probably content but laughable given that the threats, if that’s what the bitch was muttering, were about as hollow and meaningless as they could be under the circumstances. Poor Princess, she might huff and puff. Indeed, she was doing just that, but there was no chance of blowing this house down, and besides, it was owned by the big bad wolf, or rather, wolfess.

He pondered again. Wolfess didn’t sound right, but was there a specific female term? She-wolf, bitch? A grin split his face, growing wider as Girlie flinched, obviously misinterpreting his humour and target, fearing something sinister. She-wolf, yeah, acceptable maybe, but bitch certainly wouldn’t go down well with his wife, even if it was pretty damn descriptive!

Princess, she’d got the flip side of the coin toss, hadn’t she? Strapped over there, face down, ass up, legs apart, conveniently apart and perfectly positioned. Dressed up in all her finery and my, what a fuss the silly bitch had made about that. Stiletto heels, nylons, plus a flimsy baby doll nightie top were hardly onerous items to wear, and yet she’d been as vociferous about them as the paddling and canings, hadn’t she, silly girl!

My, hadn’t she been, well no, eloquent perhaps wasn’t quite the correct word when he’d first described her new life to be as his personal, ‘Bondage Barbie over-sized Sissy Fuck-toy. No, not eloquent; make that loud, crude and repetitive instead! Very loud, and she’d got even louder after her first paddling, reaching a peak when he’d slowly but remorselessly taken the bitch’s virginity. Not the most pleasurable experience for him, even after he’d had Girlie pave the way, courtesy of several large and well-lubed dildos.

The flow of invective had finally ceased, common sense kicking in as the realisation started sinking in that there was nothing she could do about her predicament or merely sheer exhaustion taking its inevitable toll. The bitch had fought… well, struggled all the way hadn’t she both physically against her restraints as best she could and certainly verbally. Jeez, how much energy had she expended through that foul mouth of hers? Hardly the sort of opening you’d want to kiss or probe with your tongue, was it? Still, he’d never envisioned or wanted the ugly bitch as another Girlie, and there would only be one thing he’d be sticking through that opening, and it wouldn’t be his tongue.

Not, he thought a tad ruefully, that he’d ever be able to fully trust the bitch thus making a ring gag a necessity. He shuddered, thinking of the probable consequences of getting forgetful, for he couldn’t envisage this one ever reaching the usual stage of docility his prettier bitches attained. Girlie could take him all the way now without so much as a single reflex gag and work her pretty little tongue to near perfection and skilled enough to take him neat to the edge but not quiet the whole way if he was in the mood to withdraw and use her a bit more energetically eventually.

He grinned to himself and deliberately looked towards Princess, eye to eye. My how she’d reacted in that first long session as he and Girlie had stripped and fondled her. That first paddling, a comparatively soft one compared to the norm in this house designed to humiliate rather than punish in this first instance. Nevertheless, an early indication of his power, control and absolute authority over her and a tangible threat of things to come. Then there had been that delicious realisation in those eyes as she realised that Girlie wasn’t a girl. Well, not biologically.  

Better or worse, he wondered, recalling the shock in those furious eyes as Girlie had divested herself of skimpy top and micro mini skirt upon his command. The flimsy garments courtesy of Eva, who’d recently carried out a savage cull of her numerous wardrobes and clothes chests, donating some of them to his sissy bitch, saying she was tired of seeing her looking like a third-rate tart! He’d made no objection and rather liked the change. Besides, Eva’s scanty tops and skirts didn’t do much to hide what was underneath. If anything, it made Girlie and her usual lingerie, stockings and heels even sexier.

Alice had called her young sister out on that one, saying, ' If anything, Girlie looked even more like a tart than she had before wearing those clothes. Takes one to know one, I suppose.’ Cue an instant sisterly squabble! She wasn’t far off the mark, though, for Patrica had also commented on her younger daughter's growing tendency to ‘over-flaunt’ herself more than once. There was a time and place for everything, but not necessarily 24/7! Then, there had been that embarrassing time when her school called to ask them to collect her and ensure that she garbed more appropriately for academic studies when she returned the next day.

He scowled at that memory. He’d taken the flak on that just because he’d done the morning school run. Why hadn’t Patrica called the blatant little exhibitionist out at the breakfast table herself? Why him, for Eva, would laugh in his face if he told her to get changed, wouldn’t she? Previously, it hadn’t mattered because she’d had to wear school uniform, but now she was a ‘senior’ as they called them; they were allowed to wear what they wanted to school within reason.

Maybe he should have said something in the car that morning, for the brat had made him twitch, hadn’t she? And more than twitch, and not for the first time either. The girl had developed considerably in the last eighteen months, and not without him noticing. Plus, he was only her stepfather, not a flesh-and-blood relative, and despite that, he spared Princess another glance. Yeah, despite that, he was still a full-on red-blooded hot male, was he not?

A fully functional male, unlike his two sissy bitches with their useless cocks bent, shrunken and caged. He smiled again. Yeah, he’d made sure Girlie exhibited her secured male clitty to Princess as she held up the cage, a larger one than the one she wore securing her pathetic little cock in its proper place. How amusing it had been watching Girlie’s talented lips and tongue slowly teasing his new bitch into an impressive, if unwanted, farewell stiffy before he applied the ice cubes in place of her soft, warm lips. Nor had caging the beast proved an easy task for Girlie, even in its shrunken, shrivelled state. Perhaps a larger size would have been better, but what was a bit more discomfort compared to everything else?

Now he had two virtually redundant cocks at his disposal, demoted to pissing duty only. They were irrelevant anyway other than as a minor additional amusement or as a…his lips twisted into a cruel smile. Yes, and what a prominent bell end protruding from its stainless-steel prison. Alice had once demonstrated upon her magnificent Midnight that a firm blow from the tip of her crop upon such a tempting target was worth two dozen on his muscular rump in terms of effectiveness. He nodded to himself and turned to look out of the window towards the stable and other buildings. Not to mention the psychological effect on the recipient, he thought as they danced in agony!

He saw Eva and that poor girl she’d ponyfied outside the new building, the cow barn or shed as his wife called it. Jeez, what next, a sheep pen, a damn piggery? Was that the correct term for several sty’s? Not that it mattered, he thought, watching Eva enter the building. They had their bull and lucky boy; he wasn’t caged, very much the opposite, whereas….he turned back and met Princess’s eyes again. Was he happy with that name? It wasn’t quite….he pondered thoughtfully. It wasn’t quite demeaning enough, maybe that was it? But for now, he had more urgent and immediate things to attend to as the last vestiges of the previous night's exertions began to fade.

He waddled forward a few paces; at least, that's what it felt like with his enormous boner preceding him like a cumbersome medieval battering ram heading for the besieged city gate, only this gate wasn’t firmly shut. No, it was wide open and helpless. Well, perhaps not wide open yet, more of a tight, a very tight crack, but give it time….time and a hundred or so long, hard, deep shaftings.

His eager cock twitched, making him giggle as though he were a silly little sissy bitch himself, which of course, its erect unfettered presence proved he wasn’t. He signalled to Girlie. “Our big new sexy bitch seems to have gone quiet on us, hunnybuns, so let’s wake her up a bit. Give her a dozen slow cuts with your cane, girl and make them good and hard or you’ll feel it yourself, and then I think I’ll give her bitch cunt a taste of a different rod. One we both know she’ll hate even more!”

“Mad fu..fu..fuc…fucking cra…crazy queers!” the hoarse voice croaked.

A genuine stammer, he wondered, or was it merely a result of the situation and recent prolonged beating? Not that it mattered, and it was amusing to let her rant on like that. He nodded to the hovering Girlie, who’d swapped paddle for a slim bamboo cane, and another saying came to mind. He noted that Princess attempted in vain to shrink back from him, making him smile, a very evil smile as the cane rose, and another old saying or phrase popped into his mind. 

 ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here’. He chuckled again as that agonised scream Girlie had drawn from her victim as she did his bidding to the full. Yeah, except he’d be the one doing the entering, wouldn’t he?