A Tale Of Two Families

Chapter thirty-five

Family Roundup Part 1.

He was an African Prince, a man of influence and authority. He came from a prestigious, powerful, and influential family. His father was a tribal chief, as was his aged grandfather. He belonged to a long line of such distinguished men. His family had fought the colonising imperialists until technological superiority and industrial dominance overwhelmed his ancestors, but while they might have bowed, they never broke. They had paid with blood for the freedom and democracy his fellow citizens now enjoyed, well, enjoyed by his fellow tribal members and those from the lesser tribes who supported them. The others, the up-country ones — those primitive, ungrateful dogs that dared to bite the hands that fed them — counted for nothing and received nothing in return. They could live in mud-hutted squalor, lack paved roads, running water and all the benefits enjoyed by those whose loyalties lay where they should. Let them add their miserable quota to the World Health Organisation's list of poverty problems.

That was the great thing about democracy and the tribal system. Power and authority were a natural right for those with the correct credentials at birth, which was as it should be. A hereditary guarantee for those who deserved, no, for those destined to ensure the continued well-being of their country. Naturally, given the right results in the necessary but farcical ‘democratic' elections, they were obliged to organise every five years to show the ‘correct’ face to the world!.

His father was responsible for ensuring those ‘democratic’ results were accurate. He was not only a leading figure in his traditional tribal lands but also a senior government member—a cabinet minister—and a close friend of the President, which was both lucrative and fortunate. His Excellency, the President, had wanted to show the world what a beloved leader of the people he was by achieving a 100% result in his favour on the last ballot as he sought a fifth term. The idiot had even gone so far as to release a couple of those opposition traitors from jail, albeit briefly!

Fortunately, for the sake of international credibility, his father had persuaded him to accept just 90%. However, he was less successful in convincing his boss to shorten his customary five-hour-plus televised victory speech to the ‘adoring’ nation. His father was a man who deserved to occupy that ultimate top role himself and would probably have done so if the family tribe hadn't been the second-largest in the country. More than deserving, for he was educated at Oxford and Harvard, a man who…

“Tch! Daydreaming Midnight, now that won’t do, will it, won’t do at all, boy!”

Midnight shook his massive frame, then automatically leapt forward to stand fully upright, stiff and motionless at the front of his stall. He had been lost in melancholy thought and had not noticed or heard the beautiful girl who owned him entering the stable. It was a filthy, stinking old stone building that served as his prison and was probably only slightly better than the foul place his Godfather, the President, confined those fools who opposed him or had fallen out of favour.

Midnight instantly reconsidered that idea upon noticing the anger in his owner's eyes as Alice advanced. ‘Slightly better’ — no, what a foolish notion. At least those traitors were treated as human beings, even if the thugs in charge of the unfortunate inmates lacked the most basic elements of humanity. Likewise, they were almost certainly fed a diet suitable for humans, meagre no doubt, but with at least a spoon and bowl or plate, not… not semi-liquid animal slop to be slurped from a trough with his tongue because he had no arms or hands!

Given his freedom from the cruel restraints and harness that bound his massive body, he could have snapped the slender girl in half with ease or, more likely, ripped her limb from limb, which would be far more satisfying, especially if done slowly—very slowly. There had been a time, a brief time, when he’d fantasised about doing other things to the beautiful young girl, far more pleasurable things that were now a distant memory, apart from that one time his captive manhood had been briefly freed to impregnate that other girl, his fellow captive.

He'd been... God, the humiliation of it—being in that dreadful situation, the audience, the poor girl he’d had to mount so publicly, the excruciating pain. Even as he shuddered in orgasmic pleasure, relief long denied, his back and buttocks trembled under a relentless assault of savage blows from Alice's whip. His long-denied moment of joyful release came at a cost that had to be paid immediately and for days afterwards. He might have performed and done what his cruel young Mistress desired. Still, she was not finished with him, and her whip demanded a high price for allowing him to behave in such a primitive ‘animalistic’ fashion as she described his fleeting moments of love—or rather lust—fulfilled!

Midnight stared straight ahead, not daring to look at Alice for fear she might be offended by what she saw or think she saw it in his eyes. Fear and ruthless training had instantly brought the once-proud African Prince back to harsh reality. He could only dream of revenge, of slow and painful retribution inflicted upon the wicked young woman in ways that would make even the worst torturers of the Spanish Inquisition shudder, but…

He forced himself to focus on a piece of leather harness tack hanging from a hook on one of the posts on the other side of the stable. It framed the doorway into the punishment room with its inescapable bench, racks, and shelves of horrible things that by now were all too familiar to him and his battered body.

He was an Afr…. Midnight swallowed hard as if swallowing what few remnants of his pride and privileged life remained. No, he was a dumb captive animal, a lowly beast of burden to be saddled and ridden by his young, lithe owner and Mistress. To be beaten and whipped whenever she pleased, and worse, far worse… ridden in a way far more humiliating and without a saddle when the mood took her! Pray God the bitch was in a good temper today and only passing through.

*****

Alice paused for a moment directly in front of her prize stallion's stall, her very presence, her nearness, a challenge to the big brute's pride and masculinity. What remained of it, anyway, for both Mistress and two-legged beast had no illusions about how effectively that had been whittled down. The enormous black stallion was still wild, still dangerous and probably always would be, but no longer the angry feral creature it had once been when she first captured it.

Alice smiled slowly, but more to herself than at Midnight. A self-satisfied little smile. How long ago that seemed now, when the eager fool had exited a bus in the middle of nowhere and climbed into her car thinking only of getting his impressive cock into her pussy! Poor deluded fool that he’d been. What a shock it must have been when the big bastard realised that she had a collection of even more impressive cocks and that the only pussy getting any action would be his stallion shit hole!

Alice's smile morphed into a grin as she remembered the first time she’d taken him. Talk about a bucking bronco, my how wild he’d been to the point where she’d had to stop and add a couple more straps to ensure he didn’t break free from that hurdle she’d bent him over. The chances of him doing that had been pretty slim, but the big boy had gone ballistic, and there was no telling how much super-human strength he’d somehow summon up under the circumstances. Better safe than sorry, and it wasn’t as if she’d been in a hurry anyway, and Midnight’s future diary was utterly free of engagements!

She stood, looking up at him, barely a foot away, yet at the same time worlds and more apart in terms of their respective lifestyles. She could smell the stable stink on him, that aroma of sweat, shit, dirt and fear, that later so tangible that it was almost a discernible physical presence. Likewise, he could smell her, the scent of a freshly showered body cleansed with fragrant shower gel, of light perfume, of warm, soft, sweet womanly flesh, so near and yet so far!

Alice smiled again, guessing what the big brute was thinking and how impossible such foolish dreams were in his situation. There might be only a wooden half door between them, but the tack, harness, and other restraints she’d bound him in ensured that, despite his height, bulk, and impressive muscles, he was as helpless and dependent on her as a newborn babe. He dared not even lower his eyes to look at her, something she would have regarded as an 'impertinence' and promptly dealt with!

He was about due for another oiling, the girl reminded herself. That magnificent glossy black body wasn’t quite as lustrous as she liked. The low door to the stall was solid, and thus her stallion's lower region, including that impressive ‘ornament’ in its stainless-steel cage, was hidden from view when he stood attentively at the front of his stall as trained. Trained exclusively by her hand, the girl reminded herself wielding many of the whips and canes available, of course.

Her presence, her nearness, unsettled him; she knew it, and that was as it should be. The day he began taking her for granted would be the day she’d wield a blunt knife against him, and once she’d finished, he wouldn’t need that cock cage any more! He could still be whipped and ridden, though, so it was no real loss to her! Well, technically, it might remove some of the fun for her. She could still provoke a reaction from him despite all the horrible things she’d done, but that was the male animal in a nutshell. Slaves, even when enslaved, were slaves to their baser, primitive instincts.

She was the one who’d ever marked him; every one of those scars that covered his magnificent black hide was her handiwork and hers alone. Likewise, the brand he bore was seared into his flesh by a red-hot iron. Her brand and she was the ones who’d applied the iron and held it there while his pony flesh sizzled and smoked. He was hers forever or till she grew tired of him, and that day was still a long way off, so the sooner he got that idea into his stupid pony head, the better. An indistinct shout sounded from outside, but Alice recognised her name and a couple of words.

“Sorry, Midnight”, she leaned forward a little and gently patted a bulging bicep. “That sounds like Mummy getting her knickers in a twist again! Duty calls, so no time to play. I’ll be back later, and after I’ve done mucking out the cow shed, we can play” She giggled. And nipped his left nipple hard between finger and thumb nail, making him wince. “I wouldn’t want you to feel ignored because so many other things are happening! Too many fucking things,” she muttered, turning away as her mother's call came again.

*****

Eva confidently tapped the needle after slowly depressing the plunger to expel any remaining air that might be in the syringe. It wasn’t a large syringe or a very big needle, but it was the fact that it was in the blonde teen's hand that scared him shitless. He’d never been fond of injections or blood tests, and the sight of Eva with that thing in her hand terrified him. Scared the shit out of him every time, or it would have done if he hadn't filled his nappy and rubber pants half an hour earlier, naughty baby that he was!

Sometimes he wished he were still toiling in the fields and outbuildings under the merciless lash of the brat's older sister. At least she’d treated him as a man, more or less, whereas… now he was back in Eva’s bloody pink-and-cream nursery with all its silly cartoon characters and gruesome ‘big baby’ paraphernalia! Only now ‘mummy’ Eva had started donning a nurse's uniform for a couple of hours every other day, and it wasn’t just that damn needle that scared him, no, the evil brat had discovered the delights of an enema bag!

It wasn’t a proper nurse’s uniform, of course, not in the sense that it would have been considered suitable workwear for a female medical employee in a proper hospital. A red light district strip club or a sleazy pole-dancing bar, yes, but not for attending to the needs of the genuinely sick in the appropriate institution, no! Not that he was ill and would rather not be attended to, not that he had any choice.

Chicken and egg, which came first? The uniform or bloody enema stuff, and needles. Not that it made any difference to him; all he could do was try to shy away, which mattered not at all. Eva was a very determined young lady, and his apparent reluctance to cooperate only heightened the evil pleasure she derived from torturing him so!

The entire bloody family was evil with a capital E. As wicked and villainous as you could get, and assuming hell existed—and he very much hoped it did—they’d burn there for eternity when the time came. Unfortunately, that time hadn’t yet arrived, and there was scant sign it would come any time soon. Besides, he wouldn’t put it past Satan to have the whole damned lot on the payroll the moment they set foot below! They’d fit right in. Kindred bloody spirits, no doubt!

He watched as Eva started gathering up her ‘nursie’ stuff, as she called it. If being treated as an oversized baby had been bad last time, then this latest version was the same, but with loud bloody bells on, in that he was now apparently a ‘sick’ baby who needed extra care! Yeah, the only ‘sick’ thing in this horrible room was sat at her desk over there, faffing about with different coloured pens on his treatment chart now she’d put down the hypodermic syringe.

Now that was really professional. Fill the damn thing up from a bottle, carefully make sure there were no air bubbles or anything, and then just lay it down on your desk right next to that open bag of potato chips she’d been munching, very hygienic, not, he thought! But then why should he have expected anything else, Eva, he’d long since decided wasn’t the brightest star in the night sky!

The girl wasn’t stupid by any means, just lazy and work-shy! He’d heard her tell her mother that going to Uni would be a bore, which is why she was neglecting her homework. Besides, she’d be quitting school at the end of term rather than staying on to repeat failed exams. What Patricia, her mother, had said, he hadn’t caught because they’d been walking away from him and through a door they’d closed behind them.

He stared at the brat across the room, where she sat chatting and giggling quietly to someone on her mobile. What did that mean for him if she was around full-time? He looked at that syringe. It had joined those other evil things hanging on the wall, Miss Biter and Mrs Beater, cane and punishment paddle. Mister Spiky, she called the damn thing. Once she finished giggling and rubbishing some boy named Tony, she’d come over to him, wearing that sickly sweet ‘mummy’ smile of hers, telling him that it was time for Mister fucking Spiky to go pee pee again!

Go ‘pee pee’ or to empty its contents into his upper arm or wherever nurse Eva decided to stick him with the damn thing. He was beginning to feel like a bloody dartboard, and it was only a matter of time before the brat did him some permanent damage. Buying a sleazy, abbreviated nurses' outfit off eBay was no substitute for proper medical training.

The syringe contained his ‘medicine’ as it was termed. Presumably the same stuff or a near relative of what they’d once added to his food or milk, some drug that effectively, very effectively robbed him of his strength, his muscle tissue, maybe? Whatever it was, it was damned effective, and God knows what the long-term effects would be. He’d recovered, slowly to a certain extent, under Miss Alice's whip when she’d used him as a working slave, but it had been hard, and he’d not been fully back to himself when he’d been so cruelly returned to Eva’s oversized nursery and resumed the weakening treatment.

“See you later, bye!” But it was not yet time for Mister Spiky to relieve himself. The girl half rose from her swivel chair as she ended the call, then seemingly thought better of it and sank back down, her finger already tapping out a number on her phone.

“Hey, babe, it's me. Yeah, hey, guess what Chrissie just told me…….”

Saved by the bell, of sorts, but not for long. He could see himself in the mirrors, a full-grown man, shorn and shaved bar his hair and eyebrows, and they’d been agonisingly plucked because the girl thought them far too bushy for a sweet babykins! He was seated in his high chair, and God knows how much the thing had cost or who had made it. There couldn’t be much of a market for such things, surely, and, going by his own horrible experiences, he hoped not!

Although it was, to all intents and purposes, an oversized, or rather adult-sized, version of a toddler's high chair, this one was somewhat more sophisticated. The seat and tray part could be lowered down the legs until it was at a convenient height for him to crawl into and seat himself, and then, by some electronic or maybe hydraulic mechanism, he could be raised to whatever height ‘mummy’ Eva found most convenient.

He stared morosely at his reflection, the very picture of crass stupidity and a world gone mad as well as bad. His feet shod in bright pink baby shoes and knee-high white stockings. He wore a sleeveless, flounced and frilly, satin-like pink baby frock, the skirt so short that his caged manhood was on full view, the way he sat, should anyone peek under his feeding tray. His hands lay one atop the other upon the tray, locked inside the usual pink leather mitts that rendered them useless.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and himself looked back —a picture of… of, he sighed, not even able to come up with a suitable word for how ridiculous, how pathetic he looked. The only positive was that, while he was shaved or plucked everywhere else, at least the girl was letting his head hair grow back. Miss Alice had shaved that off when he was a working slave, which had pissed her younger sister off some. Now it was growing back, but not fast enough for him, or the brat, come to that. He wore what had so far returned in bunches, tightly and painfully gathered and secured with rubber bands and pink ribbon bows.

The call finished, and Eva swivelled her seat around to face him, picking up her syringe, Mister Spiky and once more raised it in that quasi-professional manner to expel any air that might have dared to creep back in. Her cruel smile as she looked across at him, making a mockery of that silly nurse's cap with its prominent blood red cross. Then the usual accompanying giggle came before she spoke. How could such a sweet-looking and sexy young girl make such a sound of pure evil intent!

“Medicine time, Baba. Mummy wants her lovely big baby to be a strong boy, NOT!”

*****

“Fetch, fetch the ball, Fido, go on, boy, fetch it!”

He bounded after the bright yellow day-glo rubber ball, neither requiring nor paying attention to the additional verbal encouragement. He was a well-trained pup, and a single word was more than enough to galvanise him into immediate action. He had started moving at the first command, almost before the ball had left her hand. That had been one of his early lessons, learned the hard way: to move upon or immediately after the command and not to pre-empt it! A human with a thoughtful, reasoning brain might jump the gun like that, but not a silly animal like him. A supposedly well-trained and obedient animal!

Fido, the youth once known as Johnathon, might have questioned that assumption. Dogs weren’t foolish animals, and in his experience, they tended to become overexcited and eager. They would undoubtedly have darted forward the moment she swung her arm back in preparation to throw, regardless of any command yet to come from those bright pink, glossy lips, especially if it wasn’t the first time this session.

Hell, and he was in hell and had been there for so long now that it seemed like a hundred thousand lifetimes already! Their interest in him seemed to have waned considerably of late, which in one way he wasn’t complaining about, but it added to the endless, mind-numbing tedium of his captive existence. Even slaves in ancient times were probably treated better than he was. Plus, they at least were considered human and had jobs to do, things to keep them usefully employed and occupied.

He wasn’t a dog, though, was he? Oh yes, he might waddle about on all four paws; he might have a furry covering as a virtual second skin, but that was virtual in the physical sense rather than a computer-generated one. A clingy, restrictive overall garment designed to accompany and help confine his stubby, doubled-up dog-like limbs that kept him waddling on elbows and knees, with his limbs bent and permanently restricted. A canine suit, to be precise. He had an accompanying headpiece and muzzle, a collar, plus a tail inserted in his anus via a fat butt plug. But despite all that, he wasn’t a …..

“Here, boy, quick, fetch it. Don’t dawdle, doggie, don’t keep me waiting!” Cassie was crouching slightly, smacking her leather-gloved palms on the blue denim that clung to her thighs and bottom as tightly as his furry dog suit clung to him. The gesture of encouragement was familiar and likely to be repeated by a million or more dog owners in city parks around the world each and every day.

How many of them were directed at a human dog, though ‘Fido’ wondered as he lowered his head and sized up the damp, dirty ball in his teeth. His head and snout were very pug-like, flat-fronted, allowing him to do that. Had it been, say, modelled on something with a long, wolf-like muzzle, that would have made it even more difficult, or impossible. He’d worn several such masks and headpieces since being captured, but the latest one was the easiest when it came to slurping food and water from his feeding bowls.

“Good boy, good doggie, now here, here!” the youthful, enthusiastic, girlish shout accompanied by the inevitable finger clicks. The teen, Cassandra or Cassie as they called her, had a deafening finger click he’d noted, clearly audible even at this distance. The young girl wasn’t one of those who did little more than throw his ball with a lazy, even lethargic underarm toss. No, the little teen went full on like one of those baseball pitcher guys in the US, the ones that stood on a mound to chuck the ball. Why a mound, what was the purpose of that, he wondered idly as he scurried back to his impatient young Mistress. Hell, he wished she were a short-distance, underarm thrower. Speed, as in moving fast, was impossible given his restrictions, despite all the many months of practice he’s had by now.

They, his damn captors, thought his handicapped waddling gait was adorable! Yeah, well, they should try crawling on elbows and knees in such a restricted, lowly manner and see how bloody adorable they found it! Fat chance, though, of that ever happening! Given the distance this enthusiastic newcomer could throw, he felt exhausted after just one such retrieval, but that wouldn’t excuse him or save him from the inevitable if he pissed off the young madam.

Technically, Cassie wasn’t his Mistress; Patricia was. However, the young woman, who seemed to be on the payroll as an extra pair of hands, had developed a fascination with him since her first day at the kennels. She apparently thought he was ‘the cutest pup’ she’d ever seen, and his sad eyes reminded her of an ex-boyfriend — someone she hadn’t liked, and who had apparently tried to get a bit too ‘friendly’ with her when she wasn't in the mood one time.

Fido wondered how far that boyfriend had got with his attempt to be ‘friendly’ because he was the one who appeared to be paying the price for that attempt! ‘How hard can I hit him?’ That had been one of the first questions the vivacious newcomer had asked that first morning as she surveyed him. He hadn’t liked her question nor the note of eagerness in her voice, and definitely hadn’t liked that look in her youthful eyes as she stared down at him in fascination.

Patricia, his Mistress’s response had been chilling. “As hard as you want, honey, when you think he deserves it, or whenever you feel like it, come to that. I’m far too busy these days to give them all the individual attention I used to. It’s not just about grooming, cleaning, and feeding the livestock, but it’s also your job to keep them all in line as you see fit. I don’t stand for any nonsense, and neither should you! A spanking a day keeps the animal at bay, one of my mother's favourite sayings and I never quite understood that last part either,” she’d laughed. “But her meaning was clear enough, I always thought!”

Evidently, that meaning had been clear enough to young Cassandra as well, for although he’d done nothing wrong —nothing whatsoever that the pert and pretty newcomer could possibly have taken offence at — the youngster demonstrated her complete understanding moments after Patricia exited the building. The woman hadn’t been gone a minute before this new, juvenile imp or impess from hell was inside his kennel, and he was howling in agony under a flurry of enthusiastic blows from the inevitable crop she was carrying.

Standard equipment issue for a new employee, maybe. Like the army. Boots feet for the use of, pairs two. Nasty crop, beating helpless captive human doggies, one! Whatever, she hadn’t held back, and it had hurt, and then, just when he thought it was over, it wasn’t. All because he’d been a bit careless aim-wise when he’d last used his litter tray. Jeez, what was one small wayward turd on the concrete floor compared to everything else in the horrible building! Of course, the brat had spotted that and promptly used it to add more than a few extras to his well-scorched doggie rear!

Worse that initial fascination hadn’t abated so that he’d been kind of ‘given’ to the youngster, in a sense. ‘We’ll make him your special project, Dear. You’ve settled in so well and worked so enthusiastically, so it's only fair to give you a suitable reward. My, how happy the sadistic young miss had been at that announcement and how bloody sore he’d been next day and for the following week. Pain, they said, faded over time from memory, which might indeed be true. Unfortunately, since Cassie's arrival on site, it had never been given anything like enough time to fade from his memory!

“Good boy, well done,” a small hand rubbed the fuzzy, rather than furry, material that covered his bald head. “But that was slow, boy, very slow. I don’t think your heart was fully in it. Let's try again, eh, let's see a bit of oomph this time or ……” she didn’t bother to finish, they both knew what ‘or’ meant.

“Now, boy, ready, point, doggie snout out, more, that it!”

He shuffled around and obediently stretched his head forward at her point command, and in doing so unthinkingly moved one short front leg forward in readiness.

“Wait”, the voice snapped angrily from on high. “Wait for the command, boy, wait” There was the familiar whistling sound and then the bamboo cane sliced into his left buttock cheek, one of the areas his tight suit conveniently left exposed for just such an act.

He squealed in agony but maintained his position, although all he wanted to do was roll over and out of the way of that damn cane. Even more, he wanted to clasp his hands to that area she’d just seared with a bloody red stripe of pure agony, but that was impossible, both in a physical sense due to his limbs being so restricted. Plus, such an act would doubtlessly have broken a half dozen of their silly rules, being a natural, instinctive human reflex, and he was no longer human!

“Go,” the command came, and he lurched forward, his momentum further spurred by another excited shout. “My Apple watch is timing you, Fido, so let's see if you can beat your record… or I’ll do some beating of my own!"