A Tale Of Two Families

 Part 2.

 Jenny, aka Patootie staggered slightly and then yelped into her bit as the tip flap of a long swishy riding crop bit hard into her right buttock leaving its distinctive shape seared into her flesh The tall filly had been repeating her real name like a mantra as she struggled up the hill, repeating it over and over in her mind to distract herself from thinking about the exhausting task she’d been set. Sometimes, when the going got tough, she counted out steps in lots of one hundred; other times, as now, she repeated various mantras. ‘I can do it, a few more steps…I can do it, a few more steps…I can….and so on.

There were various ones she used to….to motivate herself, if that was the right term. They seemed to help or at least keep her mind occupied and focused as she struggled to maintain the pace her young rider demanded, and Eva was a very demanding rider. Up hill or down dale, the nature of the terrain mattered little to the little blonde sadist perched high on her back and shoulders. If the two-legged, sweating, grunting animal between her legs faltered, well, that’s what her vicious crop and spurs were for, were they not!

‘My name is Jenny, not Patootie… my name is Jenny, not Patootie… and I am not an animal… I am not an animal… I am not an animal… my name is Je-YOWW.’ Silent, determined thought instantly became a muted howl against her mouth as the crop descended again.

“Cmon you lazy animal, let's see some effort from you! Too much bloody time standing around doing fuck all and putting on flab in the stable, that’s your fucking trouble! Move it, you know what I’ll do if you don’t!”

Jenny flinched and moaned into her mouth, but of course, the sadistic brat on her back had pulled the bit extra tight as a final act of nastiness before seating herself comfortably on the small saddle strapped about her back and shoulders. The reins in the girl's hands were attached to that bit, and even the slightest directional tug caused her pain, though it would not bother Eva in any way.  

Jenny staggered up the steep path, knowing the top of the small hill wasn’t far away. Then, with a bit of luck, her rider would haul hard on the reins, bringing her to a halt so she could take in the view, such as it was. That’s what her sister or that other terror, Heather, would do, and it wouldn’t be primarily to admire a not very interesting, featureless piece of the British countryside. No, they’d be thinking of their exhausted mounts, and right now, Jenny was pretty well worn out.

But Eva had a different mindset, and the other two women would never have attempted to rush that last section of the path up the hill; if they did, you could be sure they’d probably dismount at the top and let the poor animal—the poor person rather—that had carried them up there rest for a while. Rest and water, and what were the chances that the brat she was carrying even had a water bottle for her, Jenny wondered as she staggered forward. Pony welfare was not exactly high on the girls' agenda!

Then again, was there that much difference between Eva and the other two, or the girl's mother come to that? They were all from the same damn evil mould, and any such differences were pretty damn minor, weren’t they, especially when you took in the whole fucking horrible picture!

That final stretch of the dirt path seemed to go on forever as she fought for breath, desperately trying to maintain the trot her young owner demanded of her. There were two paths or tracks up to the crest where they merged, and only one ran down the shallower side to the meadow below. Naturally, the brat on her back had chosen the steeper of the two, and being the shorter route had nothing to do with it. No, it afforded the sadistic young miss with more opportunities and excuses to use that crop and the cruel raking spurs on her fashionable riding boots. Jenny couldn’t see but could certainly feel the fresh blood trickling down her tortured thighs.

The wretched spikes weren’t that big, not to cause major damage; her mother and sister would not have permitted that, but they did dig in and on top of previous wounds, hurt like hell every time the brat used them. Jenny had noted that neither Alice nor Heather used such horrible things, but then they were vastly more experienced in handling their mounts, or so it seemed.

Nearly there, nearly there, nearly there...the words thundered in her brain. When the going gets tough, the tough get going! Yeah, fine and wishful thinking when you were virtually at the point of collapse. Please, no, don’t let me do that! Jenny had all too vivid memories of those times in the early days when she had stumbled, taken a tumble and spilt her young rider. Hether, who’d been accompanying them on her Jezebel that first time it had happened, had shrugged it off. ‘No big deal, Kiddo, two legs or four, it happens, the possibility is always there. Learn to anticipate it and be ready to abandon ship, so to speak!

Sound advice, but the redhead still had to step in and put a halt to the savage thrashing Eva was giving her. The young blonde teen had been incensed and simmered all the way back to the stable. Jenny could feel as much as sense Eva’s rage as they walked slowly back to the stable building. Everything had been calm, normal or as normal as it could be given the bizarre nature of her captivity, as she was unsaddled, watered and rubbed down, Heather doing likewise with her Jezabel. Then the pair had left, chatting about the latest instalment of Love Island they were going to watch in the evening.

Twenty minutes later, Eva had returned, alone, and coldly informed her fearful pony that Heather had gone into town on a shopping trip with her sister, so the interfering bitch wouldn’t be around to prevent what was about to happen. The horrible girl had even sniggered as she said that, then added that Heather seemed to think Patootie had fallen by accident, but that was irrelevant. Accident or design, the clumsy animal had shed her rider and owner, and that would not be tolerated, no, not at all!

Jenny had fought, of course, what else, knowing what was to come, but that only made things worse as Eva dragged her from the stall to the centre of the stable and attached what they called the ‘dance line’ to the back of her posture collar then walked over to the wall mounted control unit and pressed the button, the motor high above in the rafters whirred as it took up the slack and didn’t cease until Jenny was dangling by her neck her with the metal shoes attached to her hoof boots barely touching the dirt floor.

It was like a hanging, a spontaneous lynching, but not for her heavy posture; the collar protected her from being strangled. She’d had to stand there, helpless, while the horrible girl smirked at her, gloating, revelling in her power over her helpless victim. At least those standing on the scaffold knew that their suffering would soon be over, and maybe they’d be afforded the condemned a moment to verbally express contrition for their crimes or to curse those around them in one final act of defiance.  Unfortunately, neither applied to Jenny; her suffering was about to begin, and there was no merciful end in sight, nor would her mouth bit allow her to express all that she would like to say to the hell child in front of her!

Not that the bit had stayed in place, for the girl enjoyed hearing her victims scream, plead, and beg. The brat even seemed to take pleasure in all the profanity emitted by those suffering under her lash or cane, interwoven with their cries of agony and other noises. Eva was a complete sadist; they all were, but Eva was the only one who would flog a pony simply because it amused her rather than for disciplinary or training reasons. The others, as crazy as they were, at least had some method to their madness, however mad that method was!

Harnessed, with her hands and arms pinioned and sheathed behind her back, hobbled and shod in clumsy hoof boots, Jenny fought as much as she could against a girl hardly half her size and weight, but to no avail. No pony had ever escaped the stable, nor whatever short-term fate its owners intended, and this had been no exception. The best they might manage, as had happened on a few occasions, was to get a lucky kick in at an opportune moment when a handler became forgetful or careless. Such incidents, though, were rare and invariably instinctive on the pony’s part and somewhat ill-considered given their circumstances. Retribution of a most painful kind was always swift to follow.

It was all so damned unfair, and that was an apt word. You were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t. You tried your best because you didn’t want to get whipped again, and then, because you tripped by accident, you were damned for that and whipped regardless! But somehow it always seemed worse for her. Would Heather have whipped Jezebel had she stumbled or Alice’s big Midnight? What chance did she have when that huge brute could be led about the stable by Eva during a grooming or mucking out session, docile as a puppy despite his immense size... but then, tightly harnessed and restrained just like her, what chance did he have of doing anything?

Jenny had regretted her actions even before that unseen motor overheated and began to whirr. All she’d done was add to the evil girl’s annoyance for no gain on her part. Besides, what good would it have done even if she’d managed to land a hard kick on the brat somewhere sensitive? What difference would it have made? None, and worse, it would have made things worse, or would it? Probably not knowing how sadistic the girl could be. Had it been the brat's mother or sister or Heather, then yes, they would have added a little extra purely as a disciplinary measure. It would have been an objective measure, though, rather than a personal one!

Eva, though, didn’t run on the same lines. Had she been free of all restraints and thrown herself down to grovel in the dirt, kissing and obsequiously licking those expensive riding boots of hers, it would have made no difference. Once the girl had decided to extract her ‘pound of flesh’ nothing would deter her from doing so. Not even if her older sister or, better still, Heather, were to walk through the big stable doors and call a halt to the proceedings would it make any difference. Eva had the proverbial elephant's memory that never forgets. She’d wait for the right moment, then collect said pound, with a few extra ounces added for good, vindictive measure!

Jenny shivered despite her sweat at that memory. The little bitch had made her dance all right that afternoon. She also remembered that first time she’d had a good look at Midnight and the horror she’d felt at the sight of his mutilated body. The huge stallion, as they called him, was covered in scars and savage wheals from Alice's whips. Eva’s older sister had obviously broken and tamed the huge black man, so what chance was there of her avoiding the same fate? None, she’d decided early on in her captivity.

True, she had been rebellious and uncooperative in those first few weeks at that other place under the less-than-tender care of the redheaded bitch, Miss fucking head stable girl, Heather. That had been a shock to the system, as had the entire bizarre setup. Mind-bogglingly so, but once she had time to assess the situation, she made up her mind to resist them all the way. She, Jenny, was not about to become an animal for their cruel amusement, no way!

Almost there, almost there, she thought, and managed to catch herself before a minor slip turned into a major stumble on the uneven path. She hadn’t anticipated Eva, though, had she, when she made that early decision? Looking back, Heather had been practically a saint compared to the brat currently perched on her shoulders and back. Not that Heather was a saint in any way, shape, or form. Jenny had seen Jezabel, the redheaded young bitch’s personal mount, numerous times since she made that resolve. That poor woman carried as many scars as Midnight, only older and less obvious.  She’d also witnessed the girl training other ponies, people rather towards the latter part of her stay in that first stable. No, gentle was not a word these horrible, evil people included in their vocabularies.

It was towards the end of her initial period in captivity that she reluctantly reached a decision, one she hated to make, but she was intelligent enough to see no other option. She had wasted hours and almost dislocated every bone or joint in her body trying to wriggle out of the harness she had been bound in, and to no avail. These… she hated to even use the word ‘people’ for such… such evil beings, but one thing was clear: they were not fools and must have been doing what they were doing for years, perhaps even generations. Given the nature of their heinous crimes, they were unlikely to make mistakes, were they?

Not that, in retrospect, it had been a waste of time for what else had she to do, to occupy her. Nothing! Thus, compliance, she’d decided, offered the best, perhaps the only escape route out of the crazy situation. Just like the harness and tack that rendered her body virtually helpless. The more she struggled and resisted, the tighter it got, and the more watchful they became. Likewise, her behaviour. She didn’t change her attitude overnight, though; she was too clever for that, but her truculence, her stubbornness, and so forth did moderate to the point that the freckled young red-haired bitch noticed.

‘That’s a good pony, a good Patootie, who’s learning to be a good girl so quickly!’ Those and other sickening endearments, along with the pats and intimate fondling that wasn’t even intended to be intimate but invariably was. Her body no longer her own! God, she’d hated that, still did, and having to gobble down the so-called treats for being ‘good’. Bits of apple or carrot, and on rare occasions, a square of chocolate or a boiled fruity sweet.

Her initial decision had been made that same day, Heather had used a cane on the soles of her feet. The idea had been growing in her mind, and her first experience of what real punishment, unstoppable agonising pain, was like had coincided with having seen Heather showing her true colours a little earlier upon another unfortunate soul. She now knew that Heather had been under orders from Eva’s mother not to flog the new pony and break its spirit, but leave that to her wicked young daughter. Heather's job was merely to… to acclimatise, to introduce her to stable life. Likewise, to induct her young owner into standard stable routine and duties.

Eva, of course, had frequently avoided, skimped and skived off such duties, but those options hadn’t been available to Jenny or Patootie, as she’d been named. A term Jenny had subsequently learned was American slang for either an attractive young woman, a sweetheart or girlfriend. Alternatively, to refer to a person's cute buttocks or bottom. It was a name that rankled and soured every time she heard it used! Especially as she knew which context applied to her!

Heather had become frustrated with that ‘hands-off’ instruction after she’d been particularly difficult during one so-called training session on the walker. Eva had been out somewhere else, no doubt making life miserable for one of the other hapless occupants of that hellish stable. Heather had secured her tightly to a bench and then administered the caning, and even now, just thinking about the agony was…well, she tried not to think about it. That was a medieval punishment, and people didn’t realise just how sensitive you were down there!

God, how she’d screamed and howled, fainted and been brought back to the living hell to endure more pain by the evil young redhead as that cane scorched the soles of her feet. The girl. Heather had been so damn objective about it as well. Patootie, the ponygirl, had pissed her off, and thus Patootie had to be punished and therefore was being punished. Nor was there a mark on her for Eva or her other to see and complain about once she’d been fitted with her horrible pony hoof boots again. Bitted and thus silenced, all she could do was inwardly fume when Heather casually passed off her lack of movement for the next few days as a simple …leg strain.

‘Pulled a muscle in her fetlock, Eva. Not uncommon, especially with new animals. Don’t worry, Kiddo, she’ll be back in action in a day or so’ the redhead had blatantly lied.

Of course, telling Eva not to worry about herself or any other stable occupant was a complete waste of breath! Eva was far too selfish and self-centred to care about anyone other than herself, and expecting her to show concern for one of the captive animals was…well…. ’Oooophhh!’

Her squeal squandered its energy against the bit in her mouth as Eva’s riding crop found sensitive flesh yet again as the girl shouted aloud. “Nearly there, pony, hup, hup, don’t slacken off now, you lazy animal’ the shout and vicious downward stroke accompanied by that horrendous raking of her thighs by the girls' spurs adding yet more agony as Jenny staggered forward.

“Whoa, whoa, girl," Eva hauled harshly back on the reins, bringing her mount to a stop as they reached the top. “Whoa, stay. I know you love running down the hill for home, but not just yet, eh! Don’t be hasty, as Treebeard would say!” The girl giggled, patting her mount lightly on the head and then reached down to loosen her pony's mouth bit to let her animal gulp in great quantities of air.

Love the run for home! Oh yeah, nothing like trying to gallop downhill with leaden legs and what felt like a ton and more of sadistic young miss perched high on a saddle on your damn back! Oh yes, she loved that, NOT! Tears came into Jenny's eyes as she stood with oxygen-starved lungs desperately heaving as they struggled to take in the life-giving air before the brat pulled that mouth bit tight again. How the hell was she supposed to run what now seemed the equivalent of a fucking marathon if she could barely breathe!

She felt Eva shift around in the small saddle and realised, with a sinking feeling, that the girl had no intention of dismounting, nor was a water bottle likely to appear. The evil brat was probably on her phone, checking emails or messages, Facebook even? Thinking about the… the poor animal, Jenny silently ground out the word, between her legs wouldn’t be on Eva’s agenda, let alone worrying about its health and well-being.

Jenny felt the unwanted and unbidden tears run down her cheek. ‘Don’t be hasty’. Treebeard, Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings. Her favourite book as a child, and she had loved the movies. A distant memory now. How could life be so unfair, so cruel, so…

“Five minutes, pony, so make the most of it. Make sure you’ve got plenty of oomph in those fat legs of yours for the run home. No dawdling like you usually do!”

Jenny flinched as though she’d been struck. Five minutes, and knowing Eva, that was being generous! Hell, she needed at least an hour or more to recharge her batteries and water—damn, she could have drunk a stream dry or at least drained a bucket. Now she wasn’t even going to get a mouthful while… while that brat… her muscles twitched with sudden rage, and she stiffened for a moment; the urge to rebel and toss her rider to the ground was almost overwhelming.

Almost, but not quite, for common sense or maybe self-preservation kicked in at the crucial moment, and she relaxed again. No, not yet. Don’t spoil it with a temporary fit of petulant anger, no matter how justified it might be.  Yes, she could probably unseat the brat, toss her off, but what good would it do her out here and so tightly restrained? One brief flash of elation and then God knows how long the hours of torture would be at the sadistic young madam's hands.

Jenny simmered but regained her composure, focusing on her breathing, taking deep breaths, visualising an internal fuel tank refilling. Her energy level gauge slowly moved from the red through the orange into the green. Hell, with how her legs felt, that needle would fall well short of the green no matter how hard she tried to regulate her oxygen intake. Five minutes was nothing!

“Another three minutes and I’m being generous.”

The information from above was accompanied by a hard rap on her head, then the soft tap-tap on a phone resumed as the girl presumably resumed her socialising or whatever she was engaged in. A pretty young teenage girl absorbed in the same way millions of others were absorbed several times a day. Head down, fingers nimbly tapping away, seemingly oblivious to everything else. But how many would be doing it while sitting atop a hill mounted high on the back and shoulders of a human female pony!

Life at that initial place under Heather's determined guidance hadn’t been bad, well… yes, it had. Mad, sad, and bad, and… and… but nothing like this place now that Eva had taken full charge of her personal pony! Her time at the first stable owned by Heather's boss was quite an eye-opener, but aside from those two canings to her feet, Heather had delivered, tolerable in its strange way, compared to the present. Yes, there had been the restraints, the inescapable bondage, the disgusting food, the intense humiliations of being treated like an animal. Being so helpless, handled, fondled, eating revolting yuck, and having to shit in the dirt, but….

Jenny was no idiot, and it hadn’t taken her long to assess her situation, unbelievable as it was, and formulate her as yet unfulfilled escape plan. She’d realised early on that these crazies who now controlled every single aspect of her life might be insane, but they were not stupid, far from it. Everything they did to her and the others was carefully thought out and well practised, allowing little, indeed no, room for error. They regarded her not just as an animal but a potentially dangerous one due to her ‘intelligence’. They treated her perhaps with even more respect than any cowboy had ever shown towards a newly roped wild mustang out on the prairie.

Respect! Now that was an odd word for her to have used, given her circumstances. It was hard to believe that she was, in reality, no different from the brat on her back, from Heather or Alice. No different from... but this was not reality, not normality, was it? And those hellions were not the least bit normal!

“Two minutes!”

The phone tapping continued unabated, and this time there was no rap on her head. Instead, a sharp spur had lightly traced its way down her right thigh, making Jenny wince and stifle a cry as it rolled over the bleeding wounds it had already made. It might have been a deliberate gesture or perhaps just some involuntary movement of the young girl's leg. Either way, it achieved the same effect, a painful reminder of her position and the authority her youthful rider had over her.

An authority that Eva had ruthlessly established and emphasised most painfully, almost immediately, once she’d been returned to the stable the girl’s mother owned. That place she’d so foolishly visited, although to be fair, how was she supposed to know she’d accidentally stumbled upon what she was looking for, only to join those she’d been seeking. She’d found out, all right, hadn’t she? Her family's disappearance was no longer a mystery, at least not to her. Unfortunately, it remained that way for everyone else, and now her own and her mother’s could be added to the growing list.

Her plan had been straightforward. Don’t confront them; comply, be submissive. Let them believe they’d broken her spirit while she waited, watched, and sooner or later, an opportunity to escape would present itself. Somehow, some way, the moment would arrive, but so far it hadn’t, and what had once been patient optimism had fallen into near black despair. They never made mistakes; the routine rarely changed; no shortcuts, no lapses of memory, no… she sighed into her mouth, biting her lip. Nothing, and even the brat on her back, the lazy, skiving little bitch that she was, never cut corners, not with her restraints anyway. Yes, when it came to routine stable chores like mucking out or even grooming her pony, but never when it involved harness, tack, or hobble chains. No, not yet, but maybe, yes, maybe one day?

“Two minutes!”

Another two minutes? What was the brat doing up there, writing a fucking novel! Not that Jenny was going to complain, every minute, every bloody added second was crucial for her stamina recovery. That realisation of her captor's efficiency had come slowly as her imprisonment and its attendant horrors grew. What hadn’t come slowly was the realisation of what being Eva’s personal pony involved and when her submissive acquiescence had virtually become a reality. Even now, Jenny wasn’t entirely sure how much ‘spunk’, as it were, she had in that tank marked escape and non-compliance. She was genuinely terrified of the brat and only too aware of the agonising pain the girl would so nonchalantly inflict upon her helpless body should the mood take her. Hell, if she tried and failed.

Heather, even with that awful cane, had been a comparative angel compared to Eva and the whips. That whistling cane upon the soles of her feet had been her first taste of pain—real, deep-searing, agonising pain—and of the cruelty these demons in human form were capable of inflicting. It had seemed an eternity when the young redheaded bitch was administering it, and yet on reflection, perhaps no more than five minutes at most. Whereas, compared to Eva, that little sadist dished it out in hours!

It had been her first sight of Midnight that truly made her realise just how much of a helpless captive she was and the kind of ongoing treatment she could expect from her... her owner. Oh, how she hated to think like that. Owner! There had been other ponies back at... at Margaret's stable, lots of them, but her mind had been in a state of shock and non-functioning in some ways. Those unfortunate souls housed there must have been in a similar condition, and thinking back, yes, some had been. But her focus had been entirely on herself then, and somehow other sights hadn’t registered as they should have. No, they had, but it hadn’t seemed real even though it was! Perhaps it was more of that drug they’d used to kidnap her in the first place; maybe she hadn’t been fully herself, unlikely as that might have been. But then it had been during those early days that she’d decided to escape the crazy situation and the lunatics who were doing this to her! That period had been a hazy mixture of dream and nightmare world colliding, and neither of them nice!

Whatever? It had been that first morning back here after Eva had gleefully dragged her from the fragile security of her stall and strapped her securely to a punishment frame—and... even now, Jenny didn’t care to think about her first experience of ‘being trained’ by the brat on her back! Maybe that was it—memory blanks brought about by the sheer trauma of her bizarre situation! That first glimpse of Midnight, as Alice had led the huge stallion— the big man from his stall directly opposite where she was sobbing in absolute agony, awaiting round two—Eva had promised once she returned from a refreshment break.

That memory was as vivid now as it had been back then. To say the guy was impressive would be an understatement. Jenny was no virgin and hadn’t been since she was fourteen and seduced a boy three years older who’d captained the school rugby team. She’d been tall and well built for her age even then, but the boy had been huge, at least to her, a husky hunk of a guy and certainly hadn’t been a disappointment once stripped of his vest and shorts! Chad, he’d been called, and he’d set the standard by which she’s since judged all others!

Midnight, though, had been in a different league — she corrected herself, he was in a different league. His size and physique were magnificent, and he towered over Alice, who was no shortie like her younger sister. In terms of figure and height, Eva was very much at the Sabrina Carpenter end of the scale, whereas her dark-haired sister was more at the Taylor Swift end. Still, Midnight had towered over Alice as she confidently led him out of his stall, the horrible hoof boots making a veritable giant of him, and, yeah, something else had caught her besides his vast bulk.  Jenny could see why they called him a stallion, even if it was cruelly kept securely under lock and key!

Alice had casually knotted his reins to a nearby post while she tended to some other task. So Jenny, her pain and misery momentarily forgotten, had a ringside view of the enormous man in all his oiled, glistening, glossy, black-skinned glory. Why the hell was he just standing there like that, so… so docile when he looked like he could imitate the biblical Samson and push a couple of pillars apart and bring down the damn roof on these evil Philistines!

That’s when she first noticed the scars on his magnificent body. Not exactly every inch, but it appeared so at first, or rather at second glance. Jenny had drawn her breath in deeply with a choking gasp as her horrified eyes took in more than just gloss and impressive muscle structure, moving from scar to scar, welt to wound — old, very old, and others fresh. Alice had been carrying a short, folded dog whip in one hand, and Jenny began to understand why the big guy was so docile — and perhaps not so. There was a tense feeling about him that she could sense, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off in the right situation, and yet?

She’d struggled violently at that point against the straps that bound her to the whipping frame, but there was no more leeway there than in the harness that tightly bound her body. Likewise, she realised, in the harness restraining that giant, standing so patiently in front of her. He was as helpless as she was, despite his bulk and muscles, and never mind Alice, even the smaller Eva would have no difficulty in controlling the poor fellow, so what chance had she? Yet, somehow, she knew the big guy wasn’t beaten, wasn’t totally broken, wasn’t….no, there was still something in there, hidden, locked away down deep, but given the right moment, the right opportunity….. That’s when Jenny made her other decision, as she looked long and hard at the poor man's scars. Battle scars, you might say, but it wasn’t a battle he’d won or ever could win!

While escape had been the primary reason for her decision, there had been a secondary one far more pertinent to the present than any hoped-for future opportunity that might arise. Midnight obviously hadn’t taken kindly to his captivity and new role in life, but no matter how proud and independent-minded she might be, Jenny did not want to end up with her body looking like that! Nor was it entirely down to vanity, but the more she looked at the big guy, the more a degree of self-preservation kicked in. Besides, what good had his evident truculence done him?

Jenny’s seemingly early submission had been somewhat of a disappointment to her young owner, not that it had changed the girl's harsh treatment of her, too much. Still, even a little leniency from the brat was worth the humiliation and loss of self-respect, as Jenny had evidently broken down under the lash, her angry, rebellious spirit forever subdued. Nor was her apparent obedience entirely an act; Jenny would do anything to avoid antagonising her young owner, no matter how humiliating or degrading.

Dead or crippled ponies can’t escape had been another of her oft-repeated mantras during that ‘training’ phase of her captivity. That apparent obsequious attitude had ultimately reduced the savage thrashings, and to an extent, likewise the girls' partial loss of interest in pony ownership. Eva was a mercurial girl whose interests waxed and waned like any teenager, only perhaps to a greater extent. Patootie had become more like the pet or even a toy a kid had desperately craved, but once owned, interest began to wane.

Unfortunately, that declining interest as yet was nowhere near enough declined for Jenny’s liking and worse, Eva’s fondness for using whip and cane hadn’t waned one iota, not that she suspected it ever would, meaning she’d remain target number one! There were others in the stable and house who could and would suffer, but they didn’t belong to the girl, whereas she did and already carried the scars that marked such ownership. That in itself was another reason she was desperate to escape, for the longer she remained captive, the more she would be marked, disfigured for life, most horribly and painfully. Not to mention humiliating, as such a featherweight teenage brat soundly whipped her! That in itself was soul-destroying.

Her apparent submission might not be real, but her screams were and had been from that very first time Eva had taken a whip to her and hadn’t held back. None of them ever did, and Jenny had once heard Heather saying quite unemotionally that there was no such thing as a ‘love pat’ in the stable. The beasts were there to learn obedience of the highest order, and whip and cane were the most effective teachers. They soon learned how to save their precious hides if they possessed the slightest amount of ‘horse’ sense. A remark that had amused her audience!

It was a lesson Jenny had taken to heart, for it aptly mirrored her feelings about self-preservation as she waited and watched for that opportunity that surely must come. Unfortunately for her, it wasn’t a lesson her young owner paid much heed to, and there had been times, especially early on in her ‘training’, when even if unencumbered by tack, harness and hoof boots, just leaving her stall would have been a challenge after a savage flogging. Besides, fit or otherwise, there’d been no point to date when she’d been allowed the least bit of freedom and deep down, she was beginning to question whether there ever would be such a moment.

“Yowwwww! Oh no, please no!“ It wasn’t intentional on her part; it just slipped out as Eva’s boots lifted slightly in the stirrups and then savagely plunged downwards, raking her thighs with those revolving steel points on her spurs. Even as the crop descended to stripe her right buttock and Eva’s shrill “Giddy hup!” rang in her ears, Jenny was already lunging forward, stifling a sob and regretting that outburst, breaking the number one rule of being a captive human pony. Thou shalt not talk!

“Stupid animal making that silly noise! Will you never learn!” The crop whistled up and down again, and the spurs dug deeper as Eva rose slightly in the saddle in her enthusiasm before settling back. “Run, pony, run. You’ve had a nice long rest, and I’ve left your bit loose, so run, run for your fucking life. I want to feel the wind in my face, so get those long legs moving, RUN!”

Crop and spurs worked in tandem to produce greater effort, and Jenny, being on a slack rein, lowered her head and charged forward, sobbing in frustration. What choice did she have?

*****

“I don’t think he’s enjoying that very much”, Cassie commented, pausing as the girls exited the kitchen to cross the big dining room. Her pink tongue licked daintily at the iced popsicle before adding. “I don’t think I would either, but then….” She shrugged. “It’s not exactly private in here, is it?”

“What?” Eva was gazing thoughtfully at her popsicle, wondering why she’d chosen lemon when strawberry was her favourite. “Oh, that,” she glanced indifferently towards the dining table and the unhappy figure bent over one of the chairs, then giggled. “I don’t think it’s the lack of privacy that’s bothering the big bitch! I mean, would you fancy having that horrid thing of his up your bum hole?”

The two youngsters licking their iced treats edged closer to the action, Eva patiently accommodating her new friends' interest even though it was a sight she’d seen many times before. It wasn’t exactly a first for Cassie either, but she was both new enough and young enough to find the primitive sight fascinating. Eva was right, though, Cassie thought, putting two-thirds of the icy sweet stick into her mouth and slowly pulling it out through her lips. “No way she’s ever want something like her new friend's dad, stepdad rather, that big fat dick of his up her arse like that. No wonder the poor guy was screeching and mouthing such vile epithets… poor girl,” she giggled, mentally correcting herself and glanced over towards Baby, hovering obediently nearby. The pretty one, as she classed him, or her rather.

No longer masculine, either of them, not with their silly little cocks locked away and dressed in all their pretties. Not that there was anything very little or pretty about big boy nor his imprisoned man thing as he, tch, she, loudly voiced those foul-mouthed objections to having her bum soundly fucked by her Master. Cassie frowned slightly, her pretty teenage face taking on a thoughtful expression as her tongue flicked out for another long lick. It was a waste to use the big American boy in that way; the same way he used Baby.

There was no way she’d ever see Princess as a ‘she’, no matter how he was dressed or how much makeup they put on his face. Now, if he belonged to her, he’d be a fine candidate for a stall in the stable. Not in the same class as Midnight, of course, but way better than the Aussie pony, Spider. It seemed a waste to her, but then it was her employer's decision, not hers. She took another lick and thought about that. Nope, there was no way she was going to start questioning her new boss about anything. No way she’d risk losing this unique job. Besides, she paused, tongue out for a second, abandoning another lick as a new thought struck her. Maybe she could acquire a pony of her very own, like Eva with Patootie. Golly!

Now there was a thought sliding her popsicle deep into her mouth again to pull through her pursed lips. Now, Baby, he had a decent set of lips beneath that layer of pink lip gloss. Real or artificially enhanced, she wondered, withdrawing the icy stick from her mouth and looking curiously at the feminised youth. Her action reminded her of what she’d seen the boy­/girl using his lips and mouth to do the other night on that same fleshy stalk that was pounding in and out of Princess. She jumped slightly at the light touch on her arm.

“C’mon, you’re the hired hand here, remember, and mum wants us both for something. Can’t stand around gawping, can we, when there is work for us, or rather you to do!”

“Okay”, Cassie laughed. “Let’s go see what she wants but don’t get uppity about it. She’ll want you as well, and don’t forget, I’m the one who’s getting paid for doing it!”

“Yeah! Blatant exploitation of family loyalty, slave labour—that's what it is. But even if she weren’t paying you a penny, I’d bet you’d still be here, wouldn’t you? And don’t lie to me, you nasty-minded little bitch. Beats the hell out of that posh Swiss finishing school that kicked you out, and speaking of beating!”

Baby couldn’t hear Cassie’s reply as the girls disappeared giggling into the hall, quietly closing the door behind them. That action was in complete contrast to the noisy scene in front of him. A long time ago, what now seemed years, aeons ago, he’d have been embarrassed to have stood clad as he was before two such sexy young teenage cuties, but he was long past that point. He and he was a he, a man, regardless of what those silly giggling little brats or anyone else in this crazy house thought. Alright, so his penis was permanently locked away, he was wearing more make-up than a circus clown…well, almost. He was also dressed like… like some…some depraved fetishist's dream whore, and he didn’t need to look very far to see whose dream he was dressed to fulfil, did he?

His Master, the so-called man of the house, was vigorously fucking his latest acquisition over the chair back, his massive cock pistoning in and out of the poor guy's butt hole just as it had done in his own God knows how many times. Yeah, he’d been fucked, raped more times than he could remember and had stopped counting long ago, probably even before the end of that first terrible week. At least he was, well, to a certain extent spared that now his Master had someone else to use when he felt like it, which was far too often. The bastard was virtually insatiable! Not that he, Baby, as he was now known, would get off scot-free. No, once the bastard had finished and spurted his usual heavy load into that muscular ass and withdrawn his flaccid cock, the fingers would click, and one would point downwards.

That would be the signal, the command for him to drop to his knees and use his mouth to lick and clean the slime and shit off his Master's love stick, and maybe coax it back to full attention if the bastard was still in the mood, and all too often he was. That was why his wife, Patricia, the bitch they could all thank for this living hell she’d created, had apparently married him. Good looks, cock size and endless vigour and from what her daughters said, not much else, including personality! The two girls had an entire lexicon of names for the horny bastard and non of them complimentary!

There was no way Princess would be allowed the ‘privilege’ of cleaning off his Master with his mouth and tongue. No way the bastard riding him would risk his precious manhood near the big guy's teeth, and he still had all of them, although that was likely to change in the future.  He blanched at that thought. One of his back teeth, a less visible one, had been removed without the benefit of any numbing by Mistress Patrica and Miss Alice as a warning. Any attempt at biting his betters and he’d lose the lot along with his cock and balls and suffer the kind of floggings that would flay his skin from his bones without killing him!

Half a second of oral triumph wasn’t worth an eternity of what those bitches had promised him, so he’d obediently suck, lick, and swallow from then on, desperately trying not to catch anything with his teeth inadvertently. He’d been in this horrible house long enough to know that there was no such thing as an empty threat and that he needed neither teeth, cock, nor balls to provide the service his Master required from him! His retention of such bodily items depended entirely on his level of submissive obedience. He could serve intact, as it were, or as a toothless eunuch — his choice!

The brute who owned him began to grunt, and his thrusts grew more frenzied, a clear sign he was approaching climax. However, the bastard was skilled at holding back if he chose to do so. Baby winced. How many times had that happened to him? Just when he thought the ordeal was about to end, that punishing, thrusting, rock-hard tube of flesh suddenly paused and either partially or fully withdrew, ceasing its horrific assault on his rectum and very manhood. 'Time for a breather,’ the man would sometimes say. Occasionally, especially when they were in bed, he’d disengage completely, even though he hadn’t yet spent himself and roll over for a rest before it all began again. ‘It’s the journey that counts, not arriving at the station, girl!’ the bastard had once whispered in his ear when he’d been subjected to a prolonged face-up bout of ‘loving.’

At least his cousin, the big American youth, still looked like a guy despite the high heels, frilly undies and face paint he himself had to apply daily. A cousin he’d never met or even known existed till recently, and only then by overhearing a conversation between Patrica and other members of the evil family. The woman, it seemed, had developed some crazy fixation on his family, and the purchase of Princess and his brother hadn’t been universally approved. Indeed, the transaction, if you could call kidnapping and abduction to order under that term. It was evidently a bone of contention in the normal, harmonious relationship between the woman and her eldest daughter in particular. It was also the only time he’d known the two girls to be on the same wavelength as their stepfather over the extortionate cost.

“That’s it, baby, oh yes, oh yes, shake that sexy butt for me, baby, daddy’s gonna cum soon, pretty girl, oh yes…..”

Baby heard the words but knew his Master wasn’t talking to him, though, merely using the word as a term of endearment toward the big youth still vainly struggling beneath him as that demanding cock raped his rectum with a brutal, primitive force that would not be denied its ultimate triumph! Princess wasn't being quiet about his suffering or his humiliation either. When he wasn’t screaming or howling in agony, his mouth had spewed out a constant stream of expletives expressed in a manner that varied from extreme indignation to white-hot verbal rage and far too frequently at full volume till he found himself choking on a big red ball gag!

Baby, of course, hadn’t been privy to young Cassie's thought process, but he’d seen the expression on her pretty young face and known exactly what this new arrival was thinking as the teen glanced from the obdurate Princess to him and back again. He, Baby, looked the part in his warpaint, styled hair, ultra-high heels, and frilly undies. His bisexual Master’s forcibly feminised sex pet and, unfortunately for him, he made a pretty convincing one, being somewhat petite and slender, smooth-skinned and decidedly non-hirsute. He hardly needed his weekly shave, let alone anything else, so it was no wonder he’d ended up in that queer bastard's bed rather than the stable or kennel.

Evidently, Cassie hadn’t been told that, aside from fucking and abusing ‘cute’ little sissy bitches like him, the perverted bastard had long harboured a desire to do the same to some poor guy at the opposite end of the ‘sissy’ scale, if one existed. As for his transformation, on the convincing transvestite scale, that big Yankee ex-footballer wouldn’t even rate a zero on a ten-point scale, which was why he was dressed as he was and secured over that chair, being vigorously sodomised by his new owner and Master!

Princess wasn’t pleased about it either, which was no surprise, but while he, Baby, had been painfully trained to act as if he were being taken to heaven and back, verbally, while being fucked, that didn’t apply to the big boy there. The more the youth protested and screamed his hatred and abuse, the more it amused his bareback rider, who was only too happy to prolong his victim’s suffering and humiliation.

That was another of Baby’s duties, shutting the noisy fucker up when required. His Mistress suffered periodically from migraine headaches and didn’t appreciate those loud verbal outbursts, even if they did amuse her husband. Nor did she approve of foul language, and certainly not from something that in her eyes was probably barely human! A mere minor step upwards on the evolutionary scale compared to those she condemned to permanently occupying a kennel, a stable stall, and, more recently, a cow shed.

That was where the poor bastard's twin brother had ended up, somewhere out there; he glanced towards the big bow windows. Somewhere behind the house, a new building he’d never seen, where Patrica housed her ‘milking cows’. The evil woman’s latest inhuman devilry and Princess’s brother got to play bull, or so he’d gathered from family conversation. What a strange twist of fate, and how was that decided, Baby, wondered. One twin gets to fuck, and the other gets fucked!

He was probably kept naked, hobbled and chained to a post like a dog in whatever enclosure they kept the poor fellow in, but at least he could probably maintain some masculine dignity, some semblance of manly pride. More so if he was allowed to actually exercise that masculinity from time to time, even if it was under the strictest supervision imaginable. Yes, Baby nodded to himself at that thought. The supervision Miss Alice or her mother would provide would certainly be very strict, ultra strict! The poor chap was there to do a job, a very simple job, and not to enjoy himself. In and out double quick, unlike… his gaze returned to the screaming, protesting figure being fucked over the chair. In and out, yeah, if only!

The grunting changed pitch; his Master would cum soon, and then it would be his turn to debase himself again, to put his pretty, pumped-up, painted lips, mouth, and tongue to work again. He shuddered at the thought, even though he must have done similar, what...a hundred, no closer to a thousand times maybe! Princess had started screaming his not-so-pretty head off again, full volume as he expressed his rage, his absolute despair, and humiliation as his Master climaxed, spurting his slimy hot seed into his unwilling rectum, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Oh, how the poor bastard must want to swing a big fist in his rapist's face or a size 12 or US equivalent size boot in the fucker's groin, if only……

Baby sighed deeply, waiting for the obligatory finger click from his Master. He had told this cousin about the stable and the kennels during one of their rare unsupervised moments together, but the guy had nothing but contempt for his painted, sissy cousin and the apparent freedom he enjoyed compared to the chains and straps that bound him. How could he possibly help the poor sod when there were cameras everywhere, and the poor fucker wore the same shock collar as him? And how was he meant to undo those locks without a key?

They couldn’t escape without being shocked senseless, and if the Mistress or Miss Alice saw them even attempting to escape, well, it didn’t bear thinking about. He sympathised, but that was as far as he was prepared to go; he’d been held captive too long and suffered too much and seen far too much! If he even…. he shook himself as his Master withdrew and snapped his fingers, pointing to his wilting shaft.

“Fucking useless painted faggot!” Even as he hurried forward and dropped to his knees and raised one silk-gloved hand to guide his Master's penis to his mouth, his cousins hoarsely growled words that stung, but in this house, there were frequently far worse things than words that did more than merely hurt in a non-physical sense. If the poor bastard thought this was bad, then…he raised his eyes slightly as he licked and sucked, maybe if he persuaded his Master to take him on a visit to see some of the other unfortunates they kept and in far worse conditions.

Hell, if the poor bastard thought one of his Master's spankings or paddings was bad, let him see Miss Alice in action with a leather whip or her mother and how they kept their livestock. Let him take a good, long look at those living conditions and their whip-scarred skins, hides as they called them.  It might be humiliating, but what was wearing heels and frillies plus being ass fucked occasionally when compared to the lives those unfortunate people living twenty-four seven as animals. At least both of them were still human!