Novella
Chapter 7 of 31
Chapter 12
She'd been wrong so very wrong. This was the second time she had thought life could not possibly get any worse for her, but it had, or to be precise was going to, she just knew it! So cruel so very, very cruel. Initially, she'd been elated for an all too brief moment, or...no perhaps that was the wrong term, how could she be elated at the thought of going back to that hell house and to that terrible, cruel woman who claimed ownership of her and her entire family?
The rest were back there though, or it was to be hoped they were all still there unless something even more terrible and evil had happened in that awful place. However, if she were back there as well then maybe there would be, could be hope, perhaps not much but better there than here with this sick sexually depraved mad woman who'd so casually 'borrowed' her just as one might borrow an obliging neighbour's lawnmower!
Conversely, no self-respecting neighbour would ever treat said equipment in the manner that she had been treated, battered, abused, cruelly used and bruised daily! Now the old lawnmower was to be in the hands of a third party. But she wasn't an old mower she was a human being or had been till a few months ago! Now she was a mere commodity, a possession traded and used for the amusement of others, albeit temporarily and supposedly this time for her 'self-improvement'!
“I shall be going away for a few weeks” the bitch had announced that morning after reading a letter. She'd glanced thoughtfully down at Mumsie who as usual was down on her hands and knees at the end of her leash awaiting her mistress's pleasure and hopefully some breakfast. “I may have to take you back to my sister; the slut was enquiring about you only the other day. I am not sure though that I want to let her have you, after all, she has the means and wherewithal to acquire a suitable replacement, far more so than I. Barely adequate as you are, I am loath to deprive myself of your pitiful attempts to amuse me. I can hardly leave you here on your own though can I, plus of course there is Creature in the cellar to consider also is there not?” Claire had tailed off absently drumming the ends of her fingers on the glass top of an adjacent coffee table.
“Fetch bitch” fingers suddenly snapped, and a hand pointed towards another low coffee table in the far corner. Mumsie knew what was required and scampered over to retrieve a cigarette packet and a lighter plus a large cut glass ashtray. She returned crawling as fast as she could now hampered by the items in her hands. At least the bitch hadn't added 'mouth' that command meant carrying things in her teeth and that ashtray was heavy. Not to mention its foul contents soiling her mouth and teeth!
"Maybe," Claire said to herself as she lit then inhaled a deeply on a cigarette. "Maybe though there is another solution to our teensy little problem, I shall have to see." She had glanced thoughtfully down at Mumsie cowering at her feet.
Mumsie quailed under that glance, fearing that it boded ill for her. Her eyes smarted a little from the cigarette smoke; she hated cigarettes and their smoke. She hated the stench, and it permeated everywhere in this house and worse still it was always on her and in her matted hair. She longed to bathe, but that simple privilege had been granted only once so far during her stay with his horrible woman. Bathe. She'd been allowed five minutes with a bucket of ice-cold water, a miserly squirt of washing up liquid and a greasy old rag. Bathing!
At least this bitch never kissed her, unlike her sister. Patricia loved to force her lips onto hers, one hand squeezing cruelly on a helpless captive breast the other around her neck, pulling her close in an obscene parody of a lover's passionate tryst. 'Open bitch open your pussy licking mouth for your Mistress', and then her demanding tongue would plunge deep into her mouth, raping it with possessive passion and demanding enthusiastic acquiescent passion in return...or else.
The thought of being kissed by this gawky bitch made her shudder; the idea of those rotten black and yellow teeth plus nicotine-stained tongue entering her mouth made her gag just thinking about it. Paying homage day and night to the bitch's hairy foul-smelling pussy was terrible enough, but she could just about cope with that now without retching.
Chalk and cheese. Patrica and Claire were sisters; she could see some fundamental sibling similarities in speech and mannerisms, but the two were vastly different in overall appearance. Claire was the ugly duckling or perhaps goose more apt. Older, taller, skinny, plain-faced and lacking the curvacious classy sensuality of her sister. Besides her head looked a little too big atop her long slim neck and with a slight squint and prominent nose thrown into the mix, she did indeed resemble an angry goose!
Mumsie wasn’t a lesbian and had never had the slightest tendency toward being bisexual or feeling any gay inclinations. She was neither a prude nor a bigot in outlook, but the idea of sharing a bed sexually with another woman was utterly abhorrent. Nowadays she had no choice, but at least her previous owner had been clean in body if not mind, fresh and fragrant and even though she hated herself for thinking it, attractive!
Whereas in this house her sister was equally evil and depraved but also, ugly, dirty and everything stank including the bed with its equally malodourous resident bitch she had to service nightly with her tongue. The sister was also lazy as the state of her house showed and not inclined to exert herself. At least here she’d been spared that other hated demeaning command. ‘Spread bitch lay back and spread those legs ready to accommodate your mistress'. She shivered at the thought. That loathsome order was invariably preceded by the equally hated, 'fetch' demand and its vile addendums. 'The big pink one, the black one with those oh so nice lumps and bumps you adore, the big yummy one we both love so much precious, you know which one, or some other obscene imitation phallus'.
She'd never been all that passionate about the physical side of matrimony despite having three children. A kiss and a cuddle, fine, she'd done her wifely duties in the early days as and when required. There had even been the odd (rare) occasion when she'd climaxed and derived some physical pleasure from the event. However, mostly it was a case of metaphorically grasping the bedpost and as the Victorian ladies had done, laying back to think of England five or six times a month!
In recent years even those occasions had thankfully become more infrequent. Paradoxically she couldn't explain why she sort of resented that neglect. She was still attractive, wasn't she? She took time to look good with her makeup and her figure and got more than a fair share of whistles if she wore her tight jeans and an equally tight or low-cut top and happened to pass a building site!
Sex had never been a 'big deal' in her adult life nor during her formative years. She'd still been a virgin when she married, and up till a few months ago, her husband had been the only person to penetrate her or to touch her body intimately. Until recently she’d still preferred to dress and undress privately and not once in her life had they made love with the light on!
That prudish innocence was brutally ripped from her by Patricia in the first couple of weeks of her captivity. That foul lesbian, no she wasn't a lesbian, we'll not a total one, but she might as well be from the continuous way she'd used her for her perverted pleasure! There had been the odd time when she'd seen her 'mistress' her depraved owner actually make love to her equally foul husband. She'd gone on top of course, what else. She would always be on top that one!
She remembered the last occasion husband and wife had played husband and wife in front of her, only the day before she'd loaned out to her owner's sister. They'd both had to kneel rigidly 'to attention' by the king-size bed in that huge palatial bedroom, her and her youngest son. Son! She hardly recognised him now, and they rarely looked at each other anyway, both so changed, shamed and humiliated. Captured and capitulated and far too terrified of their respective abusers, so they each existed in their own space aware and yet unaware of each other. Each conscious that to cross that invisible boundary they'd established would make life, such as it was all the more untenable.
Oh yes, they'd both been well trained by whip, paddle and cane. There they'd knelt, hands clasped firmly together behind their necks, shoulders back, 'tits' out, heads up, eyes down while their betters, relaxing naked on the bed ignored them till needed. They who knelt till required were not naked but dressed identically again for their owner's amusement and titillation. Frothy transparent pink baby doll nighties, pink headbands, neck chokers, suspender belts, stockings and long arm gloves in the same shade of pink and the usual killer heels, pink patent leather, what else?
Patricia had been reading, and her husband was watching something on his iPad. Finally, Patricia yawned, removed her reading glasses, snapped her book closed, tossed them both onto the bedside table and reached over to detach her husband's headphones. He nodded, grinned at her and put the device away while Patricia, snapped her fingers without even looking at them. ‘Mumsie to me, Girlie to your Master’ she ordered, and a long slender finger pointed down to her crotch. They'd both instantly crawled onto the bed, lowered their heads and set to work in unison while their owners shared a long passionate kiss as their underling's tongues aroused them.
It had been a long session for them both. Patricia, in particular, had been enjoying herself, and she stopped Girlie before her husband came. ‘Keep him big, hard and on the boil girl,’ she'd cautioned ‘but no more. If he cums, I'll skin the hide off, you!’
In contrast, she'd had to work much harder to give her mistress two orgasms before she decided that it was time for her to roll over, kick her sad feminised son out of the way so’s to mount her husband's enormous straining penis. Nor was the wretched evening over even when that beast had emptied himself into his wife's greedy pink orifice.
More finger clicks and they were both genuflecting between outstretched legs, tongues hard at work as large quantities of foul-tasting slimy semen had to be cleaned from penis and licked out of vagina. Patricia had laughed. ‘Who needs a douche bag when you've got a tongue ‘hag’ to do the job’.
Her husband had laughed at the crude joke then said, ‘Not sure that letting Eva have her big baby was such a good idea you know?’
‘Why not?’
‘Something she said the other day to me. I think your little girl was feeling a bit broody. Maybe contemplating the real thing although I can't see it myself? Another silly fad!’
‘Nor me, way too young for one thing". Patricia had suddenly laughed. "Well there will be an addition in the stable soon anyway, but I suppose if she sets her heart on it, not that I approve, but miss big tits here is still not beyond whelping is she ...?’
They'd both laughed at that. How could they find such cruel and horrible suggestions so amusing?
Then when they'd both been physically kicked back to their attentive waiting positions, and their owners felt rested, it had been 'swapsies'. This time they crawled back between the other set of legs, and she'd had to take that huge disgusting thing in her mouth. She'd never done that for her husband and would have refused point-blank had he asked but in that evil house refusal was not an option to be considered!
At least here she'd been spared the indignity of the frequent rapes Patricia had subjected her to. God, how many times had she been penetrated by one of her owner's large toys, her most private parts remorselessly ravaged by the gloating possessive fiend on top and thrusting between her widespread legs? Oh, how she hated that it was almost as bad as the cane. Well, perhaps not but the sheer humiliation of it. Of late it had become even worse. The evil bitch had started making her choose which 'toy or sometimes toys' they would play with, and it had better meet with her owner's approval or else? She shuddered. At least the older sister seemed to prefer being completely passive when taking her pleasures.
Not surprising. The bitch was as lazy as fuck! She hardly ever seemed to bathe herself and stank her clothes likewise. Nothing ever seemed to get done around the house, and it was filthy by her standards, and she was by no means fastidious. She heard the sound of a cigarette being stubbed out. Oh god, please don't let her make me carry that ashtray in my mouth again not with ash and old butts in it.
"Stay" the stern voice from above commanded as Claire rose from her chair and went out into the hall, closing the door. A few moments later, Mumsie heard her speaking indistinctly to someone on her cell phone.
It was not often that she was left entirely alone like that and unrestrained, even her leash lay casually discarded over the arm of the chair and not tied off anywhere. Just for a second, she considered rising to her feet to stand again for even a couple of blissful seconds. She'd done that on a few previous occasions and twice failed to get down again in time and paid a painful price for those fleeting moments of feeling almost human again.
Tears welled up in her eyes at that thought. At least she had only been crawling about like a dog for a couple of weeks, her oldest son what had they done to him. She'd seen him more than once and the horrors they inflicted upon him to the extent that she barely could bring herself to think about it. She dare not, despair and madness lay in that direction if she dwelt on it for too long, she was sure of it.
She stayed where she was; she'd been in the house long enough to know there was no chance of escape. The exterior doors were always locked, and the windows were of toughened security glass with ornamental bars on the outside. Once she'd contemplated smashing a window with a chair or something if she could and screaming for help, but then that bitch would be onto her in a flash and even if someone heard her and came to the door no doubt the foul witch would be able to fob them off somehow. No, desperate as she was it just wasn't worth the risk not with that terrible cellar and its hideous permanent occupant waiting downstairs, no way.
Too late anyway, footsteps on the tiled hall floor then Claire was back in the room with a slightly sinister smile on her thin lips as she looked down. "Suitable arrangements have now been arranged" she announced. "No need, I think to trouble, my sluttish little sister. I am quite sure she has enough exotic amusements on hand to entertain her. I think it is time to change your role in my household. Having enjoyed my sisters unique 'canine pets' services in the past, I have amused myself with you in like manner. However, I think it may now be time to find a more appropriate and useful role for you, which will perhaps be of greater benefit for me in the longer term. To that end, while I am away an old acquaintance will be visiting to house sit and hmm.... shall we say re-educating you. She is very keen on education, and yes, high time that I put an end to this indolent life you have enjoyed since I brought you here!"
She snapped her long nicotine-stained fingers and reached for Mumsie's leash. "Yes, even though it is still quite early in the day, thinking about everything has made me feel quite frisky. You may follow me upstairs to the bedroom girl and show me how much you will miss me, and I shall expect a lot of enthusiasm. I know my dear friend and her daughter will require and ensure that the same level of enthusiasm is applied - in all things once they meet you. Yes, I know they will. I think perhaps you will look all the more appealing to them if I decorate your bottom a touch with my cane. Come bitch, follow, heel".
*****
He had carelessly left the lights on when he departed not that it mattered very much to the 'ponies' restrained in their respective stalls. Day, night, winter, summer, light or dark made little difference for those miserable creatures housed in the old stable building. They'd all heard the door being firmly closed, so they knew that for a short time they were safe from further torment, pain, abuse and humiliation until they heard it creak open again. Open it would, some dreaded it, some were by now almost indifferent so conditioned had they become to their evil circumstances.
The stable was also reasonably quiet not that such a state was an unusual situation for the occupants. They were all accustomed to long periods of mind-numbing boredom and near silence. Only the occasional rustle as someone moved restlessly in their respective stall or the sound and perhaps resultant smell as one of their number relieved themselves into the dirt with that total lack of dignity that was yet another hallmark of their degrading, inhuman existence.
Those long periods were generally welcome by the stable's unwilling occupants as the alternatives were not at all pleasant! Mind numbingly dull as their existence was at least they were free from further humiliations and the inevitable pain that accompanied every demeaning demand made upon them by their sadistic owners.
Noise and activity meant that their 'owners' were present barking out commands to one or more helpless ponies or worse, applying corrective discipline to the disobedient, the clumsy or the slow to learn and respond. There were times when the old building became very noisy reverberating to the crack of a whip and the screams of a pony. That was assuming the pony had been relieved of its restrictive mouth bit of course.
Of course, the one thing always lacking was any 'comprehensive communicative sound' from the helpless human equines. It was hardly surprising given the gags or cruel bits that effectively muted most of the newer occupants. In contrast, older ones had in any case long since learned that only equine animal noises could emanate from their mouths when un-muted without immediately attracting a severe and swift response.
Even when there was less activity such as being groomed or their stalls mucked out, they were never safe from their owners' wrath or sheer sadistic spite. Every one of them had suffered on more than one occasion as a particular whim or desire initiated some nastiness on the part of their tormentors.
Muted sounds came from Midnight's stall; they often did. The huge human stallion within continued to angrily bang down first one steel-shod hoof boot into the dirt, grinding and twisting it as if his tormentors were underfoot before repeating the action with the other. His strong muscular athlete like legs utilising as much latitude and force as his restrictions allowed as he endeavoured to work off his surplus energy and angry frustrations.
The thin hardened steel chains that ran from his neck collar clinked aloud with monotonous regularity as he twisted his head back and forth, back and forth testing the unyielding restraints that bound him in place. Likewise, his massive shoulders flexed and tensed as he attempted to rebel against the vice-like grip of the armbinder that held his useless arms captive. He was trying and testing them yet again as he had done on a thousand and more previous occasions and with no more success than on his very first futile attempts to free himself. How long ago was that now since that bitch had dragged him, chained, gagged, utterly enraged yet helpless from out of her car and into this place of eternal bondage, pain and unbelievable humiliation.
A mere couple of yards away in her stall, Sally now known as Moonglow, was quietly sobbing to herself. The first time she’d let herself go to that extent for weeks. It was all his fault, her recent visitor, that bastard husband who’d somehow disrupted her blank state of mind. She had somehow managed to achieve a constant, almost comatose state bordering on the vegetative for weeks now.
The girl had eaten, drunk, voided, slept, been handled and groomed daily virtually without being overtly aware of any of it. Somehow, she had managed to divorce her brain and consciousness away from what was happening so that she'd existed almost in a state of mindless limbo shutting out the daily horror of her unbearable existence in a welcome twilight zone.
The welcome absence of physical pain and punishment of late had aided that, of course. Apart from a few sharp 'reminder' taps from a riding crop during washing and grooming sessions, they'd mercifully spared her the callous habitual brutality inflicted on the other occupants of the stable every day. Likewise, the frequent penetrative lesbian rape sessions that had been such a vile and degrading feature of her awful life since first she'd made the mistake of innocently entering this dreadful building.
Nausea rose in her throat at the memory of that loathsome body defiling act. The very recollection of how her…her owner! No, she could not, would not use that ridiculous possessive term! It was unthinkable, unbelievable, beyond compression and yet sadly true. Her body was no longer her own! Her restriction meant that she could not even blow her own nose or scratch a simple itch! It was so humiliating, so utterly demeaning that she could not do a thing for herself but was entirely dependent for every little thing on those she so hated.
That evil bitch Alice, that fiend, that depraved dyke claimed full possession and ownership and could violate her whenever she chose. Her body used so horribly for that awful girl's wanton pleasure! The evil bitch had no shame, no compassion, no scruples, not an ounce of decent humanity. Evil. Yes, she was out and out evil for how else could you describe someone who had done what she had done to her. What she had made that giant monster do to her, that…
She shook her head. No, that was unfair. That poor man imprisoned next door had no more choice than she had, which meant non at all. Blank it out; she must blank it out. She tried and failed to recapture that zombie-like state that had until a few minutes ago been her refuge and made life bearable.
She sobbed aloud again as she realised that her desired state of cataleptic blankness was now proving elusive. It was those words. Those few words that HE had spoken to her as if she was a human being and not an animal! That's what had done it. She had almost forgotten what it meant to be a person, human due to the casual indifference of her owner, to harsh barked commands, to the frequent bite of whip and crop on her helpless body.
Forgotten what it was like to think, listen, and live outside the bubble she’d created for herself. To be herself, Sally, a person rather than a dumb captive creature. A mindless animal automatically responding to whip and reins as she pranced for them, the total lack of two-way verbal communication, the lack of thought allowed on her part. Obey, don't think. Ponies don't think, they obey, obey or feel the bite of the punishing whip, obey!
How long had it been? She had no way of knowing; there was no clock mounted anywhere on the bleak stone stable walls. The semi-circular windows set high into the tall walls were heavily grimed. Likewise, the narrow rectangular skylights so that little natural light entered the building, making it impossible even to guess the time of day let alone season of the year, not with any degree of accuracy. Nor had she been exercised out of doors for ages. Confined thus to her stall, a creeping mental numbness had gradually come over her, one now shattered by the fresh face and voice that had invaded her detached existence.
However, unlike her stable companions, she had her own personal, private body calendar. Her ever-swelling belly, coupled with the changes she felt gave her a rough count as to how long she'd been incarcerated in this hideous prison. Maybe five months, possibly six, certainly more than four. That months between those first days were a confused jumble, but not those early days now forever seared into her mind—days of utter disbelief, of shock, horror, pain and deep mind-numbing humiliation.
She still vividly recalled the events of that fateful day that now seemed a lifetime ago. Her bewilderment and amazement when she first beheld the massive figure of poor Midnight tied to the whipping bench, the casual, blasé way Alice had told her what she was doing to him. Running, running frantically in sudden panic towards the light streaming in through the open stable doors. Running in sudden terror and from a terror that she barely understood but somehow knew, was a prelude to evil like no other.
She hadn't made it and even if she had, could she have got away? She doubted it. These, these perverted demons in human form had so easily and confidently procured her whole family to feed their vile depravity. Not only captured them but, but, but then her thought pattern broke down. She broke into a series of racking sobs that reverberated against the hard rubber bit in her mouth and sent long skeins of drool down onto her hated pink harness then to her small firm naked breasts.
That bitch, that awful wicked bitch had done something to her before she'd managed to take a dozen paces. Pain, sudden terrible pain and then that demented She-Devil was above her, leering down at her, saying something she knew not what and then more pain and blackness and, and nothing!
When light and thought and reasoning returned it was, she who was now secured helpless on that same whipping bench, her limbs restrained by cruel tight straps, unable to move anything other than her head as she twisted it first one way then the other in rising panic. No sound could escape her widespread jaws as she half-choked on the huge object filling her mouth and that she couldn't eject. No matter which way she turned her head, her frightened eyes saw only rows of sinister-looking leather straps and harness and various cruel looking implements of torture. Cages and obscene sexual objects, giant plastic and rubber phalluses dangling from hooks along the whitewashed wall.
How long she'd been there, she had no way of knowing it might only have been minutes or it might have been hours. Her head was hurting, her neck ached, her limbs were very stretched and uncomfortable, and her jaw positively ached. She felt nauseous but realised that she must control the feeling, there was no way she could be sick, not with that large object stretching her mouth, she'd choke to death. It felt enormous almost as if someone had tried to stuff an elephant down her throat and a large one at that!
Her body trembled sporadically with growing trepidation and her mouth, her poor jaws ached, oh how they hurt with that unyielding lump in her mouth. After what seemed a long, painful hour or more, she heard faint noise, footsteps coming nearer and became aware of movement. Voices, female voices. Two of them. They came nearer, standing just behind her out of her range of vision. She jumped in her bonds as a hand suddenly touched her right buttock fondling it through her jeans, making her flinch violently then gave her bottom a light slap.
"Oh, a very nice and responsive little filly," said a soft, deep mature female voice.
"Wait till that tight little rump has had a few touches of the stable cane across it!" said another voice, one she instantly remembered. "I think she will be much more than responsive when it's kissed those shapely little haunches a few times. Responsive and obedient!"
Once again, she had felt a hand exploring. This time it ran lightly over both her buttocks then up to her waist and around underneath her stomach and then up to her breasts. She squealed in near-silent protest as she felt first one then the other breast kneaded and fondled finishing with fingers tweaking at her nipples through her thin tee shirt. She rarely needed to wear a bra, and she was conscious now how much more vulnerable she now felt without one.
"They all respond suitably darling...eventually. You know that. The cane is a very effective tutor. She's not very big you know, and I don't mean just those tiny udders you are groping, nice and perky though they look to be. I mean overall, are you sure you want her for that big recalcitrant brute of yours?"
"She'll be perfect. I don't share your preference anyway for big boobs, and I've always fancied giving a 'taste of the stallion' to a fresh petite young filly rather than those big buxom mares Margret uses. Once I've broken her in a few times I don't think she'll have any problems accommodating Midnight and as you know his 'recalcitrance' as you put it is, is on the wane a little shall we say thanks to my training methods!".
The older woman had laughed. "Not that she'll have any choice in the matter of course but her first time should some provide some entertaining viewing, and she's certainly young enough to drop lots of foals over time for you. Do you want a hand in unwrapping and harnessing her?"
"Nope, I can manage that myself. More intimate if it's just the two of us and we shall be having a whole lot of intimate fun together, well fun for one of us anyway". Alice had laughed nastily and then the other woman; presumably, her mother joined in.
"You run along and play with your bosomy new toy mummy dearest. I saw you pawing at her sweater, giving them a quick squeeze before we carried her down to the cellar. Go have some fun; I bet that big randy bastard who shares your bed occasionally is already enjoying his new bit of fluff!"
"No, that particular randy bastard knows better, he has to be patient and wait till I've given it a few obedience lessons and dressed her in some of that 'fluff'. I won't let him off the leash with her until the little minx begs nicely for his attention and looks oh so sweet and deliciously sexy for us both. But you are right, and it is going to be a busy night. I've never had this much new stock in one go.”
The woman had laughed before continuing. “I had better look in on all of them. We dressed Eva's big new baby earlier, and I expect that by now he, I mean she will be wide awake and bawling her head off, and in need of, well let us say a firm first dose of 'grannies corrective medicine' to calm her down and make her a bit more tractable. Then I've got my own bitch to strip and then see about tenderising some nice fresh rump steak with my favourite paddle."
She heard Alice giggle. "Rare, medium or well done?"
"Oh, only first night but I am feeling so randy, a trifle burned I expect!"
They'd both laughed, and then she heard Alice ask, "What about the other brother?"
The older woman had laughed again. "The spare, gone to the dogs!"
Alice chuckled. "Literally as well before too long I expect, no doubt our big randy boys will also be enjoying something fresh and tender! Me too perhaps once I teach him what his tongue is for"
"Yuk!"
"Each to her own little amusement! You taught me that, mommy, dear! Anyway, he’s not actually a real pup, is he even if he will live like one?"
"Well, you can help me with him in the morning. He's penned in safely and not going anywhere. You're quite sure you don't need a hand with this one?"
"After Midnight this one's going to be a doddle, so don't fret, I know what I am doing so go and busy yourself being nasty elsewhere mummy dearest".
One set of footsteps sounded slowly receding with the sharp tip-tap of high heels on concrete followed by what sounded like an old door creaking and then slamming shut. Everything was still and quiet for a second then once again she flinched as a hand started rubbing and kneading at her buttocks in a very intimate manner. Somehow, she knew that this was not that first hand, this one wasn't just curious, it was cruel, greedy and possessive!
*****
Ignoring the laboured rasping sobs, Eva calmly regarded the visible results of her recent handiwork for a few moments then strolled across the room and hung the long cane back on its respective hook. It was beginning to fray and splinter a little at the business end she noted. Oh well, Ms Biter had served her well and been a dependable and highly effective aid and in the business of admonishing suitable physical chastisement to those who needed it. Well maybe in this case just the one and perhaps she didn't need it, but she'd indeed received it whenever her young mistress felt the need to deliver it. She would salvage the bright pink bow and replace the cane with a new one, perhaps just a little thicker? After all, Baby's botty itself must be a teeny bit more thicker-skinned now after all the attention she'd lavished upon it recently!
Personal ownership was a new experience for her. She had of course in the past had the occasional opportunity at times to apply 'the stick' as she'd always called it back then to some of her mothers' old pets. In this house, such daily acts were entirely natural, and she'd grown up frequently watching her mothers' cane doing its vicious work. In those days as she now thought of them, she'd been much younger, we'll younger than she was now and lacking the necessary strength to make the 'stick' bite effectively.
Back then, hair pulling or face slapping had mostly been her weapons of choice. She'd learnt to swing a hefty palm from an early age if she felt someone wasn't pulling their weight or with greater frequency as she grew older, just for her malicious amusement. Reporting 'false crimes' to her mother had been another regular nasty but entertaining little trick of hers whenever she felt the urge to watch the wicked cane or paddle doing its evil but oh so enthralling corrective work. At the same time, some innocent, unfortunate recipient sang so sweetly before her sparkling eyes.
Now, of course, she was older and strong enough to apply and thoroughly enjoy the hiss of the cane herself as it swished through the air towards its soft quivering vulnerable targets. There were other things now to savour as well, something she wanted more of, much more. She turned sideways to look at herself in the big mirror and ran a hand lightly over the tight cropped pink top she was wearing. True her budding breasts might still be small firm little mounds, a bit like that pregnant filly of Alice's. However, they were growing as were her nipples. Right now, the latter stood out prominently under the thin material like two highly sensitive small bullets as a consequence of 'babies' latest thrashing.
Precocious was a term that had cropped up more than once in the comments of her annual school reports over the past few years. Given the global tendency for young people to develop and mature early these days, perhaps the term was a touch archaic anyway, especially in her case. Eva sometimes wondered how Miss Henderson, Miss not Ms or Mrs would react if the po-faced ugly old virgin spinster bitch had ever found out about her mother's unorthodox lifestyle? Pity the old hag wasn't better looking.
Eva had often daydreamed her way through one or more lessons at her expensive private school imagining 'that' horrible woman crawling naked along her mother's bed toward the dark, moist thatch which greedily awaited the attention of yet another 'unwilling' tongue! Even better if she stood behind her, 'stick' in hand, providing suitable encouragement. Ah well, wishful thinking, no way her mother would ever fancy that overweight, overdressed and overage, sad saggy old harridan - but wait, that friend of her mother's, hadn't she bought her daughter, yes, it was worth thinking about?
She did have a birthday coming up, and there had been hints that they might get her a 'special' pony of her own, maybe she could have something else instead. Then again, she did rather fancy such a pony, who wouldn't, and she'd always been resentful that they denied her regular access and free rein over the unwilling human equine equivalents who occupied the stable. Eva knew precisely the type of pony she wanted, and there would be no cute ‘my little’ about it!
She ran a hand over her tight nipples again to enjoy the sensation both there and the hot wet feeling between her legs that needed urgent attention. She was also beginning to feel that it was high time she swapped her eager fingers and one of her mother's vibrators for something else. Something a little more intimate and stimulating and perhaps a whole lot more relaxing and fun than a pulsating pink plastic tube!
Early development was one thing, but then she'd had the benefit of an infinitely more advanced course than any of her contemporaries could ever imagine in matters of a sexual and also of an extreme, depraved and perverse nature, hadn't she? Her mother ran a very open household where almost nothing was held back.
She looked at reflection again in the mirror, pouting her lips and turning her head first one way, and then the other tossing her blonde hair and examining herself critically. She never worried overmuch about her appearance when she was with her baby; the big ‘she’ was used to her and anyway it would be far too much of a bore to 'glam up' before every visit to the nursery.
She had a strong yen to visit the kennels' though, a visit in the same way and for the same purpose that she knew her older sister frequently did. She glanced briefly back at the quietly sobbing 'man' tied to the bench behind her. No, that sort of thing was far too grown-up for her big cry baby. At some stage, baby might have to grow up, but into what she was not sure and for the time being, she would remain a baby girl. Her mother might have some ideas or perhaps that friend of hers the one Alice often visited. Some of the stories Alice had told about her palatial estate and its unwilling stable occupants were pretty cool. No, no games or treats of an adult nature for baby.
She pouted into the mirror again. Maybe just a lick of mascara and a touch of pale pink lip gloss, yes, just enough to add an extra bit of allure. A little touch of glam would not go amiss. She was pretty cute and sexy, wasn't she? It was always so much more extra fun to use her youthful Lolita persona to tease and tempt their pathetic little bitty useless locked up do-dahs into some futile attempt to swell beyond their constraints, before cooling such silly ardour with a few strokes of the cane. Stupid beasts.
Yes, she made her mind up. It was a beautiful warm evening, perfect for a walk in the grounds. She would skip dinner, take a snack, a can of cold coke and a blanket plus Fido with her for company. A little exercise would be good for him. They could find a nice quiet spot where he could run and fetch a few sticks to loosen him up before he was called upon to do unto her what her sister had trained him to do. He'd better do it damn well because it would be her very first time and to ensure he did, she'd be taking one of the other sort of 'sticks' with her to ensure that his tongue performed enthusiastically!
*****
He was quietly skulking that was probably the most descriptive word for it. Lying low or attempting too, better he thought not to attract any unwanted or unwarranted attention given the foul mood of his captor. He would have preferred to have stayed out in his run given how mild the weather was, but the head bitch had called them all in early for feeding, or what seemed like early feeding by his body clock. Consequently, they were all conveniently within range should her apparent wrath spill over in their direction.
He glanced to the rear of his sparse pen, the low door that provided access to the run was closed off; she'd dropped them all once they'd hastily obeyed her order to come in. Even if he could have opened it, he wouldn't have. None of them had disobeyed, they never did, they all knew that when Patricia gave a command no dog, human or real would ever dare defy her, the consequences would be unthinkable! Her daughter was bad enough, but the chief bitch was the one they all truly feared. They sensed that there were depths to her as yet unplumbed, dark deeps that they wanted no part of and hoped would want no part of them!
Even those two, he hated to even think about them, those two giant hounds from hell cringed, cowered and whimpered when she was in one of her foul moods. Normally those frightful beasts gambled and frolicked around her legs like a couple of vast over-enthusiastic puppies. He'd even seen them playfully knock her over a few times, hardly surprising given their size and enormous bodyweight, but she hadn't seemed to mind, just laughed as she quickly got back on her feet and scolded them. He could see them now through the bars of his pen, slinking away like him to a far corner of their enclosures, keeping their heads down and looking a little unsettled.
He ground his teeth in suppressed anger. Oh, how he hated those massive brutes. He hated them like, well like nothing else he could imagine hating. Oh yes, he knew they were just dogs, simple dumb animals only obeying their owners' vile behests and responding to the primary male instincts within them when aroused and stimulated. Yes, he hated them but more than that he feared them, oh god how he loathed and feared them!
He looked away. He couldn't look down in their direction for very long, not without wanting to retch or worse, start the shakes off again. He couldn't help it; it must be something psychological he'd decided. Every time one of the huge hounds came anywhere near to him now, he started to shake, his whole body trembling quite beyond his ability to control it. He recalled those tall tower-like orange jellies his mother had made as a desert when he was a kid, how they wobbled when tipped out of the mould and quivered again as his small curious hand reached out to nudge the dish and set them all of a tremor.
He doubted that the 'shakes' would ever stop now. He was sure of it. Big dog, small dog whatever? The very sight of one would probably trigger the spasms, set his mind racing to recall and relive the 'horrors'. Even the cutest poodle or spaniel might conceal something red, smelly and grossly swollen that, that, he gulped as the thought of a bobbing erect canine penis brought on an urge to vomit!
How they all had laughed and jeered that first night, that first time as they all sat there sipping champagne. Champagne for fucks sake! Laughed while his body was violated in the most degrading and bestial manner that could only be conceived by the sickest, most perverted of human minds.
They still laughed at him. Cute! That was the word most frequently used. Cute, they found his cute shake's oh so amusing. Poor wimpy bitch Fido, so scared of his cuddly big 'doggie friends'! That sadistic cunt Alice was the worst. His chief tormentor with her pointed remarks about his, 'huge lovers with their whopping big boy bits’. How he hated and cursed her innuendo and cruel mocking emphasis. ‘How could a cute hot bitch like him possibly resist their loving advances?’
The short answer to that was he couldn't whether he be hot or cold, not once the evil girl had him strapped to that accursed bench of hers! How he hated her, hated, loathed and above all, feared her. A fear different from that he felt for her mother. A terror of the known but lurking beyond, the unknown, a dread perhaps of horrors yet to come!
Alice was different. Her nasty little predilections and lascivious appetites were only too well known to him. Whenever he saw her approaching without the feeding bowls, it was with a feeling of dread and anxiety. Would this be just a feeding and exercise visit, maybe cleaning or grooming? Nothing more required than abject grovelling, whimpering, tail wagging feigned joy, face plunging hard and fast into a bowl of yuk mindlessly emulating his eager slavering companions of a few doors or so further along the passage. Gobbling, gulping, gobbling, slurping, fast, fast, trying not to wretch, keep It all down, gobble, slurp, lick. Clean the damn bowl, lick, lick, clean bowl. Prance with excitement, waiting for her to open up his run. Tail wag, wag, pat on the head. Yes, he'd learnt, oh how he'd learned to be a good dog, a perfect dog for them!
Maybe it would be one of those other visits. Walkies, yes perhaps walkies outside, trepidation at that thought, yet not the worst possible experience. Still, he hated walkies, the leash, the dog whip, the curt indifferent commands. 'Heel, heel boy, stay, back boy, down, or up, keep up, up boy, heel pup!'. On the one hand, it was so liberating, a strange term perhaps given his circumstance, but to be free even for a little while from that wretched run and stark pen with its forbidding iron bars. A chance to look around, an opportunity perhaps to plan an escape improbable though that always seemed.
It had been hard at first, brutal, demeaning, humiliating and debasing in every way, not to mention the near impossibility of his progressing in a manner and at a pace sufficient to satisfy whichever exacting feminine hand held the other end of his leash. A leash that both demeaned and manipulated him. A leash that decided where he walked, when and how fast and savagely jerked him to a neck-wrenching standstill every so often.
He'd tried his best as he scampered on hand pads and knee pad paws at the best pace his body and the restraints, they'd put on it allowed. It wasn't easy, but he had to do it. They led, he followed, to heel, almost always a booted shiny heel just a foot or so in front of his bobbing head. He dare not do otherwise. His lowly position limited his vision, but sometimes he could see, sometimes not but it would be there, it always was, the dreaded whip, crop or worst of all, cane, in the other feminine hand. The bitches carried them as casually as other women their handbags, and you were never free from the fear of them - soft hands but oh so cruel.
Free, no. He might, in one sense, enjoy his brief break from the daily mind-numbing tedium of this pitiless confined canine existence. He'd once read, he recalled a newspaper article about the American super-prisons, the hell the prisoners endured incarcerated for life in tiny cubicles with the barest minimum of exercise and little or no contact with their fellow prisoners.
Easy, uber easy he'd thought to himself when he recalled it. Those bastards have it cushy. They could talk to their jailers, their lawyers, walk upright on two feet, eat, bathe, defecate like human beings. They had access to television, radio, and books, didn’t they? It was so fucking unfair. Those convicted criminal bastards might be deprived of their freedom, but at least they could enjoy wank fantasies couldn't they! Enjoy their wet dreams, unlike him. It was unlikely that they had their cock and ball permanently under lock and key!
Easy. Shit, they didn't have to go walkies under the threat of a menacing crop or whip, fetch sticks and balls in their mouth, have to sniff, sniff, cock their leg by tree or bush to do their 'business' and sniff again with nose thrust deep into their own stinking mess, then crawl away no matter how soiled their bodies might be! Business, that what those with the whip hand called it. Doing his business and it better be done by the end of walkies or the merciless whip would remind him to make better use of 'walkies' next time when his kindly owner bothered to take him out!
Even that simple act was sometimes an impossibility. There had been occasions either by design or forgetfulness that the wretched hollow plug stuffed into his anus to hold his tail had been left closed. Five days they'd once done that to him as a punishment or maybe just to empathise the total and absolute control they wielded over him. He knew not which it was and by the time they finally granted relief he was long past caring so painfully cramped had he become internally.
Much as he loved/loathed walkies at least if it was to be that then infinitely better than the real horror that he could suffer in this hideous place. The horror that often accompanied that piece of gruesome furniture, Alice with such casual indifferent, callous cruelty called the 'bitching bench'. They had two of them, and the one sound every human hound dreaded was the noise of heavy furniture being dragged from its storage place. They cowered in terror, knowing that it might be their turn again, strapped helpless upon that foul device. While nearby in complete contrast, the two massive real canines raised their muzzles to bay and yowl with expectant delight at the treat they knew by sound and instinct might soon come their way.
Sometimes Alice spared her victims. Sometimes not. You never knew what the depraved girl intended. If they were lucky, all she required was the energetic use of their tongues to satisfy her lust once she’d secured them to her bench. The downside of that inevitably meant the bitch worked herself up by administering a harsh beating to her chosen victim! Painful and humiliating as the experience might be at least her victim would be spared the ultimate horror. That of being helplessly raped or sodomised by a rampant canine penis if the ‘chosen one’ was unlucky!
It wasn’t Alice through who worried him now but her mother. He sensed something was up, something bad, something that had made the chief bitch oh so very mad - the phone call. Her phone had rung - Greensleeves, that was her ring tone, he recognised it a rare moment of culture in this tedious, mind-numbing existence. Then she'd gone outside with it presumably to get a better signal. He heard her shouting, angry, but incomprehensible. He knew as soon as she returned, and the door slammed shut, they all knew that she was in a foul temper. They sensed it, and the violent sound of pots and cans being crashed around in the kitchen confirmed it.
The stable door creaked open and looking up he caught a brief glimpse of pink trainers, very tight ripped jeans and a flash of bare waist twixt jeans and pink top going past. He saw no higher, nor did he need to; he knew who it was.
"S'up mum?"
"I've just had a call from that bitch of a sister of mine; that's what's up!"
"Aunty Claire bringing Mumsie back for you? Thought that would make you happy?"
"Well she's not, and so it hasn't, the...the greedy, selfish bitch. You do someone a favour, two weeks we agreed, two weeks and now….!”
The sounds of things being banged down continued along with other assorted loud slamming noises. He heard the younger bitch's voice again.
"You'll break that if you're not careful."
"FUCK IT. I am in the mood to break something or someone!
The youth once known to friends and family as Johnathon quailed in panic at that. There was no way out, no way and his pen was the nearest one to the kitchen, what if? He backed himself into a corner at the rear of his enclosure and tried to blend in with the wall.
"She wants to keep her, keep her permanently from what I gathered. Says she got plans for her. Plans, hah. Well, I had plans as well for that bitch! Do someone a favour, and this is how you get repaid!!"
"So, what are you going to do, go over and fetch her?"
"Can't, you know we are away from tomorrow. Your thieving Aunt timed her theft well.
"Well didn't you say the other week that you were going to find her someone suitable - just get your self another toy for your bedroom instead, or get her something soon before she gets too attached to Mumsie."
"Bitches like that don't grow on trees you know pet!"
"No, they drive in through the front gate complete with husband and brood! How often have you had five little fly's walk smack bang straight into your sticky web, oh great black widow" He heard Eva laugh? "You didn't have to spend a single penny, throw Midnight in, and you and Alice have had a lot of fun on the cheap recently, so I don't know why you're getting so mad. You can afford to buy yourself one, two, three even a dozen new clit lickers."
"Don't be vulgar honey."
Eva laughed again, louder this time. "You said you were going to be seeing Margaret, see if she's got anything for sale. You could always buy Honeypot back from her, that nubile bit of Yankee flesh you swapped for Cowboy and Gypsy".
This time with a certain amount of relief, he heard Patricia's laugh. "Alas poor Honeypot, I never did fully break that contrary bitch in did I, but I think I got the better of the bargain, a matched pair. No, I don't think Margret would be willing to give up that particular morsel, she's having too much fun with her, she likes the extra stubborn ones even more than me! But maybe your right darling. I'll have another chat with Claire tomorrow; I have been thinking of adding one or even two new bitches to our little household ensemble anyway."
Eva laughed again. "Greedy, you'll have a harem soon then!"
He heard some more bangs, and the rattling of dishes, more subdued now and then the door to the kitchen must have been closed. He could still hear voices talking but no longer clear, nothing he could make out other than the odd laugh. That had been his mother they were talking about he knew that, but the other names meant nothing to him.
Presently the door opened, and he looked fearfully up to find Eva contemplating him. He noted that she had a small pink backpack slung over one shoulder, a dog leash plus a battered yellow frisbee in one hand and a long thin bamboo cane in the other. The small hand that held that ominous cane lifted a fraction then her forefinger beckoned imperiously to him.
He swallowed, knowing he had no choice and crawled reluctantly toward her as she unlatched the door to his pen. He kept his eyes low as required focusing on a small pink trainer but conscious of her looming presence. The teen might be petite in stature, but the little tyrants' authority was absolute.
She said nothing, but he saw the dainty pink-clad foot tap impatiently, and he could almost feel those bright youthful but chilling blue eyes glaring down at him. The trainer slid slowly forward, and he felt the tip of the cane touch his back. He lowered his head still further and brushed the proffered shoe respectfully with his tongue. A faint whiff of perfume reached his obsequious nose mingled with something else, another aroma his nose was familiar with, and he knew what it was from its intimate encounters with her terrible sister. He shivered. The smell of a woman in heat!
Above him, Eva gazed down at the fawning youth debating whether or not to twist her foot slightly to let the pathetic creature lick the crud off the sole. Her cane tapped absently against her calf; her tongue flicked over her glossy pink painted lips as she relished the superior position she had over the youth.
No, perhaps not she thought as that dominance activated a tingle in her crotch, recalling the reason for her visit to the kennel. A far more critical target awaited that submissively obedient piece of flesh, and it needed to be ultra-clean for that task. Bending, she swiftly attached the leash to Fido’s collar and shook it.
"C'mon Fido boy. Time for walkies! Time for a little fun. Heel boy, heel puppy!"
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