The Interview

Chapter 20

Young Chloè waved a hand as she strolled confidently out of the open stable doors as we pulled up and took firm hold of our blown and sweaty pony's bridle as we dismounted. Patty, of course, managed the descent far more elegantly than I could, swinging her long legs over the side of the seat and gracefully alighting upon the grass. I followed, jumping down with zero grace and elegance, landing with an audible thump. Understandable, for she’d been doing so for years, whereas I was a complete novice.

“Thank you, Chloè,” Patty said simultaneously, giving Hussy a couple of gentle pats on her head, much as you would do to a pet dog that had just performed a successful trick. “Do the usual, please, cool it off and then I think you can put her on the walker till feeding time. Her high stepping is still atrocious, so give her three with the stable cane on each rump cheek and ….NO STOP THAT!” she admonished loudly as Hussy abruptly became far less docile upon hearing her Mistress’s heartless words.

“I’ve got her,” Little Chloé half said and half yelled, adding her other small hand to hold the restless two-legged animal that wasn’t. “Steady, steady now, you silly pony. Don’t make it worse for yourself!” Her words were soft and reassuring, but her actions were far less so. Her right hand dropped to her waist belt while the left yanked the bridle savagely downwards. The riding crop flashed up and down twice, the leather tip biting hard and loud upon lightly sun-bronzed, soft and sweaty skin.

“Stay!” Patty had also grabbed Hussy’s bridle and shook it vigorously. “Can that behaviour right now, you stupid creature! Surely, by now, you’ve realised this sort of constant silliness is pointless. “Had I not had a passenger to talk to this last half hour, your lazy hide would have tasted much more of my whip and a damn sight harder. Now obey; you know you’ve no choice, and unless you want to go back to your stall sporting more stripes than a fucking Zebra, I’d think twice about misbehaving.” She pulled the ponies head towards her own and hissed. “Do you really want me to hand you over to my eager young assistant and remove the hand brake? You’ve had a taste of that before with her, haven’t you?

Hussy, I noted, responded to that threat with a very visible shudder upon hearing those words in her ear, and her body went instantly slack as all resistance ebbed away. Chloè, on the other hand, emitted a delighted giggle of amusement tinged with a discernible touch of regret. She was such a cute, sweet-looking little miss, yet those words of Patty’s had terrified the poor thing she was holding.

“Come along.” I felt Patty's strong fingers close about my elbow. “Let me give you the tour so you can see what we’re all about. Well, some of what we do here anyway,” she laughed as she gently steered me towards the big stables entrance, leaving our recent over-worked ‘engine’ to be freed from that wobbly carriage.

“Make that four on each rump and hard,” Patty tossed backwards without even turning her head and producing a sort of hiccupping giggle of juvenile delight from behind us.

“Waste of a word,” Patty muttered with a slight shrug, adding, “Me saying ‘hard,’ I mean, so far as that one is concerned! That’s the only one in her vocabulary when it comes to applying pony discipline! A decidedly enthusiastic young lady in that respect.” she chuckled and halted waving her free arm up at the big building that to me seemed more akin to a modern workshop or small factory rather than a stable belonging to a very old country house. Constructed seemingly of sky-blue coloured metal panels with translucent, opaque panels set high up on the sides, a plain structure broken only by the wide double doors that stood open in front of us. 

“Four years old, almost,” Patty said with a note of pride in her voice. “Designed it myself, well kind of designed it from various standard patterns they had. Auntie had used the old brick one that went back a few centuries at least and…” she paused to laugh. “Well, let’s say not much money had been spent on it over the years. No, that’s not entirely correct. Money had been spent but ultimately not to any great lasting effect. Auntie was a bit upset when it got knocked down and said it had character. I reminded her that it was damp and draughty, plus a persistently leaky roof that twenty years of patching and new tiles had never solved. Every gale, even the milder ones,  produced a new crop of leaks, and it cost a  veritable fortune to keep even slightly warm every winter!”

“That bad?”

Patty looked at me and rolled her eyes. “I was leaving out the general decay, the wet and dry rot, and the woodworm. I thought you only got those things in antique furniture, but some stalls were beginning to look like they were made out of that Swiss cheese with all the holes. Come along,” she tugged me forward again. “That last part was a bit of an exaggeration, of course, but given a couple more years, I expect some beefy stallion could have kicked his way out of a stall. Even Auntie had to admit there was some truth in that, and from a practical and security standpoint, the old structure was well past both its sell-by and use-by date. Besides, I was expanding the business, so we needed much more room, something else she had to agree with. I briefly looked at doing a bit of a rebuild on the original and then adding this type of thing behind it, but it just wasn’t practical and made no sense financially!”

“Plus, you must have added the air conditioning,” I noted the immediate temperature change as we stood in the middle of the wide entrance, looking inside.

“The manufacturing company called it climate control,” Patty laughed. “Like they do in expensive cars. Air conditioning with a fancy name! But you’re right. It’s on an automatic setting, summer and winter, but it does make for pleasant working conditions and definitely helps keep the livestock healthier than previously. Far fewer cases of those annoying winter sniffles and other problems now than in the ‘good old days’. That blue metal on the exterior is mainly for appearance and cladding; you can see the masonry blocks on the inside, and some insulating material is behind those and the exterior. It looks like a big tin shed externally, but it’s a lot more sophisticated than that. Auntie rather derisively calls it ‘the factory,’ of course. At least she did originally, but I think she’s grown used to it now”.

I nodded, somewhat amused at that note of pride in her voice. I was part listening but also looking about me with growing interest. This was the centre, the hub, the heart of everything, and I had a feeling it wouldn’t disappoint. Plus, I’d never expected to get even a glimpse of the place, let alone a full-on guided tour of the facility and its unhappy inmates.

I nodded. “It does look a bit like one, a small one,” I agreed, adding, “I suppose it is a bit of a factory in a sense”.

“How so?

“Well, from what your aunt has told me, you do produce rather unique products here,” I told her, thinking it sounded a bit lame.

Patty chuckled. “Yes, very true. I never thought about it like that. I suppose it is a kind of factory in a way. We take in the raw material, process it and turn it into a different product. Well, sort of different in some respects, “she finished with an evil laugh, squeezing my arm.

I winced more for show than because it had hurt, making her chuckle again.

“Softie! Just a standard single door down that far end”, Patty pointed. “Most of the time, we have these main doors open unless it's super cold, so the staff use that one just for coming into work. There are four cute little cottages just beyond the stable that you probably haven’t seen yet. Originally built for the estate workers but now my staff live in them, suitably modernised of course. Betty has one, two share the second, and the last two have been knocked through into one residence with several bedrooms and shared facilities that serve as accommodation and a communal staff facility. They are small and compact, but everyone seems to like them. I have a suite and spare rooms in the big house for our owners or prospective owner types and other VIP guests. You dipped out and could have had a spacious suite plus a private bathroom, but Auntie insisted on hosting you in her little cottage,” she finished with a sly chuckle.

The airy building was a long single-story structure lacking any natural illumination bar the big opening where we stood. Immediately to the fore was a large open area with various-sized carriages and carts parked neatly on one side with more opposite, along with some other miscellaneous but rather ominous-looking pieces of equipment. I noted one vacant space, presumably for the one I’d just ridden in or upon, now parked just behind us. I glanced around, noting that its shafts were now empty.

“Gone around the corner,” Patty said, also looking back. “We’ve got an outside area for washing the sweaty creatures down and cooling them off that we use most of the year. Cold water, of course, but…” she shrugged and grinned. “We use a long-handled brush, so it doesn’t bother us!”

I did not comment, but she did chuckle at the look I threw at her before nodding upwards. “Big mistake on my part.” Patty jerked her thumb in the air. “The original roof had glass skylights to let more light in, but I was worried about it being cold in the winter, given we’d be housing animals that weren’t designed to go around naked 24/7, unlike real horses, so I had the inside covered with insulating stuff. The guy from the company who makes the buildings told me it was a waste of time because even if I had some heating installed, heat rises, so even though there would be some heat loss; it probably wouldn’t be all that relevant. He was thinking more along the lines of real equines, of course, not my more unique ones. We ensured that all our usual livestock was well out of sight when it was all being built!”.

“More expensive, surely?”

“Heating, you mean?” Patty shrugged. “Peanuts when you compare it to other costs and income. I’m going to have it removed, or maybe some of it removed from under the skylights at some point; plus, I’d also like to add a couple of opening roof vents. Getting more natural light in will be good both for handlers and livestock, and ventilating the place more effectively overnight.”

I nodded; I could already appreciate that last part, even just standing in the open doorway as a certain, what could you call it, farmyard, zoo-like animal smell wafted out. I took another deep breath, my nose wrinkling.

Patty laughed. “Yeah, occupational hazard, you might say. Comes with the job like having a heavy hoof boot stomp on your toes every so often, no matter how careful you are!”

“Ouch!” I winced, recalling the hoof portions of the boots I’d seen Big Gunner wearing. ”I’ll bet that hurts!”

Patty laughed again. “Yup, but then that's nothing to what the offending animal will suffer for such foolishness!”

She’d laughed, but I didn’t miss that ominous note of steel in her voice that made me shiver slightly thinking of what it portended. Patty was proving to be a delightful and amusing companion, and it was so easy, despite my surroundings, to forget that she was probably one of the cruellest young women on the planet! That was a sobering thought, which must have shown on my face, judging by her next words.

“You’ve heard the old saying about breaking eggs, I’m sure? Well, the eggs in my basket are there for a reason,” she gestured towards the stalls section. “My customers like their omelettes well whipped and tailored to their particular tastebuds, so there is no point in handling the eggs with kid gloves, is there? Especially when some of their owners or owners to be, have very demanding appetites!”

I gave her a little smile. “What about you, then? How do you like your eggs, hard or soft?”

Patty threw back her head and guffawed loudly. “My, that is a silly question. What makes you think I ever go in for ‘soft’? I joked about young Chloé a moment ago, but I’m no different. Let's go and meet a few of the resident eggs”. She laughed again. “All of them with well-cracked shells!”

She was still chuckling as we approached the middle section of the building, which had stalls down either side, separated by quite a wide space in the middle. I was still quickly counting the narrow enclosures, but she beat me to it.

“Twenty-two stalls, twenty-four places in total. Ten singles and one twin on either side. More than double what Auntie had in the old building, but not all of them are occupied right now. That wide space in the middle is a deliberate feature. If the weather is exceptionally bad, the building is long enough and, with that central space, more than wide enough to run a singleton and sulky in a tight oval circuit end to end!” she grinned at me, making a circling motion with one finger. “Four is the record, a convoy one foul day when we were knee-deep in heavy snow outside. We can even race a pair of lightweight sulky’s with care”.

I was half listening while looking right and left as though I was watching a fast rally in a tennis tournament, trying to take it all in, Patty, stalls and occupants, those I could see and beginning to feel slightly overwhelmed by it all of it. “Twenty-two, “ I muttered quietly. That wasn’t a lot, I mean not as a number in the normal sense, and yet at the same time, in this context, thinking about the type of occupants they were housing, it also seemed an astronomical number! “Have they ever all been full?”

“Only once, but that was because I was stabling an additional seven while their owners sorted out a new residence, two I had trained and sold them and five others they owned, including a family of three. I had those in a double stall, a little tight, but keeping them all together was amusing. I gather they’d been kept separate previously”.

I looked at her in amazement. “A family?”

“Yes, it happens. Of course, it happens. No need to look so surprised! Singletons dominate the market, but you do get variations. That’s one of my ambitions, but the price they go for. Shee, talk about astronomic! I attended an auction in Italy, oh, about two years ago. The main attraction was a German family, five of them. Imagine that, five! Wow, to have them stalled and trained to pull a carriage in unison, plus you’d even a spare, legs in this case, not a tyre,” she laughed and sighed wistfully.

“How much is astronomic?”

Patty laughed again. “Oh, let's say you could probably buy yourself a pretty sizeable private island in the Caribbean and have a decent amount left over for other expensive luxuries. I never had a chance, of course, bidding-wise. The third bid exceeded my paltry limit by some margin, but it was worth the trip to examine the merchandise and meet up with some friends and acquaintances. You know, the usual social thing, and I didn’t come away entirely empty-handed. I was introduced to a Swiss couple who wanted a pony they’d gotten their eye on trained and picked up that commission.”

She stopped and smiled at the look of disbelief on my face, which grew more incredulous by the minute. “What happened to them, that family?”

“Oh, they weren’t here that long. Mummy, Daddy and their nineteen-year-old daughter. A first for me; I’ve never stabled a couple, let alone a threesome like that. Only for a few weeks, though, because of some difficulty involving certain Spanish property laws holding things up for a while. At present, we have only fourteen in residence. Let's see.” She began ticking them off on her fingers. I’ve two under livery, one mare and one stallion. The mare is a long-term occupant, but the stallion will go once his owner returns from a North American tour.” She paused and smiled. “Had you come a couple of weeks later, you might have met her and maybe even got an autograph,” she chuckled.

“Thanks!” I said a trifle sarcastically, which prompted a minor fit of giggles.

“Behave!” she shot back. “Besides, I was only kidding. It would be a bad breach of protocol were I to allow that, especially with that one”.

“Which one?” I asked with seeming innocence and got a look in return that was half amused and half threatening, so I promptly added. “Okay, forget it, then”. I told her, returning my gaze to the stalls and taking another deep sniff, which I immediately regretted.

“Oh, come now, it’s not too bad, not at this time of day,” Patty noted. “Our reluctant equines invariably tend to produce quite a stink between them. It varies from stable to stable, depending on diet and feed, but it's always there to some degree. Some owners even get a big kick out of it. Auntie always stops dead and takes a few deep breaths at the entrance; she does it every single time without fail. Once, when we were shopping in London, I saw her do exactly the same at the perfume hall in Harrods. I teased her about that, of course”.

The comparison made me smile. Building and purpose-wise, you could hardly equate the stable to what was probably the world's most exclusive and prestigious department store. “So what about you?” I asked.

Patty laughed. “Me? Oh, I’m quite indifferent,” she shrugged. “It goes with the job, and I’m far more interested in the animals themselves, although I won’t deny that the distinctive aroma they produce is a useful by-product for breaking them in. An ever-present reminder of their new lowly animal status, as inescapable as the harness tack that binds them!!” she chuckled before I asked what she’d meant.

Fascinating, I thought and was instinctively about to take another couple of deep sniffs when I hurriedly stopped myself. I didn’t want to get laughed at or teased either, conscious that Patty was regarding me with a quizzical look on her face. I guessed she’d somehow sensed what I’d been about to do and denied her the pleasure by repeating my earlier question.

“That German family, I didn't mean the one you stabled but the one in Italy, that’s what I meant when I asked. Five of them, you said?”

“Uh-huh, that’s correct and pretty damn impressive they were too. All your stereotypical Nordic blonde Aryan types and gorgeous with it, even the guys. The parents, daughter, son and youngest daughter. You don’t get to see merchandise of that quality very often, not even singles, let alone five! Early forties down to late teens, and hell, you’d have had a job to separate the mother from the two daughters in a lineup. Absolute top-drawer material!” she finished with a wistful shake of the head.

“What happened to them?” The story had undoubtedly aroused my curiosity.

Paty shrugged her shoulders. “No idea, black hole job. They are not on the general display circuit, assuming they were bought as potential ponies, which was what the auction was for, and no one I know has seen them privately. The bidder was anonymous and almost certainly from the Middle East; that’s where all the big money is these days, and I mean big as in like mega. 

I nodded and was about to make a remark when I looked upwards instead as a loud noise disturbed the relative peace and quiet of the big building.

“Roof extractor fans,” Patty said, pointing with a finger, six biggish ones, two back there on either side, two above us and those right at the end. We switch them on first thing in the morning, but not for long because of the racket they make. After that, they come on automatically for ten minutes or so every couple of hours. Hang on a second.”

She pulled her cell phone from the inevitable back pocket, tapped a few times, looked up, and then tapped again. The sound died slowly away like several jet engines winding down.

“Aps for everything these days,” she smiled. Another bad buy on my part. Okay, I suppose in a crash-bang-wallop factory environment with loads of machinery clattering away all day long, but here it drives us all nuts!” she broke off and gave a cackling laugh. “Hell, if I wanted to be really cruel, I could leave them on all night, talk about psychological mind torture and sleep deprivation. A few nights like that, and I expect this lot,” she waved towards the rows of stalls, “Would be begging me for the whip rather than the noise! Ah, here comes Milly with Ringo!”

While she’d been talking, I noticed some activity toward the far end of the building; a tall, slim girl had emerged from a stall leading a two-legged pony. That brought me up with a bit of a start, for the recent casual conversation, bad as it was, had almost distracted me from the reality of the place. All things considered a terrible and evil place, yet I seemed to have developed immunity to everything I saw, heard and experienced.

“He is a big boy, isn’t he?” Patty observed, pointing downwards a moment later,  and the smiling Milly giggled then obligingly emphasised her boss’s observation with the tip of her long, slender riding switch. The girl hooked the tip under Ringo’s flaccid captive penis and lifted it slightly for our inspection. Big boy was an understatement; monstrous might have been a more appropriate adjective for that huge appendage, even within its prison, and all I could do was nod in agreement.

Milly and her charge had paused to be introduced a moment before. Milly was a tall, slim girl with a long, bushy mane of fiery red hair contrasting with her pale complexion. Her face was freckled and rather ordinary looking, but she had a lovely smile and glorious deep green eyes. The contours of her brief white boob tube were barely disturbed by her breasts, and a wide stretch of alabaster skin showed between that garment and her very abbreviated hipster denim shorts. Her wardrobe was completed by a pair of once-white scruffy, very scruffy, unbranded trainers.

“We don’t go in for staff uniforms,” Patty giggled, noting my line of sight. “The girls dress in whatever is comfortable for them so far as working clothes go as a general rule, not that I have one as such”.

Milly smiled at that and then laughed. “Plus, we like to treat the boys to a little glimpse of flesh here and there, of course!”

Quite a lot of here and there, I noted, eyeing her bare arms, midriff and long, exceedingly shapely legs that made up below what she lacked up top. Milly had been introduced as the ‘senior stable hand’, whatever that meant and resident comedienne. A fellow Londoner had been until she’d swooped her dreary office in an undeveloped city backwater for a more unusual but far more enjoyable occupation in the French countryside.

Maybe a year or two younger than her employer, I judged, making a mental note to ask Patty later how she found such staff given the highly, well, absolute illegality of what they were employed to do and the awful consequences that could descend upon them because of what they were doing should authority ever intervene!

“Not that they can do much when they get twitchy,” Milly giggled, jiggling the tip of her crop up and down a little and then in a far different tone. “No, no stay, STAY I said!” With near-lightening speed, that leather flap at the end of her crop flashed up and down upon the naked and helpless huge bulbous tipoff  Ringo’s impressive penis. “Stay, I said, stand still!” she snarled at him, gripping his bridle tighter and repeating that punishing stroke with her crop.

Despite his sizeable manhood, Ringo was no stallion and even elevated his harnessed head in his hoof boots was still fractionally lower than his cruel handler. He jumped and wriggled, but Milly’s grip was inescapable, and all he could do was squirm in agony and watch through terrified eyes as she raised that terrible crop and tapped him on the nose.

“Naughty boy, that was very disrespectful to a visitor twitching like that! Do try and control your primitive instincts otherwise….” She laughed and waved the crop in front of his face. I guessed from that look in his eyes and her cheerful enthusiasm that no matter how well Ringo behaved, he was in for an awful lot of ‘otherwise’. One didn’t need to be a fortune teller to realise that simple fact!

“I got this one cheap, well, fairly cheap,” Patty reflected, nodding towards the agitated ponyboy. “Another auction tale if you want one. Taken from the wild as a pair with his girlfriend, she was a beaut, a real peach. They were put up as a pair, but the buyer was only interested in the filly, so this one went back on the block almost immediately as an addendum at the end of the auction. A knockdown price, too, plus quite a few bidders had left by then. “Bit of an impulse buy on my part,” she shrugged, but he was cheap and keeps the staff amused, don’t you, boy?”

I watched as she reached out and patted Ringo on his harnessed cheek, the opposite side to that which Milly held in her iron grip. Imagine hearing that, being bought and sold in such a cruel casual manner and his girlfriend, what about her? Yet more questions to add to a list that was growing ever longer.

“Staff happy?” I queried while running my eyes over the unfortunate Ringo, who presented a different picture to Gunner, whom I’d seen earlier being put through his paces on that walker device. Whereas Gunner had been big and muscular, his body visibly bulging outward between the tight straps of his harness, Ringo was a far less impressive specimen. Hardly five-eight in height and very lightweight in build to the point that rather than bulging out, his tack seemed to hang upon his body regardless of how tight it was.

Nor was he dressed the same, if I can use that term. He had a similar head harness, posture collar and armbinder, but his slim waist was being heavily constricted by a leather waspies style corset from which dangled six long suspender straps to support the tatty black, very tatty black fishnet stockings visible from upper thigh to knee hoof boots. Gunner had worn a tight leather hood with pony ears, but Ringo just had the bridle, and his dark hair was pulled tightly back into a mini ponytail, tied with a bow of bright pink ribbon.  

I thought he was much younger than Gunner, too, looking at him, maybe only in his early twenties, whereas Gunner looked a good decade older than this boy. I wondered how long he’d been held captive, for he displayed none of the hostility I’d seen in the big stallion. Gunner had radiated anger and hatred to the extent that it had been almost tangible in its intensity, whereas this boy, this youthful colt, seemed the exact opposite. Even the word docile seemed a tad too strong looking at him!

Gunner, I’d felt, could have roasted me with one glance had I stood near enough, whereas the look in this wimp's eye was that of a cringing mouse trapped in a corner by a hungry cat. Apart from that oversized anomaly between his legs, I  could see why he went straight back on the auction block. I wondered what his girlfriend had seen in him beyond what was obvious if she’d been that desirable and who had bought her.

“Why not?” Patty shrugged, answering my question. “We have a stable cat who’s never caught a rat in her life, a stable guard dog who’s probably fast asleep down that end and is more likely to wag his tail and lick the hand of any intruder, so why not a useless pathetic little ponyboy? Like I said. It was an impulse buy, and I’d no real use for him.” She nodded downwards and laughed. “Unless he had a brilliant and witty personality, I expect that cock was what kept his girlfriend interested in him. If the rest of him matched that monster, he’d make a useful stallion stud for covering suitable livestock!” she paused and giggled. “Hell, imagine turning up with him in the horse box at someone's stable. I’d be the laughingstock of the business!”

Milly giggled and lightly tapped her captive's most impressive feature with her crop. “We feed and look after Rufus and Mrs Norris, so why not Ringo here, a perk of the job!” she laughed and jiggled that big cock again with her crop.

“Mrs Norris?”

“Don’t blame me,” Patty said after I threw an enquiring look at her. “She’s jet black, not even a tabby or whatever. Auntie had seen a Harry Potter movie on TV one Christmas and then got into the books and stuff, so when a stray wandered in and adopted us, that’s what she called her. Rufus he’s a black Labrador she spotted sitting on his own by the side of the road a couple of years ago. Auntie stayed with him for two hours, but no one came, so she brought him back here. He didn’t seem terribly upset about it, and the staff adopted him immediately. I take after her and contribute to numerous rescue charities and similar. I’ve three house cats, and aunties got two, so she couldn’t have Rufus. They’re both quite old and spend virtually all their time curled up on her bed, so you might not see them. We’re very soft-hearted here when it comes to animals. Well, four-legged ones!” she corrected herself with a wicked laugh, being immediately joined by Milly.

I smiled politely, for I was looking at the fear and anguish in Ringo’s eyes and thinking to myself how right she was. That soft-heartedness hit an impenetrable solid wall when it came to their two-legged livestock, didn’t it?

“The girls haven’t quite made their mind up about Ringo here. Depending on their whims, he spends his time betwixt a cage in the staff house and a stall here. The last time I saw him, he was wearing heels and frillies and….oh,  Maria christened him Ringo, by the way. Her grandmother had been a big Beatles fan, and Maria said he looked like a young Ringo Starr in one of her gran's old scrapbooks. Does anybody do that these days, I wonder?”

“Cell phones”.

“What?”

“Cell phones,” I repeated. “Or computers. Why keep a special book when you can store millions of pictures and things or cut and paste other stuff to keep? I suppose that’s the modern electronic equivalent of scrapbook and glue pot”.

Patty nodded and then looked at Milly. “Where are you taking him, and why the mixed tack? I thought he was taking up permanent residence as the housemaid these days?”

“Her, taking her?” Milly gave a very girlish giggle as she gently corrected her boss. “We’ve decided that despite this silly thing, which she no longer needs, and given her proclivities, well, let's say her other uses and the fact she’s just a total gutless wimp, a change of gender was called for, and this useless thing,” the crop tapped yet again. “Is on probation, and if she does not behave herself, then she joins the geldings club!”

Even I shivered at the tone of the girl's voice and that terrible threat. I probably shivered for both of us because I don’t think poor Ringo dared so much as twitch even the tiniest of muscles as the girl so casually made that chilling remark. I instinctively knew that she wasn’t joking and that my hosts could act infinitely worse than merely beating and dehumanising these poor creatures.

Patty just shrugged. “Whatever, it's your decision, you and the others. You might have to come up with a different name, though. It's not very feminine, is it?” she frowned thoughtfully. “ Is there a female equivalent of Ringo, I wonder?

“We’re heading for the gatehouse to see Claude. I thought I’d harness her to a Sulky and give her a little run first before we pay a call on him. He phoned through earlier to say he was over his head cold now and in the mood for a bit of fun if Ringo was available?” Milly shook her head in wonder. “How the hell does he still manage it at his age?”

Patty laughed. “You tell me. Auntie thinks it's something in his genes or nature making up to him in the final twilight of his life when he came into it so cruelly deformed. Plus, those pills he’s getting from somewhere, extra, extra, extra strength Viagra or whatever it is! Auntie keeps telling him to think of his heart, but he laughs at her. Say’s he’s outlived all his contemporaries by several decades and seen off half a dozen doctors who told him he’d never even make the big five zero, let alone nearly twice that! Says dying in bed is all very well, but if he goes that way, he’ll do it with his hard cock firmly wedged up some reluctant asshole and a big smile on his face!”

Milly laughed and shook Ringo’s bridle. “Hear that, Girlie? Spread your sexy butt cheeks wide and spread a little happiness along the way, eh? My, but he must have been something in his prime! Milly mused. “Talk about staying power and stamina. Even now, Ringo must have sucked on him slowly for a good ten minutes that last time, and he held back, then shafted her for a good quarter of an hour and then came again for a second time in her mouth before we left. Incredible!”

“Very probably. Auntie once told me that her friend Celine once mentioned he’d killed Nazi prisoners several times when he was in the resistance simply by fucking them to death! I can believe it as well, having seen him performing in the stable when I was younger. You’ve only known him since he retired to the gatehouse, but I’ve seen him reduce the biggest, proudest, strongest stallion to squirming screaming jelly in the stable and not with a whip!”

“Cool!” Milly giggled. “Come on, let's stretch those little legs and get you warmed up for some fun. Master Claude has been a bit under the weather for a few weeks, so no doubt he’s saved up a lot for you to enjoy. Walk on, Girl.” The crop flicked, but this time more forcefully to smack hard against a rump cheek. “Catch you guys later”.

“Bye,” Patty said and turned towards me as though to say something but then suddenly whirled around as though something else had occurred to her. “Hey!”

Milly halted, jerking the bridle to stop her charge, and half turned, looking back to see what her employer wanted, glancing curiously at Patty’s wagging finger.

“While we’re on that particular subject, I’ve just remembered something I meant to ask anyway. It’s that time again. My Rambo has started humping the damn furniture again, so if you guys don’t mind, I’ll borrow her for the night when Claudes finishes with him, her! You can drop her off later,” Patty broke off and winked at me. “A little floorshow perhaps during dinner or later, mayhap?” she laughed. ” Something I doubt you have ever seen before?”

“No problem,” Milly laughed and used her crop once more. “Come on now, you. That’s two things to look forward to besides a nice little run in the open air, so who’s a lucky girlie? Never had it so good, have you? Lots of big cock, I’m almost envious!”.

I watched the giggling Milly march her helpless charge towards the parked carriages for a second, and then Patty’s hand on my elbow steered me in the opposite direction. “Rambo?” I asked, guessing the answer even as she answered.

“My pup. An eighteen-month-old German Sheperd, and he’s a very big energetic boy. Very big and very energetic in all respects!” she repeated and then chuckled. “Rambo and Ringo similar and yet oh so completely different in such a host of ways. Total opposites!” She winked at me and then giggled like a silly teenager, adding, “Well, size-wise, they do have one particular thing in common, and my Rambo’s doggie dongle doesn’t suffer the restrictions Ringo’s does!”

I gaped at her as the full meaning behind her words penetrated my mind even as the sound of a riding crop striking soft naked flesh sounder from behind, and I heard, “Now stop it, stop it right now and stand still while I fasten the harness straps you silly bitch!”

Patty also looked around and called. “Not too far with the cart, please, Milly. Don’t keep Claude waiting, and I especially don't want Ringo dropping off to dreamland through sheer fatigue later!”

Milly waved a hand before resuming whatever she was doing with poor Ringo while Patty smiled happily at me, showing her pristine white teeth in a very girlish smile of glee. “Not that I think that there is very much chance of that. Not while he’s entertaining Rambo. You know I was in two minds immediately after the hammer came down that afternoon, but he…or she is certainly proving her use!” she laughed and moved away.

I stared after her, her open-mouthed, rooted to the spot, that girlish giggle ringing in my mind as it tried to process everything she’d just said. “Could she, could anyone be that cruel and perverse?

“Oh, do come on, slowcoach!” she scolded, quickly returning and retaking my arm. “Let’s go say hello to a few of the residents. Don’t expect them to return the greeting, though; at least they’d better not try!” she repeated with that same wicked giggle.

I looked towards the nearest stalls, bridled heads, tightly harnessed torsos, naked breasts, thinking of all those whip marks I’d seen decorating poor Ringo’s skinny body and decided, yes, she could be, nor was she alone in that perverse cruelty!