Rating
Several readers expressed an interest in hearing how Trixie and the pony were getting on, so I knocked up another couple of instalments to carry on from 'Girlfriend Meets My Ponyboy!'.
Personally, I was inclined to blame the Kungflu, as President Trump had once derisively called it, for my present predicament on the end of a shovel. Shit shovelling and muckraking was not my favourite job, and by rights, it was a task that should have been shared equally, all things being equal and fair!
The common workload shared equally for the benefit of all! It wasn't that I was a socialist; far from it, indeed, my political leanings were somewhat right of centre. What else having a substantial private income derived from numerous inherited investments. I could; I reflected moodily, easily have afforded to pay someone else to carry out all the unpleasant tasks associated with equine ownership. Especially the one upon which I was presently engaged but with no great enthusiasm!
I scooped up a shovel full of muck and dumped it into the nearby wheelbarrow, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I did so. It was strange; I mused, contemplating the contents of the aforementioned barrow. Why should I find the stench offensive now and yet never did when the stall was occupied? Come to that, not even when I stood there and watched the creature soil both itself and the stall with fresh droppings?
Unfortunately, my delight in viewing such a spectacle was unlikely to be reciprocated by around ninety-nine point nine nine recurring per cent of the general population, more the opposite! Therefore finding a suitable hireling would be extremely difficult. I bent to my shovel again. Not to mention such a search would undoubted prove dangerous to my lifestyle and indeed my very liberty.
I suppose I should count myself lucky that at least one pint-sized individual shared that visual delight and attendant aroma. In theory, I was supposed by mutual agreement to share all tasks associated with equine ownership with that diminutive person, including the damn shit shovelling!
Unfortunately, my sexy little girlfriend felt different. She had a knack for avoiding her share of the loathsome task either by cunning excuse or, more often, via the mere force of her petite authoritative personality in assigning me to the unwelcome daily task of mucking out 'our stable' as it had become. Trixie is the kind of person who follows you into a revolving door and yet inevitably manages to exit first.
'Ours'- you'll note not mine, not since the sadistic little bitch had decided to move in with me full time. 'Ours – pronoun used to refer to a thing or things belonging to or associated with the speaker and one or more other people previously mentioned or easily identified. I'd been quietly reading on my iPad Kindle app at the time and promptly looked up that definition last week when she used the word for the umpteenth time. Not that I had dared to contradict her, not when she was in one of her 'difficult' moods!
The long tentacles of the Covid19 epidemic that had ravaged the whole world had even reached my secluded little bachelor pad in the secluded wilds. Before the global upset, I'd enjoyed a quiet, peaceful existence deep in the countryside enlivened by the occasional trip up to London to spend a few wild erotic nights with my energetic, uninhibited young girlfriend.
My remote lifestyle meant the Covid monster's unwelcome arrival did not take the form of the potentially lethal bite it had inflicted upon so many unfortunates elsewhere. However, its lurking presence was enough to put an abrupt end to my solo life of idle tranquillity. Unlike a large portion of the unfortunate workforce, I'd been spared the mundane horrors of the daily commute thanks to my private income. Thus I had no office to abandon in favour of working from home.
In any case, if you read my previous missive, you will know that circumstances had provided me with a permanent 'guest' in the old barn that now served as a stable. I had daily obligations, a duty of care, although I am sure the recipient of my attention might have wished I spent the day elsewhere! Having cherished a long-held BDSM fantasy, I'd surprised myself by finding the courage to act decisively when circumstances conspired to present me with a unique once in a lifetime opportunity. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, they say, so I hadn't? Quite an appropriate saying, considering the circumstances. At least at the time, I thought of it as a 'one-off' situation, never to be repeated.
I might add that my' gift' was housed entirely against its will permanently. A captive prisoner serving a life sentence with no possibility of parole ever! Nor would its prison as such have been approved for one moment by any official penal inspecting body. Anyway, they would have been from the wrong department as his 'stall' would almost certainly fall under the Ministry of Agriculture and Livestock scrutiny. I doubt that they would have approved his miserable living conditions either!
Lightning, they say, never strikes twice in the same place. Balderdash, I can now say that my unique one of a kind situation was to be repeated not once but twice within eight months of acquiring my own very reluctant Ponyboy! Indeed I suppose if I wanted to be genuinely pedantic, you could call it a triple strike, at least in terms of additions to 'our' little livestock collection—more of that in the future, though.
Trixi had caught me by surprise that time I was amusing myself with the creature out in the barn, as you will no doubt recall. Her indignation at discovering me with my sizeable cock pumping a load of hot cum into another man's asshole had not amused her one bit, not at first glance anyway. A more prolonged second, third and fourth glance and the dawning realisation that the recipient of my lustful outpourings was by no means a willing partner. That, coupled with some 'hands-on' practical experimentation, had quickly resulted in a complete reversal of attitude on her part!
Talking of attitude adjustment, her original intention had been to pay me a brief overnight visit and ride my cock a few times. Instead, that had lengthened into an extended week-long stay with her calling in sick on Monday morning. I remember at the time thinking that my ponyboy would undoubtedly have wished he could have done the same after experiencing several days of her enthusiastic experimentation on his poor hide with my collection of nasty toys!
Maybe I was wrong, but I sorta got the impression after she left that 'Tinkerbelle' as she'd renamed him might prefer the humiliation and discomfort of being anally raped by my cock to sessions with her whip. I very kindly spared him for a few days once she'd somewhat reluctantly departed, from further punishment, I mean. I wasn't prepared to forgo enjoying him completely. Anyway, she'd left his hide in such a state that there was hardly enough fresh meat remaining to add more painful stripes, but he did dance and squeal so delightfully as my vigorous thrusts brought me in to contact with his well-tenderised rump cheeks!
Admittedly, I hadn't had much of an end goal in mind up to that point, no plan for him as such, neither short nor long term. After the initial surprise acquisition, ownership and daily use had been more than sufficient to keep me happily amused and entertained. Likewise, sexually and sadistically sated as I remorselessly fucked his tight ponyboy cunt after every beating I delivered upon his helpless, harnessed body!
Trixi disapproved of such a casual slapstick approach to my captive human equine as a somewhat organised and pedantic little madam. An attitude undoubtedly implanted and enhanced by all those silly management courses and best office practices she was enthusiastic about! Structure and goals she'd lectured me with an aggressive wagging finger aimed in my direction. Targets, we must set targets for him and, of course, apply the appropriate punishment should he fail to meet them—her smile as she added that part had been evil I'd noted. At least I'd been spared any flip chart exercises!
Anyway, I'm not only digressing but also meandering, so back to the Kungflu situation. On the third night of that visit, after a frenzied bout of lovemaking when we were chilling out, I'd asked her what 'end goal' she had in mind for our unwilling playmate, and I was a little taken aback by her instant uncompromising response.
'Total animalisation', of course, she replied without hesitation.
My amused incredulous grunt must have surprised her, for she suddenly sat up and switched the bedside light on and promptly popped milk chocolate from the open box into her mouth. She looked down at me with a rather supercilious expression on her face as she sucked it noisily before speaking.
"Like I said the other day, Honey. Short memory. Remember when pony play came up that time we discussed our various fantasies in bed one time. You, as I recall, were more interested in training a Ponyboy but more as your helpless sex toy were you not. Remember now what I said. Think DVD?"
That was being more than a bit unfair, I'd inwardly grumbled. I was sexually sated, exhausted, bodily smarting from those damn raking talons on the end of her fingers she subconsciously used when peeking in her orgasmic throes! Trying to think back several years to an early pillow talk session wasn't top of my agenda at that particular moment. I'd frowned, trying to remember that distant conversation and a vague recollection stirred deep within the little grey cells. We'd watched a poorly made DVD earlier that evening, I recalled, one that featured some kidnapped girls being used as draft animals by a supposedly sadistic lesbian farmer and her daughters. All very tame despite the vivid description and savage artwork on the plastic case. I recalled Trixie had been very scathing as to its unrealistic action.
'Something about makeup and sweat, I told her and looking more like glossy men's magazine centrefolds than hard-worked ponygirls!'
'Mmmm, yup. Total crap! If I'd been that Dyke farmer, they would not have looked like that, all glossy lipped and immaculate makeup! Pristine gleaming harness and not a whip mark to be seen on the sluts. Sheesh, the way those women pretended to use those whips!' Trixie swallowed the remains of the chocolate and licked her lips, eyes alight with cruel anticipation. 'If I ever get a ponygirl, the only gloss on the creature will be her own sweat, and I'll stipe her hide till she's more zebra than a pony!'
'It was only a mild make-believe porn movie', I reminded her.
"So, and I suppose that creature out in the barn that I flogged into screaming insensibility this afternoon is only 'a make-believe Ponyboy' eh honey?"
I sighed. "You were rather cruel. I told you he'd had enough, but you wouldn't listen!"
This time it was her turn to sigh as she gently stroked my head. I absently noticed that the very same dainty hand had delivered the severe chastisement earlier to poor Tinkerbelle. At times, I'd been hard on the beast, but this was the first time I'd ever seen it pass out so frequently from sheer pain and terror. There had been nothing gentle in the way that cute little hand had callously wielded paddle, cane and whip upon the screaming creature.
"It called me names, Honey! It also foolishly begged me to stop, remember?"
"I’d have called you names as well,”’ I told her. “What else do you expect if you're silly enough to remove its mouth bit?”
Her hand continued to caress my head and ruffle my hair softly. “Not silly boy, merely being practical. To you, that creature out there is still basically a helpless, harnessed man primarily for your magnificent cocks amusement. You are simply playing sex games with your toy. The pony part is almost irrelevant somehow and maybe always has been! Whereas I am already well past that stage even though I’ve been here but a couple of days. To me, it is an animal in the making. Just like those painted dolls in that video should have been. We are never going to let it roam free again, are we? No, of course not, so it must be broken, trained and turned into the animal we intend it to be. A sort of kindness in a way,” she’d mused and then walloped me when I’d laughed aloud at that last remark. Worse, I believe she was sincere in what she’d just said!
Returning to the present, it was no wonder the fucking pony had fainted under her onslaught; I thought as I morosely shovelled up a foul mixture of damp dirt, sand, pissy sawdust, and pony dung. The little bitch could hit hard, and she’d used her damn knuckles on my poor bone dome that time! That had damn well hurt, and did she genuinely believe her cruel treatment of the poor thing was a kindness?
Our argument on the subject of bits and gags was ongoing. My personal preference was in at all times, whereas Trixi begged to differ. In most of the time to reinforce the animal’s dumb status but out when she was applying discipline. ‘I like to hear it scream for me, Honey. You can’t imagine what it does to my juices!’
I could for sometimes it felt as though my body carried almost as many marks as did her victim from those fingernails when she grabbed at me in frenzied writhing orgasmic climax! If she even got to my bedroom, that was. Half the time, she either didn’t even need me or the sex toys on the barn shelf it amused her to make personal use of in front of that poor sex-starved emasculated beast she’d just cruelly flogged. Enjoying that simple but oh so satisfying pleasure we so cruelly denied him! Frigging herself to an intense orgasm via fingers alone in front of the wretched creature whose suffering had so aroused her!
“Anyway, how can he learn” she’d justified her preference. “I’m teaching him ‘pony talk’, and so I need to hear him whinny and neigh don’t I, silly!”
There was a certain logic to that I supposed as ‘Tinky’, her abbreviation not mine, learned his new vocabulary under the remorseless tutorial aid of a whip, cane and crop. A somewhat limited one given the range of horsey noises even her expansive imagination could conjure up, I noted. One night I’d raised the notion of allowing it some simple understanding and communication options such as stamping one of its hoofs to indicate yes and no as I’d read in a story somewhere, but Trixie would have none of it.
“Absolutely not!” she replied firmly. “Don’t be so absurd, darling. I keep telling you that’s now nothing more than an animal stalled out there. A very unusual and entertaining one, but please get your fucking mindset right. Next time you have your cock up, it’s bum; remember, you’re not indulging in a bit of gay rumpy-pumpy sweetie, your buggering some dumb, helpless beast in an act of sheer bestiality! An AN-IM-AL got it. It may understand everything we say, and it can think and long may it do so, for I would hate it not to. But that and any intelligence it may possess is irrelevant!
“Okay, okay”, I conceded, “anything to keep the peace.”
Trixie giggled, and her hand reached out, seeking, then gently stroking my manhood to test the water, so to speak gauging the time till the next high tide. “Trust me; we’ll have the best trained two-legged pony herd on the entire fucking planet!”
I twisted the shovel, and the last revolting clump slid off and onto the pile in the wheelbarrow. Herd! That was the word she’d used, although as she’d promptly slid beneath the duvet and used her tongue to replace her hand, my mind hadn’t registered much at the time as my particular rising tide of the moment needed no moon to swell its might. Not with her teasing tongue at work!
Herd was the exact term she’d used and one I should have remembered for then I might have considered all the implications of the cute little devil using it! At the time, I merely accepted it as part of the vocabulary she habitually employed regarding my splendid if thoroughly reluctant animal stabled in the old barn.
Working from home became the norm during the Kung-flu epidemic, and in the case of Trixie, she decided when her company adopted the practice that home meant my bloody home! I’d been in the barn giving ‘Tinky’ a thorough wash down and amusing myself by making its stallion cock twitch impotently in its cage when her message arrived to inform me of her decision.
That original chastity device I’d purchased hadn’t lasted long or only till my sadistic little girlfriend had found something she felt more suitable for containing the beast's ardour on the internet. More suitable when translated, of course, meaning something nastier and more painful for the poor creature rather than offering mere impotent captivity to his ‘stallion’ as she termed it. Trixie once told me that she liked playing with cocks, so having a sizeable but entirely captive one under her total control fascinated her.
I sometimes wondered which she liked best, cock teasing or methodically stripping his hide with the various nasty toys in our growing collection. She frequently teased me about my penchant for ‘bestiality’, as she termed it. Still, I noted she had no qualms about using her mouth, tongue and lips along with her nimble fingers to tease her captive stallion to erection on those occasions she allowed it out from its confining prison. Purely for her amusement, of course!
Quivering, twitching desperate erections but, of course, never any final, satisfying spluttering release of the juices that must be torturing his poor balls. How the wretched creature quivered and groaned and even initially begged aloud for release until he learned that such foolish verbal pleas, although they might momentarily amuse his sexy little tormentor, also came with a painful price! Human talk of any description was the ultimate sin in her book so far as her animal captive was concerned.
Naturally, she just adored teasing him both visually as well as practically, something she’d done to every man, boy, gay and bi female since entering puberty. The fact that she had full access to him and that he was helpless to respond to such teasing erotic stimulation was naturally a continuing source of amusement and titillation for the little bitch.
No pain, no gain, at least not for her, she’d decided and spent an entire evening perusing the internet looking at a variety of nasty devices that, much to my amazement, were entirely legal to purchase. I could only assume that the authorities deemed them a rather bizarre marital aid for those couples who indulged in consensual if rather extreme bdsm sessions in the privacy of their bedrooms.
Reading the information on the device Trixie purchased, I wondered if the company that made the evil thing realised that their products could also end up adorning the likes of my Ponyboy permanently? Perhaps, but would they care at the prices they charged. ‘How much?’ had been my incredulous reaction only to be ignored via a wave of a small hand and an imperious pout from a pair of glossy pink lips followed by words like mean, miser and scrooge!
As I said once before, I am not the least bit gay in the accepted sense, and although I could not quite see my pony yet full-on in the same way that my girlfriend did, I was well on the way. Ever since that afternoon when the threat of my shotgun persuaded him to lay face down on the floor, he ceased to be a man as such in my eyes. Even as I snapped the steel handcuffs on him and roped his ankles together, he became nothing more than a thing devoid of both humanity and gender, causing my cock to start straining in my pants before I’d even tied that last knot! Nor would it have to wait long for its first taste of something I’d fantasised about for years.
Three hours later that afternoon, I finally tossed aside my whip, paused for a moment and then slowly undid my fly. The term gloating would have been appropriate as I released my rampant eager cock before the creatures disbelieving damp eyed gaze as it lay helpless strapped naked across that first makeshift frame in my old barn.
Not a man but a naked, bleeding and sobbing thing that now belonged entirely to me. A captive animal that never again would enjoy the simple luxury of acting upon its own whims and decisions or even having the opportunity to make one! An animal, once a man destined never again to experience the simple orgasmic pleasure I was about to enjoy!
Modesty forbids me to boast that the impressive size of my rampant eager manhood was responsible for that look of disbelief in my new acquisitions tearful eyes! There wasn’t even as yet a suitable degree of respect for the rod of ridged flesh that it would serve and satisfy whenever I felt the need to use my new captive pet for my pleasure. Would respect come, perhaps not, but fear would. It would soon learn to dread the simple sound of its masters fly slowly unzipping!
Then again, perhaps not that either, I thought as I surveyed the damage my little toy collection had inflicted upon his body. Maybe it would welcome that sound knowing that the painful part of his ordeal was over and all that remained was the humiliation of emptying the contents of his owner's heavy balls.
I must admit that I had been a little surprised at how readily he broke down and screamed as I delivered that first flogging to his squirming unmarked body. Did the creature have no spine, no pride, to make such a noise and eventually whine and beg in such a pathetic manner? To plead for mercy which was naturally withheld as my arm rose and fell until it almost ached from the effort. Then again, perhaps as a first-timer, I had been rather too enthusiastic?
It was, I suppose, very much an initial learning experience for both of us. Whatever pain limits my new animal had were unknown to both of us. I doubt it had ever experimented with such, and clearly, from the first slap of my wooden paddle took not the least masochistic pleasure in feeling its broad sting.
My collection of cruel toys was neither impressive nor extensive initially, although that was to change rapidly over the next few weeks. Those toys could hurt, though, as I’d found out when Trixie and I played bedroom bdsm games with them before enjoying some good old fashioned fucking. I was way too cautious and gentle for the little minx when she subbed, often complaining that I was far too soft on her. That wasn’t the case when we reversed roles, so I was never too keen when she wanted to play. The little bitch liked to hit hard and found my squeals and squeaks amusing and arousing. One reason why I’d always refused to let her tie me up during such games.
After all, I wasn’t that daft, even though we did have agreed on safe words. I had suspicions that once Trixie’s enthusiasm reached a certain point, her memory might just accidentally, on purpose, fail! Well, she had been on the verge of a serious situation at least once when she went a little too far with one of her numerous girlfriends. That had cost me a fair old sum via the girl's solicitor to prevent charges for assault from being served. I’d also seen the photographs!
Forgive the pun, but there were no such restraints on me with the creature I’d captured. The only restraints were those that held it helpless upon my hastily improvised flogging bench after I’d dragged it from the house and quickly divested it of its soft artificial outer hide with the aid of a box knife. It was at that point as I stood smirking over my unexpected prize and running my hands over my new property that it probably began to get a clue as to its future.
Even so, I doubt if its imagination could have conjured up the appalling reality that was to come and the life I intended for it! The creature was also starting to piss me off with all the meaningless verbal garbage pouring out of its mouth. I hadn’t bothered to gag it since capture. It had screamed and shouted almost continuously once the threat of the double-barrelled shotgun had receded. It wasn’t to know that the weapon hadn’t even been loaded. The mere threat and the snick of the hammers being pulled back had sent the creature cowering to the floor. Oh, if only it had known. Maybe one day I would tell it. Then again, perhaps not for it is now and will always be an animal and nothing else and certainly not a beloved pet living in pampered over, fed luxury!
In the initial excitement keeping it quiet hadn’t seemed all that important. I left it rolling around on my floor, mouthing off insults at me with one leg tethered to a heavy table while I was over in the stable hastily making a few rudimentary accommodations and similar arrangements in the stable. I mean, it’s not every day that you suddenly realise that a long-held seemingly impossible fantasy is not perhaps impossible after all! Anyway, it walked into my parlour entirely of its own free will, didn’t it?
Gloating was probably a good term to use, although there is no way it even comes close to describing the emotional high I was on as I stood before that helpless, sobbing creature and pulled down my fly. It was mine, all mine to do with as I liked and I already had done just that! I was on a massive sadistic high, and my eager cock was probably about to unleash more hot cum than upon any other occasion. That action silenced the creature. No longer was it screaming angry abuse at me and making empty threats as it had so loudly a mere couple of hours ago. Now it was a whimpering beaten cur and the look in its eyes as it realised that the beating was but a mere prelude to an even greater humiliation, priceless!
I’d noticed with a degree of amusement that its tone, even its attitude changed earlier after I’d been over to the house and hastily collected most of my modest toy collection. There were some old nails in a convenient beam well within its line of sight that I decorated with the corrective ones. I laid out the sex aides, dildos, vibrators, and similar on an old table on the opposite side. Yes, a definite change in tone and words as its head swivelled side to side, taking in what it could see. The fact that it was tied down naked and screaming that I couldn’t do this to him was sort of silly. I had done it and was equipped to do far worse than just securing him to a bench and cutting his clothing off. Far far worse. I promptly did too!
I remembered an incident years ago at school being beaten up and reduced to tears by a much bigger boy and that feeling of humiliation and helplessness I’d felt. Payback time! This creature was taller, muscular, and bulkier than me, yet he was quietly sobbing his eyes out right in front of me. I’d flogged the fight and all that silly verbal crap out of him for the time being.
Oh, but he’d been mad and angry, but how quickly that had changed. How effectively paddle, tawse, strap and cane had altered his foolish and disrespectful attitude! A half dozen with the paddle, and he was still angry, another half dozen satisfying meaty full-blooded swats, and he started singing an entirely different tune and continued to do so. Screaming, begging, pleading and even going so far as fainting!
Silly boy as if that would save him. I was having so much fun and trying to duck out on our first date, no way! We were going to have such beautiful times together; I just knew it. I gave him a minute or so each time he passed out, then sprinkled a little water on his face and very gently slapped his cheeks to bring him round.
That was amusing in itself, his vague look of incomprehension that slowly changed to one of horror as he recognised me standing before him swinging the strap of flexing a cane with a wicked smile to welcome him back. Back to participate in the fantasy that had become a reality for me and for him, a nightmare he could never have imagined, not even in his darkest dreams!
I hadn’t thought about that schoolboy humiliation in years, I realised, until that afternoon. I’d whipped and mercilessly beaten him so severely I expect if I’d told him to beg me to rape him, he’d have done so. Doing that never occurred to me, for he was helpless, and that’s precisely what I intended doing anyway.
As I stood before him, cane in one hand with my erect cock inches from his face, memory suddenly returned. Was that distant humiliation the root of my long-cherished fantasy, I wondered. Not once in my life had I ever been drawn to another man in a sexual sense. If anything, I was somewhat homophobic, at least in as far as guys went. Like most men, lesbian porn was a big turn on. My fantasy was all about power, power and control. I couldn’t ever recall getting a hard-on fantasising about tying some poor woman up and beating the shit out of her before raping her arse, but I knew my sexy girlfriend harboured those very desires!
*****
I stood there leaning on my shovel, ignoring the wheelbarrow and its unpleasant contents. Bloody Covid, I thought. Well, it had turned millions of people’s lives upside down mine included, especially with Trixie giving eventually up her London flat and planting herself on me full time and not just for the duration! Her permanent presence was like a fucking catalyst that had set off a minor nuclear chain reaction in my hitherto quiet life! Nor could I kid myself that I and a pandemic were the sole reasons for her sudden enthusiasm for living in the depths of the English countryside.
Much as she professed to love me, I knew the creature normally housed in the stall I’d just mucked out was the prime reason for the sudden attraction to rural living as was something else that she’d got firmly fixed in her devious mind that she wouldn’t discuss! I wasn’t complaining, though, for I enjoyed having her around even if she was a bossy little tyrant. I don’t think that was a feeling shared by my Ponyboy. I knew it wasn’t! If he’d hated and feared her before, then that cruel cock restraining device she’d bought must have increased that tenfold.
She was undoubtedly a cruel little bitch with a capital C; I reflected thinking back to that pleasant interlude one afternoon after I’d driven back from my weekly trip to collect mail and do the supermarket run. Trixie had snatched the package out of my hand the moment I returned, leaving me to unload the car and carry everything in and put it away. That was something she was usually fastidious about, every food item in the appropriate place just where she wanted it, but her attention was elsewhere on that particular day.
After lunch, Trixie dragged me straight over to the stable pointed a small imperious finger at the comfortable if disreputable old leather armchair I sometimes sat in while watching her play. I’d initially put it there so’s I could relax perhaps with a coffee and a book casting the occasional admiring glance at my captive animal.
I didn’t need to be actively engaged with it to enjoy my ownership of such a splendid creature. I just liked to highlight the complete contrast in our respective lifestyles. On the one hand, me at ease in my comfortable chair, reading a book with a cold can of beer to hand and enjoying my complete freedom while I exercised my brain. On the other hand, I was watched by a dumb, captive, dehumanised animal, naked but for the tight, uncomfortable harness his master and owner had bound about him. Standing chained upon aching legs chained in his sinking stall and soiled with its own bodily filth, helpless with not the slightest freedom or intellectual stimulation to relieve the monotony.
What a thrill every so often to glance up and smile coldly as my eyes met those angry yet despairing hate-filled eyes of my impotent captive pony. The fool that had actually been stupid enough to think that after I’d emptied my balls for the third time into his agonised rectum that first afternoon that his ordeal would be over. What a silly boy!
Sometimes if the mood took me, I would sit with my feet up on a small stool even more naked than my harnessed clad animal. Inevitably a coffee or cold beer conveniently to hand on the table beside me along with perhaps a coiled whip or a cane. I always chained him to face the front of his stall where he could see me and, more importantly, the symbols of my authority and mastery over him. One of the very toys that so often reduced the proud beast to a pathetic blubbering hulk and my sleeping cock that had confirmed my mastery over him so many times. I know it's simple stuff, but I found it very entertaining, and basically, I am a simple sort of guy.
On this occasion, I was directed to my chair by a snap of Trixie’s fingers and a simple command. “Sit!” was all she said after manoeuvring my chair to where she wanted it, so I obediently sat. Lunch had been a hurried affair what with her if you can excuse the phrase, ‘champing at the bit’. I watched as she selected a slender whipping riding crop and then went into Tinky’s stall. I’d noticed that she did that every time. It wasn’t that she needed it or was afraid of the beast in any way, rather a symbol of her authority, I surmised. The crop instantly rose and fell twice as it always did every time she visited the animal. Her habitual reinforcement of that authority as the animal squealed in agony! Trixie, I’d noted, didn’t do soft, not ever!
He was a big guy, potentially a tough type or had been till I animalised him. He was bigger than me, and he towered over Trixie, especially in his heeled knee boots. We’d had a couple of discussions about proper ponyplay hoof boots as the idea was growing on me, but Trixie was dead against it, at least for him. Maybe if we ever get a filly or a mare, she’d said, but I like him in stilettos. It adds that little extra to him, I think. Another minor point of interest I’d noted. Although I referred to it as my Ponyboy, it was primarily a sexless ‘it’, but it was always him to her!
She didn’t entirely mean that little extra in the height department either. I mean, the animals meagre life was miserable enough, but Trixie delighted in adding more misery at every opportunity. She just adored heaping humiliation upon humiliation on my or rather our captive pet. She confessed that dolls had never appealed to her as a kid, so she’d never had a Barbie, but she loved playing dressing games with Tinky.
Never anything that might result in him gaining release or doing any damage to either of us, say by releasing his arms or something similarly silly but minor things that appealed to her. I heard her busily releasing the various restraints the animal wore even when stalled, for neither of us saw any reason to provide more freedom than was absolutely necessary. The crop flashed up and down a scream of agony, and then it emitted a second loud squeal. A deafening squeal. Trixie must have loosened its bit and had probably up swung the crop on its balls or down upon the bulbous tip of its cock, our favourite targets if it showed even the merest hint of getting stroppy!
I was an easy-going, tolerant sort of chap, whereas my temperamental little girlfriend was the opposite. Things were either perfect, or they were not, and she was never slow to voice her disapproval nor show her displeasure when she felt things or people, for that matter, were too slow. Or when a captive animal like Tinky was a fraction slow in doing as she demanded. Such as not walking promptly out of its stall on the end of the reins in her hand.
Tinky was both the same and not the same animal I’d roped and raped a few months back. Oh yes, he still was permanently roped and regularly raped and not just by me, but the beast had shed a few pounds and looked more than a little haggard on those rare occasions when his bridle and head harness was removed. Every so often, Trixie ‘sheared’ him as she put it with a large pair of scissors, beard, and hair, then roughly groomed him with an old hairbrush.
Bathing was usually confined to hosing his lower parts with a jet of cold water and a rub down with a stiff brush to remove any faeces that clung to his legs. Fastidious as she normally was about almost everything, especially personal hygiene and general cleanliness, Tinky was excluded. He was beginning to extrude a discernible rank animal-like smell that appealed to both of us, especially Trixie. ‘Cooking nicely’ as she put it once after a few deep sniffs.
His body was covered in a mass of tangled black hair, which appropriately added to his animal like status. It contrasted with his pale white skin and face, for it was very rare, we took him outside the old barn. His whole life was now confined to a small space, stall, whipping bench and fucking frame! I’d meant to fix up a pony walker, but then Trixie’s cataclysmic arrival had heralded a raft of major and expensive changes, chief of which was the big modern barn that now adjoined the rear of my old barn come stable.
Another vast or seemingly vast expense Trixie had cajoled me into likewise the specialised equipment she’d somehow tracked down via the internet! Tinky’s days of enforced idleness were at an end once she’d finished her mega spending spree and depleted my bank accounts somewhat! That was all after the time she’d fitted him with his new cock restraint, of course, as my thoughts drifted back.
“Walk on, walk on, you stupid animal, no!” Her voice rose a few octaves, and the crop flashed up and down once more, producing another anguished squeal. Idly I wondered if the creature would ever harden up and get used to such treatment. Probably not, and even if it did, I was sure my inventive little girlfriend would quickly find ways to circumnavigate such impudent immunity!
“Walk on, step, step, higher, you dumb animal!” Beauty and the beast was always a sight to stimulate, and as always, it wasn’t just my brain that was stimulated by the erotic twosome as something else twitched. Trixie walked backwards out of the stall holding the reins in one hand and an extra-long swishy riding crop in the other. Her dressage crop, as she called it. One of her favourites because its extremely long flexible length meant that just the merest flick of the wrist at one end transmitted into a severe blow from the tip.
As usual, Trixie was dressed down to the bare minimum. None of this hard hat, red riding jacket, jodhpurs and boots kit for her. Pink flip flops, brief black panties, under an equally brief flared red micro skirt and nothing up top apart from pair of costly thin leather gloves. She liked the erotic feel of the leather upon his skin and invariably wore a pair whenever she handled him. Of course, the little bitch had bought herself half a dozen pairs on one of my credit cards. That was another case of an anguished ‘how much!’
As usual, she was completely topless and had been like that with the animal virtually ever since she’d discarded her skimpy top to give her arm more freedom that first time she made him howl! Trixie rarely wore a bra except maybe under more modest formal attire for some function. Her breasts were small with long sensitive nipples, perfectly formed and exceeding firm although pliant and could bounce about so enticingly when she did something energetic such as whipping a Ponyboy! I knew the effect such a sight had on me, and despite the pain from whatever she was using on him, we both knew he inevitably also reacted to the erotic spectacle, what red-blooded male wouldn’t, for she was a real sexy little cutie.
Unfortunately, the same little cutie had maliciously locked that new evil device on his bent penis and that alone would have been bad enough, but those internal spikes added something else to the creatures suffering and her amusement! Not only that, but if it occasionally did swell despite the points, it triggered a very nasty electric shock. Trixie also had a remote that could trigger it whenever the whim took her plus up the intensity, and I was astonished that such a tiny battery could produce such an effect! Undoubtedly, its cruel technology was why the bloody thing had cost so much.
Beauty and the Beast was a perfectly apt tag for the pair as Tinky emerged from the stall in that high stepping walk she demanded of him. The diminutive beauty who handled that huge captive beast so confidently and, of course, so cruelly. His harness tack had changed since that crude kit I’d outfitted him in during the early days of his captivity. No sooner had I got him fitted to my satisfaction when madam came along and, of course, changed the lot! Yet more expense on my overused credit cards! Your Ponyboy, your bills was her casual attitude even though she played with the creature way more than I did! I noted the ‘ours’ was always lacking when it involved spending money on the beast!
I wasn’t about to complain, though, for I found it all very stimulating. Those silly reservations I’d once had about revealing my acquisition to my sexy girlfriend had long since disappeared. It was proving to be a costly business but fortunately not beyond my considerable means to keep one of them very happy and the other extremely unhappy.
If Trixie was dressed down, then Tinky was slightly the opposite, although there was still ample bare pony hide on display and available to feel the biting kiss whip and crop. By opposite, I don’t mean anything in the way of everyday clothing unless you counted his footwear as such. Around his head, he wore a standard head harness and bridle but in bright pink leather. Pretty Pink for Tink, as Trixie put it. She’d added a leather blindfold that day, so the poor creature had to follow the tug on the reigns sight unseen, which must be extra unnerving for the animal. No doubt she’d remove it at some stage so it could fully appreciate those delightful bobbing assets of hers.
The black waspie style waist corset had been one of her first purchases. It was an evil garment of thin, flexible leather with steel bands threaded through that tightened with ratchets via a hex key. I’d seen the instructions that came with it, and it specifically stated for serious ‘play’ use only, use with caution! It recommended in bold italics to be very careful when tightening the device and cautioned against wearing it for more than three hours at a time! Three hours and Tinky had been wearing it continuously for many weeks now, nor was his nasty little mistress very sparing with that key. He bulged out a bit above and below, and she regularly tightened the horrible thing. It makes his sexy rump look all the more tempting was her excuse and of course, wearing it was a permanent reminder of who owned and controlled him. Yeah, like living as a dumb captive animal in a stall alongside his own shit 24/7 wasn’t enough of a reminder; likewise, the burning whip weals that covered almost every exposed piece of his animal hide!!
“Looking good, eh, Honey,” Trixie said as she paraded our pony in front of me. “A real sexy beast, isn’t he?” That thin crop of hers tapped warningly against the pony’s right rump cheek then the ponies knee and thigh before it swished and delivered a mild fresh stripe across the scarred rump cheek. Usually, Trixie was an impatient little madam, but she seemed to shelve that facet of her personality completely when training Tinky. ‘We’ve both got all the time in the world’ being a common saying of hers when the subject arose.
She could have saved herself a lot of trouble by simply telling him what she wanted or what he was doing wrong, but that was not her way. He was an animal, and she trained him like one, although most pet owners displayed an element of kindness and tolerance. She, of course, had the advantage of having an intelligent beast, although I’m not sure that always worked to her advantage. Her methodology was one of simple endless repetition based on rewards and punishment. The latter in a somewhat disproportionate ratio to the former!
Tink had learned to perform the traditional high stepping pony gait that way responding as Trixie used that long crop and simple commands such as “Hup’ followed by a tap with the crop to raise his leg and so on. Personally, I was amazed at the patience my girlfriend had with the animal and impressed. I would have become bored quickly, but she was happy to spend hours with the beast.
Naturally, a part of that was the punishment element. The rewards I noted were somewhat meagre, but given the unappetising meal twice a day, a sliver of apple, a sugar lump or on infrequent occasions chocolate, no doubt for a second or two, it felt like Christmas. Well, not really, but at least a nice change and such little highlights were rare in his life. The alternative to treats naturally was punishment, and of course, it got a least a dozen punishments for every little titbit.
A very unfair ratio, but Trixie wasn’t the least bit bothered about that, very much the opposite! Giving the animal a sugar lump wasn’t much of an orgasmic apéritif for her, whereas administering a vigorous paddling was an entirely different matter!
Sex and sadism aside, a large part of my fascination with the creature was speculating on what was going on inside its head. Was he still internally the same as he had been a few months ago, or was it changing? How was it adapting to a life of mind-numbing tedium, of incessant inescapable bondage that in itself must be continually uncomfortable if not painful? Our creature spent its entire day fastened in that stall with minimal freedom of movement. At night we moved it from the vertical to the horizontal so it could lie on a pile of straw still restrained and usually only a couple of feet away from the stinking outpourings of its own body!
If it thought its life with me had been bad, then Trixie took it to a whole new level of misery when she took responsibility for so much of its daily regime. She was constantly experimenting, and those experiments were usually for her amusement and benefit, not the animals. I’d concluded that she wasn’t just cruel but downright evil at times but only with Tinky, of course, and invariably got so randy that made things alright by me later! Hell though, that was one way the animal benefited, wasn’t it? Now I thought about it. My demanding little nympho of a girlfriend was constantly siphoning off a lot of what had previously filled his mouth and pony cunt!
Not that particular day, though, I recalled thinking back to how I’d rubbed at the bulge straining the crotch of my pants as I watched him doing his sexy high stepping walk circling my diminutive but oh so in control girlfriend. Tinky and I had been treated to a demonstration of his expensive new stallion cage! It was probably as well she’d covered his eyes given the erotic effect her top half was having on me! I didn’t know what setting she had the horrible thing on, but I was pretty damn sure it wouldn’t be the lowest!
My meat hasn’t tasted his butt in nearly a fortnight, and it was time I reminded the beast of just who its real Master was! That’s one reason why he never has a tail. Trixie and I have discussed that issue, of course, but we are both in agreement. Keeping him permanently plugged would stretch him, thus ruining our pleasure in the long run, for he is still so deliciously tight and squeals so plaintively when we take him.
Much as I adore making love to my hot little blonde sadist, fucking a tight squirming reluctant Ponyboy is a wholly different, exhilarating and satisfying experience! By no means as difficult, nor as painful for me these days as it was the first few times I forced my eager meat into his well-greased but extremely tight resisting pony cunt!
That was my first time trying a back door, and I was pretty sure my new captive beast had never given the key to anyone else! Jeez, even though the bastard was face down and helpless, legs spread, and that lubed-up virgin hole so accessible it was hard going at first! If I hadn’t been so damn randy and worked up from flogging the beast, I might even have given up! My poor old John Thomas wasn’t used to being used as a battering ram! Then again, perhaps I would not have stopped my assault!
Once his damn sphincter surrendered, I slowly advanced right to the hilt, and boy, did it feel good! To me anyway, nor was I about to ask how it was for him. Good, bad, what did it matter? I was about to ride the beast to what I knew would be one almighty orgasm, and there wasn’t a thing beastie boy could do to stop me. That knowledge alone, plus his silly pathetic struggles under me as I began to hump him hard, gave me a feeling of power such as I’ve never known. If whipping him had been good, then fucking him was pure ecstasy!
*****
My reflective gaze was focused on the makeshift bench that I’d used to enjoy him that first time. He was still deliciously tight, but I no longer bothered to lube him up, and the erotic sensation remained the same for me. The animal was used to it by now, of course, but still struggled so delightfully every time I raped the beast as if it would make a difference. Maybe in its animal brain, it felt that it retained some degree of self-respect by doing so. Foolish creature!
Leaning on my filthy shovel, I felt too lazy to move and my reflective mood passed on to the middle of the old barn, seeing Trixie’s long crop again in my mind. The crop rising and falling twice in quick succession, eliciting a muted squeal from behind its bit. Then it taps the right hip, pushes at the buttock cheek, and does the same on the left, repeating the sequence twice more. Trixie wants something; she’s been doing that for a bit, but so far, all she got for her efforts is a stripped pony rump, not that she will mind that! I decide to pity the poor creature for once because I’m curious. “What are you trying to do?” I ask, knowing full well that the pony will hear as well.
“Whoa”, Trixie flicks the long rein she’s holding and prods her sightless pony in the chest with her crop. “Whoa pony, stay, stay! Yes?” She looks over at me thoughtfully, then shrugs, making her gorgeous little breasts jiggle so delightfully and that bulge in my pants that bit more uncomfortable!
“If you must know” She pauses, considering the big helpless brute on the end of the rein she’s holding, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her nasty little mind. Does she want it to know ‘ the why’ or not?
“You can tell me outside if you want?”
“Nah, it’s not that important. No big deal! Dumbo here can flap his big ears, but he’ll still fuck up anyway!” Her hand gives the merest of twitches to her extra long switch, and yet when that energy releases via the leather flap at its tip, it's still enough to make the beast squeak and twitch as its thigh displays that leather flaps temporary brand!
“Stand still, beast!” Trixie screams at it, and this time both jump and squeal are a lot louder, likewise the impact on flesh of that nasty leather tip. Trixie isn’t totally above not communicating with her charge, but she usually restricts her vocabulary to the monosyllabic one of most pet owners. Tink may have a brain, but allowing him to use it to preempt a command is not on her agenda nor disobeying one already given. The little sadist seemed to have not an ounce of mercy in her when it came to that big beast even if it had been standing on hot coals; no doubt she’d still flog it if it tried to move once she’d commanded it to stay!
I couldn’t complain; it was always so damned erotic watching her with the animal, although he wasn’t always the only one in pain, or maybe discomfort would be more accurate for my ails. Then again, with that sexy little morsel so near him, perhaps he was? The difference being that my cock was only restrained by pants and jocks and would soon be free to erupt with pleasure, whereas with that wicked device, she’d locked on him, a whole different kettle of fish if his stallion got even the slightest bit twitchy!
“Stop that right now!” This time the command is directed at me. My hand had subconsciously strayed downwards and absently begun massaging a particular bulge. “Don’t waste it coming in your pants, sweetie. Save it for later; poor old Tinky here must be feeling a bit neglected by us. Why it must be a fortnight since we last enjoyed a lengthy loving threesome!”
I wouldn’t have sworn to it, for it might have been a trick of the light, but I’m pretty damn sure a slight shudder rippled right down the creature at her words. Now the threesome I knew she had in mind would be very entertaining and erotic, at least for two of us, but for the one secured to the bench, there wouldn’t be a whole lot of love involved, at least in the compassionate sense! Trixie’s numerous bags and boxes had included a collection of strap on harnesses and various phalluses. Tinky provided an outlet for her energetic enthusiasm at a level way beyond anything her different passive girlfriends would have ever permitted through the front door, let alone the back!
I looked at Trixie’s wicked smile and knew I'd been correct; we were both on the same wavelength. Having an intelligent captive human animal as our personal plaything was so much fun! I watched that switch move again as its tip slowly traced upwards from the top of a boot to his quivering apprehensive whip scarred rump. “Guess?”
“Guess what?”
“Today’s training session, silly?”
I had no idea and was about to say so, but that look on her pretty face forestalled me. Her game and her rules, so I’d better string along to amuse her. I watched as she repeated that slow movement up its lower body with her switch and tapped him again as she had been doing earlier on hips and rump.
Her actions meant nothing to me, but I obediently ran my eyes up and down anyway. As with every other aspect of its miserable life, Trixie was the controlling force. Its feet were now shod in cheap glossy knee boots with six-inch stiletto heels courtesy of eBay. I told her that I found thigh boots sexy, but she wouldn’t have it. ‘You wear them if you want to’, had been her response ‘, but Tinky won’t be, and I'm certainly not about to bind my legs up in a pair for your titillation either!’
As I said earlier, she loved playing dressing games with the beast and had already ordered a pair of platform sole boots with a seven-inch heel. I’d warned her that it would end up tripping over and breaking a leg if she carried on. Her response had been typically unsympathetic. She’d stuck her tongue out at me and said, ‘Well, it can crawl around then till we find a new one, can’t it!’ She really was turning into a heartless little monster!
Her main objection, I privately suspected, to thigh boots on Tinky was her preference for stockings. Not on her own shapely legs, of course. Trixie rarely even wore tights, nothing or ankle socks was her norm, but she just adored dressing Tinky in them. There was a whole drawer full of them over in the old cupboard in the barn she’d commandeered for his wardrobe, and the beast was usually sporting a new pair at least every other day. Yet another humiliation heaped upon the poor sod!
I wasn’t entirely averse to the idea, for there was something decidedly sensual about the feel of stockings. Running your hand along the warm, smooth material until you reached bare flesh, soft upper thigh flesh, soft but not the smooth surface it had once been nor the buttocks above. Our punishing toys were plying havoc with those oh so tempting and exposed parts of Tink’s anatomy. Trixie was also talking about branding him with our mark, and she wasn’t talking tattoos either! I’d joking suggested felt-tip pen and wished I hadn’t. We were in bed at the time and screeched as my best buddy immediately had his bulbous head sharply nipped between those talons on the end of her fingers, bitch!
I still hadn’t the faintest idea of what she was thinking. The sexy boots looked normal; the stockings black fishnets this time were in their normal state after a day or so of wear and training, that is to say, somewhat tattered and shredded. Trixie so loved to roll them on and then whip them off, and I don’t mean whip in the ‘quick’ sense.
Six long garters hung from the cheap frilly black plus sized suspender belt around his lower waist, adding to the creatures overall bitchy erotic look. It was neither male nor female nor human or beast but a composite of everything to be flogged and fucked for our pleasure.
“Give up?”
I nodded. “Two dumbos”, she giggled “, but maybe you’ve done me a favour. I expect that I’d have worn my right arm out before this stupid beast would have got the message!” Her eyes flickered over to the pony, and she raised the long switch to tap one of its ears gently. She just loved exercising her control and authority over the creature she knew would be listening, probably with impotent fury and rage seething within it, to everything we said. It was powerless because it was helpless to do anything about it and entirely dependent on us just to remain alive; it was so vulnerable.
“Sex,” Trixie said with a giggle. “Owning it is so damn sexy. I dress it to look sexy; we both find whipping it oh so sexy. We use it for sex, and so when it walks, well fill in the blank yourself?”
“You want it to walk sexy?”
Trixie giggled again and tapped the pony on the ear again. “Bingo, bull's eye, got it in one clever boy! That’s why I was tapping at his boots, hips and sexy rumpy-pumpy! My big sexy beast here is not just going to be doing his pretty high steps for me, but I want to see these; she tapped again at his hips and rump, “sashaying like a drug starved street whore desperate to earn enough for her daily fix.
I want it to ooze sex appeal, and I’ll flog the shit out of it till I’m satisfied” she paused and then giggled. The switch flicked up and down, sharply cracking against the pony”s left thigh catching and shredding the stocking top and making it jump and squeal. “And as we all know, I take a lot of satisfying!” She added, throwing a grin at me before flicking the reins. “Walk on, walk-on”, and the switch cracked down again, harder!
I settle back into the chair. I can wait, and the floor show is just so damned good. “Not too much though I caution her; we have other plans remember for it later!”
The switch flicked out again, producing another squeal. “I don’t give a shit, sweetie pie, not my problem. It’s going to get fucked by both of us, whatever. It’s entirely up to the animal whether or not its rump cheeks are merely a trifle warm in places or thoroughly roasted when I fuck it. Personally, I prefer a case of the hotter, the better when I grab and part its cheeks!”
“Your a cruel little madam, you know?”
Trixie turned to look at me thoughtfully. “You remember the last time you face fucked him, how you wished you could ram your cock down his throat without having to use the ring gag every time?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but there’s no way I’m going to risk it without no matter how tame you manage to make him. One good chomp of those pony gnashes, and we can both say goodbye to those energetic sessions up in the bedroom you so much enjoy! Forget it, Honey!”
The long crop negligently flicked out twice, leaving savage imprints on the mutely squealing animals buttocks. “Step and swish pony, step and swish that sexy rump. I know those ears of yours are being naughty but just this once and this once only, I’ll permit it. Start shaking that sexy butt, or I'll whip it into bloody dog meat, shake it animal!”
That long thin crop swished three times more, and there was nothing casual about the force she used this time reinforcing her remark about bloody dog meat as the tip ripped open his rump.
“As I was saying,” Trixie continued a few minutes and a few more strokes of the crop later as she calmly watched the terrified Tinky making a feeble attempt to perform as she wished. “There is a simple solution to that particular problem. I fancy putting its tongue to good use also, but I don’t want it chewing on my cute little clitty either! Stupid and devastating for it as the consequences would be, why risk it?”
“Simple?”
The crop tapped ominously on the pony’s rump. “Did I ever tell you what I started out doing after I left school?”
‘Nope. Not that I can recall”.
“Did almost eighteen-months training to be a dental nurse till I chucked it all in before they chucked me!” she paused to swing the crop again hard before continuing. “If there is no spark, there can be no fire to worry about, so no one gets burned! Suppose I order some dental pliers!”
A crack immediately followed by a loud shriek from the new barn roused me from my recollections. Almost as loud as the noise Tink had made back then when his naughty ears heard her drop that casual bombshell. How the hell could a bitted pony have made that much noise? Not a good idea, though, when Trixi held his reins in one hand and that wicked crop in the other. Not a good idea at all!
I shook my head to clear those recollections from a few months back and bent down to grab the wheelbarrow handles, ready to trundle it outside to the manure heap. The crack and shriek came again from the new barn. Trixie was working Boobie again, her very own ponygirl by the sound of it. A once somewhat haughty big breasted young madam once called Annabelle.
I manoeuvred the awkward thing through the old double doors toward the reeking pile, absently noting that it was growing somewhat now that more animals were contributing to it. Neither of us was into gardening, but maybe we could find a home for the muck. Was it that much different to what some stables offered for free to keen garden lovers?
Although muted by the building in between, a third shriek even more agonised than the previous two sounded. That note of agony produced by the cracking whip reminded me of something else. Trixie had gone right ahead and bought those dental pliers!