Part Six Chapter Twenty-Five – When You Start To Want It
“A good slave should be seen and not heard,” Mistress observed.
I took this as an indication not to reply, though I was always fearful of speaking unless there was a direct question, and sometimes even then. At times my mistress liked to make rhetorical statements and did not appreciate them being answered by a stupid literal minded slut.
“Now, go to the laundry and strip. Put your clothes in the basket. Afterwards I want you to clean the toilet. Bleach it and then polish it until it shines inside and out. You’ll do the same every time you use it, whether it needs it or not. We can’t have you catching something. If you give me gastro I’ll never touch your filthy body again. Besides, it’s time you started being useful around here.”
“Once you’re done with the toilet, clean the rest of the bathroom, especially the bits you get all dirty with your slug trails. I want your stink gone from there. Afterwards clean yourself up properly and come to my room. You can find cleaning things in the cupboard and products to wash yourself in my en suite.”
I was so happy that Mistress had given me a job to do, and I would be free to do it by myself, without being chained to anything. I would have liked some ankle cuffs to remind me of her, but she must really trust me to let me have the run of the apartment this way. I wouldn’t disappoint her. I would put all my love in cleaning and really do a good job.
When it came to showering I wasn’t sure if I should remove my collar. I didn’t want to spoil the leather and though it would be alright with a splash or two, I was sure it was not intended to be soaked. In the end I removed the collar briefly. The entire time I was in the shower I was terrified that Mistress would walk in and catch me without it, but I wasn’t completely sure I was doing wrong.
When I presented myself in her room, Mistress had clearly been thinking about the matter.
“Did you take your collar off slut?”
“Sorry Mistress. Yes Mistress.”
“You should have come to ask permission. Five strokes. It isn’t worth suspending you for five. Kneel down, bend over the bed and put your hands behind your head.
I did as requested and Mistress got her crop from where it was hanging on the wall. She gave me five hard blows on the bottom. I counted each one and thanked her.
“That will do slut. Now climb on the bed, kneel down and lie back, showing me your pussy with your legs folded up.”
The position was surprisingly uncomfortable, particularly with spread legs, putting strain on the inside of my thighs and my back.
Mistress gave my pussy a close but businesslike examination, spreading the lips and pulling the inner lips out so she could inspect them. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for.
“The swelling has gone down. Do you still feel twinges?”
“I don’t Mistress.”
“You see slut, you should have been punished for two more weeks, but I think I’m going to swap those weeks for something else. I’m going to pierce your tiny nipples and either your tongue or your labia. Which do you think it should be?”
“Please Mistress, I would choose my tongue Mistress, so I may use it to please you. My dirty slit is only of use to punish me and you can do that just as well without rings.”
“For a dummy, sometimes you make surprising sense. Of course there are other piercings besides rings, and rings are not usually appropriate for the tongue. Though, even with a barbell, the tongue will definitely be better for me if you learn to use it properly.”
I merely nodded at this.
“Tonight I intend to pierce your tits. Once you’ve healed up I can put weights on them and stretch them out so you can get your nipples in your mouth. I’d like to see that. It takes a long time for them to heal properly to that level though.”
I thought my breasts would have to be stretched a lot for me to get my nipple in my mouth. I had tried before and couldn’t get anywhere close. I wondered what they would look like after being distorted that way. No uglier than I already was, I suppose, and if Mistress liked it, then I would endure it gladly.
“You’re a lucky slut because I know how to pierce nipples. Lucas will have to do your tongue.”
I remembered that Master Lucas, my legal husband, had trained as a doctor, but hadn’t finished the process. Instead he’d come to Hong Kong to woo me. Master Lucas… I got wet at the thought of him. It seemed ludicrous that a thing such as I had deluded myself that I was his equal or fit to be his wife. He had been right to get rid of me.
Mistress took a device out of her wardrobe and showed it to me. It was a kind of metal frame, about eighteen inches across and six tall, with two bars, one of which could be adjusted with threaded rods to squeeze them together.
“This is for tit torture, but also useful for piercing. It’s not normally how it’s done, but it’s how I want to see you. It will be more fun this way.”
Mistress quickly demonstrated this by pulling my breasts through the gap between the bars and then screwing down the mobile bar so it clamped on to me. Rather than trap the breasts at the back or the middle, as I suspected was the normal procedure to inflict pain, Mistress trapped just behind the nipples.
It hurt intensely to begin with, but it wasn’t long before the tips of my breasts were white and numb. While I was losing sensation in my nipples, Mistress prepared some other equipment.
She aggressively cleaned my freshly washed nipples with methylated spirit, rubbing them hard. Then she dipped a large gauge needle in methylated spirit and then set it alight. When it had burned out she dipped it in the spirit again. Using a thick sterile dressing soaked in more spirit to press against, she slowly forced the needle through my nipple. She used a special thimble on her thumb so she could press as hard as she needed.
To my surprise, it really didn’t feel that bad. I had resigned myself to this process long ago. The moment I saw Mistress’ own piercings I knew that I would get the same or worse. That it was happening at last was a weight off my mind. I was being made whole.
It seemed proper and correct for a slut such as I was to have the proper trappings. I knew that soon I would have many more piercings: my tongue, my pussy lips – Mistress had mentioned these already – perhaps there were other places a slut was commonly pierced? The clit perhaps? More rings in the ears? Where else could a ring go? The nose? I couldn’t really imagine that, it would draw too much attention in public. Looking back I was rather sheltered in that respect, but it was the mid-eighties and the craze for body modification hadn’t started.
Mistress repeated the procedure with the other nipple so I had a needle through each one. She gave each of them a good wiggle. Despite the clamping I could definitely feel it. I didn’t feel any nausea or extreme pain. So that was what it felt like to be pierced that way. It really wasn’t such a big deal.
I tried to imagine a weight constantly pulling on me. I was pretty sure there was a limit to the pain that could be applied before the piercing would start to tear but my Mistresses piercings had seemed quite tough. Of course, there was no assurance for me that such a limit would not be exceeded. Nevertheless, day to day, I supposed it would be bearable, perhaps even pleasant at times.
Mistress had some metal fittings – they looked like stainless steel pins – that had been sitting in a shallow dish of methylated spirit, which she lit and watched burn. It was quite pretty.
“Quite the ceremony for you slut. How do you like the feeling?”
“I’m looking forward to the final result Mistress.”
When the flames went out she used more spirit to cool the pins and then pushed the needle almost all the way out. The pin fit into the dished end of the needle and by pushing on the pin and pulling the needle she soon had the pin settled nicely in the nipple. She screwed a small stainless steel ball onto the end, using two tiny pairs of pliers to tighten it. A silver barbell was seated in my nipple, which was starting to burn despite the clamp.
She quickly repeated the process on the other nipple.
“These will be replaced as soon as you’ve healed,” she said, loosening the clamp.
The burn that hit me as blood returned to my nipples was painful, but no worse than the pegs that had been used to tease me before. However, the nipples turned exceptionally bright red, bleeding a little; they stung persistently. Mistress used some more spirit to wash them down again, which stung terribly. I tried not to make a face.
“Imagine that on your pussy. Imagine it in your mouth. Such personal private places. Every moment of the day you’ll be able to feel something that’s part of you that I put there… Something you can’t remove. Won’t it be delicious?”
“Yes Mistress. It’s making me all squishy inside.”
And it was, and I was starting to stop noticing that there was anything remotely strange about that. Chapter Twenty-Six – Paradise Lost
Ten weeks later I woke up in Mistress Sarah’s bed. It was dark, dark in my little world at least. There was a sensation of the bed moving: something was happening out there in the real world. It was perfectly normal for me to wake up in such a situation, so I never imagined that it would be a day of changes.
I was sealed inside a full body rubber catsuit, wrapped in a tight leather corset. My ankles were cuffed to the bottom of the corset and my arms were sealed inside a leather single-sleeve arm-binder.
My world was confined to the darkness of the padded hood. My ears plugged and the hood didn’t even have eyeholes in it. Underneath the suit was a rubber bra with little rubber feelers to poke my nipples and tight rubber panties that stuffed me front and back with substantial plugs. The plugs were big enough that even my well acclimated bum felt a continual need to expel, and the front was certainly stimulating. The batteries in that still weren’t quite dead, but the vibrations in that only ever served to provide a slight tickle anyway.
This was how I spent some of the nights in my mistress’ bed but most of the time I wore nothing but her collar and did my best to please her. On my isolated nights off she turned me into a warm rubber-scented lump in her bed, a decoration – a slightly excited decoration – no more than that.
Sometimes she would mix things up, inserting different things into me or varying the restraint. Sometimes I would be dressed up in lacy lingerie, sometimes chained to the foot of the bed and left to sleep naked on the floor. It would depend on whether I was to be rewarded or punished for my progress at lessons that day. A few nights ago the isolation had been similar, but my breasts had been exposed for her to play with. At other times it would be my crotch that was her plaything.
I don’t know if it was part of some plan she’d formed, or just something she felt like doing. I didn’t mind the restraint, but the rubber could also be sticky and uncomfortable at times. Depending on how she treated me, it might also be very sweaty. There’s no point thinking these things through when they’re being done to you. It’s the worst thing you can do. The moment you start to look for the underpinnings is the moment you end up in that bathroom, hanging from the ceiling with your shoulders straining while your mistress decides whether your tits or your pussy will get the attention from her crop.
Nipple piercings, well I got used to those quickly enough. Mistress cleaned them with methylated spirit three times a day – I wasn’t allowed to touch them – and they healed up alright, but they still needed caring for. I was disappointed that Mistress never played with them but she said they weren’t ready for abuse yet. She said they need to toughen up a lot and it might be months before they are ready to be stretched to take rings. Any strong pull could break the skin enough for infection to get in.
On one occasion the left piercing got caught by the crop and that opened up a whole new world of pain. It was bleeding everywhere, and then afterwards it got infected, but not so badly that it needed any special treatment beyond extra cleaning.
The tongue piercing didn’t get infected at all but it hurt a lot. At first my tongue swelled up so that it felt enormous and I was punished for failure at all my lessons for a week solid. On the day things changed I’d had the barbell in my tongue for over a month and I was still washing my mouth out with warm salt water five or six times a day. The wound itself had healed up immediately, but my mouth still felt really strange and wrong.
The tongue piercing actually made me feel a little special because I had not seen anyone else who had one, my mistress didn’t, Monica didn’t; even Noriko and Keiko didn’t. It didn’t make it any easier to please my mistress, but it was still healing. This too I’d been told could take months to complete fully.
It had been done by Master Lucas, and to my surprise he had not been entirely happy with the idea. He had complained that Mistress Sarah was a “stupid bitch” for doing such a thing, and lectured us both that tongue and nipple piercings that became infected could be fatal.
“Whatever the other issues, I don’t want the effort I invested in this slut wasted,” she growled.
Nevertheless, he did the piercing. I was blindfold at the time, but from the feel of it he simply took hold of my tongue with a pair of forceps and pushed a needle through. Apparently, the position of the hole is very important and he knew where to put it.
Despite the lessons, and the punishments that occurred during them as well as after, I had become strangely comfortable in my situation. I had learned everything I was supposed to about how to please a man or a woman, and I did my Kegel exercises many times daily to strengthen my pussy, which apparently men love.
Unlike Monica and the Koreans, I was not required to service Master John’s vile clientele, and I lived the comparatively pampered life of a household pet. While I had many cleaning and washing duties, it was not a large apartment and caring for my mistress’ extensive collection of rubber clothes was my most time consuming duty.
For whatever reason, my mistress was disinclined to let me cook for her. She never even asked me to try. Perhaps she feared being poisoned, though this was unlikely. I could easily have stabbed her in her sleep or perhaps even chained her to the bed with her own locks. She no longer paid much attention to securing me and it was not necessary. I was terrified of leaving the apartment and did not like to be without her for long. I would fret and cry when she went out. She must have had some particular reason for always cooking her own food, but I never learned what it was.
On very rare occasions Master Lucas would be present, and at those times I was allowed into his bed to please him, but never allowed to sleep there. His particular pleasure was still to have me deep throat him, but on occasion he would fuck my front or rear holes, though this only happened when I was in some kind of restraint. He liked me in the single sleeve arm-binder, suspended from the ceiling and he especially like the spreader bar. When I was like that he would let me get him ready with my mouth and then move behind me to finish off. Even though he didn’t often give me orgasms I would have liked it with him more than Mistress were it not for the suspension which put a lot of strain on my back and shoulders.
He never punished me or even commented on my performance. In fact, he barely spoke a word: it was as if I was merely an object that existed for his amusement – one does not bother talking to objects – I certainly felt that’s what I was and all I was fit to be. He always used a condom and I imagined he didn’t really like touching my skin.
Monica’s lessons had taught me some English, and I had progressed to the point where they could take place without any Cantonese being spoken. My pronunciation remained poor, my grammar terrible, but I could understand more than I could say. With intensive tutoring – it was mostly every other day – I was making steady progress. Miss Monica’s strict methods had achieved more in ten weeks than I had achieved on my own in over twenty years.
My Mistress always spoke to me in English and so I was continually exposed to it. The things she said fell into two categories: one group of phrases were very often repeated, the other contained mostly words I couldn’t understand.
I spent many hours on the treadmill. She would set targets for me to run in a certain time, and if I did not manage it there would be strokes of the crop, or if she was in a really bad mood she might use the whip. Mostly, she required me to run long distances rather than sprints. On rare occasions she used the tawse, but she only ever struck my bottom with that. As she had predicted, my shoulders were getting looser and it didn’t hurt as much when she yanked them up behind my back.
She assured me that this was not entirely a good sign. She related how a girl’s shoulders might get so loose that they would dislocate very easily, and though they could be put back just as trivially, it still hurt. However, if they dislocated while suspended, it was common for additional damage to occur.
It had been a gruelling and educational few weeks but it all came to an end that day.Chapter Twenty-Seven – Goodbye City, Hello Country
Mistress stripped the hood off me.
“You need to get ready quickly slut. Lucas is here to take you away.”
“Mistress, is there a requirement to pack anything?”
“No, you will be travelling naked.”
She unclipped my wrists and after that I was able to remove the rest of my outfit myself. She left me alone to do it and I could hear her talking to Master Lucas in the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you’re going to take her to Johnno’s awful pony farm. He knows nothing about looking after real horses, let alone human ponies.”
“It’s not about that. It’s how we’ll get Dehlia to take them. When she sees how out of control he is she won’t be able to stop herself rescuing them. The witch has form for it. Marcus knows.”
“So you admit Johnno is unstable?”
“I never denied it, but he’s also a mate who has stood by me when it mattered and I’ll stand up and say that too, so I have the right to say it and you don’t.”
“I can’t understand you at all. Is he fit to run a pony farm or not? I mean, you know he’s not.”
“I won’t deny he has no idea, but he’ll soon get the basics. He’s not stupid, a little reckless sometimes, but he can understand the idea. It will work perfectly. I helped him set it up. I can hardly turn my back on it now. He’s put a lot of work in for not much return.”
“I shall miss my pet I think.”
“You know you can come with me if you want.”
“Out to the back of nowhere to sit around while you two drink and whip exhausted girls all day? It doesn’t sound like my kind of fun. Too much leather. Too much dust. Too much sun.”
“Somebody who actually knows how to train a pony properly ought to be there. For fuck’s sake you know ten times more than I do.”
“Why didn’t you ask me this earlier? You’ve been planning this for months.”
“I thought I did. Weren’t you listening? Anyway, I’ve been busy. You knew the schedule. This was just one thing that had to happen. Marcus will be here in a few months and I have to get everything perfect for him. Have you any idea how much coddling and ego-massaging the dick-heads in the local scene take to keep on side?”
“I know what they’re like, believe me, but I could have done more to help on that front and wouldn’t have minded. While this pony thing… It’s dangerous in too many ways. Trapping the witch is the most important job that you had to do. Marcus doesn’t care about the rest of it.”
“Really? Have you spoken to him recently? I have, and I can tell you he cares about the other stuff. He will have my balls for breakfast if I fuck it up. I need this farm to keep Johnno out of trouble for the long term. Marcus would kill him.”
“This is bad.”
“Are you coming or not?”
“Shhhh. I think she can hear us.”
“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. I thought you said she was properly broken now anyway?”
“She is, but you might frighten the shit out of her. Alright, I’ll come but only so Johnno doesn’t get carried away and ruin the whole thing with some stupid gesture.”
The last things she said were very quiet, but I heard them anyway. The bathroom dungeon was the only place you could do anything in the apartment without everyone else hearing every little movement.
I stripped off all the rubber. I was smelly and sweaty, but I hadn’t been told to wash. My collar was hanging on the wall, but I didn’t put it on. I had the feeling I would never wear it again.
Master Lucas stalked into the room. Immediately I dropped to my knees and looked hopefully at his crotch.
“Get up and get dressed slut,” he said and walked out again.
I guess I wasn’t to be naked after all. I pulled on fishnet stockings, a little vinyl skirt that would flash my pussy and a pink cotton t-shirt two sizes too small that didn’t quite reach to the skirt. It was tight enough that you could see my nipple rings if you were paying attention. I slipped my feet into a pair of cheap plastic high-heeled sandals. I was dressed in three minutes flat and clattered out into the hallway where Master Lucas and Mistress Sarah were waiting for me.
Master Lucas grabbed my wrist and dragged me towards the end of the hallway. I felt a sense of dread as we approached the door. People outside wouldn’t want to see somebody like me dirtying their neighbourhood. I remember how I had nearly started a fight before with my terrible whore-speak.
I was afraid of the angry stares and the looks of disgust and contempt I knew were waiting for me. I was afraid of people noticing my run-down body, my dandruff riddled, badly trimmed bob of hair, my eczema scaled skin and my sunken bloodshot eyes. Along with my revealing outfit they would have every clue to the sort of person I was. They’d be wrong though, I was far worse than they were ever likely to guess.
They would never suspect the things I’d done to please my mistress. The worst things were not acts of debauchery, such as the time that Mistress decided to educate me in toilet-play; though that was something burned into my memory as a low point. No, the worst things were the acts of cruelty. The worst – though not the only time – was when Mistress had been unhappy with Monica’s English lesson and had ordered me to suspend her naked in the bathroom and shock her with her own machine until she screamed herself hoarse. Naturally, I had been obliged to pretend I enjoyed doing it to her enormously.
I didn’t see Monica for two days after that. When she did show up she moved in a stiff, pained way that I was all too familiar with from my own injuries. It wasn’t as if she’d ever been nice to me, but it was one thing I felt bad about doing. Things I did to myself, well I deserved them. I wasn’t sure what Monica deserved, even if Mistress said she knew. Though she recovered after a week or so, I still carried the memory very clearly.
People couldn’t suspect what I’d done, but the sky could, the plants, the objects in the street, birds, animals and the silent accusing windows. I was terrified of going out there but Master Lucas dragged me by the wrist to the elevator and down we went with me shivering in dread.
I stumbled out of the front door of the apartment building into the blazing heat of a hot Sydney summer day. This was one of those rare days when the humidity was down and there wasn’t a trace of cloud. I felt my skin prickle and burn in the few minutes we spent walking to Master Lucas’ car.
Mistress Sarah carried all the baggage, and she was loaded down. We had to wait for her to catch up. Lucas put me on the back seat and handcuffed me to length of chain that was locked to a bolt in the floor. Mistress threw the bags into the boot and climbed in beside me in the back.
“I’d better keep an eye on her,” she said.
“Good idea,” Master Lucas said, shoving his own bag onto the front passenger seat.
Heavy traffic meant that it took a long time to get out of Sydney. Once we’d done that, another hour or so of driving took us to Master John’s farm. To call it a farm was probably misleading for it was simply a house on substantial acreage of property with a couple of outbuildings.
The land all around was uncultivated and might have been fit for goats in favourable weather. In the peak of summer it was a dry bushfire waiting to happen: nothing but dead grass and sparse groups of gum trees. It lay off an unpaved road that bumped us around in the car for miles until I thought I would throw up, and had a long driveway that was made entirely of fine choking dust.
When we arrived at the house Master John was tinkering with his Holden ute. I had seen many vehicles like it on the drive through Sydney, but his differed in that it had a tall ‘van-back’. In the back of Master John’s van was a mattress covered in various unsavoury looking stains and a number of empty beer and soft-drink cans. A hasp and padlock had been added to close it, and the windows that had once been present in the rear doors had been replaced with steel panels. I later learned that he had sometimes used it as a mobile workplace for the Korean girls, and at other times kept them locked in there because he didn’t want them hanging around his house in Sydney while he had guests over.
I looked around for Monica, Keiko and Noriko, wondering if any of them had also been brought to this desolate and isolated spot. I was not to be disappointed, but I was disturbed by what I saw.
There was a shed not far from the house which looked like it might have been intended as a stable for horses at some time. It had two big water tanks next to it. Built directly onto the shed was a kind of gigantic wire chicken run made from the tough wire-fencing that Master Lucas mentioned was suitable for containing pigs. This cage was around ten meters on a side and was roofed as well as walled. The main posts were made of substantial looking steel beams. There had been no attempt to do anything special to the floor, which was just the same ground as all around, but with fence around it.
Sitting miserably in this pen were the three girls, but dressed in strange leather boots that came up past their knees and strapped onto the corsets they wore. Their bare arms were fastened behind them with wrist and elbow cuffs that attached to a strap forming an arm-binder. This was attached to a heavy leather collar, which joined the corset at the back and also had straps at the front too, leaving their breasts bare.
“How’s it going?” Master Lucas said, greeting Master John, who put down his tools and turned away from the engine of the Holden. Their conversation was in English. I could make out some of it, the rest I have made up based on my guesses of what was happening.
“Going good. Yourself?”
“Good,” Lucas answered economically.
“See you brought Miss Lemon Face with you?”
“Oh you love me Johnno,” Mistress Sarah laughed.
“Yeah. I love you riding my fat cock Honeybuns.”
“In your dreams lover boy,” Mistress smiled.
“This thing giving you trouble?”
“Running a bit rich is all. Want a beer? Tins in the Esky,” he gestured towards a blue box sitting in the shade from the house.
“So, how’s the pony business working out?” Master Lucas asked.
“Take a look. Not started training yet. Still figuring out the vehicles and that… So you brought your bitch?”
“Yeah. Don’t fucking kill her. I want this thing to go down like we planned. Fuck her all you like, do whatever you want. I don’t care how badly messed up she is as long as there’s something for that witch to save.”
“Put her in with the others. There’s tack for her in the shed.”
“Oh, tack is it Johnno? Aren’t you the country gentleman?” Mistress said.
“I got a spare set for you too Sarah darling. You want to just try it on? You know, to make sure there isn’t a problem with it or something. I’ll let you out again, scout’s honour.”
“No. Best not. You should probably try it yourself if you want to learn how it’s done.”
Master John didn’t answer, he just laughed. He wiped his hands clean on a rag and went over towards the box with the beers, the conversation apparently over.Chapter Twenty-Eight – A Little Less Human
Master Lucas gave me a shove towards the shed and I walked over to the doorway. The door was open and it was dark inside after the brightness of the afternoon sun which was doing a good job of burning me despite being past its peak. Master Lucas and Mistress Sarah were showing signs of reddening too. Sarah had a big floppy yellow sun hat, like girls wore on the beach, but her arms were still showing red.
She came into the shed behind me. It smelled like it had been damp for a long time but had dried out recently. There was a lingering musty smell. There were other smells: fresh leather, animal feed and horse shit. There were cobwebs everywhere and I was afraid of the spiders that Australia was famous for. At the far end was a wall covered in tools with building materials such as wire and fence posts stacked up.
“Strip off, you won’t need those clothes again, just leave them in a corner,” she said.
I did as she asked while she inspected the tangled mess of leather that Master John had hung off the back of the door.
“That bastard wasn’t joking about a spare set,” she hissed. “If he wasn’t Lucas’ mate I swear I’d kill that fuck right now and save us all from the shit he’s going to bring down on us.”
I pretended not to hear this. Sometimes she forgot that I could often understand her English.
She shook out one of the boots and handed it to me.
“Making sure no spiders inside before you put them on. You should always check that out here. Here… These were made for you. They are your size, though they are adjustable.”
The boot was tough brown leather that laced up the back. There was a gap behind the knee and then another set of laces for the thigh, and rings at the top for the suspenders to hook into. The strangest part was the foot part, which had no heel and formed a kind of hoof shape at the toe. The hoof was shod with an actual horseshoe.
I slipped my leg inside the boot, nervous after her spider comment. There weren’t any though. My foot slid down inside the boot. It was well padded inside and supported my heel somewhat. It was like a high-heeled shoe that had lost its spike, but with more sole to stand on. They were heavy to lift up and I thought they would be exhausting to stand in as well.
Mistress Sarah helped me do up the laces.
“These are new boots. They are going to hurt you until they wear in, but you mustn’t complain.”
I couldn’t understand why she would say such a thing. I was always being hurt. To a great extent it seemed to be what I was for. I had never complained of it previously as that was simply a way to ensure I would be hurt some more.
“Sorry Mistress. I won’t complain. Whatever you and Master Lucas choose for me I will do eagerly. I only wish to serve. If I am to be a horse now, I will do my best.”
“Horses do not talk Suki.”
I knew better than to answer that.
“Yes, from now on you must not speak. Neighs and whinnies are the only sounds you should make because you are a horse. You may make other sounds that a horse makes if you are able. This is a hard path, even for those that choose it for themselves and it requires delicacy and dedication to care appropriately for ponies so that they are not pampered as humans but are still kept healthy and strong. Johnno has neither of those qualities so you are in for a hard time. This will end soon enough. Bear that in mind over the coming weeks. Whether or not you remain a pony in the future, you will not be in John’s care for more than a couple of months at most. Lucas won’t be here much, but I will be here most of the time. I am neither able nor inclined to treat you like a human, but I will try and ensure you are properly cared for, as any animal should be.”
She helped me fasten the second boot. It was not a quick or easy job due to the number of eyelets to lace. I fitted the corset to myself and she pulled it tight behind me. It also had to be fully laced from scratch as it had no front closure. It was tough brown leather and had much less give than a rubber corset. The boning was very stiff and springy. It was cut under the breasts at the front but rose up to form the collar at the back, which was also boned. In a sense the décolletage was one big key-hole, but in practice it felt much more like an under bust corset that happened to have a separate posture collar attached to the back. Extra straps fitted between the collar and the front of the corset, framing my breasts and squeezing them together to create the impression I had a cleavage; they didn’t seem to serve any other purpose.
There were numerous rings and attachment points all over it, including one in the small of the back and another on the front of the collar. It was fairly plain that there would be no kind of covering for my sex at all, and it would be open to the elements. Considering the current weather I was worried about getting sunburned there, which would be agonising. It would be almost impossible to avoid burns either there or on my bum, and I anticipated I would get both.
Once the corset was fully adjusted, Mistress handed me two long gloves. On closer inspection they weren’t really gloves: they had no separate fingers or thumb and when I pulled the first one I found that there was padding inside where the hands were meant to go, so there was definitely no hope of gripping or feeling anything. The leather was stiff and the sleeves were boned so that simply pulling one on was enough to prevent me bending that arm. The boning was enough that I doubted it would fall down or come off. I couldn’t get the second glove on by myself and Mistress helped me.
Once my hands were encased in the gloves, she attached the arm-binder to the back of my collar and then pulled my arms behind my back. Rather than locking, the long cuffs of the arm-binder had to be laced closed. This served to ensure there was absolutely no way the gloves could come off. The two wrist cuffs were joined as one piece, and even without the elbow cuffs they forced my elbows very close together. Laced from my hands upwards towards my elbows, the knots were completely out of reach, and there was a panel with a zip to hide them too, but I didn’t have the use of my fingers so it seemed like overkill. Given the bother in putting all this on, it was clear I would be bound this way for more than a few hours.
The elbow cuffs were more decorative than anything; again long pieces that laced closed around the tops of the gloves, covering much of my upper arms in a second layer of leather. They were permanently joined by a short chain, but it hung slack. When the arm-binder was clipped onto the chain it pulled it tighter, and once the wrist cuffs were hooked onto the binder I discovered that if I relaxed my shoulders completely, or pushed them out straight it pulled on the collar, tugging my head back in a manner I found unsettling. The extra straps on the front mitigated this a little, but not much. It would have been more practical if there had been a single one in the middle.
Obviously, the outfit was a kind of fatigue punishment and that there was no way to stand in it that wouldn’t be tiring. The idea of running in it seemed completely impossible, but from what I could tell from conversation between Master Lucas and Mistress during the drive, that was what human ponies did. Not only did they run they pulled buggies and such. It would be hard work … that was certain.
Despite her apparent surprise at Master Lucas’ plan, Mistress must have known this was coming because she had made me spend a lot of time on the treadmill building up my legs. My arms were still weak and skinny, but my legs were quite firm and muscular. Perhaps she hadn’t known and the exercises had been directed by Master Lucas all along? I had no way to know the truth of it, and it would be foolish to speculate beyond the obvious.
I had been prepared for this and it would help me. My owners were always thinking of me and ensuring that the best things were done for me. I was grateful to them for bothering. Look where making my own decisions had got me? Sometime I would get doubts, but such thoughts were dangerous stupid things that could only do me harm and I had got much better at suppressing them lately.
Mistress undid the bolts on the door into the pen and held it open. I wobbled through, still getting the measure of my boots and she closed it behind me. I heard the bolts snap back into place. The door looked strong and sturdy: the pen would be quite secure.
The girls were crowded into the tiny patch of shade, sitting on the dry grass. There was no room for me. I had to stand, leaning against the shed to get some cover from the sun. My boots heated up but that was alright.
None of the girls greeted me or said a word. Then it occurred to me that they couldn’t: like me they were forbidden to speak. I had a gut feeling that a single human utterance would be punished with the most severe gag available. With all the endless swarming flies, if it happened to be a ring gag… I didn’t want to endure that for anything. Nobody was going to say a word here.Chapter Twenty-Nine – Limited Options
So I just stood there, getting tired and bored, working on my sunburn and trying to keep the flies off. The latter was impossible. Australian flies are barely discouraged by a determined attack, so there was nothing I could do to get them off me once they’d landed but try and rub the offending part against something. The flies would simply relocate to different spots on my body. They never seemed to give up and there was an endless supply of them. The other girls seemed to have admitted defeat and simply let them crawl all over them, sucking at their sweat or whatever it was they wanted to do. I figured that I should probably follow their leads because I would end up doing the same as them eventually anyway.
Looking around the pen, there was a water trough, which could be tipped down at one end to active a valve to fill it. Other than that, there was nothing. Once I saw the wire close up I was sure that it went deep into the ground. I could only guess how far it went down, but somebody had used serious earth moving equipment to dig a trench and fill it in. There were marks from heavy tracked machinery around the pen, and the trench itself was obvious.
Apparently, Master John took his pen-building seriously. I could imagine he had tested how easy it was to dig under that wire. It would be impossible without making a massive hole that would take days to dig and he would see instantly it was started. There was no way over the wire because it extended over the top to form a complete roof. The wire itself was unforgiving stuff. I wondered if perhaps I could kick a hole in it with the hoof boots if I were persistent. He had probably tested that too, and was far stronger than I.
I never seriously contemplated escape of course. Even if we’d been left to run free in the fields where would we have gone? I couldn’t see another house in any direction. The only hope would be to follow the road. The driveway itself was several miles long, and the dirt road we’d travelled to get to that had only one other exit on it that I could be sure of. From my rough estimates it would be twenty miles walk to the nearest dwelling and there might not be anyone there.
Master Lucas had observed that most of these farms were abandoned, belonging to city folk who’d bought them as investments and holiday homes. I guessed it was thirty or forty miles to the highway, but I really had no idea. Even if it was only half that distance, dressed and booted as we were, unable to carry any water, and in the summer weather, we would be lucky to make it. Even if we set off at sunset, we would still have a distance left to go by dawn. Unless the weather changed, we’d go down with heatstroke before we even reached the highway, though of course we would be caught before that could happen.
Those were the practicalities of escape. The other side of it was the fear. All of us were terrified of our owners, especially Master John – in my case simply from his reputation – so we would never dare risk upsetting them with such an extreme transgression. It was certain that an escape attempt would carry the most severe penalties that could be devised at the time, probably involving something permanent and physical.
Personally, I would never consider disobeying any instruction and it was implicit that I was not supposed to run off. I lacked the ability to think seriously of escape, never mind the will to attempt it. All my studies and estimates of how it might be done were only to convince myself absolutely that it was a plan bordering on insanity so I would not be made unhappy with false hope.
By the time I had taken in everything else, Masters Lucas and John had produced a table with a sun-shade and settled down to watch us while drinking beer. Mistress Sarah was nowhere to be seen.
“This better be worth it. Those chicks kept me in beer and blow jobs for a while now. It’ll be a shame to see the back of them. What am I going to do to keep busy?” Master John said. He liked to speak loudly and his words carried. There wasn’t a trace of breeze to cool us, and I could hear him perfectly.
“Don’t worry about it. The sale with the bitch is going to go down like we planned. She has a habit of rescuing hard done by sluts, especially when this pony thing is involved. Normal situation you’d be pushing it to get ten a piece for those skanks, but you should get at least fifteen from her. That’s forty five grand in your pocket and you can grab some dumb bitches fresh off the plane to replace them. Hell, you could snatch regular tourists and bring them out here … sell them back into the scene when they’re all trained up and the heat is off. Once you get the hang of it you can make a lot of money with a place like this,” Master Lucas said. “Hell, there are even crazy subs that would pay to come here and play at it.”
“I didn’t mind things how they were. It was the easy life. This feels like it’s going to be work. But you know the old game is starting to get bad for my health? I’m not as quick with a knife as I used to be. Getting old.”
Mistress Sarah emerged from the house. She’d changed her clothes and was dressed in a loose cotton sun-dress. She still had the big hat. She looked so ordinary. The three of them looked like regular people just sitting down to enjoy a beer outside on a hot day.
“It is going to be hard. You’re damn right. You can’t leave them in those outfits for more than a few days without checking them and airing them out. A check every three days would be best, but as there’s four of them, we may as well check one a day and keep it simple.”
“I want to argue with you just to shit you, but I reckon you’re right,” Master John said.
“If you want to get these girls to run properly and pull as pairs or a team in any reasonable amount of time, I’ll have to show you how, and out here there are a lot of problems. So many insects… If something that bites crawls inside one of those corsets those girls are going to panic and hurt themselves. They’re as edgy as real horses and upset by a whole different set of things.”
“Sure. I hear you. We’ll pull one into the house every night, strip her down, check her over then use her for entertainment. Satisfied?”
“As for our special delivery, she’s got piercings that aren’t completely healed. If we don’t follow the regime she could get sick.”
“You planned this from the start. You put those piercings in her on purpose so you could argue we should pull her out,” Master Lucas said.
“No I didn’t. I had no idea you were doing this pony thing. Besides you pierced her tongue. You could have said something.”
“I didn’t because I don’t care. She can stay out in the field and eat shit for all I care. If she gets sick we pump her full of antibiotics and that’s it. She gets the same treatment as the rest of them, or worse. It’s part of the plan.”
“Now I’ve seen what you did with her tits I want to do all of them, rings round their cracks too… It’ll look proper hard core,” Master John said.
“Are you kidding me?” Mistress Sarah said.
“No. Lucas knows how to do it right. They’ll be fine.”
“Out here in this filth? I doubt it.”
“Ah bollocks, I seen those tribesmen on TV, and the fucking abbos, they do that kind of shit all the time out in the bush. They’re fine.”
Mistress Sarah buried her face in her hands.
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“It is a bit risky, but it would mean that Suki stands out less. I think we should do it for that reason, but we have to look after them up to a point. They’re no use to us dead,” Master Lucas said.
“Oh, don’t tell me that you’ve turned into a pussy too? The shit I’ve done to those girls and they aren’t dead yet. For fuck sake mate, that cunt has got you acting all touchy feely. No offence yer’Ladyship.”
“You’re out of line there Johnno. You’re telling me that Sarah’s got me by the balls? You’re telling me that I’m a pussy? Have you been doing your own meth? Or is this just some chickenshit scheme to get at her through me?”
Master John gave a laugh.
“Nah. Just funning’ with you. Relax for fuck sake. We’ll take it how it comes. Sarah darling is in charge of all pony shit until I know what I’m doing. I got no beef with that. I know I don’t know shit about this game. I’ll learn though, no worries.”
By that point I was too hot and tired to keep up the struggle of following their conversation any further. Some of what I did hear I didn’t really understand. The truth is that I could only guess at a lot of it. It wasn’t long before they went inside to continue their conversation. I probably shouldn’t have listened because there was nothing I could do about any of it and anything I heard could only serve to make me anxious.
When it started to get dark, Master John came out with a huge pot of cold sloppy porridge and poured it into a trough on the ground. We had to fight each other and the ants to get our share of it. Afterwards we were covered in it. Though we didn’t dare to speak we took turns licking each other clean rather than have the ants come after it.
It was difficult to sleep on the bumpy ground, but I was an expert at sleeping on hard surfaces and the cool night air had caused most of the flies and ants to be replaced with mosquitos. There had to be some water nearby, perhaps a river or stream?
We slept crushed against each other for warmth, though the night was not cold it was still cool enough to wish for a little more heat and the ground that had been burning hot earlier cooled down fast.
I had thought I would be terrified to be outside, and at first I was, but I had no choice about it: it was just another thing I would force myself to love.
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story continues in Betrayal Chapter 7: Do Girls Love Ponies?