Betrayal Chapter 7: Do Girls Love Ponies?

by AmyAmy

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© Copyright 2013 - AmyAmy - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f+; M/f+; D/s; bond; armbinder; rope; susp; harness; gag; bdsm; electro; bdsm; torment; stables; ponygirls; cart; outdoors; force; oral; anal; denial; sex; climax; cons/reluct; XX

(story continues from )

Part Seven Chapter Thirty – Do Girls Love Ponies?

The next morning we woke up with the sun, or slightly before it. It wasn’t long before Mistress Sarah emerged and fed us with cornflakes and milk in the trough. Compared to my usual meals it was a feast. As we were finishing up eating, Master John came out to watch everything that Sarah did, though he never said a single word the entire time.

“Ponies, unlike slaves, may make their feelings known any way they choose. It is a pity that they are animals and cannot speak,” she said as if it were for Master John’s benefit. “It is the rider’s job to make sure that the pony behaves. A pony that escapes its driver’s control should be punished to discourage it, but not severely. An animal cannot understand severe punishments. Mistreating an animal only serves to make it skittish and unpredictable.”

One at a time, she took us out of the pen and attached a long leash or rein to the collar of the girl in question. Monica went first. Mistress used cracks of her whip to encourage Monica to run around in big circles around her.

“This rough ground is not easy for ponies to run over and they take time to become accustomed to it, but they must also learn to pull together, which means they must maintain a consistent speed and effort. If they cannot do that they will pull each other over and get hurt,” she said, as if addressing nobody in particular. I supposed it would be silly for her to talk to us because ponies cannot understand English. “I don’t think I will try to put teams together today.”

My turn came last and when I was running I found that Mistress was very firm in making sure I kept moving, and if I ran too fast or too slow I would get a touch of the whip against my leg or arms. Both were covered in leather so it was no worse than a sharp sting, but it was enough to remind me that more was in store if I hesitated. It was exhausting work, even though she didn’t bother about our style; how high we raised our knees or anything like that. It was hard enough just to keep running on that rough ground in those awkward boots. I began to wonder what proper pony-girls were like and how they would manage here.

All I knew of ponies was what I’d heard in the car, and what I’d lived through so far, which wasn’t much in either case. It seemed the general idea was that girls were dressed up in revealing or restricting outfits, possibly with horsey trappings, possibly with decorations, and made to pull buggies or carts, solo, in pairs or in larger groups. They were made to live as much like real horses as possible, and kept like animals. They were denied the use of their arms or hands, denied speech completely, and made to run on their toes, sometimes with hoof boots, or other difficult footwear, sometimes without. The most amazing part was that some people volunteered for and enjoyed this.

I didn’t think the pony life was for me. However I had fallen into it, and I would survive it, no matter what happened: that was my plan and my motto. I had repeated it silently in my head so many times over the past weeks that it was burned into my heart. I really didn’t see the appeal of sleeping outside, getting bitten by mosquitos and flies, getting harsh sun burn in the day and chilled at night. I didn’t get a thrill from eating and drinking without the benefit of my hands.

There was a certain silent camaraderie between us, but there was just as much aggressive pushing and jostling, especially when it came to positions in the shade, for food, or for sleeping. It had already occurred to me that we were free to kick and bite at each other but I hadn’t seen this happen yet. I imagined the time would come. I had plenty of time to think as Mistress Sarah trained the other girls, and then it was my turn again. We all had two turns and by that point it was starting to get hot and she made sure we drank plenty of water and then she disappeared into the house with Master John.

There was no sign of any of our owners until later afternoon when the worst heat had gone out of the sun. I had no idea what they might have been up to. Finally Master John emerged from the house and let himself through the shed into the pen. The other girls ran away from him and so did I. They had been here a few days already and had already learned some horse habits. As ponies we were allowed to run away from our owners. I was starting to see there were a lot of differences in the way we were expected to behave. If I’d done that as a slave I would have been punished immediately and hard.

Johnno chased us about until he cornered Noriko and clipped a leash onto her collar. He used it to drag her into the house. It’s hard to fight against someone who can yank you by the neck. The way these collars fit into the rest of the outfit meant that they could really be used to drag us about. Doing the same with a regular collar would probably have inflicted a neck injury.

Master Lucas came out with our evening feed, but there was no sight of Noriko. I wondered if she was having a nice time in the house. When we were in there, were we slaves or ponies? I was intrigued to find out.

Mistress Sarah brought Noriko out in the morning. She fed us and put some ointment on all our sunburn and sunblock on our pussies and bum holes. It was nice to feel her touch again. She used pieces of carrot to lure us to her hand so she didn’t have to chase us. I loved the sweet taste after so much bland food, and the big trough of cornflakes was heaven too. I had never imagined ponies would get to eat better than people. I think the other girls liked it too. Previously, I don’t think Master John had ever troubled himself to make sure they had enough to eat and they were all very skinny.

So, after a couple of days, things settled into a pattern. Master Lucas drove away one morning, but that was the only change. We ran in circles all morning, ate well and suffered miserably from insects and sunburn. Then it was my turn to be taken into the house. I was disappointed that Master Lucas would not be there.

Chapter Thirty-One – Deal With The Devil

The house was a single storey high, with a sprawling ramshackle plan. It was built of wood, on a wooden frame. There were roughly sawn exposed beams in the ceilings and almost as many cobwebs as the shed. The floor was made of bare wooden boards, though there were some rugs in the bedrooms and the bathroom.

The lighting was poor, with feeble little bulbs. There was no mains electricity or water. Water came from three plastic tanks behind the house. Power came either from batteries or a diesel generator that Master John would start up from time to time. We could hear it from our pen, running at odd times. It seemed that sometimes it could be hard to get it started and his furious curses carried to our pen when the wind was still or blowing the right way.

There was no indoor toilet and I suspect that flushing one would have demanded too much from the water tanks. The outhouse was made of sheets of corrugated steel and contained a wooden seat over a very deep pit that stank worse than the pony pen. Part of the stink was insecticide, which served to keep the flies, roaches and spiders under control. The outhouse was the only place free of cobwebs. I was curious about the dim lights when Mistress brought me inside. I had expected the house to be brighter inside. I couldn’t help staring at the odd looking low-voltage light-bulbs with their feeble orange glow. I noticed there were unlit candles and storm-lanterns set in various strategic places too.

At first my leash was clipped to a hook in one of the roof beams. Master John was cooking bacon and eggs. The smell of fresh bread came from the oven. The delicious food odours made my mouth water uncontrollably and I kept swallowing. The wood-fired cooking arrangements made the kitchen unreasonably warm. Mistress stripped off my outfit without saying anything until she was almost done. She gave me some pills to swallow.

“No horse antics now. You are to be on your best behaviour. I still don’t want to hear a word from you though. It’s better if you don’t break the habit. However, I expect you to follow instructions.”

She replaced my pony collar with a regular slave collar, though not the one I had worn before, and once again that was used to secure me. I had to watch as they ate their meal. Towards the end Sarah let me have some little pieces of her food though I remained hungry.

Master John glanced up at me.

“No point ruining your appetite for cum eh? Is there slut?”

I didn’t provide an answer.

As soon as she was done eating Mistress took my leash and we went to her bedroom. I spent a long time pleasing her there. I was sleepy and it was already long past my accustomed bedtime. I thought I would be allowed to rest afterwards, but Master John came banging on her door.

“Hey, it’s time for my turn. Share and share alike Honeybuns.”

Mistress sat up, pulling the bed clothes up to cover her naked body.

“Off you go then.”

I hopped out of bed and scurried to the door.

Outside Master John roughly grabbed my leash and led me to his room.

He spoke good Mandarin and bad Cantonese with an Australian accent. He didn’t care if I spoke English or not, so we used whatever was easiest when we were alone together. Monica had said he spoke some odd Taiwanese dialect, Korean and more than a little Vietnamese. However, he had nothing good to say in any language.

He had me kneel to deep throat him and then he threw me face down onto the bed and fucked me in the bum. He slapped me now and then, and generally made a show of being rough, and he liked to bite. He was strong and it was a little scary, but I didn’t feel frightened or cry out except to make sex noises I knew he would like. It wasn’t all bad to be in the hands of a strong man, and no doubt about it, Master John was strong. He was muscular, with a hard, well-tanned body that showed a number of serious scars; not the sort of light scarring I had, but evidence of serious wounds.

If I’d been an ordinary girl I might have described Master John as a brutal rapist, but as I was a slave I had given my consent to have anything done to me; rape was conceptually impossible. I expected him to be rough with me. I thought under the circumstances he wouldn’t do any permanent damage, which was the best I could ever hope for.

“I really hate an obedient slut,” he complained. “A girl should put up a fight so I can enjoy punishing her.”

I was quite sure that there was no need for him to create excuses for punishment. This was just his way of setting the scene for some act of sadism. He seemed agitated, and sitting around so much with so little to do was beginning to get on his nerves. At the end of his bed was a box of ropes. Was this his favourite pastime? Holding a bundled rope in one hand he paused to stare at me as if planning how he would make the tie. I understood how bored he’d been when he was fucking me, even while he was dreaming of acts much more cruel. There had been something else in his mind, but finally he was paying attention.

“You won’t resist of course? So soft and obedient. You’ll let me tie you even though it hurts. Don’t worry… I won’t do anything that will stop you running tomorrow.”

He kept on staring and the dim lights that cast long dark shadows across the room.

“You didn’t get worked up when I fucked your ass. You fake a great orgasm, but I knew you weren’t really that into it. I was thinking you only like it with chicks, but now I can feel the heat coming off you from here. What they said was true. You really are into this shit aren’t you? You can’t get excited unless you’re in tight restraints and it hurts, right? I was too gentle with you before?”

I didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to care.

He began to tie, looping the rope about my waist, pulling me closer to him with it. His fingers moved like lightning. He was an expert in this game. He made a kind of waist cincher from rope coiled round and around me. My arms were folded behind my back, bound together, and then pulled up towards the ceiling by a rope that ran through a D-bolt screwed through the roof beam. One leg was tied up, leaving me to balance on the other. A network of ropes tightened about my body, gripping me tightly round the waist, the chest, and with ropes tight against my crotch, pinching my clit and cutting into my pussy then dividing and going up over my bum cheeks.

I struggled to keep the weight off my arms but the ropes wouldn’t let me breathe properly: tighter than any corset they restricted my chest and my belly. He slid his hands all over my body once he was done, feeling his ropes, testing his work, feeling my soft flesh contained and squeezed out between the ropes.

“Bitch, this is just the start. I’m going to make you talk. See, I have a lot of questions for you, so Sarah’s silent rule just don’t work for me, understand? Don’t worry. Sarah doesn’t need to know you broke the rules unless she hears you screaming.”

He put a heavy object down on the bedside table with a thump. It had a row of yellow plastic caps along the top and was about the size of bag of sugar.

“That thing you fucked up Mona with? That ran on double-A batteries. This is a twelve volt motorcycle battery and I’m going to hook it up the same way and use it on you. Used wrong it could kill you just like that. Stop your heart and goodbye cunt. Sarah won’t see the marks because they’ll be inside you. So no matter what you think you should do, you’re going to scream for me. Yeah, you are so going to scream. And then you’re going to give me answers.”

“There’s no need,” I whispered.

“What was that cunt?”

“There’s no need. I’ll tell you everything … anything. I’m not brave. You don’t need to torture me unless you want to. But what could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“You know something. Maybe you don’t know what it is yet. I haven’t figured out which of your two fuck buddies Lucas and Sarah intends to screw me over first. Or do they plan to do it together? Lucas has done alright by me in the past, but everyone has their price right? There’s something big twisting everything out of shape here and the only thing that does shit like that is a great big pile of money.”

“No. Not Master Lucas. He stood up for you. Mistress Sarah doesn’t like you. She didn’t want to come here. She wanted to keep me in Sydney. They never sounded like they were out to get you.”

“Really? I know those trust-fund fucks look down on me. They think I’m just an ignorant lower-class grunt. Well, I’ve been around and learned a few lessons. They won’t catch me sleeping that’s for sure. So much about this deal smells off that I almost didn’t sniff out that the most rotten part of it is you. What’s so important about this Dehlia chick buying you? Why is Lucas so hung up on it?”

“It’s a trap for her.”

“How is it a trap?”

“Master Lucas is going to set it up like she kidnapped me and set the police onto her.”

“That fits with a few things. Funny he didn’t mention it to me. The story I got was that it’s all about making money. The police won’t do shit to her over you anyway. I don’t care what fuss he makes, nobody gives a fuck about some dirty whore out of Hong Kong.”

“Lucas has a way to make it matter. They’ll have to act.”

When I think back on this it seems odd that he was unaware of the extent my kidnapping had been in the news, as it turned out to be quite common knowledge. I guess he never bothered with newspapers or television and he had access to neither when he was out here. He’d probably seen it once and assumed that was all of it.

“What way? Let me guess, you used to be somebody, or still are somebody?”

“You’re very clever Master.”

“Don’t patronize me bitch. So, maybe I could ransom you back, make some money myself?”

“It’s not like that Master. It will only work with the police.”

“Fuck it! Between Marcus and that Dehlia chick it’s all turned upside down lately. All everyone in the scene talks about is Marcus this, Dehlia that. Association blah blah blah. What’s the fucking big deal with those two? There’s money, drugs and slaves moving like the world’s about to end… Other stuff too, weird shit I don’t know what to make of, but people are willing to pay for it. Writing’s on the wall that if you aren’t hooked up with the Association in the future you are going to be out of business. Why?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about either of them. All I know is that Master Lucas and Mistress Sarah are very respectful of Master Marcus.”

“You call him ‘Master’? Have you met him?”

“No. But if he’s my master’s boss, he’s a master.”

“I figure that might be true. He hasn’t been here, and you don’t seem like you’ve been around much, no you probably never met him.”

“Please. It’s true. I have no reason to lie. I’m telling you the truth. Everything.”

“Are you? What if you thought I was going to fuck up your plan by selling out your master to Dehlia? You might think that I’d do that?”

“No. No Master. I don’t think that. Please believe me. I only think what I’m told to.”

“I almost believe that. What did Sarah say about me?”

“She doesn’t think you know much about ponies. It’s obvious how she feels about you. You don’t need me to tell you that. She said you are unstable. She thinks you are going to lose your temper and do something bad to us… Maybe to her too.”

“Interesting. Interesting… See, Sarah and me, we go way back. Lucas doesn’t know it but I used to hang out with Sarah back in the day when she was the meanest, cruellest dom in the Oz scene. We weren’t exactly intimate, but there was respect there. There wasn’t a thing she didn’t know about pain and some of the things she did were pure artistry. Funny thing is that she looks the same as she ever did, and she sounds the same as she ever did, and she still fancies little Asian chicks, but there isn’t anything else the same about her. It’s like it ain’t her. Understand?”

“No Master, I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“For a start, the old Sarah would have been thinking of throwing you on the too-old pile. The old Sarah would have stuck a ring gag in your mouth and a speculum up your cunt day one you arrived here, just to see if she could get the flies to lay eggs in you. She would’ve knocked my teeth down my throat for taking the piss… So you tell me, what the fuck happened to her to turn her into this bleeding heart bitch from the health-and-safety commission? Did Marcus do that to her? How? Why? What the fuck has he got on her?”

“I don’t know Master. I don’t know. She’s always been the same to me.”

“Bitch, tell me something that I can use or I’m just going to shock you anyway.”

“Sometimes… Sometimes she says things like she was a slave once.”


“She hints stuff was done to her, that she knows how things feel. I thought that was just her history. That everyone knew. It doesn’t match your story.”

“It sure as hell doesn’t match. If you’re making this up I’ll take a fucking nail gun to you.”

“It’s true Master. It is. I mean I’m not completely certain. I might have been mistaken… It was just hints. I don’t–”

“Shut your hole,” he said, abruptly silencing me.

He sat down on the bed to think. My words had really caught him off guard. I didn’t know what to make of what he was saying. I had learned that the way he acted was a lie though. He played the part of the hot-headed but simple straightforward bloke, but he was a lot smarter than that. If he was really a hot head he’d have started torturing me before that. Once I thought about it, I realised that I’d be worried if I was in his situation too.

With nothing else to hold my attention the sensation of the ropes started to take over my thinking. I wondered if I could get an orgasm out of them if I just put myself in the right frame of mind. It wouldn’t be hard to move just so, here, there, making the ropes rub on my clit. I couldn’t get much stimulation on my nipples but I was getting hotter, really starting to get something moving.

The ropes were such a simple thing but I had never felt so naked and so restrained at the same time; they dramatically limited my breathing and they had no give at all. Mistress Sarah had put me in various corsets, including a ‘waist-training’ one that had been made especially for me, and a heavy rubber ‘discipline’ corset. Some corsets made it harder to breathe, or forced me to breathe a certain way, but mostly it was a matter of comfort.

The waist-training corset was the tightest around my belly and made diaphragm breathing all but impossible, but it was an under-bust type and did nothing to impede movement of the ribcage. It forced me to breathe by heaving my chest up and down in a way that created the impression I was more aroused that I really was. Mistress liked to see me in it and I had a suspicion that even Master Lucas liked the effect. I became used to it after a couple of days and no longer even noticed I was doing anything special.

Despite the appearance of a heavy bondage item I always found that the discomfort of rubber corsets was in the stickiness and not in the tightness. The stickiness means that a rubber corset is always hurting you one way or another.

When my hands were free it was hard to stop myself continually fiddling with a rubber corset, trying to unstick it from one spot or another. If worn over a rubber suit then the corset wouldn’t stick to that, but the suit would stick under the corset. However, even the heaviest rubber discipline corset had enough give that it couldn’t prevent a sudden deep natural breath. In contrast, the pretty fabric corsets were far more restrictive and did not stretch at all. However, even with this restriction they were more comfortable to wear long-term, and were just another piece of clothing.

The ropes were far worse than any corset. The coils tightly wound around my belly limited my diaphragm breathing to small painful gasps and the network of knots around my chest and shoulders made it difficult and painful for my ribcage to raise or expand. I could feel the ropes cut and scrape at me every time I tried, and I could not stop myself from testing their limits without concentrating on taking short quick gasps of air. It just wasn’t enough to stop me feeling light headed, what with the strain of having to stand on one leg, partially bent over. How could I think of cumming at a time like that? Better to ask how I could think of anything else?

I felt a sharp slap on my bum and Master John’s hand pinching my clit so that I squealed.

“Don’t think that I’ll let you cum you slut. You’re actually enjoying that tie. What a fucking waste. I should keep you for myself and screw this shit. Between you and Mona I’d be in cunt heaven.”

“Sorry Master.”

Then I felt him slathering my bum-hole in lube. The cold sensation was soon replaced with the feeling of his penis sliding inside me. His powerful fingers gripped my nipples, the skin of his fingers rough as sandpaper.

I moaned weakly as he shifted inside me. I could hardly breathe at all. The ropes cut into me as I struggled for air.

“Yeah, you weren’t feeling it before but you’re heating up now. Don’t worry bitch I’m going to make you remember me one way or another.”

He slid a hand down my body and I felt his touch on me, pressure on the ropes, then touching me again. He pulled my waist against him and forced me back against his muscular body. Then he slid his hand down, forcing his fingers between the ropes, dipping them inside me, a trickle of juice seeping out to run down my leg.

“Seems a shame to waste that,” he said.

He wiped my wetness off on my thigh and then lifted me up, his hand hooked into the ropes supporting me. From this position he could bounce me up and down as he wished, and with each bounce a shock of pain shot through my shoulders. He fixed his teeth on my shoulder, biting down hard enough that I let out a strangled whimper of pain. I didn’t want Mistress Sarah to hear us and interrupt.

I wasn’t really in the room then, I was lost inside my head, the pain, the grip of the rope on my nipples, the fingers on my clit, all conspiring to take me away. I could feel the tension starting to build inside me. It wouldn’t be long… Just a little more.

Then, without warning, he pulled out of me, let go, then grabbed me by the arms and span me around. I was looking straight down at his erect penis that had come straight from my ass. I dreaded that he might pull my lips down onto it, my buzz disappeared in an instant. There was a sharp sting as he slapped my face.

“Didn’t I tell you not to cum?”

He snarled at me, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my face up, my gaze meeting his involuntarily.

“A disobedient cunt needs a lesson.”

He took me in a violently passionate kiss, deliberately bruising and crushing my lips with his teeth. His fingers pinched my jaw, forcing my mouth open and his tongue probed inside my mouth, exploring, finding the metal bar embedded in my tongue.

“It won’t do to have you blabbing to Sarah about my questions, whether you told the truth or not. But I can be your friend or your tormentor, it’s up to you. One word to Sarah, I’ll deny everything and have you punished for lying. I will demand it. But, as you were so forthcoming I’m not going to break all your fingers or give you a second hole through that dirty little tongue of yours. You see, I can be quite reasonable after all? I can be positively fucking magnanimous.”

“Thank you Master,” I whispered. “I won’t betray you if I can avoid it but you must break me if you wish to ensure my silence. I would not dare bargain with a master but I cannot promise what is not mine to give. I do not have the will or the right to make promises. If I am ordered to speak I will speak, and if I am not, then I will be silent. I have no loyalty. Whoever has me in their hands owns me. I can no more keep your secrets than I could Mistress Sarah’s.”

What was I saying? Did I want him to kill me or inflict terrible injuries on me to ensure I would not speak of what he had done? If the compulsions they had placed on me were endangering my survival it was all for nothing. Just as I had predicted with Monica, I had become a thing that would beg for her own servitude if shown freedom and offer herself eagerly up for suffering if she thought a master or mistress would be amused by it.

“What a sick bitch you are,” said Master John. He gave a cold chuckle. “No. Sarah will never ask you to break your silence. It would be bad for your pony training and she takes it so seriously. You may thank me by cleaning me up. Make it spotless because afterwards it’s going in your cunt.”

He adjusted the rope so that I could reach down to his penis. If I felt any revulsion, I didn’t show it. First I licked it as clean as I could, and in my mind it became the most delicious treat. It wasn’t easy balanced on one knee, still suspended by my arms that were folded behind my back – though the tie didn’t put all my weight on my arms by any means – my arms didn’t have much strength left in them.

“Look up. Look me in the eyes.”

I did as he asked, staring enraptured at his stone cold gaze, mouth agape as if I was hoping for him to make use of it. To stare up at one’s master in this way is perfect. I could do it for hours if he would let me.

“I like the look of you like that but get back to work.”

Then I took him completely into my mouth. He let me have my way, making no attempt to guide me. Master Lucas had taught me how to swallow it deep into my throat. It had not been an easy lesson to learn but by that point I was happy to do it, proud that I could serve as expected of a proper cum slut. Unless he wished otherwise, not a drop would go to waste.

He pulled out before he was done and shoved my head away.

“Clean enough.”

He pulled the rope back up, positioning me so that I was at a good height for fucking. With little regard for his ropes, he cut them away from my clit and plunged himself into me. He took me from the front this time. My eyes barely came up to his shoulder even if I raised my head. I didn’t think he’d kiss me after what he’d just made me do, and I was right.

He hooked his hands into the ropes on my back, making them even tighter and pounded into me and I made my gasps for breath as loud as I could. The idea of him making me cry out against my will; that he could make me produce sounds like an animal; the certainty that he could use me for his pleasure however he wished… They all served to take me to a place where I was able to turn it all into pleasure of my own. Even though he wasn’t giving me much clit action or even rubbing my breasts or nipples enough, I could feel that I would cum as soon as I sensed the same tension in him.

It felt as if I was floating over it all, looking down, though I wasn’t. I was able to see how all this was perfectly right. I’d been told all my life that I should behave this way or that way, been told that I was free. I’d learned that freedom was an illusion.

Other people had more choices than me, less difficult things they had to do to stay alive, less hours of terrifying stressful boredom between moments of intense pleasure and pain. It was just a matter of degree: some are more-free than others but we are all tied, all constrained. Others might have more choices but lived a less intense existence than me. This life – my life – was hard, but in comparison anything else was a pale shadow. I would never be free of fear but for a little while I could move beyond it.

Afterwards, he lowered the rope so that I could kneel on both legs, though my arms were still suspended, and then left me like that for the rest of the night. It was painful and sleep was impossible, but I was familiar with pain and lack of sleep. I didn’t waste energy on feeling sorry for myself and tried to rest as best I could.

Chapter Thirty-Two – Permission

A few days later it was Monica’s turn inside the house and I had resigned myself to another evening with the other ponies, sleeping on the ground with the sewage stink from the latrine corner of the pen making my stomach churn. I was surprised to see Master John heading out towards the pen and instantly worried about what it might mean. There was no chance at all that he was heading out here to give us a treat and every certainty that somebody would suffer horribly because of it. I prayed that it would not be me.

The fear was enough to make me struggle into a crouch and hurry to pee before he got into the pen. I was afraid that he was coming for me, and of what he might do if I lost control of my bladder while in his care. I was just finishing up when he burst through the door into the pen with his teeth gritted and brows furrowed. He grabbed hold of one of the leather straps on my outfit and yanked me to a standing position. Dragging me behind him he returned to the house without speaking a word.

I was thankful I’d had the foresight to empty my bladder because I surely would have embarrassed myself. Every day that passed I found my fear of Master John increased a little more. It wasn’t the big things; he always found small ways to make me wary of him. Only the day before he had rammed the base of a beer bottle up inside Monica and made her run around the track. We all knew that if she fell the wrong way the exposed part of the bottle might smash and fill her pussy with jagged shards of broken glass.

I imagined that if it had simply fallen out that Master John would have inflicted some gruesome punishment on her. There was little chance of that of course, she was dry with fear, and the brutal insertion alone must have been agony. That was yesterday. Now he had his sights on me, it seemed. As we entered the house I heard the sound of feet and the slam of a door. Mistress Sarah had taken herself away to her room.

Master John pushed me into his room making me stumble. I managed to fall against the wall and didn’t crash to the floor. It was easy to fall hard with my arms bound behind me and it happened often enough. So far I’d been lucky to avoid any broken bones. Monica was bound in a mass of tight rope-work, suspended from the ceiling, her arms twisted up behind her in a reverse prayer. It was a similar tie to the one he’d used on me. She wasn’t gagged and whimpered quietly in pain between gasps for air. I remembered clearly how rope bondage could take away the ability to breathe properly.

Without speaking a word, Master John began to strip away my pony uniform. He seemed to take pleasure in doing it slowly, while Monica dangled in ever increasing distress. She had been left one leg to support herself, but she was obviously exhausted and could no longer do so. At last I was completely naked. I didn’t know what to do with my hands at first. It seemed best to hold them behind my back, as if I were still in the arm-binder.

Master John grabbed my jaw with his hand and then took me in a rough kiss that left my cracked lips bleeding. He grabbed a handful of my breast and squeezed it so that it hurt a little. I didn’t mind it at all. He twisted the nipple between his fingers, flicking the piercing back and forth. I found to my confusion that I was becoming wet. When he pinched the nipple again, and then the other, I was already past the point where it really felt like pain.

He didn’t continue his play, instead turning his attention to my arms, rubbing life back into them. His treatment wasn’t gentle but it was effective. I rolled my shoulder feeling the stiff muscles catching and popping as they moved over each other. I tried not to think about what wearing the arm-binder long term was doing to me.

“This slut beat you in a competition once didn’t she?” Master John said.

I didn’t know if I should answer. I nodded my agreement.

“I want to hear you say it. Admit it in your own words,” he said.

I didn’t dare hesitate. I said whatever popped into my head.

“This slut beat me in a pussy licking competition. She cheated and then she told the others how to cheat. She is a better cunt-licker than me but she cheated anyway.”

Master John seemed to like that I seemed to resent her. I didn’t really feel that way at all, but I had been right to guess he would prefer it.

“Were you punished for losing?”

“Yes Master. I was punished at length.”

Master John reached over to his bed and picked up one of the torture implements lying on it. He selected a short leather whip. It was the sort of whip that would bruise as well as sting. I struggled not to tense for the blow I was sure would come. Casually, he laid a stripe across my naked behind. The leather wrapped itself around my leg, leaving a weal that cut diagonally across both buttocks and right around to my inner thigh. I gave a small gasp, trying not to cry out without permission.

“Here,” he said, handing the whip to me. I took it in my hand. His blow to my bum hadn’t surprised me in the least, but to find myself holding the whip left me stunned. I almost dropped it in shock. Thankfully I didn’t. I dread to imagine how he would have responded to a mistake like that.

“Alright bitch. I want you to give this slut here twenty of your best. When you’re done, if I can’t see a good pattern on her tits and ass then you’ll get twenty as well.”

I moved to a good position to strike, making sure there was no chance I would get the whip anywhere near Master John on a back swing. I paused and changed my position again. I wasn’t sure how to start.

“Don’t fuck around,” he said. He laughed to himself. “You don’t feel guilty do you?”

I shook my head.

“Good. If I give you a knife and tell you to stab her, you better open her up like a fish, else there will be worse for you. You don’t have any choice. You’re not going to fuck about any longer are you?”

I knew that if I didn’t hit Monica right away I would be in real trouble. Without even taking time to consider where I was aiming for I swung the whip at her as hard as I could. It landed on her belly, curling around to her back. She let out a grunt of pain. Her eyes were screwed up tight. I didn’t dare give myself time to think. I swung the whip back and aimed right at her breasts. They were squeezed out between the ropes, red and swollen. The blow knocked her off her precarious balance, leaving her hanging by the rope harness, the cords digging tight into her crotch.

She didn’t have enough breath to shriek as she scrabbled to regain her footing, only to lose it again as I wrapped the whip one and then twice around her buttocks. The tears were streaming down her face. I didn’t let myself see her. If I let myself remember she was a person I’d be lost. All I saw was a horrid mixture of flesh and ropes – an animal that grunted and yelped – a thing that I had to beat to save myself.

It was hard to aim the whip and I couldn’t make it go where I wanted. I’m sure I did more damage than I needed to with my ill-directed strikes. I didn’t hold back. I knew that if I used anything less than my full strength. My arms were weak and nothing else but my utmost effort would satisfy him. When I was done the weals from the start of the beating were coming up as angry red stripes. Master John walked around her, studying the results of my handiwork.

“Not bad for a first try. Pity you can’t hit for shit. Don’t matter, for what comes next you’re strong enough.” He nodded towards the bed. “There’s a case underneath. Pull it out and open it.”

I knelt down and dragged out a heavy old leather suitcase. When I looked inside I couldn’t understand what I was seeing at first. Then it clicked. There was a pair of rubber panties with built in dildo and anal probe, both made of silvery metal. There was a wooden panel with a switch and a pair of knobs on it, and the motorcycle battery he’d shown me before.

It was an electroshock kit.

“Put the pants on,” he said.

I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking as I got the pants untangled and started to step into them.

Master John laughed.

“Wait. Stop. I’ve changed my mind.”

Taking his time, he began to unfasten Monica’s bound-up leg. Clearly, he intended for her to wear the panties. He had probably intended it from the start. That he had given me a scare was probably just a bonus to him.

“Ok bitch. Use the lube and slide them into her.”

I remembered from Monica’s description of the electro-shock gear she’d used on me that if it was dry it could burn the skin, so I slathered on as much lube as I thought Master John would let me get away with. The pants were heavy rubber and were difficult to pull up Monica’s legs. My hands felt distant and clumsy. I was starting to shake. I had to get a grip on myself. It wasn’t the fear of the shock treatment that I’d avoided, it was the aftermath of what I’d already done to her.

My numb slippery hands struggled to settle the panties into place and Master John made an impatient noise. I bit my lip, hard. Tears were streaming silently down my face. I felt dizzy, detached from everything as if I were floating away. Master John came up behind me and put a hand over each breast, trapping my nipples between his fingers almost incidentally, though he squeezed them tight. The piercings made the sensation more dramatic. I felt his teeth on my shoulder, gentle at first, then hard.

The bite he gave me on my shoulder hurt enough to make my cry out, snapping me back to earth. He stepped away as I finally got the panties pulled up tight around Monica’s crotch. Master John connected the wires from the panel to the panties, and from the panel to the battery. He twisted both knobs fully to the left. There was no doubt in my mind about what he had planned.

“Pick up the control box and turn it on.”

I didn’t dare delay. The box was heavy. I cradled it in my left arm and used the right to flick the big toggle switch to ‘on’. I looked to Monica, expecting her to twitch in pain, but she didn’t react.

“Twist the knob on the left clockwise a bit. Not much.”

I did as he said and this time something happened. Monica began to twitch every couple of seconds or so.

“Dial it back just a bit.”

I turned it back a bit, and Monica’s twitching reduced to something like once every four seconds. It was obviously uncomfortable for her, but I could see she wasn’t really in pain yet. Somehow this was much easier than the whip. Even if I had to hurt her seriously, it would probably still be possible for me to do it.

“Now the other knob, real slow, start turning it. Slow, slow, slow…”

I twisted it as slowly as I could, barely moving it. Even so, after fifteen seconds I could see the look on Monica’s face had gone from exhausted resignation to real terror. The jerks her body was making now were vicious and I could tell she was hurting. I suspected she knew what was yet to come.

“Stop,” Master John said. “Right. Turn it off.”

With an ill-concealed sigh of relief I flicked the switch and Monica stopped twitching. Master John took a large sized wiffle-ball gag and forced it into Monica’s mouth. The straps cut into her face as he buckled it tight. He turned to me again.

“Turn it on,” he said.

My hands were shaking again, numb and distant, like bunches of fat sausages. Nevertheless I could still work the big toggle switch. It gave a loud click and Monica’s misery resumed.

“Start turning again. Keep going until you hit the stop,” Master John said, his instructions dissolving into cold, hard laughter.

I turned the knob, not quite so slowly this time. I figured that if I turned too fast he would punish me, but the quicker I got it up to the maximum, the less awful anticipation Monica would have to endure. He came up behind me and began to finger my clit, his rough fingers surprisingly gentle. His other hand found a nipple, again his touch frustratingly soft; deliciously so. Or perhaps he was as rough as always but I was simply numb to it.

I felt myself becoming wet again, pressing myself back against him as I turned the knob, and with each little increment, Monica’s suffering increased. If it hadn’t been for the ropes I can’t imagine how she would have flailed about. Master John slide a finger up inside me, his thumb on my clit, and the knob kept on turning. Monica was starting to look as if she might break the ropes, or herself, and if not a limb, then her neck. Her legs thrashed wildly every four seconds, with each pulse. She had lost the ability to support herself long ago.

The knob hit the stop and I closed my eyes, savouring the feeling of Master John’s thumb on my clit. It felt like my nipples were wired directly to my crotch. My wetness was running down the inside of my leg.

“Open your eyes cunt. I want you to see this,” Master John’s voice demanded. It was sharp and loud. He was speaking right into my ear. As if to remind me, his teeth fastened on to it. He pulled his hands away from me, but I could feel he was working on his trousers.

“Now the other knob, start turning it up.”

I felt his rock-hard penis slide easily into me as I turned the other knob. He pumped into me, increasing in speed, and Monica’s thrashing followed suit, until I rather quickly ran out of room to turn it any further. I’d hit the stop. In front of me Monica was writhing in so much pain that she couldn’t even scream. She was making a horrible gurgling noise. I knew if it went on she would probably suffocate because there was no way she could breathe with what was being done to her – but his cock was pounding into me – and now his hands were back on me too.

“Turn it off,” he said. It was a moment before the instruction registered and I snapped off the switch. It took a few seconds for Monica to sag down into the ropes like a broken doll. I wondered if the order had come too late and she was dead. A few seconds later she gasped for breath. She was still alive.

He continued to thrust into me and I could feel the tension building up inside – the tightness that seemed to come from my belly – at first slowly, and then in little waves. As they began to intensify he bit down hard on my ear.

“Turn it on again,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

From the tell-tale desperation of his thrusts, I could feel that it wouldn’t be long before he came. I tensed up as hard as I could, holding my breath, desperate to cum too. Yes! The next wave pushed me over the edge. Master John bit me on the shoulder yet again. I was covered in his bites. He bit me hard enough to draw blood, but I was riding the wave, pulse after pulse of wonderful orgasm. I didn’t care at all that Monica was tearing herself apart in front of my eyes.

Master John kept himself buried deep inside me, enjoying the waves that were massaging his cock through no special effort on my part. Lazily he reached around and snapped off the switch on the panel. When he finally took Monica down and let her out of the ropes, she was still shaking and twitching. It was obvious that something was wrong with her; hardly surprising given what I’d been made to do to her.

Indifferent to Monica, and obviously confident she was in no state to stage an escape, he dressed me in the pony gear and took me back outside to the pen. As he was about to take me into the shed that formed the gatehouse between the field and the interior of the pen, he turned and grinned. Then his brought his finger up to his lips as if warning me to be silent.

What was I to be silent about? Ponies weren’t permitted to speak, but there were other ways to communicate. Did he want me to keep quiet about what he’d done to Monica, or more likely, had the whole thing been a lesson of what might happen if I mentioned the conversation we’d had on my first night with him?

Monica was returned to the pony pen the next day, but she couldn’t stand and had to be excused the day’s training. She improved gradually over the next few days. Her hands, when they were unbound, always trembled. Like me, normally she wasn’t allowed to speak, but later it become apparent that her speech had become slurred. I suppose she had suffered some kind of little stroke, or something equally horrible. I knew it might only be a matter of time before I suffered similar treatment, or worse.

Chapter Thirty-Three – High Risk Occupations

Mistress Sarah dressed me and took me out to the pen in the early morning and I ate breakfast from the trough with the others.

Once Monica was more-or-less recovered, things settled into a regular pattern for a few days. I was taken into the house twice. Master John tied me up and fucked me vigorously each time. I began to anticipate the visits to the house with ambivalence. It was painful, but also a welcome relief from the dull simplicity and boredom of pony life. His sex practices raised a new worry: Master Lucas had never put his penis in my bum or pussy without wearing a condom but Master John did not use one at all and I was afraid of catching something, or getting pregnant, or both.

The pattern was broken when Mistress Sarah brought out the sulky. As far as I could tell, this contraption was something ugly that Master John had made, though it wasn’t crude or amateurish; it just had his ugliness about it.

The sulky had two large bicycle wheels fitted with brakes. There was a complicated suspension and a single seat. It had a long steel pole extending from the centre, with a shaped bar across the end and attachments for hooking onto two ponies. The front of the bar was supported by a sort of dolly wheel arrangement, which seemed to be needless extra weight because it would be held up by the ‘ponies’ anyway.

I can imagine that if the sulky had been made of sophisticated lightweight materials it would have been much easier to pull and therefore much safer. Sadly, Master John’s competence appeared to be in welding steel and as a result the Sulky was comparatively heavy for its size. Mistress Sarah did not ride in it. Instead she hooked us into it in pairs and ran along behind it, despite this being very hard work for her – though not as hard as it was for us – she clearly preferred it to sitting on the thing.

The first pair was Keiko and Noriko. It didn’t take long to figure out why Mistress was reluctant to ride in the sulky. Though it didn’t look very sturdy it was heavier than it looked and they found it hard to get it moving. If they slowed or stumbled, it had more than enough inertia to knock them off their feet and drag them. If one of them made a misstep it was certain the other would fall too.

I understood the purpose of the dolly wheel when they stumbled for the first time. If it hadn’t been for the support, the pole would have driven the girls face-first into the dirt. With their arms bound they would have been badly hurt. As it was, the dolly helped hold them up long enough for them to regain their feet. The third time they stumbled, the whole thing tipped over on its side. If Mistress had been a passenger it would have been much worse.

It was already apparent to me that if being a sulky driver was risky, being a pony practically guaranteed some eventual unpleasant injury. Even with the support at the front falls would be a constant risk. With their arms bound behind them, Keiko and Noriko were absolutely unable to protect themselves and had little ability to recover once things went wrong. When they were finally allowed to stop and returned to the pen, they were covered in dirt, dust, bruises, cuts and scrapes; shivering with adrenalin. Noriko had hurt her shoulder – I couldn’t tell how badly – and was helpless to give it any relief. She curled up on the ground to cry and whimper.

Before I could offer any kind of consolation to Noriko, Mistress had the harness on me and I was dragged out to be hitched to the sulky with Monica.

Even without the hitchings, the harness we wore for training was oppressive. There was a crown strap that was adjusted so it sat on the forehead, with straps hanging from it that extended down the sides of the face and joined onto two large metal rings. Attached between the rings was a hinged metal bit, coated in thick rubber, but metal nonetheless. The rings also had two straps that buckled together under the chin, holding the crown in place and two more that buckled behind the head so the bit couldn’t be pushed out. I had to be very careful to keep my tongue piercing away from the bit as it could conceivably become caught in the hinge.

The long reins attached to the large metal rings, allowing the driver to pull on the bit. The reins were worrisome and put a lot of weight on my neck. Though it was possible to bite down on the bit, my head could be yanked about viciously by them, with only my strength and the leather posture collar to protect me from resulting injuries. The idea of having these on me while I was harnessed to the sulky was terrifying: in an accident it would be all too simple for the reins to snag with potentially lethal consequences. I understood then how easily a bad driver might cause serious harm to the ponies, and also how expert we would need to be to avoid injury.

Short straps from the bar clipped onto my corset, and a broad strap was pulled tight around the back of my waist, pulling my waist tight against the curved and padded bar, transferring weight onto my hips. Even when Monica took half the strain, I could feel the heavy metal of the pole dragging me down. I imagined that with a driver there might be some balancing effect, reducing the weight of the pole and dolly wheel, but the thought of that extra inertia behind me was disconcerting.

I felt the whip snap behind me and I started walking forward, trying to judge Monica’s movement. I thought we would fall right away, but we managed to recover and set off walking at a slow regular pace. The force required to move the sulky pressed hard against my middle, the shaping of the bar wrapping around my leather corseted waist. Walking sounds easy doesn’t it? It isn’t when you have to pull one of those things behind you over uneven ground, you’re balanced on your toes, and your arms are strapped tight behind your back.

The training tracks had apparently been made by Master John back in winter. He’d dug trenches roughly six inches deep and ten foot across and filled them with tons and tons of rough gravel of similar colour as the surrounding dirt. This gravel had then been dusted with concrete powder and watered down, before being rolled as flat as he could make it.

Months had passed since he’d done this, and the tracks were already uneven, potholed, overgrown with weeds and with little water courses cut into them. It seemed that six inches of gravel was not enough to make a stable road, and in many places there was less depth of gravel than that. Master John had clearly been under some pressure to get this work done quickly and he had cut corners where necessary.

The kidney shaped track was close to a thousand metres in length, with some portions more hazardous than others. We had grown used to navigating it unhitched with Mistress chasing us. Pulling the sulky around it was much harder work. We walked for the first couple of laps and nearly fell twice, saved by the wheel both times. Then Mistress cracked the whip again, and we knew it was the signal to jog.

Moving faster the chance of an accident escalated dramatically. The second time around at jogging speed Monica suffered a spasm – as she still often did – throwing me off balance. My foot caught and I felt my legs whipped from under me. I was yanked forward, smashed in the gut and winded. I had no idea what happened after that. I think my weight had pulled Monica off her feet; the bar had twisted and flipped the sulky. Once it was rolling, it kept going until it was upside down.

We ended up on our backs, staring at the sky and listening to the sound of the sulky wheels slowly spinning to a stop. It sounded as if they were on another world. I struggled for breath, trying to find it. An unyielding, waist compressing corset makes the experience of being winded ten times worse and I thought I was going to suffocate.

When the panic eventually began to fade I felt the aches and pains reporting in from every part of my body. My knees had been dragged along the gravel, my head throbbed, my shoulders were wrenched and my neck felt as if I could hardly move it. Mistress unhitched us from the sulky and dusted us down, pouring water over me, which trickled down my face and ran inside my corset, pooling somewhere inside. She left us there, unsecured, as she ran into the house.

I looked at Monica and she looked at me. She was crying and one of her eyes was starting to close up from swelling. There was a stinging cut on my head. I could feel blood was running down my face and I could also taste it in my mouth. The pain in my mouth was worsening. The hinge of the bit had scraped the top inside of my palette. I didn’t think any teeth were broken or loose but I wasn’t sure and I couldn’t check. I never considered trying to run off. I don’t suppose Monica did either. We were hurt, and stunned, but even if we had been fine we would have stayed. Our prison was all around us and inside us too: there was nowhere for us to escape to.

Mistress and even Master John came running out of the house. She was carrying a heavy bag. My head was soon bandaged up and we were given various pills. My head was pounding. We were taken to the rarely used trough outside the pen and given plenty to drink while Master John righted the sulky.

“Not sure this training wheel is helping,” Master John said.

“Without it they’d have been eating gravel. We’ll have to keep it until Lucas gets back with the hoods.”

“Your call.”

Hoods? That didn’t sound good either. After a few minutes more rest Mistress strapped us back into the sulky harness and the whip cracked behind us. We never dared hesitate for a minute. Master John remained to watch the rest of the session. After that we only made a couple of short jogs and most of the time was kept to walking pace. We had never got up to a full run.

When Mistress put us back into the pen she looked across at Master.

“The spring clips on the reins didn’t work. They’re supposed to break free if there’s any strong pressure, but Mona took some whiplash. Can you fix them?”

“No worries. I’ll come up with something new. Probably got in some position where they wouldn’t work. Don’t want my girls’ necks getting busted. Tell you now, they’re a fucking mess. If this is doing it right then I don’t want to know what it’s like when you fuck up.”

“We need the hoods at least, but the outfits aren’t good for training. If they were experts running on soft grass they’d be alright, but for this ground and their level of skill we should have had something with more support and protection,” Mistress said.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to lose my investment.”

“I can’t believe that the Association has created a genuine market for slaves, let alone ponies. A few years ago I would have said it was a fantasy, like something from a John Norman book. Now… You’re really going to sell them?”

“What the fuck else? Your boss didn’t pay me a fortune to build this place. It’s got to make money.”

“Marcus paid for this?”

“Yeah. I guess so. You think backhoe hire and road topping are for free? New outfits aren’t going to be cheap and it will be out of my pocket.”

“Don’t worry about your money. The hoods will do. You won’t need new outfits, but we could have done better. Nobody asked me how to design them. Who came up with these anyway?”

“Who you think?”

“You made Mona do it? Made her design her own pony outfit?”

Master John laughed.

“Yeah. Sure. Who else was going to do it? Lucas? Me? You have a good sense of humour.”

Chapter Thirty-Four – Little By Little

I had a terrible headache for the next few days. We continued training with the sulky, but we only rarely went beyond walking pace. We practiced stopping and starting over and over until it became second nature. Once we had that down Mistress took the driving position and we had to learn to deal with her weight in the sulky. She could control the balance by leaning forward or back, and the upward and downward pressure of the harness became a new way for her to communicate with us. She rarely used the whip after that.

“I don’t get this shit,” Master John said on one occasion. “Why don’t you just use noises to control them, like a real horse?”

“There is a tradition of isolation helmets with earplugs in pony dressage,” Mistress explained.

“Fucking weirdos.”

“It’s supposed to demonstrate the complete trust and obedience of the pony by making them completely dependent on the driver. There are even blindfold events.”

“You going to train ‘em for that?”

“I doubt there will be time. It normally takes at least two years to get a pony team ready for that sort of thing.”

“All that knees up bullshit?”

“That’s not entirely bullshit. It’s a way to keep the speed down while give them a physical challenge. If ponies ran flat out all the time, serious accidents would be commonplace. Think about it… Up until now most of the girls in this scene have been part-time volunteers. If they thought they were going to break their necks they wouldn’t show up.”


“There have always been sadists who do things to girls against their will, and pony eventing was one way they could show off their victims in public without being found out… Or still is.”

“So, we’re sadists right?”

“What are you talking about John?”

“You think these girls want to be here?”

“We could ask them, couldn’t we?”

Master John gave a huge laugh.

“Sure, go ahead. A head toss for yes, and foot stamp for no. Come on Skippy, tell us where little Benny fell down? Do you want to be here? Are you happy with your life as ponies? Do you like a fat cock up the ass?”

And of course she asked us if we liked being ponies and every one of us nodded eagerly. Not one of us was stupid enough to think that saying no would go unpunished. Before the conversation could go further, the dust plume from an approaching car appeared on the horizon.

“Lucas is back,” Mistress said.

“Yeah. Looking forward to seeing these hoods.”

They penned us up and went back to the house.

In the evening, after feeding, Mistress fitted our hoods, though they were as much helmets as they were hoods. They were heavy leather affairs, padded like a boxer’s head protection. They had open faces and long necks that combined with the existing posture collars of the corsets to limit head movement even further. I felt how it was boned at the back so it was very hard to tip my head forward and all but impossible to tip it back and look up.

Once it was laced in place I realised that it also restricted my peripheral vision significantly due to the padding around the eye area. Combined with the limited movement I would have to struggle to look about me. Strapped into the sulky harness I would have to rely on the driver’s commands more than before to anticipate conditions and turn correctly. More worrying, I would have almost no ability to see Monica and it would be much harder to pick up on her movements and pace.

When I fell asleep that night, I wasn’t thinking about the hood. I was thinking that it had been weeks since Master John had allowed me to speak a few words. It was longer still for the others. I wondered – two years – what would it be like to go on and on without ever speaking? I hadn’t noticed it before: it had crept up on me. Being denied speech for so long was wearing away at my sense of self. I thought I had felt low and worthless before, but I had begun to feel so insignificant that I wondered if I could maintain the idea of me through months more of it.

Between the monotony and the lack of speech, I had stopping thinking about much and days were just drifting past. All that was left was the simple physical company of the others and the nights in the house that were becoming increasingly important to my anchor on reality. What if they took them away? Would my humanity simply die of boredom so that one day the words of my captors would be unintelligible to me and speech would be a forgotten thing?


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