HORSE
OF A DIFFERENT COLOR |
by
R.H.W. |
Joanne and I had been playing together
for three years when we started to hear the rumors,
murmurs and hints. Something called “The Festival”.
The way that we heard it, back in the Thirties
in Idaho a couple had bought half of a county and
made it into their private playground. They didn’t
buy every lot. They didn’t buy it all at one time.
They were smarter then that.
But over time they came to own the hills,
the valleys, the streams. The police, the courts,
the mayor. Then, eventually, they bought all the
rest. On their terms. And that was how they created
The Festival. The rumors said that every summer
an entire town became a place where the play became
real. Slaves who ran away were caught by police
with nightscopes and electric prods and brought
back. If a punishment went too far a local hospital
would fix up what they could and the dominant would
be brought to trial by a true jury of peers.
We had to do it. Even though we lived halfway
across the country. Even though free weekends were
scarce and actual vacations were rare as hen’s teeth.
It took two years to get approved and more paperwork
then a mortgage, but we finally headed off for a
long weekend to see what it was like when the chains
didn’t come off at the end of the day.
Nobody was allowed in until they had proven
that they would commit to a full dominant over submissive
life. In fact, even the provisions for emergencies
maintained the established order. Dominants held
all the medical records. All phone calls, no matter
how urgent, were routed through the appropriate
dominant. The dom decided whether or not to involve
their sub.
To complete this, all subs had to sign
a durable power of attorney giving full rights to
their dom. Terms were clear amidst the pages of
legal jargon. For the duration of The Festival,
subs agreed to be legally minors, incompetent to
judge their own affairs and with their doms fully
empowered to decide how far things would go.
Nobody would decide to do this casually.
Just going through the interviews and signing the
papers was a terrifying thing.
We got there about eleven o’clock on a
Friday morning, past two visible check points and
a fifteen minute drive through roads with signs
reading: Do Not Trespass - Violators Subject To
Lethal Enforcement Means.
At the last checkpoint our retinas were
scanned, checked against the three retina scans
we’d each put on record in the previous six months.
And each of us was implanted, then and there. A
quick painful pressure against one thigh and a small
transmitter was in place. And mine gave out the
signal to every device for miles: Animal.
Because that was what we had chosen to
do. I would become her pony, her submissive, pulling
a small carriage along winding country roads in
harness and bit, while she sat back, open to the
summer breeze, and enjoyed the sight and reality
of me at the end of a harness, trotting and pulling
at her desire. She would see what it it really meant
to hold the reins. I would learn to obey crop and
command.
We pulled into a dirt parking lot on a
breezy spring day to see a few dozen other cars,
a few just arrived as others got their things together.
From a distance it looked like the parking lot at
a small beach, nice cars pulling in under the sunny
sky, couples getting out, gathering their stuff
from back seats and trunks. A second glance showed
a different view. Leather was everywhere as was
wicked-looking chrome, bronze, and steel. But so
were more permanent things. I glanced up just as
one sub walked past with what looked to be electrodes
implanted under his skin. Wires trailed before him
like lines from a docked ship, gathering together
in the confident hand of a woman who could have
been the head of a suburban PTA if it weren’t for
the implacable air of command in her eyes.
While Joanne pulled our bags from the trunk,
I stripped, my clothes dropping into a small pile
at my feet, and put on items I knew well. My collar
was an old, familiar one, after several years of
regular use it felt as right as an old polo shirt
as I buckled it in place. I felt that warm sense
of shifting roles, the feeling of being under command.
Subject to orders but also safe under someone else’s
protection. It felt strange to be naked in public
like this, a warm wind along every inch of me, but
having seen others wearing no more, I told myself
that this was like a nude beach and that I should
relax and stop worrying.
On my feet I put special heavy leather
boots, bought the week before, with steel cable
for lacing and a lock at the top. Small holes along
the sides covered in fine, tough, metal mesh let
them breath. A good thing, since once these were
on they were designed to be kept on for as long
as a few weeks. We had only signed up for a four
day stay, but I still followed the included directions
and covered my feet in vaseline, then mesh socks,
then wool ones before putting the boots on. The
vaseline soaked right through and the boots slid
on smoothly, waiting to be locked. Next came a broad
leather belt with D-rings all around. Buckling it
in the back, I heard the D-rings jingle a bit when
I moved. The harness was simple, just some straps
along my back and chest to hold the carriage posts,
with front and back connections to my collar and
the belt.
We didn’t talk while we unpacked and prepared.
Joanne was changing her driving shoes for
boots when I said that I was going to go in search
of a bathroom. I turned to walk to the nearby buildings.
Her hand reached out and grabbed my collar before
I even had time to think. “Does my animal speak?
Presumptuous of it; that’s what I think.”
She spun me around and pressed me face
down against the hood. One hand held my face down
while the other started to fasten the locks on my
collar, boots and harness. “Animals don’t speak.
But some of them need to learn that, don’t they?”
She forced a strangely porous bit between my teeth
and I heard it lock behind me. “That’s better.”
“Now down with you.” She pushed me down
into the dusty ground and as I tried to cough through
the bit she explained things.
“You are my animal. You became my animal
the moment we passed the first gate. You will stay
my animal until this is over. Animals don’t speak.
Maybe once in a while one may be allowed a touch
of humanness and be allowed to speak but I don’t
see that coming any time soon for you at this rate.”
The streak of pain on my back was sudden,
inescapable. “Bad Striper, bad!”
Striper?
“That is for forgetting what you are.”
Another two blasts of sharp pain along
my back.
“And those are for resisting when I locked
you in.”
“Animals don’t use bathrooms. Since you’re
my pony you get to go wherever you stand.
But I strongly advise that you are careful
about what drops where and when.”
“You’ve been needing this. And I’ve been
looking forward to it.”
From here on in your name is Striper, your
only thoughts are to do what you’re told and your
butt is entirely mine.”
I felt something rigid pressed to my head,
shadows darkening the ground that pressed an inch
before my face. She had put me in blinders. I felt
as much as heard her snap a leash on my collar.
“Up.”
I rose and she locked my wrists to the
sides of the belt. Then she pulled out metal mesh
bags and fastened them over my hands. I knew to
stand straight and look forward so I only heard
some kind of can being shaken, then a cold foam
sprayed into the spaces around and between my fingers,
hardening in seconds into a solid rubbery mass.
Even if my wrists were to be unlocked from the belt,
my hands were now no more then paws. She walked
behind me, patted my behind, and walked away for
a bit. I stood, I waited. I could only see one narrow
area right in front of me but since she had pointed
me towards some trees, I saw only distant branches
and shadows. I adjusted to breathing through the
bit, which seemed to be hollow and covered in holes,
like a whiffle ball, allowing air through but keeping
my mouth open and my tongue pressed down. In a few
minutes I heard a firm thunk as the trunk was closed
and locked. Fingers dug into the strap behind my
head and I heard Joanne say, “I’m going to like
it here. It is time for me to pick my carriage.”
I walked along a path I couldn’t look down
to see, having to hope that she would see any problems
before we ran into them. Led by pulls and pushes
of my collar and then of the bit in my mouth, I
tried to keep from stumbling or going the wrong
way. An occasional hard switch to my side or back
taught me quickly what each pull and push meant.
I gave it my full attention, barely aware of sounds
and sights while I focused on the pressures against
my harness and blinders. We went along a wooded
path, walking quickly on gravel and asphalt, and
eventually coming to a clearing. I was guided to
an upright post and my harness fastened to it. Without
a word, Joanne walked away and left me there, naked,
gagged, handless, bound, and with my lead attached
to a pole on the edge of some sort of plaza.
I don’t know how long I stood there. Long
enough for my legs to ache and stiffen. Long enough
for me to start looking around and see others like
me, tied to posts or jogging along in harness in
front of carts of various sizes. Some of the subs
had been harnessed in teams, pulling larger carriages
or even flatbed carts loaded with boxes and materials.
I looked up at the sky and wondered if a passing
plane had ever come low enough to see this unique
village.
The plaza (and I would later learn, most
of the town) was mostly nineteen-thirties and fifties
Main Street in style. They had made changes here
and there.
Hitching posts were before every building,
Two sets of stocks were visible on a raised platform
as was a wooden x-shape large enough to hold a tall
man. There was some dust but the streets were mostly
asphalt with lots of rubber added into the mix to
minimize damage to unaccustomed knees, hands, and
bare feet.
An outdoor cafe had widely spaced tables
to allow plenty of room for both seated customers
and their subs, who kneeled or curled up on the
ground beside them, some with bowls of food and
water.
Clothing was a jarring mix. Over time it
would come to seem entirely natural, with t-shirts
and jeans mixed with formalwear, capes, and dozens
of varieties of harness, strap, and fixture. An
otherwise normal pair of jeans might have a discrete
hole in the seat to allow the adjustment of a butt
plug. The buttons of a shirt might be closed off
with a length of string, marking them as not to
be untied without permission.
Police, calm, well equipped, professional,
walked the town in pairs, checking the occasional
tag or fastening. Subs called over for inspection
came quickly and obediently as the police electric
prods were set to match the database entry on whoever
they pointed it at. Every sub was listed with a
pain index and whatever you could handle okay, the
prod would be harsher. On the streets was a mix
of trim, soundless vehicles and human-driven carriages,
moving around pretty smoothly.
I heard bits of comments, a fragment here
and there, that made it clear that some people lived
here, like this, all year round. They got jobs on
staff, moved in. As I saw how things ran, I saw
how it didn’t feel like a game here or playacting
but like being in a foreign country. Here, it was
natural, reasonable, expected, that some people
ruled and others served. Only those who willingly
surrendered their freedom served here, but, having
lost it now they’d obey or wish they had.
You see, the valley had no safe words.
This wasn’t a bedroom interlude where a couple or
a person did did something for a rise and then went
back to doing the dishes or watching sitcoms. You
looked around here and you saw that here you either
stood firm and commanded or you let go entirely.
And, you know, it gave a clarity to things. You
could see it in everybody’s face.
In what we called the “real” world, we
lived our lives pulling and pushing ourselves. we’d
bow and scrape with a client we didn’t respect.
Then have to be firm and commanding with staff while
just wanting to sit back and let them figure it
out.
But here it was different. Not a soul walked
these streets who didn’t know where they stood and
what they could expect if they strayed.
Having felt miserably vulnerable when Joanne
left me, I was a lot more settled by the time I
heard her voice behind me and felt her touch on
my harness. “Yes, this is our first time here. How
about you?”
With her there, other people’s speech was
an irrelevant murmur to me. Only Joanne’s words
meant anything.
“No, just a long weekend. It was a struggle
even to get that many free days all lined up in
a row.”
“Yours is nice. How did you train her to
walk like that? Mmm. I’ll have to try it sometime.
Oh yes, indeed.”
She led me down shady streets, past swiftly
glimpsed buildings, to a large doorway. We went
in and I was put to the side again, hitched to a
new post, side by side with others all strapped
up like me. There in dark shadows, with the blinders
and the glare from the sun outside, I mostly just
heard the shuffling and mumbling of the others.
I could hear one man crying, scared-sounding through
his gag, trying to catch his breath, saliva bubbling
through in his panic as he tried to draw an undoably
large breath or exhale all the way.
I was gripped by other hands, my lead was
loosened, and they took me to stand between two
posts, the traces of a carriage. Just for a second,
before I was turned around and strapped in place,
I saw Joanne seated between tall wire wheels, holding
reins and watching me fastened to her cart.
I heard her take a map, discuss possible
drives. The reins were attached to my head and chest
and I felt them tighten and loosen as she adjusted
her grip. Then I felt them snap as she cried “haw!”,
getting me moving. I started forward, the harness
now pulling at my chest and shoulders as the cart
started to move. I passed under the door, my eyes
adjusting to the bright light when I felt a pull
to one side and we were off.
The cart wasn’t as hard to pull as I had
expected.
Joanne had had me jogging and stairclimbing
since we first heard of this so I was certainly
fit enough. The road was firm underfoot. I watched
it rush by below me, consumed by my strides, warm
from the summer sun. The air was cool, pulling the
sweat from me. And the posts of the cart and Joanne’s
commands made my world simple and clean.
She took me out to the woods and for the
next several hours I was her ponyboy just the way
I’d hoped for. But some of it wasn’t what I had
expected at all. Even though we’d played at dominance
and submission for years, it had been just that.
Play. Doing a scene at her place or mine, maybe
going to a club. Always for just a little while
and just a few feet from “reality”. There was always
that safe word and knowing that in a few hours or
less I’d be back in conventional life.
We were both self-employed,with crazy,
changing schedules, and hectic, last minute business
trips and somehow, the dominance and submission
stuff had just seemed like another part of how our
lives fit together. We picked up each other’s mail
when one of us was away on assignment, watered each
other’s plants, went to parties together, and our
leather playing was just a fun add-on to the ways
we counted on each other, vacationed together, played
together. But this wasn’t like that at all. I kept
wanting to say one of our safe words but the bit
in my teeth made it no better then a mumble. If
I paused for a minute, the sharp bite of her whip
got me moving again. The one time I tried to turn
in my harness she cracked the whip on my dick. Oh,
Jesus, that sure got me moving. She’d been preparing
for this trip too and it was really obvious that
she must have decided that I was going to learn
to obey her flat out and completely, without delay
or second thoughts.
Sometimes another cart would pass us and
I’d hear greetings going back and forth. Once a
rumbling cloud of dust appeared all around me, barely
leaving me to glimpse a large wagon with long double
rows of people in harness before it. Then I saw
a big carriage like something out of colonial days
and each of the people pulling it had been painted
a different color. A lot of them you hear coming
from the sounds of all the bells.
Finally she drove us to a stop at a grassy
spot by the road. I heard her call out “kneel” and
I gratefully fell to my knees, my breath jetting
around the bit, my chest heaving. In the midst of
all the confusion and fear and discomfort of my
condition, I was wrapped in the pulsing glow of
a runner’s high which slowly faded as I knelt there.
Leaning onto my traces, aching all over,
I still listened for every sound she made. Gravel
pressing into my bare knees, looking straight ahead
but tense with waiting as I heard her get closer,
farther. I could only guess that she was checking
the cart, the harness, maybe just looking at the
view.
When she came up behind me I held myself
in place. I felt a hand run through my hair, then
pat my head a few times. She caressed my chin, ran
her riding crop down my back, tapping it against
the small of my back, my butt cheeks, my thighs.
Every moment I waited for the whip to strike or
a new caress to come, intensely aware of every sound
and movement. I heard birds singing, insects, wind
in the trees. A beautiful day in the country, with
a bright view of grass and flowers in the narrow
space the blinders left me. Eventually she fastened
a leash to my collar, locked a two foot rod between
my ankles, undid the cart harness, and lead me away.
I stumbled behind her through the grass, watching
her hand for direction.
A concrete post stuck a few inches up from
the grass, with a couple of metal rings sunk into
it. She tied my leash to a ring and left me about
three feet of movement. Like at the start of the
day, she pushed my face almost into the grass and
held me there, dropping a plastic jug full of greenish
murky liquid in front of me. She took off the lid
of the jug, put in a length of tubing, and put the
other end of the tubing into my mouth, pressing
it around the bit and somehow fastening it in place.
As she loosened my bit a little the pain at the
corners of my mouth exploded and then faded back.
Then I heard her just turn and walk away.
She had never even let me see her face.
I was starting to learn to wait. It was
beginning to make sense to me. Somebody with a horse
doesn’t take it with them everywhere. When they
go indoors or want to take a walk, they tie it up,
maybe hobble it as she just had me, and leave it
behind.
At first, the worst part was the uncertainty.
Would she come back in a minute or two? Maybe hours?
I wanted her to talk to me, to tell me anything.
Any words from her would have been a privilege,
a reward. And I didn’t have any idea what might
happen next. What if someone found me there? What
could I do? The answer was that I couldn’t do anything
much at all.
So I sat, I lay down. I sipped liquid from
the jug. It seemed like some diluted version of
those awful “liquid diet” drinks. I guessed that
she expected me to drink what she’d given me.
After a while I wriggled around so that
I could lie on my belly and see the road. Carts
came by every few minutes, in bright colors and
assorted sizes, most with one or two people in harness
up front. Some men, some women, most covered with
some sort of poncho that reached just past their
hips. I couldn’t see much from where I was but I
could hear the wheels and the steps. Once I’d been
there a while a whole new frustration came up. My
hands were bagged and locked at my waist. My feet
were locked together and booted. Of all the things
this meant, the one thing that started to drive
me nuts was that I couldn’t scratch. And every little
itch became an obsession. Every insect that landed
on me or bramble that stuck to me made me a little
bit frantic. The best I could do was to rub on the
ground or rub myself against the concrete post.
When something caught in my hair, all I could do
was shake my head around. I couldn’t do anything
for myself but wiggle and twist like a wet dog.
Of course, another problem was long overdue
to be faced. When she’d locked me in and kept me
from the bathrooms, I’d decided to wait until we
got to our room that night. But that was hours ago,
and I’d been moving around, and now had swallowed
what must have been a gallon of that liquid mush.
I thought about it for a while and couldn’t
think of any way out so decided to just do the best
I could. I backed away on my knees over to the point
furthest from where I had been lying, dragging the
empty jug by the tube still sticking out of my mouth,
my head pulled down towards the ring, my butt sticking
up in the air, and tried to take a poop.
And at first I couldn’t. We’re all conditioned
that this is something you do on a toilet, in private,
in a little room. Not harnessed and leashed in a
sunlit clearing, my rear end pointed out at the
bushes, visible from the road, barely able to see
and afraid that I’ll get some on my legs or on the
rod between them. I felt absurd and humiliated,
kneeling and bent over in the grass.
Finally I let go, emptying myself out in
a grateful series of spasms and, sure enough, leaving
brown glops on one boot. I shuffled over a bit and
lay on my back in the grass, rubbing my butt against
leaves, trying to clean myself off as best I could.
I could feel that I hadn’t gotten everything, but
I did what I could. And there I stayed.
After that I pulled myself to the other
side of the post, getting as far from the smelly
mess as I could, and lay back down. And for a while
I just lay there some more, the crickets humming,
the flies all over, the smell of the grass in the
wind. Not so bad.
Then I heard someone coming out of the
brush behind me. I turned around and looked up and
saw a person I’d never seen before. A middle-aged
man, dressed like any day hiker you’d see, beat-up
jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, thinning hair. He wasn’t
a big man but there I was looking up at him, my
leash tightening as I tried to straighten up.
He looked down at me, pulled an apple out
of his bag and started to eat it. He walked over,
looked at the cart. I wanted to say something but
the feel of the bit reminded me not to try. He walked
back over, looked down at me again.
Where was Joanne? What if he took the cart?
What if he broke something? What if he attacked
me? My hands pulled against my waist and I tried
to flex my fingers in the hardened goop inside my
mitts. He looked down at me; utterly unconcerned,
vaguely curious. He threw the half eaten apple into
the distant bushes - my eyes followed it longingly.
Then he came close up, even fingered a bit of my
harness though I tried to pull away. Finally he
patted me on the head, turned and walked off down
the road.
The sun was getting lower in the sky by
the time that Joanne came back. She was carrying
flowers and put a few in my hair as she put me back
in harness and then took the hobble off my ankles.
A pull at the reins got me in motion and we headed
down the twilit road back into town.
Again their attention to detail amazed
me. As night fell, little knee-high lights along
the sides of the road began to glow, leaving our
path as visible as an open field under a full moon
but the surrounding bushes and trees dark as could
be. Every buzz and crackle in the dark seemed threatening,
scary. Like a little kid, all I could hope for was
to get back safe, meanwhile imagining risks blown
up to terrors by how helpless I was.
Sometimes a sound or movement would make
me jump or stumble, but that whip always got me
going again. In a little while I got grateful for
her orders, the pulls at my reins and that instant
sting if I got at all off track. She kept my attention
on the road, the narrow little visible path before
my blinkered eyes. After all these hours, every
scrap of attention I could spare was looking forward
to getting to our rooms and settling down. I didn’t
know what the setup was (Joanne told me it should
stay a surprise) but I was sure ready for a doggie
bed or even just a clean floor to lie on. With the
way she’d been treating me, my chances of being
allowed in bed looked pretty skimpy but any chance
to be indoors and out of harness sounded good to
me. The prospect of a warm shower, a hot bath, soap
and shampoo and more hot water and then a big fluffy
hotel towel in an hour or two seemed glorious beyond
measure. As the light from more houses crossed our
path and the sounds of conversation or dishes being
placed on tables drifted to us through open windows,
I knew we were getting back to town again, and the
bright streets were a welcome sight. Now my role
changed; stop and start, pull and stop again. We
shared the road with other carts and wagons and
silent electric cars. In my blinders, my face down,
I couldn’t see much more then wheel rims and the
tips of fenders at the edges of my view.
Looking at nothing but a patch of road
right in front of me, unable to see what was coming
beside us or even sometimes ahead, all I could do
was try to pay all my attention to the pulls on
my reins and the sounds of my mistress’s voice.
I was jumpy and shaking. A few times I tried to
raise my head and look around but each time that
fierce whip burned deep into me, a lightning bolt
of pain, leaving behind a throbbing reminder to
look down, follow orders, do what I was told.
I knew I was being conditioned, down deep.
I knew that this was training me faster than a dog
in obedience school. The clatter of other wheels
on every side, the bright light, the shadows, and
noise more distraction then any sort of help, and
the risk of a shattered leg or even broken back
if I turned wrong in these rushing streets. My safety
depended on my not deciding anything for myself
at all. I was just the dumb force at the command
of my driver, who could see what I couldn’t, who
knew where it was dangerous to turn or stop or start.
I obeyed with all of my attention and sincerity;
I knew that it was my only option. I was her horse,
that’s it, and my place was to do what she said,
just as soon she said it. I was starting to get
that every hour in harness would train me like this,
make me an instinctive submissive, passive, obedient.
I was there to do what I was told and what I thought
just wasn’t part of the picture. In fact, at a time
like that, it could get me killed.
I could guess enough to begin to see that
hillside roads were gonna be even worse. Here a
mistake would put me in the path of another moving
cart. Up on a steep slope, a wrong turn would roll
us over the side. My mind filled up with visons
of my torn body being ripped and torn on the way
down a cliffside, still bound to a bumping, tumbling,
splintering carriage. So every minute in heavy traffic
or on a hillside road meant losing a bit more of
my will. Harnessed, handless, and blindered, giving
in and just doing whatever I was told became a reflex
as I figured out that rebellion wasn’t just about
impossible, it could be flat out lethal.
As this sank in, she finally pulled us
over to a curb. I heard her get out and her steps
as she came and stood beside me. I eagerly waited
for her liberating touch. But the hands that gripped
me weren’t hers. I was hobbled on a short length
of chain, leashed, and taken out of harness. Surrounded
by a bustle of motion, I was led away as I heard
her giving instructions about my stall.
My stall? I was at a stable, with many
subs like me, and even a few born horses and mules,
all being washed down, fed, led to paddocks, and
put in for the night.
I was lead around by my leash, stumbling
along on my chained ankles as best I could, brought
to a crowded area, painfully bright, where I was
hosed down, sprayed with soapy water, and scrubbed
with rough brushes wielded by stablehands I could
barely see. My being naked like this clearly meant
nothing to them as I was grabbed, turned, bent over,
pulled along, as just one more task on a busy Friday
evening. A last cold blast washed off the soap and
I was pulled off to a slightly less hectic place
for the next step. A big tag was hung from the front
of my harness, and people consulted it before they
rushed me further along.
Once we got indoors, my bit was taken out,
and the pain at the corners of my mouth was roaring
in as a ball gag was pressed in and fastened into
place, leaving me speechless again. I tried to talk
around the gag once but an immediate painful slap
across the face and a firm, “No, bad” silenced me.
Some of the workers at the stable were
there as a game, a chance to handle other humans
beings without any thought at all about normal rules
or propriety. They were there for the chance to
grab and hold and lock into place one person after
another. But most of the staff were people who’d
lived there since before the takeover, and for them
this was just a well paid and simple job. They didn’t
want to linger or punish, they just wanted to get
through the day and their discipline was even less
forgiving because of it. Like prison guards, they
wanted us orderly, obedient, and predictable.
And with years of experience, they knew
how to make certain that they got just what they
wanted. Brought to a stop for the night, I was pushed
firmly down to my knees, a four foot chain was fastened
from my leash to a ring near the floor, my hands
were unlocked from my waist, my blinkers taken off,
and I was left on my own.
My stall was an open-ended pen, four feet
wide, eight deep, divided from the ones on either
side by concrete walls a little over head height
high, with a shadowy ceiling way up above us. Instead
of a bed, there was a long mound of little grey
and brown plastic balls, about half an inch across,
nubbly like little golf balls and irregular, almost
like pebbles. It was like lying in a pile of styrofoam
peanuts. The opening of the stall had a wooden divider
a foot high to keep the balls in. As the clear acrylic
doors closed behind my keeper, I collapsed onto
the mound of pebbles. It actually was pretty comfortable,
cool and dry and almost sensuously clean after a
day of sweat and thorns and road dust. I stretched
my arms out, cramped from a day locked at my sides,
and only remembered that I was still bound in mitts
when I tried to reach up and touch my face.
I could hear sounds from the other stalls
and conversations of the keepers as they turned
down the lights and most of them left to go home.
Rustlings and mumblings were all around and came
home to me again that I was now part of a tribe;
a whole distinct species in this place, of people
who had voluntarily given up the privileges and
rights of our normal lives to live under the hand
of those who wanted and savored what we had freely
given away.
I wondered what this feel like to the others
around me. Were they as confused as I was? As frightened?
Did this make sense to them? Even there, leashed,
in a paddock, with my hands replaced with paws,
no privacy, and subject to the commands of anybody
who came in and took me, I still kept trying to
make sense of it all. But I was learning that here
it did me no good at all.
- • -
The first warm touches of sunlight were
coming in through the skylights above us when the
keepers started coming around and getting us ready
for the day. I stayed loose and went along as my
hands were locked back to my belt, my blinders fastened
on, and I was lead out to a large room where I was
held in place, quickly washed down with warm water,
and lead to a trough.
There I was put down on my knees, my ballgag
removed, pulled forward, and my head fastened, face
down above a long channel filled with warm porridge
with bits of vegetables and fruit. I felt a bungie
cord clipped to the back of my collar, taking most
of my weight, as I leaned down and put my face into
the first solid food I’d had since Friday morning.
I has smelled it as we came into the room, a satisfying,
morning-oatmeal kind of smell, and the bustle of
the shoulders on either side, and the pull of the
cord on my collar and harness didn’t mean a thing
compared to how hungry I was as I pushed my mouth
down into the first thing I had wanted and could
enjoy since we had passed those gates so long back
in my fading past.
After a little while a keeper lifted my
face up, wiped off my mouth, and pulled me to my
feet and away. They lead us out, one by one, to
rows of posts along the edge of the street, and
leashed us there. They put us in short hobbles and
our harnesses were tightened a bit. Each post even
had a bulge in the side of each post we could lean
on, almost sitting, when we got tired.
For the first time I could see around me
the dozens of other bound subs waiting for their
doms to come. They were a mix of ages and different
kinds of shape, from built up young guys and women,
with gathered muscles bunching up under their arms
and legs, to people in their forties and fifties
and the occasional truly older sub, off to the side,
bound like the rest but usually on a longer leash
and in simpler harness.
Sometimes a dom would come up, take somebody,
unharness them, and just leave, but some people
came by and browsed, seeing who was available that
day. A citizen would walk up to a sub and lift up
a leg, bend them over, feel a muscle or ask a question
of the stable staff. Then they would either move
on, or have their selection unlocked and handed
over to them.
After I had been there a while, with the
sun full up in the sky and a summer breeze along
my exposed skin, a stablehand unlocked my leash
from the post and led me down a short shadowy path
to the same carriagehouse I’d been in the day before.
All around me I heard people talking and calling
out to each other, things moving, wheels clattering
on cobblestones, tires being inflated, wheels set,
ropes and chains wrapped around and fastened in
place. It sounded a lot like like a busy garage
except for the sounds of stuff hitting wood and
the number of voices that were women’s. On a sunny
summer morning, the staff had their hands full,
and I could hear dozens of voices around me as I
was lead along the stuffy, narrow paths between
carts and supplies and others at their business.
I was fastened between the posts of a new
carriage, this one smaller and lighter, with the
posts closer together and my harness held on differently.
It pulled at me strangely, unfamiliar and leaving
me off-kilter. Finally I heard Joanne’s voice and
the posts bounced as she reached up and sat herself
behind me. She was talking to the workers there
and somehow her tone, so different from the one
she used with me, left me simply unconcerned. She
wasn’t talking to me so I had no reason to listen.
Then she pulled at the reins, cracked the
whip above me, and we started to move forward. But
just as we reached the doors and the warmth of the
sun was soothing my back, she stopped me. She was
talking to somebody and I felt a hand on my harness,
holding me still.
Then we started again, but a little slower.
Again we were on the streets of town and I was dimly
aware of a country fair brightness to the mood as
we made our way along the lanes and roads.
But we didn’t go straight from town this
time. She stopped me before a storefront, hobbled
me, tied me to a post, and went in.
In a little while she came back out with
somebody else who bent down and lifted one of my
legs a bit, leaving me to stumble back into the
carriage posts. They talked and then I was unhobbled
and led around the side of the building to a very
long, very wide bench. My mistress pushed me down
onto the bench and fastened me down across it, leaving
me lying on my belly on the big wooden planks, my
face to the ground and my calves and feet sticking
off the side. Then I was really surprised when somebody
took off my boots. They pulled off the socks and
I felt bits of metal and wood being pressed against
my soles as Joanne stood beside me, a possessive
hand on my ass, talking to somebody, sounding relaxed,
enthusiastic.
And I realized that I recognized that tone.
She was shopping. This was how she sounded when
she had dragged me along as she went shopping for
dresses or handbags or…shoes. So I wasn’t entirely
surprised when I felt myself being fastened up into
something new. She had decided to change my boots
and had had me refitted. After all, wasn’t part
of the purpose of this trip to look into other options?
And I could tell that these were an improvement.
More flexible, lower, softer. Covered all over in
some kind of mesh, still firm but better.
Then other things were fitted on to me,
adjusted, removed. When I snuck a single sideways
glance I saw a tall pile of leather and bronze and
chrome stacked up beside me. Eventually I was unstrapped,
brought upright, and somebody put me back in harness
on the cart. I felt the posts bounce as my mistress
climbed back up and we were on our way.
Soon we were in the country again and she
led me out onto smaller and smaller paths, eventually
up to just the sort of hill trails I’d been so afraid
of. But I obeyed and she was merciful, so it just
became a slow peaceful trip, as my small simple
world stayed limited to the ruts and bumps a few
feet ahead of me, not seeing much but with the sun
on my back and none of the sounds of phones or computers
or any of the rest of everyday life.
I served her and obeyed her and had time
and actions and thoughts only for doing as I was
told. I didn’t think, I didn’t plan, I didn’t do
anything but pull those posts or whatever else she
said.
And I was happy.
At a wider point, she brought us to a stop.
Like the day before, she hobbled and leashed me,
then led me and clipped my harness to a post in
the ground. Then she walked away, but not too far.
>From my place in the grass I could
see that we were a good ways uphill now and that
she had walked over to look at the view. My leash
wasn’t long enough to really let me stand, but I
could get upright enough to see that the view was
beautiful, framed by pines blowing in a breeze and
with the town, the isolated houses, and a wide and
complex mesh of roads and clearings spread across
what I now could see was a huge valley.
Somehow, despite what I had read and all
that we had talked, I hadn’t understood. This wasn’t
a few dozen people and fifteen or twenty houses.
This was almost a city. And as I sat back down I
remembered the lit doorways set into slopes I had
seen the night before. All the places that you wouldn’t
be able to tell from hilly forest once you were
a little down the road. Maybe it actually was a
city. There could be thousands of people living
down there.
It was a big world out there and a lot
of people wanted a place like this to exist. And
with enough money and power behind it, who knew
just how much there could be to this place?
Thinking about all of this made me scared
all over again. Those signs at the gates about “Lethal
Enforcement” were real. Maybe they meant just that.
I wondered if they’d ever killed an escaping slave
and covered it up. I realized that Joanne really
could do anything she wanted to me here and nobody
would step in to prevent it. In fact, they might
join in. What if she left me in the stable again?
It was so efficient, so clean, but it was basically
a prison, with guards who could break us down completely
if we didn’t do as we were told. The streets I had
seen looked more forbidding now, menacing, with
the shadow of torture and murder hanging over it
all. And I was completely unable to do anything
about it.
The wind was starting to kick up a bit
and in a little while Joanne came back from walking
along the grass and pebbles of the edge, went over
to the cart, and pulled out a poncho like the ones
I had seen a lot of subs wearing. It was a bit more
complicated then it looked from a distance; it could
be fitted around and through various kinds of straps
and bonds. She held me in place and put it on me,
turning me around a few times to make adjustments.
Then, at long last, she sat me back down,
sat across from me, and looked into my face for
the first time since we had left the parking lot
back on Friday. She looked at me for a while, then
came over and just felt her way along my harnesses,
my hobble, the bit in my teeth. She stopped to pet
my hair for a minute and ran her finger down my
cheek. She grabbed a handful of hair and pulled
my head back so she could look into my eyes while
standing over me.
Then, still without a word, she went over
and sat back down, settling down on a bench and
twirling a bit of grass between her fingers.
“So, Sweetie, is it what you expected?”
I nodded no. “Oh no, indeed, not for me either,
that is for darn sure. It’s so civilized here. So
clean. The people are so nice.” She giggled. “Of
course, here we have such fun ways to make sure
that some of you stay nice.” She looked down at
my hands. I kept trying to use them for something,
if even just to lean against when I sat back, and
she could see me try to pull them away from my sides
and how they never got more then an inch or two
before the harness caught at my wrists.
Joanne had always been proper. Ladylike.
Running a design firm, she had a chic style, but
was always correct, even demure. Even here she was
dressed in trim twill pants that hugged her well-maintained
figure. Her top, sleeveless, was a pretty flowery
thing that I was sure was some shade called ecru
or sand or buttermilk. Somehow, miles into the woods
and just back from walking along the cliff edge,
her canvas shoes looked only picturesquely mussed,
as did her soft thick hair.
She was so obviously happy here. She sat
there, the very picture of a country club wife,
and her eyes twinkled with delight, enthusiasm,
and a quiet but unmistakable malicious glee. But
what scared me most was her certainty, how at home
she seemed. For me this was going quickly from disorienting
to nightmare. I had worked so hard to build a life
that made sense and here it was all utterly gone.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the evident scale
of a whole society that sat there before our eyes.
Her earrings glinted gold and she looked
so completely composed, how could I feel any better
then a draft animal by comparison, bound to a post
at her feet, dirty and sweaty, with bits of leaves
caught in my tangled hair and my face muddy from
where my bit left saliva dripping down my jaw?
I had peed twice as we had made our way
up, dripping down to the trail as I pulled against
the traces, and the stickiness along my legs took
away any last bit of dignity I might have hoped
for.
“Do you want me to take out your bit? Not
yet, Sweetie, maybe tomorrow if you’re good. In
fact, I’ve even arranged for us to stay here a few
more days to make sure that you’ll have the time
to learn proper obedience. I’ll bet you didn’t think
I could do that.” Her face showed such amusement
as she sat there, her legs crossed at the ankle,
the raised foot tapping just a little.
I lowered my head onto the twigs and soil,
and looked up at her, trying to show my obedience,
wanting her to conclude that I was good now. I tried
to speak, but all that came out was a garbled mess.
“Please, mistress; please let me go.” I
tried to say. It sounded more like “puh, mihmah,
puh leooah”.
“I was wrong. I’m scared. I want to go
home.” I tried. “Ah wah oohah Eh seh. Eh wa goaww”,
came out.
I looked up at her, now silhouetted against
the bright sky, and looked for any sign of mercy
in her posture, her gaze.
“Please, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll
come over for a week, I’ll do any scene you want.
Just please don’t keep me like this.” I fought to
make coherent words but it was all just coming out
as gibberish.
I couldn’t tell how much she could understand
of this, certainly no more then one word in ten.
But she let me go on for a while before cutting
me off with a commanding, “That’s enough”.
She got up from the bench. I tried not
to look too hopeful, keeping my face in the dirt
before her, only glancing up briefly. I could see
a dozen expressions crossing her face. Confusion,
pity, amusement, maybe even a little anger. Then
her expression settled into calm resolve.
She looked over my harness, went back to
the cart and got the keys, walked back to stand
over me and dangled the enticing things before me,
letting them twist and sparkle inches before my
eyes. Then, watching me watching her, she threw
the whole set off the cliff and placed her foot
firmly on my neck.
- • -
That night, as I was cleaned up and dressed
down for the night, I was far more alert. It looked
like I would be kept in the stables a few more days
and I at least wanted to know what was going on.
As they led me around I understood a little
better what they were doing to me. What had seemed
like random and terrifying treatment was turning
out to be reasonable and practical. When I was pressed
forward, my head locked to a clamp, I realized as
they left me there for several minutes and then
stuck things into my mouth, my ears, and even my
armpits, that they were checking my temperature,
my blood pressure, even doing some sort of medical
tests of my saliva and sweat.
When they pushed me against a post and
pulled first my legs and then my arms back, then
release, back, and release again, I understood this
they were finding out something about my muscles
and my joints. The bright lines of light they shone
on my legs and arms and chest must have told them
something too, though I didn’t know what. Seeing
all of this made some of the fear recede. At least
for then. How could I not trust them? I was being
looked after with a level-headed competence that
made my struggles and fears seem childish. As they
led me to a stall, it all smelled and looked familiar,
a predictable end after each differently demanding
day.
That night I slept well, curling up a bit
in my den of soft pebbles and oddly safe in this
strange but very well thought-out place.
- • -
The next morning I was ravenous again,
impatient to reach the trough and something to eat.
When I was finally brought there and my head fastened
in place I dipped down and pushed and pressed half
of my face into the warm mush and gobbled away like
it was the last meal of my life. It was a little
different then I remembered it, but just as good.
When the keeper unfastened me from the
trough, he looked at my face and didn’t even bother
to wipe me off. He turned me for a few others to
look at me, and when they were done laughing, he
just brought me out to my post and sprayed my face
off with a hose as I stood there in the last orange
glow of sunrise.
Again I waited and again the group of us
changed as we stood there, with new subs brought
out every little while and being claimed and led
away by stablehands, masters and mistresses.
I was starting to see more details. I could
see better now how some of us looked around, nervous
and upset. I must have looked like that the day
before and I probably still looked like that to
the folks around me.
I also started to understand the pecking
order. Even among human pets, even among naked and
strapped up submissives, there were some who got
the sunniest spots, got first access to the water
sprays, carried themselves a little higher.
And I now started to figure out the tags.
The older and more out of shape subs usually had
a red stripe across their tags. I guessed that this
barred them from heavy exertion. Some of the most
muscular and a few others has silver or gold borders.
And the subs available for hire, subject to use
by anybody who came by, had tags with black and
white checks.
In my harness, I could barely see down
to look at my own tag. I certainly couldn’t read
the writing, though I could tell that there was
some. A green bar ran along the top, a narrow bit
of red was in the bottom, but that was all I could
see.
After about an hour, I was lead off and
again harnessed to a carriage. This was yet a third
design, more ornamented, painted in bright colors
and with curved arabesques along the posts. I shouldn’t
have been surprised when chains of bells were hung
from my harness and more small bells hung from my
reins.
I heard Joanne talking to someone behind
me, with a lift in her voice and an early-morning
crispness to her words. I heard her say something
about a picnic, places to go. Then the now familiar
bounce of the posts against my sides, the slack
taken up in the reins, and we were off.
This time again, we stayed in town even
longer, moving through streets with sizable buildings
on either side and a regular bustle of traffic.
She pulled me to a stop. I could just see the edges
of a tall shadow, at least four stories and the
sounds of any hotel front area, unusual only for
the occasional crack of a whip or wet sound of a
smack.
She tied me up there and went inside. Despite
my having eaten earlier, the smells of more conventional
food tantalized me. I could smell fresh bread, jam,
coffee. The sounds of dishes and animated conversation
nearby made me suspect that she had tied me up in
front of the open windows of a restaurant. I could
hear little scraps of jazz on the breeze, footsteps
moving right past me, carriage wheels, cart wheels,
and more and I wished I could turn to the side or
pull down my blinders just for a second.
Reflexively, I kept pulling at the straps
that held my wrists to my sides, trying to move
my fingers in the hardened gel that imprisoned them
or move my feet together until the hobble pulled
tight. Sometimes it seemed far harder to lose these
little things then to live as a slave. Pulling a
cart all day, subject to punishment at any moment,
naked and collared, all of these things I had expected.
I had even experienced things a bit like them before,
though always in private and never for more then
an evening. But being so helpless, unable to even
turn and look at an intriguing noise, unable to
brush away a fly or a thistle, unable to feed myself
or scratch an itch. Just as on the first day, these
were the real humiliations. These were what really
separated me from being a man.
When I heard Joanne’s voice again I straightened
up, pulled myself upright in my harness. She showed
no signs of noticing, untying me quickly, putting
me in harness, chatting away with a small group
of people and jumping into the seat behind me. A
second bounce of the posts and a deeper voice behind
me made it clear why she had chosen this larger
carriage. She had brought along a date.
A crisp crack on my ass, a firm command,
and we were on the way again. The load was definitely
heavier now and I had to pull harder. Joanne kept
me at a slow trot, so it wasn’t too hard but I remembered
the afternoon before, when she had driven me to
straight flat roads, and driven me as hard and fast
as we could go, racing me along, whipping me hard,
leaving welts all along my back and butt that were
now tender and sore.
Pushed that hard today, loaded like this,
I would stumble and fall and all I could do was
hope that she didn’t decide to push me that hard
again.
Beside me, pacing me, were two other carriages
and a large cart. Joanne, the man with her, and
the folks moving along with us called back and forth
between them, laughing now and then. We stuck to
a wide, easy road, smooth and with plenty of room
for all of us. When we got further out into the
country, my mistress pulled me back, leaving us
following behind as they led the way into the rolling
meadows and past the occasional driveway or edge
of planted fields.
It wasn’t too long before we all pulled
off to the side, where I was driven fifty feet or
so into the grass, pulling the carriage behind me
off the road and near a clear stream. It felt familiar
now as my mistress fastened on hobble and leash,
led me to a post, and fastened me there, with jug
before me and just enough slack in the chain to
let me lie down or sit as the time went by.
New to me, however, was having another
ponyboy fastened to a post right nearby. A taller
Asian guy, in his forties like me, kind of overweight,
in a more elaborate harness that kept him hunched.
But as we looked at each other I envied him immediately.
He was free of blinders and his master actually
talked to him and let him respond before fastening
in a ball gag and walking away.
This last thing seemed to me an outrageous,
almost scandalous liberty for him to be given. These
few words, “yes, my lord.” “It doesn’t hurt today,
my lord” were, in my jealous eyes, insubordinate,
presumptuous, and most of all, unfair.
But with our rulers walking away, I found
that I could find no way to communicate with the
bound man beside me. Even through my anger at his
unfair privilege, I still wanted to do something.
For the first time in days I was close and able
to interact with another of my caste. But what could
I do? A bit in my mouth, a gag in his, I wasn’t
even ready to move my head much for fear of dislodging
the drinking tube that came out of my mouth.
So after a while we turned away from each
other, ignoring each other, a decision that didn’t
seem to bother him a bit.
Meanwhile, in the distance, I could see
the picnic well underway with at least a dozen people
eating on blankets, walking around, talking. The
mounts of the other carriages had been unharnessed
and, in a flexibility I hadn’t known possible in
this place, were acting as servants, occasionally
being sent to catch frisbees in their mouths.
The smells of wonderful food drifted over
and I drooled a bit, leaving a mixed line of saliva
and my jug’s fluid down my neck and chest.
The sounds of conversation left me frantic
to join in, but I was learning over time that the
only way to relax was to give in, to stop wishing
for what I certainly wouldn’t get. When I was envious,
frustrated, feeling kept away from a reasonable
desire, I was miserable. But when I gave up, gave
in for a while to the inevitable and let their words
become meaningless sounds, I could lie back, watch
the movements of an insect or a cloud or simply
think of nothing at all, then it became a peaceful
summer day. I was rested, nothing was expected of
me, and I had no concerns at all.
Time passed by. I slept for a while. The
sky got brighter, got darker. For a little while
it even rained some, warm rain, and I lay there,
naked under the warm drops, the metal of my harness
cool against my skin, caring not at all. It had
been two days already. Today was the third. In a
few days we’d head home and, if I understood her
remarks that morning, Joanne might even let me sleep
in the hotel tonight. So despite all my fears, nothing
had actually happened. I had been humbled and used,
but I had expected that, in fact I had certainly
asked for it.
The past few days had conditioned me into
a level of unthinking obedience that I couldn’t
have imagined a week before, but I trusted Joanne
not to abuse her new power. It scared me that her
voice now had a power over me like an owner’s over
a well-trained dog, but what would this really mean
back in our normal lives? If anything, it would
sharpen our relationship back home.
A little after noon, most of the party
drifted off, leaving just my mistress, a woman who
she was talking to, and a man who seemed to wander
off and back, searching the grass like a beachcomber
looking for shells. Their servant was still over
by them, in a brightly colored harness of some synthetic
material that looked like climbing rope, with locks
and clasps in sparkling painted colors.
Eventually Joanne came over and put me
back in harness. She was in a mellow mood, relaxed
and happy. If she hadn’t been wearing a sunhat I
might have even been gifted with a look in the eye.
She talked to me as she put me in place,
her speech a new mix of our old familiar topics
and the gestures and comments that anybody would
address to a horse or a pet. “So we’ll be back home
soon, won’t we? Do you wonder if the Jenkins check
will have shown up yet? I’ll be, oh down, boy, let
me get this over your neck, there, good boy, I’ll
be ready to start that up as soon as the deposit
is in.”
“Been a pretty day so far. The rain was
sweet. I always have loved summer day rainbows and
you looked so cute when you wriggled afterwards.”
“When we, sit, boy, good horsie, get back to town
maybe I’ll have you pierced. I like the sound those
bells on you make. Oh, don’t you give me that look.
You knew I was thinking of it already and it’s only
fair that I get a reminder of the trip on you to
remember it by.”
“Scared you, hmm? Wondering what your clients
would think if you started jingling all the time?
Don’t know if you’d have to hold your four by five
differently if your ears were pierced? Maybe I’ll
get an itty bitty tattoo on your rear in the morning;
watch you squirm in your seat on the way home tomorrow
night.”
“There now, all done. Good Striper, that’s
my sweetie, we’ll be back before you know it.” A
minute later we were on our way, as I pulled hard
to get our carriage out of the grass and back on
the paved road. I could hear the other ponyboy not
far behind us and the wheels of their carriage humming
against the asphalt.
While Joanne’s comments left me full of
concerns about what she now had in mind, it didn’t
take long for her swift whip and her stern commands
to bring me back to my increasingly accustomed placid
servitude.
I wasn’t too long before our way widened
and the other vehicle pulled alongside. Our ladies
raced us along a straightaway and with only one
person for me to pull, I did just fine. Then we
settled into an easy, sustainable pace, my back
warmed by the late day sun and the shadow of the
occasional bird swooping across my vision. This
carriage was more old-fashioned then the others
I had been on, and it creaked and jangled as we
went, almost seeming to mutter to itself beneath
the sound of the many small bells that hung from
it and from me.
As we made our way down the road I heard
something new. A loud beeping was approaching and
tires were almost screeching as one of those little
electric cars pulled up alongside us and a loudspeaker
called out, “Miz Polaski? J. Polaski? Sorry to interrupt,
ma’am, but we’ve got an urgent message for you.”
She pulled me to a halt, as did the carriage
alongside us. I was left there as I heard her get
out and open the car door. She spoke to someone,
turned, and walked over back towards me. She stopped
almost in front of me and I could see that she was
opening a letter and reading it.
“Oh, sugar. This is a problem. What am
I to do? What am I to do?”
She looked at her letter and then at me.
Then she took me by my head and addressed me directly.
“Sweetie, I’ve got to go back. Something
has come up with a client and I’ve got to go right
now. I’m going to leave you with Anna and straighten
things out back home. She’ll take you to the stable
and they’ll handle your paperwork, let you loose,
and check you out from there.
Before I go, I’ll zero out your exit time
with the concierge so you don’t get charged a fee
if you leave early.”
“I’ll try to solve this and meet you later
if I can. But I may have to run right out as soon
as I get to town if I’ve got a real mess on my hands.”
“If I have to head to the East coast, well,
I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
I heard her talk to the other woman, and
I could feel her pat me on the head as she talked.
Then she was gone. I heard the car door slam and
the car drive away.
What could happen now? I was left standing
there, still harnessed, still in the traces for
the now abandoned carriage. Then the woman came
around to where I could see her. “So, I guess that
I’ve got to deal with you, hmm?”
“Don’t fret your pretty little head over
it. I’ll just tie you up here and come back for
you later. But first I’m going to enjoy my ride
and I don’t know if I’ll be able to find a bike
or if I’ll have to walk back out here. So you just
be good and I’ll be back before you know it.”
Then she walked out of my vision and I
felt her jump into my mistress’s seat and take up
the reins. She wasn’t gentle or slow, whipping me
at the slightest excuse, but soon we reached a clearing.
There she hobbled me, tied my leash to the nearest
post, left me some water, and walked away.
As I lay there, listening to the birds,
watching squirrels and a rabbit go by, I tried to
think about what my lady had said. If she were to
order me to get pierced some way or other would
I now obey her and do it anyway, even though we’ld
be back in the normal world? Would I care if my
clients found out? My neighbors? My family? It just
didn’t seem real. Nothing outside of this valley
seemed real. It was hours before Anna came back,
with the sky a fading blue and the sound of her
bicycle a very anticipated humming making its way
up the road. The clacketa-clacketa of her shifting
gears before she stopped seemed as loud as a thunderclap.
The sound of her loading the bike on the carriage
was a harsh succession of metallic crashes and thumps.
There was no nonsense in her manner as
she tied me roughly and tight back in my place between
the cart posts. A stumble on my part got me a cruelly
painful lash from her crop. She mumbled under her
breath as she got me ready. Oh, she said, she was
just fed up with difficult favors demanded by a
new acquaintance, her ruined day, my sloppiness,
her lost time. She drove me hard on the way back
into town and my chest was tight with pain by the
time we were back on busy streets.
When we reached the stables, I could tell
immediately that something was wrong. Anna just
turned to walk away and they weren’t untying me,
they were getting me ready for another night in
a paddock.
I struggled, tried to speak. They switched
me, shocked me, but I squirmed and tried to get
them to understand.This was all a mistake.
In a few minutes I heard Anna’s voice as
the stablehands tried to figure out what was wrong
with me.
“No, he’s not mine; I’m just bringing him
back.”
“So his dom will pick him up in the morning?”
“No, you’re not listening to me. He hasn’t
got a dom. She left.”
“So, who’s in charge of him? His tag says…”
“Forget the fucking tag. That tag is wrong.
Are you hearing me at all?”
“Here, I’ll show you. Look at his dom code
and dial that room.”
“Okay, but you’re carrying the…”
“Just call it.”
“Sure. okay, that would be, yeah, uh, hey,
wait a minute, this isn’t coming up as a valid dom
code.”
“No kidding. That’s what I’ve been trying
to tell you. He doesn’t have a dom here.
Not here. Understand? Not. Here. Get it?
Just get rid of that tag and get him a new one,
That one isn’t valid.”
Yes, ma’am. We’ll see to it. Should we
call you when we’re done?”
“No, I’m leaving tomorrow and I wasted
three very expensive hours just doing this much.
You guys do what whatever you do in cases like this
but don’t you call me. I wash my hands of the whole
thing.”
I tried to pay attention to the rest but
I had made such a ruckus when they had brought me
in that they had drugged me with something. I was
aching and sleepy and confused and when they led
me to a paddock I didn’t even resist.
The next morning someone got me up and
just put me back in the line. I kept waiting to
be pulled out, let free, but they just washed me
down, fed me, just like the days before. I pulled
at my harness, tried to get someone to listen to
me but the first smack hurt, the next time they
jolted me with an electric prod, and the next they
jolted me so hard that I fell to the ground crying.
The stablehand let me lie there and cry
for a few minutes, gasping through the bit in my
teeth, feeling my exposed skin and bound body as
my sobs pulled all those straps tight and then loose
against me. Then she pulled at my leash, brought
me to my feet and led me out to be leashed to a
post and hobbled.
My tears were drying and somehow I wasn’t
even surprised when instead of somebody setting
me free, a manager came out with a new tag for me
and fastened it to my chest. I could see a bit of
it if I looked down and while it still had a green
stripe, a thin red line, half of it was now covered
in black and white checks.
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