Chapter 13
Chapter 18
Heather was a strange one and no mistake at least that’s what Margret had told Eva and best not to get on the wrong side of her. Despite her youth, she was the best trainer of two-legged equines Margret had ever encountered anywhere. Quite how and where the young girl had acquired such unusual skills, Margret had no idea and Heather had never volunteered any information despite some discrete and occasionally some less discrete questioning from her curious employer. She had turned up at the entrance lane to the remote stable complex a couple of years previously driving a battered old saloon car with a small but tall trailer hitched behind it and politely enquired about stabling her pony via the gate video intercom.
Margret looking at the unexpected caller from a monitor in her office had coldly but politely informed the unexpected visitor that her stable was full and that she didn’t accept private liveries anyway. The girl did not seem put off by the rather curt and unwelcoming response. She simply gave the camera a broad smile revealing an excellent set of gleaming white teeth which a pink tongue briefly flicked over. She was a smallish pretty freckled-faced smiling girl topped by a fiery mass of tousled spiral curls. Her tan revealed not a trace of the usual milky white complexion many redheads have.
Margret informed her that there was another establishment, a riding school some twenty-five miles away that might have a vacancy for her horse. The girl had merely laughed gently but not impolitely and then winked impishly at the camera saying how sorry she was to hear they were full, but she didn’t think that the other place would be at all suitable. Could Margret recommend an alternative stable similar to her own rather unique establishment, she had very recently acquired a rather special two-legged wild female mare and as a matter of urgency needed to find a suitable and highly secure stable in which to keep and train it. The girl had placed a subtle but distinct emphasis on the words ‘two-legged, wild and secure’ a fact that didn’t escape Margaret’s attention and certainly piqued her curiosity.
‘Two-legged and Wild’? She had asked questioningly.
The girl had grinned cheekily at the camera. ‘Oh yes ma’am, wild and still very fresh, I’ve only just recently cut it out from the herd and about as wild a mare as you could ever get! The girl had then laughed. ‘Somehow ma’am I don’t think that other establishment would find her very compatible with their other stock, I truly don’t!’
Heather had never said how or where or who from when asked as to where she’d heard about Margrets facilities. A fact that both annoyed and worried her employer even after several years. Was her security weakened or compromised somehow, she sometimes wondered? Maybe not as Heather herself never seemed to concern herself about it and had assured her on more than one occasion that she need have no anxiety on that score.
That first afternoon she’d driven through the gate and pulled up outside the old house waved her hand and flashed that cheerful impish smile at Margret seemingly not in the least put off by the less than welcoming suspicious look on the face of the waiting older woman. She had climbed out of her battered car and walked to the trailer, released the door ramp and beckoned to Margret to come take a look.
Inside the cramped, narrow compartment standing on the straw strewn floor was a ponygirl. A tall tightly harnessed, bridled, booted, arm bound and bitted ponygirl with a high ponytailed mane of cascading shining brunette hair. An excellent strong, well-rounded mare of perhaps thirty or so summers Margret surmised as she cast her expert appraising eye over the occupant. Nice sized firm udders, probably very attractive from what parts she could see of the face, slim-waisted although that was perhaps from the way that harness corset ruthlessly strangled her midriff, long strong shapely legs too above the knee-high hoof boots.
The harness tack binding her certainly wasn’t new, but she instantly recognised the quality, not the cheap rubbish that people purchased merely for bedroom play nor even that which might feature in a professional dominatrix’s dungeon. This girl or whoever had harnessed and tacked up the hapless mare knew precisely what they were doing. There was no way any of that kit would come off till it was taken off. She looked over to the smiling girl and at the self-satisfied sparkle in her eyes. No, there was no doubt as to who had fitted that harness and tightened the cruel corset, nor she immediately sensed would it be coming off anytime soon. She had stepped nearer for a closer look.
She didn’t need to hear the softly voiced caution the girl gave her. The mare was secured by two steel chains running from either side of the box to her high leather posture collar. The booted legs were free though so that she could maintain her balance, but Margret was an old hand and easily avoided the clumsy kicks the creature foolishly aimed at her. Yes, this was indeed a wild one Margret instinctively knew that with, but a single glance hadn’t she handled enough wild stock in her time. That enraged shocked look in the beast’s eyes; the strange unusual gurgle sounds it tried to make as it attempted to plead for its release, it’s very body language. Wild and certainly not yet accustomed to its new life. Her practised eye took in the numerous fresh livid whip marks on udder and haunches and grasping a tight hold of the mare's bridle she forced it to turn until she could see its big firm rump. Two plump well fleshed white orbs also bearing the signs of more than one recent savage beating.
She maintained a firm grip on the pony’s bridle while her other hand roamed expertly over bruised rump and udder flesh all the while watching the hatred and helpless frustration in the creature’s moist frantic eyes. She made her mind up and exited the trailer. ‘This one has spirit, and I fear it will take some time to break and train, I imagine you may need some help.’ The girl had laughed and shaken her head pointing to a row of hooks on the inside of her trailer near the door ramp opening. Three items dangled in full sight of the captive pony, a single-tailed whip, a slim riding crop and a meaty looking bamboo cane. ‘Four to six weeks tops ma’am I expect, and those three beauties are about all the help I will need’.
Later over a coffee, Heather had said quite firmly that she had no intention of selling her pony nor had she offered then nor at any time since further information as to the mares original identity or as to how or why Heather had acquired her much to her inquisitors' annoyance nor proffered any other meaningful information. I could remove her bit and just ask you know Margret had smugly told her young visitor. Normally I rarely ever allow them to speak but one occasionally may make an exception.
The girl’s eyebrows momentarily lifted then she had taken a swig from her mug and calmly answered. “I never make such exceptions with these animals ma’am, never. In any case, Jezebel has no tongue so I doubt you would understand her answers. Nor could she communicate in any other form. The arm-binder fastenings are welded so removing that is almost impossible should anyone want to give my dumb animal pen and paper.”
Margret had blinked. Not shocked for nothing pony owners did to their stock could ever do that, she had seen too much and done so much herself. This savage response coming from the sweet looking young girl in such a calm indifferent answer though had surprised her. How do you propose then to trim her fingernails for grooming, Margret had enquired? The girl had merely smiled again and raised her eyebrows once more, what fingernails would those be ma’am?
Margret though despite her irritation at the girl’s stubborn refusal to provide the slightest piece of information, was also intrigued and highly impressed by her unexpected visitor and her casual yet utterly ruthless attitude. No wonder that mare was so wild! One thing led to another and as a result, she allocated the mare, Jezebel, an empty stall.
It just so happened that she was very shorthanded at the time. A friend had recently poached her best stable girl so apart from being shorthanded; she was smarting from a sense of betrayal. To make matters worse her other girl, Astrid, had given her a couple of months’ notice having decided to spend a year backpacking. Bloody backpacking of all things!
Heather lived and worked locally, but the girl was unwilling to abandon her present employer completely at short notice Loyalty was a trait Margret thoroughly approved of, and they soon struck a mutual pact with Heather coming in three days a week to help in the stables as well as mercilessly training her own pony and impressing Margret as she did it.
That was another puzzling thing about the girl. She lived in the nearest big town quite happily with her hunky boyfriend, who was a carpenter with his own small local building business. Apparently, the fellow was totally unaware as to just how his vivacious young partner earned the generous salary Margret paid her. The girl now came in five and sometimes more days a week, performed her duties to perfection yet strangely showed not the slightest sexual interest in her charges which again was rather unusual.
The two other stable girls she employed were a butch looking lesbian couple in their early thirties, ex-military who’d later joined and quickly been dismissed from the prison service due to the unpleasant way they’d frequently treated the inmates. Bullying, significant physical abuse and unsavoury, immoral practices were some of the words that had accompanied their dismissal report. An interest in the more extreme BDSM scene and a friend of a friend recommendation had brought them to Margret's establishment and the realisation that they’d found a job that exceeded their wildest dreams.
The sadistic twosome occupied the sizeable apartment converted from the stables upper floor. Convenient for site security and even more suitable for the pair as they were free to resume their interest in significant abuse and unsavoury, immoral practices during their off-duty time and to do so to a degree that would have been unthinkable previously! Just about every ‘free’ animal in the stable ‘enjoyed’ a brief reprieve from the monotony of its stall from time to time. They were taken upstairs to serve intimately if female or to provide noisy entertainment while secured upon their private bedroom whipping and pegging bench if male!
Underneath in the stalls, there were several ‘hands-off’ exceptions of course. Naturally, Jezebel was one; she belonged to Heather, who regarded her as a pure animal so the last thing she would ever allow was any form of intimate human sexual contact to contradict that. On the one hand Heather was a charming, witty, vivacious, amusing girl with a zest for life and from some of the things she occasionally slyly let out, obviously quite a sensual little handful in bed. She would giggle girlishly and confided to her colleagues over coffee about the latest sexy outfit she’d purchased and her expectations of some very satisfying fun that evening with her hunky virile partner when she sprang it on him.
Yet, on the other hand, she was a ruthless and efficient human equine trainer who never showed the slightest hint of emotion towards her charges in respect of their previous lives and human identity. Not an ounce of sympathy did she seem to have. Neither was she an out and out sadist. Never was she cruel for the sake of it and yet, of course, every single thing she did to her charges due to the very nature of her work was about as cruel as one could get. She could and did punish severely for the smallest infraction or misdemeanour, but it was always done clinically and directed towards her end goal, that of transforming a reluctant intelligent human being into a dumb mindless obedient animalised one. Never once had Margret seen her waiver in that aim.
Whereas just about everyone Margret had ever met in the scene derived some form of erotic sexual pleasure from what they did and inflicted, Heather seemed in some way divorced from that. Odd! To everyone else including herself that perverse sexual thrill was the main reason for what they did. Her motivation Margret had concluded must come purely from her apparent satisfaction and undoubted ability in training the beasts to the highest standards. Then again maybe she just hid it very well so that that big hunk of hers was screwing a very hot horny bunny once she got home!
Heather was an exception, an enigma Margret had long since decided. She was such a cheerful good-humoured, warm, friendly girl yet went about her work with a chilling ruthlessness that brooked no failure. She could show compassion and a degree of gentleness if a pony injured itself in the course of its work, yet two days later she’d unemotionally flog the same animal raw just for what in her eyes was a minor misdemeanour!
Margret had stood back and watched her train Jezebel her personal mare almost in awe. That tall wild, angry eyed dumb woman had been eating out of her merciless young trainers’ hand within a month of her arrival with hardly a trace of her initial truculent attitude remaining. Another fortnight and she’d broken her to the saddle. That was another puzzling thing? Margret mounted on one of her stallions had accompanied Heather mounted on her pony on several trips across her estate. The girl rode as though she’d been doing it all her life and seemed to know every trick when it came to coaxing the last ounce of effort from her exhausted mount. That had convinced her of Heather's worth to her business and a lucrative offer of full-time employment swiftly followed.
A good deal of her income came from training and selling highly tractable and obedient two-legged equines or taking in those belonging to others and doing the same on their behalf. The quicker they were broken, docile and trained then the higher the turnover, the greater the profit and the greater the kudos her customers, prospective customers and fellow enthusiasts gave her. Plus, the greater the fun as new stock was always so entertaining for everyone!
Ironically the substantial income wasn’t really of any great importance anyway, merely a useful way of keeping score and assessing her success as she was an exceptionally wealthy woman. Who wasn’t if you indulged in the ‘human-animal ownership scene?’ The money was far less important to her than the admiration and respect of her fellow owners and so Heather's professional abilities were a great asset for her. As an additional irony, the money was not that important to her staff either. All of them would probably have paid her to let them do what they did irrespective of the handsome salaries she paid.
Margret recalled all of this as she stood quietly watching Heather utilising her seemingly natural expertise on the latest additions to the stable and although neither was destined to be added to the private collection stalled nearby the girl, as usual, would except nothing short of perfection. That wasn’t quite so important or relevant in the case of the filly her friend Patricia had sent down; a few rough edges would be welcome in that one when young Eva took her back. Unlike her head girl, she did occasionally feel, well perhaps not sympathy but a touch responsible toward some of the animals she produced, and she didn’t envy the life that particular pony was likely to have serving her friends youngest daughter.
‘Patootie’ so named Eva had told her because it was slang for an attractive girl or a set of buttocks on either an animal or human! My cute ‘butt beauty’ Eva had giggled then added ‘not that her butt will look cute for very long once I take full control of her!’ Patootie was to be, what was it Patricia had laughingly told her over the phone, ‘well and truly bent’ but preferably not terribly broken was how she’d put it. They wanted her acclimatised to harness, stall, saddle and whip but with plenty of wild spirits left in her for Eva to tame. Oh well, Trisha knew what she was about as did her eldest daughter Alice. Heather though hadn’t been overly impressed with the brief but then the girl was a perfectionist after all. Wild spirit wasn’t something Heather would generally tolerate in her ponies.
It was a beautiful day and the girl was using the big outside walker, it’s tall strong central aluminium post supporting the four long lighter horizontal arms. Three of those arms at the moment had a pony tethered beneath it as Heather relentlessly walked them around in endless circles. First came Jezebel her ponygirl now a mere shadow of what she’d been a couple of years back when she’d first come through the entrance gate confined in her narrow horsebox. Not a trace of any rebellious inclinations now remained. Her rump, thighs, breasts and bare shoulders bore the hundreds of scars and wheals Heathers merciless whips had imprinted upon her helpless hide as she ruthlessly moulded the woman into the perfect ultra-obedient ponygirl. Margret doubted that there was a more obedient or perfect one anywhere in the world and as usual wondered who and why but also knew that her head girl would never tell, and Jezebel certainly couldn’t! In any case, the creature was more animal than woman now.
It was as though Heather carried the image of the perfect two-legged equine in her head and had then created her Jezebel in that same image and she often used her as a role model for her newer charges just as she was doing now. Jezebel walked in that stately knee-high walk at a precisely measured pace raising each leg so thigh to knee was perfectly horizontal at every single step. The effect was at once both erotic and pleasing to the eye as the pony strutted along in that proud high stepping stance. Jezebel would be well aware of the intense pain Heather would inflict upon her should she fail in so much as a single step regardless of the speed her owner had switched the walker at.
Margret had once jokingly remarked that her movements were so precise you could have almost set your watch by her doing a given number of turns in a specific time, almost give or take a few minutes? Heather ever the perfectionist had taken that ‘almost and few minutes’ a shade too personally as if a challenge to her professional skills. They’d thus then agreed to the circular distance she had to high step and the time it ought to take her to do it during a half-hour period.
The unfortunate animal had been just twenty seconds out after plodding so prettily round and round in circles knees raised correctly with every step for thirty minutes on a sweltering summer afternoon while her betters watched from shaded loungers cool drinks to hand plus Heather's stopwatch. A mere twenty seconds yet more than enough to irk her pedantic young owner. The poor sweaty beast had promptly been marched to the stables flogging bench and received two strokes from the fearsome stable cane for every second she’d lagged! Once again Margret had been left wondering if Jezebel was a chance capture from the wild or was there some other more personal vindictive motive behind Heather's pitiless ownership?
Stiletto plodded along behind her with considerably less skill and grace which was hardly surprising given it was only six days or so since those expert’s his owner had commissioned to obtain him had delivered the youth to her stable. Six days of hell and many hundreds even thousands perhaps to come for the stocky pale slim skinned youth had hardly yet had time to come to terms with his fate. He struggled along after Jezebel already desperate though to avoid the expertly delivered and frequent painful kisses of that long whip Heather so negligently held yet wielded with such deadly merciless accuracy.
The ponyboys struggles were not helped by the unaccustomed footwear the stable girls had locked upon his strong muscular legs. He’d been a promising young footballer but now wore boots of an entirely different type. Long thigh boots made from thick rubber with four-inch stiletto heels now graced his legs locked upon his lower limbs via steel reinforced rubber straps about his upper thighs. His owner spurned traditional hoofed boots due to a fetish for exotic high heeled footwear and was more than wealthy enough to ensure that his growing collection of high stepping pretty young pony-boys fulfilled that particular little peccadillo.
Hence the name more than a touch lacking in imagination Margret thought, but then she’d already had ‘Bootsie, Peepytoe and Neighhigh’ pass through her establishment en-route to his stable. The boots and Heathers biting whip hadn’t been the only abrupt shock to the young man’s rapidly diminishing machismo either. Sir Randolph although getting on now in years still prided himself on both the size of his manhood and continued virility, the latter as he once confided to Margret was entirely down to the special diet he ate every day and also ensured his pretty pony boys also enjoyed although of course size and virility was completely irrelevant in their case. Personally, Margret having had the bland, boring diet explained to her in detail upon one occasion very much doubted if his ponies enjoyed such food any more than anything else they experienced in his stable.
Then again perhaps they did, after all the wretches had nothing much else in their miserable lives, not that it mattered to her in the least being merely dumb animals and male ones at that. Young Stiletto might look pretty darn sad right now, but it would ultimately get a whole heap worse for him. Kylie and Susie had already gleefully dragged him upstairs twice and strapped him down on their padded pegging bench to rape his virgin ponyboy cunt. The second time they’d also received permission from Heather to cane his rump till he broke down and begged them to take him. Sir Randolph preferred them well broken in and highly docile in all aspects prior to taking delivery nor was that all. The knight of the realm kept only geldings in his stalls to trot before his cart by day and accommodate his rampant manhood by night!
Heather usually delegated such removal jobs to the two lesbians who were only too delighted to do it. It wasn’t that she was squeamish, Jezebel's dumbness was testimony to that, or bothered by the task, merely that she was a good enough staff manager to know how important assigning those little extra perks to the appropriate people could be towards maintaining a happy team.
Margaret’s turned her attention to the third pony as it let out a bit stifled squeal as Heather's whip flickered out and expertly cracked across its right thigh. That was one of the training conditions she’d reluctantly had to impose on Heather at her best friends behest. The beasts sensitive rump and udders were to be off-limits, saved in pristine condition’s for her youthful owners sole future use. Heather’s eyebrows had shot up at that, but she’d refrained from grumbling thought she hadn’t looked happy about it either.
Margret smiled to herself as the whip flicked out again, resulting in another muffled squeak from Eva’s pony. Heather was a professional after all and a perfect one when it came to training wild recalcitrant beasts like these and she didn’t lack for imagination. There were other sensitive parts of the human anatomy after all weren’t there, two very sensitive ones for instance much lower down.
No one had said anything about feet, had they. Heather had been most unhappy with Patootie’s first full day of training. Naturally, she had felt no need to ask but merely strapped the filly securely to the flogging bench and slowly and methodically caned the sole of her right hoof while the new pony screamed the place down! Eva watching the other stable girls at work outside had wanted to go and see what was happening, but Margret told her no, leave it to Heather.
Next day, of course, Eva had immediately gone across to the stable first thing and scrutinised her pony casting suspicions side glances towards Heather. The latter though, had been smart enough to have the filly sitting down on a hard-wooden stool, so she wasn’t putting any pressure on her tortured foot. They can’t take standing 24/7 in the early days she’d lied unabashedly you know. She’d stood there with her arms crossed and a sly smile on her lips enjoying Eva’s expression of puzzled frustration as she carefully examined two pristine udders and unmarked rump cheeks on her enraged helpless pony in vain.
Equally, the horrified anger, outrage and humiliation on Patootie’s face as she was subjected to the examination by the young girl amused her. Well, that was no big deal, all ponies had to get used to being handled like that and it would frequently be much more intimate. These creatures had to realise that their bodies no longer belonged to them and modesty, in any case, was an irrelevant concept so far as these animals went. More amusing was the fact that the bitted pony was incapable of telling her young owner just what the youthful stable mistress had done to her.
In her inexperience and being preoccupied with learning to ride the other ponies Eva hadn’t spotted that her pony limped for the next couple of days then it didn’t matter because the stupid animal had a hissy fit and refused point-blank to do as Heather commanded while attached to outside the walker. Eva was out riding with her hostess, so she’d missed hearing her bit less pony singing loudly for a second time as the stable cane methodically kissed the bottom of its left hoof.
‘Your pony is new to all this and getting a bit tired, so we are doing things today in slow time’ Heather had said nonchalantly the following day as Eva observed her animal walking delicately and carefully as it ‘high stepped’ under Heather's ever-present whip. Margret had walked away stifling a laugh. She’d give Patricia a call later to say that Patootie was coming along nicely and so far nor a single mark to mar the main bodywork parts that were reserved solely for Eva to imprint her authority eventually.
Margret watched for a few more minutes then left them to it and sauntered back up the gentle slope towards her massive old house originally built out of the local grey stone. Three hundred years plus on the outside but considerably newer and more comfortable throughout the interior bar certain parts of the basement where she kept her private harem strictly confined. Watching Heather train ponies invariably made her randy so which one should she choose today or maybe more than one perhaps.
Behind her there sounded three similar whip cracks in quick succession and two different muted squeals making her smile. Poor dumb Jezebel tended to get it as well sometimes just out of habit when the other two made a mistake but lacked the same verbal ability to respond. Now she wondered for the umpteenth time, what was that creatures story?
Authors Note: While this story forms chapter 18 of the Two Families tale, it is also intended to serve as the first in a series of one-off stories. ‘Tales from Margret’s Stables.’ (Tales from Margret’s Estate #1 Heather).
