Two out of three

 

The comment on my Facebook posting came right out of the blue. I’d put up a few pictures of Chrissie and myself enjoying a cheapo late spring break on the island of Majorca before the hordes of summer tourists arrived. The usual thing, budget airline, the cheapest beachfront hotel I could find on the internet, likewise hire car.

It produced the usual replies and comments from family and friends, along with a fair few likes, but one comment stood out, being somewhat different from all the other predictable inane responses. ‘Nice pic’s, I take it from them that you and Chrissie are still together? Remember those nights at the club when we were at Uni? Are you two still interested in that sort of thing? Got something you both might be interested in? If so, message me if you are, Jeremy.

That was what started it and why Chrissie and I had driven up the M10 motorway for an hour or so and then cut off into Cambridgeshire and were heading for a dot on the map that was a mere postcode on our built-in sat nav.  Neither of us was familiar with this part of the country, but it was a nice change from London despite the Saturday traffic being heavier than anticipated. Why do so many trucks have to be on the road at the weekend?

Chrissie and I were both northern girls born and bred. Myself from the Eastern side, the white rose county of Yorkshire. In contrast, Chrissie hailed from Liverpool on the West coast, the red-rose county of Lancashire.  Neither of us had the strong accent associated with those areas until after a few beers anyway.  After a few drinks too many, one of our party pieces was to slag each other off in our home towns' slang and exaggerated accents.

We’d met at a Pride event the student’s union organised during our fresher’s week at uni. Two shy, northern lasses unsure of our sexuality and both feeling a tad homesick.  Neither of us came from an over-achieving academic family, so we were also somewhat over-awed by the university and life in the capital. Not least the shock of finding how expensive everything was down South! ‘How much!’ became a sort of battle cry of ours during those first few weeks.

An exchange of tentative, shy smiles at a book stall full of lesbian literature overseen by a rather aggressive, pierced and heavily tattooed gothic leather-clad dyke, quickly led to a swift retreat to the safety of a table by the café counter. We swapped life stories while giggling about the predatory glances the ink-impregnated goth constantly threw our way. We agreed that she wasn’t bad looking and take away all the artwork, or most of it, plus the numerous metallic additions and, well, maybe…..

‘Not hard to figure who’d be the bottom in any relationship with that one’, Chrissie had giggled over her small, iced latte. Small because neither of us had money to burn, most students haven’t, but we came from what would once have been described as poor working-class families, whereas now we were ‘lower income’, but spare coppers were just as rare in the family purse, let alone silver!

‘Probably with a very sore bottom too, I’d imagine I had replied, shooting a surreptitious glance at the Goth who’d turned her predatory attentions to a rather petite and innocent-looking young blonde she’d virtually pinned to the stall and looking somewhat desperate.

‘Like that kid will have unless she gets out of that situation quickly’, Chrissie had chuckled and added. ‘I wouldn’t mind warming that little cutie up a bit myself!’ she winked at me and rather sexily licked her lips, making me giggle and choke, spitting half a mouthful of my Americano all over the table.

We learned much about each other in the next two hours, finishing our first drinks and then sharing a large, iced latte via two straws, a not-unusual sight in the student union coffee bar. We dated that night, shared a bed, and have been a couple ever since. We dovetailed together perfectly, our tastes coinciding in music, food, humour, cats, holiday locations and just about everything bar two.

I was a Leeds United supporter, whereas Chrissie was a Liverpool supporter. However, we could live with that, especially as they had not been in the same football league for most of our time together.  Less straightforward was we’d also discovered a mutual interest in the BDSM scene that first twenty-four hours together, and neither of us was natural or willing bottoms.

Of course, we’d experimented over the years by adding a third and, on one occasion, a fourth party to our games, but it had never proved particularly satisfactory. Despite being in a very secure, loving relationship, one of us always seemed overly jealous, even when there were no grounds to be suspicious. I was particularly prone to developing unfounded suspicions and was probably lucky to avoid criminal charges and a lot of unpleasantness once when I went way overboard delivering a caning to a submissive woman I thought might be attempting to seduce Chrissie.

Had she not been married with a couple of kids to a prominent lawyer with parliamentary ambitions, it might have turned out quite nasty had he not ensured it was all kept quiet. He got himself elected at the next election and was on the telly the other night delivering a speech about illegal immigration, and she’s still married to him. Anyway, all that doesn’t explain why we were driving up to Cambridgeshire that Saturday morning following an unexpected Facebook message.

We’d met Jeremy, always Jeremy, not Jerry, for he hated that abbreviation before our second year started.  Like most British universities, they only had so much accommodation available, which was always reserved for first-year students. Chrissie and I got lucky and were saved the hassle of finding a shared ‘student house’ to rent. We’d decided to stay in London for the long summer vacation rather than return home. It made sense because we wanted to stay together, plus we’d both got part-time jobs waitressing to supplement our student loans, and being peak tourist season, we could go full-time for the summer months.

Our place paid above the minimum wage, and while tipping wasn’t the general custom in the UK, we did okay because we worked in ‘quality’ restaurants. Fewer customers, less hassle, plus our patrons weren’t the sort to be miserly when they received the bill along with a generous, hopeful smile. We just loved American tourists and their generosity!

To be strictly accurate, we met Jeremy at the end of our first year when we were seriously thinking about where to live for the summer and where we could continue living once the term started again in October. We were reading the various notices on a dedicated board in the student union café when we politely moved over to allow a relatively short guy with pink highlights in his long blonde hair to pin up a card. However, he never actually got that far.

He glanced sideways at us, paused, smiled and then nodded affably. “I’ve seen you here a few times at the Rainbow Night disco’s, haven’t I? Always dancing closely together?”

“What of it?” Chrissie had promptly challenged. At that stage, neither of us had ‘come out’ as it is irritatingly termed, and she was far feistier than I was when the question of our sexuality was raised.

“Hey, back off and pull your horns in.” Jeremy had laughed, raising his hands. “I surrender. I assume you’ve also seen me here dancing with my latest boyfriend or eyeing the better-looking male talent.  Looking for accommodation, I take it?”

We agreed to rental terms over a coffee, which he insisted on buying without even seeing the house he was renting. Jeremy was in his final year but would probably stay on and do his master’s. He had two spare bedrooms in a four-bedroom house in a convenient location. He occupied one and his non-student on/off boyfriend another. The other two were recently vacated by students who’d graduated and moved elsewhere. One was larger and had a double bed, so we opted to share that, meaning he could still let the fourth while we could save a few more pennies. It was a big house with a huge kitchen, so one more wouldn’t be a crowd, plus it would mean all of us paying less rent.

Chrissie was driving as we headed North, so I had plenty of time to indulge in nostalgia. Besides, she didn’t like to talk while driving and was always nervous on motorways. Odd because she was pretty damn forward, even aggressive, most of the time. Hell, yes! I’d been on the end of many a pounding once she got going with her favourite strap-on!

We’d had three good years with Jeremy at that house and took over the tenancy when he departed for another two years till we scrapped up enough to put a deposit on a small flat of our own. Small being the appropriate word as we’d done our degrees in the medical profession and the UK National Health Service while providing fantastic health care to the tax-paying public wasn’t the best when it came to generous wage settlements for its hard-working and conscientious staff!  I’d studied nursing while Chrissie was a radiographer.

We hadn’t seen Jeremy for over five years, and his sudden, mysterious contact had intrigued us both. Despite being a very close threesome for a couple of years, we’d quickly lost touch once he left the house to work in a science park on the outskirts of Cambridge. It was always a threesome, for Jeremy seemed to have a new lover, a new ‘boy’ every couple of months but tended to keep them separate. Mark, his on/off live-in partner, seemed to have no problem with that, for it appeared thiers was a causal relationship based purely on sex and not much else, one providing satisfaction for the other whenever one of them was in the mood.

We had no problems with that, for Mark was a quiet guy with a wicked sense of humour who mostly kept himself to himself. He was fastidious about cleanliness and did far more of the general housework than his fair share. Naturally, we didn’t discourage him, and as he seemed to enjoy it, why interfere?

On the other hand, Jeremy was less retiring and far more forceful, a bundle of dynamic energy at times and very demanding. He was one of those people who always seemed way bigger than they physically are merely by force of personality. I’m five foot eight in my bare feet and Chrissie two inches shorter, yet we both frequently felt inferior to Jeremy, who admitted to being five feet four inches tall. We both thought that perhaps it was a little white lie, for he always wore thick soles shoes with clunkier heels than usual. Not massively oversized and hardly noticeable unless you happened to be looking, but even with them, we had doubts that he made that full fourth inch.

That fraction of an inch hardly mattered, but it was obviously important to him. We learned early on that he was exceedingly touchy about his lack of stature. The five of us were drinking in a nearby pub one Saturday night just after term had started. Me, Chrissie, Jeremy, Mark and Nancy, the latter a big, immensely cheerful, American exchange student who’d taken the fourth bedroom. A devout catholic from the mid-west who scolded the four of us daily for our sinful sexuality along with baking the most fantastic biscuits, ‘cookies’ to her and chocolate flapjack!

It was getting towards closing time when the incident happened, and while none of us were drunk, we’d reached that happy, carefree end of a good evening state. Jeremy had gone up to the bar to get a final round in. He tended towards generosity, having a sizeable allowance from his parents that the rest of us lacked and had accidentally jogged a big guy’s arm just as he was about to take a sip from a full pint. No big deal, and the guy seemed quite amiable and unconcerned about it, and nothing would have happened if he hadn’t quietly said, “Hey, go carefully there, shortie!”

I doubt he even intended it to be an insult from his tone and grin, but Jeremy just exploded. Boom! One moment affable, apple pie sweet and the next, flinging himself upon a guy seemingly twice his size and trying his best to kill the poor guy. Hell, it only lasted a matter of seconds before a half dozen of us pulled him off, but the poor chap still spent half the night in the local hospital accident and emergency department!  Our pleasant evening out ended up at the police station, making statements, and Jeremy being done for assault. We learned it wasn’t his first such offence either, and he was lucky to get off with a fine and a severe warning from the magistrate for disturbing the peace. The assault charge was dropped mainly because the other guy didn’t press charges.

We were to learn that size mattered to Jeremy, at least as far as partners went. That temperamental chip on his shoulder was sizeable, unlike him. He liked his bedmates on the large size; the bigger, the better, and he wanted them submissive. The more submissive, the better! He was a top with a capital T, and they were bottoms with a very small b. Not that they physically had small butts, and he liked to amuse himself both outside and inside said butts very roughly. Nature might have been somewhat miserly when handing out the inch’s stature-wise but had relented when it came to another critical male statistic!

Being a shared house, we only had one bathroom, which contained a toilet like many UK houses. Fortunately, we also had another one downstairs, which is very useful in a shared house when everyone rises at about the same time. Jeremy had a habit of moving unconcernedly between the bathroom and his bedroom au natural, as Chrissie discovered emerging from our room early that first month. She promptly dubbed him Donkey-Kong, and a couple of days later, I was equally impressed with his ‘boy parts’ as he emerged from the bathroom door just as I reached for the handle. Not exactly our ‘cup of tea’ as the saying goes, but unquestionably awesome and worth a few giggles!

Chrissie had been as intrigued as I had been when he messaged me back with that invite to visit him and added his cell phone number in Messenger, and despite several calls, he’d refused to be drawn on anything. He just got into one of his silly giggly moods and became exaggeratedly gay, if you know what I mean, complete with a ridiculous accent and a shit load of darlings, sweeties, luvvies and similar endearments.

All we knew was that it related to our days or nights at Scarlett’s Bar, a discreet, dimly lit establishment in a large basement complex not far from Soho Square he’d introduced us to. The area was once famous or perhaps infamous as the red-light district of the capital, full of sleazy clip joints, whores and dirty book shops but lacking the canal and café ambience of Amsterdam’s De Wallen district. However, while the latter still exists as a significant tourist attraction, most of the sleaze around Soho has been consigned to history and had been even when we frequented the area.

Strictly speaking, Scarlett’s was a club rather than a bar and very much a member-only venue, complete with a tuxedo-clad gorilla on door duty after you’d negotiated a small iron gate, descended a flight of narrow green slime-covered steps and knocked on the paint peeling door complete with a small sliding hatch at face level allowing said gorilla to ascertain one's worthiness to enter.

Never having been refused, I have no idea what would have happened had Simon or Colin decided against admitting us. They were both big guys, very much admired, of course, by Jeremy, and I’m sure more than capable of dealing with any unpleasant situation, external or internal. Not that one had ever occurred while we were visiting.  Not counting the usual bitchiness among the predominantly gay clientele and some disciplinary reminders from the various doms upon their attendant subs.

Scarlett was an ex-model, tall and gorgeous, with a mane of long blonde hair. An American who’d worked predominately for a prestigious London agency then spent a few years as a high-class dominant once the wrinkles became too hard to hide for the glossies, as she always joked. She’d married, had a couple of kids, got bored and opened the club. She ran it with Tony, her subby hubby and Billy, her submissive toyboy half her age. They mostly ran the bar while Scarlett spent most evenings with a glass of champagne in one hand, circulating and talking to her customers and long-term friends.

It wasn’t primarily a gay club nor especially a bdsm one but had become popular with patrons of both types, perhaps because of the décor and pictures and partly because of Scarlett herself, her interests, and mostly the casual, undemanding atmosphere. Certainly not because of the drink prices and bar snacks. Scarlett had been born ‘on the wrong side of the tracks’ as they say, in an impoverished small Southern town. She might have gone to school barefoot, as she claimed, but that was way behind her by the time she opened the club, being an excellent businesswoman who’d graduated to wearing ultra-expensive handmade shoes.

Chrissie and I became involved through Jeremy, who was a member and on very good terms with Scarlett, although we never found out how. Indeed, much of his life and background had remained an enigma to us throughout those days at the flat with him. Fortunately, and probably because of him, we also got along very well with Scarlett, who tolerated our impoverished student status and turned a blind eye to the two of us sharing a rum and coke plus a packet of potato chips for half the evening!

We were very much in the minority, for Students aren’t known for being big spenders, and most of the club's clientele was decidedly from the more affluent middle-class element of the middle-aged! However, Scarlett liked to use her contacts within the glamour and entertainment world to ensure that there was always a sprinkling of younger and prettier faces, and you could almost always spot one or two showbiz ‘names’. I recall one night when Chrissie had been desperate to get an autograph from one such individual who’d recently received an Oscar. However, Jeremy wouldn’t let her because Scarlett would have taken a dim view of such a violation of a customer’s privacy!

As the flat countryside of Cambridgeshire flashed past the car window, I recalled a casual supper conversation between us at the house one night not long after we’d moved in. Jeremy was lamenting that he’d just parted company with his latest ‘big boy’ as he called them because the guy decided that being bottom to Jeremy’s top wasn’t quite what he’d expected. ‘It wasn’t as if I’d even started being cruel to him, well, not too cruel’, he’d complained over something more potent than the usual nightly cocoa.

That relaxed mood had initiated a conversation about our mutual scene interests, released any inhibitions we’d previously had between the three of us and led to our becoming members of the club a few days later. We were never quite sure if Jeremy covered any excess on our membership fees or if we’d qualified under Scarlett’s younger and prettier eye candy criteria, neither of us being ugly ducklings, and we never asked!

Sadly, the club closed about eighteen months after our first introduction after a silly and unnecessary police raid. Customers could hire certain discrete rooms containing much of the furniture and paraphernalia Scarlett had acquired for her various dungeon chambers during her days as a professional dom. We missed all the excitement and potential embarrassment by one night. Thus, being spared featuring in the subsequent ‘sensational revelations’ published a week later in one of the cheaper Sunday tabloids—most of which content varied between sheer speculation and outright fantasy with a minimal factual basis.

Unfortunately, several ‘names’ had been enjoying a quiet night out, including one with a lady who wasn’t his wife who’d been indulging their fantasies in one of the private rooms! The case never came to court for various reasons, chiefly because Scarlett wasn’t running a brothel as claimed but a private member-only club and the police had tried to charge her under several inappropriate or archaic offences. It was embarrassing and ultimately pointless for all concerned, and Scarlett decided to move to Switzerland where her kids were already in private schools, taking subby hubby, toyboy and her latest nubile young girlfriend with her.

“Ten more miles”, I said, looking at the built-in sat nav. “Wonder what he’s so damn keen to show us and what he meant by old discussions and fantasies?”

Chrissie shook her head and shrugged. “No idea, Honey. We had some wild fantasies back then, as I recall.” She suddenly laughed and turned to wink at me, running her tongue over her lips. “Pretty damn wild and sexy ones, as I recall. Still have come to that!”

I nodded in agreement. Yeah, and I also remember the fights you and I had over them. Hell, we nearly broke up a couple of times. Remember poor ugly Jenny, if we hadn’t met her, we might have done. I recall you storming out of the flat one evening and spending the night in that sleazy café that mainly catered for black cab drivers – worried the hell out of me!”

Chrissie laughed again. “Yeah, well, you needn’t have worried. Those guys were adorable, and I lost count of how many teas, coffees, and bacon sandwiches they bought me before one of them gave me a lift home for free once I’d simmered down! Having Jenny around for a while was cool, though. I wonder what ever happened to her?”

“No idea!” That was true. Jenny was a fellow student we’d somehow fallen in with, and I can’t even remember how that happened. We called her Ugly Jenny because she was. Her hair was horrible, long and always greasy, no matter how often she washed it, plus she had bald spots. Her teeth stuck out, and her eyes kind of squinted plus, she had skinny chicken legs and no figure to speak of and might have been a boy for all that she possessed in the tit department. She was also a born submissive and pain freak, and we had a ball with her for a couple of months with Jeremy hammering on our bedroom door on more than one occasion late at night, yelling at us to gag the ugly bitch so he could get some beauty sleep! Whereas nothing ever woke Nancy, our decidedly conservative American housemate, once she nodded off, and we had to go and shake her every morning physically so she wouldn’t be late for her classes.

We never did find out what had happened to our ugly playmate. One evening, Jenny didn’t turn up as ordered, nor the next few nights and when we enquired at uni, we were told she’d resigned from her course, packed her bags, moved out of her shared digs, and disappeared. Maybe she’d found someone even nastier than we were, although we’d been pretty bad when I thought back. Perhaps she’d taken up with a guy, for she wasn’t gay or even bi, come to that. She’s become a darned good clit licker, though with the appropriate encouragement, and we’d given her a lot of that!

I looked at the countryside flying by, wondering about Jeremy and his mysterious call. He seemed very excited and insisted we visit him as soon as possible. Very insistent, but then again, he’d always been a bit of an enthusiast, hadn’t he? The latest rock band he’d discovered, the must-read book when he found a new author or, best of all, a new restaurant. That was always a good one, for he had far more money than us, and any new restaurant discovered meant a night out on him, wine and often taxi included!

*****

“Well, he was right about being isolated but easy to find”, Chrissie noted as she pulled into what had once been a sizeable car park. The entrances and exit had once been clearly marked in white paint on the tarmac and adjacent signs, but these were barely legible now. Indeed, we’d driven right past the entrance one when Chrissie abruptly stomped on the brakes in time to turn into the one marking the exit. Not that it mattered, for it must have been many years since that opening had seen regular departures.

The building had once been a roadside pub, one of those you see dotted about the country with no apparent reason for their existence. No village or any other sign of habitation was in the vicinity, not even a lonely farmhouse or cottage. Some were attractive old coaching houses from an era that preceded the railways, but this one looked to be of a much later vintage. A sign by the roadside with a faded but hideous goblin-like figure panted upon it proclaimed, ‘The Green Man’. A not unusual name for a British public house, no doubt named after a local hob-goblin superstition.  Another equally faded sign proclaimed it served restaurant and bar meals and a special roast Sunday lunch.  Looking at the cracked and weed-covered car park, many years must have passed since they last carved a roast joint for anyone.

We pulled up near the old-fashioned studded wooden door and exited the car as Jeremy bounded out to greet us with a huge welcome smile, splitting his handsome face. He rushed forward to hug and kiss us both, clearly delighted that we had taken up his invitation to visit. He had to stand on tiptoes because we both favoured heels, so we inclined our heads downwards slightly to brush our lips, for I’d forgotten how much smaller he was. As I’d mentioned, he was one of those who always seemed so much larger than they actually were.

“Huge, isn’t it?” he laughed a moment later, waving an arm around as we entered the building. “It goes all down that side as well. This area used to be the main bar and the dining area behind that semi-partition. Over there, in the big alcove, you’ll find a couple of dart boards and a coin-operated pool table. There’s a jar of tokens for the table on the shelf by the darts if you fancy a game while you’re here.  This area covers most of the ground floor apart from what used to be a small private sitting room for the landlord’s family, a store, and the kitchen. Otty and I tend to use the small sitting room rather than this ginormous space, but it’s a bit of a mess, so we’ll park ourselves here by the bay window and here’s Otty bang on time with the refreshments. A latte and a cappuccino, no sprinkles unless you’ve changed?”

We both laughed and shook our heads as the huge blonde guy carrying the tray grinned sheepishly at us before promptly beating a hasty retreat after putting the tray on the small round table, still complete with several beer mats.

“Shy, very shy”, Jeremy chuckled, handing around cups and ripping open a couple of packets of biscuits. “Batchelor catering, and don’t worry about the beer mats. Consider them coasters, and I’ve a ton of them down in the cellar.” he paused and laughed. “Well, you know what I mean. We also intended to tidy up the private sitting room, but somehow, we didn’t quite get around to it. Something came up…” he broke off and giggled. “sort of apt, you might say!”

“So, who’s Otty?” Chrissie asked, helping herself to a bourbon biscuit and why this place? Are you planning to open it as a pub again or something?”

“Nope,” Jeremy swallowed his mouthful of biscuit and again gestured around the vast room. My parents decided to purchase this white elephant. I was working at the Cambridge Science Park and renting a decent place in the city, only a short bike ride away. Dad had always fancied himself as a publican, leaning on the bar and chatting to his regulars, so they got this place on the cheap and soon found out why. They only ran it for a couple of years before closing down. A lack of customers, both regular and others, but they stayed on using it as a house. Covid, unfortunately, took them in quick succession. Their own fault, silly sods, for both were avid deniers and refused to wear masks or social distance!

I was working from home when my landlord decided to sell, so it was a no-brainer at the time to move out here. I’m still working predominantly from home and was looking for a buyer.” he paused and grinned oddly at us. “Was, that being the operative word, but no longer, as you’ll soon see”.

“And Otty? Your latest beau, I assume?” I asked. “The latest version of Mark, I presume?”

“We met Mark last year”, Chrissie interrupted. “One Sunday afternoon. We had a lovely walk down the embankment and then decided to visit the Tower of London on a whim, neither of us ever having been, and who did we meet?”

“I think you’ve already given that answer away, Sweetie”, I laughed. “It was Chrissie who spotted him pushing a baby carriage. There was such a gorgeous blonde with him holding a toddler by the arm. A Norwegian girl he’s married to and working for her father, something to do with pharmaceuticals. He was in London for a conference and taking a few days holiday with his family.”

“Two lovely kids, weren’t they?” I looked at my lover, who nodded. “It was a brief meeting; we sensed he was a bit embarrassed to see us, so it was a quick hello and goodbye to two of his old uni friends. We didn’t mention you for obvious reasons. Anyway, what would we have said? We hadn’t seen you in years!”

Jeremy laughed. “Self-evident reasons I should never have thought. So, Markey boy with a wife and family, well, well! Mind you, I’m not all that surprised, for I sensed he was never quite a one hundred percenter, shall we say. Going straight and no longer a subbie, eh?”

Chrissie and I laughed and shared an amused look. “We might beg to differ on that point,” I told him. “We chatted about that all afternoon. Straight maybe, but Mrs or Ms Birgit was definitely the one wearing the trousers in that relationship!”

“Very definitely”, Chrissie reinforced. “On the ‘it takes one to know one’ factor, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find Mark had a sore bottom under his trousers. Madam Birgit might have been a more appropriate introduction. ‘Say goodbye to your friends now, Mark’. Perfect English, but I know an order to be obeyed when I hear one! So, who’s Otty then, do tell?”

Jeremy laughed. “Oh well, as long as he’s happy. I was very fond of Mark. Angry when he suddenly decided to up sticks and depart, of course, but now, just fond memories. But you are correct about Otty. The latest and almost longest, over two years now. As you may have noticed, a real big boy but such a sweetie. He reminds me of a huge puppy dog, a tad ferocious looking in some ways but an absolute dream boy in others. He came over as part of an IT team from Hamburg and never returned.” he grinned and then added. “Well, not quite true. He went back to bring his things over and sort other stuff out and flies back every couple of months to see his family, of course.”

“So, you captured him.” It was my turn to laugh, but Jeremy remained quite serious.

“Captivated, my dear girl, captivated. “he wagged a finger at me. “There is a difference between captivated and captured.” he suddenly chuckled and winked. “Once you’ve finished your coffee, I‘ll show you the difference. “Otty, that’s my pet name, so you might prefer to call him Otto is very shy at first, but he’ll soon adapt. His English has improved, but he still feels it’s not very good, which doesn’t help,” Jeremy confided to us. “Two years plus, we’ve been together, and he’s in danger of becoming something of a recluse. I have to virtually drag him around the supermarket once a week or out to a restaurant!”

“So that’s why you’ve asked us here,” I laughed. “A bit of social therapy for your big hunky lover”

I was a little surprised, as was Chrissie, when he gave a sort of startled snort and then threw his head back, roaring with laughter. “Far from it.” he chuckled a moment later when his fit had subsided. “Although I will admit that Otty is a far happier boy of late now, he doesn’t find me so…so, well, as you may recall, I was never as gentle as I might have been with some of my lover boys?”

This time, it was Chrissie who snorted before saying. “Make that all of them! I seem to recall one guy you caned a bit too enthusiastically who went as far as laying charges against you for assault and battery or something similar! One weekend when we were away somewhere.”

“Don’t”, Jeremy shuddered. “That was so embarrassing. Policemen may look so butch and cute in their uniforms, but having them turn up unannounced on one’s doorstep is far less fun!”  he paused and suddenly grinned. “My, er, so-called crime was fun, though, and I certainly enjoyed it much more than he did. The screwing afterwards was heavenly” he gave a nostalgic little shudder. “For me anyway, and he might have enjoyed it too if he hadn’t spent so much time trying to free himself! That annoyed me so much I felt I just had to tickle his arse again afterwards with my cane!”

I nodded. “But a bit more than a tickle from what Mark told us. I gather it was a very noisy night, and if he hadn’t intervened when you started on round two, things might have been a whole lot worse!”

Jeremy sighed. “Ah yes, Markie. I used to wonder what became of him, and now I know. He was a damn good fuck as well. My fault we eventually fell out. I became a little too rough as usual one night, and we had…words!”.

“You eventually, as you put it, fell out with all of them, as I recall,” Chrissie told him a touch acidly. “Always because you became far too rough. I remember intervening one night with another of your casual pick-ups”.

“Did you?” Jeremy was somewhat distant. “I don’t recall. I doubt Markie would approve of….well,” he stopped short and grinned at us. “Otty does, and I must say it's improved our relationship no end, both in and out of bed. Maybe I was beginning to get a tad too rough again. Of course, there is no need to do so now, not that he ever complained, well, not too much,” he mused and then laughed.

Chrissie and I shared a bemused look before she burst out. “Jeremy, what the fuck are you talking about and what’s so damn important that you virtually Shanghai us into coming up here. What gives and what was with all that stuff about Scarlett’s old club about? Cut all the enigmatic crap; otherwise, I’ll grab one of those pool cues off that rack down there and smack your head with it. Jesus!” she trailed off, rolling her eyes at me.

“Promises, promises!” Jeremy laughed. “Ah, yes, the good old club. Happy memories, especially the Dom and Sub Night specials. Me with my latest subbie and you two arguing as usual whose turn it was to be the sub.” He grinned. “I seem to recall a couple of occasions when I ended up going on my own because you two had argued yourselves into such a state that you locked yourselves in separate rooms to avoid real physical conflict!”

“Don’t exaggerate?” I told him. “Only once, and we made up quickly once you’d gone. In fact, that tiff led to quite a passionate night!”

“Bloody stupid house rule anyway!” Chrissie burst out. “I’ve seen Doms there many a time with two, three, even four subs on leashes, and yet they wouldn’t admit the pair of us as Doms!”

I smiled at the look of indignation on her beautiful face, even after all this time and quickly intervened. When fired up, Chrissie had one hell of a temper, and the fuse wasn’t very long. Clearly, the embarrassing memory of Big Simon refusing us entry that night still rankled even though he’d been an absolute sweetie about it and so very apologetic. No accompanying sub, no entry!

“Jeremy!” Chrissie growled, that short temper of hers rising by the second. “For fucks sake, get on with it…whatever it is!”

“Hasn’t changed, has she?” He flashed a grin at me and then held up a cautionary finger. “Now ladies, a quick question before we proceed to the….the main event shall we call it.  Ah ah, no!” he wagged the finger at Chrissie, cutting off another outburst before it could start.  “Now my question is this and going back to the club. The last Saturday night every other month, February, April, June and so forth and all the special nights at other times.  Do you recall the regular theme for those nights and entry dress code?” He peered at us with a silly grin on his face. “Yes, no, come on.”

Chrissie and I looked at each other and then back to Jeremy, who looked suddenly disappointed, even a little dejected. Then inspiration seemed to strike, and he suddenly snapped his fingers and shouted. “Jazzy, Jasmine! Come on now, surely you remember your Jazzy?”

The same light bulb flashed on in our two brains. Jazzy, Jasmine, our beautiful ponygirl who’d accompanied us to the ponyplay nights so many times. Well, not that many times, considering the nights were two months apart, nor had she been all that beautiful. Middle-aged, plump, plain looking and on the short side but once in pony harness and warpaint and aided by the subdued blue and red club lighting, she was perfectly acceptable to her temporary young Mistress’s for the evening. She was our entry ticket, if for no other reason.

Neither of us was the least bit interested in real equines, nor had a pony ever featured in our Christmas present list when we were young, and besides, neither of our families could have come anywhere near to affording one. Ponyplay nights at the club, though, were by far and away our favourite fetish nights, and there were some fantastic ponies on display, not to mention their sexy owners.

The only problem back then was that neither one of us was prepared to be the one wearing the pony kit. The club could have doubled as a theatrical costumier for fetish events and parties, having a sizeable wardrobe of costumes and items for hire. They catered for all their own internal events and had a nice little sideline in external hires for private parties and even occasional commercial use by television companies and the like.

The pony outfits were both revealing and restricting. That was perfectly fine if you weren’t the one wearing it because the club was very ‘hands-on’; at least it was for those adopting the dominant role. Those with a natural submissive nature seemed to relish such treatment, but neither Chrissie nor I belonged in that category. The idea of spending an entire evening being groped and probed in the most intimate places by virtual strangers held little appeal. Likewise, being deprived of the use of your hands and sucking on a bit gag all night, dependent on someone else as to whether you were allowed a drink or not!

We’d both given it a go, but once and once only was one time too many, so that would have been it, as the saying goes for those entertaining nights, had we not met Jazzy. Jasmine, her full name, not that we ever called her that. Her owner, Miriam, had called her that when she gave her to us, and we saw no reason to dignify her beyond her lowly equine status, so Jazzy she remained.

We’d been arguing about it somewhat loudly in the club one night, with poor Jeremy caught up as referee and peacemaker. Neither of us, as I’ve said, was submissive, and although I didn’t have the same fiery temperament as my lover, I was no doormat. Thus, ‘Domestics’, if I can borrow that police term, while not a frequent occurrence, was not unknown in our relationship!

It had been early on a weekday evening and relatively quiet in the club when Miriam, who’d been sitting at a nearby table with her latest young girlfriend, suddenly stood up and approached our secluded booth, holding her hands over her ears.

“Heavens, ladies, please keep it down a little. Here I am on the verge of persuading that shy, sweet little thing into my bed for the first time, not to mention paddling her sexy little bottom beforehand, and she’s hardly listening to a single word. Her entire attention seems focused on your little squabble! What the problem anyway between these two lovely ladies, Jezza?” she’d asked, squeezing into our booth and seating herself next to Chrissie, who’d obligingly moved up.

Jeremy hated any abbreviations to his name, but Miriam was one of those who could get away with it, nor did we take offence at the interruption. Miriam was a popular club member, a good pal of Scarlett’s and a regular patron. A tall, willowy forty-something blonde, well known to West End theatre audiences and those in the provinces. Out in the wilderness as she dismissed her countrywide tours. She rarely did TV or Films, preferring to preserve a degree of anonymity rather than being a ‘face’ or a ‘celebrity’ as she derided other members of her profession. ‘Doesn’t need the money either’, Jeremy had whispered when pointing her out on one of our early visits to the club. ‘Daddy had been a multi-millionaire, mostly property, so she’s got places paying rent all over the country. Works for fun, plus it gives her access to a plentiful supply of pretty young wannabes to seduce’.

Jeremy explained that the debate had grown heated as neither ‘lovely lady’ was willing to compromise over the club’s pony nights. Nor did we want to forgo attendance at such nights.

Miriam had laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Is that all! Elementary, my dear ladies, as Mr Holmes would have said. That was my very first theatrical role, you know—one solitary line but not that one. I played the maid at 221B Baker Street. ‘A visitor for you, Mister Holmes, ' she laughed, adding, ‘and of course, on my third night, the bloody door handle stuck after I’d shown the important visitor in. There I was, tugging and pulling at the damn thing, the entire flimsy backdrop shaking, a certain prominent actor with ‘Sir’ in front of his name patiently awaiting my exit and the whole audience beginning to titter! Cutting it short, I was about to panic when the notable actor decided to ignore me and carry on while nodding his head for my benefit. I took the hint and gratefully skedaddled stage right!’

Anyway, following up from her and cutting it short, her solution was to give us Jazzy. She was growing bored with the woman anyway, plus she wasn’t exactly her ‘cup of tea’ as the saying goes. She is not exactly youthful, nor eye candy face or figure-wise, but eminently spankable! Those were her exact words a couple of evenings later when she tossed the near-naked, tightly harnessed woman’s reins over to us without so much as a single goodbye to Jazzy. Hardly surprising since her other pony, suitably restrained and harnessed, was the same shy, sweet little thing she’d briefly abandoned to join the three of us that previous evening. She had been spanked too, well spanked by the look of her pert young bottom!

Jazzy was forty-seven years old, plump, saggy, flat-breasted, with the sort of face that wouldn’t have launched a small rowboat, far less a thousand vengeful ships. Helen of Troy she wasn’t, but a dutiful, obedient and willing ponygirl she was—likewise our ticket to some memorable nights both in and out of the club. Jazzy was divorced, a frumpy librarian by day, a devoted grandmother to her single-mother daughters, two cute kids, and our personal ponygirl and regular pain pig two nights a week! Indeed, Jeremy wasn’t the only one disturbing the peace as he played too enthusiastically with his latest ‘boy’. Miriam had been no saint, but we probably exceeded her in terms of casual cruelty.

Jazzy both loved and hated us for much as she needed to submit; she was no natural lesbian, and it was a little strange that she preferred her owner to be female rather than male. Miriam had rarely used her sexually, whereas we, of course, were different and very demanding. We didn’t take no for an answer and weren’t bothered about her appearance. Why should we be when her face was hidden behind her bridle and bit almost all the time, and when the latter was removed, her head was usually buried deep between a pair of legs and still out of sight!

“What happened to her, by the way?” Jeremy asked. “She was still with you when I moved out. I always had the impression she was continually on the verge of quitting but never did despite how badly you treated her”.

“It was always consensual, well, sort of “, Chrissie amended and then shrugged her shoulders. “You know, the whole time we had her visiting, I can’t recall a single conversation with her, not a long one anyway. Not a normal sort of chat,  can you?”

I shook my head. “Not now, you come to mention it. We let her in, and she stripped. Then we harnessed her and bitted her, then it was either time for the taxi to the club or the bedroom. Beyond a few basics, I suppose we knew very little about her.” I thought about it momentarily and added, “It never seemed relevant, did it? We never regarded her as a friend or anything like that, did we? She was always Jazzy, our submissive ponygirl, and we treated her as one!”

“To answer your question”, Chrissie turned to Jeremy. “She moved up North, oh, perhaps a few months after you left. Her daughter moved in with a guy up in Newcastle, and she took a job in the main library up there to be near the kids. She phoned us one evening to say she wouldn’t be coming anymore, and that was that. Jazzy disappeared from our lives just as abruptly as she’d arrived that evening when Miriam gave her to us,” she finished with a big sigh.

“And never found a suitable replacement, I’ll wager?” Jeremy chuckled and winked at me.

“Nothing lasting and none that were quite as …..” I paused to think.

“Quite as thrashable”, Chrissie added with a sigh of her own. “My, how you could thrash that fat arse of hers and know no matter what she shrieked or wailed, the fat bitch would always return for more!”

“Yeah, I remember knocking on your bedroom door more than once”, he chuckled. “Jazzy could certainly hit a few high notes!”

“Hitting being the appropriate term”, Chrissie smiled nostalgically. “The odd ones we’ve had since have come nowhere near to old Jazzy, along with her big saggy tits and bottom. It’s all ‘please no more and don’t leave any marks’, she mimicked in a plaintive voice. “Bloody useless wannabes’ she growled, pulling a face.

“We’ve virtually given up looking for a suitable subbie”, I sighed and added with a wry smile. “Had more than a few arguments as well trying to persuade each other to play bottom bitch!”

Jeremy nodded and looked from Chrissie to me and back again as though considering something. Then, he half turned and seemed to stare down the long room at something we couldn’t see his tongue licking around his lips a couple of times.

“Well?” I said.

“Yeah, spit it out”, Chrissie added. “I know that look, so get it off your chest. I assume it’s to do with why you've dragged us both up here and not just to reminisce or admire this derelict place.” she waved a hand around.

“It’s not derelict, well, not inside”, he half protested. “So, you both miss your Jazzy then, your very submissive Jazzy and all you could do to her?”

“Of course we do, but…..” Chrissie stopped mid-sentence abruptly and gave him a long, hard look. A very suspicious look. “What's this all about, Jezza?” she said very provocatively. “What are you up to?’

“Have you heard anything from Scarlett since she left London?” I asked him. I knew how quickly he could explode over something like that, the question suddenly occurring to me as a distraction.  “I thought you were good friends?”

He paused and shook his head, looking a little sad. “No, not a thing and as you said, I thought we were friends, even intimates. She used to tell me all her worries, but nothing apart from what she told us that final evening. I think she must have decided to burn all her old bridges and start anew,” he finished with a regretful shrug and then seemed to shake that mood off. He startled us by suddenly clapping his hands and rising abruptly to his feet with an enormous Cheshire cat-style grin on his face.  “Anyway, come” he repeated.

“Steady on”, Chrissie said, putting a hand to the table he’d banged into and spilling his coffee, which he’d hardly touched.

“Oh pooh, never mind that”, he wafted a hand downwards. “What’s a drop of coffee compared to all the beer that’s been slopped in here over the ages? Otty will clear that up in half a sec. Come on, I’ve something to show you, or perhaps I should say someone,” he chortled, giddy with excitement. “I was going to build the surprise up slowly, but…. oh, I can’t wait any longer. Come on, ladies. I know I shall go pop if I try to keep it a secret for one moment longer. This way, if you please!”

It's impossible to hop up and down on the spot with excitement and walk at the same time. Still, Jeremy seemed to be managing it as we followed him out of the pub's back door, then through an abandoned and heavily overgrown picnic beer garden full of rotting wooden furnishings towards one of the big outbuildings. The guy was suddenly so hyped that I thought he might be verging on a fit or something.

I shot a look at Chrissie and got a similar look in return, along with a bewildered shrug of her slim shoulders. ‘What the hell? We’re here now,’ was the message I read in her body language.

We stopped by a solid-looking, blue-painted wooden door. He suddenly became ultra serious and hesitant as he turned to give us a sheepish grin before putting a finger to his lips in an exaggerated theatrical gesture. All that pent-up enthusiasm seemed suddenly to wilt away into thin air.

“Jeremy!” Chrissie growled impatiently.

The term Chesire Cat crossed my mind again, looking at the sudden smug smile on his face. A cat that was not only happy but thoroughly contented as though it had just swallowed a whole dish of cream.  An expression that grew even more amused as he glanced from Chrissie to me and back several times and then started tapping with one finger on a somewhat complicated-looking modern electronic keypad, totally at odds with the faded peeling paint on the heavy old door. Presumably, it was a complicated sequence of letters and numbers because it took him three goes before the door obligingly clicked open.

“All thumbs today”, he’d apologised to the impatient Chrissie.  The fact that he was literally trembling with excitement didn’t help. I saw Chrissie open her mouth as though to say something, but then she closed it again and turned to me, rolling her eyes instead.

He winked and quickly put a finger to his lips again to silence Chrissie before she gave vent to another outburst. Then, pulling open the big door, he said that single word again, beckoning with a crooked finger.

“Come”.

*****

“So, ladies, what do you think? Not bad, eh!” Jeremy did a silly pirouette as he waved one hand towards the enormous figure in the centre of the seemingly dilapidated old building. At least, that’s the impression we initially had walking towards it. Neglected and abandoned in keeping with its immediate surroundings.

Once inside and he’d flicked on the lights, we saw why he’d got himself so worked up and excited. It or he was standing in the middle of the windowless room that looked considerably better from the inside than the outside. The interior had recently been painted, the walls a glossy cream colour, the visible woodwork a dark brown and once past the threshold, the concrete floor was covered in a soft layer of sand and sawdust that scrunched beneath my feet.

That distinctive odour of fresh paint still lingered, but it was overlaid and outclassed by another smell that caused both of us to wrinkle our noses in disgust the moment we entered, and a puzzled look flashed between us. However, any budding comment was instantly stifled, partly by Jeremy’s words but mostly as we took in that statuesque figure before us. A long taunt tether ran from its high neck collar, disappearing into the rafters above. It even had a spotlight trained on it, although the lightening around the big room was already quite bright.

“Not a bad centrepiece, eh Ladies? Now do come,” he repeated excitedly, ushering us forward with both hands, for we’d automatically stopped the moment our feet hit that floor covering as our respective brains reacted to what our eyes were telling us. “No dawdling, ladies. Ding ding, move on down the bus, please,” he laughed, pulling the heavy wooden door closed and ramming home a sizeable bolt. “No sightseers, no day trippers, no loitering in the entrance, eh!” he laughed as we both turned to look at him, neither of us saying a word.

“All this is pretty new.” he waved a hand around. “Had a gang in to do it: local builder and his chaps. A very nice guy who apparently used to drink here quite regularly when he was younger. He wanted to do up the outside of this old outbuilding as well, but besides sorting out the rusty door hinges and a bit of pointing and roof repair, I told him to leave well alone. I wanted it to look like…well, you know what I mean, you saw the outside. Hardly worthy of a second glance, but I do need to do something about that damn keypad; way too obvious at the moment.  Now come along; let’s not keep Samson waiting.”

“Samson!” Chrissie exclaimed as we edged forward, with Jeremy bobbing up and down in a mixture of frustration at our hesitancy and suppressed excitement.

“That’s what I call him. I was never lucky enough to find myself a big boy as submissive as your Jazzy, and lord knows, I looked hard enough, and now I don’t have to. Impressive, isn’t he? And I adore his colouring. Look at the way he gleams in the light!”

“My God, he's enormous Chrissie exclaimed.  I said nothing, for her answer mirrored my thoughts exactly as I looked at the figure before us.

“Come on, don’t be shy; he won’t bite.” he gave a high-pitched nervous giggle. “He can’t anyway, not with that bit in his mouth! I've only had this big boy for a few weeks, so he's not used to displaying his magnificent body yet, nor, of course, to seeing strangers. Not that I expect he’ll ever see that many, probably only you two if everything, well, once we get things sorted,” he paused and beamed a massive smile at us. “Come on, girls, but watch where you step!” he pointed and chuckled. “Pony pee pee and poopy poop!”

“Things sorted! What things?” Chrissie repeated, her attention wavering between the massive ponyboy, stirring restlessly as though fighting the pristine white leather harness that bound him and contrasted completely against his jet-black glossy skin. His heavy hoof boots shuffled in the dirt and muck, making us gag slightly as the stench of human shit hit us anew.

“Of course, I didn’t tell him you were coming”, Jeremy shrugged indifferently“, but then why should I. He can’t see you because of that blindfold, but he can hear us, every word”, he chuckled and reached up to run a finger, down the man’s bulging biceps making him jump and wriggle even more. “He can feel me, though, and probably sense my presence, maybe even smell me. I would imagine that by now, he’s become accustomed to the stench of his own damn shit and piss. You noted the fragrant atmosphere when we entered, no doubt?”

“You mean that foul stink?” I snapped, looking downwards with Chrissie following suit.

“It's all down his legs”, she murmured, her voice caught between awe and horror. “He’s even standing in the fucking stuff!”

Jeremy nodded. “Standard stable aroma, essence of ponyboy,  as I call it. Yes, well, he can’t help it, not with that nice tail sprouting out of his arse. It's fixed to a plug holding his rectal passage open all the time, so he’s got no control, none at all,” he giggled. “No control at all over anything. Imagine that, and it's so delicious, for me anyway! He’s not being impolite, but I doubt he’d say hello even if he weren’t sucking on a big dildo attached to that bit. He spends most of his time gagged and will for the foreseeable future until it sinks into his dense brain that uttering human sounds is not advisable.” he paused and winked, adding, “Consequences!”

“Consequences”, I repeated as Chrissie moved cautiously nearer to the captive ponyboy.

“Action and reaction”, Jeremy laughed, watching Chrissie. “He acts, and I react swiftly and savagely.” he motioned with his arm. “Very amusing for one of us and highly educational for the other party! The posture collar keeps his head up and looking fixedly to his front. I eschewed the traditional behind-the-back style of armbinder and locked his hands in those mitts attached to that wide belt. It stops him from touching anything, and why deny myself the sight of those delicious pecs, shoulders and bulging biceps by hiding them away.” he giggled delightedly again and ran his whole palm over the glistening black skin again. “Freshly oiled”, he added as that tightly harnessed figure shook from head to hoof, but was that pleasure at his Master's touch or the opposite, I wondered. Surely not the latter?

“I did warn you,” Jeremy said as Chrissie made a sudden exclamation, looking down at her calf boot and twisting her foot to see the sole. “We’ve been experimenting with his diet a lot recently. I like to keep him a shade on the loose side, runny but not too runny,  but lately, he’s been a bit too loose. Just wipe your foot in the floor dirt, that’s what I do, and let it dry”.

“Thanks.” Chrissie's tone was flat as she did what he suggested before turning to me. “Sweetie”, she hissed quietly out of the side of her mouth in a low but urgent tone and beckoned towards me. “Come and look at this.” She sounded a little odd, unbalanced, kind of awed, shocked and excited simultaneously. Her words and insistence prompted another delighted giggle from Jeremy, followed by a stifled chuckle that made him choke and cough for a couple of seconds.

Neither of us took the slightest notice as we stared at Samson from behind, looked at each other in total silence, and then back to the restrained figure before us as Jeremy chuckled, “Feel free to touch, ladies. There is no charge here, none at all. No restriction in my private petting zoo.”

“He isn’t, is he?” Chrissie was whispering, perhaps without realising it.

I nodded, for I could see no other explanation. There was another reason why Jeremy hadn’t used the conventional armbinder on his pony: it left his back free and open to abuse, and someone, presumably Jeremy, had certainly abused it. Not just the man's back either, for his glossy black buttocks and thighs were also a mass of bruised and welted flesh, from red to deep purple in various shades and hues, and all of it looked extremely painful!

“Come and have a look from the front when you’ve finished back there”, Jeremy said, watching us both closely. His mouth was still smiling, but his eyes were wary and cautious. “Have you ever seen a cock this big? What a monster! Talk about stallion endowment! God,  it’s impressive, even curled up and caged like a fire hose and so very responsive to the touch,” he giggled. “He hates that, of course, but there is nothing he can do to stop himself rising to the occasion as it were and a very impressive rise it is if I allow it some freedom! As you ladies know, I’ve nothing to complain about myself, but this monster does  make me feel a tad inferior!”

We heard, and yet we didn’t hear as he gleefully babbled on about that cock, a subject far dearer to his heart than ours for very evident reasons. Our focus was still on Samson as a whole, and I felt Chrissie's hand steal into mine as though for reassurance. I wondered if mine was as hot and sweaty as hers felt.

“You should see how he writhes when we reach a certain point of teasing, and who knows?” Jeremy paused and chuckled again. “Perhaps one day I might take pity on him and go that teeny bit further that he gets so desperate about! It would be interesting to see how far he could spurt and how much with these massive plumbs of his,” he concluded with another silly giggle. “That cock cage was the biggest I could find, by the way, and it's still a bit of a squeeze when I put it away despite the ice cubes and whatever else!” He gave a short laugh and tapped the large bulbous circumcised tip of the enormous captive penis with his forefinger. “And boy, does he just love that, NOT, along with everything else!” he emphasised with a wicked chuckle, waving one hand towards the nearest wall.

“Wow,” I said, eyes running along an impressive collection of punishment implements. Whips in various sizes, crops, canes, tawses, floggers and various paddles in different shapes, sizes and materials. Chrissie and I had a draw half full of similar items but nothing on that scale.

“A modest collection,” Jeremy acknowledged, “but it suffices for now. It will grow, of course, and perhaps I will need some toys with a greater bite, shall we say, as Samson’s splendid hide grows more accustomed in the years to come!”

My lover's hand squeezed mine tighter, and we shared another long, questioning look before doing as he’d suggested and moving closer. If this was scene, then this big guy must be one hell of a masochist to go through all this humiliation and pain. I mean, yes, we’d been pretty nasty to old Jazzy at times, but never anything on the scale of this guy’s buttocks. Had Jeremy indeed found her equivalent in the size and sex he liked, or…. Chrissie's barely audible question lingered in my mind. ‘He isn’t, is he?’

That question of Samson’s ‘willing’ participation was growing ever more significant in our minds and one we were increasingly afraid to ask, but the final clue was answered a moment later. Jeremy suddenly shot off to one side, grabbed an old wooden box, and then used it to stand beside his captive pony or perhaps captive stallion, taking the size of the captive figure into account. Standing on the box, he reached for the simple black cloth blindfold, pulled it off the man’s head, and held it out. “Eye shade, three to a pack on eBay,” he waved it at us. “Dirt cheap and supposed to help you sleep on planes. It does what I want, so there's no point in spending good money on expensive leather stuff, especially as I don’t use it on him often. I adore seeing the look in his eyes when I play with him! Look at the way he’s trying to squint down at you two. Aren’t posture collars fun? ”

He was talking as he climbed down and put the box back in its place, tucking the eye shade into his pocket as he did so. What was the word Chrissie had used? Enormous! He was massive, especially compared to  Jeremy, who perhaps reached five-three in his bare feet. Samson must have topped that by almost a foot, plus those knee-length hoof boots added the better part of another six. Lightweight or bantamweight, whatever that was, versus a massive heavyweight, the guy was built like one of those big world champion boxing guys.

That size difference registered more subconsciously in my mind as I watched for it was Samson's eyes that mine had fixed on as he ripped off that shade. They bulged outwards, expressing a raft of raw emotions, none positive or rational. There was madness hovering on the edge in those staring eyes, along with a heap of other things that you didn’t need a degree in psychology to interpret. Rage, anger, frustration, hatred, humiliation, disbelief, pain, shock and a chilling, almost frightening desire to do murder in the most shocking and violent manner! Question answered I decided with a strange tingling chill.

I did shiver, and from the tremor in her hand, so had Chrissie just before she freed herself and did as Jeremy had urged. Under normal circumstances, she was the last person I would have expected to reach out a tentative hand and touch a guy's cock, regardless of size. In this instance, though, I sensed she was fascinated by that captive organ that visibly twitched at her touch.

Its owner vainly attempted to shuffle backwards, but that neck tether was so tight all it managed was an inch or two and then tried to suck its midriff in and make a banana shape to avoid those curious fingers. Pretty pointless in terms of what it gained and only seemed to piss Jeremy off, who promptly strode to the wall, grabbed a long whip from the rack and in one fluid movement, twisted around and sent the tip expertly whistling across to land the last six or so inches on his big stallions left buttock cheek.

The suppressed, muted squeal Samson let out effectively served to answer further that question we’d both been fearful of asking, and yet, at the same time, it suddenly didn’t seem quite so fearful. Incredible, yes, unbelievable, yes, even exciting, but somehow not quite so improbable! I experienced that same spine-tingling chill, but it seemed far less threatening this time.

“Stay, boy, stand!” He ordered in a very commanding voice. “Stand proud and still for my guests, or I’ll make you sorry!”

“Jeez, get a feel of this lot, Honey”, Chrissie giggled and then snapped, “Oh no, you don’t. You stay like you’ve been told unless you want this lot squeezed to jelly!” she grabbed the entire cage and pulled on it as her victim tried desperately to draw further away and yet somehow not move either.

Ridiculous and repulsive was how she’d once described the male genitalia early on in our growing relationship, but from her tone and look, that wasn’t the case under these circumstances. I cast a wary look at her and then did as she urged as the captive stallion reached a point beyond which further retreat was impossible, although his whole body was quivering in suppressed hatred and anger. It was almost tangible in its strength, and I wouldn’t have been surprised had he been radiating heat. Any heat, though, was going in the opposite direction as Jeremy casually raised his arm and flicked the tip of his whip out a second time upon that same buttock.

“Wowzer”, Chrissie mouthed silently as the figure squealed and jumped under her fingers as the whip struck. There was a gleam in her eye that I doubt Samson would have liked had he been able to see it!

I didn’t feel quite the same revision towards male genitalia, indeed. Unlike Chrissie, I’d had a cock inside me a couple of times during my middle teens as I experimented with my burgeoning sexuality. The outcome of such had been somewhat disappointing, not to mention frustrating, until a local babysitter cured me of such frustrations. Not mine, I hasten to add, but an oversight by a somewhat scatterbrained neighbour led to her double booking me and another girl one evening as she and her husband celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary. We both turned up virtually simultaneously and, to save our temporary employees indecisive blushes, decided to share the chore and fee, although to be fair and because they came back almost two hours later than they’d said, hubby paid us both in full and with a bonus!

The kiddie was no trouble whatsoever all evening, and we spent the early part of it sitting side by side watching a movie. Desert Hearts 1986, Patty, Patricia had brought it with her to watch, not that she’d expected to do so in company. It was the first lesbian movie I’d ever seen, and things just happened. One moment, we’d been sitting apart eating popcorn, and then we were close together, very close, and her right hand was around behind my back and exploring my right breast, and we’d swapped the popcorn for each other's lips

I don’t know how Patty felt when they paid us, and hubby drove us home in the early hours, but I felt somewhat guilty. Yes, we had done our best to straighten and tidy their big double bed, but neither of us had given much thought to their kid, and thank heavens they were so late coming home. Earlier and, the ‘coming’ would have had an entirely different meaning, for Patty was a year older and far more experienced than I was. I don’t know about her; I’m pretty sure she enjoyed the evening, but for me, it was my first taste of many a future heavenly evening and night!

Strangely, I never saw her again after that one night. She attended a different school, and her family moved away soon after. At the time, I was somewhat disappointed, but in retrospect, I suspect she may have already had a girlfriend and might have been deliberately avoiding me.

But that’s going a long way around to say that I wasn’t quite the ‘cock virgin’ that Chrissie was, plus I’d handled the occasional captive cock on those club nights, much to Chrissie's disgust!  No way, even after a few drinks, would my girlfriend demean herself touching such ‘horrid’ things!

That’s why I was surprised as I bent down in response to her urgings and stretched out a tentative hand. Doing so was very tempting, especially given his probable circumstances. I suspected Chrissie's apparent eagerness on this occasion was because she’d already accepted what we both suspected, though it was yet to be confirmed, incredible though it would be.

How humiliating it must been for him to be inspected like a piece of meat. Despite its bent captivity, that cock was indeed long, very soft and wet at the tip. I imagined it must be awe-inspiring when hard and fully erect. His balls were also held captive under that stainless steel cage separated by a metal band. They were also huge and deliciously squidgy as he squirmed to my exploratory touch.

“Feel his arse”, Chrissie whispered, having moved on. “Whoops, I think it’s a little bit tender in parts”, she giggled as the captive figure suddenly lurched from side to side, mewing pathetically through his mouth bit. I noted she’d already made the mental shift from ‘him to it’.

“Quite a few parts.” I’d imagine Jeremy observed joining us, having swapped his long whip for a shorter, thicker version. He was absently coiling it as I stopped running my hand over sensitive, welted flesh and stood up. I noted that he no longer had that wary look on his cheerful countenance. He looked much more relaxed, like the Jeremy I remembered from our student days, so I took the plunge straight into the deep end.

“This is not ponyplay; it’s not play at all, right? I challenged him, sensing Chrissie rising to her feet behind me. “Don’t try and deny it, Jezza”, I deliberately added, using one of his pet hates as Chrissie had done only a few minutes before. “One look at this poor sod’s eyes, never mind his bottom and the way you just used that whip! What's your game? What in God's name is going on here?”

“Jezza, really, tch”, he admonished, looking a touch pained and then laughed. “Three questions in one, almost a holy or, in this case, perhaps an unholy trinity would be more apt! But to answer, yes and no. Yes to pony, but no to play! Well, not play for my splendid boy here. Nor is it a game, or if it is,” he held up the whip, “there will only ever be one winner because only I get to throw the dice and never get sent to jail and as for God?” he paused and then in one smooth motion half twisted and with one flick of his arm sent his whip flying out once more this time to leave its cruel mark on the top Samson’s left thigh and make him dance again.

“Cool!” I heard Chrissie say somewhat admiringly.

“A-Lemon-Tree, my dear Watson”, Jeremy laughed, waging a finger at her. “Think about that one for a second, and as for God, then so far as this wretched creature is concerned, I am its God….or perhaps Devil !” he shrugged and gave a long, wicked chuckle as he coiled his whip again. “It makes no difference to me and certainly not to him!”

I turned to exchange yet another look with Chrissie…yes, but no? This was sheer wanton, undiluted cruelty, yet also exciting. A shiver ran through me, but the implications and potential ramifications were mind-blowing. What the hell were we getting ourselves involved in? I watched the poor thing jump a little and wince as my girlfriend bent to examine that latest painful addition to his well-stripped skin. Was she asking herself those same questions? I wondered with a touch of irritation, for I suspected she wasn’t”.

“I notice you can't keep your hands off him”, I snapped, sounding a tad more snappily than I intended.

Chrissie stood up and gave me a calm, questioning look. “Hey, okay, keep your hair on, babe, it's just so fucking cool. It’s not like he’s a threat, is he?” she giggled. “My kind of guy, in fact. Go on, Jeremy, spill the beans. How did you get him, or should I say it, tell all.”

Jeremy laughed delightedly. “I knew you two would understand, kindred spirits and all that.” he beamed at Chrissie, although the look he threw in my direction was a shade more uncertain, and then he pointed a finger at her. “But it’s no use trying to be nosy because I won’t tell. My lips are sealed on that subject.” he smiled at us and then drew the finger across his lips. “Zipped!”

“Jeremy”, Chrissie growled ominously, taking a step forward, making him take a couple back and hold his hands palm outwards as though to ward her off.

“Nope,” he shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to say anything on that subject; no, wait”, he held up his hand. “I… well, there is no need for you two to know, so can we please leave it at that? So please trust me. It is best left that way, but I will say two things, okay. Number one, nobody and I do mean nobody knows he’s here other than you two, Otty and me. Well, strictly speaking, there is one more, but I’ll cover that shortly, and they pose no threat, non at all.” He winked mischievously before continuing. “Two, there is zero chance of him being found. Nobody will come here or anywhere near to look for him, period. End of discussion, finito, no arguments, right!”

“But”

“No buts, no anything, I know you.” This time, the finger jabbed in my direction. “Ah ah, no, not so much as a single, but if you please”.

Chrissie and I shared yet another of those communicative glances, a very long one this time. Neither of us said a word. We didn’t need to, not after sharing a bed for half a decade and more, but in a sense that lengthy visual interchange served instead of a complete and lengthy conversation.

“Alright,” I answered slowly, speaking for the both of us. “Chrissie, I sensed, was about as hot as I’d ever seen her. Outwardly, she seemed her usual self, but underneath, she was simmering, coming nicely to the boil, and poor Samson was the focus of that, for she was fascinated with him and his predicament. A highly illegal predicament, as we’d both suspected, but…and it was indeed a big but, a huge in capitals BUT, that was the root of her excitement, and I will admit, mine.

We’d seen and frequently heard plenty of Jeremy’s ‘subbie’ boys in the old house share days, hadn’t we, and none had raised much interest in either of us. I’ll admit a couple of them had caught my eye, for there was no denying that Jeremy had a good eye for cute masculine hunks. Chrissie, on the other hand, was indifferent. I was the sole focus of her attention in those early days, and I suppose that we’d been akin to a pair of virgin newlyweds greedily discovering each other's bodies and the pleasure therein. Later, we’d had first Jenny and then Jazzy to entertain us.

Looking at my lover now, I could see and sense a difference. There was a look in her eyes that I’d never seen before and wasn’t entirely sure I liked, and I suspected at least one other person in the immediate vicinity would soon like it even less. I got the distinct impression that for the first time in her life, Chrissie was showing an interest in a member of the opposite sex, although I doubt it was sex she had in mind. Previously, all Jeremy’s subbies had been, well, if not entirely enthusiastic participants in his more punishing games, then at least consensual so far as their submission went, whereas…

“Well, I guess that’s one convert,” he said as Chrissie giggled at the response her curious fingers had drawn from the helpless figure as she resumed her examination of the squirming wretch.

“One and a half, a cautious half”, I added, watching my lover amusing herself by way of Samson's incarcerated manhood for the second time. I had the distinct impression that were I to walk out now, I’d be driving back to London on my own! Jeremy grinned at me, and I knew he was thinking along the same lines. I doubted if any other man had ever received so much attention from Chrissie, and certainly not in that area, not that he was in any way a lucky boy in that respect. It was turning me on, though I had to admit to myself. “Maybe one and a cautious threequarters”, I amended.

“No need for caution”, he said seriously with no hint of humour. “I told you, there is no risk, not to you, Chrissie, or me. Now, please relax; I sense a certain, what shall we call it, up-tightness, if I can put it that way. There's no need to feel sympathy or sorry for the miserable creature, for he’s crossed that boundary between human and animal, at least in my eyes and Otty's. He’s a ponyboy, my ponyboy, my splendid animal, a living sex toy for my pleasure and exists now for no other purpose other than to serve us.”

“But…”

“Ah ah!” He raised a finger again. “I said no buts, did I not? Mindset, dear, mindset. He’s an animal, an animal that  I own to do with as I wish when I wish and deserves no buts, no foolish sympathy, for nothing is going to change his fate!” he looked at me questioningly. “Unless you're going to use your phone and summon the boys in blue with the pointy hats? I used to have a thing for police officers. I even had one as a boyfriend for a bit, but that was after your time when I moved up here. Well?”

“Otty too”, I murmured, looking at the restless Samson still helplessly squirming as a small curious hand explored his tail and the anal plug that it sprouted from.

“But of course. He’s mine, but I allow Otty to play with him from time to time. Otty adores oral sex, whereas I am not and never have been big on sucking cocks. Having my own sucked, yes, but so far as Otty's lovely stalk goes, special occasions only. Usually, he had to make do with a hand job when I’d finished fucking him” he paused and grinned, waving a hand over towards his equipment rack. “We have several suitable ring gags that ensure our sizeable trains can enter the tunnel without him getting naughty teeth-wise! I rather get the impression that my gorgeous ponyboy hates swallowing love juice as much as having his pony pussy filled with the same!” he laughed but quickly cut it off to give me another penetrating look. “Well?

“Well, what?”

“Are we singing from the same hymn sheet?”

I glanced at Chrissie, who was having herself a ball, no pun intended and back to Jeremy. “don’t be silly. I looked from him to where he’d pointed, spotting the items he’d mentioned dangling from a hook and shook my head. Not so much in disapproval but more, well, it seemed the thing to do, and he was being so damn casual about it all.  “I suppose it helps when you want to clean his teeth as well”, I snapped.

“Uh-huh.” He grinned and shook his head. “No need; I leave the tedious maintenance tasks to Otty, and all he has to do is squeeze those big balls hard and wave a toothbrush in its face. Samson is not stupid after all, and he’s got such nice white gnashers!” he finished with an odd little sigh.

“Yes? What about them?”

“It’s just not the same with a ring gag, and of course, we know what he’d do if we tried without. I mean, look at him! If you could harness that inner rage to the national grid, you could power a whole fucking village. That’s an idea we have in mind for him at some point in the future.  Some sort of, I don’t know, those things you see in rodent cages?”

“Treadmill!”

“That the chappie”, he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “One of those on a larger scale and maybe use it to generate electricity. Two birds with one stone reduce the power bill and provide plenty of healthy exercise. Perhaps have some sort of meter on it,” he pondered.

I laughed. “To record how much he can generate!”

Jeremy glanced at his ponyboy again and shook his head. “No, not that. Wrong term. I meant some type of recording device that he could see for every turn. It shouldn’t be too difficult to set something like that up and then set targets, and if he fails to meet them, well…” he finished with an ominous chuckle and then suddenly stared at me as though seeing me for the first time.

“You were a nurse or training to be one!”

I nodded. “That’s how I earn my daily crust, why?”

“Teeth”, he beamed at me. “Samson’s toothypegs. Otty and I have been discussing what to do about them and reading up online. I mean, it's not as if he needs them for the diet we feed him, and if he can’t bite, well then? We’re going to buy some special dental extraction pliers  and…”

Anything else he might have been about to say was lost as Samson, who’d presumably heard every word, started kicking up a frantic fuss, even managing to swing a hoof at Chrissie and knock her backwards as he suddenly jerked about in a decidedly animated manner.

“No!” Jeremy shouted as Chrissie sprang to her feet with an angry expression on her beautiful face. “No, leave him, not yet. Come here, please.”

Chrissie stopped and scowled first at Samson and then at Jeremy but reluctantly did as he’d asked, although I noted her eyes fixed on that whip Jeremy was still holding. I suddenly felt that if act one had ended, act two was about to start.

“Bad boy, very bad boy!” Jeremy shouted quickly, striding up to Samson, grabbing his bridle and shouting upwards into his ear. I thought he might use his whip, but it remained coiled in his hand, which was a tad disappointing.  There had been something rather satisfying in how it had cracked so crisply and yet so cruelly upon Samson's helpless body. Jeremy merely shook his bridle hard once more before re-joining me and the seething Chrissie.

“Hurt?”

Chrissie glared at him and then at Samson before taking a deep breath and shaking her head. “Nope, I sensed he was going to do something, so I moved almost as soon as he did”.

Jeremy nodded. “Good, but that sort of foolish behaviour is not allowed, and the damn animal knows that. He might not have been here all that long, but he’s learned all about consequences when he misbehaves. He chuckled at my lover's hopeful, eager look and then looked at his watch. “A little earlier than I’d intended, but” he smiled and reached for his cell phone. “Now, this is what I would call a but situation!” He murmured as he tapped on the screen. “Oh, Otty, love. A shade sooner, but I think we’re ready for a little refreshment break to accompany the entertainment. Yes, that’s right. Okies, see you in a minute or two”.

“Not her field of expertise”, Chrissie said, looking at Samson but jerking her head towards me. “She’s not a dental nurse, but if you’ve got a pair of dental pliers readily to hand?”

“Ah, no”, he cut in quickly. “We haven’t, and perhaps not the right moment. Besides, we will need all the right equipment, like those things they use to keep the jaw open to stop kids and those with mental difficulties from biting their fingers. A matter for cool heads and calm hands, I feel or maybe visa versa.” He held up a hand. “Not that I intend depriving you of suitable, er, payback, shall we call it, my dear. But let us wait a moment or two until Otty gets us all nicely set up.”

Chrissie gave a sort of grunt that might have meant anything. I shrugged my shoulders in response to her questioning look.  I had no idea either, but looking at my lover's face and reading her body language, I knew that if I was still missing that final quarter, she was making up for that and far more! She repeated that snort and then, without so much as a glance at Jeremy, spun around and stalked back to Samson, promptly grabbing hold of his captive manhood in a manner that made him jump and writhe. Neither of us heard what she whispered up at him, but some of that belligerence seemed to melt away.

“Isn’t it nice that things like Faceache exist?” Jeremy chuckled, observing her. “I suppose I could have tracked you down eventually via other means, but circumstance did lean towards the necessity of finding you and then getting you up here fairly quickly. That’s why I was so insistent, which no doubt you found a touch annoying. He apologised with a nod, adding, “No need to be so careful, Chrissie. Pinch and nip to your heart's content if you want. His balls exist only to add to his frustration when my fingers tease his splendid pork pole and not to empty their contents. That exquisite pleasure is not for the like of him, and I’m never going to put him to stud, so speaking personally, I have no use for them!”

Chrissie flashed him a quick, surprised look before giggling delightedly and winking at me. I was relieved to hear that giggle and see that rapt, gleeful expression on her beautiful face. It wasn’t just Samson's momentary foolish act that had upset her; the past month or so had been a bit difficult on the home front if that’s the right way to put it. A senior position had unexpectedly arisen in her department at the hospital, and the choice to fill that vacancy had been between Chrissie and, well, the term hated rival would be over-egging the pudding.

Sandy, Sandra had come from a different mould, plump, plain-faced, not the least interested in fashion or cosmetics and invariably dressed as a likely winning candidate for a ‘Mrs frumpy of the Year’ award! She also happened to be a top-class Cordon Bleu quality cook, mother to three cute kids via marriage to the best-looking doctor in the hospital—a consultant paediatrician who could send the most hardened nurse crazy with a simple smile of acknowledgement. I’d once danced with the handsome hunk at the annual Christmas bash and returned to my table almost shaking and not with fear or rage!

Chrissie hadn’t taken to coming second very well, not inwardly anyway. It had been a tough choice, two outstanding candidates, or so they said when breaking the bad news, but that didn’t make up for coming second. My lover, I’d discovered early on in our relationship, was not a good loser! Consequently, she’d succumbed to a sort of mild depression, talked about changing jobs, maybe taking a break, a year’s sabbatical somewhere like Africa with a medical charity and so on.

It was all nonsense, of course, not to mention frustrating! Chrissie liked her job, colleagues, where we lived, and even me! It was an extensive department and training centre in addition to its normal function with patients, and another senior position would come up soon enough. Hell, she also liked Sandy, plus we were conscientious joint God Mothers to the middle kid, five-year-old Sally. Perhaps contentious is the wrong term, for we were undoubtedly lax in the traditional sense of the role, but we never forgot birthday or Christmas presents, and we’d babysat on numerous occasions.

Still, she’d had her heart set on that promotion, hence my relief at hearing that giggle and the happy expression on her face. Finally, after several dark weeks, the sun was coming out, and I wasn’t going to be the one to pull the blinds on it. I felt a slight twinge of guilt for poor Samson, but only briefly.  My lovely Chrissie plus whatever it took to return her to her old self formed one side of the equation. As to the other, it would be worth whatever it took to maintain equilibrium regardless of what it equalled in terms of discomfort or whatever else for the big guy! My conscience was retreating rapidly, wasn’t it, and I realised that I didn’t particularly care.

“I don’t know what effect she’s having on my big stallion”, Jeremy laughed, looking at me with a blatantly suggestive grin “, but it’s certainly stimulating me. It’s almost time for lunch, so why not have a little Cabaret to accompany the food?  I can guarantee you two ladies the best table in the house, very near the band, so to speak,” he leered at me. “Maybe after what just happened, our lovely Chrissie might like to take up the conductor's baton prior to the main event and orchestrate a little entertaining sound for our ears while we dine. What say you ladies?”

“Yes!” It was Chrissie, done and dusted before I’d even opened my mouth, so all I could do was smile and nod in agreement as Jeremy laughed and pulled out his cell phone again.

Chrissie beamed a huge, excited smile at me, prompting a little shiver of delight and a deep inner tingle. As Jeremy had said, Samson was just an animal now, wasn’t he? A male animal and not a particularly cute and cuddly one, either!

*****

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” I challenged a little huffily as she resumed her seat and promptly helped herself to a giant chocolate éclair almost too big to get in her mouth. It oozed cream as her small, even white teeth bit into it, and then she chewed, swallowed and licked the creamy residue off her lips with a very suggestive slow movement from her pink tongue. Her action wasn’t the least bit subconscious, for she looked me straight in the eye with every lick!

“You’ll get your turn; don’t fret.” she shrugged and took another bite. I gave her a hard stare, which she ignored deliberately or involuntarily, putting her free hand upon the wooden paddle she’d casually dropped on the table rather than returning it to the rack when she sat down. “I wonder if Jeremy has a decent strap-on harness?” she mused just before her mouth closed around the end of that monster-sized éclair again.

“Probably not”, I muttered with perhaps a slight touch of envy. “It’s not as if he needs one”, I grunted. “ I was thinking along those very same lines a moment ago. Pity we weren’t forewarned; otherwise, we could have come suitably equipped”.

Chrissie chuckled and then ran her tongue up the side of the eclair again in a very suggestive way, lapping up all the cream that was oozing out. “I think I’ll have to renew my gym membership. I was feeling a tad blown out by the time I’d finished.” she ran a hand across her face and looked at it. “Is my face all sweaty?”

I nodded. “Just a shade on the damp side. You were getting a little carried away, you know, honey! Poor Jeremy was starting to twitch a bit, looking rather concerned, so I didn’t think it would be much longer before he intervened and, no!” I pulled the plate of eclairs away from her grasping fingers. “One of those monsters is quite enough; I don’t want to end up sharing my bed with a bloated whale or a successful Miss Porky pig wannabe! Have a mini celery stick and some of that cheese and whatever it is dip, instead.”

“Spoilsport!” she pulled a face, thought about the celery, and decided against it.  “No, I think I’ve had enough to last me without the rabbit food. That gym is bloody expensive anyway.” she grinned and held her champagne flute out.

“Say pretty please”.

“Fuck off, now top me up or I’ll use this thing on you and see how much noise you can make!” she gave me a look that hovered somewhere between a grin and a scowl picking up the paddle she’d discarded a few minutes ago and waving it at me. “Was he really that noisy?”

I gave the bottle of champagne a swirl in its ice bucket, which probably did nothing chill-wise, then I filled her proffered glass about half full and added a little more in response to that silent, reproachful look she gave me.

“Very,” I told her. “He took that first dozen or so quite stoically and then began to writhe about a bit and moan, and once you got going, the howling started”.

Chrissie giggled, which is not a good idea when you’ve just taken a generous sip of champagne or any liquid.  She finished spluttering and wiped her mouth, looking ruefully down at her pink sleeveless top. “Whoops, sorry. Oh well, I felt sweaty, so I was going to change anyway! Besides, I only did as I was told, so if Jeremy was worried, it was his own silly fault. He was the one who said I needn’t hold back.” she shrugged and smirked, “so I didn’t! Just obeying orders, sweetie!”

“Hmmm, that excuse has been used before, as I recall and didn’t cut much ice at the time nor since, for that matter!”.

“Entirely different situation; those people were evil monsters, whereas I’m just a sweet, sexy girl having a bit of harmless fun.” she smiled a sickly smile at me.

“Harmless!” I exclaimed, looking towards the floor show, which had continued since Chrissie sat down to resume her interrupted luncheon. The noise level had decreased considerably since Chrissie had enthusiastically complied with Jeremy’s suggestion. Those first couple or so strokes of the paddle she’d chosen upon his butt had been kind of tentative and hesitant. The next few a little less so, and then once he’d suggested she take the brake off, she’d sort of hesitated for a second and then double, double declutched, going from first to top in one meaty slap.

Chrissie had paused after that one to question the need for the bit in Samson's mouth, which hadn’t surprised me. Back in the good old days, she adored making poor Jazzy squeal and shout for her, which had resulted in numerous angry responses from our respective housemates. Even the shrillest of Jeremys ‘big boys’ had been quieter than our Jazzy when she got going, and Chrissie had been very good at ‘getting her going!’

Chrissie chuckled. “Well, it didn’t harm me! Besides, a little spanking on the botty never hurt anyone. He’s got some stamina, though, hasn’t he?” she picked up her glass, changing the subject and nodding towards the other two figures. One of them was very vigorously engaged.

Otty had brought over the food and ice bucket while Jeremy dragged out the folding aluminium table and three matching chairs, explaining, “Found these in the old greenhouse. I don’t think my parents ever used them, but since I acquired big boy there, Otty and I sometimes take our lunch or supper over here. There are cameras, naturally, but that’s not quite the same. Besides, I like him to know I’m here watching him! I can’t keep my eyes off the big brute.  Nor my hands and something else,” he’d added with a coarse laugh.

The table and chairs hadn’t been the only things he produced once we seated ourselves. We’d watched, fascinated, as the pair dragged out and set up another piece of apparatus, all padded leather and steel, sporting many leather straps. “Bought this bit of kit a few years ago,” Jeremy told us. “Cost a bloody fortune! Sheer,  irrational, wanton self-indulgence and a total impulse buy.  Otty almost left me after the second time I had him strapped down for a little fun,” he winked at us. “Nearly a parting of the ways, eh, loverboy. A tad overenthusiastic on my part”.

“Ja” was the response to that, at least the bit we understood. The rest of what he said was grunted in guttural German and barely audible, not that we’d have understood anyway!

Ottey certainly had no qualms about his lover's new illegal acquisition and, indeed, seemed almost indifferent to Samson's struggles as the two of them dragged him to that piece of equipment and strapped him to it. He might as well have been handling the tables and chairs again from the unconcerned expression on his face. He’d smiled such a lovely smile at us the few times, especially when he said something in his shy, halting, heavily accented, but perfectly understandable English. However, it seemed Samson wasn’t a resident of that same universe so far as he was concerned!

Samson no doubt also wished he was light years away in a distant galaxy! Unfortunately, he wasn’t, and his universe had shrunk down to the building he was confined within, and all that went on in there. Indeed, he had become the central sun, the focus of the private little solar system. By the time Chrissie sat down, he was burning, if not brighter, then a whole lot hotter than when she’d first accepted that invitation to ‘warm him up a little’ prior to a little loving attention from his Master and owner!

Judging by the struggle Samson put up as they freed him from his neck tether and then dragged him towards that sinister-looking piece of bondage furniture, he was no stranger to its purpose nor to what Jeremy had in mind. Indeed, when the final strap was threaded through its roller buckle and safely fastened, our host was red-faced from the effort and manifestly angry. As they say, Samson had no intention of going quietly and had duly proved his reluctance to participate to the visible embarrassment of his captors!

Ottey had insisted we sit at the luncheon table and accept a glass apiece after he’d cracked open the ice-cold champers before Joining Jeremy in freeing their big stallion. Glasses that had remained virtually untouched as we watched the fascinating scene playing out before us. Awestruck might be the appropriate word, for neither of us said anything as we watched them wrestle the unwieldy, struggling, glossy black form to where they wanted him. It was by no means an easy task for Samson fought them all the way, even though he was restrained and virtually helpless.

Then Otty had clapped his sizeable hands loudly together, nodded to his lover and left the old building without so much as a backward glance. At the same time, Jeremy had stalked towards that rack of punishment tools with a look of fury on his face, not to mention a visible limp courtesy of a hoot boot descending upon his right foot. Halfway there, he abruptly halted and turned to look at us, a slow grin replacing that wrathful countenance as though a sudden and amusing thought had suddenly occurred to him.

He'd looked speculatively at Chrissie, then me, and finally back to Chrissie before speaking. “Perhaps a touch of restraint is required in my immediate frame of mind. Besides, I wasn’t the first to be caught by that flailing hoof, was I?” He glanced down and shook his bruised foot before continuing with a silly grin.  “This is the audience participation part where usually a glamorous lady assistant clad in fishnet tights and not much else invites a reluctant male audience member onto the stage.”

Jeremy paused and looked towards the door and gave a mock sigh. “However, my assistant seems to have departed stage right, the one who’s neither glamorous nor wears black fishnet tights, at least I hope not! Therefore, maybe some beautiful lady in the audience would like to participate in the preliminary warm-up?” he beamed at both of us before adding, “Besides, we already seem to have a reluctant male to hand on stage, so it’s just that touch of glamour that's lacking!”

Being a tad on the shy side, I’d never been one to put myself forward for anything, whereas Chrissie was very much the opposite and her hand shot up immediately.  “Me sir, me!” she shouted and was out of her chair instantly, one finger pointing back towards me. “She’s only wearing socks under her jeans, whereas I’ve got my showgirl fishnet tights on ready to go”, she lied brazenly, given that she was flashing about an inch of bare skin between trainers and trouser leg.

Anyway, Chrissie was the one he’d addressed his remarks to, not me and Jeremy being Jeremy, of course, bowed low, kissing her hand in an ostentatious gesture before standing upright and ushering her over to that long rack of torture implements. “Don’t fret; he’s a big boy and not going anywhere. Plenty of time for everybody to have a turn, or turns,” he chuckled over his shoulder to me.

Unlike Samson, I wasn’t privy to the whispered conversation that followed, sitting too far away. It produced numerous giggles from my lover, whose eagerness to do evil upon the poor wretch watching them was readily apparent without the backward glances towards him accompanying each batch of giggles as she examined the wicked tools on offer.

That touch of guilt tweaked my conscience again as I looked at Samson and felt a little sorry for the poor man, pony, stallion, whatever. I knew what was coming, but then again, I expected he did too, and certainly far better than I did, for those marks on his body proved that. The word limitless popped into my mind as I looked at those angry, bulging brown eyes fixed upon my companions. I felt my body shiver on his behalf as the full implications of his predicament struck home. I can’t tell a lie, though, for that shiver was a double-edged one, and there was a delicious touch of anticipation and pleasure on my side.

I did, however, glance towards the external door, recalling what Jeremy had said. Trust him, no one knew about Samson, and no one would come and all the rest. How true was that and, and….my body shook. Was this real, and why was I not thoroughly horrified at what would happen when Chrissie stopped teasing her helpless victim? Why did I find the prospect so clit tingling exciting!

Anyway, even if I hadn’t been a mite on the shy side, Chrissie would have beaten me to the start line, beat, I suppose being the appropriate word. Our plain-faced overweight Jazzy had found that out during her very first session and natural submissive pain pig that she was, she soon feared Chrissie a lot more than me when it came to the application of pain! I enjoyed the whole Master/slave scene, as did Chrissie, and yes, we were both sadists; how could I pretend otherwise? Certainly not sitting there watching poor Samson with a growing sense of sensual anticipation, but Chrissie had the capital S when it came to Sadism. My body gave another slight involuntary shiver, and I felt guilt-free this time.

“He’s got some stamina, I’ll say that for him”, Chrissie mused again, breaking into my thoughts and returning them to the present.

I nodded; I knew she wasn’t referring to Samson, as the big guy's body seemed to spasm with each of Jeremy’s aggressive pelvic thrusts. “Nothing new”, I replied, equally fascinated by the entertaining spectacle of that big helpless stallion being vigorously raped by his Master. “Remember how his bed headboard used to make that partition wall shake back in the flat? No matter how many times he moved his bed, it always walked back to the wall once he got started fucking someone!”

“I can see why now!” Chrissie giggled and took another sip of champagne. “Big, bulbous and bludgeoning, that’s one hell of a combination. I’d hate that thing through the front door, never mind the back! I wonder if he takes Viagra, or is it still all his own work, so to speak?”

“Hmmm,” I nodded and followed suit with a sip from my glass. Now, maybe if that useless wimp who deflowered me had even half of what Samson’s receiving, perhaps I’d be somewhat different,” I mused and then, looking at the expression on Samson's face, or what I could see of it, added, “ Then again, maybe not. There’s something very primitive about that male coupling, isn’t there that I don’t find so appealing?”

“Definitely primitive. It's fun to watch, though! Chrissie giggled. “I wonder which he finds worse, this or my warming up his bottom first? Remember how we pounded Jenny after warming her up?” she sighed and added. “I do hope Jeremy has something suitable I can use on him. He did invite us for the entire weekend, remember?”

“Primitive yourself!” I laughed, recalling how she’d made the first assault on poor Ugly Jenny’s virgin rear door.

*****

 

“You might at least put them back on,” I told him. It wasn’t that I was being fastidious. Chrissie was usually the fussy one regarding things like household cleanliness and the proprieties of life, but I thought him dumping his crumpled-up trousers on our lunch table a tad out of order.

“Clean on this morning.” he shrugged but obligingly moved them onto Chrissie's vacant chair. I’d been relieved to see he’d put his boxer shorts back on once he’d finally emptied his balls into Samson's squirming rectum. Adding the trousers he’d decided might be superfluous while he was still ‘very much in the mood’ as he put it.

“A garment too far!” Chrissie had giggled, offering me her paddle as Jeremy joined us at the table to resume his interrupted lunch. The one he’d abandoned once Chrissie had finished her little ‘warm up’ act.

I’d declined the offer because I wasn’t sure about the etiquette of such situations, which seemed very silly, and partly because I still felt somewhat tentative about everything, not least that desperate, humiliated figure strapped upon that big bench thing. On the other hand, Chrissie had no such inhibitions; she merely shrugged and promptly returned to that long row of punishment implements, hung the paddle on the appropriate hook and resumed her perusal of the other items.

“Kid in a candy shop”, Jeremy spluttered through a mouthful of sausage roll. He swallowed and called, “Stick to slappy slappy items if you would please, nothing that will cut him up. I’m not in the mood to have blood all over my lower parts when I take it again, and I can imagine what carnage you’ll do with a cane.  I know you, Miss Nasty Pants! Give that rubber slapper on the end an outing. It hurts like hell but does minimal damage, at least on the beast's external hide!”

Samson was watching my lover with those bulging eyes again. I suspected Jeremy was not the only one who could imagine what she’d do with a cane in her hand, having already experienced what she could do with a wooden paddle.  She’d used that implement effectively enough, as evident after the first half dozen blows as doubtlessly he was now recalling.

Chrissie, after some serious deliberation of the impressive collection, had chosen a rectangular wooden paddle about eighteen inches long, one of those full of holes like a Swiss cheese but in this case for better aerodynamics on the downward stroke resulting in more collateral damage as the military might say. I could vouch for that, as could she, for we had a similar, smaller, heart-shaped one in our collection back home. Neither of us had ever experienced its full potential, though, nor had we ever been so restrained as Samson.

Our reluctance to embrace any form of bondage personally during our pre-sex bdsm games stemmed less from an interest in bondage and more from a certain lack of trust in each other. When aroused, we were both decidedly passionate, and neither knew how far the other would go when undergoing an intense bout of sadomasochistic passion.  Perhaps more me than Chrissie, for I’d once allowed her to tie me up early in our relationship and carried the marks for weeks. Hell, I’d had to sit an important exam the next day, and sitting was definitely something I hadn’t wanted to do!

Talking of not wanting to do things had been Jeremy’s attitude when she asked him to remove Samson's gag bit. I knew why, of course. The girl had never been satisfied until she’d got Jazzy, ‘singing for her supper’ as she called it. Depending on how late it was and who happened to be in the flat, those occasions usually produced those protesting bangs on the bedroom wall from those attempting to sleep! We were usually a pretty tolerant bunch regarding our housemate's little quirks, but Jazzy could be very noisy at times if ungagged. The gag being removed, of course, when it was time for her delicious and talented tongue to taste those moist fleshy suppers we provided!

The reason for Jeremy’s reluctance was immediately apparent the moment its mouth bit and tongue pad was removed. Jeremy shrugged, putting his hands to his ear as he backed away, saying, “Well, you did ask! Come back in five months or maybe five years if you want, maybe by then, he’ll not be so ...”

“Naughty”, I’d offered without thinking, which promptly creased him up as he looked at the huge struggling form spitting out its enraged vitriolic hatred.

“Naughty?” he repeated questioningly. “Oh yes, he’s a very, er, naughty boy”, he chuckled, putting a finger in each ear and winking at me. “Not exactly the brightest pupil, my little lectures on the inadvisability of human speech seem ignored. Still, I don’t mind if he has to learn the hard way. Time is on my side, after all; likewise, all those painful teaching implements!”

I was tempted to follow suit finger and earwise, for the one thing Samson appeared not to have learned in the what was it, five weeks he’s been ponyboy in residence was that silence is golden. Did he honestly think that making all that noise, expressing his pent-up frustration and anger in such a way and with such obscene language, would make one iota of difference to his predicament? Perhaps it made him feel better, but it seemed ridiculous from where I sat listening with fascination to the ongoing endless outburst. Perfectly understandable, of course, but at the same time somewhat foolish and a complete waste of energy.

Jeremy had already announced that he was going to fuck his big beast yet again, for doing so in front of an audience, a female one, made him feel extra randy.  ‘Just talking to you two and showing him off, plus watching Chrissie at work, has given me a monster hard-on!’ he’d laughed.

That should have been a bit of a giveaway, I’d have thought, considering there was nothing the ‘big beast’ could do to prevent him from doing it. I wondered how many times Samson had already suffered that penetrating humiliation. Jeremy hadn’t mentioned anything as to his captive’s sexuality, but I very much doubted that Samson was of the same sexual persuasion as his owner.  Somehow, I knew that if our old flatmate were going to acquire such a beast, then a gay one would not have been at the top of his shopping list!

That had always been ‘fat, ugly and sad’ Jazzy’s main selling point for us. The bitch was highly submissive and something of a pain pig but not a lesbian, not even a natural bi, so forcing her to satisfy the pair of us had always been that bit more entertaining. Watching the big guy writhing around was a real turn-on, and any reservations about the situation I might have had were rapidly disappearing. Gee, but he was being noisy and making his feelings known, and if he thought that directing some of that tirade at my sexy lover would in someway help, then he was sadly mistaken!

On a zero to ten scale of sadistic conscience, I was probably about seven point five on average, maybe an eight point five or even higher amid an orgasmic high. There had been times when I felt rather sorry for Jazzy, and I’d had to restrain my other half when she became too enthusiastic. A part of that was sheer self-preservation, of course, for more than one zealous practitioner of the sadomasochistic arts has found themselves in the dock facing charges for assault or worse!

That did not seem to apply to this situation, though. If Jeremy was correct, and I was beginning to believe he was, then he’d been torturing and fucking his captive ponyboy for over a month without consequences. He’d seemed very confident, even amused at the idea of anyone finding out about his illegal and awful activities, so was there anything to worry about?

Chrissie was the one who’d wanted that bit gag removed, and she seemed to relish that endless tirade of expletive-backed protestations that only served to pump her up that bit more. Her body visibly bobbed with suppressed excitement as she slowly circled the helpless man like a hungry tigress eyeing up the tethered sacrificial goat. She was even showing her fangs with that anticipatory smile as she repeatedly tapped the paddle she’d chosen on the palm of her free hand.

Unlike those olden days, this goat wasn’t terrified, not yet. It was angry, very angry indeed, but that wouldn’t save it from what was about to happen. Back in the days of the empire, there had always been the ‘Great White’ hunter or hunters lurking nearby to dispatch the unwary predator. Ruthlessly gunned down before it got teeth and claws into its prey, but that wasn’t going to happen for this poor creature. He’d have been better off keeping quiet and saving his energy, not that Chrissie would have allowed him to suffer in silence for long.

I was the one nearby, and I certainly wasn’t lurking, nor for once was I troubled by conscience, and in terms of that scale I’d mentioned, was now running at ten. However, I suspected from that look on her face Chrissie was already way beyond that point, off the scale and about to prove it. Samson must have realised that at about the same time, his anger abruptly changed gear to a more restrained and plaintive pleading as he attempted to reason with what or who was now the main threat to his continued well-being.

More breath wasted on his part if that big black juicy fly thought it would have the slightest effect on the smaller but infinitely more dangerous lurking spider queen, and a sudden thought produced an impromptu giggle. I quickly but unsuccessfully suppressed it with a sort of hiccupping burp that caused Jeremy to give me an odd look, so I grinned and shook my head to reassure him. He gave me another dubious look, then returned to the floor show.

Chrissie and I had accepted his surprising weekend invitation with no great enthusiasm. Sure, it would be nice to see Jeremy again and chat over old times, but we’d moved on since then, at least we thought we had, but perhaps not! Whatever, neither of us had remotely anticipated this situation, and I’d recalled the chat we’d had on the way up only a couple of hours ago.  Did we need to stay, and if we did, why both nights? Would we stay even one night, let alone two? What would be the point? Chrissie, in particular, hadn’t been overkeen on the trip in the first place.

Looking at her slowly circling Samson with that slapper in her hand for round two, an early departure was a bridge now burnt and rapidly turning to cinders, smoke and ash. We were both due back to work Monday morning at nine sharp, and far from cutting short our weekend visit, I suspected it would be a case of making an early start and speeding down the motorway back to the capital that morning. Fortunately, we kept our working uniforms in our respective staff changing rooms so that would save a bit of time.

Well, it wasn’t a bad trip and reasonably short if you put your foot down; plus, we were both free the following weekend, which was just as well. I sensed that this part of rural Cambridgeshire had just gained a couple of admirers, well, maybe not so much the countryside but rather a secret concealed within it. Indeed, watching Chrissie, I suspected I’d be dragging her out of the door early Monday morning.

“Of course, I wasn’t speaking from personal experience, at least not from the receiving end, I mean,” Jeremy said quietly, resuming his thread. “About that slapper, I mean. Lord knows what sort of carnage it does underneath that handsome hide, but judging from his reaction, my big beastie boy finds it very painful.”

“Such language, naughty boy!” Chrissie bent forward and tapped Samson gently on his cheek with the slapper. “You should know by now that ponyboys don’t talk, and even if they were allowed, such foul language in front of a lady! Time, I think you sang to a different tune!” Given the verbal she was getting from her victim, I was sure she’d heard nothing Jeremy and I had been saying, nor would it have mattered if she had. I don’t think we even existed for her then; her entire universe had become that rubber slapper and its intended helpless target.

“I do believe my splendid animal has irritated her somewhat. Very foolish of it under the circumstance,” Jeremy observed as Chrissie strategically placed herself at the end opposite the one making all the protestations and raising the slapper….

I nodded in silent agreement as the slapper descended, and he did indeed start singing to a different tune right from the moment that thick but flexible rubber surface wrapped itself around his left rump cheek with a very satisfying thwacking sound!

*****

“Now that was what I call fun!” Chrissie announced, rubbing her hands together as she re-joined us at the table. She helped herself to a handful of cheesy potato puff snacks from a bowl and sipped champagne. “Very satisfying. I could get used to doing that!”

“I’m not sure someone else would call it fun!” I commented, looking over to where Samson lay limp in his bonds, having fainted, much to my lover's disappointment, just as she was getting into the swing of things—literally, the swing of things or one particular thing, watching how her arm moved.

Jeremy hadn’t said a word but made a loud throat-clearing noise when she’d paused, slapper raised,  glanced from the comatose Samson to her and shook his head slowly. Enough was enough, for now at least. We both got the message, and Chrissie reluctantly replaced the slapper on its hook.

“Florence Nightingale not dashing to see to that poor unfortunate then?” he asked, eyebrows raised questioningly. “No professional twitch or anything kicking in?”

“Florence Nightingale is off duty; besides, I left my lamp at home!” I retorted, “Nor did she get the hots watching her girlfriend thrashing male buttocks”.

“Rump, my dear, rump. He’s an animal, remember? He’ll be alright,” Jeremy reassured us, seemingly almost indifferent to his unconscious ponyboy. “He does that quite frequently. I’m learning to recognise the signs so I can back off and let him have a breather before I start again. Otherwise, the old stop-start and smelling salts routine is a bit of a bore!” He smiled at us and reached for his cell phone. “One moment”, he said, tapping on the screen and speaking to his German lover.

Otty appeared a moment later with a fresh bottle of Champagne and some more ice, the latter in an old plastic ice cream carton. He grinned somewhat ruthfully as he tipped the cubes into the ice bucket and swapped the bottles over after first opening the replacement with the customary cork pop.

“Vee just haf the von. I should put him in the refrigerator, but I forget,” he grunted apologetically, gesturing towards the bucket with one finger and then tapping the bottle. He looked towards Samson's silent, still figure, chuckled softly and then quietly departed with hardly a sound.

“Very light on his feet”, Jeremy observed, reading our minds. “I think he likes you, “He rarely says a word around strangers, and you just got at least a dozen out of him, plus a little bonus laugh. That’s a first,” he exclaimed, then he sat upright in his chair and clapped his hands together excitedly. “Now to business ladies. A new bottle of bubbly for a new beginning, eh?” he smiled at us and then laughed. “Come now, you didn’t think I looked you up after all these years and invited you up just to show you that creature, splendid as he is, did you? Fill your glasses; well, maybe not fill them. Let us not get too mad; the day is still young,  but perhaps a little top-up, that’s right.”

My glass was almost empty, so I’d reached for the fresh bottle and did the honours, and as I scrunched it back into the bucket, Jeremy raised his glass and saluted us both. “A toast, ladies, to a long and fruitful renewed relationship!”

Chrissie and I shared that questioning look once more as we took a sip of the sparkling bubbly and then back to our amused host, who chuckled again, rising from his chair, gesturing upwards with both hands. “Nor to reminisce about the ‘good old days’. I believe ‘chew over the fat’ is the appropriate expression, but as I recall, we had some lean times when there was more gristle than fat or meat. Ah, good old student days, eh! Now, shall we take our glasses with us? No, perhaps not. The bottle will be nicely chilled if we leave it a while. This way, if you please, ladies.”

Chrissie and I shared another meaningful look as we followed him through a stout wooden door into the other half of the stable. Yes, there had been some very lean days, weeks even, back in our flat sharing student days, at least for us. However, I couldn’t recall Jeremy ever suffering unduly from poverty or existing on a lean meat and gristle diet. While Chrissie and I had frequently pooled resources and shared the cheapest McDonald's meal, Jeremy had been out generously winning and dining his next prospective submissive at some of London’s finest restaurants. All thanks to his parents' exceedingly generous monthly allowance, plus his considerable inheritance from a wealthy and deceased spinster great aunt.  

Back then, in those ‘good old student days, ’ Chrissie and I had been on polite terms with the little Indian guy who ran the local corner shop and was good for a certain amount of credit near the end of term or even earlier if needed. On the other hand, Jeremy knew head waiters by their first names at hotels like the Ritz, Savoy, Claridges, etc.  The sort of places where we’d have had to take out a bank loan merely to give the hall porter a tip he wouldn’t sneer at!

That glance we’d shared briefly brought back a certain resentment, not that it was merited. Jeremy had never quibbled when he discovered minor or occasionally major discrepancies in his personal food inventory in the communal fridge and larder. He’d been the one who’d collected and paid our annual members' fee at Scarlett’s club, and we only found out later that he’d been heavily subsidising our contributions. There were many more instances when we’d benefited from his generosity and doubtlessly others we didn’t know about. Still, that casual affluence he’d had back then had been a minor annoyance and irritation for two impoverished working-class Northern lasses.

There was also…my thoughts came to an abrupt halt at that point, as did my feet. Chrissie beside me likewise as she emitted a little gasp and then whispered. “No way!”

Jeremy, who’d carried on a pace, further halted and looked back at the pair of us with a huge muppet-like grin splitting his face. “As I said, ladies. I didn’t invite you up to see Samson, splendid animal that he is, but knowing you two and your tastes, I suspect, well…..” he trailed off, chortling gleefully, making an exaggerated gesture towards one of the stalls.

Otty, whose broad, good, humoured face mirrored that of his lover, was leading a tall, magnificently proportioned, dusky-skinned ponygirl out of the stall, holding the skittish creature tightly by a short leash to her leather collar as he led her out.

“Steady girl”, Jeremy cautioned, reaching out and lightly tapping Chrissie on the shoulder.  He was addressing her, not the pony, knowing instinctively that she’d been about to rush forward. “Hold one moment and get a good eyeful of the beast. Not bad, is she? Not bad at all. Get an eyeful of that gorgeous hide on her, almost golden when it catches the light. Walk her up and down for us, please, Otty”.

“She’s magnificent” came out of Chrissie like a reverential whisper. The expression eyes out on stalks came into my mind for a second, but then I realised I was probably no different and that if I didn’t close my mouth, I might start drooling.

Otty’s melon-like grin grew wider as he yanked the tall ponygirl in a new direction, making it stumble and then recover as it staggered in his grip. Glossy, bright pink knee-high hoof boots graced those long, shapely legs. I glanced at Chrissie and grinned, recognising that look on her face. After all our years together, I could read her like a book and knew what she was thinking or at least what a part of her mental capacity was processing either consciously or subconsciously.

Chrissie was shorter than me by several inches, and although by no means a small person, I mean not pint-sized if I can put it that way rather than using more controversial terms. She was somewhat conscious that she was lacking in the leg department. ‘All bloody head, neck, body, bum and feet with not much in between bum and feet’, As she put it. She just adored seeing me in stockings and heels, which I hated, but she would never wear such herself. ‘Not on my bloody short stumps, no way’ and rarely wore a dress or skirt!’

I thought her legs were cute and not the least bit stumpy, but I’d come along too late. Her dad had always affectionately but unwisely called her ‘his little shorty’ and still did. Probably because he topped six feet, as did her two brothers, so the damage was done long before we got together. She only had to glance at a display of tights in the supermarket, you know, the ones I mean. Always photoshopped to show impossibly long elegant legs that set her off on an angry tirade. That filly or mare, whatever she was, had unwittingly and unavoidably crossed that same line. How dare she have legs like that!

Sexy long legs or not, the pony could barely walk and, even as we watched, almost fell over twice or would have done had Otty not quickly stretched out a massive hand to steady her till she regained her balance on her feet or rather hoofs. I thought beautiful but decidedly ungainly and exchanged another excited, wide-eyed glance with Chrissie.

Back in our days with Jazzy, we’d never been able to afford any decent pony gear, not a pair of boots like that. We’d made do with some cheap six-inch stilettos, but they’d never looked right on our makeshift ponygirls' chubby legs. This one had magnificent legs, not to mention a trim waist and a gorgeous pair of firm jutting udders tipped by prominent dark nipples and a long mane of glossy jet-black hair flowing down her slender back.

That shared glance was charged with a growing sense of excitement as the implications of what we were looking at began to seep into two slightly stunned minds. Perhaps not quite as shocked as they might have been a few hours ago as an inevitable realisation started to simultaneously dawn in that look we shared as our eyes and heads swivelled rapidly back and forth between Ponygirl and each other.

“So, ladies, what do you think of Delilah then? The one other I mentioned earlier who knows about my illegal activities, not that she’s in any position to do anything about them,” Jeremy laughed, giving a half-wave towards the pony. “Untrained, as you can see, and in pristine condition, not a mark on her, unlike?” he giggled and nodded backwards in the direction we’d just come from. “Well, bar a few hand slaps. My Otty has rather large hands, but I doubt she’s received more than a dozen all told, so no battle scars, unlike my gorgeous Samson’s pretty hide.”

“Delilah? So she’s…” Chrissie also nodded backwards.

“Bingo, clever girl, got it in one”, Jeremy chuckled. “Delilah is, or should I say was, Mrs Samson and, although not my cup of tea, an excellent specimen, as I’m sure you would both agree. Note that magnificent hide upon her. I’ll wager she was what they would have called a Quadroon back in the old plantation days, one with a grandparent of pure African origin. No need for her to waste money on a fake tan, eh? We, or rather Otty, only tacked her up yesterday, no the day before. I ordered some suitable gear post haste once I knew you were coming, so the poor thing can hardly put one foot in front of the other, whereas Samson’s been wearing them since the day I first stalled him”.

“How long?” I asked.

“Oh, like I said, a few weeks. Let's see.” he started tapping on his fingers, then gave up. “Oh, call it a month, well maybe a few days more, but who’s counting, and what does it matter?” he shrugged.       “Not to me and certainly not to this one or my big boy back there, and as I told you, there is absolutely no chance of the US cavalry riding to their rescue. Nor any form of cavalry or infantry, come to that.” He paused and gave a decidedly mischievous grin, winking as he did while raising a single finger to his lips. “Don’t let them know that, though.  I’ve planted a couple of discrete hints that their plight is not unknown and that an extensive search is being undertaken so that hope may as yet reside in their bosoms. A very nice bosom, I think, in that one’s case, if that’s what floats your boat!”.

“And is there one, an extensive search, I mean?” Chrissie whispered, her eyes rapidly switching between Jeremy and Delilah.

He shook his head. “Not so far as I am aware, or any authorities come to that”, he replied quietly. “Why should there be? As I told you, there is nothing to worry about in that respect, and no,” he said, shaking his head and waving a cautionary finger. “Don’t waste your breath asking. I’ve said as much as I intend to say on that subject for reasons I won’t reveal. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, and for as long as I want to my handsome big boy back there; likewise, you ladies with this fine filly or maybe mare would be more appropriate. Thirty-two but doesn’t look a day over, what, twenty-three perhaps! Now, no more questions, please. Upon my word of honour….that sounds a bit old-fashioned, doesn’t it? But whatever, rest assured that there will be no questions, comebacks, risks, nothing so far as these two are concerned. You’ll have to trust me on that one,” he finished with a thin-lipped self-satisfied smile.

“That’s a lot of trust” I muttered sourly.

“True, but then that’s a lot of ponygirl, my dear”, he countered smugly. “Raw, wild and untrained and surplus to my requirements. If you feel you can do better elsewhere….” He trailed off with a sly, knowing smile, then beckoned Otty to come closer. “Unless they somehow escape, of course, but I think that is unlikely, given all the harnesses and tack. Plus, we are very careful; this building does not rely solely on bricks, mortar, leather and chains to contain them. I work at the Cambridge Science Park, don’t forget, tech side, and Otty was an IT engineer. Smile, you’re on Candid Camera, my lovely friends,” he winked. “Incriminated for ever more. Now Otty, love. Walk her over to the rear wall and back. Let us see those long legs in motion, and then I’m sure certain fingers will be itching to relieve themselves of said itch.”

Chrissie must have been holding her breath because it sounded like a small explosion as she released it, and Jeremy wasn’t wrong about fingers. Mine were already formed into eager claws as I eyed that firm, jutting bosom jiggling so delightfully, and knowing Chrissie, well, she’d always been far more hands-on than me.

“There is more tack over there.” Jeremy nodded to a bench with some packages and a tall, battered-looking corner cupboard lacking one of its doors. I bought quite a selection. As I said, Otty only recently put the boots on her, and her hands are cuffed behind her back. I thought you’d prefer to tack her up properly yourselves.  We’ve had the cuffs, a leg hobble and that thick leather dog collar on her plus that ball gag most of the time she’s been here but bar feeding the bitch and hosing her down every so often, she’s virtually untouched. Well, untouched pony wise. No doubt she’s accommodated Samson's admirable endowment many times, but that’s no longer relevant. The creature is surplus to local requirements so far as Otty and I are concerned, so bar feeding and cleaning, she’s been chained up in that stall. Who knows, she must have been bored stiff, so maybe she’ll welcome some variety into her miserable life?” he chuckled and then, looking at Chrissie, added. “Or maybe not!

“So what’s the catch then? You’re giving her to us just like that!” I asked, trying to come to terms with what he was so casually proposing. My brain was engaged, although not fully processing what he was saying, whereas my eyes were half watching the big German boy parade her back and forth in front of us. I could see that expression of horrified terror in the pony’s big brown eyes and wondered if she’d been ignorant of  Jeremy's plans. There were tears in those pretty brown eyes, and her head was twisting back and forth as though trying to deny the situation, realisation doubtlessly now striking home. Although Otty was the one holding her short leash, it was Chrissie that she seemed most focused upon. Animal sixth sense maybe, for I knew  very well which of us was the nasty one, and it wasn’t me!

“No catch”, Jeremy said, twirling one finger in the air so that Otty started walking his charge in the opposite direction, still needing that steading hand every dozen or so steps. “No catch, no charges, no fees. It’s ultimately up to you what you do with her and where you keep her, although I insist on knowing where and approving in the latter case. Security,” he smiled. “I strongly suggest, though, that you consider leaving her with us for the time being; we have excellent facilities. In fact, thinking about it, I must insist on that for now.” he smiled and nodded towards the stalls and then to a winking red light high above that betrayed the presence of a camera. “In time, well, let us take things one step at a time, eh, ladies?”

I looked around at Chrissie, who reluctantly tore her eyes away from the mare and nodded in agreement. “A shade over two hours if the traffic flows easily. We could even manage that midweek for a few hours, couldn’t we? I wouldn’t want her to feel neglected,” she purred”.

“No shortage of bedrooms in the old pub,” Jeremy said, jerking his head back towards the building. “Apart from the landlord’s apartment I use, there were, indeed still are, three double-letting rooms and a single. You could easily be up here by seven thirty, eight, midweek and leave early next morning.

“Better still if we can both do an early shift and maybe wangle returning for a late. We’ve both done enough extra shifts to earn a little leeway in our respective departments, haven’t we? Babe?”

“More than enough”, I agreed. It was a joint bone of contention that our busy departments had more than their fair share of regular ‘sick note’ slackers!  “Plus, we can also arrange a long weekend every few weeks. Somehow, I don’t think she’ll get lonely.” I grinned at my lover. “More the opposite, I expect!”

Jeremy laughed and rubbed his hands together. “Excellent, now you’re going to have to excuse me for a while, although I’m sure you can find something to keep you amused”, he chuckled, beckoning Otty over. “Feel free to explore everything and not just that exotic centrepiece”, he chuckled. “You will find a selection of suitable tack over there in the storage area. I was sure you two would get a far greater kick out of dressing her than we boys would—posture collars, armbinders, etc. If you need anything else, I can introduce you to several discrete websites later.  Oh, and don’t forget the selection of toys as yet unused. I’m sure Chrissie will enjoy introducing your new animal to those entertaining implements! After all, she’s made her one-time husband sing loudly for his supper and talking of hubby.” He grinned. “ Chow for now.” he finished with a wicked chuckle and a mock half-salute.

Otty had stopped before us, and I jumped slightly as he suddenly clicked his heels together and bowed his head in a very formal Prussian-like gesture, holding out the leash. I looked at it for a long second, then my eyes followed it to the collar, then the face of that gorgeous creature on the other end. What a range of emotions were in those glorious dark eyes, and one hell of a thrill shot through me. That saying, going weak at the knees, is certainly true, I thought, stretching my shaking hand out to accept his offering.

I was a fraction too late; Chrissie’s arm flashed out, grabbed the leash, and yanked the pony toward her as she wound a couple of turns firmly around her wrist. I wasn’t surprised, for she was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and this was one hell of both horse and gift!

Jeremy grunted approval as he grabbed Otty by his other hand and headed toward the door back into the adjoining room. He stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder at us. Oh, one thing. No need to feel inhibited, and don’t feel too concerned if things get a little noisy, as I’m sure they will. This old building is not soundproof, but the walls are pretty thick, and the area is somewhat remote. We get the odd idiot visitor checking to see if the place is still open despite all the signs and evidence to the contrary, but” he tapped his pocket. “Lots of sensors and cameras now, so my phone alerts me. We’ll get your phones set up the same way later on. There may be times when you’re up here, and we are both out for some reason”.

Chrissie and I shared another questioning look, both thinking the same thing. We had identical cell phones, and neither of us was exactly tech-savvy.  Then again, we were not idiots either and being in the medical profession, people lived or might, in extreme cases, die on account of us. We used technology every working day, did we not, so why should we baulk at the workings of the odd surveillance camera or remote alarm?

Jeremy looked at us and chuckled, probably thinking along the same lines. Back in our student flat-sharing days, he’d always been the one we’d relied upon to deal with all the tech issues. Everything from adjusting all the heating clocks and timers when daylight savings clicked in or out to programming the player for recording our favourite TV shows.  Plus, he was one of those rare individuals who knew what every setting on the microwave did, unlike us and probably ninety per cent of the population!

“Come Otty, my dear. Watching Chrissie here exercising her right arm upon Samson has made me decidedly randy, and I think a little relief is in order. It's time, methinks,  to leave another not-so-little deposit in our stallion's delicious vault. What say you to joining me in a nice slow split roast? I take the rear entrance and you the front once you change his gag. He does so love that, NOT! I honestly think that…..” he paused, stifled a laugh and spun around with a very thoughtful look.

“Yes?” That expression on his face was one of pure as yet unasked question and aimed directly at me.

“I wasn’t joking, you know earlier, well not entirely. You’re both nurses, at least, you are, and both medical-type people, aren’t you?”.  He said quietly, seemingly partly to me yet also to himself as though putting words to thought. “Maybe we should have a more serious chat later, eh?”

I nodded, and he stared back at me for a long time before his face creased into the most evil expression I’d ever seen on anyone's face. I think it was supposed to be a grin, and though it was aimed in my direction, I knew I wasn’t the one he was thinking about.

“Ring gags are so bloody hinderingly awkward, and one can never fully enjoy the full delicious oral sensation an erect master's cock deserves. Whereas when a mouth, even an unwilling mouth if it’s free and more importantly safe, to clamp down upon one’s pleasure rod it, adds so much to one's enjoyment,” he smiled. “Not to mention one's absolute mastery over one helpless fucktoy!”

“What?”

“Yep, she can do that; if she can’t, I probably can. I’ll help anyway; it’ll be fun, plus we owe you a big one,” Chrissie's eager voice cut in from behind me, adding, “NO, no, stop it! Don’t be shy, silly pony. You know you can’t stop me, so why bother!”

Jeremy laughed. “Okay, I’ll leave that one in your capable hands to bat around. Come Otty, fucky fucky time once more!” He disappeared through the wide doorway hand in hand with his bashful giant German lover.

Little and large, I thought, very large in Otty’s case, as I turned to look at my somewhat smaller and far less timid lover. Chrissie had one arm around Delilah, pulling her close while the other was greedily sampling the squirming woman’s right breast and not being very gentle about it either.  Delilah was struggling frantically, her eyes bulging at this outrage, and that ball gag wasn’t entirely cutting off what was probably a very intense flow of invective protest. Hell, if she thought that was bad? My eyes strayed to the corner Jeremy had indicated, and I could see that collection of nasty toys hanging over the workbench. Nowhere near as many as on the rack next door, but enough to ensure a warm introduction to her new life for the gorgeous creature.

“I like it, so I think we should keep it. Delilah, I mean. The name suits her,” Chrissie said. “What say you, pony? Do you like your new name? Not that it matters,” she giggled as she squeezed hard upon a bronzed nipple, making the woman squeak. “The only thing that counts from now on is what we like, your two new Mistresses! Hey, Honey, don’t stand there like a statue; come and help yourself to a handful of this delicious animal. It’s not a dream; if it is, it’s one that’s come true.  No point in pinching yourself to check when you can pinch one of these gorgeous udders!”

I smiled at the radiant expression on my lover’s face. Wow, offhand, I couldn’t recall her ever looking so happy, so excited, so…. eager would that be the appropriate word. My eyes strayed back to the corner again as I joined her. How long, I wondered, and it wouldn’t be me that cast the first painful stone. Probably not apt, and it wouldn’t be a stone she’d have in her sadistic little hand!

Delilah did feel good, though, as she tried vainly to squirm away from my first tentative touch. Soft, warm, feminine and already with a distinct whiff of stable housed animal about her and those gorgeous brown yet terrified angry eyes. Chrissie seemed to have adapted immediately to the situation, but my mind was still boggling.

“Just get a whiff of this sexy beast!” she said and burrowed her head between two firm udders for a moment before emerging. “Can you smell that odour of female animal!” she giggled, confirming what my nose had just noted.

The sound of Samson voicing a loud protest disturbed me for a second, but he was swiftly silenced, presumably by Otty and that ring gag.  That did remind me, though. “Hey,” I said, absently noting Chrissie’s hand had now strayed much lower, and a couple of fingers had penetrated a very bushy mound. Delilah seemed to find that assault far worse by the frantic way she was futilely struggling to break free from the smaller girl's hold while mewing ineffectively into her gag.

“Hey, what, Babe?”

“What was all that about? What did you just agree to? What was that about? What can I do, or you will if I can’t?”

“Hell, Babe, weren’t you keeping up with the flow”?

“What flow?” I shook my head, leaning forward and inhaling more of that delicious aroma of captive ponygirl flesh as my other palm began to caress a firm as yet unmarked buttock cheek lightly.  “My brain seemed to have stopped working just looking at this…what could you call it? Unexpected gift hardly cut it?

“Teeth, dum-dum, toothy peggie’s, teeth!” Chrissie laughed. “NO, no, stop that silliness right now. Kicking is not allowed, and I’ll only get cross, very cross, and you’ll soon learn what a bad idea that is. Very soon, I promise,” she giggled.

“Teeth?” My mind was not operating on the same wavelength and going backwards fast rather than forwards the more my greedy hands sampled Delilah’s warm, soft flesh. “Teeth, what about them?”

“Doh!” Chrissie snorted, grabbing a handful of long, silky-looking but matted black hair. She sniffed it, pulled a face, then pulled the pony’s head down. Her small tongue flashed out and licked Delilah’s nose twice before bursting into a delighted giggle. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip, holding Delilah’s head firm as her other hand reached upwards.

I shuffled backwards a little, the better to watch her, my mind still in a whirl, but my right hand didn’t relinquish its exploration of a firm, trembling buttock check. How different it felt to the saggy, unappealing rear end  Jazzy had presented for our paddles and canes. A delightful shiver of anticipation rippled through me.

“These things, NO, don’t shy away, pretty thing!” Chrissie turned to me, giggling. “I don’t think she likes me very much”.

“Hardly surprising. As I recall, you weren’t exactly popular with Ugly Jenny nor sad old Jazzy either!”

Chrissie giggled again and stuck her tongue out at me. “I was no worse than you…well, maybe a teensy bit worse”, she conceded.

“It’s not your tongue that’ll be sticking out if you keep telling porkie pie, lies, Madam,” I told her and then laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think we’ll be having any of the ‘Do you think she’ll come back after that’ conversations, remember those? Not with this one”.

“Nope,” Chrissie agreed, “Because this one won’t be going anywhere, will you, pretty pony? Now stop trying to bite me, silly animal, not with that big ball in your pretty mouth. A nice wide one, unlike my small one, so  I can never manage to show my teeth in a nice big beaming smile. These things,” Chrissie’s last two words addressed to me as her forefinger pushed Delila’s upper lip out of the way and tapped on a gleaming white tooth. Then her finger moved back and forth, pushing the lip up, revealing the pony's teeth clamped down upon that big red ball.  “Toothy pegs, but we might have to consult that friend of yours, Big Margie; she’s a dental nurse, right?”

I gasped aloud as complete understanding began to dawn upon me. What was wrong with my damn brain! I’d missed half of what Jeremy had rambled on about earlier, being so fascinated with Samson and his predicament. Margie, or Big Margie as Chrissie called her, because she was built on the generous side, over-generous if you get my meaning. We’d gone to the same school together, and while not exactly close friends, we’d attended the same birthday parties and so on. We’d bumped into each other about a year or so back in the local Costa Coffee that Chrissie and I favoured one Saturday lunchtime.

Margie qualified as a dental nurse in my hometown and moved to London two years ago to live with her beanpole stick-thin partner. ‘Not so big’ Roger, as Chrissie termed him, plus two cats and a bad-tempered parrot with a vocabulary consisting primarily of the most offensive words available to the English language. It had belonged to an aged aunt of Margie’s, and she’d inherited it along with a decent dollop of cash plus the old ladies' jewellery—the latter covering a substantial portion of the purchase price on the London flat they’d bought.

Roger was one of those people who were useful to know. A qualified plumber plus a competent general handyman who’d sorted out numerous annoying minor household problems for us. As a rule, Chrissie didn’t get on too well with guys, but they’d hit it off immediately, chiefly down to the foul-mouthed bird. Roger had never met the aunt, but he and Chrissie were fascinated by the parrot and the fact that Margie’s aunt had been a reclusive chapel-going spinster who’d had the bird for years!

“Well, why not?” Chrissie smiled at me and jerked her head toward the open doorway to the other part of the building. Samson had been effectively silenced, but the other noises indicated his owners were actively, and probably aggressively, enjoying the benefits of such ownership of their living sex toy.

“It’ll be worth a fair few brownie points with Jezza if nothing else”, Chrissie chuckled, abandoning Delilah’s mouth and retuning her hands to more exciting parts of the pony’s anatomy. “I mean, we’re going to owe him big time for this, aren’t we? And I’ve hated being in debt since our Uni days. Besides, I expect it’ll be kind of fun, at least for us. Something different!”

“Margie”, I mused aloud, even as Jeremy shouted something unintelligible from next door. Whatever it was, he sounded excited.

“Obliquely, of course,” Chrissie added. “Next time, we meet for a coffee, but not the weekend because we’ll be here, I expect. Give her a call and suggest a lunchtime coffee mid-week.  I’ll think of a way to introduce the subject, and then you can grill her on some technical details extraction-wise. Hell, it can’t be hard. I had that bottom molar right at the back yanked last year, and it was out almost before the dentist started. Now, then, this lovely animal has been left festering in her stall for far too long. It’s high time to start her training, and there’s no time like the present!”

Chrissie gave Delilah’s left udder a final squeeze, tossed her leash and smiled at me, sauntered over to the corner, and started examining the various punishment implements hanging there, what was lying on the bench and then opening multiple drawers. I felt Delilah squirming under my palm as she twisted about, trying to watch what Chrissie was doing. I got the distinct impression that the beautiful animal was decidedly unhappy, and with good reason, I thought, watching my lover.

Lull and storm were words that popped into my mind as I walked Delilah back towards her stall, looping the end of her leash onto a convenient hook before crossing over to peek into the big room. This was the lull, but Chrissie's expression showed that the storm wasn’t far off, and a certain pony was about to be caught full-on by that approaching tempest. Then she’d really be unhappy, not to mention decidedly sore!

Jeremy and Otty, as I’d expected, were both thrusting vigorously into their hapless victim, one at each end. It was a brutal, even primitive sight to my eyes but, in its way, decidedly stimulating. I saw Samson's bulging, outraged eyes turn in my direction and wondered what thoughts were going through his mind. I could perhaps guess, but then, I shrugged inwardly. Did it matter? He wasn’t in a position to stop them, and I certainly wasn’t going to interfere.

“Now that’s what I call bestial on all levels!”  Chrissie had silently joined me in the open doorway, leaving Delilah tethered to the post like a dog outside the local store. “I wonder if they made a video of his first time? But I suppose it's something we’ll need to decide upon”.  

“Decide what?”

“That”, she gestured towards the threesome with the wooden paddle in her hand. It looked like the twin of the one she’d chosen earlier to use upon Samson. “What Jeremy and his big lover boy are doing. I suspect poor Samson is more fuck toy than Ponyboy, whereas our Delilah is going to be pure Ponygirl and nothing else. Our very own two-legged animal, at least…!”

“At least, what?” I looked at her.

Chrissie grinned. “Maybe a little bestiality now and then, as per Jeremy over there or maybe a lot. I’ve always wanted to go full-on with a huge strapon and no brakes.” she paused and giggled wickedly.

I knew the reason for that giggle. Several ‘monsters’ were still in their packaging on the top shelf of her wardrobe. There was no way I would let her anywhere near me with one of those behemoths sticking out of her groin. Somehow, though, I knew the loverly Delilah would not have that same opportunity to refuse, not from either of us!”

“Well, that's what you do if you own a pony”, I replied as we watched Samson oscillate between those two human piledrivers. “Ride them, I mean!”

“Mmmm”, Chrissie murmured. Even her eagerness to start ‘training’ Delilah momentarily paused by the fascinating spectacle in front of us. “I think, though, we’ll leave her teeth intact. I like the idea of seeing them clamped down upon a nice thick bit in her mouth, and somehow, I don’t see us letting her do any pussy licking. It seems kind of…”

“Demeaning” I nodded towards Otty. “Yeah, I get you. Okay, for those two primitives, but allowing her that privilege, well, kind of makes the bitch human again don’t you think?”

“Precisely, Honey. My thoughts exactly!” she said, taking my hand with her free one and gently turning me around as I pushed the door closed. The boys were getting noisy, both approaching a climax, and it somehow seemed appropriate. Besides, we neither needed nor wanted an audience for our first adventures in real ponygirl ownership.

“Back ones”, Chrissie said, suddenly stopping. “Remember that couple at the club on Pony night, Emma and…and…”

“George”, I supplied after a moment’s thought. I remembered them well. Emma was a model, one of the twenty-five going on a waif-like sixteen type in looks and gorgeous with it. Mouthwatering was how Chrissie had described her that first time, and I’ll swear she was drooling over the bitch! George was her accompanying pony on those nights. Head to toe in rubber with only his eyes, his teeth where they clamped down upon his bit and two naked bottom cheeks bulging out of his tight rubber costume on view. Supposedly twice her age and the subject of numerous rumours within the club. Some said married, others said single. A politician, a member of the clergy, the judiciary, a senior policeman, perhaps a showbiz celebrity, no one knew for sure. Emma never said anything nor removed her pony’s rubber hood. Not even Scarlet knew his identity, although apparently, Emma had let on that her submissive pony wasn’t unknown to the public, far from it!

What was known was that he must be something of a masochist, for the girl was an absolute sadist. One glance at George’s exposed bottom cheeks was almost enough to put you off your drink and bar snack, or would have if you were that inclined. Chrissie and I, along with most of the dominant patrons, found young Emma’s handiwork somewhat fascinating. Plus, the girl invariably added more colour to that abused multi-hued canvas during the evening via one of Scarlett's private rooms. Private, at least visually but not sound, proof as he was allowed to express himself bit free for at least a part of the evening.

“Got it,” I said, making the connection my mind finally on the same tack. There had been that one evening when Emma had removed George's mouth bit in the main bar area early on. She was a friend of Miriam’s, the woman who’d given us Jazzy. We’d been sitting in a quiet corner of the club we favoured with Jazzy, Jeremy, Miriam, her latest scrumptious piece of wannabe model fluff and another couple when Emma came over to join us with George in tow. Emma also knew the other couple,  Alice and John and their subbie ponyboy, Prancer. So-called because he ‘pranced so delightfully under my whip’, Alice had told us.

Prancer was another subject of interest and speculation among some of Scarlet’s regulars. Alice and John only came to the club on the ‘pony’ nights and not always to every one of them. They were both senior partners in a prestigious legal firm. Corporate law and other high-rolling wealthy types were their bread and butter or, more accurately, Champagne and Caviar, as Miriam put it.  She also knew them via her modelling and showbiz connections, which was why they’d joined us that evening.

Had Miriam not told us how they earned their daily ‘crusts’, we’d have assumed they must work in the entertainment or glamour industry. Both were well preserved and in their early forties; by well preserved, I mean well preserved. John was six foot two, broad of shoulder, flat of belly with the dark heavy masculine good looks that would have made him a surefire cert for the 007 role and topped off by the most charming smile imaginable. Even Chrisie had described him as a ‘gorgeous hunk,’ the type even she might be tempted to spread her legs for under the right circumstances. Coming from my Chrissie, I'd thought that was one hell of an admission!

Alice came from a similar mould, tall, raven-haired, beautiful in that imperious East European high cheek-boned way. Immaculate makeup and dress sense, perfect from the pointed toes of her expensive heeled boots to her high ponytail of sleek hair with a sheen to match the gloss of her black knee boots. She’s been getting on for twice my age yet could still look fantastic with hair that way, whereas I’d have merely looked stupid! One of the few women we’d ever seen in the club that made its glamorous proprietor look like an also-ran!

Striking as the couple were, they were never the focus of attention that honour was reserved for their ponyboy, Prancer. If Chrissie thought Emma worthy of a little drool, then Jeremy positively leaked saliva by the bucket full every time he saw the boy. Which was strange given that Prancer was neither tall nor well-developed in the way he usually preferred. The very opposite, in fact. He was hardly five foot six in his hoof boots and very skinny. Positively wimpy and such a contrast to his two tall, imposing owners who radiated that power and ownership by their demeanour and attitude, not that they were unfriendly or aloof in any way.

At least not to us, although it was a different matter regarding Prancer. He came in with them obediently, following the reins in his Misstress’s gloved hand. High stepping so precisely in his hoof boots that he seemed more automaton than human. He left with them to climb into the cage in the back of their luxury Range Rover parked in a reserved space behind the club. He stood rigidly beside them all evening while they drank, ate and socialised. Frequently enduring rough caresses upon his bruised flesh from his owners or those brave enough to ask his imperious Mistress for permission to touch him.

I never saw Alice refuse anyone that privilege in all the time we attended the club, for she seemed so proud of her obedient pony, a well-beaten one we noted. Prancer was not covered head to foot in rubber; it was more the opposite. Just his bridle, bit, posture collar, armbinder, punishingly tight waspie-like waist corset, and knee-high hoof boots. His skin never displayed the same recent savage handiwork that George's tortured buttocks did but rather a cruel latticework of scars and wheals one upon another that mutely testified of months and months, maybe even years of more refined, more enduring but no less painful sadistic attention.

As I said, Jeremy was entranced with Prancer and invariably the first to request permission to touch on the nights he showed up. He was very hands-on and, for as long as he dared or thought, was polite and reluctant to become hands-off-off, much to the amusement of Prancer’s owners, especially John—double O seven and a bit, as Chrissie privately called him.

Even if they weren’t sitting with us, John sometimes looked around, grinned and waved. ‘Hey Jeremy, it’s been a good hour. Time for another Prancer feel fix, eh?’ John loved to tease Jeremy as opposed to his gorgeous wife, who was far more reserved about her diminutive ponyboy. ‘I own him; I’ve trained him. He’s called Prancer because he prances beautifully in our basement stable or the big paddock behind our country house. He belongs to me, to us!”

There was no point in prying further unless you liked being on the end of an icy, silent, imperious stare and blotting your copybook so far as any further social contact went. John was no less reserved as to the full details of their ownership of the boy, although it amused him to throw out the odd titbits, especially to Jeremy, whom he seemed to favour. He’d nod towards Jeremy’s latest if present and whisper, “What's that one like? Nothing like as much fun to beat and fuck as this unhappy little squeaker, I bet, nudge nudge wink, wink, say no more, eh, Jezza boy!”

Jeremy would pull a face at his hated pet name while John would roar with delight and cruelly squeeze Prancer's ass cheeks as though to taunt him further till Alice quietly told him to ‘Behave and stop teasing the poor boy’ and she didn’t mean Prancer.  One only had to look at the expression on Prancer's face and in his eyes, if Alice or John, for that matter, looked at him to see that he was terrified of them. If the whispers were true, then that wasn’t surprising, for rumour had it that Prancer was not a willing occupant of their stable.

Jeremy was convinced that it was no false rumour which accounted for his fascination, whereas the two of us remained unconvinced. Scarlett’s club had some pretty heavy players among the membership. Hell, given what we did to Jazzy, at times, we weren’t far off that category ourselves. Besides, how could such an impossible situation exist nowadays in a modern capital city? I’d forgotten about Prancer until now. As for Jeremy, was poor Prancer the seed leading to this situation?

Again, all that flashed through my mind like an ultra-fast instant sports replay. Thanks to Chrissie’s reference to Emma and teeth, that had sparked my recollection. That was the night Emma and Alice had been discussing mouth bits, and Emma had removed George's bit and pulled him forward so we could examine his mouth. She’d had some of his back upper and lower teeth removed so his mouth bit fitted better, more effectively.

The guy who’d done it had been recommended by Alice, who’d also similarly done Prancer’s teeth. A German medical student financing his studies via a range of dubious medical-related extras being the responsible party.  Miriam, I recall, had been very interested in getting her fingers into George's mouth for a thorough examination. That interest hadn’t been appreciated by her horrified young harnessed and bitted companion of the moment. The girl had become quite agitated, much to everyone’s amusement. That was except Miriam, who’d got quite cross, and bitch slapped the girl into tearful submission.

Alice, of course, didn’t remove Prancer’s bit. His mouth was never freed, unlike George, who was permitted the odd drink and nibble from Emma’s hand during the evening. Prancer was merely a dumb animal to stand and wait upon his betters and no more. Jeremy had once asked Alice what she fed him. ‘Whatever I choose to give him’ had been the simple answer, along with the usual icy smile.

Prancer had to make do with rolling or blinking his eyes at us and occasionally making almost imperceptible motions with his head and body to communicate when his owners weren’t watching.  On one occasion, when they were seated at a nearby table, he’d overdone it and been caught by Alice. She’d stared at the suddenly trembling figure in absolute silence before politely excusing herself to the people she’d been sitting with before taking hold of his reins. She marched him first to Scarlett and then into one of the private rooms.

No one knew what happened in the twenty minutes that followed, but she emerged alone and beckoned to John, who promptly joined her. He disappeared briefly into the room to emerge half dragging half carrying Prancer to the rear exit and presumably out to their expensive vehicle. Alice meanwhile retook her seat and resumed the conversation she’d been having as though nothing had happened. Prancer had staggered along, whereas his Mistress was perfectly composed with hardly a single hair out of place!

“Remember Alice and Prancer?” Chrissie said.

I nodded. “You’re mirroring my very thoughts” I answered. “I wonder what happened to him and to Alice and John. I wonder if Jeremy knows. He was always all over them?”

“Probably not. Remember, no one had seen them for a while before the club closed.” I said as we halted in front of Delilah.

“Time for a proper bridle for the pony, I think.” Chrissie chuckled, and an introduction to her mouth bit. I hope you like it, pony because it’ll be a much a part of your life from now on as those boots, your bindings and the tail I’ll ram up your shit chute! She chuckled and grabbed a handful of long dark hair. “Plenty of material here for a splendid tail!”

“Plenty of everything”, I added, admiring the splendid creature again.

Chrissie chuckled and tapped Delilah’s ball gag. “Yes, I think this pretty mouth will look all the better clamped tightly around a bit if we do the same with its teeth as Emma and Alice. We can practice on Samson, lots of practice if he’s got a full set of gnashers!”

I couldn’t help smiling at the look in Delilah's eyes as Chrissie spoke. It probably wouldn’t be as much fun as whipping her rump and probably far more troublesome to do, but….sheesh, we could do whatever we wanted to her, couldn’t we?  On impulse, I reached out and drew Chrissie to me, and she reacted instinctively, hugging me tightly as our faces and mouths met in a long, lingering, deep kiss.

I stretched my other arm out and pulled Delilah hard against our embrace. Oh, what fun the three of us would have together….well, some of us. Two out of three, not bad. What was that, sixty-six-point six per cent? My free hand sought and began to caress a trembling naked buttock cheek. Virgin fresh and as yet pristine and untouched by whip or cane.

My tongue parted company with my lovers, and our lips separated. I wasn’t sure who was trembling more, Delilah with fear and apprehension or Chrissie with suppressed excitement. I looked my eager lover in the eye and winked at her.  Two out of three in the happy bunny stakes, perfectly acceptable, especially compared to a few hours ago when driving up, we stood at zero out of two! Two out of three and, besides, did the third party even count? No, not bad at all