by Paul Blades
When he stopped, Maddy was sobbing inconsolably. It was ten times worse than her first whipping. She had thought that her body was about to burst into flame. Maddy hardly knew that her torment was over when Drabik released her wrists from the chain. He refastened them to their normal position behind her back and then pushed her to her knees. He unlocked her gag from behind her head and pulled it from her mouth. He withdrew his long, thick cock from his pants and uttered the command. Maddy at first didn't hear it. He slapped her across her sore, tortured breasts and repeated it. Obediently she spread her lips apart and took him in.
All she could think of as he plundered her mouth was, 'This is the cock of the man who just whipped me!" Her body still burned from her lashing. Drabik guided her hooded head's movements by holding her ponytail in his hand. He pushed her face against his loins, entering her throat. Twice, when her service seemed to lag, he withdrew his prick and slapped her defenseless tits again viciously.
Maddy could not stop crying as Drabik's meaty cock filled her mouth. Only a few days ago she had performed this act with joy. Now she knelt in utter debasement, an anonymous face docilely receiving his thrusts, her lips obediently pursed around his shaft. Finally, he spilled himself into her mouth. He groaned as her warm wetness encircled him.
When he was done, Drabik restored Maddy's thick, leather gag . He snapped his fingers at the height of his shoulders and Maddy rose to her feet obediently. He led her from the barn with a leash over to the training wheel. He removed her gag and installed her bit and bridle. He connected it to the wheel and turned on the motor. Maddy felt her face pulled forward and she began to run.
That was the last time that Maddy finished last in the race. During the night, she concentrated her whole mind on running, running, running. Her body was a tingle as she was led to the track, thatched with angry red lines, evidence of the prior day's abuse. When the whistle blew she started to run and put everything behind her.
* * *
CHAPTER FOUR
Jake's mind was on money as he sat in the reclining chair in the manager's office of the Elizabeth Uniform Company. The office had an old style, wooden, swiveled office chair, a steel desk covered with bills of lading and invoices and a large map of the eastern half United States on the wall. Jake had never thought that someday he would be operating a real business. But, once they had squeezed out of Feeney everything he knew, and then put a hole in him, someone had to take the reigns of the front for the slave girl operation. In the morning he merely called a meeting of the drivers and other managers and told them that he had bought the business and for everybody to continue to do as they were doing. He thought that that took care of everything.
But that afternoon, Felix Montoya, the assistant operations manager came to him. He was about 55 years old. He had a receding line of short, black curly hair. He looked like a guy who had worked all his life, dotting every 'i', crossing every 't'. He wore wire rimmed glasses over his brown face. He was thin, about 5'9". He showed Jake some papers. "If we don't so something about this, you'll be bankrupt in a month."
Jake looked up at him from his squeaky reclining chair with perplexity. Did Feeney really run this place, he wondered. "Why?" was all he said.
"Because you're paying out more than you bring in. That's why," Felix answered.
"And how does that happen?" Jake asked, amazed that anyone would talk to him about something like this.
"You're not charging enough for uniforms, for one," Felix responded. "And there's too many lost goods, you know, unreturned."
"What do you mean unreturned? Jake asked. "Why would we want people to return the uniforms? Is there something wrong with them?"
Felix looked at Jake like he had two heads. "Do you know that you bought a uniform rental company?" He put the emphasis on 'rental'.
"Yeah, sure," Jake answered. No, he didn't know that.
"Well do you understand that when you rent things to people they're supposed to give them back?" Felix asked, his eyes searching Jake's for any sign of intelligence.
"Of course," Jake replied, trying to recover some of his authority.
"Well, too many people haven't been giving them back. The company's losing money on each rental. We're supposed to charge people for not giving the clothes back."
"Well, that sounds okay to me?'" Jake said trying to sound executive-like.
"But Mr. Jones, or Smith, or whatever you name is……" Felix started, his voice reaching a high level of exasperation.
Jake waived his hand for him to stop. "Montoya, that's your name, right."
Felix looked at Jake. He paused. He looked Jake in the eye. "Listen, mister, if you're going to fire me then do it, because I can't…."
Jake waived his hand again. "How much do you make, Mr. Montoya?"
"Well," Felix thought to himself, "if he's going to pull this 'I make more than you so I'm smarter' routine, I might as well quit right now".
"$55,000," he told Jake.
"Well, Jake said, now you're making $95,000. Do what you need to do. I don't want to hear about anything. I've taken over Mr. Feeney's supplemental operations. I have very powerful friends. You stay on your side of the garage door and I'll stay on mine. Okay?"
Felix looked at him, dumbfounded. "Wha…," he started to say.
"If the business needs any cash, call me at this number." Jake handed him a business card with his answering service number on it.
"Well, okay," Felix mumbled. Jake got out of the chair and started to walk out. "B,but what about the bank accounts, I can't sign the checks," Felix pointed out, following behind Jake to the door.
Jake turned around. "There'll be new signature cards here tomorrow. Do what needs to be done." Jake paused. He looked Felix in the eye. "And don't fuck with us, okay? And if any of my people need a truck, you give it to them. Got it?"
"Okay, Mr……"
"Just Jake." He turned to leave again, but remembered something important.
"In the next couple of days a guy with a Russian accent is going to come and see me about some overseas shipments. Call me right away when he arrives."
Jake returned to the lower regions of the building. He would make a note to have Bertman send this guy some cash so the business could stay afloat. Mary Ellen was down there with Chuckie. All the other guys were running security up and down the block in case any body who missed Feeney came calling. You never could tell. Irving he had sent home. Irving didn't have the moxie for what had to be done next.
Chuckie looked a little downtrodden. He had never worked for a lady before and it took some getting used to. Especially when she called you a balless fuck, or pencil dick. He was ashamed of how he cried and begged to live when Jake's gang had picked him up. And he was surrounded by beautiful, naked women and he couldn't fuck any of them.
"Hey, gutless," Jake said as he came in.
Chuckie's shoulders slumped. "Oh, that's not nice, Mr. Wilson. I never did any…."
"Stuff it Chuckie," Jake said. "I'm here to talk to your boss. So go outside and play." He worried a little about Chuckie. He was a weak link. Anybody could find out what they had, about his kid and all. But for the time being, they needed him.
Jake waited for Chuckie to leave before talking to Mary Ellen. He looked over her sylvan charms. "Boy," he thought. "She sure looks hot."
"I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," Mary Ellen said. She was referring to the line of cages against the wall, each of which contained a shapely young female, bound and hooded.
"Me neither," Jake said. "Are you up for this?" he asked the tall, desirable, yellow haired woman.
She shrugged her shoulders. "I've done worse," she replied.
"I don't know how long that we'll have to keep the operation going, but it could be months. We're talking probably dozens of girls. And they had more than one customer. Do you think you can handle handing over these innocent young things to cruel and barbarous masters?"
"Cruel and barbarous masters
? You been reading something?"
"No, but it's not far from the truth."
"So what," Mary Ellen replied. "If we didn't take them somebody else would. And if it wasn't these girls, it would be some other girls. We'll keep 'em comfy, we won't beat them and we won't rape them. We'll just sell them."
Jake paused to take in the ruthlessness of one of the most ruthless people he knew. "I expect to hear from the overseas buyers within 24 hours. Can you ship right after that?"
"Yeah, I have a few of my girlfriends coming down. We can handle it. What I can't handle is Chuckie." Mary Ellen was strictly gay.
"We need him for the moment," Jake told her. "He'll introduce you to the sellers, make them more comfortable dealing with you. When you think you've got all from him you need, you can do what you want."
"That suits me," Mary Ellen said. "Which brings up one more thing."
"What's that."
"There's the girl, Allison. What do you want to do with her?"
Allison was Feeney's former girlfriend. She had made the mistake of trying to dump him. He had brought her down the basement of the National Uniform Rental Company one night and she had never left. He used her as a fucktoy and to feed and clean the other female prisoners while they awaited shipment. She had been in the basement for about two years and was a shadow of her former voluptuous self. Her neck was connected to a pipe than ran the length of the basement so that she could slide her long leash up and down it. She had been watching when Jake did the job on Feeney. She had enjoyed watching him beg and plead for his life, offering anything and everything he could think of. She liked Mary Ellen so far. She hadn't yet beat her. At the present, she was lodged in her own cage, bound and hooded, with plugs in her ears, like all of the imprisoned girls. She was oblivious to Mary Ellen's conversation with Jake.
Jake thought for a moment. "Why can't she keep doing what she's been doing?"
"Taking care of the girls?" Mary Ellen shrugged. "Okay, but when the operation shuts down, somebody's got to do her. She's no good to sell and she knows too much."
"I guess we'll deal with that when the time comes." Jake answered.
It was about 10 o'clock the next morning that Jake got a call from his service. Felix had left a message that a guy was here to see him. Jake called Felix. "Tell him to meet me in the luncheonette down the street. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
When Jake walked into the dingy luncheonette, there was a hard looking man, short, grayish black hair, a determined face, sitting in the last booth. He was drinking coffee. Jake nodded to him and joined him. The waitress came over. Jake ordered coffee. There was a brief silence after she left.
Sergi was a former inmate of the Soviet penal system, and not for political crimes either. You had to have balls to commit real crimes in a police state. He had suffered his knocks and had no fear.
"American coffee sucks," he told Jake.
Jake waited for the waitress to leave his in front of him before answering. "So drink tea."
Sergi laughed. "Your tea sucks too."
"So what about us do you like?" Jake shot back.
"You're women, naked, sucking my cock." Sergi said.
"I understand that there's a two way traffic going on. Lots of Russian whores here too."
The Russian shrugged. "They're all whores," he said. He lifted his coffee cup and took a sip. He was wearing a black, turtle neck sweater and dark brown corduroy pants. There was a large gold ring on his right hand, with an emblem stamped into it. Jake was wearing a light grey t-shirt and jeans.
"Whatever you say," Jake said. "But let's talk about business."
"The price stays the same."
"Okay," Jake answered.
"And no bullshit."
"No bullshit." Jake promised.
"I assume that our former manager told you all the details before he went on his trip?" Sergi asked.
"Correct," Jake answered.
"I'm going to find out all about you," Sergi told Jake.
"Fine," Jake replied. "There is one thing, though."
"Okay. What?"
"My principal is interested in becoming, let's say, an investor overseas. He's looking for a nice place to spend some time, vacation. A place with all the right amenities." Jake explained. "He's willing to make large investments. He has certain outlets for goods that might be convenient to merchants overseas. And he contributes to all the right causes."
The bait was out.
"I'll get back to you," was Sergi's only answer.
* * * *
After her whipping, Maddy had dedicated herself wholly to her training and the pleasing of her master. During the day, when she was running at the wheel, learning to trot, to canter and to sprint, she was able to forget all about her past. There was only the exhilaration of her body, the sun and the wide open skies. And if she was selected for sex by one of the trainers or foremen on the estate, she let her passions take her away without guilt.
But at night, either tethered in her stall, or brought out to the commons for the amusement of the men, the despair and sorrow of what she had become, of what they had done to her would seep into her. Alone, immobilized for sleep, she would cry bitter tears as she mourned the loss of her voice, her hands, her power to choose.
For if one had to sum up in one phrase all of the miseries and pain that had been inflicted on the poor ponygirl, the former bright, young, happy woman, it would be that her power to choose had been stolen away from her. She could not choose when to eat, to sleep, to defecate. She could not choose when to rest, when to run, when to stand silent and alone. She could not choose the company she kept or who would enter her body. And she could not even choose when to accept pleasure, or to decline pain.
Drabik's campaign to make her learn to reach climax solely through the stimulation of her rear passage was a case in point. It was a practice she had long ago sworn to avoid. But she had lost the power to prevent the invasion of this most private place. It was not enough that her flesh be made subject to her wills of others. Her mind would be forced to accept a new definition of pleasure, a new synapse of sexual excitement. Slowly, but surely, her will would be turned to her masters'.
And she was ready to accept it. Her whipping that day when she had finished the morning race last for the final time had changed her. She knew that she had deserved to be whipped. She also knew that the whipping had spurred her to greater and more successful efforts to please her lord. She ran harder and faster then she ever had before. When she came to understand what her trainer wanted, and now she almost always understood it right away, she began to yearn for it too.
The sexual excitement that she had begun to feel had grown and grown each day and each night, as her rear passage was plowed many times. It became customary, during the lunch break at the middle of the day, for Maddy to kneel on the grass under the large maple tree by the training wheel, her head down, her long legs tucked beneath her, her rear cheeks spread, an invitation to all who walked by. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard she thrust back at the thick cocks that plundered her, no matter how tightly she tried to squeeze the male flesh inside her tight anal ring, she just could not force herself over the top.
It would typically begin with a shouted greeting from one of the men to her trainer. She would not see who it was, with her featureless, blue face buried between her knees. The men would converse in their harsh, Slavic tongue. She might smell the smoke from a cigarette. She might hear them laugh. Sometimes the men would stand over her, watching her, their eyes burning into her arched back, her bound wrists.
And then, as the anonymous man knelt down behind her, she would feel his hot, rough hands on her buttocks, caressing them, causing her skin and her pussy to tingle. They would rub their hardening cocks along the valley between her rear cheeks, their hands on the inside of her thighs.
And then the hot tip of the man's prick would probe her still narrow ring, forcing it to widen as the stiff meat entered her bowels. She had learn
ed how to relax her rear muscles, to make her anal ring supple and loose, ready to be impaled. She had learned to love the feeling of a rigid cock as it dragged across the tender flesh of her rear entrance. The fullness of her bowels and the feeling of the hot meat inside her thrilled her. She would sigh and moan as the hard rod began to inflame her. The man's excitement, the sound of his passion, drove her lust higher and higher. She would be panting, yearning for release. And then she would feel the heavy hands that held her shoulders for leverage or which rubbed and stroked her rear globes while thrusting deeply into her, tighten and grab her flesh. The man would grunt and stiffen. She could feel his cock pulse as it drew back and forth over her sphincter. And then he would come, shooting his hot discharge into her bowels. As he withdrew, she would whimper and cry, denied release once more.
During this time, Drabik never touched her. He had the keys to her sealed off loins. He held the keys to her mouth. Her rear was as open to him as it was to any other man. But except for the tug on her leash, the crack of a whip on her hindquarters, there was no contact between them. She was denied the warmth of his flesh, the heat of his rigid manhood.
She knew that he fucked the other ponies. More than once, she watched, kneeling, her golden nose ring leashed to a post, while he used his prick to make some other pony grunt and squeal with pleasure. She watched with envy as she saw their lips encompass him. Her thighs yearned for him, her mouth hungered for him. And she knew that only when she had pleased him, by forcing her body to mold itself to his will, would he deign to press his flesh against hers, to enter her and spill his seed within her.
Finally, ten days after Drabik's cruel regimen had begun, it came. She had been kneeling in the sun, its hot rays caressing her back. It was late afternoon. They had finished her workouts for the day. Drabik was sitting with his back against a tree. She could hear birds singing off in the distance, feel the cooling breeze brush along her back. Her mind began to float. It was as if she had been transported to a new level of being. She could feel every part of her body in unity with the rest, even the useless hands and fingers bound behind her back.
