The Filly

by Paul Moore

  The contract had mentioned corporeal discipline, but Morgan had assumed that it was reserved only for major offenses, and administered only after some sort of due process. She had imagined that punishments might be solemn military affairs, with assemblies and drum rolls. It had been her belief that she could learn the rules early and obey them, and avoid any unpleasantness altogether.

  So this was a rude shock to her, this casual sentencing for an insignificant infraction. She knew that this was meant as a demonstration. The cowgirl was letting her know that punishment would be given without hesitation or remorse, and there would be no appeal. Morgan was being shown who was boss. This might be a turning point in Morgan’s life, but for the cowgirl it was just another day.

  Morgan found herself counting the strokes silently, though she had started late and had no idea what the final tally might be. It was a trick of the mind, to distract her from the unimaginable roaring pain. All of her self control was required to keep her from kicking back or running away. She was being tested, she realized, and was determined to pass.

  “I’m sorry. Please! What do you want from me?”

  The flailing strap paused.

  “We use all of your holes—anytime we want—for whatever we want.”

  Morgan swallowed hard, though her throat was dry. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  The leather struck again. “I can’t hear you!”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” Morgan shrieked as the belt struck again. Pain was only a part of the reason. This chastising was just so unjust!

  “You do whatever we say.” Her aim was true. The tail of the belt struck the same spot for a third time.

  “Yes, Ma’am!” Morgan was surprised at how desperate she sounded.

  “You don’t question or hesitate.”

  “AHHH! Yes, Ma’am!”

  Coward!

  The cowgirl used a handful of Morgan’s hair to haul her upright. “Get your shoes on.”

  When Morgan started to reach back to feel her bottom, imagining that it must be in bleeding tatters, the cowgirl brandished the belt. “Don’t even think about touching that ass!” she warned. “It belongs to me now.”

  As Morgan kicked into her shoes and watched the cowgirl bind her hands in front of her with rough sisal, she became aware for the first time that her eyes burned and her nose ran and her throat was raw from screaming. She almost asked why she needed to be bound, when she had already taken a beating without resistance, then remembered the rule forbidding questions, and realized that she would almost certainly give the cowgirl an excuse to punish her again—soon.

  Leaving about twenty feet of slack in the line, the cowgirl made a loop of the other end of the rope and hooked it over the truck’s trailer hitch. As she opened the driver’s side door, the cowgirl looked back and smiled for the first time since Morgan met her.

  “Now it’s time to show me what you can do.”

  Chapter Five

  Morgan arrived at the Bar-S Ranch staggering and breathless. When the truck finally stopped, she collapsed gratefully in the dirt, halfway between the round pen and the barn. Sweat had streaked her coat of road dust, and she lacked the strength to swat at the flies that burrowed under her tangled hair to gnaw her scalp. It would have been awkward to try, since she was still tethered to the bumper of the truck.

  She looked drowsily around at several pairs of feet. Some were shod in Roman style sandals, others wore boots. They stood in a rough circle around her, spectators to her abasement. She was lightheaded from the heat, and imagined herself an ancient captive, returned in triumph behind a conqueror’s chariot, a spoil of war.

  Just kill me now, she thought wearily.

  The truck door slammed, and the throng parted to let the cowgirl through. Morgan recognized the cowgirl’s boots, black leather, with little silver caps over the toes.

  “Kiss them,” said the cowgirl softly.

  Morgan managed to rise to her elbows and knees and shuffle forward. The spectators were silent. No voice was raised to protest or defend her, but no one mocked her either. She retained just enough awareness of her situation to feel shame as she planted a careful peck on the toe of each boot, completing a ritual that had doubtless played out in this yard before.

  “Now lick them.”

  The boots were dusty, but fortunately Morgan wasn’t expected to clean them completely. After she made a few tentative licks on one toe she was offered the other. Still, the taste of boot polish and dust lingered on her tongue afterward. A hand from above ruffled her hair affectionately. She almost wept with gratitude.

  Then the cowgirl was squatting beside her to untie the knots at her wrists. “You did well,” she said. “I was expecting you to drop about a mile back.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” Morgan croaked.

  Someone handed the cowgirl a bowl of water, and she placed it on the ground in front of Morgan.

  “Go easy,” she cautioned. “Not too much at first. You don’t want to throw it all up again.”

  Her first tentative sips soothed her burning throat and sat cold and heavy in her stomach, but when it stayed down, Morgan buried her face in the water and drank, not caring that she was being watered as a beast. She expected nothing more now. The last hour had opened her eyes to brutal new realities.

  “What are you calling her?” asked a male voice.

  “She is a stubborn one,” the cowgirl said. “I guess ‘Jenny’ will have to do for now. I want her paired with Button. Think you can make something out of her, Soupcan?”

  “I reckon,” answered another male voice. He sounded pleased.

  “Get her cleaned up and let her rest until bedtime. Then bring her to me.”

  The boots turned and started to leave, then paused as the cowgirl thought of something else. “Oh, and don’t use her ass just yet, she needs to be opened up first.”

  “Yes, Sarah.” This time Soupcan didn’t sound as pleased.

  Sarah! Thought Jenny That’s the cowgirl’s name. She never even bothered to tell me.

  At the same time, she realized her own name had just been changed, and the loss of her old identity bothered her less than it should have. In spite of her exhaustion, she felt oddly exhilarated and expectant. To begin a new life, she should have a new name.

  She tried not to think about Sarah’s parting admonition. The prospect of being ‘opened up’ didn’t sound pleasant.

  “Get up, Jenny girl,” said Soupcan impatiently. “You’ve had enough time to catch your breath. The rest of you as you were. The show’s over.”

  Rubbing her rope burned wrists, Jenny stood unsteadily and looked around. In many ways, this place appeared to be no more than a working ranch, with barns, board fences, and a low sprawling house. In a corral, four horses gazed curiously at her. An ancient windmill squeaked lazily in the breeze.

  Then Jenny’s eyes fell on a low trestle in the center of the yard. She squinted in disbelief for awhile, seeing something completely out of context and finally making sense of it. It was a pillory. A sort of yoke had been mounted on a stout post. The three holes bored into the thick hinged beam were sized to hold a female neck and wrists. A waist high horizontal plank extending behind the yoke was presumably meant to support the user’s body and forestall fatigue. A short post under the far end of the plank had a split set of stocks bolted to it a few inches above ground level.. The wide spaced openings in that plank could only be meant to hold ankles. Jenny didn’t need to strain her imagination to envision a naked girl imprisoned in that device, bent, spread, and ass up. She would be on display for anyone who happened to be in the yard, obscenely open to any passing eyes. Jenny already knew that physical punishment was rendered without mercy or appeal here. Her stinging bottom was proof of that. How cruel would they be with a girl who was held helpless in such a device? What sort of crime would merit such severity? Would the girl who rode this trestle be shunned, or worse, made available to all? She made a silent promise to herself that she would never have a reason to find out. The
pillory was unoccupied at the moment, and Jenny could only hope that it was reserved for special occasions, or had been placed there merely to threaten.

  The small crowd that had been assembled to greet her included men and women. They had been engaged in various tasks when the truck rolled between the gateposts with a naked girl tottering behind, and she had provided them with a brief distraction. She had a moment to observe them as they turned away.

  Most of the women were attractive, athletic, and nearly naked. They were dressed in leather harnesses of various designs, and shod in leather sandals with straps rising high on their shins, like ancient gladiators. Some wore bridles and grimaced around mouth bits. They sported tails that matched the color of their hair. The sides of their heads had been shorn smooth, leaving a longish Mohawk growing down the center of their heads.

  They have manes! thought Jenny.

  Most of the men and some of the women were dressed as ranch hands usually dress in the western U.S., in jeans and tee shirts, hats and boots. There was one important difference. All of them had a small whip or riding bat dangling from their hips. One of these men stood with arms akimbo, regarding Jenny with interest. He was a short man, with the cocky manner common to men who are sensitive about their height, and out to prove their measure in other ways. The whip he wore at his side seemed comically short to her, perhaps no more than a badge of office, like a scepter. Beyond the blunt handle was a foot of heavy braided leather, knotted near the end, with two small tails dangling as a sort of afterthought.

  “Another string bean,” he drawled, looking up at her. “No wonder she paired you with Button.” Beside him, a tall girl grinned around her bit and winked at Jenny by way of introduction.

  Jenny liked her immediately.

  It’s going to be all right. If this girl can treat it all as a huge joke, this is hardly the concentration camp I feared it might be.

  “Button, take her to the tack room. Hose her down and try to get her halfway ready, and try not to talk her ear off.” As he spoke, Soupcan was removing Button’s bridle. He sorted through the keys hanging at his side until he found one that fit the padlock on the front of Button’s belt. She sighed as he unlocked it. Jenny wasn’t sure if she was expressing relief or sadness.

  Button bowed low. “Thank you, Master Soupcan.”

  Beneath Button’s polite obeisance Jenny sensed an impudence barely held in check. As she took her bow, the bottom she turned toward Jenny was crisscrossed with scarlet stripes. Jenny guessed that this was a girl who invited punishment, demanded it with every smirk and sidelong glance, every swish of her saucy little tail. Yet no amount of physical punishment was likely to reform her incorrigible nature.

  Dismissed, Button smiled and took Jenny by the hand. She was about to lead the new girl away when Soupcan took Jenny’s chin between thumb and forefinger to direct her eyes toward him. Her first instinct was to swat his hand away, but she sensed that he would be looking for an excuse to unholster the whip at his side. So she dampened the fire behind her eyes and composed her expression to display nothing except polite attention.

  “You mind Button now, same as you would me. If I hear that you gave her any trouble, I’ll lace into your ass.” He touched the braided whip at his side, and Jenny noticed his fingertips caress the handle briefly, as though he was eager to use it.

  “Yes, Sir,” she squeaked. When he let go of her chin she bowed to him as she had seen Button do, hoping that she was getting it right, and that he wouldn’t take it as mockery. But he was already turning away from her, shouting curses at someone across the yard, and Button was tugging at her hand.

  “Don’t let him scare you,” Button scoffed. “He’s mostly bluff.” She led the way across the yard toward the rear of the ranch house, a huge two story expanse of glass and fieldstone with a long wide porch. “Welcome to the Bar-S,” she said, then lowered her voice. “We just call it the Bare Ass, but not when Sarah or the grooms are listening.”

  “I’ll try to mind my manners.” Jenny wondered if Button was only playing the part of a rebel to test her. Perhaps anything disloyal that Jenny said would be secretly reported later.

  “Rumor has it you’re a ringer,” said Button.

  “A what?”

  “I watched you come in. We all did.” She giggled. “They always make us watch when new girls arrive. Half the time they are passed out in the back of the truck. Most of the others are practically crawling. You were still hauling ass! So I’m thinking the buzz is right. Master Frisk had you brought in because he wants a real runner, not some useless show pony.”

  “I was afraid that if I fell, I would be dragged.” Jenny shuddered as she remembered the times when she had slowed enough to let the rope go tight and jerk her forward.

  “Nah,” Sarah can be a bitch, but she wouldn’t damage the goods like that. She would have just stopped and whipped you back to your feet. She never had to do that with you though. I’m considered a pretty good runner, but I can see I have to do some serious training to keep up if you and I are going to be teamed.”

  “I thought that we were all here for serious training,” said Jenny

  “Not that kind. I mean, for most of us it’s just a sex trip. We dig the whole human animal thing, dressing up in a fancy rig and pulling the Master’s cart. Some are just pain sluts, like me.” She giggled. “But lately there is a whole new element running the shows. They don’t care how pretty you prance. They want to see hard bodies out there, charging the finish line. That’s why we have lightweight shrimps like Soupcan riding behind us, and that’s why we work in teams now. One girl can pull a passenger at a walk, but if you want to get up any speed, you need at least two.”

  Jenny was observing her new companion as they walked together, mesmerized by the way her bottom swayed. The tail was attached to the rear of her belt at the top of her butt crack. The tresses had been gathered together to fall from a series of heavy brass rings that had been stacked and welded together to form an upward curving cylinder. This lifted the tail jauntily up and out, so that instead of obscuring the view, it merely accentuated it. Descending from this tail holder was a flat strip of brass that followed the furrow of her buttocks and disappeared between them. Each step she took made the tail bounce and swing. Jenny had imagined that a horsetail would only make a woman appear ridiculous, but Button’s tail seemed almost a part of her and attracted the eye to one of her better features.

  Not that any part of the girl was less than magnificent. Button’s hair was a close match in color to Jenny’s auburn tresses, and she was of the same height and general build. Unlike Jenny, Button had been browned by days spent in the desert sun, and even her upper body appeared unusually strong. Her shorn temples flattered her, and gave her an exotic look. Her pert breasts rode high on a muscular chest, and two gold rings dangled from her nipples. She’s a tawny beast thought Jenny enviously.

  Button led her to a door of ironbound planks and opened it. Beyond it was a tiled room like a communal shower, with bright stainless steel fixtures and a central floor drain. In addition to the standard valves and shower heads were flexible stainless steel hoses that terminated in thick douche nozzles.

  “We’ll need to get cleaned up quick,” said Button. “If I know Soupcan, he will be along shortly to check you out. He’s a real sucker for strange stuff.”

  She was stripping out of her harness as she spoke. When the wide shoulder straps were dangling, and the belt unbuckled, Button spread her legs and reached between them, looking up to catch Jenny’s eyes.

  “Curious?” she asked.

  Jenny nodded dumbly and watched as Button eased something thick and black out from inside herself.

  “I was a little miss smart ass this morning, so Soupcan gave me the large economy size.” Button held it up for Jenny to see.

  The brass strip descending from the tail holder had actually been a sort of “J” shaped hook. Mounted on the point of the hook was a thick latex cone. It was shining with lubricant, but
Jenny could only imagine how uncomfortable it must have been to wear. Her mind reeled. The blunt language of the contract she signed had still left her unprepared for the reality.

  “That was…” Jenny couldn’t bring herself to finish.

  “Up my ass, yup!” Button seemed almost proud. “It was only partly for discipline, of course. Soupcan likes easy access.” With a quick twist of her wrist, she separated the plug from the tail holder.

  She took the plug to a steel sink and began washing it. On a shelf above the sink were several more of these devices, in various sizes and shapes. Some were long and slender, others short and blunt, or curved spirals.

  “Go ahead and get started,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s plenty of hot water.”

  Jenny needed a little time to figure out the valves, but soon had the shower flowing and the water temperature adjusted. She kicked off her shoes and stepped under the torrent, grateful for the restorative power of hot water on tired muscles. She stood for a long moment with her head thrown back, letting the water stream over her face and through her hair.

  The shy fingertips creeping across her ribs to seek her breasts startled her.

  “Shhh,” whispered Button, her breath hot against Jenny’s ear. “They don’t mind if we play together. It’s not like we’re going to use it up.”

  Jenny realized that Button had misunderstood the cause of her hesitation. This ranch was a world apart. The rules were different here.

  “I never...”

  “Sorry!” Button dropped her hands and stepped back. “Maybe I’m not your type?”

  Jenny felt immediate regret. “It’s not that. I mean, I don’t have much experience. I’m not sure I even have a type.”

  Button giggled. “Oh, this is weird! You’re not like a virgin or something.”

  Jenny laughed a nervous, mirthless laugh, wanting Button to like her and be at ease.

  “Only with other girls,” she said.

  Button reached up and touched the side of her face. “Oh, honey! You’ll need to get over that real quick.” She was suddenly serious. “Sarah isn’t into seduction.” Her hand moved slowly from Jenny’s face to the back of her neck.