The Filly

by Paul Moore

  Button squealed as Morgan’s other hand began to glide over her smooth mound, finding the folds below wet and ready. A leg hooked around Morgan’s waist and drew her in closer as Button purred and lifted her hips to invite the exploring fingers.

  There was a catharsis in their lovemaking, a way of invoking the spirit through the flesh. They still had each other, even when they felt most alone.

  “Take me!” Button whimpered. “Take me the way she does!”

  Button had been dismissed and sent back to the bunk house after their morning run. Morgan would be going up to the ranch house alone. Button flashed a moue of disappointment at Morgan as she left, but tempered it with a wink.

  Morgan had just shrugged in reply. They both knew Sarah’s ways and whims by now. Tomorrow they might trade places, and Button wouldn’t sulk for long. It wasn’t her nature.

  Anyway, Morgan simply felt too good to let anything bother her. Bronzed and fit now, liberated from the burden of concerns for her Brother’s health and her own economic security, buoyed by new friendship and the stirring of her long dormant heart, Morgan felt hopeful and whole that morning as she douched and showered.

  She blow dried her mane and combed it out before heading up to the house. It had been weeks since her mane had first been cut, and it was growing out a bit shaggy now. Looking in the mirror, she realized that she hadn’t worn make up since she arrived. It was just one more thing she no longer even thought about. Soupcan had said nothing to her about putting on any cuffs or harness, so she just buckled on a pair of sandals to keep her feet clean and crossed the yard to the house.

  Several cars were parked in the driveway. She recognized Lady G’s limo among them and shuddered. She had anticipated a private reunion with Sarah, but this summons was for another purpose, something unexpected.

  Sarah opened the door as Morgan was crossing the porch. She smiled tightly and gave the pony girl a brief kiss. “Come in, Morgan. We have been expecting you.”

  “I didn’t know what to wear,” Morgan felt suddenly flustered. “I wasn’t told.” She shot a meaningful glance toward the interior of the ranch house. The sound of quiet conversation drifted through the door. She had worn nothing except cuffs, collars, and harnesses for three weeks. Nudity had become a natural condition for her. Isolated on the ranch, it had been easy for her to forget that there was an outside world where public nudity was not a proper option.

  Sarah looked her up and down and fussed with her mane a bit. She took Morgan’s chin between thumb and forefinger and raised her face, then pushed her shoulders back to correct her posture. Morgan smiled shyly as she remembered the way her Mother used to lecture her about standing up straight.

  If she spits on a hankie and washes my face, I’m going to bust a gut laughing.

  “You look fine,” said Sarah, turning Morgan to face the door. Yet there was doubt in Sarah’s voice.

  A hand on her bottom ushered Morgan in. Mr. Frisk was sitting by the fireplace, which had been filled with logs and set ablaze in his honor. He looked more pale and fragile than Morgan remembered. When she first met him, she had assumed that his illness had already done its worst, and was saddened by the discovery that it had not. How ironic that a man in failing health had been instrumental in saving her brother’s life. She knelt in front of his wheel chair and held the cold hands he extended toward her. At least his smile was still warm.

  “Morgan! It’s truly good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you too.” Morgan glanced warily around the room.

  The woman in white behind Mr. Frisk’s chair was obviously a nurse. The other man sitting on the couch beside his wheel chair had the over groomed fussy look of an accountant or lawyer. The coffee table in front of him was strewn with a laptop, legal pads, and opened mail. He seemed a trifle embarrassed to have a naked girl in the room, close enough for him to touch, and was trying very hard not to look at her. It was a business meeting of some sort, but Morgan didn’t know if the business concerned her.

  Sarah took a chair near Frisk and sat on the edge of the seat as though poised for battle or flight. Lady G sat alone on the far side of the room, slowly turning a drink in her hand and looking bored. When Morgan came in, Lady G sat up straighter and studied Morgan the way a cat studies a bird.

  “Sarah tells me that you are the best contender she has ever trained.” said Mr. Frisk. “You still have a week left on your contract, but I am confident enough in you to offer you a cashier’s check for the full amount today.”

  He raised his hand and the man beside him leaned forward and opened a ledger. The check was tucked between the pages like a bookmark, just one more item on the agenda. The accountant tried to hand the check to Mr. Frisk, who waved it away impatiently and nodded toward Morgan.

  The accountant seemed reluctant to have even that much contact with her, and rose from his seat holding the check between thumb and forefinger, blushing scarlet. Was it just because she was naked, Morgan wondered, or was he intimidated in the presence of something so alien to his experience, this muscular female beast at large in the drawing room? The thought made her feel wildly mischievous. She caught his eye and favored him with her most salacious smile.

  “Thank you.”

  She knelt there turning it in her hand as though the object were unfamiliar, thinking that she had no pockets to put it in and that depositing the money into an escrow account would have made more sense. Then she remembered her manners and thanked Mr. Frisk as well. She waited to see if he would reach for his zipper, or direct her to perform that chore for him. Her posture certainly suggested the act, and it was a duty she had already performed many times for those she felt less indebted to.

  The last time she had interviewed with Mr. Frisk she had been fully dressed, sitting in a chair with a desk between them. Her life had gone through many changes since then. Now, she actually felt quite comfortable kneeling naked at his feet. Life on the ranch had transformed her from a shy small town girl into a conditioned athlete, a trained animal, and a willing sex slave. The most subtle gesture from her benefactor would have the power of a command. She smiled timidly up at him and cocked her head inquisitively.

  Her message was clear enough. She never knew if it was his infirmity or a consideration for her that made him shake his head sadly and dismiss her expression of gratitude with a wave of his hand.

  “You earned every penny,” he murmured. “I watched while you were training today. You didn’t see me, but I was there. You run well.”

  He laid his cold hand upon her brow. “You run as though death is in pursuit.”

  She lifted the hand gently from her head and held it between hers to kiss it. It gave her an excuse to look down and hide the tears that would have otherwise embarrassed them both. She had just heard a confession of his deepest fears and desires. There would be many races for her in the days to come, but his race was nearly done.

  Obviously Mr. Frisk had wanted her to hold this check and see that it was real. There was something else that he wanted from her, but first he needed to demonstrate that he was bargaining in good faith. He wanted her to trust him.

  “I can put that in the safe for you for now,” Sarah offered helpfully. “Or I could drive you into town tomorrow and you could transfer it to your bank.”

  The money seemed somehow unimportant, now that it was actually in her hand. She had immersed herself so deeply into the role of pony girl that she had forgotten her reasons for being there.

  “Thanks,” Morgan said to Sarah. “I think that I would like to send it to my brother.”

  She was already anticipating the next item on the agenda, and thinking that her brother might find more use for the money than she would, at least in the near future.

  “You really are a most unusual woman,” said Mr. Frisk. He looked over at Sarah, who nodded, perhaps just in agreement, or perhaps to encourage him to continue. He cleared his throat.

  “In one week, unless you break a leg,” he paused whi
le the accountant disguised a snort of nervous laughter as a coughing fit, “you will be offered a one year contract. I want you to consider it carefully before signing. This contract would be more binding, enforced not merely with legal means but extralegal means as well. You would no longer have the luxury of quitting. If you agree, you will continue your training, though at a less intensive level. Races are generally held once a month. If you win, there will be bonuses. If you lose,” he looked meaningfully toward Sarah, “Let’s just say that you will be provided with incentives to try harder.

  “There is another complication for you to consider. Lady G has proposed a race between you and Button against her best team. I would be wagering a large sum on the outcome; because I am confident in your ability. But for you the stakes would be much higher. If you lose, Lady G would own your contract. If you win, her team would belong to me.”

  “Who would I be running against?” Morgan suspected that she already knew the answer.

  “Dusk, of course” said Lady G, “and Tinka.”

  Morgan looked down at the check. She could simply refuse the challenge, of course. The money in her hand was enough for a new start. It could be a down payment on a house or start up capital for a business. Invested properly, it would provide her with a rainy day fund.

  A cool million, however, would change her life forever.

  Hard though it had been, her training had improved her physically and toughened her mentally. She could do more, she was sure, and quitting now would mean passing on the opportunity to prove herself, cutting short a metamorphosis that was only beginning.

  She tried to tell herself that her hunger for revenge should not be a consideration, but Tinka had set her up as a target for Dusk’s jealousy, possibly with Lady G’s collusion. What better way was there to satisfy Morgan’s outraged sense of justice than to take Lady G’s prime team away from her? She could make a gift of them to Sarah and Mr. Frisk.

  She glanced at Sarah, who relaxed the careful poker face she had been wearing long enough to flash a brief smirk of understanding and agreement. She would be the one who supervised Dusk and Tinka’s continued service, and she would not be inclined to treat them gently.

  Perhaps the most important motive of all was Morgan’s competitive spirit. She loved a challenge, and refusing one seemed like an act of cowardice.

  “I can’t speak for Button,” she said.

  Mr. Frisk shook his head. “Button is not a factor. She belongs to Sarah. For her, losing wouldn’t mean changing hands. It’s double or nothing here. I have one runner at risk. Lady G has two. It’s a sound bet for me. You are the one with the most to lose.”

  Morgan swallowed hard. A single evening with Lady G had taught her all that she needed to know about the woman’s capacity for cruelty. Without Sarah to restrain her, she might be capable of monstrous acts. It was indeed double or nothing.

  “Could I see the contract?”

  Mr. Frisk turned to the accountant beside him and nodded. The man opened his book again and handed her a fat envelope. This time his hand brushed hers, not accidentally, and his poor attempt at a friendly grin morphed into a self conscious leer. He seemed to be getting over his initial reserve. She had been trained to refuse no one sexually. He was doubtless aware of that fact, and was beginning to regard her in that light.

  I’m only property, she thought. Just another asset Frisk might share.

  “Hold on to it and study it at your leisure. You can fax it to your lawyer if you like,” said Mr. Frisk.

  “Thank you,” Morgan scanned the room, wondering if she could be dismissed now. Lady G was a palpable presence behind her, felt but not seen. Morgan knew that the bitch was looking at her ass and thinking that it was entirely too pink and pristine.

  “Is that it then?” asked Lady G impatiently. “Is our business concluded?” It must have given her a little thrill to see the involuntary tightening of Morgan’s shoulders, a barely controlled cringe. There was a beat of silence while Mr. Frisk considered his answer.

  Morgan looked up at Mr. Frisk and let him see the apprehension in her eyes. “If it pleases you, Sir,” she said quickly.

  He was taken aback a bit to be addressed so submissively. Until then they had been taking care of business, conversing as equals, but she had voluntarily resumed the role of a humble begging slave.

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps you have another associate who has earned a reward today as well?” She let her eyes flicker over toward the accountant, who froze in the act of packing up his briefcase as the meaning of her words sank in.

  Frisk’s perplexed frown lasted only a second. Then he burst out laughing.

  Sarah said, “I think that is an excellent suggestion.”

  Sarah and Morgan made brief eye contact, long enough for Sarah to let Morgan know that she had her back, and long enough for Morgan to telegraph her gratitude. If Sarah had anything to say about it, Lady G wouldn’t be getting her hands on Morgan anytime soon.

  The accountant’s eyes flickered from Frisk to Morgan and he bit his lip. “I don’t see...” he began.

  Mr. Frisk raised a hand to silence him. “Jerry, It’s one thing to honor Rachel’s memory, but it has been–what–a year?”

  “Thirteen months,” Jerry’s eyes clouded. He busied himself with his papers again, working with exaggerated care.

  “I’m sorry,” murmured Morgan. “Perhaps I was out of order.”

  “Nonsense!” Mr. Frisk roared. “Jerry, it’s time for you to crawl out of your shell and start enjoying life again. You aren’t likely to find a more willing partner anytime soon.”

  Jerry was wavering. Morgan understood his conflict. He was a proper young man, taught from childhood to respect and honor women. Now this beautiful stranger was being thrust at him, and he was being urged to enjoy her without any apparent limitations.

  “This is hardly the time or place,” he stammered.

  “I can set you two lovebirds up with a time and place,” Sarah teased. “Right now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  When the door opened, Morgan remembered to keep her eyes on the floor, where the elongated shadow of a man appeared. She could hear the sharp intake of his breath as he regarded her.

  She had expected Sarah to usher her into one of the house’s many guest rooms, where she could receive Jerry amid candlelight and soft music. She had imagined that it would be a friendly seduction, perhaps they would share a drink to break the ice before they tumbled into the big soft bed together.

  Instead, Sarah had produced a collar and leash and led Morgan down to the cellar. Far in the back, beyond the utility room, was a heavy door.

  “That was quick thinking,” said Sarah, as she led Morgan toward the door. “I don’t know Jerry all that well, and I’ll remind him that I expect you to be fit to run tomorrow, but he is likely to show you a better time than that shrew ever would.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” said Morgan. “And thank you. I won’t disappoint you.” She spoke to Sarah’s back as her Mistress opened the door.

  “Jerry is the one who had better be pleased. There are delicate negotiations going on between me and Frisk right now. The results will be as important to you as they are to me. Jerry has Frisk’s ear. He can make or break the deal.”

  Sarah removed the leash and waved an invitation toward the open door. “Go in and kneel on the floor.”

  The light was dim inside, a single low watt bulb burned overhead. The walls were made of clay brick, carelessly laid. Mortar oozed between the joints. The floor was unpainted concrete, but throw rugs had been placed here and there to lessen the chill. The joists above were exposed, and eye bolts had been screwed into them in several places. Along the interior partition, a row of hooks had been installed and shelves hung. Whips, straps, and paddles were hanging from the hooks. The shelves were cluttered with restraints, ball gags, clips, lubricants and sex toys of every shape, size, and configuration.

  The only furnishing in the room was a wooden tr
estle. Morgan had time to study it as she knelt on the floor. This one was different than the pillory in the yard. The top was a narrow padded beam about waist high. Four padded rests had been arrayed around it, a bit lower than the center beam. She decided that they were cushions for the shins and forearms. Wide canvas straps dangled to either side of the rests. Velcro strips had been sewn to the straps.

  Why did she bring me here? Morgan wondered.

  Sarah was intuitive where people were concerned. She had quickly discarded her preconceptions about Morgan the first time that they were together. Perhaps Sarah had also seen something under the accountant’s shy veneer. Morgan deduced that he had lost someone dear to him, his wife probably, and had swallowed his grief. Did he need to vent his anger over that loss? Had he stored up his sexual frustration, repressing it until only its most extreme manifestation would satisfy him? Was that why Sarah had turned her out as the object of a schoolboy’s fantasy? She was being presented to him as the girl who dared not say no, the girl who could be expected to do anything. No emotional investment would be required of him. No stain would remain.

  Morgan waited for him with her hands clasped together behind her back and her knees spread wide. Sarah would want her to receive him that way.

  “How may I serve you, Sir?”

  Her voice was soft, without inflection. She stared straight ahead, at the knees of his fresh pressed khaki trousers. His hand touched the top of her head tentatively and she closed her eyes. She was trembling slightly, not only from the cellar’s chill.

  “Call me Jerry.” Was he inviting familiarity, or issuing a command?

  “How may I serve you, Jerry?”

  His fingers spread until they enclosed the top of her head, squeezing just a little, then began a downward glide across her face, over the brow and cheek. He lifted her chin and his thumb brushed her lips.

  “Sarah tells me that you are quite skilled.”

  Morgan opened her mouth for his thumb and leaned forward, taking it deep into her mouth. There was, she mused, only one skill required of a sex slave. Everything else was a matter of simple obedience. She heard his zipper going down.