by Anneke Jacob
‘Ah, Therin, what a sweet little creature this is! And so smart! She almost looks like she could speak.’ Vizay was forbidden to speak in public and knew this very well. She gazed at the men standing above her, raising her brows and craning her neck to look up so far, looking innocent and a little wistful. The old man instantly began rummaging in his bag and brought out a biscuit, which he fed her. Therin saw her tongue dart out in a tiny little lick of the man’s fingers when they were down to crumbs. When the man began rummaging again, Therin stopped him.
‘That’s enough for now, thanks so much, Ozid.’ He chuckled at Vizay’s wide-eyed, plaintive look. ‘You’re too kind.’ He unfastened the leash from the post, and bid the old man goodbye. He was about to turn for home, but his stomach rumbled and despite the groceries, he didn’t feel like cooking. Now that he had lots of time alone with her, he loved being out and about with Vizay. The woman trotted next to him down the street to Teig’s Café. The weather had been very hot for the last few days, but today the temperature was down to a pleasant level, and everyone was outdoors taking advantage of it. Therin joined a small group that called out to him. One of them told him that Reghia had got the wood in. Vizay knelt beside his chair, and he looped her leash over his wrist while he looked at the menu. Teig liked to surprise his customers with some rather odd innovations. The results ranged from disastrous to splendid, depending on the level of alcohol in his system. Therin took a chance on the clear honey-dipped vega, and fed Vizay a bread roll. She was tiny enough that he hardly noticed the loss when she ate from his plate.
They had to negotiate three more animal lovers in the course of the meal. Therin was sure he had never gotten so much attention in a month in the village as Vizay was getting in one hour. She’d be the village’s pet before long. He smiled, thinking how indignant the population would be if they knew what he did with her behind closed doors. Fortunately he had never neglected to use skin masker to conceal the marks before he took her out. He had visions of what would happen if he forgot. The villagers coming in the night with torches to storm his little house and rescue the maiden from the Evil Overlord… He imagined himself skulking on the roof in a black cape, and had to turn his snicker into a cough.
Therin now reveled in playing with Vizay at his own house and Miseko’s, both enjoyable for different reasons. There was plenty of domestic charm in time spent alone with Vizay; it was simpler and more intimate. But Miseko’s space and equipment were a powerful draw, and even more powerful was Miseko himself, and the electricity that the triangle gave them. So they had fallen into a pattern of having equal time alone with Vizay, but weekends together. The racing forays were almost always done together, and Therin was learning to drive.
One day they were both harnessing her up, preparatory to a good hard run. Miseko pulled the crotch strap deep into her cleft and buckled it tightly, while Therin clipped on the first bell. Vizay was breathing hard, though the workout was yet to come. Miseko lifted the sulky shafts and settled them into place on the slave’s hips.
‘I trimmed her hair a bit; do you like it?’ asked Therin.
‘Hair or fur?’
‘Both, actually.’ Therin had trimmed Vizay’s thick pubic thatch to a narrow triangle. ‘I oiled her skin a little also, and I’ve taken care of her nails.’
‘Thanks. Yes, the trim’s very cute.’ Miseko rubbed his hand over the short, dense fur, bisected so tightly by the strap that it bulged out a little on either side. He flicked the bell that the other man had just attached.
Therin still gripped the other nipple tightly in his fingers. He drew it out, and examined the harnessed creature who stood motionless between the shafts. ‘What would you say to getting her pierced?’ he asked Miseko. ‘Garid’s slave is very compelling, don’t you think?’
Miseko stood back a minute and considered the female. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Not the nose ring, I don’t think. Nipples might be fun…’ He examined Vizay for another minute in silence, and then squatted in front of her and parted her cunt, prying back the dark strap that bisected it. ‘I’ve been thinking more about rings here, actually. A few in her labia. Maybe even one in her clit.’
Vizay’s lack of movement took on a frozen quality. Her eyes showed the whites all around. A tiny, panicky sound, just audible, came from the back of her throat; Therin doubted he would have heard it at all if her mouth had not been open around her bit.
‘How about both?’ asked Therin. He glanced at Vizay and helped her kneel down; she looked rather white. ‘We can hang the bells from the nipple rings once she’s healed. And that’s apparently only a week or so with the healing accelerator.’
‘We could hang a bell from the clit ring, too,’ Miseko said, and cocked an eye at the woman. The whimpery breathing became more audible. ‘Unfortunately, not when she’s running.’ Vizay’s look of panic faded, but she had broken out into a sweat. ‘Well, let’s get her mind off her troubles. Up!’ he said, and pulled Vizay up by the bridle. He held her steady while Therin took the reins. ‘Wait, where’s her other bell?’ Therin still had it in his hand. Miseko clipped it on tight, and stood to one side while Therin whipped Vizay onto the track. She took some time to warm up; Therin had to give her an unusual number of hard strokes before she got into her stride. By the end of an hour she was in her old form, fleet and almost seeming to float over the ground.
The next weekend they took her to the same vet Garid had used. Since her head wasn’t strapped down like the rest of her, Vizay got to watch as the needles went through her flesh and the rings were inserted. They had gagged her, but in fact the vet used a sound absorption field, to avoid scaring the waiting room. Vizay tensed and her eyes filled with tears as her nipples were pierced, and leaked even more tears at each successive needle through her labia; three on each side and two more through the inner lips. Therin dried her eyes and stroked her belly while her clit was examined.
‘This is the area you want, here?’ the vet asked, and gently pressed away the surrounding flesh. ‘Oh, I see.’ He pushed at the exposed nodule, and Vizay yelped. ‘Hmm, it’s very pain-sensitive. And there’s really not enough of it to pierce.’ Both owners looked disappointed; he glanced at them and continued with his examination, pinching up bits of slippery flesh here and there.
The three heads hovered and consulted over the bound woman’s genitals, and fingers pointed and manipulated the flesh. Vizay squirmed against her bonds at the painful pinches, her big eyes watching anxiously. Therin was pretty sure that her Henthen wasn’t good enough to follow the technicalities.
The vet was speaking. ‘I could try to put a ring deep through the tissue behind it, but it seems to me I could hit important nerves; I don’t recommend it. Or we could pierce the tissue above it – kind of like a foreskin, really, isn’t it? I suppose it corresponds. I’d do it vertically rather than horizontally; then the ring will be up against the – what’s it called, clitoris? – but not through it. If stimulation’s what you’re looking for, that might work, though I don’t know what level of pain it will cause.’
They agreed. The vet disinfected the area, and with some difficulty clamped it. Vizay whimpered loudly and her trembling increased, her inner thighs rigid with tension. She pulled hard against the tight straps that fastened her to the table, and a sound of protest made its way past the gag as the vet raised the needle, and her scream turned into a confused sounding yelp when it went through.
Therin laughed. ‘Not what she was expecting.’
‘No,’ Miseko agreed. ‘She thought it was going to be her clit. You got off easy, didn’t you, little one?’ he crooned, turning to Vizay and stroking her. She closed her eyes, dislodging tears that ran down her cheeks, and dissolved limply into the table.
Trying Her Paces
One day I was packaged up in my crate and taken for a long ride. Perhaps because the ride was so long they laid the crate on its side, and I was able to curl up in the straw. It was dim in there when they put me in, even dimmer when they closed th
e lid and I heard the bolts shoot home. I was wearing what I thought of as the basics: collar, cuffs and mitts, chastity belt and my usual light bridle and ball gag. My wrists were connected by a short chain, as were my ankles. The straw was rather hard on all my welts. I sighed around my bridle, and resigned myself to discomfort. I was, of course, very experienced at this.
The aircar landed. My master took me out and snapped a leash on my collar; I was blinking as my eyes adjusted to the light. I followed where he led, taking quick little steps because of the ankle hobble. And for a moment I thought I was looking in a mirror. There we were, big master leading small bridled slave – but no, her hair was too long and straight, she was wearing more harness, and that wasn’t my master. Then I saw another woman on her knees, leashed to a post. More slaves! More Ranizens! Where was I? What was going on?
I hadn’t seen another female in a very long time. My eyes widened as I took in the scene. There were about half a dozen slaves being harnessed or groomed or confined in some way. There were two kneeling at a trough and drinking. The pair I’d thought were mirror images walked toward me, and I saw that the man was one of those who had visited us most often. He greeted my master but kept walking, continuing to talk over his shoulder. His slave had long straight black hair, and the dark-fringed eyes of South Xanszey on Raniz. She was wearing leather boots and was in full harness. Her breasts were confined in concentric strips of red leather. She had nipple clips too, hung with little bells. Our eyes met for only a brief moment before her blinkers blocked her side vision. Sisters… someone like me… then I was flooded with a wave of embarrassment. I had forgotten that I wasn’t the only slave on this planet. And I was shocked at seeing another female so debased, so objectified. Like me. I was used to it for myself, but it made me cringe to see someone else in the same position. Oh no, the same as me; I realized what I looked like, what I was, and the shame flooded over me, red as the marks of my master’s whip. I looked away, and then I looked back, fascinated. How beautiful she was! I hope I looked half as beautiful.
The sound of wheels made me turn my head. There were three little vehicles being pulled out of a nearby building by three harnessed slaves. They all had their arms fastened behind their backs, and reins controlling them. They wore a variety of harness, but all had belts of some sort around them, to which the vehicles’ shafts were attached. Again I felt like I was looking in a mirror, although I found myself examining their form with an appraising eye. Each of the drivers was low in the vehicle with his legs forward on footrests. Even so, they bulked huge in comparison to their tiny steeds. I was amazed all over again that I could pull anything so big myself, especially since I was particularly small and my master particularly large. There was a lot of joking and laughter, shouts of what sounded like encouragement and advice from the other men, who dispersed along a track. My master went to the rail, still holding my leash. I strained to see beyond the big bodies to the race that had begun. I saw legs and wheels flash by, heard whips crack and cheering and groaning from the crowd, now augmented by a few new arrivals.
Garid harnessed up his woman with loving care, and backed her between the sulky shafts. He had every notch in place, each strap and band tense around her frame, making its mark on her flesh. His hand closed on the reins beneath her chin, and he tipped her head back and looked down between the blinkers into her eyes. She was motionless, waiting for his slightest signal, her eyes somehow conveying such devotion that he touched her cheek for a moment before he pulled the reins back over her head and sat down in the sulky. He looked at the beautiful little ass in front of him, bordered by straps and metal, bisected by a tail, and flicked it with his whip, simultaneously slapping her shoulders with the reins and clicking his tongue. She strained forward in the shafts and he flicked her harder, once low on each buttock. He could see her flesh jump, but she held her motion steady as she gained momentum step by step. He guided her to the right toward the track.
Garid had been so intent on all this that he had forgotten the dozen or so men watching this new bit of livestock. Once he had her on the track he looked up to find a crowd around the sulky, commenting mostly favorably on his rig and turnout, and more than appreciatively on his pretty filly. Several were asking permission to feel her over. Garid got out and held her reins close before he would permit this.
‘Is she skittish?’
‘She’s not used to it.’
‘Another owner.’ A laugh of self-recognition from the crowd. Garid felt his slave’s tension through the reins as her tits and ass and legs were squeezed, her nipple bells flicked. Fingers slid along her harness, but were stopped by her chastity belt, to slight but perceptible grumbling.
‘All right, let me try her paces.’ Garid felt her tiny release of tension as the strange hands left her. He stroked one breast soothingly, and she let out a long breath. He relaxed a little also, climbed back into the seat, and got her moving once again.
This time he whipped her up to a trot rather quickly, her yelps of pain a pleasant accompaniment to the creak of harness and the jingle of bells. In the strange place, with all the fearful new stimulation, she forgot her training a little. Garid’s stinging reminders soon had her lifting her knees and placing her feet with precision. Her mitts, held high on her back, twitched at each blow, but she kept her rhythm steady. As always the sight of her running under such restraints exhilarated Garid, her confined shoulders shifting forward and back in an attenuated motion as she ran, her hips weighed down by the shafts.
As Garid came around the track for the second time he could see two other vehicles taking their place at the starting line, and he pulled his slave to a stop next to them. She wasn’t even winded, just warmed up. He ignored the others’ fussing over traces, the jokes and admonitions from the crowd, just held her steady with his whip resting its long proprietary finger against the side of her ass, his bulk weighing her down. He could feel her nervousness through the reins. She’d never been raced before. He stroked her flank gently with the whip while the others got themselves settled. She chewed on the bit, moved her neck as far as she could against the checkrein, and shifted her shoulders slightly; she was relaxing her muscles as far as possible in her harness.
Then they were off. She would have strained herself too much if he’d let her, trying to get going quickly. As it was she got momentum going only a second or two behind the others vehicles, pulled by women somewhat larger than herself. Once they were going well he stung her hard, right, left, right, left, and she took off, slim rounded thighs flashing. They were gaining on the other two. He guided her round every step of the turn. He knew from experience that she couldn’t see much through tears and blinders, which was the way he liked it. Her tail swung, and Garid was pleasurably aware of the dildo holding it in place, and the thin rod in her cunt, just thick enough to torment her, not enough to make her come, no matter how hard he whipped her or how fast she ran.
He was pushing her to the limit now, placing precise strikes on the back of each thigh, forcing her past one of the other vehicles, just as they passed the finish line. The other was well ahead. But at least they hadn’t been last.
Head pulled back by his hand on the reins she slowed, panting heavily, stumbled a little sideways as she stopped. He flicked her breast hard on that side, and she straightened out, gasping for air. He gave her two more careful, searing strokes to teach her. The bell on that breast gave a sharp jingle with each blow. He could hear her crying as she stood precisely forward, feet together, chest heaving but otherwise motionless. Good.
I was raced twice more that day. I didn’t win either of them, but I was in there with the others, so I guess I didn’t disgrace myself. My master seemed pleased. I was very grateful to be wiped down and chained in a little stall with some straw to rest on, and I dozed exhaustedly for a while. Everything hurt, especially my right breast. I recalled vaguely that he hit me there when I stumbled after the first race. I had to try harder not to make mistakes. I shifted a little to protect
the breast from the straw. My cunt was wet and soft inside the hard hand of the belt. I clenched my internal muscles around the dildos still inside me, and wriggled.
After a while they brought some food and put it in troughs. The slaves all ate together, me along with the rest, and I could hear high voices murmuring low, which confused me for a minute. Something weirdly familiar…
Panic! It was Ranize the slaves were talking! Oh, god, I understood them! Oh no, I wasn’t allowed – Ranize meant pain… I put my head down and starting lapping my food hastily. I was so upset it was hard to eat, but I couldn’t help understanding a word or two, something about tonight, a question about what someone would demand… then the sound of voices stopped abruptly.
It was with huge relief and a little edge of disappointment that I felt my master’s hands from behind. He pulled my head back and turned it toward him, crouching next to me, looking from one eye to the other, searching for something. Then he slapped my face, hard. He reached back, picked up a hood from the floor, and pulled it over my head. It had heavy padding over the ears, and a blindfold, but no gag. He locked it, and gave my head a push when he was done to indicate that I should return my face to the trough.
I licked up my food blindly, still shaky. Another disastrous bit of freedom had just been averted. I had heard language I understood, words from my past. The commands he’d taught me were verbal leashes, not language. I still cringed as the sounds repeated themselves in my muffled ears. Slaves didn’t talk! Did they? Evidently other slaves were allowed to talk, at least to each other, maybe even to men! What did this mean? Did they get to have orgasms too? I hadn’t seen another chastity belt, not a single one. Did other slaves get to sleep with their masters, held in their arms?
