'A Winter Excursion' Boy

'Boy's Winter's day.'

That morning, for some unknown reason, I woke from my normal death-like sleep unusually alert and aware. Mostly I drifted through the endless days in a sort of stupor, induced by the back-breaking drudgery and boredom of the routine they imposed on me, in which days - perhaps even weeks - went by without anything to make me note their dreary passage.

It was bitterly cold in my pen, and I was lying on my side, curled up as best I could to preserve my body-heat which had warmed the damp, filthy straw beneath me. Its smell was the first thing I noticed, but I was used to it after all this time, and with the ease of long practice I drew up my knees up into my belly and rolled into an upright position, the tether chain attached to my nose-ring rattling against the metal trough on the pen door.

Sitting with my legs folded under me, my broad, muscular haunches resting on my heels, I emptied my bladder between my knees and waited for them to come and water me, feed me, and lead me out to my daily drudgery. In my unusual wakefulness I noticed things anew that I had long become used to. My hunger and thirst for example, and the itching of the thick leather cuffs around my ankles which hobbled me with the short chain linking them. I could feel the the pressure on my head and face of the bridle which I wore permanently; my blinkers too, in their closed blinding position over my eyes. I could feel the weight of my tether chain on the thick bronze ring in my broad, flat nose; my altered nostrils were wide now - too wide for the heavy ring to impede my breathing even when I was whipped into full exertion.

I heard remote sounds from the outer world; the door to the small room where I was penned thudded open, and I heard Bessie's footsteps and the rush of water as she filled my bucket from the tap. More steps, and the bucket's contents splashed into my trough. I lowered my blind head cautiously until my broad, out-thrust muzzle touched the surface of the water. Extending my wide, thick tongue I lapped noisily. My modified tongue acted as a sponge, and very soon the trough was empty, and I sat back in hungry expectation. The soft scrape of a shovel through some loose substance, the noise of its load slithering into the trough, announced to me that I was being fed. Eagerly I bent my head over the trough; in spite of the sour reek of the soft, crumbly stuff they fed me on it tasted of nothing at all, unless it might be damp cardboard. But it had nourished me for many months and it filled my belly; and it was with with my hunger fully satisfied that I sat back again in my straw.

I listened carefully to the sounds of the normal routine; the slaves being released from their cages, emptying their slop buckets, re-filling them with water and washing just as they did every day. Then came the sound of shod footsteps, and I knew Bessie was bringing them their food. Just as she always did, she left them for a short time while they ate.

When she returned, I well knew what was to happen next. Bessie and one of the slaves came up to my pen, I heard the click of the door-bolt being pulled back, and felt through my nose ring the sensation of the short leash being clipped to it, then the sudden lightness in my nose as the heavy tether chain was unloosed to fall with a soft thud into the straw.

Bessie tugged gently upwards on my leash; at the same time the slave, who was standing at the side of my pen, poked me painfully in the ribs with his wooden goad. I rose awkwardly, feeling the whispery touch of the damp straw which had stuck to my body overnight falling from my skin. Bessie, with the hand holding my leash close up under my nose - I could smell the scent of the coarse soap she used on her skin - led me out. First into the much larger outer room where the slaves were kept; already the air was fresher, and when I came through into the icy outside air, it was like a heady wine. It was always like this, except for a few days after my pen was cleaned out and fresh straw put in it, the contrast between the foetid smell of my pen and the outside air always struck me.

I was led on, my horny, calloused, toeless feet insulating me to some extent from the frozen earth of the stable yard, on the path I knew so well; the path I had been led on every day since I first awoke to find that my Mistress had put me to this endless drudgery.

The hard, icy earth beneath my feet changed to hard, icy concrete, then to a thin, half-frozen mix of chaff and semi-solid excrement on reaching which Bessie hooked her finger through my nose-ring to stop me in my tracks. I heard the click of the capstan rachet as the long pole through the thick, rotating central upright was pulled around to behind where I stood patiently, then the cold, clammy feeling of the padded yoke settling around my neck and on my shoulders, its weight and bulk bowing my neck and forcing my head down and forward.

The leash was removed. More movements around and behind me, and then the loud click of the brake being released. Immediately I threw my weight forward into the yoke, all the muscles in my back and legs straining their hardest as the first whip-lash of the day, always the most painful, fell across my haunches. In spite of long usage the breath left my body in a grunt of shock; as I began to move forward another blow fell upon my shoulders, and just before I reached my normal speed, a third. (Try as I might, anticipating the brake coming off as best I could, I always received at least three painful blows from the whip before I came up to the speed they required from me.)

Leaning into my yoke, causing the bell attached to it to clank dully with every step I made, I trudged forward with painful slowness. Very shortly, as I came up to speed, it became easier, and soon I was able to keep moving to their satisfaction. I heard Bessie leave; from this point the slave tethered to the cental rotating upright would urge me on with his goad. At this time I would fall into that unthinking half trance I spent most of my life in, but on this occasion I continued to think about my condition, and even to remember my past.

As to my present condition, I was now a draught animal. Originally my Owner, Ms Howard, had taken me as a pet dog; but She had tired of me after only a few weeks. I remembered spending many miserable weeks chained to a kennel outside Bessie's living quarters before I'd been put into the dog-van and driven off somewhere, to be returned in my present altered physical state. I remembered nothing of the major surgery that had obviously been carried out on me, but I did recall the first time I woken in my pen; my panic at my blindness and my unavailing attempts to rise to my knees without the use of my missing arms. (Here I must have faltered in my steady progress; the goad struck quick as a snake's fangs; I grunted in pain and increased my pace a little. I imagined the slave wielding the goad for a moment, seated shivering on an old crate, tethered by his leash to the central post as there was no Woman present to supervise him.) Still amazingly aware, I suddenly thought that I didn't even know, after all this time, why I was goaded round in these endless circles twice a day. I remembered seeing blind donkeys in Travel Programmes trudging around turning a millstone; and I realized I was exactly like them; I too toiled on and on for a purpose I did not know. But I was almost certain, from overheard conversations, that I was pumping water. (At this point, as was usual, my bowels chose to empty themselves. I had long cured myself of an instinctive attempt to slow down and stop while I defecated - it only brought a flurry of painful prods from the slave's goad - and I continued to trudge stolidly around while I expelled my faeces, feeling their slimy warmth as they slid down the insides and backs of my thighs on their way to join the layer of filth I walked through.) The sound of Bessie's shod feet accompanied by the slapping of bare feet on hard ground announced new arrivals. A brief flurry of action, and I heard Bessie leave alone. She was probably going to her breakfast in the warm kitchen, and had tethered both slaves together to the central post; I imagined them huddled against each other for warmth.

Closing my eyes under my blinkers, I thought of Ms Howard. It had been a long time since I had seen Her close to; occasionly I caught sight of Her being driven past in Her car from where I stood tethered at the Lodge, waiting for Mary or Millie to return from their various errands to the village, but if She noticed me She gave no sign of it. I recalled that last Summer I had seen Her sitting reading in a deckchair on one of the lawns, a picture of cool elegance in Her flowery dress. I had been harnessed to the heavy roller on the lawn on Her right; only a little later a flustered Sonia had run out to order Bessie to transfer me to other work downwind, as my rank animal body-odour was disturbing our Mistress. I thought that the last glimpse I'd had of Her was about a couple of months ago, when I'd seen Her sitting in the Autumn sun on Her patio as I was led past drawing a cart full of logs.

The shod feet returned, the brake came on. Slowed so abruptly in my course, I panicked briefly; having been taught only too well the penalty of slowing down in my steady progress. But then I understood, and stood patiently in my sweaty yoke awaiting further developements. These were swift in coming. After the usual sounds of flurrying movements, someone clipped a leash to my nose-ring, the horizontal pole was detached from my yoke, and the yoke itself removed. In its place the heavy harness was fitted, around my waist and over my shoulders, its broad straps icy cold on my hot skin.

A slight tug on my leash, and I followed obediently; out of the wheel-room, and into the open air. Still blind, I was led over the still-frozen packed earth of the yard, and brought to a halt somewhere near the kitchen, for I could smell the tantalizing odours of cooking food. A cold hand was placed upon my chest, and a gentle pressure urged me to step backwards cautiously. Wood groaned and creaked behind me, and now I knew what was happening; I had been backed in between the shafts of my cart, and the two male slaves were lifting the shafts so that my harness could be secured to them.

I felt the weight of the shafts on my waist and shoulders as my harness was hooked up, then the hard, cold metal of my bit against my lips. Obediently I opened my mouth and the bit was put into it, to come to its rest position on my gums where my back teeth began. (My front teeth had been pulled long ago). Then Bessie opened my blinkers. As usual I was dazzled by the sudden influx of light. When I'd recovered my vision I could see my long shadow stretching before me and the frost sparkling on the grass in the rising sun. I could see nothing to either side, of course, because of the blinkers; but I could hear Bessie and her minions moving around, and the sounds of the axes, saws etc. needed for wood-cutting being placed in the cart behind me.The air was completely still, and it was bitterly cold.

The cart creaked as Bessie lowered her weight into the diving seat. She raised my reins and brought them down with a crack upon my shoulders. As I began to move tentatively forward, she pulled my head round sharply to the left to avoid my collision with the fence in front of me. That done, she flicked my rump with her whip, and I plodded off on the path towards the forest, obeying unthinkingly the varying gentle pressures on my bit, now in its 'work' position between my back teeth.

I wondered vaguely as to which woodpile we were heading; the nearest was about half a mile away; the furthest about three miles. As this was the first wood-fetching trip of the day, the furthest seemed indicated; a round trip of six miles which would take about two and a half hours. Normally I would trudge along in a sort of unnoticing stupor, but on this rare day my faculties were keen, and I saw my surroundings as if for the first time. My view was sharply cut off at the sides by my blinkers, and my head was lowered by the effort of drawing the cart as I leaned forward into my harness, allowing me to see only a few feet directly in front of me. I mused on the necessity of my being directed along my course by Bessie or some other driver; left to my own devices I should have wandered off the path. This left me to reflect on my treatment at Bessie's hands. She was, I decided, surprisingly attentive to my well-being. She would see to it, for example, that I was tethered in the sun in cold weather, and in the shade in hot. She watered me at frequent intervals, and she would halt me and allow me to rest after any more than usually strenuous interval of labour. She was careful to preserve my strength; even to the extent of dismounting and leading me up gradients she considered too steep for me to pull the cart up with her weight added to its load. She kept me at a slow walk usually, and only used the whip to start me off and to make me aware of when any unusual extra effort was needed. For instance, there was a particular place on one of the paths I was often driven on where a thick tree root had made a large bump across the road; she knew to a nicety when to bring down the whip on my haunches to encourage me into a short spurt of extra energy. In short, I thought, she treated me as a Third World villager would treat a valuable ox; not out of any innate good nature, but purely to ensure that I would be able to work as long and effectively as possible.

This train of thought came to and end with our arrival at our destination, a pile of roughly trimmed logs heaped in a clearing off the track. There Bessie dismounted and tethered me to a sapling, making sure I was in the direct sunlight, before unleashing the slaves from the rear of the cart and directing them to fill a rusty brazier with the twigs and wood chips which lay scattered around. Then she lit the brazier, which was soon well alight, and allowed the frozen slaves to huddle around it for ten minutes or so. She told off a slave to fetch me water, and he took the bucket which hung from the side of my cart over to a pond in a corner of the clearing and filled it. Then he offered up to my broad, thick-lipped mouth. The water was thick and muddy, but I lapped it up avidly with my long, thick tongue. Then I relaxed, enjoying my rest in the faint warmth of the winter sunlight, while Bessie set her minions to work trimming the logs they were to load on the cart. She herself sat on a log by the fire, occasionally encouraging a slave in his labours by raising a welt on his body through the laser whip she always carried. She gave the slaves water from the large bottle which hung from the cart, while she drank hot coffee from the flask Millie had given her before we left.

One by one the trimmed logs thudded into the back of the cart until Bessie decided the load was sufficient. I heard the chink of the slaves' tools being lain on top, and the clicks of their leashes being attached to the cart before Bessie untethered me and mounted into her seat to begin the return journey.

My load was much heavier now; gentle slopes which had been easy on the way out became steep, and twice Bessie stopped me at their summits to recover my breath, and once to dismount and lead me up a particularly steep passage. I fell into my old ways of unthinking labour, conscious only of the dragging weight on my shoulders, chest, and waist as I leaned into my harness, until a pull on my bit announced the journey's end back where we'd started.

Bessie dismounted and tethered me, then unleashed the slaves and put them to unloading the cart and stacking the logs on the logpile. Then came a diversion. Someone out of my vision came up to us - I thought I recognised the voice of my Mistress's only other First Class slave, Veronica - and said something to Bessie. She left, and Bessie called out for Millie to come and supervise the male slaves. On Millie's speedy arrival, Bessie deftly unhitched me from the cart and led me off through the stable yard and into the barn in which the various carts were kept. There she quickly hitched me to the smartly-painted four-wheeled three-seater which stood in a corner. She left, to return with a short, broad canvas bag which she shoved over my muzzle, hanging by its straps from the top of my head. The bag was full of the coarse meal they fed me on; I made short work of it, scooping its contents into my mouth with my tongue, while Bessie fussed about with the cart, oiling the wheel bearings, and passing a duster over the paintwork. Finally she removed my feed bag, gave me more water, and led me out, her hand through one of the large steel rings at either end of my bit, my reins presumably being hooked over the foot board before the driver's seat.

She led me to the front of the Mansion, where she stopped me by the steps to the Grand Porch. There we waited for several minutes.

I had become fully alert again, and presently was aware of the sound of three pairs of footsteps descending the marble steps leading down from the Porch. I felt the light cart sway as they took their seats, then Bessie tugged on my bit-ring, pulling me half-round to face in the opposite direction. She released her hold, the whip flicked my haunches, and I began to walk forward, the weight of the cart a trifle to the heavy logs I'd just hauled. The whip flicked my back, and I broke into an easy trot along the straight path my driver had chosen for us. I particularly enjoyed this; for some short moments, when the reins were loose on my shoulders, I could imagine myself free to choose my own direction, until there came a bend, or some other obstacle, and the pressure on one side or other of my bit directed me to turn.

I very soon realized that it was my Mistress herself who was directing me; by now I could easily tell who my driver was by her characteristic methods. Bessie was sure-handed, but a little heavy on the bit: Millie was heavier still, and less confident; and she usually drove me as fast as my hobble would allow - fortunately she always employed the light single seater with the large panniers for her frequent errands off the Estate. But this sureness of touch, these confident gentle pressures as she controlled my movements through the medium of my bit, could belong only to Ms Howard!

I was moving easily, sweating but only lightly panting through my half-open mouth, on the smooth turf. I felt as though I could keep up this pace indefinitely. But then we came to our destination which I recognized instantly as one of the charming wooden Summerhouses which were scattered about the grounds. There all got down, and my reins were pulled forward over my head for one of the party to lead me off. Judging by the occasional glimpse of a tiny fist holding my reins high up near my mouth I knew it was Polly who was leading me. (A tiny waif of a girl, scarcely four and half feet tall, she was our Mistress's pet and body-slave, and had taken my place in Her affections). She led me over to a nearby fence and tethered me to the top rail. Then she left. She returned with water and, after a failed attempt to raise the bucket high enough for me to drink - owing to her own lack of height - went off to fetch something to stand on. After watering me, she left me in the sunshine to enjoy the unusual peace of not being at labour.

I stood patiently for what seemed a very long time. What 'the humans' - as I'd long referred to them - were doing I'd no notion. I could move back and forth a tiny distance owing to the 'give' in my harness, and I could see straight ahead to the forest across a small ploughed field. (Which I knew well, for I had pulled the plough!) Other than that, my vision was blocked by my blinkers, nor could I turn my head more than a few inches due to the shortness of my tether.

I tranced there, standing in the sunlight, until the arrival of a human brought me back to wakefulness. It was Polly again. She untethered me, pulled the reins back over my head, and mounted the cart. She pulled on one side of my bit to turn me, then whipped me into motion. My load was feather-light compared with previous ones, and Polly was able to whip me into the full speed my hobble would allow - a rattling six miles an hour. Even so, on the way I had time to reflect with some amazement how easily and naturally she dominated me. I was nearly half as tall again, and many times stronger, yet I followed her docilely wherever she led me, and submitted meekly to her whip. (But then; many times in my previous, human existence I'd seen on films or television some tiny child in some Third World country controlling a huge beast like an ox, armed merely with a sharp stick! Like an ox, I too had become domesticated to the point where refusal, or even the faintest hint of resistance, to a human being, however small and weak, had become mentally impossible to even contemplate). We very soon arrived at the house, where she drove me round to the kitchen door. I barely had time to notice the two slaves sitting on the ground, their leashes tied to a steel ring in the wall, clumsily picking out scraps from a shared bucket with their maimed hands, before a banging and scraping announced the loading of something large onto the rear seat of the cart and Polly flicked me with the whip to get me moving again.

Back we went, still at the same breakneck pace. When we halted in front of the Summerhouse I was panting heavily, and dripping with sweat. The cart was relieved of its burden; hands pulled my reins over my head and I was led off be to tethered out of the way. I soon became certain that my Mistress was leading me from an evocative whiff of Her delicate scent, and the soft swish of Her silken garments as She moved along. She tied me to the fence and left, to return shortly with water. I drank and, more and more certain that it was indeeed She who stood by my side, I tried to turn my head to nuzzle Her hand out of a sudden rush of affection for my Owner, only to be brought up sharply by my short tether. Finally I desisted as I heard Her move a little way off. She seemed to stay motionless for some time; I wondered what She was doing, and had the vague but distinct feeling that She was regarding me as I stood in the shafts. Then I heard Her move towards me and, with a shock, I found myself staring blankly into Her emerald eyes at close range. Those eyes, which had enslaved me with a glance at our first meeting, retained all their old power over me. She seemed to be searching my eyes for something, but my bladder chose that moment to empty itself. I heard Her half-stifled gasp of disgust as She stepped away to avoid the thick stream of urine splashing on the ground between my feet, then Her short laugh of self-mockery at Her own squeamishness before She left me to wonder what Her actions signified..

Some time later I heard two sets of soft footsteps approaching and two voices in conversation. I recognized them as that of my Mistress and Her alter ego, the First Class slave - what was Her name? - ah yes; Sonia. Both equally tall and elegant, Sonia lacked that special something which allowed her Mistress to dominate with a glance. But I'd seen even less of Sonia than of her Mistress over the last two years. The sound of their footsteps and voices rose and fell as they walked; evidently they were strolling up and down on the lawn, possibly after their lunch. On one of their nearest approaches my bowels emptied, and I heard one of them, probably Sonia, utter a short cry of shock and disgust. My Mistress laughed, and made some remark to her, then they carried on with their promenade.

Silence fell again, and I became aware of my growing hunger. I was also feeling the increasing cold as the short winter afternoon came to its end.The faint warmth from the sun had gone some time ago, and I could see my breath smoking in the still, cold air before little Polly came to lead me back to the steps of the Summerhouse.

My Mistress held my bit as the cart was loaded, then all took their seats. She whipped me into movement, and I set off on the return journey. I soon found it was to be no repetition of the outward one, for Ms Howard, contrary to Her usual practice, whipped me up into a full gallop. Despite spending so much time motionless and tethered, I was still tired, but She did not spare Her whip, and I was panting with exhaustion when I was pulled up at the Porch steps and my reins handed to the waiting Bessie.

Whether she approved of my treatment at the hands of our Mistress I couldn't say, but she made a point of leading me, instead of driving me, the hundred yards or so to the cart-barn. Ther she swiftly unhitched me and led me off to the empty wood cart where the two wretched slaves crouched shivering, their leashes held by the warmly-clad Millie. Her fellow-slave greeted her, and the two women hitched me between the shafts. Bessie left, to return shortly carrying my full feeding bag which she hung over my head so that I could feed as I walked. Then the familiar creak of the cart as she mounted, the sharp pain of the whip on my skin, and I trudged off into the gathering winter gloom.

It was fully dark when we returned, guided by the two oil lamps Bessie had hooked on either side of my cart. I was standing between the shafts in dull exhaustion when a sudden subtle shift in the attitude of the weary slaves unloading the cart announced the arrival on the scene of our Mistress. I saw Her draw Bessie aside and appear to question her; Her PA, warmly dressed as she was, seemed both cold and bored. I felt her stare of horrified fascination as my bladder emptied itself into the dirt at my feet before she turned away to join in the inquisition.

Finally the questions ceased, and Bessie escaped to unhitch me from the wood cart. She unloosed my reins and clipped a short thick leash to my nose-ring before leading me off to the wheel-shed, Blossom in attendance. The familiar routine continued in the glow of the oil lamp which hung from the wall. Blossom held my leash, his hand high up under my nose, as Bessie removed and hung up my harness. At a sharp command he led me a few feet onto the trodden dirt of the circular path I would be driven along. There Bessie slipped the cold, heavy yoke over my neck and shoulders, secured it in position, and strapped the yoke-pole to it. She removed my leash and, just as she snapped my blinkers over my eyes with a practised flick of her thumb, I fancied I saw Ms Howard and Her PA enter the shed. Then I was blind, and I waited wearily for the crack of the brake being released.

It came, and I leaned my full weight into my yoke immediately, as the goad wielded by the tethered Blossom dug painfully into my flank. I barely heard Bessie and the the visitors depart over the protesting creak of the pole and the clank of the bell on my yoke, I was aware only of the repeated digs as Blossom goaded me up to speed. Still in my unusual state of consciousness, I wondered which was the more painful; the whip or the goad. Both hurt me, of course; but with the goad the pain was more concentrated, and there was no preliminary swish of warning.

On and on I trudged in the blackness; with only the soft shuffle of my feet through the dirt I walked in, my hoarse panting, the creaking of the yoke-pole, and the dull clank of the bell at every short pace I made to break the silence. My bladder opened without causing me to alter my pace; I felt the warm liquid course down my thighs and lower legs as I urinated. Occasionally I heard Blossom shift position on the pile of straw he sat on; occasionally too, he would relieve his boredom by poking me with the goad on the lower or upper thigh, or on the haunch nearest to him, or in my ribs.

I had relapsed into my normal dull, beast-like indifference when Bessie returned, her thick sandals scraping over the frozen ground outside. She pulled on the brake, bringing me to a halt, then she untethered Blossom and led him off to his cage for the night. I grew cold again waiting for her return, and I was glad when she came back to lift the yoke from my neck and shoulders and lead me out into the icy air. I trudged behind her over the frosty ground, blindly following her direction as indicated to me by the gentle tugs of my nose-ring until she stopped me. I heard the slither of leather being tied around wood as she tethered me, then the sound of her footsteps as she left me. I was shivering when she came back, accompanied by someone else, evidently Millie with whom she shared quarters, for I heard Bessie say 'Be sure to build up the fire; it will freeze hard tonight. We've fetched plenty of wood!" Then she took my leash and led me off again.

Icy packed earth gave way to cold concrete; icy fresh air to the cold, close atmosphere of the shed in which the slaves lay shivering in their cages. Then to the familiar foetid stink of the tiny back room where I was pennned. Bessie led me into my pen through the further gate; I felt the post brush against my hip as I walked onto the thick, damp, matted straw, and heard the click of the latch on the gate as she closed it behind me. Cautiously I moved forward until I came to the closed front gate. Bessie tugged gently downwards on my leash, and I sank awkwardly to my knees in the straw. I heard the straw rustle as she picked up my tether chain from where it lay, and felt the sudden weight of it as she clipped it to my nose ring. She took off the leash and I heard the sound of her filling my water bucket, then the splash as she poured it into the trough before me. I bent forward gingerly until my questing tongue found its surface; there I lapped it down quickly and noisily. Finally came the sound of my feed being shovelled into the bucket, then the soft slither of it being emptied into my trough. I heard the door thud shut as Bessie departed before I had lowered my muzzle into the trough.

As usual, I made short work of feeding, after which I sat back, buttocks on my heels, in temporary contentment, with a full belly, and free for a time of harness and yoke, whip and goad. With that uncanny full awareness that I'd had all day, I thought that for the domesticated draught animal my Mistress had made of me, the best I could expect was warmth, clean straw, and a full belly; that was as good as it would ever get. Without bitterness I reflected on my labours for Her. I had panted and sweated under the lash to haul wood for Her fires, so that She and Her slaves should be warm, while She had me kept in an unheated pen. I had groaned under the yoke and the goad to pump water to keep them clean, while I lay unbathed in filthy straw. But that was the nature of things, I told myself without resentment. My body, my muscles, were not mine to command, but Hers; She owned me. And She paid me the reward any careful owner gives to a work-beast; just enough food to enable me to keep working for Her, and just enough shelter from the elements to keep me healthy. But, looking back, something still puzzled me. A long time ago, before She had bought her male slaves, She and another Woman had come to me where I stood yoked and blind at the wheel. Nothing had been said, but I had heard a sharp hiss as of escaping gas, and felt an icy numbness spread over my groin. I remembered feeling cloth brush the inside of my thighs high up at my crotch, and heard a faint click. Then they had gone and Bessie had whipped me into motion again. To this day I don't know what had occurred on that occasion, but I'd always had the nagging suspicion, for some unknown reason, that something important and irreversible had beeen done to me.

Finally, at a signal from my colon, I spread my ankles and defecated between my legs. Then, yawning, I wriggled onto my side, and lay tiredly down in the dirty straw. As usual I was deeply asleep in seconds; as usual when I woke to the sounds of the the morning routine it was as if no time had passed at all. But I seemed to remember - or had I imagined it? - that my Mistress had visited me during the night. For what reason, I could not guess; but surely there had been a faint trace of Her fragrance in the air when I'd awoke?

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