The Lifestyle Farmer (an Awakening)

The Lifestyle Farmer: Part 2

The months following my afternoon with Malcolm and Chris and their unfortunate captives were busy ones. Maybe I’m an evil man, but my neighbours’ revelations had left me with little sympathy for their victims and few moral qualms concerning their activities. Instead I found myself fired with an unholy enthusiasm to emulate, perhaps even surpass them. I had ample resources and, I felt, the necessary cunning and patience to acquire and train my own subjects. However, I wasn’t going to rush into it; that was a certain road to disaster. Instead, I spent the ensuing months in research, planning, preparation and consultation; laying the foundations for my future as an owner of human chattels.

I spent a lot of time with Malcolm and Chris and the ponies, getting to know some of the practicalities of safe and responsible ownership. Although I didn’t intend to keep ponies, it was obvious there were sufficient similarities with the livestock I did want to acquire to make it a useful exercise. Both Chris and Malcolm drummed the importance of security into me.

“Never forget,” Chris had said seriously on my second visit, his hand holding Trooper’s bridle, “these are intelligent animals. Never become complacent; always keep them hobbled and with arms secure at the very least, preferably with chains. Some of them will be bigger and more powerful than you, so always, always take care they can’t kick, butt, trample or otherwise inflict harm, because if they can they often will. Besides, constant and severe restraint is a helpful reminder of their status. It’s a great equalizer.” Trooper was fidgeting, listening to us, his mouth cruelly stretched by his bit and Chris’ pressure on the bridle, his eyes glaring sullenly. Chris, flicked the riding crop he held catching the end of Trooper’s penis sharply, where it was exposed by the plastic restraint he always wore. The pony yelled with the pain and danced from foot to foot as far as his hobble permitted, while Chris laughed and held him in place. “See, Jake? I reckon a ten year old girl with a crop could keep Trooper here in line despite his bad temper!”

Other lessons focussed on the maintaining the health and condition of human livestock and covered, nutrition, accommodation, exercise, the effects of severe bondage and various drug regimes. Of course, I also I learned to handle the team. To help with this I volunteered to help Chris with the farm on the occasional day, gaining invaluable experience in harnessing and unharnessing the team and controlling them as we went about the daily chores.

I found that each pony had its own quirks, strengths and weaknesses. My favourite was probably Jezebel. I enjoyed the view for a start; she had a young, womanly figure, with smooth, pale skin and a deliciously soft, curving rump lacking any extra flesh due to her enforced regime of exercise. Her breasts were a joy to harness just more than a handful of milky white softness with small pink aureoles and nipples which were thrust forward nicely by her armbindings. Most often her attitude was defiant, even sullen, her dark expressive eyes glowering from among the straps of her bridle. But I enjoyed that. I was gaining skill with the whip I liked to use; a long, single-tailed affair with a blade of broad, flat leather blade which could deliver stinging motivation or a resounding crack in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing. Gradually I became able to do either and slowly Jezebel, the former law student with the bright future in the legal system, learned a basic, animal respect for me.  Driving her was entertaining too. It was as if she decided each time that she’d rebel so that when I shook the reins she barely moved. But one kiss of the whip on her rear and she leapt to her task with a will! She needed an occasional reminder, but her response to the whip was gratifying.

The ever-practical Chris was also a huge help with my preparations on my own property which were fairly extensive. I felt I needed to minimise the involvement of outsiders who might start asking too many questions about some of my new installations, so it was necessary that I do the work myself. Chris was in complete agreement and was happy to show me the way and, over the months I learned new construction skills involving pouring concrete, laying bricks, carpentry and electrical wiring. Together we took a ramshackle, semi-derelict, but sizeable stone outbuilding and transformed it. First we put a new roof on it and repaired its walls, replacing its doors and blocking several windows before we started on its interior. This we divided into two large spaces, one at either end which were destined to hold my livestock, with a central room converted and equipped as a workshop. One of the livestock areas was fairly simple, involving little more than the construction of a row of cages, each perhaps a metre high and wide and two metres deep and a tiled shower area. My plans necessitated more complex works at the other end of the building. A series of pens ran lengthways along the middle of the barn with a long metal food trough running parallel. Above each pen dangled the tentacles of a milking machine; a standard agricultural model, modified so that each ended in just two cups. I had no need of the standard four, as my intended livestock was human rather than bovine; something I was jokingly calling Bos sapiens in the best tradition of Linnaeus and something Chris found hilarious when I told him.

The barn was our main project, but there were many other small tasks around the place we undertook over the winter. One of the more major ones was generated by my desire to grow some of my own fodder. For this we decided to plough and plant one of the small paddocks behind my house. It was perfect for what I had in mind as the hedges were tall and protected view by a belt of trees originally planted to shelter the farm from the harsh winter winds blowing off the mountains. Of course, Chris and I, looking for a challenge and to incorporate a little entertainment into the task, decided we should try the ponies out as plough beasts. Accordingly, we constructed a light plough and designed a system of harnesses. Then, on a day of early spring sunshine, with primroses and daffodils lining the hedges and birds singing in the still-bare trees we hitched up the team and set them to work, one of us controlling the reins and the other leading Trooper, the powerhouse of the team,  by his bridle. After a couple of hours we’d had some degree of success, though all the ponies were panting hard, their breath rasping through their bridled mouths. They were splattered in mud to their waists and their rumps and backs were marked by fresh welts from the whip.

“I’m not happy with Trooper’s efforts,” said Chris, when we were pausing for tea, “he’s deliberately throwing the line of the furrow off and not trying hard enough in my view.”

I glanced over to where the team stood some yards away, naked in the chilly air, their shoulders covered by rough canvas poncho-like sheets Chris used to keep them warm when they stopped.

“I had the same impression,” I said. ”I think this is a new low for him and he’s rebelling in a quiet way. Trouble is I think the others are picking up on it and doing the same. They could be working better together.”

“Well, I’m going to teach him a lesson and see if I can’t get better co-operation out of him, if you know what I mean.” I frowned, puzzled by his meaning until he winked at me lasciviously and then I laughed, catching his meaning.

“Knock yourself out!” I said, “I’ll wait here.”

“Why don’t you do the same with the others, if you like. I think it would deliver a salutary lesson. Malcolm and I haven’t wanted to deliver it, so it’d be great if you would.”

I felt my cock grow and stiffen in response to his words until it was pressing almost painfully against the front of my jeans. It was strange; intensely erotic though I found the ponies and their predicament; I’d never seriously considered taking one sexually. Of course, I was accustomed to handling them and using their pussies and anuses to deliver reprimands and motivation in the form of various ‘toys’ and other implements, but I’d never thought much about burying myself in one of them. Perhaps I thought of them subconsciously as animals and thus outside the realm of my sexual interest, or maybe the fact they didn’t belong to me was inhibiting. I wasn’t sure, but as I looked at the restrained, degraded, yet luscious female flesh standing fidgeting in the traces of the plough oblivious to our discussion, I could see no reason not to take advantage and administer some discipline at the same time.

As I considered, Chris pulled a hood over Trooper’s head, hooked a leash to his bridle, released him from the traces and began to pull him towards the gate into the farmyard. Trooper had little choice but to follow, the hobble forcing him to adopt a slow, shuffling gate.

Butterscotch, Jezebel and Blossom knew something was wrong, I could tell by their body language; the shifting of weight from foot to foot and the attempts to peer around, hindered by their blinkers. I moved over to them, my squelching footsteps causing them to instinctively try to move closer together as much as their harness would allow. Their blinkered heads followed me as I moved to stand in front of them. I could see Blossom attempting to shrink behind Butterscotch as if she could disappear from view. Only Jezebel met my gaze with with resentful eyes, but even they soon dropped to the floor. I studied them for a moment; three mud-spattered, nervous fillies with sleek, toned flanks, pussy lips forced apart by their harness straps and their tightly bound, purpled breasts contrasting strongly with their otherwise pale skin. I could feel my blood pounding at the sight. I felt so alive, so powerful! Then I noticed Butterscotch’s dark eyes widen and realised she was looking at my crotch. I glanced down and chuckled to myself for my raging hard-on was completely visible, outlined by the fabric.

“Yes, you know what’s coming now, don’t you girl?” I said, looking into the pony’s panicy eyes. I reasoned that, although their various orifices had been the receptacles for a variety of implements, some of outrageous dimensions, their owner’s preferences meant none of them had yet been taken as ponies. I wondered briefly if that was perhaps a hidden source of dignity for them, a Rubicon that hadn’t been crossed so far. Perhaps they had thought it never would be.

Butterscotch began shaking her head, her bridle jangling as she tried to back away, her eyes brimming with tears implored me to be merciful. By now Jezebel had picked up on her mother’s unease and panic and I could see its significance dawning on her as eyes darted back and forth between us. Blossom was as yet oblivious, her vision blocked by Butterscotch.

I quickly stepped forward and reached for Butterscotch’s bridle. She instinctively tried to pull away and I brought my crop down on her flank sharply. CRACK! She yelped in pain and shock, but that gave me the opportunity to grab the bridle and yank her head forward and down until she was bent almost double, her full, bound breasts dangling and dancing almost with a life of their own.

CRACK! CRACK, I slapped the crop twice more in quick succession onto her rump and abruptly the struggle went out of her to be replaced by choking sobs. Her forward movement had jerked at Blossom’s traces and, due to the hobble, she was tottering a little. I steadied her and, still holding Butterscotch’s bridle, quickly re-adjusted the straps of the harness to link her bridle to Blossom’s nose-ring. That done I turned to Jezebel, released her and clipped her nose ring to Blossom’s traces, creating a coffle of three ponies.

All three were whimpering and whining, fearing what was going to happen, as I led them, shuffling slowly through the mud to the fence which circled the field inside the hedge. From here I could hear an incoherent, strangled bellowing and grunting and realised that I could see into the farmyard where Chris was administering Trooper’s punishment. The pony was bent over a carpenter’s sawhorse which we were using in our construction efforts, legs spread apart and secured. Chris stood behind him, crop in hand, his hips working furiously as he thrust in and out, with Trooper bawling in impotent rage and shame at his violation. I watched for a few moments as Trooper twisted on the sawhorse, like a landed fish, torso rearing and writhing as if trying to expel the intruder from his rear and then turned back to my own task.

Working quickly I bent Butterscotch forwards again, clipping her leash to the lowest strut of the fence so that she was almost head down, before releasing Blossom and then Jezebel from the coffle and securing them in the same position. Finally, I removed their canvas capes, unclipped the harness strap from between their legs, flipped up their tails and stood back to examine my handiwork. I was presented with a line of helpless female rears, their smoothly shaven vulvas, fully exposed and their anuses stretched by the substantial tail plugs. Slowly, I moved down the line considering my choice, pausing to caress and squeeze pony flesh as I did so. All were trembling, hoping I wouldn’t choose them, but possibly feeling guilty at wishing me on one of the others. I paused behind Butterscotch’s rounded rump. Her pussy was swollen, the inner lips prominent, almost red in colour. Without warning I cupped her mound, a finger forcing it’s way inside. As I’d expected with this mare, the friction of the harness strap had worked its usual magic and she was slick with a mixture of the lubricant that was applied before the harness was fitted each day and her own juices. She cried out through her bit; a mixture of surprise and reluctant arousal.

“Naughty pony, Butterscotch!” I chuckled, my finger moving down her sopping slit to her clitoris. As soon as I touched it she jerked against her reins emitting an involuntary moan, her entire rump twitching and writhing. It only took a few flicks of my finger before her orgasm pulsed through her. She threw her head back a strangled moan escaping her throat as she pulled against her tether trying to force her pussy back onto my hand.

She was still shuddering, as I turned to Blossom who was whining through her bit and trying to turn her head to see where I was past her blinkers. I grabbed her tail and pushed it sideways, making her grunt and stop moving with the discomfort. Much like Butterscotch, her harness strap had kept her stimulated, trembling on the edge all morning and her thighs were wet with her juices. Her situation had dulled that somewhat, but I eased a finger between her lips, finding the hard, wet bud of her clit easily. My finger circled and flicked, her whining changed note, becoming rapid with a paniced edge to it as I felt her helpless pussy flooding with fresh, hot juices. And then her lithe body was bucking as she wailed and squeaked, coming hard. I held her in place by the tail so she didn’t fall  and when she’d finished, resumed my attentions for a few seconds until she was once more on the brink, before stepping back and moving on to Jezebel, provoking a small moan of frustration.

Jezebel’s blinkers had prevented her seeing what had happened to the other two ponies, but she had been able to hear it and I could see her delicious, rounded rear trembling as I approached. She was shifting around a little, and making an low angry growling noise in her throat although, being tethered by her nose ring, moving much was painful. However, her struggles intensified somewhat as I crouched and undid her hobble, but I soon stopped that by grabbing her tail and kicking her legs as wide. She immediately attempted to close them which I had expected so I brought my crop up sharply catching her pussy with a low ‘smack’ She howled in pain and returned her legs to the position I’d put them in.

I stood back, undoing my jeans and enjoying the view. Jezebel had a rather neat pussy with prominent outer lips concealing the treasures within. With her legs apart, those lips, one with a reddening line where the crop had struck, gaped slight revealing the pink, glistening ‘V’ of her clitoral hood. My cock, hard enough already, throbbed with even greater intensity, seeming almost to spring out of my underwear of its own volition as I brought it out. I could see her sex was glistening and, holding her steady by the tail with one hand, I slid a finger slowly along her slit before parting her lips and pushing inside, finding the interior hot and nicely slippery. It seemed a morning of work with a tight leather strap between her legs, had even had its effect on the fiery Jezebel. She twitched and squeaked in protest, the noise rising in volume as she felt the head of my penis, rest against her lips and then part and stretch them slightly as it began to make its entrance. I think she was trying to shout imprecations, possibly even threats from the tone, but the bit holding her tongue down made her unintelligible. I could wait no more and thrust forward in a fast, smooth motion, pushing myself hard against her rear and across the bound arms behind her back. She bucked as much as she was able given her restraint, but ny hips were pistoning steadily as my arms held her tightly against me, one hand holding and squeezing a bound, onion-shaped breast, tweeking the hard nub of her nipple, while the other moved lower, a finger and thumb parting the top of her slit to squeeze her clit repeatedly.

She was twisting and writhing, as I pounded into her, driving not only my cock, but her tail plug deeply inside her with my impacts against her rear. My hands continued their work too as I held her tightly against me and relished the feel of her movements. Her gurgling, protesting shrieks had were slowly transforming into despairing moans, and I felt her tiring, weakening and then the first spasms as her cunt pulsed around my cock. And then she went over the edge, screaming into her bit, thrashing up and down as she came. Somewhere, I rose to meet, her, breaking the screams into grunts as I redoubled the power of my thrusts as I felt my juices spurt deep inside her.

There were lights dancing in front of my eyes and I felt jelly-legged as I withdraw my softening penis. I couldn’t believe the power of the orgasm I’d just experienced. It was everything I’d hoped for and more from fucking a helpless, owned slave!

I held Jezebel’s harness at the back as she seemed about to fall and bent forward to release her leashed nose before bringing her to an upright position. She staggered slightly as I pulled her by the bridle to Blossom’s side and proceeded to re-assemble the previous coffle. Trooper’s bellowing had stopped now; I assumed Chris must have finished administering his ‘lesson’ so I slowly led the three hobbled, whimpering and tearful ponies across the field and re-harnessed them to the plough.

Minutes passed and Chris and Trooper had still not returned so I fished an apple from my lunch bag and began to carve slices from it with my pocket knife, popping each in turn into my mouth and chewing contentedly, enjoying the spring sunshine, the warm air and the pleasant ache in my crotch from my earlier exertions. Perhaps it was the sudden quietness of the ponies, but some sixth sense made me turn to find all three mesmerised by what I was doing. Aside from tear-stained cheeks and the occasional sniffle, their recent debasement seemed forgotten as three pairs of eyes followed each slice from the apple to my mouth. I could almost hear them drooling.

It was so comical I laughed as I walked over to Jezebel who suddenly realised what she’d been doing and flinched as I came close, her eyes moving to the floor. Wordlessly, I carved another slice and held it in front of her on the flat of my palm, just below easy reach. I could see the tattered remnants of her pride warring inside her. Here was the man who had, minutes before taken her pussy ruthlessly, whose juices, mingling with her own, were still drying on her thighs and he was offering her a simple slice of apple, expecting her to feed from his hand like an animal! Yet, she’d been a captive pony for a year now and in that time, almost all she’d consumed had been the tasteless, mashed up mess of vegetables, milk and other things Malcolm and Chris fed her. The apple slice was unbelievably enticing, a treat almost beyond imagining. Her hesitation lasted only second, before her head bent forward and she managed to scoop the fruit into her mouth with her lips. Of course, she was unable to chew it due to the restriction of the bit, but I could see she was sucking it as best she could, her eyes closed in near ecstasy as it slowly dissolved. Leaving Jezebel to her treat I moved on to the other two mares, offering each a slice of apple. Neither of them hesitated much, but snaffled the apple as quickly as they could.

By this time Chris was leading Trooper through the gate and across the field and shortly we had the ponies back in harness and pulling away. After their lessons, they were quiet, heads hanging, but as long as they behaved and did as the occasional flick of the whip instructed, then Chris and I were satisfied. By mid-afternoon, we had managed to plough a little more than half the field, but the ponies were finished. They were caked in mud, their manes bedraggled and soaked in sweat and the fillies were staggering with fatigue. Even Trooper’s shoulders were sagging. We called a halt at that point, hobbled the beasts and released them from the harness before leading them, un-protesting, back into the farmyard where we watered and fed them, hosed them down and secured them in the horsebox Chris had driven them over in. Over the next week or two we completed ploughing the area. I was pleased with the results of our experiment, but I still had plenty to do and moved on to other aspects of my preparations and research.

Malcolm and Chris continued to be an immense help to me. Malcolm in particular seemed to have a huge range of contacts within the Group as they called it. He had advertised my induction into its membership widely and quite a few wished to make use of my skills. Over the months I undertook various forms of work from developing security software to acquiring hacked information and in return saved up future favours. It constituted an initial stake in their dark and secretive society. Some of these people I met face to face, but others were more secretive and communicated only by encrypted email.

One of the most useful proved to be Ken, who I met only a few months after that fateful afternoon at Malcolm and Chris’ farm. He had specifically asked to meet me and Malcolm had invited him to stay for the weekend for that purpose, much to th annoyance of Chris who made a range of faces and complaints about “the dullest yet most annoying man on the planet” as he called him.

Malcolm, Chris and I were sitting in their lounge one sunny autumn evening, sipping wine and looking out over the darkening landscape when the buzzer of the intercom rang; Ken had just arrived at their gate a mile or so down the lane. A few minutes later, we were standing in the yard when a large people-carrier drew up, the door opened and Ken got out and stretched his arms extravagantly.

He wasn’t a large man; a good few inches shorter than me and skinny to boot with a thin neck and hollow chest. ‘Scrawny’ was the first word which sprang into my head when he stepped out of his car. He wore tan chinos and a short sleeved white shirt seemed which to hang from his frame. His hair was receding, thin and greasy and his skin was sallow and unhealthy looking as if he’d just been released from a long stint in prison. He was probably about the same age as me, but could have been anything up to twenty years older. All in all he was not an impressive physical specimen.

“Hello again, Malcolm, Chris,” he said in a nasal voice as he crossed the yard, his hand outstretched to shake their hands. “Long time, no see.”

He turned to me and grinned, his teeth crooked and stained. “And you must be Jake; the new recruit.”

“That’s me,” I smiled back shaking his hand. Almost predictably, his grip was limp and clammy.

“Welcome to our merry band!” he said, “I’m sure I can help you out a lot, getting you on your feet in this business and so forth. I expect you’ve got a few useful skills yourself, I might be able to use.”

Over Ken’s shoulder Chris was grimacing and rolling his eyes. I could see what he meant; there was a false bonhommie and more than a dash of ego about the man. But I put on my best smile, shook his hand warmly and told him I thought he was probably right.

“Shall we go inside?” asked Malcolm,”dinner’s on the stove.”

“Great!” said Ken, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically in a way that almost seemed sarcastic, “I’m starving, but first I’ve brought a couple of home comforts with me for my visit to the sticks. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not a problem,” do you need a hand?” asked Malcolm.

“I’ll help,” I volunteered. Why not I thought? It seemed best to get off to a good start with the man. Irritating he might be, but from what I’d learned and seen of the Group, it was best to have as many people who owed you favours, no matter how small, as possible.

Ken led the way to the back of the car and opened the door to reveal what appeared from its shape to be a large box covered in a tarpaulin. This he flicked up with a flourish to reveal two large wire mesh cages, each containing the form of a tightly bound woman. I couldn’t see much in the yellow interior light of the car, but both were lying on their fronts, their nylon-clad legs raised and secured to their wrists which were held tightly behind their backs by steel cuffs linked with chains.

“My latest acquisitions!” said Ken, ”still learning how I like things, but they’ll do.”

He bent down and flicked the catch on the first cage. “No need for a padlock; I don’t think they’re going anywhere”, he chuckled, indicating the tightly trussed form inside. He was right, of course; the woman was locked in steel cuffs and, I could now see, hooded; a tight leather hood attached to a collar which hugged her neck. However, I would still have used a padlock I thought. Never assume with security; they were Malcolm’s words and they echoed around my head now. Ken’s comment suggested a potentially dangerous arrogance and underestimation of his stock.

But at the moment they were well controlled. Ken, had undone the first woman’s cuffs and attached a leash to the collar and was pulling her from the cage. She faltered slightly clambering between the rear of the car and the ground; a combination probably of stiff limbs after long restraint and her lack of vision and Ken, jerked the leash hard in response, holding her head up at an awkward angle. I could see now that she was dressed only in lingerie: a lacey mix of white panties, bra and and suspender belt holding matching stockings, while she balanced on a pair of strappy sandals with heels that must have been 4 inches high. Ken grabbed a handful of one ample breast and using it, and the leash pulled her roughly from the car, eliciting a muffled squeal from behind the swinging, scrotum-shaped end of what was presumably a large penis gag protruding from the hood.

“Here, have a look at her, if you like,” said Ken, handing me the leash, “take of her hood. It just unclips from the collar and lifts past the gag.”

“Thanks very much,” I said. The woman was obviously nervous, her head turning from side to side trying to use her hearing to gather what information she could about her surroundings. I put a stop to that when I took the leash, holding it firmly close to her collar, preventing the movement and leaving her in no doubt that she was fully controlled. She was a little shorter than me with her heels on, but still quite tall for a woman with full, doughy breasts overflowing the tight lace cups of her bra and wide curving hips. Taking my time, I ran my hand down her flank, and over her buttocks, enjoying her softness and the contrast with the rougher lace of her panties and suspender belt. Although her firm-yet-soft muscle tone suggested a good diet and strict exercise regime, there was a slight coarseness and sag to her skin and a fullness to her hips that suggested maturity. I suspected this one was older than she appeared with the hood on. I felt her shudder and shift slightly, obviously not enjoying my attentions.

I glanced at Ken. He had his back to me and was busy pulling his other slave from the cage in the back of his car. I hesitated slightly. I didn’t know the etiquette in these situations. In the end I decided I found Ken’s over-familiar, slightly superior manner annoying and I wanted to send him a message. Call it male bravado, but there was no way I was letting this pencil neck was treat me like some ignorant newbie. I wanted to be seen more as an equal in this particular pecking order. Accordingly, I tightened my grip on the fidgeting slave’s collar and yanked downwards, pulling her head down until it was just below the level of my waist. She squawked in alarm behind her gag and teetered on her heels, caught off-balance. I grabbed a handful of her fleshy buttock to steady her and then brought my hand back and down with some force.

SLAP!

SLAP!

“Stand still, right now, slave!” I barked. “If I’m feeling your assets, you....Do....Not....Move” I continued, punctuating each word with another sting slap to her rear. “Now, let’s get this off and have a look at you.” I began unclipping the bottom of the leather hood from her collar until it was free and I could lift it off. I pulled her upright pulling the leash upward until she was standing on tiptoe and I was looking into her eyes. She had a rounded, homely face which, even in the low light put her somewhere in her mid forties. It was the sort of face one might see hundreds of on any high street in the country, the sort that, with a little makeup, might even be attractive. Right now it was gasping with the shock of my treatment, strands of blonde hair plastered with the sweat of the hood across its cheeks and forehead with terrified eyes meeting mine.

“Now”, I said, holding her gaze, “where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?”

Dropping the leash, I put both arms around her, seized handfuls of her soft buttocks and pulled her tightly against me, holding her widened eyes with my own. My hands, kneaded away, separating her cheeks, my fingers probing her ring through the lace of her panties, making her squeak in protest and attempt to push away, but managing only to press her fleshy mound against my growing erection. I continued for a few seconds, one hand moving to cup and rub her sex while a finger of the other pushed insistently just inside her rosebud turning her squeaks to a continuous protesting whine. Her eyes were now screwed shut and tears of humiliation were squeezing between them and trickling own her cheek.

“That’s better,” I chuckled, releasing my grip and taking hold of her leash again, “ now stand still and quiet while we wait for your master.” She stumbled slightly as I let her go, but recovered her balance despite the heels and her cuffed hands and stood, head down looking at the ground, still save for her trembling.

Satisfied, I turned and met Ken’s gaze. As I’d hoped, he didn’t look quite so confident now, his eyes showing uncertainty at my brazen handling of his property.

“This one needs to learn a few lessons; is she new?”, I asked.

“Uh...yes. Yes she is,” Ken replied. “I bought the bitch a month or so ago from her former husband, who wanted a younger model.” Ken laughed,”he’s a retired policeman of all things and just got bored after twenty years of marriage. In all that time, so he said, she never gave him a blow job, never let him do it in anything but the missionary position!” He gave a nasal snort that passed for a chuckle. “She never bargained on his contacts with the Group though. She’s actually dead, officially, you know. She disappeared on holiday in Thailand and he had her delivered to his place in the country where he kept her nicely caged and put her through her paces properly.” he smirked,”I don’t think there were many hours in that time when one or more holes weren’t filled with something. Then I came along, put him touch with someone who had much younger meat for sale and took the bitch off his hands, pretty much on a whim.”

“Why’d you do that?” I asked. “She’s got a few miles on the clock hasn’t she?”

Ken snorted again and looked a little embarrassed. “I know, but I liked the idea of owning a senior policeman’s wife, you know? Plus she was cheap too and useful for testing things I come up with on”

It was my turn to laugh. “I know exactly what you mean, mate! Have you seen Malcolm and Chris’s pony, Blossom?”

“Absolutely! She’s not a bad filly either. Wasted on Malcolm and Chris though!”

I chuckled, “indeed she is!”

By now, Ken had the other woman out of the car and was unbuckling her hood. She was obviously younger than the slave I held, with a petite, slim body, a narrow waist and smaller, perky breasts. The details were obscured slightly as she was wearing a fetching pink babydoll in a gauzy, semi-sheer fabric with matching lacey panties, and hold-up stockings, again on heels similar to those worn by my slave. As the hood came off, it revealed a fragile-looking, delicate face dominated by large dark eyes and a mass of curly dark hair. Her mouth was also stretched widely around a large penis gag, the faux testicles of which, swung against and hid her chin. She was no older than 18 or 19 was blinking and looking around wildly, trying to assess her situation.

“Very nice,” I said appreciatively, nodding towards her. “She looks like fresh meat, not someone’s old worn out cast off!”

Ken grinned lasciviously, managing to look alarmingly like a caricature of some dirty old man. “That’s exactly what she was!” he said. “I got her cheap off someone I know. He’s a clever bloke really. Modified his lorry to make it into a massive trap. He leaves it unsecured in likely places in France; illegal immigrants sneak in thinking they’re pretty clever and really lucky. Before they know it he’s locked the doors and flooded the back with anaesthetic gas.” Ken laughed, “He has contacts with the customs people he keeps very well paid to look the other way and nets tens of new slaves at a time sometimes. They come in all shapes, sizes and colours but nearly all of them are young and its not hard to find a buyer for almost all his stock for some use or another. Best of all, no one looks very hard for them when they disappear and no-one would really know where to start looking if they wanted to. I just got lucky with this bitch,” he gestured at the dark-haired girl, “She was trying to get here from the Ukraine or somewhere with her boyfriend. She might be young and a looker, but she speaks little English plus I’d done a few favours for him and he settled his debt with a great price for this one.

Ken was sounding pretty self-satisfied, but what he’d said was fascinating. I would never have any idea that slavery went on on that sort of scale and with that much sophistication before Malcolm and Chris had let me into their little secret.

“What happened to the boyfriend? I asked?”

Ken chuckled “Poor bastard was sold at the same auction I got his girlfriend at, to some rich old lady who was into age regression. Said she needed a cute little baby boy and he was just the ticket. Not my thing at all, but it takes all sorts. Shall we go in?” he asked, picking a hold-all up from the boot of the car.

“Why not?”, I replied, stepping aside for him to pass. I gave the leash I held a tug and walked after him, my slave following, tits swaying and barely restrained by their lacey prison. Ken’s slave walked behind him at the end of her leash giving me a great view of her peach-like rear which was nicely on show below the hem of her babydoll, her buttocks deliciously emphasised by the back of her thong disappearing between them at the top.

“What kept you two?” asked Chris loudly handing us each a beer as we entered the living room.

“Just having a chat,” I smiled.

“Fair enough. Malcolm’s in the kitchen as usual, cooking up a storm, I’ve got the beers in; is there anything else you need” he asked looking at Ken. “How about for these two?” he gestured at the two gagged and cuffed women.

“A bowl of water each and have you got any leftovers or scraps they could have?”

Chris considered. “How about some pony food?”

“Perfect,” said Ken.

“Kneel, cunts,” said Ken casually, apparently to no-one in particular, but both women immediately struggled down onto their stockinged knees, keeping their eyes fixed on the floor and their knees spread wide to expose the pleasing site of their lace-covered mounds. I found Ken’s verbally abusive style with his two slaves to be yet another of his many annoying traits. Not because I felt they deserved respect; they were mere property and that would be ridiculous. It was more because I felt it unnecessary and excessive given their degraded circumstances. Here, was a formerly well-off wife of a respected pillar of the community and a girl, who had been heading for Britain to find a new life, who found themselves suddenly reduced to the status of livestock, being helplessly bought, sold and abused by their new owners. Simple name-calling seemed crass, and lacking in a certain style and panache to me in the circumstances. Ken’s use of it suggested he needed to keep reassuring himself of his own superiority or that he lacked imagination. Perhaps both.

At the point Chris reappeared carrying two bowls, one of water and the other a brownish mush containing fragments and streaks of green and orange which were presumably vegetables and other ingredients that had survived the blender.

“Thanks, Chris,” said Ken and took the bowls, setting them down in front of the young, dark haired girl.

“Now lets keep these two occupied. We have a fair bit to chat about. Could you take her gag out for me?” he said gesturing to the older woman.

“Sure,” I said and walked behind the kneeling slave to unbuckle it straps. The penis gag was quite an impressive length for an oral device and must have been sitting in the woman’s throat suggesting well-trained reflexes. I suspected she’d had a lot of practice recently. I like the realism of the mock scrotum which seemed to made of very thin flexible leather, or perhaps fabric of some kind and contained two heavy rounded weights, simulating two balls nicely. It was even hairy, as if the indignity of having the penis shoved down the wearer’s throat was not enough, she also had two mock testicles knocking against her chin. Obviously it was uncomfortable to wear as the slave was working her jaw probably relieving hours worth of aching muscles.

By now Ken had forced the dark-haired girl’s head down into the bowls giving me a nice view of the oval purse between her spread legs, not quite covered by the thin strip of her pink thong.

“Slut!” Ken barked, looking at the slave at my feet,”before your main course, you’re going to have a pussy starter. Get, down there and get your tongue in her holes. If she doesn’t come before that food is finished, you’ll get nothing. Understand?”

Whether this was some new degradation her master was heaping on her, or whether it was because she was being ordered to do it in front of me I didn’t know, but the blonde-hared slave hesitated and I heard a stifled sob as her head shook slightly her eyes pleading. Ken reached into his pocket and brought something out which, when she saw it, made her widen her eyes and start moving to carry out his command as soon as she saw, but it was too late. He held some sort of device in his hand and pushed a button which draw a short scream from the slave who fell onto her side and twisted her body in apparent agony as she gasped for breathe. It lasted no more than a couple of seconds before Ken relented, leaving the slave lying on her side, her chest heaving, one breast having slipped from her bra cup in her struggles.

“Now do, it, cunt!” Ken ordered. Desperately, the slave struggled to her knees and pulled herself over to the rear of her fellow chattel, who seemed to be lapping up the pony food with gusto. I assumed Ken kept them hungry. Her head jerked up slightly and she squeaked as the older woman pressed her face between her legs from behind, using her nose to hook the thong out of the way. I watched with interest, my cock stiffening as the desperate woman’s pink tongue pushed between the lips of the kneeling girl and began to work, eliciting a low moan and and shudder.

“Impressive,” I said and I was lying. “How did you do that?”

Ken looked smug. “Simple really. A device of my own invention. It’s just a remote control, linked a shocking device built into their collars.” He held out a small, black plastic box, looking for all the world like a miniature TV remote, which had a series of buttons on its front. “I can vary the intensity of the shock. The one I gave her was a moderate one, but it worked well enough.”

“Damn right”, I exclaimed, “it certainly changed her mind about refusing.” I glanced over to the two slaves. The older woman, was pursuing her task with gusto, driven by fear of the shocker in her collar, her face buried between the younger girl’s legs while her one free breast dangled, swung and jiggled in time with her exertions. The recipient of her attentions was having trouble focussing on eating; her body shuddering, or her back arching involuntarily with the sensations she had no choice but to endure. She was moaning and squeaking almost continuously now building towards her unwanted climax.

The collar didn’t look like much. Just a plastic and leather ring secured snugly around the slaves’ throats, presumable with metal contacts against their skin. Personally, I preferred administering discipline directly; I liked the personal touch. Using a device like the collar was simply conditioning a response, nowhere near as enjoyable. Unless of course one enjoyed the simply infliction of pain with minimum effort. Yet, I could see possibilities for the device, a place for it, or something like it in my plans.

Ken was still talking about his invention. “It’s been very popular you know; the best thing of it’s kind I’m told. I’ve made all sorts of variants for people, dildos, butt plugs, cock rings, all sorts. It gets me all sorts of favours. That’s how I got that one cheap.” He nodded towards the dark haired girl who was now bucking and writhing on her knees, her remaining food forgotten in the the throes of orgasm.

“One sec,” said Ken, “ and moved over to the two women.

“Stop, slut” he commanded the older woman, who ceased her ministrations and struggled upright, her eyes fixed to the floor and her face glistening with the other girl’s juices. Ken seized a handful of the other’s dark, curly hair and pulled her upright even as she shuddered through the subsiding spasms of her orgasm. She looked a state, her eyes wide with a combination of waning lust and apprehension and her lower face was streaked in the mush she had been eating. Keeping a firm grip, Ken manoeuvred the girl around to face the other as she shuffled to keep up on her stockinged knees.

“Now lick her face clean, slut,” he ordered. Without hesitation the blond woman, bent forward and began to lick the others cheek. I sipped my beer as Ken watched her progress. There was something intensely erotic in watching the pink tongue lick it’s way around the dark-haired girl’s mouth, cleaning as it went and I could feel my erection pushing hard against my jeans. When she had almost finished, Ken grabbed a handful of of blonde hair, provoking a yelp of pain and pushed the faces together.

“Now get your tongue in her mouth,” he snarled. She complied immediately, pressing her mouth against the lips of the other girl, her tongue momentarily visible as it plunged between them. I guessed this was something she was more familiar with and surmised that it was perhaps one of Ken’s favourites. After a while Ken evidently was satisfied as, releasing the dark haired girl he pushed the blonde’s head down into the bowl and she began to eat ravenously, wolfing down the mush despite its appearance. I wondered when Ken had last fed them. Before long she too was twitching and squeaking as Ken pushed the delicate features of her companion into her exposed pussy. He then bent and released the woman’s other breast from the lacey white bra, allowing it to swing pendulously beneath her, the large brown nipples almost brushing the floor. Ken returned to the armchair he had occupied and took a long pull from his beer.

“You and I have some things to talk about, I think, Ken,” I said. “I can see some real applications for your collars, or something like them, in what I’m planning. I don’t know if what I want is even possible, but you seem to be the man I need to talk to. Malcolm and Chris were right and I need to know if there’s anything I can do for you in return.”

Ken looked at me. I could see he was pleased, his ego boosted by my remarks. “I’m sure I can figure something out; these things are never too difficult if you put your mind to it. What is it you need exactly?”

I spent a few minutes describing my requirements and what I was trying to achieve to Ken and we began to talk around the possibilities. Annoying though he was, I had to say that Ken knew his stuff and was passionate about it. He came alive as we discussed microphones, sound frequencies, timers, sensors, electrodes, controls, batteries and software and, by the time Malcolm and Chris announced that dinner was ready, Ken was enthused at the new project I’d handed him.

Ken, secured the slaves before we left the room. We’d been talking for a good twenty minutes, mostly oblivious to them, although Ken had re-inserted the blonde woman’s gags when her involuntary orgasmic cries had disturbed us too much. She had long finished the pony food in the bowl but, as she had not been told to move and the dark-haired girl had not been told to stop her attentions, they had stayed in position, the older woman coming over and over again. She was in quite a state when Ken returned to them, but he ignored it, re-gagged the younger girl and reached into is bag for two dildos which must have been 10 inches long at least and were studded and ribbed like medieval war maces. Ken attached them to the floor by means of suckers on their bases and then snapped his fingers and pointed, looking at the two girls expectantly. Both shuffled on heir knees towards the two monstrous protrusions and raised themselves up on their knees. Ken squatted by the dark-haired girl and pulled her thong to one side, positioning the head of dildo at the entrance to her shaved pussy.

“Down!” he commanded and, with a sob she began to lower herself. It was obviously a struggle to accommodate the monster but gradually she did so, her pussy lips stretching as each knob and rib disappeared inside her as she gasped and grunted, encouraged by the occasional slap on her rump from Ken. Finally, most of the dildo had disappeared and Ken was satisfied as she knelt, her legs now splayed widely impaled on it, her face screwed up with discomfort and her breath panting.

“Good girl,” he said, “now stay there.” and cuffed her ankles to each other and to her collar. Then he turned to the blonde woman her face and breasts now streaked with pony food.

“This shouldn’t be too hard for this one; her husband stretched her nicely.” She coloured at his words, obviously still capable of embarrassment despite her degradation. True to Ken’s words, she had much less trouble with her intruder, though it was obviously far from comfortable.

As a final touch, Ken bent and touched something at the base of both devices and a low mechanical hum became audible. Both slaves stiffened, their eyes widening and squeaks and squeals issuing from behind their gags as the dildos came to life inside them.

“That should juice them up nicely for me for later!” said Ken. “Shall we go eat.”

“Definitely,” I said, “I’m starving,” and we left the room, a final glance showing the blonde slave already bent over, convulsed in an orgasm, her haunches working involuntarily, sliding up and down the shaft of the dildo.

Introductions.....

But there were also things my neighbours could not help with and I expended countless hours i my study, oblivious to the glorious views 

 

 

Continues directly on from first part:

- Next months a whirlwind – outwardly continued much as before – developing idea and plans – research ideas and materials and equipment – even making alterations to property – often Chris helped out – very practical – didn’t want questions as some alterations unusual. 

seeing Malcolm and Chris regularly – they begin introductions – different members of the Group.

variety – some fairly normal – low key – wealthy business men, dilettantes, widows keeping one or two slaves to cook clean or warm bed – not too different to mainstream BDSM practitioners – except this was a lifestyle – participants had no choice. Some they knew and had made legally ‘disappear ‘ - most often presumed dead – through contacts within Group – some specialised in this sort of thing – surprised but found out how many thousands go missing every year – most return – not all. Group acquisitions quite minor in comparions - unnoticed.

Others more eccentric – the import/export man –wife had affair – he took revenge – contacts in Group – wife  supposedly died after short illness – on foreign holiday – had funeral etc – relatives didn’t suspect – actually had her abducted and delivered to his home in Britain – switch scene  to arrival at Malcolm and Chris’ -  guest getting out of 4 x 4 – wife in back in box – head to foot latex breasts and vulva and anus exposed ring gag – refers to her as ‘it’ – leashed, restrained – use of sensory deprivation – blindfolded whole time– that way for whole visit -  lent to Jake – Jake’s impressions – doll’s reactions – mostly passive – wierd – Jake not into latex

Another – lesbian with thing for nurses – 5 young slaves – all picked up from gay nighclubs – all dressed as nurses at all times.

Wierdest and perhaps most chilling – representatives of ‘Blake Sorority’ tight-knit organisation within Group umbrella – female supremacists – around for probably 200 years – not much known – vast majority of slaves are male – maintain contact with wider group – exchange skills when required with outsiders. Meet Mz Sanders –Howell – 50s – widow – husband and two step sons missing presumed dead in yachting accident. Rumour is she married on directions of Sorority – 15 years ago – acquired control of husband’s business (????) as result of death – Sorority arranged it – killed or enslaved husband – disappeared- sons were different matter – 18/19 at time of accident – now 26/27 – Sanders-Howell feminized and regressed them – kept as 11-12 yo girls – extensive, experimental plastic surgery – to make appearance suitable – except height – very effective – even voices. Introduce plastic surgeon – female – icy cold – possible psychopathic personality – part of Sorority but has other commissions –

Slaver – a specialist in snatching and selling human flesh – lots of contacts great for advice – becomes firm friend of Jake – lends lorry for his snatches – Jake does job for him – hacking of some sort – erasing records/camera footage etc – possible uses one of his men he wants rid of – becomes one of the hounds

Jakes plan – extensive searches -  identifies private academy in  Scotland – for pre-university cramming – bright students – 18 yos – finds field trip to Dartmoor – geography and biology – investigates students and teacher – two female teachers – 2 male students, 6 female. – 2 teachers in a relationship – one older (40ish) other younger 30 or so – both average looking. Males students one sporty type other thinner, academic,. Females range – 2 indians  one petite and tiny, other chubby, 4 western -