Chapter 33

Eva paused just inside the doorway. She thought it smelled different to the stable, yes and no, but perhaps that was only to be expected given the newness of the building and its unwilling occupants. The stable was far older, positively ancient and stank of human animals, of damp sawdust, shit and piss of…. well, very stably odour-wise. She wondered if stables that contained real four-legged horses had that same distinct and, to her, unpleasant odour. She’d never thought about it till now, never having visited one. Unlike many other little girls, owning the real thing had never been on her wish list. Her interest in ponies and riding was confined to the more unusual and highly reluctant two-legged variety.

She shrugged and sniffed again. No matter, but it smelled better than the main stable. Alice said she liked that awful stench, and her mother claimed she never noticed it, but, like yuk! It wasn’t just the physical workload that Eva objected to but also having to do the mundane, if necessary, tasks in that stinking fug. How could she not notice it? Maybe deciding to take her one-time baby back to the nursery hadn’t been the best decision, but would it have made all that much difference?

Jeez, it wasn’t like he’d been much of a labourer, had he? Too damn weedy for one thing, plus you had to watch the bastard two-thirds of the time, but Alice had been bang out of order to kick up such a fuss. He belonged to her; she’d chosen him from the beginning and only loaned him out temporarily. Hadn’t she made that perfectly clear at the outset? Finder’s keepers, and she’d been the one to find him, all of them in the first place, for that matter. Maybe she should remind them about that!

Dickhead might have driven straight past their broken-down vehicle if it hadn’t been for her, and then Alice wouldn’t have had her pretty filly Moonglow, would she? That thought momentarily triggered another one, and she half turned, looking thoughtfully back to the doorway. When was Alice going to have the little filly covered again by Midnight? That had been fun to watch, and hadn’t the original intention been to keep her with a permanent fat belly? Her sister had also discussed with Megan, their nurse cum vet, about getting her on some of those fertility drugs, the ones that tended to overdo things a bit. Twins or triplets would certainly give Moonglow one hell of an oversized belly, given the diminutive size of the filly!

Jeez, that was unimaginable, she shuddered, glancing down at the smooth, flat strip of tanned skin between her abbreviated crop top and hipster jeans. No way! But it hadn’t just been Alice’s little filly she’d been thinking of. Maybe she ought to give Patootie a rare, big treat, but then again, maybe not. Eva grinned to herself, turning back, but stopped immediately as another thought occurred to her. Why make it a treat in the first place? Wasn’t the idea to provide her with entertainment and spectacle, not to give that lazy animal the reward of a delicious orgasm? Now, that wouldn’t happen if she removed Patootie's tail and offered Alice’s big brute of a stallion another hole. Eve chuckled; no, that big randy beast wouldn’t give a damn as long as he could squirt some love juice, but as for Patootie…she glanced backwards and chuckled again.

The first room on the right was a large store room, although primarily empty, Eva noted as she glanced in her mind, returning to her sister. Wishful thinking, given how unreasonable Alice was towards anything concerning her big black brute of an animal. Allowing him to fuck Moonglow good and hard several times to impregnate the little filly thoroughly was one thing, and her attitude to that end was almost clinical, Whereas allowing him to plough her Patootie purely for her younger sister's amusement might be…. Yeah, the bitch would be awkward about it. Maybe she should take a different approach, make it one of discipline and training to break the filly that bit more. Yes, her mother would approve of that. Another and far more intimate, not to mention degrading, way of demonstrating to her big ponygirl who was boss and owner and who decidedly counted for nothing!

The sound of activity further down the corridor at the other end of the building reminded her of what she’d previously been thinking about, and she’d won that argument, hadn’t she? Of course, her older sister had looked to their mother for support as she’d always done, but….Eva grinned, recalling the conversation. This time, her mother had come down firmly on her side, reminding Alice that “she did agree to loan him to us dear, but it was only a loan. We’ll have to put our heads together now and come up with something else, especially now that we have more animals and another building to care for. We need another pair of hands and ones we can rely on and don’t have to watch all the time or keep on the end of a chain. I noted what a big difference it made having young Heather around to help, and I’m missing her already. I’ll put out a few feelers and phone Margret; she’s got way more contacts than I have. Someone like Judy, remember her?”

Alice nodded. “I liked her, and she was very efficient. Not quite as good as Heather, but she was a damn hard worker.”

“Who’s Judy?” Eva had asked.

“Before your time, Sweetie,” her mother replied. Well, you were around but not interested in the stables then. She was one of Margret's girls and received a very lucrative offer of employment from one of her buyers, an Arab prince; where was it, Saudi Arabia?”

“Kuwait,” Alice responded, giving her younger sister a rueful grin. “One of those remote desert stables that makes our place even Margrets took minuscule by comparison. You know what I mean, oil money and what have you. Probably more helicopter pads than we have parking spaces, plus their own runway and hangers for private jets, and heaven knows how many ponies to hand!”

That had been a week ago, and Eva wondered if her mother had remembered to phone Margret or made any progress elsewhere in obtaining a suitable employee. Alice had said she’d ask around as well but ask who Eva had wondered. Her sister was… well, not exactly a recluse as such, but she seemed to have few friends; her cell phone hardly ever rang, did it, unlike hers? Eva pulled it from her hip pocket and glanced at it out of habit. A couple of messages and emails, but they could wait. Alice spent almost her time on or around stables, kennels, and now this bloody building, whereas she had many friends and acquaintances, mostly from school but a few others. Even an on/off boyfriend of sorts. He was invariably on, but Eva blew hot and cold so far as their casual relationship went. Her interest in him was partly driven by a selfish desire to keep him away from one or two other interested parties and because he made a pretty good ‘trophy’ boyfriend at parties and the like. Letting him inside her pants, though, was altogether another and unlikely matter!

Eva grinned to herself again. She’d briefly run her friends through her mind as prospective employees for her mother but found the idea laughable. Nope, no way, none of them were…well, not the right type nor likely to have the right frame of mind and attitude given the ‘specialised’ nature of such employment. Well, maybe not entirely true thinking about a couple of them, but could they be trusted, especially as one of them was the worst gossip she’d ever known? Yeah, Mandy might have the right temperament and attitude on reflection, but so far as being trustworthy, nope, definitely not. The girl was the most garrulous person ever, not to mention her curiosity. The term neighbourhood ‘curtain twitcher’ wouldn’t apply, for she was the sort who’d never bother with curtains in the first place!

That was the one downside to living here. Visitors were naturally discouraged, and her friends regarded her as a ‘trifle odd’ in that respect, but it couldn’t be helped. The story being that her stepfather was something of a social outcast who guarded his privacy and that of his family very closely. A pretty naff story, given how often he frequented the nineteenth hole of the local golf course. That hardy counted as being reclusive, did it?

It generated a degree of sympathy for her within her circle of friends. Still, she’d had to reassure more than one of her friend's parents that she was perfectly fine and living in relative social isolation was no big deal. Besides, it wasn’t complete isolation; her bestie and her mum had been over a few times, as had one or two others under ‘sanitised’ conditions, as it were. Likewise, when she was younger, her mother and Alice had hostel birthday parties and the like, hadn’t they? But then why not? Apart from the odd discrete eye bolt and similar, there wasn’t much to see around the house, provided the unwilling residents were temporarily housed elsewhere.

Eva took another deep sniff and nodded. Yep, very different; there was that same animally whiff in the air but overlaid with other smells, disinfectant being one or at least something that smelled similar. The building was very different from the stable, not just because it was brand new and clean. Well, it was clean compared to the dirty, dusty old stable that had housed real equines for most of its life or at least a good portion of its existence. It had none of that aged mustiness that the stable had, nor the extensive ancient cobwebs among the rafters, and was far more….what was the word she was looking for….hygienic. Yes, hygienic, that was it. Kind of sanitised.

A thought immediately confirmed as her mother emerged into the wide corridor from the next room, carrying a small stainless steel tray in one blue latex gloved hand. Her crisp white dust coat heightened that impression of medical cleanliness, even if it was unbuttoned to reveal a standard work shirt and jeans underneath.

“Hello, pet. Come to make yourself useful? Patrica threw over her shoulder without pausing as she headed down the passage.”

“No” was Eva’s instant and emphatic response to her mother back. Only a fool would answer yes to a question like that, and Eva was nobody’s fool. She was curious, though, so she followed her mother along to the big open enclosure on the right. That initial faint animal reek she’d noted getting stronger with every step she took.  

It wasn’t her first visit, but she hadn’t been in here for a while, although that wasn’t long because the ‘milking’ operation hadn’t been going all that long. Weeks rather than months, hence that other discernible smell her sensitive nose could detect: fresh paint and varnish or whatever the builders had used. It lingered like the interior odour of a brand-new car, with a discernible smell of pristine newness that hangs around for a while.

Still, she was surprised at the state of the two girls, cows or hucows as they were now known. Buttercup on the left and Blossom as they’d been named. The sisters were a coincidence, apparently unlike the two twin brothers that her mother had deliberately targeted and subsequently obtained at a ridiculous price, so Alice had told her. Naturally, the bitch hadn’t been forthcoming as to the exact amount, merely saying, ‘Take it from me, kid. They didn’t come cheap, nor one bit, and then giving one to…..’ Alice had rolled her eyes in disapproval and jerked her head in the direction of the house.

Yeah, that was something she could agree on. What a waste. She did not appreciate being called a kid, not one bit, as her annoying older sister might have put it. Anyway, that was all water under the bridge now, wasn’t it, and besides, her mother had been no more forthcoming. ‘Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart. I haven’t broken the bank; my investments have been perking up quite nicely recently. There’s no danger of us heading for the poorhouse.’

Eva had found it very irritating, and it wasn’t as if she was a child anymore, although, from how her mother had spoken, Eva wouldn’t have been surprised if she had tagged ‘now run along and play’ on the end. Alice knew, and she was pretty sure that ‘Dickhead’ also knew as he played with his ridiculous new feminised toy. I mean, yes, she could see sense in Girlie; once dressed and made up, you could take her out in public, couldn’t you, kind of anyway. But ‘Princess’, what a stupid and inappropriate name for….for Eva glanced down to the end of the passage where the other twin was confined. They’d named that one ‘Beefcake’ already abbreviated to ‘Beefy’. A far more appropriate name, given the pair's chunky size, build and foul nature. Bull by build and bull by temperament! They ought to put up a ‘beware’ sign, not that Beefy would likely pose much danger since no casual walker would be crossing his field!

Those two new acquisitions mirrored Alice’s massive stallion, Midnight, in the anger department and having Princess resident in the house wasn’t something Eva was overly happy about. Beefcake accommodated out here where he belonged was one thing, but his lingerie-clad twin sharing their accommodation wasn’t a comforting thought. Okay, so he was housed in a spare bedroom, empty bar, a steel cage and heavily restrained both in and out of it, but still he….Eva shivered. She couldn’t even begin to consider the brute in the feminine as she did, Girlie. Trust Daddy Dickhead to do something crazy and all for the sake of that oversexed appendage between his legs!

In contrast, the two hucow posed no real threat and strangely were also related, sisters in this case.   They’d been unsold stock, snatched from the wild for no other reason than they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and for no good reason other than they were available. Her mother had got them cheap, very cheap, considering they were female, only nineteen and twenty, and both had originally been virgins. They were plump rather than shapely, shared the same sallow acne-ridden complexion and looked more porcine than cow-like. Their faces, even without the many red zits, were hardy attractive, so it was no wonder that despite their age and family connection, they’d sat on the shelf for the better part of six months.

Patrica had been a tad disappointed that they were no longer virgins in any orifice, but that was understandable. As no one wanted them or showed any interest, it was hardly surprising that those responsible for them decided they might as well get some use out of the pair. ‘Presumably, while blindfolded or with a bag over their heads’, her stepfather had grunted derisively. A touch ironic, Eva thought, considering the big ugly brute his ‘pork sword’ was probably poking at that very moment!

Her mother hadn’t been too bothered. She was buying functionality, not prettiness. Watching Beefy break them in for the first time might have been fun but hardly crucial in her overall scheme. They were young, female and had sizeable, if saggy, udders with the additional bonus of prominent nipples. What more could she ask of a couple of prospective Hucows? They ought to be grateful to her. If she hadn’t bought them, their future might not have been very rosy, some awful sleazy third-world brothel maybe or worse, brief starring roles in a snuff movie perhaps!

Not that she’d ever seen one, assuming such things existed, but that awful fate might have proved the kinder one in the long run, maybe even the short one, Eva thought, surveying the two wretched creatures staring so miserably back at her. Miserable was a good word, and so was wretched, abject, ghastly and a whole heap of similar adjectives. Life as a pony or dog was pretty horrible, but restrained as they were, they at least had a degree of movement denied these two creatures. Plus, the dogs had their runs and got taken for occasional walkies, and the ponies also had their mechanical walker. Midnight and Patootie frequently got the chance to stretch their legs like today. No doubt now that their land ownership had doubled, no more like trebled or quadrupled, her mother’s other two-legged equines would soon find themselves harnessed to that new cart and stretching theirs as well once all that security tech stuff was finished.

Assuming that she could tear herself away from the three B’s, as Alice called them. Beefy, Blossom and Buttercup! She wondered by design or by accident, making a mental note to ask, not that it was important. Not to her and certainly not to them, she thought, staring at the two hucows secured to their frames. Jeez, imagine living like that twenty-four-seven under her mother and sister's less than tender care. Sheesh!

“Come to see the fun or merely putting off doing your chores as usual?”

Alice was back dressed in a pristine, clinical white dust coat as her mother; only hers was done up rather than hanging open. She held a small stainless steel tray between her gloved blue latex hands. Eva glanced at the tray and quickly looked away with a slight shudder. She hated needles, not just hated; the very idea of them terrified her for some reason. Her nightly dental routine bordered on intense, and she brushed or flossed numerous times during the day. She’d had one filling when she was younger, and there was no way she wanted another injection to numb her gums. They could pull all her teeth without that, thank you. Silly, but needles gave her the heebie-jeebies big time.

She’d contemplated having a navel piercing and even picked out some jewellery that took her fancy. Her bestie had one, as had most of her friends, nor had her mother objected. Alice, of course, had been a bit sarky about the idea, but that was just Alice being Alice! She absently patted the unsullied, tanned strip of skin between her upper and lower garments, shaking her head. Some of her friends had other piercings, thinking them cool, but Eva differed. Her mother thought them ‘common’ along with the modern mania for tattoos that some friends and even their mothers sported.

A sentiment Eva shared. She hadn’t even had her ears pierced, nor had Alice or her mother, for Patricia never bothered with earrings and took the attitude that was something she’d leave to them. Their bodies, so such decisions were theirs to make, not hers. A tad ironic, both sisters thought, given how indifferent she was to the helpless bodies of her assorted human livestock!

None of the ponies were pierced either, which was a little strange given that many owners preferred them that way, so she’d been told while staying at Margret's place. That was a thought; those big udders on Patootie would look good with a nice pair of shiny rings and maybe a nose one. Heather had told her how tractable ponies with a correctly applied nasal ring could be. One tiny tug and it resulted in in instant agony! That was certainly appealing, so maybe she’d have a word or two next time Megan visited.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” she looked at her older sister and then at the tray she held again.

“Tch!” Alice clicked in irritation. “Well, if dozy daydreaming Dora would kindly shift her fat fucking butt away from the entry gate, I might get something done, such as injecting this pair; that’s, well, what!”

“Tch!” Eva repeated the noise. She sidestepped, rolling her eyes as Alice flipped the catch on the low gate that allowed access to the stall, pen or whatever they called it. She nodded in response to her sister's questioning look as Alice politely held the gate open, inviting her to follow.

“Unless you want to fill that bottle first. Down near the end, you know where everything is?”

“There’s no rush”, Eva shrugged, entering the enclosure and waggling the empty water bottle back and forth. “Patootie can wait. A little sweat won’t hurt her!”.

Typical. It was the water the beast needed to replace that sweat! Alice grunted her disapproval, which did not affect her sister whatsoever. Eva was already examining Blossom, the elder of the two hucows, giving no sign she'd heard. Not that it mattered, for Alice knew the girl wouldn’t give a damn anyway! Not for her opinion nor for Patootie's exhausted state. For one brief exasperated moment, she was sorely tempted to snatch that bottle from her sister's hand, fill it and water the poor creature herself. But….

Eva was oblivious to her sister’s frustration, focusing on the unfortunate creature before her. Unlike the ponies she was familiar with, Blossom was free of any tack or restrictive harness, although you could not have described her as being in any way remotely free! The fat girl for the term ‘plump’ didn’t exist in Eva’s vocabulary. People were either normal, fat or gross in her book, and to her, the naked, secured girl was simply fat. Perhaps not the most accurate of observations as plump would have been more appropriate, but maybe in another six months, few would have argued with her.

“Something wrong?” Alice asked over her shoulder as she placed her tray on a convenient table and fiddled about with something. Eva didn’t look; the less she saw needlewise, the better.

“It’s the hair”, Eva muttered, half to herself and half to Alice. “You’ve shaved them since I last saw them, haven’t you?”

“Sheared might be a better way of putting it, but yes! More hygienic and far less hassle for us,” Alice responded, then laughed. “It's not like we bought them for their looks. They’re not exactly up to show standards, are they? Nor anything else, for that matter. I mean…oh fuck it, why so damn tight!”

Eva looked around. Her sister had a small bottle in one hand and a syringe in the other, struggling with the top of a small vial-like bottle. She muttered an oath, putting the syringe down so she could wrestle with the bottle top.

“Want me to try?” Eva couldn’t help saying it despite knowing what the answer would be. She was correct as Alice promptly told her what she could do with her offer and stalked out of the enclosure and down the corridor to run the metal top under hot water or find another solution.

“Suit yourself then”, Eva shrugged indifferently, turning her full attention back to the….to the…pen she decided to call it. To the pens, two captive occupants. They weren’t much older than her, yet the gulf between them was…was pretty humongous, wasn’t it? Alice had opened the low entry gate, but Eva saw no reason to close it. The two unhappy and well-secured occupants weren’t going anywhere, staring at her, so hopefully, their big brown eyes were not only pathetic but also totally asinine. She nodded to herself, then shook her head slowly, her cruel smile widening as whatever vestiges of hope faded from the two pairs of dull, listless eyes.

*****

The French had a word for it. Déjà and fucking vu! Meaning to have already seen or experienced something, and boy, was that latter definition true. Oh yes, he’d experience it all right and could expect to continue that experience for the foreseeable future. Not a pleasant thought, he contemplated staring out at the familiar surroundings and hated wallpaper.

He was uncomfortable, still in considerable pain, stiff and bored. The last one was a bit ironic given how, at one point, well more than one point, he’d have often sold his soul to be back in here and away from Miss Alice and her whips. But on reflection, he’d never been bored, had he? Terrified, yes. Frequently overworked to the point of total exhaustion, yes, treated worse than dirt, yes…but never bored!

He glared at those innocent, colourful images surrounding him on all sides. So innocuous, appropriate for their intended target audience and yet for him…..! He glowered, wondering what the designer, manufacturer, or whoever had sold the rolls of wallpaper would think if they could see the use it had been put to! In this hellish room!

Déjà vu with fucking knobs on. He repeated the expression several times to himself, trying to think of an English equivalent. Presumably, there wasn’t; otherwise, why would they use a French one? Another thought struck him as he shifted position, wincing silently as the dull pains from his welts and bruises flared up anew. Did the Germans have a similar one? What would that be? He wondered more for something to focus on because he was so bored than any genuine interest.

Well, if they did, it was probably ten times as long as the French one, virtually unpronounceable and take three times as long to say or rather shout. German was one of those languages that seemed to lend itself far better than most to shouting, didn’t it? Or was that just in all those war films he used to watch? He shook his head in a physical attempt to change tack; that line of thought was going nowhere fast, nor was it very entertaining. Déjà bloody vu. That summed it up!

He was back in the playpen, back in his frilly baby outfit, back in the loathsome nursery with all the horrors that entailed despite the soft pink and cream, predominantly pink décor. The kindergarten pink-hued wallpaper, the backcloth for its varied unicorns, fairies, and princesses to gambol upon. He could see the familiar fittings and oversized furnishing of this grotesque, nightmare parody of a nursery everywhere he looked. Commonly, a room or even a building dedicated to providing a happy, care-free environment, promoting feelings of comfort, well-being and security for the young occupants.

He was undoubtedly secure but not in that same vein as the word might intend. He was neither the least bit happy or comfortable, nor was he very well as a ‘being’; more the complete opposite. That was principally due to that horrible thing looking so harmless as it lay semi-curled resting on the bars, pink bars, of course, that roofed his playpen prison where his ‘mummy’ had casually tossed it before she thrust him into the pen.

A deliberate subliminal message, perhaps, above his head for him to contemplate or merely a thoughtless act because the evil bitch was too lazy to hang it back on its proper hook. He knew she was a lazy little brat, not just him. How often had he heard her mother or sister curse and admonish her for failing to fulfil her obligations? He’d witnessed it himself numerous times while working in that horrible stable. He worked and sweated under the threat of a savage whipping while Eva slacked off somewhere. An absence that had frequently meant more work for him, not to mention increasing the possibility of him feeling the lash while the brat got off with no more than an ear-wigging from her seniors at worst!

He knocked over his wobbly Pooh bear with a leather-mittened hand, flipping it back and forth as its curved and weighted bottom stubbornly returned it to the vertical after each frustrated swipe. ‘Bitch’, his fingerless hand gave the large yellow plastic toy an unintended harder backhander that sent it spinning into his neatly arranged letter bricks in the far corner prompting him to mutter a loud but inaudible “fuck!” into the dummy pacifier securely and uncomfortably strapped into his mouth. “UUG, UUK, UUG!” he repeated in frustration, hating how it even sounded like baby talk to his ears. “Uug, ugging, ugh!” one helpless leather-garbed hand banged on the smooth laminate floor of the playpen in frustration. ‘Easily cleanable in case Mummy’s best boy has a little accident. Nappies can’t always be trusted if someone needs a big pee pee’.

He glared at the scattered bricks and then quickly upwards to the semi-coiled short leather whip above him. So innocent for now, merely a simple length of braided pink leather and yet he shuddered and cast a nervous glance towards the wall that sported a variety of things that were unlikely to feature in any nursery save perhaps this grotesque travesty of one. The assorted dildoes, phalluses, butt plugs, gags and so forth and there in all their crowing glory: Miss Biter and Mrs Beater, pink ribboned bamboo cane and pink leather-covered wooden paddle dangling so innocently there as if they wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Well, they probably wouldn’t, couldn’t, especially Miss Biter. Imagine trying to swat a fly with that thin cane. Unlike his bottom, that was an all too easy target for them. He looked up, and now they’d been joined by Lady Lash. It had to be fucking pink, of course. What else, and who the hell thought of making a thing like that in pink? Fucking pink, for Christ's sake!

It was probably designed or intended for visual fetish use rather than practical use. Maybe a few had sold to those prostitutes who specialised in catering to weirdos who liked that sort of thing. Or maybe kinky couples for a bit of different mild marital bedroom fun. What was that phrase his wife had used once to describe such? Hanky-spanky, was that it or something like that? Anyway, inoffensive and harmless sounding. ‘Did I hurt you, darling? Sorry, I won’t hit so hard next time, and I’ll soon make it better like you enjoy, I promise!’

Yeah, well, the bloody thing was neither inoffensive nor harmless when his fucking self-styled evil little Mummy used it on him. Nor did its colour matter for braided leather was braided leather, and when cracked upon his bottom, back and thighs with sadistic enthusiasm and juvenile energy. It didn’t so much hurt as seared, burnt and cut in equal amounts of agony, nor was there the remotest chance of her making ‘it better’ in a way he would enjoy. He hadn’t enjoyed that particular ‘enjoyment’ since the night before they’d broken down and been abducted by these crazies.

He brooded on that for a couple of minutes, reflecting on how affectionate, if that was the correct term, his wife had been that night and wondered what had set her off. They hadn’t visited anywhere special that day, and as far as he could recall, their ‘last supper’ hadn’t been much to write home about. He couldn’t remember what any of them had ordered, only that the feeling of dissatisfaction had been universal.

A noise from outside the horrible room brought him out of his reverie to momentarily freeze with fear as he glared at his scattered spelling bricks. Was that her returning already? He had no clock and no way of knowing, and time passed or seemed to pass so erratically. Sometimes, an hour took an eternity, whereas a whole night flashed by and vice versa. Not always, for more often than not, he endured the tedium of eternal boredom rather than the flash, but it did happen occasionally.

He felt physically sick for a moment, and for once, it wasn’t due to that regime of muscle-sapping drugs he assumed they were adding to his food and milk again. He’d been spared that while slaving for Miss Alice and, despite the harsh treatment and foul diet, regained most of his old strength. An all too brief interlude, but one infinitely preferable to this pink hell, despite the callous savagery of Miss Alice and the tasks she set him.

His Mummy, Miss Fucking Eva, the world’s most evil teenager, wasn’t taking any chances though. No, they never did, none of them. The youngest member of the terrible family was just as careful. Despite his dismay at being returned to the nursery, he’d had hopes in that direction at first. The girl was lazy; he knew that and tended to cut corners. He’d seen that numerous times when she was supposedly doing her share of the stable chores. He’d seen and heard her on the receiving end of indignant complaints and admonishments from both mother and sister.

They’d put the straps and cords back on him, just as he’d been restrained in the early days of his horrible captivity. Eva and her sister grudgingly helping and being somewhat voluble about it as she voiced her objections to losing her work slave. He’d been a little surprised to realise that the bitch placed some value on his services which seemed a total contrast to everything she’d said and done to him in that respect!

Grudgingly or not, she’d still applied the restraints effectively that kept him on his hands and knees, cramped and bent, to crawl like the baby they considered him to be. Restraints that were only partially released at night after he’d crawled into his cot and finally allowed the luxury of straightening his tortured limbs. At least till morning, then he would have to obey his Mummy’s command to ‘Cuddle up Baby’ meaning to resume that cramped position while she secured the restraints to ensure he would remain in his lowly position for the day. Painful, cramping and uncomfortable bondage that would remain until those drugs or whatever, once again, wasted his muscles, effectively reducing him to the weak and helpless parody of the infant they intended him to be.  

That sound, whatever it was, didn’t repeat, but it could have been her, couldn’t it? But not now, not yet, please, he thought as he rolled over, crawled to the corner, and began clumsily nudging his colourful bricks together, knocking them over, cursing silently as he picked them up between two stiff leather-mittened hands to arrange them as he wished. Christ, what a stupid and pathetic task, and so ridiculous that what would have taken mere seconds if his hands were free to manipulate the simple things.

Unfortunately, they were not, so all he had were two flipper-like appendages to arrange them as he’d been ordered. ‘Make Mummy a nice, pretty word with your brickies, baby. A big word: show Mummy what a clever baby you are. That will put Mummy in a good mode for the rest of the day, won’t it, babykins? It‘ll be a lovely surprise for her to read when she returns from her nice horsey ride.’

 Yeah, very nice. God help poor Jenny, for no one else would, certainly not the brat sitting high up on the girl's back and shoulders. He shook his head in disgust. How could they behave in such a vile fashion? How could anyone, and that was… he paused and shook his head again. They could, though and did without a second thought, for he’d experienced enough of it himself, and he’d been there, helpless and seen for himself in that foul stable. He’d watched and heard the evil brat in action, seen what she’d done to Jenny day after day!

He sighed. There was nothing he could have done then to help her, chained as he invariably was to the wall or a heavy concrete block as he carried out his assigned task. Any protest or attempt at inference would have earned him an instant beating and almost certainly a second one from the brat's older sister later. It wasn’t cowardice or self-preservation but merely common sense that had stayed his hand. He glanced around at the hated surroundings. His time would come; he was sure of that. Sooner or later, one of them would slip up, and then…then…..

It was instinctive, a reflex action born out of frustration as his mittened right hand lashed out and flipped one of his coloured bricks neatly but unintentionally between two bars, right out of the pen to bounce off the skirting on the far wall. It rolled over a couple of times and came to a halt with a picture of Micky Mouse facing him and a black letter A on the upper surface.

He stared at it in horror. Fuck! This time, he mouthed it silently, wishful thinking about Jenny, escape, and future revenge instantly replaced with thoughts and realisation about the present and fear of that terrible triad, Beater, Biter and Lady fucking Lash! ‘Put mummy in a good mood’ Those words rang loud in his ears as he stared at that solitary brick and Mick’s cheerful laughing face that seemed to mock him far more than usual.

Fuck bloody Micky and co, and with good reason. The bricks were decorated on three sides with colourful  Disney characters from the famous studios earlier, and some might say golden era. He was not interested in that, nor would he have been at any other time. No, his concern was purely with that letter A that now lay beyond his reach, and he needed that fucking A. It was the only one he had, for his ‘baby brickies’ were woefully short on vowels either by accident or, more likely, calculated design!

Three brick faces of stupid Disney characters and one taken up by a picture plus manufacturing company info. A grinning babe sporting a single tooth, the ‘Tiny Tot Toys’ logo and the usual web, Facebook and other site info. What fucking use was that to a toddler? What a waste of a side that could host another letter, another A. What was the point of only having two alphabet letters per bloody brick?

Shit, shit. Shit, a mitten hand pounded on the floor in frustration. He needed that bloody A to make his word, his nice word. He’d made ‘Delectable’. That might keep the little bitch happy. He’d tried to think up something similar with an X or a Z; he’d got two and three of those useless letters, respectively. Who the hell would make a letter brick set with three fucking Z’s! It didn’t give a country of manufacture under that hideous smiling baby picture and logo. Bloody Chinese probably like everything else these days, but no, maybe not—possibly Poland or somewhere similar where they favoured the letter in names, he surmised.

None of that was important, though, as he pushed and flipped his coloured bricks around, desperately trying to find another A and failing to do so. He heard a noise in the passage outside and froze in near terror, but the door did not open. He cast another involuntary glance upwards to Lady Lash and then noted his bricks seemed to be trying to help. There was a P and a Y and, yes, two T’s over there and a G and, yes, he could do that, so all he needed was…...

Would she mind the evil teenage brat that called herself his fucking Mummy and could fly into a savage temper over the most trivial things? He shuffled backwards, brushing unused bricks and baby toys out of the way until he was hard against one side of the oversized playpen. Make Mummy a nice word she’d said, a big word she’d said, so how would she react to two small words, he wondered, staring at the hated bricks. Micky, Minnie, Donald, Goofy and co spelling it out, their laughing faces mocking him in his humiliating misery. Well, it was nine letters, so that made it kind of big, and besides, his brain seemed to have seized up, and he couldn’t think of anything else.

He flinched as he heard a door bang and footsteps outside, getting nearer, and he recognised the sound. The sound an expensive pair of riding boots made upon floor tiles, the sound of footsteps he’d heard receding a little earlier as she left to torment poor Jenny. He glanced from the nursery door to his bricks and mouthed the words.

PRETTY GIRL