As She's Told (60 page)

She'd crawled into the crate, padded webbing already circling hips and chest, crouched with her head low while he arranged her, her body pulled in little jerks to and fro as they'd cinched her tight. That bridled face had turned up for one more look as they closed the lid. So beautiful. His groin tightened.

Halfway there already. More traffic now, but still easy going. By the time they arrived at the farm, Rizal would be at that job in Scarborough; he'd call him then. The materials should be arriving by noon. Electrical would have to wait until Thursday when he could be there. He wasn't much worried about his absences affecting his business, but there was no question it would have some impact on his income. Fortunately the influx from Maia's bank account had put him way into the black.

Just him and Svend until Friday, when Karl would join them. Val not until the weekend after. He would pick Ria up at the airport a week Monday; she was flying in from Amsterdam. She and Karl could have the bedroom with the fireplace; the one in the living room would do for everyone else.

The chimneys were clear; he'd checked. No real environmental harm, a little smoke way out in the country. Smoke detectors and alarm system were all installed. Wiring in the whole place brought up to standard.

The vegetable garden would need weeding, and probably water. He'd gotten that in over a month ago: early producers that would come in handy by July and August.

The two little vehicles he'd made were in pieces in the truck behind him.

Basic harness ready. Despite his rejoinder to Ria, Anders had in fact been training his slave in various gaits. No dressage, no circus tricks, but clean and economical movement, proper display and increasing endurance. He'd also had her break in a slim but solid pair of boots – no heels to speak of –

that would protect her feet on the roughish dirt and gravel. The bumps that might trip her up were made smooth, gravel added where the lanes had gone muddy. He was looking forward hugely to the moment when he got into the pony trap behind her.

379

As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

Almost there. Back roads now. Anders pulled up at a dusty gas bar and grocery store and sent Svend, now awake, in for milk and eggs. He got out himself and stretched.

When Svend returned he glanced at the truck bed. "She'll be wondering if we've arrived, won't she, and wanting to get off her knees?"

"Probably. But she'll last a while yet."

"How do you know?"

"Experience."

"Too bad we couldn't let her jump down on her leash and stretch out by the tailgate." Anders laughed. "Yeah. Some other world. Come on."

Down the bumpy, overgrown track, between long fields already high with grass and weeds. From the house and barn you could see anyone coming, ten minutes before they got there. They were on a bit of a peninsula between two fast waterways, one with banks steep and choked with undergrowth, the other too shallow for boats; access from the water was very unlikely. There were no easy ways in apart from this track, no hiking trails.

The farm wasn't on the way to anywhere. No reason for anyone to come here but themselves.

***

For a time there had been the most persistent feeling that every following driver had x-ray vision and could see my naked butt. When that idea faded, what I envisioned was the highway cop's expression when he opened up the crate. I flexed and wriggled in the webbing, almost immobilized, like a fly in a web, but very safe. See, officer, we're actually obeying the seatbelt laws ….

And this was nothing but a distraction from my crazy anxiety about what was coming. Eight weeks. They were giving me eight weeks off; my boss had looked ridiculously relieved when I had asked for more unpaid time. They were even planning to close the centre altogether for two weeks in August, they were so short of money, though they assured me that this economy would mean my job would be there as usual when I returned.

The news had pleased Anders no end; he'd used me almost continually to skim off the overflow of his arousal. There was no skimming for me; I 380

As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

was a pressure cooker with an inadequate lid, rattling with steamy fear and jets of excitement. Eight weeks without using words or opposable thumbs.

Eight weeks to sink into life as a dumb beast, a draft animal. Would I ever be able to climb out again? Worrying was pointless. He'd get me out if he wanted me out.

The tailgate went down and I heard the scrape of things getting shifted.

My turn at last. Tipped, swung, down. Terra firma. Bolts shot open to cracks of daylight.

The grass was warm and rough beneath my knees. I took a drink from the water bottle held for me, with a spout that I could manage despite the bridle. The house loomed, way taller than it had appeared in the pictures.

Svend was carting boxes up onto the wide porch. Anders knotted my leash to a little fence around what had once been a flower garden, and then went to heft some bags and a cooler into the house. I looked in surprise at that casual knot, and was disconcerted; metal locks that clicked were what I was used to, mere knots being insufficiently secure as far as my master was concerned. But then neither my fingers nor my teeth were available to undo anything. I shifted my head and gave the knot an experimental yank, just for the hell of it, and then sat back to wait.

When all the other luggage was disposed of, my master came back and untied me, and I crawled after him to a patch of dry, crumbly dirt between two sheds. The message through the leash was clear enough. I was being walked. In broad daylight. I stared at the ground, arranged myself, and let it go. Kicked dirt over it. Crawled some more. Didn't think. Animal. A cool doorway and straw-strewn floor. Inside were old wooden partitions that reached only partway to the high rafters. There was a row of five doorways, five empty stalls. In the last was a narrow window that showed blue sky; beneath the window was a pile of straw with an old blanket over it and the end of a chain trailing. There was that click I'd been expecting. I looked up the length of my master, to the light eyes looking down, holding me in place more firmly than any lock would do. Those long, so familiar fingers stroked me, tugged lightly on locks and nose and nipple rings, and then were gone.

Another few inches took me to the end of my chain. The edge of the straw pile; no further. The blanket was old but clean. I settled down. I'd spent time on less comfortable surfaces. But almost never to sleep; would I have to sleep here? What about the press of limbs, the weight of his arm, his 381

As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

hand on my breast, breathing in the smell of him, all part of my nightly security along with the locks and chains?

Here the smell was fresh hay, old wood, wafts of hot grass, and my own sweat and arousal. No sound. Yes, a bird. Two birds. Distant footsteps. A thump. That hot, middle-of-the-day high-pitched insect throb.

I examined my surroundings. There was that water bottle again, hung upside-down on the wall, like in a gerbil's cage. At the sight of it my thirst returned. I crawled over, insinuated the metal tube past my bit into the back of my mouth and drank. Below it was a shallow metal rectangle; a trough.

Empty. Anything else within my reach? Nothing; the place was bare. Hooks up on the wall, all empty except for a long carriage whip that hung by the doorway. Aerobics at home had turned into endless sessions of walking and trotting in a circle on a long chain with my arms folded and locked against my back. This gait, that gait, each movement precise; no shambling, no concessions to fatigue. Full-out running wasn't practical at the end of a chain; too confined a space. I thought I'd be off the hook for that until the summer. Then my master bought the treadmill. He was turning me into an athlete of sorts. No, that was a human term. Racehorse? Hardly. Useful mare? More likely. It can be trained.

I dozed off for a while; that had been a very early start. Footsteps awoke me, and the sound of clangs, clunks and Danish dialogue. Assembly noises.

After a while this wound down, and Svend appeared in the doorway with a bowl in his hand. He grinned and said an incomprehensible word or two, scraped the bowl's contents into the trough, and removed my bridle.

Then he watched as I put my face into the food. He'd seen me eat from my dish at home so many times that the singing in my ears was only moderate.

What he'd given me was rather tasteless; a plain porridgy mix, so amalgamated that I couldn't identify the ingredients. Ugh. Animal feed.

Shades of Carrie in her stables. Was bland food a ponygirl imperative? A saltshaker would have been nice. And a hand to shake it with. My fingers wriggled inside their mitts. New ones, designed for my summer in the country. Stiff padded hide on the palm side, tough but breathable cloth on the other, cooler than my old ones. Luckily my hands don't sweat much. My palms were well protected when I crawled, and the edge of the hide wasn't bad for scratching an itch – assuming I could reach it. But I was going to spend eight weeks with appendages that didn't even come up to the function 382

As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

of paws. Almost no flexibility, and no claws.

Left alone again, I sat back on the straw and wiggled my toes. I've never been one of those people with dextrous monkey feet; my toes are just toes.

Still, I could try. Something to amuse my solitary hours. A few attempts with bits of straw or whatever else came to hand. Foot. Would that be disobedience? Violating the spirit of the laws he'd laid down for the summer? Probably. So? Confession was out. What then? Well, that was Anders' problem. There was a webcam up in the corner. He'd set me up as voiceless. He could keep an eye on me, and whip my butt if he didn't like it.

***

"Yeah, I did. But feel free to char hamburgers over a campfire if you like that better." Anders was sorting through spice bottles. "If I'm the one that puts this lot away I'll be able to find it all later. Go unpack your own stuff."

Ten minutes later Svend was back. "Do you mind if I take the truck and go into Picton? I want to have a look at the harbour."

Anders grinned and dug into his pocket for the keys. "Let me know if you seduce some lady sailor and end up on board for dinner. I'm making jambalaya; it'll keep."

He got the kitchen under control, and then went to finish unpacking in the stable. Bridles and chains and crops and harness, all hung on the stable wall for his slave to contemplate when she had nothing else to do.

Something of a cliché, Anders admitted to himself, but very handy. And, let's face it, cliché or not, it worked. His slave was taking it all in, wide-eyed, and her breathing was more than audible.

"All right, girl," he said finally in Danish, unlocking her chain and tugging. "Up."

By summer's end she would know a few more words in his native tongue. Like a well-educated Danish horse.

The sky outside was almost cloudless. Water came first, then a thorough application of SPF-60 sunblock. It took time to get her protected to his satisfaction. Then he took up thick, flexible straps for her waist and torso and cinched them tight, squeezing the pliant flesh between them. Bulging 383

As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

breasts and erect nipples urgently offered themselves. He turned her around and strapped her arms tightly to her back. Then came the lower part of the harness, designed to harmonize with the chastity belt, closely outlining her belly and buttocks, carefully designed for her hipbones to take the pull of the shafts. Anders wanted no pressure on internal organs; at least, nothing beyond what the harness already inflicted.

A change of bridle now, pulling the thick U-shaped bit deep into her mouth. A rubbery surface that wouldn't harm her teeth. Straps over the bridge of her nose and then up. A strap under her chin. The reins went through rings at her jaw, so that she would feel the pull in her mouth whether she was led or driven. A basic turnout; he'd play with variations as time went on. The shadows of her throat pulsed faintly blue below the hard collar. Lightly Anders stroked that delicate hollow, and then his fingertips descended to trace the contours of her breasts, and she arched, already trembling. "You want your bells, don't you?" he crooned in Danish, dangling them up above her like a treat, as if her breasts were begging for them. She leaned on his back as he got her feet covered and laced into her boots. The harnessed body jingled and wriggled deliciously against him. Straightening up, he yanked her upright by the reins, forcing her to stretch to her full height and to tip her head back.

"Behave, hunhund." Brown, liquid eyes stared up at him. The pink tongue struggled beneath the bit that pressed it. Anders could feel the excited energy radiating off of her, out of the visible range but well into the infrared.

The light pony trap waited by the big double doors. Anders backed his slave between the shafts, lifted them to her hips and fastened the pins. He didn't have to lift far. There were a couple of vertical supports fastened to the shafts behind her, with little wheels that would only reach the ground if she tripped. He wouldn't sacrifice the manoeuvrability and lightness of no more than two large wheels, but trained or not, he wasn't about to risk the kinds of injuries his slave would get if she fell forward with no hands to protect her.

When he was done, he stood back and drank in what he had wrought. At the pure perverted beauty of pony and vehicle in just proportions, his creature so taut and upright that even her trembling nipple bells were silent.

He ducked beneath a shaft and slowly pulled the straps holding her arms a notch tighter, making her arch her back and thrust her breasts just that much 384

As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

further. A check rein, perhaps? Later, maybe.