Cow Pt 03 Frightening The Horses

"Edie babe, I'll pay you ten thousand pounds to have Daisy for a week!"

Ordinarily, such a generous offer would have Madam Edith on alert. True, it was only £60 for each of 168 hours, and some Arab gentlemen staying in Knightsbridge with their Swarovsky Koenigseggs and other tacky accoutrements would offer ten times that, to ride my arse or to watch me go down on members of their harem of wives, girlfriends, mistresses and other assorted hangers-on which might not misbecome an arrogant prick with far more money than sense and no class to speak of, safe in the knowledge that my boyhood was practically useless for taking the lead, even if I'd wanted to. She didn't trust them as far as she could throw their gilded palaces.

But she could trust Jen, who had made the offer -- with the added assurance that her underworld friends were straight as a trajectory when it came to knowing right from wrong, despite having to step into conflict with the socially acceptable on occasion. The Professor knew Jen could rely on them to help keep me safe, as they did her other business colleagues. It was like having a whole army of pimps at your back, without the stereotypical over-bearing behaviour on the girls.

In fact, Jen was keen to provide for me, in the same way as Madam Edith, and to this end asked what she did.

"Well, darling", quoth the Professor, "make sure to include this in her food every day." She held up a packet of what looked like a type of wheat. "It helps to make sure that you don't have to wipe her arse after she has a shit -- and also to ensure that whoever fucks her boy cunt isn't smeared with the stuff afterwards, notwithstanding any enemas. Of course, her innards will be well enough irrigated with your clients' spunk, but her turds will be dry. It'll help keep her regular, and all, even on all fours. And that's another thing -- I try to keep her down, because it's better her body gets used to it as that's how I intend for her to live -- as a quadruped."

"You know she can still run, on all fours! You seem to have it all taped up and watertight, babe -- doing what I do, I respect that. Yeah, babe, the sort of thinking you've got for your pet will fit in well with my plans, with a slight adjustment. You see, I want her for a pony, and I was going to have her pull the cart on upright, but four legs makes sense."

Madam Edith pondered for a bit, "A pony? Interesting! Hmmm, yes. I think maybe the height may be a problem."

"How so, babe?"

"Well, think about it, If your cart is set up to be driven, with adjustments, by someone of average height. Now, that takes in the whole of the leg -- the torso and head aren't really relevant here. But the lowest common denominator is the arms, unless your horses are orang-utans, in which case good luck having any say where the cart is going, darling. So your left with the thigh being the only operable part, which means the pony is like a sausage-dog and, with certain advantages he becomes a plough. Anyway", the Professor continued after allowing the younger, bisexual lady time to dream about that possibility, and with a look of pantomime disgust, "how the cart is set up relative to the horse would certainly save you a lot of bother."

"I got'cha, babe -- what you're saying is everything's a bit low to the ground. I can see that would be a problem, unless we got a cart with tiny, tiny wheels -- and what would be the point of that?"

"In one, darling -- by eck, tha ain't as dull as I look, at that, lass!

Jen gave an amused smirk at Madam Edith's attempt at the Yorkshire dialect. "So the problem then becomes not only a middle leg trailing but the possibility of the two rails of the cart digging into the ground, which could be pretty gruesome at high speed."

"No doubt, darling. I mean, you don't want to end up with your head up her arse, do you? That would bring a whole new meaning to the word gape. And how would you explain it to the judge?"

"Oh, I don't worry about that, babe. I know things which usually gets me the result I want". Said Jen, with a meaningful wink.

"Indeed", guffawed Madam Edith. "You're a useful friend to have, right enough -- but not, I think, with a seat tipping you forward some 30 degrees. You'd go pantie over bra, if you ever wore either, darling..."

I was listening with genital intensity, but the two ladies were too absorbed in their conversation to notice.

Jen continued -- "they're over-rated babe. Tits were meant to jiggle about, unless they're the size of beach-balls, in which case the least movement the better lest you suffocate -- and it can't be easy with a bad back. Puppies need to be free -- oh, except that one which seems to be extremely horny for some reason."

"Force of habit, I expect, darling. She always loves to be filled with cum at these parties. I daresay she'll enjoy whatever treats you've got in store for her -- speaking of which, darling, why don't you come by in a couple of days and we'll see what we can do to get your horsey off the ground."

I whimpered, unable to express my excitement any other way, and Jen slapped my naked arse, causing my whimpering to become more urgent.

"Seems this puppy needs some attention. Get me a strap-on would you, Edie, babe?"

---

A few days later, Jen visited us again, and I was taken down to the mews where I was fitted with apparatus which had been concocted by Madam Edith's artisans to allow me to comfortably and safely perform my equine duties on all fours. It had, of course, involved quite extensive fitting and trialling sessions, and a good few punishments when -- quite against my will -- I was forced into error, and punishments of a different kind when those punishments threw me, again unwontedly, into orgasmic convulsions.

"You know what, Jen darling, this little bitch has been very uppity lately -- not controlling herself when I was trying to measure her up. And when I spanked her bottom, you know what she had the temerity to do?"

Jen was irritated by this sort of can-you-guess rhetoric, but humoured her friend. "Go on..."

"She only... well, she only spunked all over my new Manolo Blahniks! Really, I'm too soft on the bitch, sometimes", she growled, looking freshly-sharpened broadswords in my direction. I felt my parts twitch anew, partly at the presence of the lovely Jen, resplendent in nothing more than an almost public-indecency-level very short diaphanous purple dress barely covering her bald cunt which, with my on-fours attitude, was very visible to me -- and glistening.

"Yes I know, babe", purred Jen condescendingly. My urgency increased. "Isn't it awful? Still, babe, it's all part of the game, remember -- and you're the one with the hyper-sexualised teenager, you lucky, lucky fucker. So don't be too hard on her -- if she's too flighty, I daresay some of my gangland friends can soon set her a-right in ways she won't quickly forget."

My parts shrivelled.

"Darling, do shut up", retorted Madam Edith half jokingly. "I know hyperbole when I hear it but please, don't even joke about it. I know how for-real sadistic they can be. No no no -- don't even go there..."

"Well then, be said. Talk me through this contraption instead."

The Professor bade me into a position which allowed her to put my hands into gloves which had inside them a handle which, like a modern-type crutch, extended back to my fore-arm and forward some distance to a sort of articulated hoof arrangement, effectively lengthening my arms about two-and-a-half feet. My back end was a piece-de-resistance, however. My feet were wedged in a sort of horse-shoe shaped toe-box which extended to the balls of my feet and thence to a tubular ridge, keeping me on my toes on pain of, well, pain -- and the construction carried on up the top of the foot to the length of the calf, until at the knee it would then extend perpendicular, allowing me to walk tip-toed with a dog-leg extension.

"Now all we need to do, darling", proclaimed Madam Edith triumphantly, "is to shackle her to the cart and, hey-wizzo, you're good to go. Oh, all except one thing..."

"What's that?

I couldn't see -- I was doing my best new-born-giraffe routine on my new prosthetics -- but the Professor must have shown Mistress Jen a dildo of a size comparable to the marrow I'd taken in her office in what seemed another life, because I swear I heard her whisper to Madam Edith "ooh babe -- oh yes, that's nice. The poor bitch will be pissing cum. Let me try it."

I could hear the vaguely aquatic sounds of a large object passing through a narrow waterway followed by "fuck -- oh fuck, babe, oh yes", as Jen's well-practised pussy was stretched open by what sounded, at this point, to be the shape -- and size -- of a gypsy caravan.

A reflection in the polished chrome hub-cap of her rare Bristol motor car told me that Madam Edith had moved behind the now very naked Jen and, flitting like a humming-bird from nipple to nipple, was working something huge with a stem of hairs much like a hippy songstress protruding from it, like an accordion, in and out of her dripping, lustful cunt, her thumb happily strumming a very noticeable clit to the sounds of ecstatic wailing, such that poor Jen was unable to maintain her weight and the Professor had to physically stop her from falling. It wasn't helped by Jen's jubilant pronouncements -- when she caught her breath -- upon my own leakage which was, by now, considerable and, in a more traditional work environment, would have given the Health and Safety inspectorate kittens. Not that the puddle under Jen was any less considerable -- and even the older Madam Edith had added her own tributary to the lake, her own harmonisations and frequent orgasmic shuddering produced via the contact she had with the younger lady's soft, warm, lithe arse grinding against her crotch and, no doubt the pleasure she was inducing. I suddenly had the very favourable notion of Mistress Jen Lady Godiva-ing upon my horsey attitude, whether bareback or in a saddle with its pommel-horn tormenting her clit I didn't much care, either way it made my bag of cum overflow, with its own reaction from the choir of fallen angels behind me, the shudder from my tribute orgasm threatening to lose me my balance.

When, eventually, the horse-tail plug was slid in my arse, then, it was sublimely lubricated. That its slickness was the product of Jen's cunt, and that she had kindly donated them for my comfort, made me orgasm such that the Richter-scale-bothering tremors produced as its by-product threatened now with gangster-like menaces to send me not just over the edge, but over my physical limit. But I was soon struck cold by the sound of a bullwhip crack

What the fuck?

Evidently, Madam Edith thought the same. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

Jen whispered in the Professor's ear. I did not catch the gist, but the older lady replied, her shock now somewhat abated, "okay -- as long as that's all it is. I don't want her harmed, understand."

"Of course, babe", she replied, almost capriciously. Then, my body crotch-height to her nakedness, she brushed up against my naked skin and, half addressing me but speaking to Madam Edith, she continued: "Auntie Jen's going to take real good care of you, oh yes she is."

I dropped another wad.