“And you’re going there? To the pump house?” 128 shuddering in response.
“After I am prepared,” 54 nods, sniffling in remorse. “I’ve served so long...”
Returning to the stool, 54 steps up, tears evidencing the harshness of the pump house, releasing the nostril chain of 88 from its high hook.
“Thank you, 54. Thank you,” the strained words coming as an exhausted steed 88 sinks to his knees.
“Offer him your tits, 128. It’s within the rules.”
As 128 steps forth, she turns her head noting the ears of the observing Mastiff straighten, his attention riveted.
“Just make sure your cunny is not touched. That’s for the members.”
88 extends a tongue... long, wet its pink length fluttering obscenely. In hearing a growl of warning, 128 steps no closer but instead leans, her massive glands dangling invitingly, her hairless mons distant from oral assault. Incredibly, the tongue further extends to lick and flutter again, finding right nipple then left. Long held chaste, 128 finds the warm slippery wetness thrills, the tongue of the human equine trained for pleasure.
54 moves to the rear, more cleansing. In ever so gently laving the inflamed scrotal sac, the sensitivity piqued, 88 howls in agony, hot breath on 128’s nipples serving to further excite.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Humble, obedient, in constant nakedness, fellatio to be offered upon demand... 128 adapts. Yet there is one aspect of existence at Nusquam which frustrates... and acceptance to which seems impossible. That being communally bedded with a cadre of other subjugants every evening.
During the day, 128 is permitted a degree of freedom... if moving about under the exacting auspices of the huge Mastiffs can be so described. Yes the hounds are trained... well. For 128 soon learns after many warning barks and nips, that she is to prance on toes with hands on head, well away from any mischief with her long denied quim. Touching is forbidden, her mons or that of a fellow subjugant. The canines prove to be diligent.
Still there are chores in the stable to be fulfilled, blow jobs many, at night 128 finds herself well tethered. Thus she sits upright, arms raised, neck collar and wrist bands secured to a long horizontal pipe above, ankle bands clipped to floor hooks. Her legs are well parted, forcing her to spread and reveal the pink of her cunny. But most distressing, she sits on a low stool, her anus impaled by a moderate butt plug, its girth intended, as the nurse suggested, to further open her but not detract from the tightness revered by sodomites.
Though the nights are long and she is well watered for bed, urination is not permitted, a guarding Mastiff at the ready to enforce the rules. Sleep, recuperative sleep, seems rare and limited, 128 would describe such more as passing out through exhaustion than true slumber.
She notes many of her compatriots to her right and left, neck collar and wrists likewise secured to the long pipe above, sleep well despite the stress position, the double digit numerals of their tattooed foreheads suggesting seniority... many years of enduring the slow torment.
How long before she acclimates?
Speech, attempts to communicate with t
he many subjugants, is met with warning growls. 128 wonders if in being held completely motionless, the guarding Mastiff would really bite, her vulnerability replete, helpless to move in self defense.
On occasion, seemingly when sleep finally overcomes, a member will grasp her ears to awaken. In the darkened chamber, 128 knows to immediately open her mouth and accept a semi firm appendage, swish, suck and take inward hungrily... oddly thrilled to feel it further stiffen in her mouth. Gag reflex long repressed, she has been trained to peer up into the eyes of her superior, her look beseeching... for more... deeper... reverently taking the hard cock... ready to consume the offering of thick spunk... and savor... and thank.
‘Thank you for letting me suck your cock sir,’ the humble expression of gratitude coming by rote.
A satiating blow job typically earns her a pat on the head... Master to dog. On occasion her oral efforts will merit the thrill of a diddling finger on nipples brought to hyper sensitive by way of strict chastity.
Sitting spread, feminine hygiene denied, after many weeks 128 can smell herself. With her many concupiscent responses, her masochism offering constant arousal in being so licentiously used, the secretion of vaginal juices embarrassingly announces herself... her warped psyche... her paraphilia.
Such draws much attention from the male Mastiffs as well, all intact, all seeming to look at her covetously, on occasion their huge organs stiffening when their nostrils flare and a long draw of air takes in the fragrance of a cunny in neglect.
‘Would they fuck me?’ 128 cannot help asking herself. And ironically, the thought brings more moisture, more flow, and more attraction... deep snorts inhaling her scent, the olfactory nerves stimulating further canine lust.
There are those subjugants who are assigned to the kennel. How do they serve? She dares not ask, the response may result in a horrifying visit rather than a verbal reply.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Miss Penny wants you figged. 54 showed me how to do it.”
“Please don’t do that,” the enunciation mangled, the words slurred through a toothless mouth.
128 smiles wanly. Though she finds odd exhilaration in being empowered, she dares not show it. Fully trained as a groom, she tends to 88, once known as Balls Martindale. As always he stands, nose ring forcibly chained high to the wood of his stall.
“I must. Miss Penny says you run best... and it’s less tiring than using the sjambok on your bare buttocks.”