‘I, ah, think there has been some kind of mistake,’ said Jenny rather breathlessly as she angled her body to the door, spying leather cuffs and black pony masks hanging above the frame.
Agnes gave her colleague a narrowed look. ‘What does the paperwork say under ‘status,’ Henrietta?’
‘Hmm,’ Henrietta hadn’t been paying much attention to Jenny until now, sorting through a box of bridles and martingales that had become tangled on her bench but a quick look up at her latest trainee had her eyes frantically searching the page in front of her for the required information. ‘It says ‘Subject has not been notified.’
Jenny had just at that moment found an enormously large collection of rubber ovals, tapering at both ends and rather fat in the middle. She was not a complete idiot. She’d browsed through sex catalogues on occasion and was fairly certain that these were what were termed as ‘butt plugs.’ Alarmingly, quite a few of them had long black tails attached to their flat end. That was enough to send her over the edge. In the next instant she screamed and dashed for the door.
‘We have a bolter,’ said Agnes. ‘Batten down the hatches.’
Henrietta was already ahead of her, having pressed a button by her bench which slammed the door shut and locked it. It had come in useful on more than one occasion. Not all the occupants at this facility were willing, but they all had one thing in common. They paid a very large sum of money to be here. Exactly how much depended on their circumstances, but Henrietta managed in one glance to see the figure of £500,000 standing out on the form in bold black numbers. It seemed that Mr Redcliff really, really, wanted his daughter to get the full works.
Agnes grabbed one of Jenny’s arms and let Henrietta take the other. They’d practised the move many times before and, as usual, it went like clockwork. Mind you, they’d not come across anyone with a black belt in Karate yet, so there was always the possibility that a filly might escape one day. It was very unlikely, but not impossible. Unfortunately for Jenny, she had no such training in martial arts. As soon as Henrietta bent one of her arms around behind her back and up towards her neck, the pain nearly crippled her and she almost fell to her knees.
‘There, there, dearie. Play nicely and we’ll not have to use those sorts of tactics on you again,’ Agnes said in a soothing tone. Agnes didn’t think much of doling out pain, she left that to the various Mistresses and Masters who made the very act an art form. Agnes was in this job because she loved leather and because the pay was extremely good. She intended to have a retirement home in the south of France in a couple of years, hopefully complete with a fully trained pony of her own.
Henrietta took one look at Agnes and rolled her eyes. The old dear was day-dreaming yet again. ‘Agnes, Agnes!’
Agnes shook her head momentarily. ‘Hmm?’
‘I thought we might let our new filly take a brief rest. What say you?’ Henrietta eyed the horse purposefully.
‘Oh, good idea, Hetty,’ said Agnes, immediately following her train of thought and together they began to pull Jenny in the direction of the leather horse.
Jenny was not going to have any of that. Kicking and clawing, scratching and biting, she let out a scream that could have broken all the windows in the neighbouring village. It didn’t do her any good. Agnes simply yanked the arm she had imprisoned back upwards and Henrietta lifted the girl off her feet and tried to gently deposit her on the horse. With a straggle of limbs doing the spaghetti dance, it didn’t work quite the way it was intended and Jenny landed on her back with rather a good thump. If it were possible, the screaming intensified.
The ladies wasted no time applying the straps which would hold the trainee down. Agnes took care of her ankles, making neat loops with the leather and yanking them tight until they were aligned with the legs of the horse. Henrietta worked at more than twice the speed, managing two arms, a body strap around the waist, one around the neck and another circling the forehead. Reaching down to pull a lever beneath the horse, she split the bottom half in two, splaying Jenny’s legs neatly. The trainee’s movement was now limited to around two inches of leeway from one side to the other. Pulling one of the pencils out of her unruly chignon, she made sure that the width of the pencil could easily be fitted inside each restraint. They took safety very seriously at the Pony Rides Hotel and she wasn’t going to be the first to lose a victim by choking them accidentally. ‘We’re good,’ she finally announced, having to yell over the screeching noise that Jenny will still making.
Agnes tossed Hetty some wax earplugs and applied her own. They wouldn’t need them in a few moments, but measurements had to be taken and it was murder on your eardrums to listen to that kind of noise for any length of time. She then proceeded to get out her tape measure and bending over Jenny’s face began to measure the exact length of her lips. The trainee tried to bite her, which was expected and Hetty responded by giving her a sharp, stinging slap which stilled her movements for long enough to get the required information.
It looked as though this one would require the petite selection of rubber bit gags, which was quite unusual and might even make her highly prized if someone managed to train her properly. Agnes wrote the details down in her notebook and added a tongue port for good measure. A tongue port was a great piece of kit which fitted over the bit gag and ensured that a) no intelligible speech would be heard from the pony and b) it prevented the pony’s tongue from playing with the bit in any way. She suspected that the lucky trainer would need all the help they could get in the mastering of this filly. Taking measurements around Jenny’s head for bridle, blinker and blindfold attachments, she quickly finished her notes and began rummaging around in the drawer next to her. Spotting a small orange ball gag with a simple black leather strap, she wasted no time pressing it into Jenny’s lips.