Ms Howard's Winter Holiday.

Ms Howard was woken for the first time that morning by the sounds of Mary, her slave-maid, lighting the log-fire in its grate. Coming out of her usual deep, dreamless slumber, she drowsily tasted the fresh, cold air from the open window of her bedroom, then snuggled down again into her warm, soft bed and fell asleep again.

She woke again later to Mary's soft footsteps and the click of a silver salver being gently placed on the exquisite Louis XV table at her bedside.

"Your morning tea, Ma'am," came Mary's deferential voice as she went to close the windows.

"Pour it please, Mary. And draw back the curtains. How is the weather?"

"Sunny and cold, Ma'am, with a hard frost...Your bath is drawn, Ma'am."

"Very well, Mary; I shall bathe directly....Is Polly still asleep in her basket?"

"No, Ma'am; she has just finished attending on Mistress Sonia."

"Send Polly into me, will you?"

"At once, Ma'am!"

Ms Howard sat up in her comfortable bed and watched Mary make a silent exit. Moments later Polly, her body-slave, appeared timorously in the room.

Ms Howard gazed at her with almost parental affection. A tiny waif of a girl, seeming much less than her nineteen years, she wore the leather collar of a Class Four slave around her slender neck, a simple white linen tunic, and thin white sandals on her tiny feet. Ms Howard had first seen her in the kennels at a friend's mansion on the Island and had bought her on the spot. Poor thing! Too small for labouring work, she'd been kept naked in the dogs' wired compound where she slept with them and fought them for her food. Under a mop of thick black curls a pair of large brown eyes regarded her Mistress with dog-like devotion.

"Come, dear! Help me undress for my bath, and lay out my brown silk dress and some shoes for later."

In her bath Ms Scally exulted in the feel of the soft, scented, warm water on Her translucent skin. It had been one of her best ideas, she thought, to put back into working order the old-fashioned well from which it came, and from which it had been pumped in the far past by a donkey trudging in an endless circle, and to put her new male beast to the same task.

She paused to give Boy a guilty, fleeting thought; she realised she hadn't noticed him for a long time; since she'd tired of him as a pet, and had the necessary surgery done on him to enable him to function eficiently as a draught animal. She smiled in self-deprecation at this sudden concern for a beast's welfare. She had slaves to look after her animals, after all!

Later, after a breakfast served in her luxorious Breakfast Room, she sauntered out through the French doors onto the patio where she stood in the early morning sunshine and looked about her. The garden looked tidy enough; all the Autumn leaves had now been cleared away, and the grass verges trimmed neatly. Glancing over to her left she saw her two male slaves (what were the names she had given them?..'Chestnut' and 'Blossom'; of course!) their legs hobbled and their bare skins blotched red and blue with the cold, piling saws and and axes into a four-wheeled cart. And there, around the corner, came her old yard-slave Bessie leading the bridled Boy by the ring through his broad, flat nose, up to the cart, where, after a curt word from Bessie, she and one of the male slaves harnessed him between its shafts. Bessie inserted his bit and attached the reins, then made a gesture to the two slaves, who knelt meekly at the back of the cart for Bessie to attach long leather leashes to their heavy steel collars. Bessie took her seat, shook Boy's reins and flicked him on the rump with her whip. Obediently Boy leaned into his harness and walked slowly off, guided by Bessie, onto the smooth grassy path which led into the woods, the male slaves trudging wearily behind on their leashes.

Ms Howard had a sudden inspiration. Turning decisively back into the house, she walked swiftly into the small, fully appointed office she'd caused to be built for those occasions when she chose to work from home. Her slave-PA, Sonia, was already at work, a sheaf of faxes at her elbow. She looked up from her lap-top with an affectionate smile.

"Good morning, Ma'am! Did you sleep well?"

"Good morning; Sonia, dear! Very well, thank you. Are those the latest faxes from Mrs. Mitchell?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I have drawn up a brief precis for you." She handed her Mistress a sheet of paper.

Ms Howard scanned it swiftly.

"Nothing here that needs my personal presence," she decided. "We won't go in today, Sonia. Instead, we'll go for a drive later and work on all this in one of the Summerhouses. We can lunch there. It's such a lovely day!"

It was a quarter to eleven by the big Stableyard clock when Ms Howard, well wrapped against the cold and sitting with coffee and a book on the sunny patio, Polly curled up dog-like at her feet, observed the return of the wood cutting party, Bessie leading Boy straining under his heavy load of logs, the two male slaves trudging wearily along on their leashes.

Ms Howard rang immediately for her slave-housekeeper. Veronica appeared swiftly and, after a few directions from her Mistress, the latter was able to see her emerge into the yard, march up to Bessie, and relay to the yard-slave her Mistress's orders.

Bessie at once released the male slaves from their tethers and put them to work unloading and stacking the logs under the supervision of Millie, her counter-part in the kitchen. Unharnessing Boy, she led him off around the corner and out of Ms Howard's sight.

Veronica came back onto the patio.

"All will be ready for you in ten minutes, Ma'am. At what time will you require lunch?"

"Oh; at one o'clock, I think; and we shall return for tea at four. That will be all, Veronica. Polly; go and fetch my old fleece. You are to go with us, and I would not have you cold, you poor child!"

Ten minutes later Ms Howard, with Sonia and Polly in attendance, descended the stone steps of the Great Porch in the front facade of her handsome old Georgian mansion to find Boy, now harnessed to a smartly painted and polished three-seater cart, waiting patiently for them, with Bessie by his side holding him by his bit. His Mistress and her entourage mounted and took their seats; Sonia by her Mistress's side on the broad leather bench at the front, Polly, muffled in Ms Howard's old fleece, on the small seat behind. Bessie pulled around Boy's head to turn the cart, Ms Howard shook Boy's reins and flicked him on the shoulder with Her whip, observing with satisfaction the powerful muscles of his haunches, back, and shoulders swell and strain as he leaned into his harness and moved off.

Had this muscular, powerful animal really once been the gauche, weedy young man she barely remembered from four and a half years ago, she wondered lightly?

Under her sure, gentle guidance, they drove off into the forest. The paths, or 'rides', were smooth, the short turf kept in order by Bessie and her minions. Ms Howard struck the straining beast before her again, causing him to break into a slow trot. She was enjoying the cold, clear air on her face, and had half a mind to whip Boy into a faster gait. But, she thought, there were three of them, even counting her body-slave's slight weight, and she didn't want to exhaust him; besides, he was moving almost as fast as his hobble would allow him. She examined Boy's heaving back critically, noting the angry red welts he had accumulated in his morning labours. He was moving along easily enough, panting lightly through his bit, the powerful muscles of his thighs and haunches swelling and contracting with a smooth rhythm, at a steady four and a half miles an hour, as if he could keep it up all day. He had begun to sweat copiously, and occasional wafts of the rank odour of his long-unwashed body swept over the occupants of the cart, causing Sonia to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

"One would have expected them to at least have perfumed the beast for your ride, Ma'am," she remarked indignantly.

"Nonsense, my dear!" smiled her Mistress in response. She was a country girl by upbringing; She had grown up surrounded by dogs, ponies, horses, and a host of other domestic fauna. Animals WERE smelly, and hard-worked animals the smelliest of all!

They drove on through the crisp air for half an hour or so until they came to a sunny glade in which stood a small, handsome, wooden Summerhouse, its sunlit terrace and comfortable chairs inviting repose.

Ms Howard dismounted lithely, and handed the reins to Polly.

"Take it over to those trees, dear," she said, "and tether it in the sunlight. And give it some water!"

She smiled as she watched the two incongruous figures move off; Polly, muffled in the (to her) enormous fleece, its sleeves rolled back several times to expose her tiny fingers, its hem trailing around her ankles, a child-like figure next to the massive, muscular beast which followed her so docilely. She and Sonia took their seats, from where, as Sonia arranged her papers, Ms Howard noted with amusement how Polly, too small to raise the shallow water bucket to Boy's broad mouth, had fetched a box from the shed behind the Summerhouse to stand on.

Polly, her task finished, scampered back to take up her place at her Mistress's feet, and she and her PA began their work. Ms Howard dealt with document after document swiftly and decisively with the ease of long practice, and the pile of papers was much diminished when Sonia's mobile telephone gave its discreet buzz.

Sonia, with a glance of apology, answered it.

"It's Veronica, Ma'am," she said with surprise. "The luncheon hamper is ready. Can it really be so late? We don't seem to have been working nearly so long!"

"Time flies when one's enjoying oneself!" laughed her Mistress. "It's ten to one already! We've done an enormous amount, dear!"

"Shall I tell them to send out a slave with the hamper, Ma'am?" enquired Sonia.

"No; Polly shall take Boy and fetch it. I don't want him to stiffen up in the cold."

Ms Howard looked on with a smile as Polly untethered Boy and, with a struggle on account of her size, mounted the cart and scrambled into the driving position. She laid the whip on Boy's broad back and Ms Howard smiled again to see them move off, Polly's diminutive body perched high on her seat, dwarfed by the powerful animal she directed. It was an odd spectacle, She mused; Boy was much larger and many times stronger than the tiny creature who controlled his movements with such easy confidence, but he laboured on under her whip meekly and docilely, a tame beast; any thought of revolt, by dint of thorough training and long usage, utterly beyond his mental horizon. Polly had whipped Boy into his top speed before they'd reached the end of the glade; with only the weight of the cart plus Polly's insignificant addition, his load was light, and it was not long before the two returned.

Boy panted heavily between the shafts as Sonia and Polly took down the hamper and carried it up the wooden steps onto the terrace. Ms Howard herself took Boy's reins and led him a short distance away to tether him to a fence rail in the sunlight, and with her own hands gave him water from his bucket. Perhaps he recognised her in spite of the blinkers which so limited his vision, for he kept vainly pulling his head round against his short tether to try to nuzzle her fingers, causing her to reflect a little guiltily on her recent neglect of him, and to determine secretly to give him more of her time in the near future. But, she mused, perhaps it was only a domesticated animal's natural desire to have some human company which motivated him.

His watering finished, she took a few moments to examine him critically. Smooth, seamless skin covered the places where his arms had joined his trunk, and the short, broad, plastic and titanium muzzle the surgeons had grafted on to his jaws was now a natural part of his face. Thin strings of mixed saliva and mucus hung from the corners of his broad, thick-lipped mouth, and from the bronze ring in his wide nostrils. She took up a stance to his front and side. He turned his head, and regarded her with the pale, blank eyes of a beast. Gazing into his expressionless eyes for a few seconds, she found no sign of recognition, no sign of humanity. But perhaps what humanity he still retained, if any, had long since gone underground in some deep recess of his brain. Without ceremony he let out a flood of urine from his thick, limp penis dangling among the thick bush of pubic hair between his massive thighs, causing her to jump back in sudden disgust. Recovering her poise, she smiled in self-mockery at her reaction. What other recourse had a tethered draught animal, harnessed between the shafts of its cart?

Returning, she found that Sonia and Polly had laid the table; spotless napery, crystal and silver gleamed and sparkled in the sunlight. She sat, and Sonia served them both with piping hot chicken soup, crusty rolls, and a glass of Burgundy from a dusty bottle; Polly crouching nearby, waiting for the leftovers. A light but satisfying meal; soup, cheese and fruit, followed by brandy and coffee: afterwards they sat replete for ten minutes then, leaving the remains for Polly to pick over, to clear away, and to repack the hamper, they strolled up and down in the sunshine. As they neared the fence where he was tethered Boy spread his legs to the limit of his hobble and defecated copiously on to the grass between his feet. Sonia turned away with a hiss of disgust. "Filthy beast!" she muttered, causing her Mistress to burst into affectionate laughter, for she never tired of teasing her PA about her urban upbringing.

"My dear Sonia!" she laughed. "What goes in must go out! He's only an animal; you surely don't expect him to use a flush lavatory? And what a struggle we had with the Sisters to get them to accept him!"

Sonia flushed and smiled her acknowledgement of this thrust; her Mistress continued to reminisce.

"Remember the fuss? 'No males slaves under any circumstances: males are crude, dirty, treacherous, and violent!' - all the old feminist propaganda!"

Sonia smiled in remembrance.

"I well recall their shock when you first produced Boy for their inspection, Ma'am!"

"And proved that males COULD be tamed!" went on her Mistress. "Given a little surgery, and with the help of a micro-chip inserted into the pain centres of their brains, I proved that their hands could be rendered useless for any but the simplest tasks, with punishment for any slackening of instant obedience agonizing and swift!"

"But the Sisters demanded the compulsory castration of males, Ma'am. I think they expected you to back down then."

Her Mistress sighed as they took their seats.

"Yes; they did!" She winced at the memory of her defeat on this subject.

Relaxing in her chair as Sonia collated the results of their labours, Ms Howard gazed out across the sward to where Boy stood patiently waiting. With something of a shock, she realised she'd no idea of how his day was normally spent. She knew, of course, that he was yoked to the water pump in the early morning; about five o'clock, she thought. She knew too, that the massive increase in his bodily strength caused by his daily routine now enabled him to pump up ample water for their baths in a couple of hours of panting endeavour. But what was done with him the rest of the time? She'd half-noticed him pulling a cart loaded with logs for their fires from time to time; and occasionally she'd seen him standing harnessed and tethered behind the Lodge House at the entrance to Her estate as she drove past, probably waiting for Millie's return from one of her numerous errands to the near-by village; she herself had given Millie's permission to use Boy to travel as far as the Lodge, with her bicycle, on which to complete her journeys, in the back of the cart. But she had noticed him only in passing, so to speak; as much a part of the landscape as a yoked ox would have been in a Third World village. He probably spent his entire day harnessed to his cart, she decided, and his nights....? How did he spend his nights? She had a hazy recollection that he'd been kept in a cage originally; but, come to that, she'd no idea under what conditions her males were kept at night. They were, after all, beneath her notice; merely unimportant male cogs in her smoothly running feminine household, but she made a mental note to find out when they returned.

Sonia finished; Polly was sent to bring Boy over, and they all mounted the cart. It was now well after three o'clock, and the winter sun was already low in the sky. The windless air was colder, too; and frost was already beginning to form upon the grass.

Ms Howard whipped Boy into his fastest trot, ignoring his obvious fatigue; she was getting cold despite her warm clothing, and she longed for a hot cup of tea in her warm Drawing Room. In fifteen minutes of sweating, panting labour Boy delivered them at the Porch steps from which they'd departed. There Bessie was waiting; Boy's reins were handed to her, and Ms Howard, her body-slave, and her PA mounted the steps into the welcoming warmth of the house.

Some two hours later it was completely dark, and Ms Howard, recalling her resolution to look into the care of her male property, intimated this intention to Sonia.

Sonia was dismissive: "I'm sure they're adequately cared for, Ma'am," she said.

Her Mistress was adamant. "Nevertheless, we shall go and see for ourselves!"

"Of course, Ma'am!" Sonia meekly agreed. "But we should change into more appropriate clothing and put on our Wellington boots; stables are messy places!"

Ms Howard laughed at her PA's squeamish urban attitude to the dirt and mess which invariably gathers where animals are kept.

"Very well, dear! And scented face-masks too!" she teased before instructing Polly to lay out for her in her dressing room a pair of jeans, thick socks, and her green Wellington boots. She took a final cup of tea before mounting the stairs to dress, re-appearing ten minutes later to find her PA, similiarly accoutred, waiting for her.

They left through the Kitchen, acknowledging the respectful bows of the slave-cook Sandra and the kitchen-slave Millie, and emerged into the floodlit yard. They found Boy back in harness in the wood-cart which the hobbled male slaves were unloading under Bessie's eagle eye. They must have done another trip since we returned, thought Ms Howard; Boy must be exhausted.

She regarded her Class Four Slave with interest. Bessie's lot had much improved since the introduction of male slaves, she reflected. She now wore shoes and thick, woollen stockings in place of bare feet and sandals, and a thick woollen garment with full sleeves instead of her old coarse sacking tunic. Two long leashes hung from her leather girdle, and she held a silvery laser whip with which she raised an occasional welt upon the skins of her sweating underlings.

Her Mistress summoned Bessie to her side, and put her enquiries. Bessie's coarse, homely features took on a look of astonishment.

"Why, Ma'am," she said. "When Blossom and Chestnut have finished stacking the firewood I shall water them and Boy, then I shall put one of the slaves to sweeping and tidying the yard under Millie's eye. The other I shall take with me to help me yoke Boy to the water wheel, and tether him there with a goad to keep Boy at his work. Then I shall have tea in the Kitchen, as the Lady has so graciously permitted."

"Yoke Boy to the wheel?" queried Ms Howard. "I thought he'd pumped sufficient water for our daily needs already?"

"Oh; no Ma'am! Not water, Ma'am...the Lady will remember She allowed Millie and me electric light in our quarters. Boy is put to work to turn a dynamo to charge the batteries!"

Sonia, who had been observing with fascinated disgust the spectacle of Boy emptying his bladder into the dirt between his feet, broke in.

"How long is the beast's working day? And how much of its time is spent blind?" she enquired of the flustered Bessie.

"How long?....Let me see.....He's yoked to the pump at five in the morning, and worked till eight. At this time of the year he mostly pulls the wood-cart; we need to make at least three trips of about two hours each. Then Millie takes him off for her errands; then there's the garden refuse, carting soil and stones etc. He's usually in his stall by nine at night. That's about sixteen hours. Blind? Well, at the wheel of course, and we don't normally bother to unblindfold him when we harness him to his cart until we want to drive him somewhere instead of just leading him to where he's to go. I should say he's blinded for about seven or eight hours of his working day normally, but if we don't need him for the cart we just leave him yoked to the wheel and don't bother to take off his blinders at all. And at night, in his stall, he's always kept blind; it helps him settle down, we've found."

"And is his harnesss removed at night?" queried Sonia.

"Oh, yes; Mistress Sonia! His harness is put on him only when we want him to pull his cart; we take it off before we put his yoke on him."

"What about his hobble and bridle? And is he always led by his nose-ring?"

"Oh; his bridle and hobble are kept on him always; but we regularly check his skin for signs of chafing. And we do generally lead him by his nose-ring; he IS a big, strong animal, Mistress, and we find it much easier to control his movements."

"Carry on with yoking Boy to the wheel; I shall come and watch. Then I shall see where and how he's kept," broke in their Mistress. "And my male slaves too, of course!"

Bessie bowed and led Boy off, Blossom in attendance. After a few minutes, Scally and Her PA followed them to where they were putting Boy to work. In the glow of an oil lamp, Boy, now without his harness, already wore the heavy, padded yoke which secured him to the capstan pole, and they were just in time to see Bessie snap his blinkers forwards over his eyes to blind him, in order that he didn't suffer from the vertigo induced by being made to walk in so small a circle for so long. Bessie leashed Blossom to the rotating central pole and returned to release the brake, Blossom dug his long goad into Boy's flank, and he, straining into the yoke around his neck and shoulders, began another endless, sightless journey round and round the central pole, the bell on his yoke clanking dully at every stride.

"Why the bell?" queried Ms Howard.

"For when he gets up to speed, Ma'am, it makes it easier for us to know he's slowing for any reason."

"Don't you find that the slaves prone to ill-treat him, Bessie?" asked Sonia.

"Not so much now!" replied Bessie grimly. "They know that if I find they've broken the skin with their goads they get a whipping!"

Taking up another oil lamp, Bessie led the way into a small barn. The air inside was thick and cold; by the feeble rays of the lamp they could see two closely-barred cages, each about six by six by six feet high, with thick straw on their steel floors. In each cage a threadbare blanket was neatly folded on top of the straw, a bucket stood in one corner, and a long chain hung from a staple set three feet high in the wall.

"Here is where the male slaves are kept, Ma'am. They're chained too, as my Lady has instructed. They each have a bucket which serves for their food and water, for washing, and for their nightly wastes."

"Which cage is whom's?" enquired Ms Howard.

Bessie exhibited some confusion.

"I never bother with that," she confessed. "I lead them in at night and put one of them in the first cage and the other in the second; it doesn't matter which cage they're kept in; does it, Ma'am?"

"Of course not!" Ms Howard agreed cheerfully. "And what are they fed on; and how often?"

"Oh, cooked scraps and leftovers, raw vegetable peels and scrapings, spoiled fruit and so on, in the early morning and at night. Anything edible which we used to throw away. They have an adequate diet, Ma'am."

Sonia shivered in her thick coat. "It's cold in here!" she exclaimed.

"Yes!" agreed her Mistress. "Now let us see where Boy is kept. In your own quarters, Bessie; is he not?"

"Oh; no, Ma'am; no indeed, not anymore! My Lady was gracious enough to ensure I did not have to continue to share my living space with an animal!"

"Was I?" mused Ms Howard. "Well, I expect I was! Lead on, Bessie."

"Through here, Ma'am!"

They followed the slave through the barn, past the male-slaves' cages, and through a thick, wooden door into a much smaller room, some ten feet square. In a corner a stall had been constructed. About seven feet long and two and a half feet wide, with sides four feet high, its beaten earth floor was covered thickly with dirty straw, damp with its absent occupant's urine and matted with his excrement. Two of its side were formed by the brick walls; of the others, constructed of thick, round, horizontal wooden bars set into sturdy corner posts, the long side had a narrow gate at the end nearest the wall; the short side, facing into the room, formed another gate. A shallow metal trough was set low down on one of its bars, and a short thick chain hung from a staple set in the gatepost furthest from the wall.

The intention was obviously that the beast's handler would lead her charge into its pen through the gate in the long side, closing the gate behind it, then lead it up its pen's narrow length to the already closed gate forming the short side. There she would bring it to its knees, and tether it by the short chain. This process would make it unnecessary for the handler to soil her feet in the filthy straw, and the beast could then be led out of the front gate to its daily drudgery.

. The air in this gloomy little room was thicker than ever, with a heavy zoo-like smell. There were no windows, ensuring pitch darkness when the dim overhead light was switched off and the door was closed; nor was there any evident means of ventilation. Ms Howard, as the beast's owner, shuddered at her thoughts of conditions here in the Summer.

"He's kept in this pen, Ma'am - chained up of course; and he's fed on this."

Bessie indicated a corner in which was a tap, a dirty, battered, plastic bucket, a shovel, and an open sack of some dark brown, crumbly material from which came a sour reek.

"Animal feed, Ma'am; 'Lean Pig Meal' it's called. It has lots of calories, and the beast's fed four large shovelfuls morning and night. It feeds and drinks from the trough set in the front gate of its stall, Ma'am; and from its nose-bag, of course. Oh; and a slave cleans out its pen about once a month; it's almost due, Ma'am"

Sonia gingerly picked up a handful of the pig-meal in her gloved hand and sniffed at it. "Ugh!" she exclaimed in disgust, tossing it back into the sack.

"Not terribly appetising, I expect," laughed her Mistress. "But let us return to the house to dress for dinner. I'm hungry, and I would like a drink!"

 

Some hours later, as the two Women sat over their post-prandial Brandies, with Polly fast asleep in her usual position on the hearthrug, curled up like a dog before the fire, Sonia seemed unusually thoughtful. At length, her Mistress remarked on it.

"What on Earth is the matter; Sonia, dear?"

"It's Boy," Sonia confessed with embarrassment. "I can't seem to stop thinking about him."

"How so, dear?"

Sonia leaned forward, a troubled expression on her smooth face.

"It's the contrast, Ma'am,"she explained. "Here we sit in comfortable chairs over our drinks in a warm room, digesting an exquisitely cooked dinner, with warm soft beds waiting for us whenever we chose. I know I'm only your slave, and I'm being silly, but the image of Boy oppresses me somehow; I imagine him shivering in the dark on the filthy straw of his pen, his belly full of pig meal, nothing to look forward to but endless day after day drudgery as a draught animal. He spends his life leaning into a yoke under the whip or a goad, bringing fuel for our warmth, pumping water for our baths, turning a dynamo to bring light for slaves. But he himself is cold, and dirty, and lies in darkness. All his reward for his efforts is to be allowed to rest for a few hours on the sodden, matted straw of his cramped stall."

Ms Howard looked at Her PA fondly.

"Your soft heart does you credit, dear,"She said softly. "And you are not only my slave, but also my friend! But you concern yourself needlessly. Boy is an animal, and we are human beings. We use the muscles of animals for our purposes, not theirs; and the payment they get is what we think adequate. Enough food of some kind to enable them to keep working for us, and some minimum shelter; that is sufficient for them. If we keep them in pens lying in their own ordure - well, conditions which seem intolerable to us are perfectly adequate to them; they know nothing better. Come; let us put on our coats and visit him in his pen: I'll wager we find him peacefully asleep!"

Passing through the kitchen, where they disturbed a tired-looking Millie at her task of cleaning the cooking pans used for dinner, Ms Howard picked up a powerful electric lantern, and led the way into the Arctic cold of the floodlit yard. All was silent and still, as, aided by the light of a full moon, they came to the barn where the males were kept. They opened the door and entered, making their way past the cages where the drowsy male slaves, shivering under their thin blankets, stared at them in surprise and fear. Ignoring them, they came to the door of Boy's prison. Ms Howard opened it, and lit heir way inside.

Standing before his pen, she saw she had been right; Boy was asleep in his narrow stall. He lay on his side, facing the wall, curled up against the cold, the short tether chain attached to his nose-ring lying in the straw, his broad, muscular back towards them so they could see the welts and scars on his dirt-encrusted skin. Blind as he was, he seemed totally undisturbed by their sudden presence; though occasionally he twitched like a dog in his sleep as they watched. The foetid zoo-smell was almost palpable, until at last Sonia could bear it no longer and retreated hastily into the relatively clean air of the barn.

Her Mistress closed the door softly, and led her companion out into the fresh, icy air where she waited a little for her PA to recover before comforting her and taking her back to the warmth of the Dining Room. There she poured Brandy for them both, pressing a glass into Sonia's trembling fingers.

"There, there; dear," she soothed. "It was the smell that upset you. But you shouldn't mind that; animals kept in sties and pens DO smell. And Boy doesn't mind...if he even notices after all this time!"

Sonia composed herself.

"Yes, Ma'am; I've been foolish," she admitted. "I expect Boy has long forgotten any other life from that which he has now."

"Exactly, dear," agreed her Mistress. "Now let's get to bed; I'll wake Polly."

Rising and going to the hearthrug, she poked Polly gently in her ribs with the pointed toe of her shoe. "Wake up, dear!" she said softly.

Polly woke, rose, and stretched like a dog in her thin linen tunic.

"Go and lay out my nightwear; Mistress Sonia's too!" ordered her Mistress. "Go to bed, Sonia dear...Get into your basket in my bedroom, Polly, and go back to sleep....I'll stay up for a little."

"If you're sure, Mistress," began her PA hesitantly.

"I am; dear! Quite sure!" Ms Howard grinned a dismissal at her devoted slave and personal friend of many years standing.

Soia and Polly withdrew, leaving their Mistress to her thoughts. She refilled her glass and stared into the embers of the fire. Lazily she debated rousing a slave to bring in more logs from the frosty outdoors, then decided against it. Instead she turned her thoughts to the long struggle she'd had with her fellow Sisters about the vexed issue of the desirability of using male slaves. Ever since its foundation the Sisterhood had used only females slaves. Males were impossible to tame, it was agreed; they were brutes, ineradically dirty, violent and treacherous. She savoured the memory of refuting this age-old wisdom; when she had produced Boy at their Committee Meeting on the large, isolated farm of one of the most determined of her opponents, the Lady Edna. Boy had been her 'dog' then, she fondly recalled. His arms had not yet been amputated, and he followed her everywhere on all-fours as she'd trained him to. But she had already gifted him with his prosthetic muzzle which enbled him to eat directly from the floor at need; and it was in this guise that she'd introduced him, naked, collared, leashed, and thoroughly tamed, to the company.

She grinned at her recollection of the Lady Annette's indignation. Much the poorest of the assembled Ladies, she was allowed into the Sisterhood because she was a Veterinary, and thus suitable for the medical treatment of their slaves. She was also a militant feminist, and a devoted enemy of the male sex. She'd spluttered her into her aperitif. 'How on earth can you possibly be confident, Lady Howard' (here she'd grinned nastily as she used the formal honorific) ' that your male thing is really tame? And aren't you being forward in doing this? The Sisterhood has not even agreed on the principle of male slavery, let alone permitted Sisters to take male slaves yet!' She'd leant back in her seat with a smile of satisfaction at this thrust. Ms Howard was quick to riposte. 'In the first place' she'd replied, ' I have broken no rule of the Sisterhood. For my male thing - as you're pleased to call it - is not a slave, but an animal I have tamed. It is docile and obedient; and I shall prove it should any Lady here doubt my word!' But no-one did, though a stir went through the group, and a general muttering arose. 'The trick is,' she'd explained, 'to select the right male in the first place. This one' (and here she'd run her fingers through Boy's hair as he sat attentively on his haunches by her chair) ' was very carefully selected over a period of months of intensive psychological study for incipient and actual submissiveness. There are not many males like this, agreed; but there ARE many males in the world!'

'A costly and laborious process!' a Lady remarked, her tone lightly dismissive. 'And why, precisely, should we want male slaves when we can so easily obtain the more naturally submissive females?'

For answer Ms Howard had gone to the large window overlooking the sodden winter fields and pointed outwards at the dreary prospect, where, under a cold, steady drizzle, a half dozen female slaves laboured for their Mistresses under the weeping sky, each one's sole garment of coarse sacking (the only one they owned) soaked under the rain, their bare legs and feet heavy with the cold mud.

'Out there!' Ms Howard had thundered. 'That is why we need male slaves! We have exploited our female slaves long enough. They may be slaves, but they are of our Sex - they are Women! Why should we make them labour, hungry and cold, when we can enslave males to do this? Even our lowest females slaves should be under shelter, warm and dry, supervising and directing their male underlings!'

The assembly was deeply impressed, only the Lady Annette spoke out in denial.

'Sisters!'she cried. 'All these years we have been agreed on the undesirability of taking males for our slaves! Are we now to overthrow years of prudence on the evidence of the tameness of the one single male beast the Lady Howard has produced?'

' I had not finished explaining the taming process,' Ms Howard had said, her voice low and authoritive. 'In addition to selecting the right type of naturally submissive male, technological advances have made it possible to secure full and instant obedience by the simple insertion of a micro-chip into the pain centre of the beast's brain. Then the use of this' (and here she'd produced a tiny silver tube) 'inflicts instant, paralysing, agony.' She'd passed the tube around them for their examination, and had gone into some technical detail about its workings.

Her audience had been impressed, her appeal to their common Femininity with their slaves had made them feel uncomfortable; even her Hostess, Lady Edna, seemed to be coming around.

But the male-hating Lady Annette was not! Seeing her cause in danger, she instantly began a second line of attack. 'I suggest a Special Comittee be set up,' she'd proposed, 'to decide on, when and if the owning of male slaves is permitted, the exact status of these males with their female fellow slaves, and any further restraints upon their behaviour which may be considered necessary.' Ms Howard had seen at once the strategy hidden behind this innocent seeming proposal. Managed properly, the Special Committee's recommendations and requirements could be made so onerous that the use of male slaves would become more trouble than it was worth. But that had not happened; the other Sisters had either been convinced by her eloquence, or the age of male slaves had finally arrived. The compulsory restraints on males were severe compared to those on females, of course; feminine suspicion of the male temperament remained, and always would.

Ms Howard frowned. It had been some time since she'd had a male 'adapted' for its future of slavery. What exactly needed to be done to it to satisfy the requirements?

A male slave wore a heavy welded steel collar, and was hobbled at all times to restrict his mobility. His only garment - if his Mistress allowed him one at all - was to be a short, coarse sacking skirt. He had to be leashed when led to his tasks, and tethered when not actually engaged in them. He had to be caged when off duty. When put to work, he must be under the close and constant supervison of a Woman at all times. The compulsory surgery carried out on him before he was acceptable as a slave included cutting his vocal chords to prevent communication with other males and, to restrict the use of his hands to the crude lifting, carrying, and pushing which were all that were needed from him, his thumbs were removed and his fingers fused together, after which he was unable to cope with simple actions like untying a knot, or even opening the dog clip on his leash. And then there was that particular compulsory surgery she had so passionately opposed, Ms Howard reflected ruefully. The Lady Agatha, with her all-consuming hatred of the male sex, had insisted on the castration of male slaves in order to make them more placid. And of male animals too, she'd concluded with a triumphant glance at Ms Howard. How she had protested at this outrage, she thought sadly. Poor Boy! In vain she'd demonstrated, over and over again, his complete docility and obedience; in vain she'd insisted on his tameness! (Her reluctance to have him mutilated in this manner was strange, she thought; after all, she'd never had any intention of allowing him to mate. In fact, she doubted whether he'd ever mated as a human being; he HAD been a very shy, gauche young man. And now he never would!) After a heroic resistance to the demands of her peers she'd been forced to watch him being gelded by her old enemy one cold, wet day three years ago. She recalled the event perfectly. She and Annette, both tight-lipped and terse, accompanied by Annette's slave Susan carrying her Mistress's bag of instruments, had walked together in silence that rainy morning over the muddy yard to the shed where Boy was yoked to the water wheel. She'd had no male slaves then, and Bessie herself was obliged to keep Boy to his labour. They'd found her sitting on a crate, her whip in her hand, watching Boy's sightless steady progress around the endless circle he was confined to. At a gesture from her Mistress Bessie had pulled on the brake; Boy, as he always did, panicked for a moment at his sudden forced slowing, in terror lest the whip descend on his back. He had then stood in his rest position, unmoving and unseeing, neck and shoulders bowed under his heavy, sweaty yoke, seemingly oblivious of their presence. It had been mercifully quick however; a short spray around his groin from an aerosol containing a local anaesthetic, a deft movement of Agatha's scalpel, and Boy's testicles lay in the filthy mud at his feet. At a sad nod from Ms Howard, Bessie brought down her whip across Boy's haunches and he was once again in motion, leaving his Mistress only the consolation that his ordeal had been quick and painless; that he was, after all, only an animal, and that he probably wouldn't even know or understand what had been done to him.

She looked at the ormulu mantel clock; one am already! She sipped the last of her drink and rose. In her bedroom she undressed slowly and put on her nightwear, then, after an affectionate glance at the large dog basket in the corner in which Polly lay curled naked in sleep, she climbed into her warm bed.

Her last thoughts before sleep were of Boy. Hazily she debated getting another such beast to share his labours; she would start the process in motion tomorrow, she thought drowsily; but she would not buy in, instead she would select and tame her new animal herself, just as she had with Boy. And look how well that had turned out, she thought as she slid at last into slumber.

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