She stepped out into the mid afternoon heat, splashing a little water from her bottle onto her face. Behind her she heard the doors of the gym open. One of the personal trainers smiled warmly at her, “Good workout today, everything you are doing is great!” She looked at him shyly. Her body was just starting to change, her arms were stronger, legs able to move, but she was still big. Ever since she’d been a teenager she’d been big. Not in the way that plus models were big. Not a tiny waist and then lovely inflated hips and tits. Fat in the wrong way. But now she was looking at this adonis-like man. His thick arms, his crooked smile, his broken rugby player nose and a feeling of warm shame and excitement rose to her cheeks.

“Thanks. I’ve got a long way to go but… it’s actually quite fun. All this exercise.”

“Yeah” He grinned wolfishly. “I’m on my break, fancy a quick coffee, I know a place.”

Her stomach twisted with excitement. A date. Cathy’s heart skipped a little. She tried not to get invested. He was so far out of her league. She pushed it down. Probably some creep with a fetish. They had a quick coffee and he talked about life, smiling, willing, staring at her. But also listening. The coffee disappeared and she started to feel the ache of the gym setting in. Her head was pounding… “I need a little water.” He helped her to her feet and walked her over to where the water was… catching her in his arms as she fainted.

—————————————————-

She awoke in the back of a van. Slumped on her side. As she blearily came to she could feel the manacles joining her wrists behind her. A thin chain connected her feet to her wrists. A thick cloth gag filled her mouth and made her want to choke. She had no idea where they were going.

After an aching journey the van door slammed open and pure sunlight almost blinded her after the darkness of the van. “Pmph, metm me moo” she screamed into the gag. Rugby boy was there. Silhouetted against the sky. Behind him was a field, a tree line and not much else. He started to drag her out. Another door slammed and the driver.. Or rather the barista from the coffee shop came to look at their newest acquisition. As rugby boy struggled, Barista kicked and pushed her until she fell from the van and collapsed on the ground.

“Not bad. No connections?”

“A housemate out of town, family in another city. She doesn’t call them. Doesn’t really like them.”

“That’s a shame” He smiled viciously.

He unclipped the hobble connecting her feet to her wrists and together they dragged her to her feet. Cathy didn’t feel the need to fight it. As they had made abundantly clear… she was alone, trapped, weak.. Doomed.

They circled the van and she saw a pretty country house. A small estate house of maybe 20 or 30 rooms. They took her into the foyer and the maids appeared, they were small delicate creatures, glassy-eyed and obedient. At rugby boy’s request they trimmed away her clothes with scissors. A kind of glee crossed their faces as they stripped her. They giggled at her tumbling rolls of fat, and laughed uproariously when they discovered her body hair, thick tangle blond curls which covered her fat cunt. In horror, Cathy twisted and turned and tried to cover herself with the hands tied behind her back.

“Meamth” she squealed into the gag. “MEATH”

Barista grabbed her hair in his thin hands, put another hand around her throat.

“I suggest you try not to disturb the peace of this house, anymore than you already have.”

Despite herself she moaned thickly into the gag causing the maids and rugby boy to giggle.

Turning a deep shade of red she nodded carefully, and barista removed his hands from her neck and traced down to her cunt. He pulled out a slick finger and showed it to her.

“There you see, someone is enjoying themselves… its not so bad.” He wiped her juices over her face. This was as much as she could take. Thick, hot tears of humiliation began to slide down her cheeks.

They made her stand to attention in the middle of the foyer a little longer, waiting. Then, she could hear the click, click, click of expensive shoes on the hardwood. The master of the house was coming down the corridor.

Barista looked excited. “Daddy, look what Jack found.”

Rugby boy smiled.

The master was in his 60s, a thin, severe looking man. His pinstripe suit was immaculate. He stared at Cathy, taking her in. Staring at her like the pile of meat she was to him.

“Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Jack chimed in. “She’s stronger than she looks too. Can carry heavy weights and her endurance is not bad.”

“Yes, 5000?” He said with a thin smile.

Jack considered it, then shook hands. It was about what he’d expected and the master was not to be quibbled with.

Once the money was handed over, he smiled at her. “Goodbye sweetheart. Be good.”

And walked out the doors.

Cathy couldn’t think straight. The master of the house circled her once more. “Too fat for the house, not to be seen, take her to the stables. She has the look of a plough horse.”

Then he spotted the wetness sliding down her thighs.

“A desperate plough-horse at that, slap a belt on her. I’m sure we’ll get her onto the bit quicker that way. I’ll give you a week to train her and then we’ll see what she can do”

“Yes Daddy,” Barista said, delighted. Practically skipping, he walked his new prize out of the house to the stables.

Walking behind him she could get a proper look. He was slim, his dark black hair was slicked across his head and his Barista uniform could be from the 1940s. White shirt, brown waistcoat, slim trousers. He was rolling up his sleeves ready for the fun to start. They hit a gravelled driveway and he dragged her forward. She tried to stand at the edge not wanting to walk across to the stables 20 metres away. He smiled grimly. “Come on you stupid pony. Get moving.” He kicked her thigh hard. Gingerly she stepped down and felt sharp pain. Then she quickly moved forward. The chain stopped her and she almost crashed face down onto the ground. “Steady girl” laughed Barista. Slowly, painfully slowly they walked across the gravel to the stables. By the time they reached them she was drenched in sweat. There were two parts to the stables. The first was a long line of gorgeous horses, thoroughbreds, ponies, and a real shire, towering over them all. Cathy thought with horror if she was to be pressed in with them. Thankfully he moved through a door at the back. The ceilings were lower in here, a tack and feed room and then beyond the rooms for human ponies. She walked through the doors and saw six neat little stables. Some occupied by mewling humans. Clad in thick leather, standing chained, or nude asleep on the straw. They were different sizes and shapes, different hair colours, different races but they all had thin and thick marks of the horse whip, criss-crossing their thighs and backs. On the doors there were signs. Princess, Misty, Bella, Mare and Boxer. Cathy shivered with fear, her imagination ran wild.

The door to her stall had a blank sign on it. First, he latched the chain nice and high so that she was tilted forward, her breasts dangling in front of her body. The strappado took most of the fight out of her. He removed the cloth gag and her dry throat was delighted. But immediately she started to beg. “Please. Please don’t do this. I’m not a Shire Horse. I’m not anything. Please just let me go. I won’t tell anyone what happened.” She felt pathetic and knew it was hopeless, had seen the glee in his eyes when his father had bought her. A new toy for him to break.

Instead of answering he held up a bucket of water for her to drink from and without thinking she slurped it down, quenching her thirst from the morning.

He left her for a few moments once she had drunk. He returned with hot soapy water and a razor. And two leather and metal contraptions. The first was a harness. He pulled it over her head and pressed the gag, a flat piece of metal against her tongue. Adjusting it so that it was nice and snug, forcing her tongue down. With it in place she could neither speak nor easily eat. “Aahh, Ahh, Aaaaah.” She said, moaning with distress.

“Don’t worry,” He said sweetly. ” It’s just a training bit, we have much nicer ones once you are broken.” He patted her thick thighs gently and then moved between her legs to inspect the mess of hair and wetness down there. He tutted at her, cooing and laughing about the curls of sodden hair.

“My. My. My. You really are enjoying this. Who knew we’d picked up such a freak.” Again she flushed. “Gives me a nice idea for your name though.” He went to the board and with a pen wrote in swirling letters. Curly.

He gathered the straight razor and showed it to her. The blade gleamed in the afternoon sun. “With a name like that, there is no way I’m shaving your useless cunt now. It’s not like anyone will ever fuck it anyway.” Instead he took the soapy water and shaved her legs, her armpits, and then looked appraisingly at her head. Thick curls of blond hair, that rolled over her shoulders. “The upkeep will be a nightmare. But I think we can make it look nice.” He portioned hair through the middle, and tied that up into a ponytail. Then tracing the razor delicately across her cheek, past her eyes and ears, to the sides of her head began to slowly and closely shave off her hair. Curly was losing it. The pain of the position and humiliation faded until all she could hear and feel was the blade against her scalp. She kept as still as efficient. Drool fell from her gagged mouth… her whimpers turned again to moans as he shaved her. She wanted it so badly. Needed it. More physical touch than she had experienced since she was a teenager.. Fumbling with a boy. She felt herself dripping. Her thighs were soaked.

When he finished he showed her how she looked. Her thick hair was scraped back, and down the sides was white flesh. She flushed red, humiliated. Now Barista turned back to her cunt. He saw the thick juices dripping onto the floor. He took two fingers and slid them easily into her waiting hole. Horrified she made the appropriate noises, but soon he was diligently pressing his slick fingers around her clit. She whimpered, feeling an orgasm starting to create. He nibbled gently on nipples and continued to touch her, watching her writhe with need. She started to moan earnestly and he pulled away, watching her twitch as she edged.

She wailed miserably… What was that? When she touched herself she all the time came. Now the ache was unbearable. Her feet stomped with frustration against the ground. He chuckled mildly.

“Oh dear. Such a shame Curly is getting locked up.” He showed her the other contraption. Thick steel. He slid it into place and with a click it locked firmly. “That might be the last time you are ever touched, Curly.” He said, patting her thigh again. He unhooked her wrists and lay them on the floor. Let her rest on the ground. A bucket of water for her, and no food at all. With a grim and wicked laugh, he walked out of the stall.