In the back yard

The most expensive gift I’ve given her is a 10’ fence surrounding most of our backyard. Helicopters aside nobody can see what goes on back there. I did it so she could go for pony rides. Not that we own a horse. Well, you see, she does: me.

It had taken me lots of hard work to become a good pony. We started in the house. The longer I could carry her the less I was punished when I collapsed. The formula and form of my punishments varied with her whim but as I got better she really did lessen. Even with that inducement pony training was slow and laborious.

Finally I was able to give her a complete tour of the yard as I crawled along with her sitting astride me. If my pace got too slow the sharp heels she always wore for her rides sped me back up. A quick yank on the choke collar told me when to stop. Tugs on my ears directed me left and right.

She has her cruel moods and her very cruel moods. I’d come to recognize her ‘suffer for me’ look. I saw it in here eyes one afternoon as she prepared me for a ride. Looking at her feet I was surprised to see a pair of athletic shoes she didn’t really like and almost never wore.

It was a long ride. Every joint ached and I knew the next day I’d do little other than recover.

When we got to the shallow pit I’d dug for her sometime back and had since maintained she dismounted me. Kicking me into the pit, I fell on my back only to be shoved over onto my belly.

It had rained the night before and the red North Carolina clay was moist. Part of my face sunk in.

“A girl needs her exercise.” It was only a second before her choice of soft soles became clear.

I felt the sole of a shoe slam into the side of my but. Then the other side. From the movement of her shadow and the constant hammer I realized by buttocks and thighs were being used as an aerobics platform. She didn’t go at it for very long but the consistent pounding of a small area left me very sore.

When I felt her shoe slide across the back of my head I realized she was using it like you would a doormat to wipe off the mud.

Then she stood in front of me. “Now crawl over and clean my shoes.”

Barely able to move, I shoved myself forward. It’d be a miserable job. Unlike her other footwear the sports shoes had a rough surface. They were harder to clean and the fabric scraped against my tongue.