Life in the Harness

- by Trey McJustice.
Rewritten and edited for SirJeff's website.

Chapter One, Part Four.

A faint sound from above roused ThickThighs from her death-like sleep. She raised her head weakly and listened. A carriage passed by on the road above, followed several seconds later by another.

With a groan ThickThighs started to crawl through the reeds, up to the roadside. Her body was numb with cold -- except for her joints, stiff and aching, and the wound at her neck, which throbbed with pain. She touched her throat gingerly and winced. The edges of the wound had hardened under a sticky film of blood.

The sky was beginning to brighten with the coming dawn, but when ThickThighs dragged herself to the side of the road she could barely make out the shadow of the carriage which had passed a few seconds earlier.

She heard the approach of a another, and looking back down the road she saw a single bright lantern. Could it be LittleTits, or one of the other femdicks? Perhaps they were following behind Master Bregu.

But as the carriage drew nearer, and ThickThighs could see the harnessgirls partially illuminated in the light of the swaying lantern, she realized she did not recognize them. Were these drivers chasing Master Bregu?

It was now too late for her to hide. The driver, seeing her, reined his girls hard, and they struggled to a halt. He stepped down from the chariot and approached her cautiously. He stopped several feet away, whistled shrilly toward the chariot still advancing down the road ahead of him. Then he turned and retrieved the lantern which swayed from the chain between two of the lead girls' noses.

When he turned back, ThickThighs was astonished to see Master Golm.

He knelt beside her, holding the lantern high above her body.

He recognized her and smiled. "You're in pretty bad shape, little one."

ThickThighs tried to respond, but only a hiss of air escaped her lips. She nodded weakly.

Golm examined the wound at her neck for a few seconds, frowning, then studied the rest of her. "The cut's not too deep," he mused. "Didn't hit the jugular. The cold air helped keep you from bleeding to death. As for this ankle . . . "

He set the lantern aside and gently lifted her foot. ThickThighs winced and whimpered as he moved it first one way, then another, testing the injury.

"Just a sprain," he announced after several seconds. "You'll be fine."

The other two chariots had now turned back, and one of the drivers called out, "What have you found there, Golm?"

The voice was familiar, but ThickThighs could not quite place it.

"It's a fem, m'lord," said Golm. "One of Bregu's harnessgirls. Looks like she got injured, so he cut her throat."

"So Bregu HAS passed this way," said the other, stepping down from his chariot. He took his front lantern and approached.

ThickThighs recognized Master Brack, Lord Animus's son. Her eyes widened and she whimpered softly, mortified that the young master should see her in so sorry a state.

Master Golm, misapprehending her reaction, squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Don't be afraid of Master Brack, girl," he told her. "He won't hurt you."

Brack halted beside Golm, and ThickThighs stared fixedly at his boots, her blood-stained face hidden from his view.

"Will she live?" asked Master Brack.

"Probably, m'lord. If we get the wound cleaned and dressed."

Brack stared down the road in the direction Bregu had taken. "Might we still catch him?"

"I doubt it, m'lord. I expect he passed through here two or three hours ago, maybe more. There's a small village called Thorn about four or five miles further on. If Bregu took his gold with him -- and knowing Bregu, I'm sure he did -- he could have bought a whole new team of harnessgirls in Thorn."

"And from Thorn?"

"Like Lord Animus said, m'lord. Bregu will drive north to seek refuge with Lord Deagol."

"Then let's take this fem back with us and report what we've found. We'll send Fulk on ahead to Thorn to see what became of Bregu." He walked toward the other chariot to relay this plan to the third driver, Fulk.

Master Golm looked down at ThickThighs and patted her head. "We'll get you fixed up," he said.

Golm tied a strip of cloth around ThickThighs's neck, bandaging the wound, then placed her between his feet in the chariot. He wrapped a blanket around her frigid body and with Master Brack drove back to Bregu's estate. The road seemed even more jarring and dangerous than it had from the harness, and the journey seemed longer.

When they finally reached Bregu's estate they proceeded directly up the steep hill to the front of the house, where Lord Animus himself stood with another master. Before them were gathered all the fems who had lived in Master Bregu's house, laborers and pleasure slaves; they knelt trembling in the cold dawn air.

Animus turned as the chariots halted beside him. "What news do you bring?" he asked. "Did you find him?"

"As we suspected, Father," said Brack, stepping down from his chariot. "Bregu was at least three or four hours ahead of us. We sent Fulk on to Thorn, to see how long ago he passed through. But he is probably well on his way to Lord Deagol by now."

Animus nodded grimly, then glanced at ThickThighs shivering in the chariot at Golm's feet. "What of her?"

"One of Bregu's harnessgirls, Father," said Brack. "She was slightly injured and Bregu tried to cut her throat."

"Does she have any information?"

"Perhaps. Not likely."

"Then why did you bring her with you?" asked Animus, looking from Brack to Golm.

"Pardon me, m'lord," said Golm deferentially. "I brought her back because she's always been a hard-working cunt, best in Bregu's stable, loyal, eager and grateful for every favor. And she did not deserve to die by Bregu's hand."

Animus smiled, nodding. "Over the years I've learned to put great faith in your judgement, Golm. You are a wise and intelligent advisor. That's one of the reasons I've decided to put you in charge of this estate."

"Me, m'lord?"

Animus laughed. "Who else? Without your warning I may have been killed by the assassin Bregu sent. I need someone trustworthy, someone who is familiar with this estate. You're the obvious choice."

The other master standing with Animus laughed loudly and called out to Golm, "Just shut up and nod, you fool, before he changes his mind!" He was a huge man, over six and a half feet tall, bulging with muscles and dressed in what appeared to be expertly-cut animal skins.

"Now, now, Cudgel," said Master Animus. "Don't rush him. Would you like some time to think about it, Golm?"

"No, my lord," Golm said quickly. "I only hope that I deserve this honor."

"There is no doubt of that, Golm," Animus assured him. He extended his hand, and Master Golm strode forward and shook it warmly, then received a congratulatory slap on the back from Cudgel that almost knocked him off his feet. When Golm had recovered his balance, Animus directed their attention to the fems gathered before them.

All of Bregu's pleasure slaves knelt with heads bowed, trembling with cold and anxiety. Behind them knelt the housegirls, including RoundFace.

"I must admit," mused Cudgel. "Bregu did not have bad taste in fuckholes."

"No -- Only in allies," said Animus darkly.

From behind the house arose the familiar sounds of harnessgirls and wagon wheels. Moments later a large flatbed rounded the corner. It was pulled by fems ThickThighs had never seen before, driven by a master she did not recognize. In the bed of the wagon, hogtied, were Master Bregu's femdicks -- HardCunt, LittleTits, DarkHair, and another whose name ThickThighs had never heard.

Animus, Golm and the others turned toward the wagon as it halted beside them. The driver, a burly young man with long black hair, yanked the brake and jumped to the ground. Like Golm, he fell to one knee before Lord Animus.

"What do you have here, Wuldor?" asked Animus.

Wuldor rose, grinning broadly. "Bregu's femdicks, m'lord! They were hiding under piles of straw in the stable."

The fems, lying on their stomachs with their wrists bound tightly to their ankles, looked up miserably as the men peered at them over the side of the wagon.

"Well," said Animus. "Bring them out. Let's see if they have any information for us."

Wuldor, already reaching into the wagon to drag the nearest femdick out, shook his head. "I've already worked them over pretty good, m'lord. I don't think they knew anything about the assassin, or about where Bregu might be on his way to." He tossed the femdick, DarkHair, to the ground like a sack of grain. She grunted as she hit and writhed helplessly in her bindings. The other femdicks soon joined her in like manner.

"What do you think, Golm?" asked Animus. "Are they hiding important information?"

"No," Golm sneered, shaking his head. "Bregu was smart enough to keep his femdicks ignorant. They know nothing."

"Then what do you wish to do with them?"

Golm looked at Wuldor. "Free them," he said.

Wuldor drew a large knife from his belt and cut their bindings. Then he pulled them to their feet. They stood unsteadily, staring at the masters' boots.

"You!" said Golm, pointing at HardCunt. "Step forward."

Sullenly the femdick obeyed.

Golm settled one hand on the pommel of his sword. "You assaulted me yesterday, cunt," he said evenly.

"Masteryesmaster," whispered the fem.

"Do you have an excuse?" he asked.

HardCunt paused, as if a suitable explanation might occur to her if she thought long enough. But she quickly shook her head. "Master, no master."

"That is because there is none," said Golm, drawing his sword. "Now lean over, extend your neck."

HardCunt obeyed, bending at the waist.

"Turn your head," instructed Golm. "Look up at me."

HardCunt looked, her swollen blackened eyes locked on Master Golm's. She blinked once as Golm lifted the blade over his head; she did not flinch.

Golm brought the sword swiftly down, through the femdick's neck. Her head fell forward but her body remained standing for a moment, until it was yanked down by the chain still linking her lower lip and right breast.

The eyes of the three remaining femdicks were rooted on the twitching body of their mistress. They looked up only when Master Golm addressed them.

"I'm giving you three a choice -- You can give up your little wooden pricks and become laborers, in which case I'll spare your lives. Or you can remain femdicks and end up like your mistress here. So which will it be? If you want to live, come and kneel at my feet. Otherwise, stand up and bend over."

The three fems looked at one another, then at HardCunt's quivering corpse. Then, slowly, they stood up and bent over.

Master Golm grinned. "Impressive," he said.

But before he could continue he was interrupted by LittleTits, who suddenly threw herself sobbing at his feet. Red-faced and frantic, the little femdick pressed her ringed lips worshipfully against his crotch. Master Golm looked down at her.

"You wish to live?"

She nodded, grunting urgently.

"You will give up your phallus," Golm admonished, "and live as a common laborer."

LittleTits nodded emphatically, tears in her eyes.

"And what about you two?" Golm asked of her companions. They stared at the ground, unmoving.

"Very well," said Golm. "LittleTits, I spare your life." He took hold of the narrow belt which held her phallus about her hips and yanked it away, then jerked the phallus out of her and let it fall to the ground at his feet. He looked again at the pair of fems who were still bent over, nervously awaiting the fall of his sword. "Stand up straight!" he demanded. "I want you two femdicks to take this laborer to the barracks. Then come straight back here to me. We'll need to start plowing the fields in just a few weeks, and we've got a lot of planning and work ahead of us."

Neither girl moved for several long seconds. Finally they dared lift their heads to glance trepidatiously at the Master.

"Well?!" he bellowed. "Get your fat asses moving before I change my mind and throw your heads to the dogs!"

The girls straightened abruptly, whimpering, and cautiously approached LittleTits. She still knelt at Master Golm's feet, head down, weeping silently. They lifted her by the armpits and led her away down the hill.

"Well," announced Master Animus. "It is time we took our leave of you, Golm. It's a long journey home."

Master Golm bowed deeply, then turned toward the chariot in which ThickThighs still huddled. "I beg you, my Lord, do not leave empty-handed. Please accept this carriage-puller as a gift." He indicated ThickThighs with a sweep of his arm. "She's one of the best girls in the stable. In a couple of weeks, her throat should be healed enough to put her back in the harness."

ThickThighs raised her head and looked hopefully toward Master Animus. He scarcely bothered to look in her direction before nodding to Golm. "I accept. Let's put her in the wagon and be on our way."

Wuldor immediately advanced on ThickThighs, took her tightly by the arm and dragged her out of the chariot. She gasped with pain, struggling to keep her weight on her good foot.

"Careful there, Wuldor," said Golm mildly. "We don't want to re-open that throat."

Wuldor grunted assent, effortlessly swept ThickThighs into his long arms and carried her to the wagon.

As Animus, Brack and Wuldor prepared to depart, ThickThighs's attention was devoted to Master Brack, taking up the reins of his chariot. She could no longer hope to pleasure him with her holes, but perhaps one day she might find a place in his harness, sweating and straining under his whip. She heard the sharp crack of his lash against his harnessgirls, and shuddered with desire.

The huge barbarian Cudgel climbed onto the driver's bench of the wagon, and Master Animus settled next to him. Wuldor stepped into the chariot which Golm had vacated. Then they set off down the hill, Animus's wagon followed by the pair of chariots.

The journey to Master Animus's estate was indeed a long one. They rode all morning and far into the afternoon, traveling more or less southeast the entire way.

ThickThighs dozed off early into the journey, warmed by the straw and lulled by the rocking of the wagon. Occasionally she would waken, and watch the fems pulling Master Brack's chariot. They had been driven hard all morning and probably most of the previous night, and their faces were dust-caked masks of pain and exhaustion. Still, they hauled their master doggedly, heads high and eyes forward. ThickThighs felt a moment's pride for them, and hoped again that she might earn a place with them in Brack's harness.

Hours later they rumbled through the narrow gate of a low stone wall, about four feet high, into a large town. Dozens of buildings lined the street they were on, which ran straight through the center of the town toward a high bluff in the distance. On that height, overlooking the town, stood a two-story residence -- a mansion. ThickThighs did not doubt who lived THERE.

The main street through the town was fully half a mile long, intersected every few dozen yards by parallel-running side streets.

ThickThighs wondered how many masters lived in the town. Two hundred, at least.

Master Animus tapped Cudgel on the arm, pointed down a side street. "To the stable," he said.

Cudgel nodded, slowed, and turned down the narrow alley Animus had indicated. A pair of laborers running errands for their Masters were forced to scurry out of the way, flattening themselves against the walls to avoid being run over.

They raced down this alley for three or four blocks, and ThickThighs smelled the familiar odor of a stable -- straw, dung and sweat. She could not help feeling apprehensive as they approached the huge double doors, standing open.

Cudgel turned into the stable, trotted his team down the wide center aisle toward the rear. The layout was similar to Bregu's stable -- stalls along each side, vehicles housed in the rear. But it was much larger than Bregu's -- fifteen stalls to a side instead of ten, with room in the back for twice as many carriages and wagons.

Several laborers were scurrying about, impelled by the shrill commands and sharp whip-strokes of three very impatient femdicks. As Master Cudgel halted near the rear doors of the stable, all three femdicks rushed to the wagon and dropped to their knees on Master Animus's side, bowing their heads to the dirt.

"Rise, RockBody," said Animus, climbing down from the wagon.

The tallest of the femdicks quickly stood up, rubbing her hands together anxiously. "Master?" she asked. "Did the harnessgirls perform adequately, Master?"

"Indeed!" replied Animus. "They are to be rewarded for their work. "I want the three of you to fuck them, each of them, until they cum. But save it until tomorrow -- I think they are much too exhausted to enjoy it tonight."

RockBody nodded. "Master, yes Master!" she cried. "It will be done, Master!"

"Secondly," continued Master Animus. "I have a new carriage-puller." He gestured toward the wagon bed. "She is injured and will need several days to heal. Take her to a stall and see to it that she is looked after. Now move."


RockBody proceeded to the back of the wagon and opened the tailgate. She gestured to ThickThighs with one hand and grasped her by the arm with the other, dragging her to the edge of the wagon. She lifted the harnessgirl into her arms with a grunt and carried her toward the nearest stall.

ThickThighs noted that Master Brack and Master Wuldor had not followed the wagon into the stable, and she wondered absently where they had gone. Then she was carried through the gate of the stall and laid on a thick pile of fresh straw. Without a word, RockBody turned and left the stall, bolting the gate behind her.

A few minutes later, as ThickThighs lay drifting into a light sleep, the gate reopened and in bustled a young laborer with a bucket of water. She was lean, flat-chested and black haired.

"LittleHips will wash you now," the laborer said, setting the bucket down.

"Yes, mistress," said ThickThighs.

LittleHips quietly went to work, drawing a cloth from the water and gently wiping the grime from ThickThighs's body. She reserved ThickThighs's wounded throat for last. With infinite care she unwrapped the bloody bandage from ThickThighs's neck, wincing sympathetically as she elicited a moan from the harnessgirl. She dabbed her cloth at the dried blood and ThickThighs jerked away, grimacing.

For twenty minutes LittleHips patiently cleansed the ugly gash, and when she was finally satisfied she took a clean strip of cloth tied to the handle of her bucket and rebandaged the wound. She took up her bucket, patted ThickThighs's head, and exited.

For four days ThickThighs was given no tasks to perform. Each morning LittleHips would come shortly after daybreak to fill her feeding trough, put her through a short stretching routine, and rebandage her wound. For the rest of each short day she was free to explore her lodging. Six feet wide by fifteen feet long, wooden walls rising several feet above her head, fresh straw thickly carpeting the hard-packed earthen floor. She soon knew every corner, every crack, every shadow.

On the fifth day just before noon she was visited by the femdick RockBody. She was nearly as tall as HardCunt had been, but her face was leaner, her features more angular.

ThickThighs felt a sudden intense dread as the femdick entered the stall; scrambling to her knees she pressed her lips to RockBody's boots and groveled energetically.

RockBody cleared her throat and removed her boot from under ThickThighs's face, then clapped her hands sharply. Moments later LittleHips scurried into the stall and dropped to her knees before the femdick, stared fixedly at the five-inch phallus protruding from RockBody's groin.

"Master does not care for unproductive girls in His stable," said the femdick.

ThickThighs, head lowered, licked her lips anxiously. The wound at her neck burned. Was she to be sent to the butcher after all?

"Master wants the carriage-puller put to work as soon as her ankle is sufficiently healed," RockBody continued, addressing LittleHips. "When will she be ready?"

"The swelling is mostly gone, mistress," said the laborer, breathless in her haste to have done with the interview. "LittleHips thinks she could probably do some light work today, mistress."

"She'll be ready for the plow in three weeks' time?"

"Absolutely, mistress!"

"Good. Today she will pull the cart when you clean out the stalls. Understood?"

"Yes, mistress."

RockBody took a fistful of the laborer's hair, directed her phallus toward her mouth. LittleHips gaped obediently and the femdick face-fucked her for three or four seconds, then turned on one high heel and strode out of the stall.

When she was gone, LittleHips stood up and gestured to the harnessgirl. "Come, ThickThighs," she said.

ThickThighs quickly rose and followed the little laborer to the rear of the stable, where waited a small two-wheeled dung cart much like the one she had been accustomed to pull in Master Bregu's stable.

Within two minutes ThickThighs was strapped to the cart, girlskin booties on her feet and a pair of iron bells swaying from her breast rings. LittleHips greased her rectum and pried the end of an ass-stick into her.

It was large -- ThickThighs instantly recognized the girth of a dogtail -- but it was very unlike any ass-stick she had ever worn before. Along its entire length, irregularly spaced, were a multitude of raised wooden knobs about the size of a fem's thumbnail. ThickThighs grunted with surprise and cast a glance over her shoulder as the probe filled her bowels. LittleHips giggled.

"ThickThighs likes that ass-stick, huh?" she said. "It's LittleHips's favorite too." She turned and bent over, shook her little ass to animate the dogtail which hung to her calves. Then, still giggling, she hurried to retrieve a wooden pitchfork from a tool rack on one wall, and went straight to the nearest stall.

ThickThighs trotted after, pleasured by the warm friction of the ass-stick in her bowels. Her ankle was still stiff, and she felt a twinge of pain with every footfall, but it did not greatly affect her stride.

The stalls were larger than those in Master Bregu's stable. They could easily house four cunts apiece, although most of them only held three. There were also several more stalls in this stable than had been in Bregu's; as a result, the cleaning took most of the afternoon. Three times LittleHips filled the cart and led ThickThighs to the dung heap, which lay nearly half a mile outside of town. The day was cold and blustery, and every time they returned from the dung heap their fingers, toes and nipples were blue with chill. LittleHips was no conversationalist; when the chore was finally finished, LittleHips released the harnessgirl from the cart and led her back to her stall.

"LittleHips will bring food," she said, smiling wearily.

Half an hour later, just before dusk, the laborer returned and emptied a bucket of feed into the trough. Then she carefully wiped down ThickThighs, who was streaked with mud, dirt and dung.

"Sleep well, ThickThighs," she said as she departed.

Copyright Trey McJustice. All rights reserved. Posted here with permission.
Do not repost nor repurpose without permission.