The Mares of Gashran

The next morning, Mur woke the girls. "Move it," he prodded their legs lightly with a riding crop, lifting them from their mats. Within seconds, all three mares knelt over the latrine trough, watching him expectantly. Mur walked around them and fastened Karana’s and Ana’s hands, already obediently placed behind their backs. "Relieve yourselves," he permitted. The women didn’t hesitate. After cleaning each of their anuses in turn, he sent the mares to the stand where their tack hung. Each woman, without waiting for an order, knelt with her legs spread wide, leaning her body forward to show readiness for harnessing. He approached each of them in turn, inserting their plug-tails, fitting their headstalls, and placing bits in their mouths. Then he began harnessing Ana and Dana with saddles, leaving Karana kneeling. "Someone will come for you soon and take you to Lady Linya. Master Akrah wants to speak with you." *** Karana knelt on the stone slabs, her mittened hands bound behind her back as befitted a mare outside the stall. Linya sat on a wooden bench, adjusting her glasses—a rare affectation that made her look "scholarly." Akrah entered, his soft riding boots silent on the pavilion’s stone. "Prepare for a whipping," he said calmly. "I want you to remember who’s in charge here." Karana immediately bowed, nearly pressing her forehead to the cold stone, arching her back and raising her bound hands to avoid blocking her lower back. The chain on her ankles clinked as she spread her legs for stability. She didn’t look at Akrah. She looked at Linya. "Why have you decided to punish my slave?" The mistress’s voice was icy. "Who gave you the right?" "I’m not punishing her," Akrah crouched beside Karana, his claws gliding over her back without scratching. "I just want her to remember my hand. And do not dare to lie when I ask questions." "How charming," Linya set aside the scroll. "Last time, you whipped her for speaking. Now you want to whip her to make her speak." "She’s a smart mare," Akrah stroked Karana’s rump. She shuddered but didn’t pull away. A mare must never avoid a goblin’s hand. "And smart mares sometimes forget their place." "She hasn’t forgotten," Linya leaned forward. "She knows her place. She’s a good, obedient mare. And she knows she’s my mare." "Then why do you beat her?" Akrah pointed to the barely healed stripes on Karana’s thighs, clearly left by a punishment rod, not a riding crop. "Or is that not you?" Linya smirked. "I’m training her. The difference between you and me is that I discipline my slave. She’s mine to punish. Not yours.” Karana held her breath. She knew what was happening: Akrah was testing boundaries. And Linya understood. "Fine," Akrah sat beside his sister on the bench. "No whipping. Let’s just talk, Karana." She slowly straightened, sitting back on her heels. Her eyes met Linya’s—the mistress nodded, granting permission to answer. "Do you know where your tribe lives?" Akrah asked. Karana hesitated, unsure how to answer. Linya snorted: "She doesn’t know. Because she has no tribe. Neither does Ana. That is, they probably have one, but not on this planet. They were brought from other stars. Their men sold them to Rokh." "Is that true?" Akrah didn’t take his eyes off Karana. "Yes, master," she lowered her head. "Dana is from another planet too. Like us." "So the goblins who bring Rokh mares are lying? They say they take them from the mountains, from wild enclaves where feral colonists live." "They’re not lying," Karana swallowed. "They take us from The Base. I don’t know how to explain. If I don’t go into details, we’re lured to this planet under false pretenses, then sold to goblins." Akrah crouched again, his voice softening: "Can you take me there? I want to buy mares myself. Without middlemen. Hire trainers and sell racing mares from the stars myself." Karana flinched. "You want me to help you enslave other women?" "Why not? Wild mares are always hunted on on mareback—otherwise, a goblin can’t catch a wild mare or untamed mare," Akrah smiled, but his teeth weren’t visible. "If Linya orders it, you won’t have a choice." "I’ll try to dissuade the mistress," Karana raised her eyes. "It’s not right." "Not right?" Linya scoffed. "You yourself said women are brought here to be sold. What difference does it make if they go through Rokh or my brother?" "I don’t know where the Base is," Karana lied, lowering her head. "You’re lying," Akrah grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I’ll ask Linya to whip you every day until you talk. Or until you die. Ready to die for strangers who’ll end up enslaved anyway?" Karana didn’t answer. She knew Linya wouldn’t let her be beaten to death. But she also knew the mistress would allow Akrah to whip her unconscious. And repeat it. Again and again. "Why don’t you want to help my brother?" Linya’s voice hardened. "Or have I given you too much freedom, mare?" Karana remained silent. She saw Linya watching her—not with malice, but curiosity. How far was she willing to suffer for others’ lives? "I don’t know, mistress," she finally said. "I wouldn’t want to be part of this." "So you’re willing to disobey?" Linya stood. "Interesting. I thought you were smarter." Akrah released her chin. "I think we’re done," he headed for the pavilion exit but paused. "By the way, Karana… If you change your mind, tell Linya. She’ll pass it on." Linya stayed seated on the bench, watching Karana shift from knee to knee, her chain clinking with each movement. "I understand you, in a way. It might seem like betrayal," the mistress said softly. "But remember: I’ll always choose him over you. He’s my brother." Karana nodded. Her bound, mittened hands twitched, but she couldn’t even clench her fists. "Yes, mistress. I understand." *** That evening, after the goblins had dined, it was time for the whipping. Not all mares were whipped—only the racing ones. The work mares were already beaten throughout the day, so they attended as spectators. Though they were utterly indifferent to the proceedings. The work mares squatted or knelt along the stall wall, tethered to a long tie-line. Their leg chains clinked with every movement. Their faces were blank—they’d already had their share of pain for the day. Now it was their turn to watch and be convinced that no human on the villa could escape the mistress’s lash. Not that any of them cared. Linya and Akrah settled into armchairs; Mur stood nearby, holding a punishment rod. Karana was called first. She stepped forward in small steps, her chain jingling with each one. Without waiting for an order, the mare knelt, bowing her head. Linya rose, her long dress rustling against the stone as she approached the slave. "You’ve behaved well this week," the mistress stroked Karana’s head. "But you’ve been insufficiently polite a couple of times. Especially this morning. You know what I mean. That deserves punishment." She lifted her skirt. "Five strokes to the chest in addition to the usual ten to the rump. Also, my brother asked to have you whipped daily until you change your mind and understand you can’t refuse your masters’ requests. Any of them." Karana pressed her lips to Linya’s foot. Mur removed the plug-tail from her anus and unclasped the bells from her nipples. They clinked as they fell to the pavement. "We’ll start with the rump," he said. Karana bent forward, spreading her knees for stability. The first stroke of the rod cut through the air with a whistle. She flinched but made no sound. The second. The third. The skin on her buttocks reddened, and by the fifth stroke, thin stripes of blood appeared. She whimpered through clenched teeth but didn’t change position. After enduring all ten strokes, she waited for the command. "Straighten up," Mur ordered. She obeyed, arching her back so her nipples were level with his chest. She knew this would make it easier for him to strike her. The first blow across her chest made her cry out. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she held the pose. The fifth stroke was the hardest. Karana sobbed, but when Mur extended his hand, she obediently kissed it, mumbling through the bit, "Thank you, master." He reinserted the plug-tail and ruffled her tear-streaked cheek. Karana turned and, swaying, made her way to Linya’s chair, kneeling at her feet. The mistress fed her a piece of fruit without removing the bit. Karana savored the familiar, long-awaited taste and relaxed. Ana was already kneeling when Linya approached her. "Ana, you’ve also behaved well," the mistress smiled. "But we know a little pain gives you pleasure. And punishment shouldn’t be pleasurable. Let’s try to overcome that. Ten strokes with the rod to the buttocks, ten to the chest, and ten with the riding crop to the vulva." Ana kissed her foot. Mur removed the plug-tail, and she assumed the position—ass up, legs wide. The rod whistled, leaving red stripes on her buttocks. Ana moaned, but not from pain—from anticipation. When Mur shifted the strokes to her chest, her breathing quickened, her moans grew louder. And when, switching the rod for the crop, the first strike landed on her labia, she finally shrieked and twitched, dropping her buttocks to her heels and closing her knees. "Lie on your back, spread your legs, and relax," Mur ordered, and she obediently assumed the position, spreading her knees wider. The crop burned, and Ana screamed after each strike. The bit didn’t muffle her cries. But she knew the pain was brief, and she knew what would come next—and that helped her endure. Not that she had much choice. When he finished, Mur didn’t reinsert the plug-tail. Instead, he crouched before her, his fingers sliding over her burning labia, parting them. Linya crouched beside him, stroking the mare’s head as Mur inserted his hand into the slave’s vagina nearly up to his elbow. The local healer had corrected the results of Horh’s experiments almost immediately after Ana arrived at the villa. Now, the size of her vaginal opening matched her nature. The mistress loved naturalness. "Come," Mur ordered, seeing the slave was sufficiently aroused. The experiment had failed—the slave had grown aroused even from such pain. Ana climaxed immediately, her body shuddering from the orgasm for a good thirty seconds. When Mur withdrew his hand, Ana went limp. She was satisfied. Even if only briefly, right now she felt very good. "Good girl," Linya stroked her head, then turned to Dana. "Your turn." Dana stepped forward, her legs trembling. She didn’t know what to expect. Mur removed the plug-tail but didn’t take off the bells. "Ten strokes with the rod to the buttocks," he said. "No pleasure. Correct?" He looked at Akrah. The goblin nodded solemnly, not fully understanding what response was expected. At Mur’s signal and following her companions’ example, Dana knelt, bowed, and briefly pressed her lips to her master’s boot. The first stroke burned her as usual. She cried out but restrained herself—no tears, no pleas for mercy. By the tenth stroke, her legs buckled, her thigh muscles visibly trembling, but she remained on her knees. "Why wasn’t she allowed to come?" Akrah asked, watching Dana kiss Mur’s hand. "You didn’t say she’d earned it," Linya replied. "Say the word, and Mur will oblige." Akrah remained silent. Dana returned to the stall wall. Her master hadn’t permitted her to climax. Her temples throbbed, her body burned. She watched Ana, who was still breathing heavily, lying at the mistress’s feet, and Karana, who was now moaning under Mur’s fingers. The other mares were being led back to their stalls by the grooms. There was something domestic, patriarchal about it all. One thought pounded in her head: "They got what they wanted! But I didn’t. Why?" The answer was known, voiced by Ana the night before in the stall: "They control every aspect of your life." Karana lay on the straw in the stall, her back burning from fresh lash marks. After the evening punishments, she’d been whipped every morning, right after breakfast. Then, after the whipping, she was taken to the stall and chained by a short tether to the mat. In the evening, after the masters’ supper, she was brought back to the yard for another whipping, then returned to the stall. Ana was strictly forbidden to approach or speak to her. Now it was the evening of the third day of punishment. She waited to be taken for whipping. The door creaked open, and Linya appeared in the doorway, holding a jar of ointment. "Last chance," she said, crouching beside Karana and beginning to apply the ointment to the whipping marks. "Either you take them to the Base, or I give you to the orcs. And when you return, you’ll take them anyway. I can’t just let your disobedience slide. You know orcs adore smart mares. Especially those who can read." Karana clenched her teeth. She knew orcs didn’t just beat and rape—they broke women. Ana had told her what happened to Kaila O’Donnell after the orcs got hold of her. And Ana had shared plenty about her own "re-education" experience. "And if I agree?" Karana asked without lifting her head, trying to keep her voice steady. "Then, upon your return, I’ll restore my favor to you. And you’ll get access to the goblin chronicles I’ve ordered. We’ll read them together," Linya unrolled a parchment, displaying neat lines of goblin script. "I know what you’re afraid of, and I promise you won’t be given to the Base humans. Under any circumstances." Karana closed her eyes. The orcs. Or betraying the Base women. She chose the lesser evil—for herself. "Alright," she said. "I’ll take them." Linya smiled and stroked her head like an obedient dog. "Silly girl! Did you really think you could outsmart us?" Karana sobbed bitterly. *** Three days later, Ana knelt in the backyard used for washing mares. She and Mur had just finished their morning training—a short but intense session. He was rinsing the soap off her with a sponge when a young goblin boy ran up: "Master Mur! The mistress is waiting for you and the this mare on the open veranda!" Mur snorted but didn’t argue. After dousing Ana with clean water from a bucket, he removed the chain from her legs, as always storing it in the saddle compartment, and climbed onto her back. Ana smoothly rose, instinctively balancing under his weight, and followed the goblin’s lead. On the veranda, an unfamiliar goblin was already waiting—stocky, with scars on his arms and a piercing gaze. Linya introduced him as Torga, a trainer of racing mares. "He’ll prepare Ana for the races in your absence," she told Mur in Goblin, "and afterward, when you return. And Dana, if Akrah decides to stay at the estate. And the new mares, if you can arrange a purchase." Ana was ordered to assume the inspection pose, which she did immediately. She didn’t fully understand what the goblins were saying and silently prayed this wasn’t a buyer. Torga circled Ana, his claws sliding over her muscles, checking their condition. He thoroughly examined the mare’s mouth, rudely parting her lips and tugging at her teeth with his fingers, as if trying to loosen them. When he spread her labia to check for possible skin diseases, she flinched but didn’t pull away. "She’s dripping like a leaky trough," Torga straightened. "Do you give her too much mare-fruit?" "We generally try not to. Her previous owner was a schemer and turned her into a fruit-and-sex-addicted nymphomaniac. We’ll wean her off the fruit, but you can’t forbid her from getting aroused. Thank the gods, she comes at the drop of a hat, so it doesn’t take much time or effort," Mur explained to the visiting goblin. "I think she should lose a lot of strength being in constant sexual tension," Torga said. "She’s won the last three tournaments she’s entered," Mur countered. "Yes, I saw. You put her in short races. And I saw how she lost a long-distance race two months ago," Torga shook his head. "She lacks endurance. Strange for her build. I’ll try to fix that. It’ll give her an advantage." Linya nodded. "You’re hired." Torga smiled, baring sharp teeth. "We’ll start tomorrow. Do you observe the rituals?" "Of course," Linya smiled and addressed Ana: "Mare, this is your new trainer. Obey him." Ana finally understood this wasn’t a buyer and she was staying at the villa. She happily kissed the new trainer’s hand and just as happily accepted the customary seven strokes. "Gods, how she’s dripping!" the astonished trainer exclaimed, seeing the puddle between the mare’s knees. "What did her previous owner do to her?" "Mur will tell you over dinner if you like. For now, settle in at the villa. Someone will show you to your quarters."