Behold a Black Horse

Behold a Black Horse

L ast night I dreamed of a black horse. Upon awaking, I looked in the dictionary I keep in my bedside table, to see if there is any significance to this particular night time vision. It seems a dream of a black horse is a dream of passion. Considering all that has happened in the past weeks, I am not surprised.

It all began with the approach of my eighteenth birthday. Three weeks beforehand my dad asked me what I thought of big animals. Not knowing the context I said horses and dogs were fine.

Two weeks beforehand he asked me what I thought of animals that allowed people to ride them. I said we couldn't have gotten anywhere without the horse. Then he asked me my opinion of people who were rode by animals. There was passion in his voice so I weighed my answer carefully. I couldn't help but imagine something big and black. It gave me a tingly feeling. I said it depends and he didn't push me further on the subject.

On a crisp Saturday morning a week beforehand my father knocked on my door and ushered my mother into my room. She crawled up to my bed and knelt. She looked up at me inquiringly. I yawned, flung the sheets aside and positioned myself as I'd done every day since I was eight. It took a moment but the usual stream of warmth leapt from me into her mouth which was held open by a dental gag. She gurgled a little but swallowed. Then she licked me between the legs. Her tongue wasn't exceptionally long but when she had to she could make fine use of it. I expected her to move off after that but she stayed.

My dad said: "As a special treat, I'd like you to cane her."

I shrugged, took the thin bamboo rod he offered me and swished it in the air. "How many and where?"

"You decide."

I patted my bed indicating she was to position herself so her waist was against the edge and her great backside was waving in the air. She hobbled up to it, the ankle chains hampering her and the cord tying her wrists together behind her back not helping much. Carefully I removed the gag and put it on the floor. She looked up at me as she moved her jaw. They say I have her big blue eyes and the same freckles splashed across my cheeks and nose.

I started with a few light taps followed by a few heavier ones. Then, when she was used to the rhythm of light, light, heavier, heavier, I really let fly. It came down brutal and she shook with the impact. I let her have another and another. I managed to hit one of her cunt flaps and it was all she could do not to howl. I then changed back to gentler, more rhythmic strokes. Every once in a while I tried to catch her unawares but the best I got from her was a deep sigh.

Her backside was striping nicely at twenty brutal ones and the rest. There I stopped.

"That's it?" asked dad, a note of disapproval in his voice.

"No," I said. I repositioned mother so her back was firmly against the bed and her bum was resting against her knees. Placing the rod lightly against her left nipple, I studied her face for a moment. It belonged to a forty-seven year old cunt my father owned. Yes, we do have similar eyes and our lips are full but narrow. We have long red hair down to our breasts. We even have that noble nose which is too long and narrow for its own good. But so what? She isn't me.

I gave each nipple ten swift cuts. After years of seeing it done I know how to hit what I aim for. She breathed in sharply with each stroke and after the tenth a tear fell onto my hand.

"Thank you," she said with a hint of passion in her voice.

"Any time," I told the both of them.

"Bravo," said dad, accepting the rod back.

I checked her snatch and said with pride: "Wet dad!"

"Bravo," he said again and sat down on my bed beside me. "And what do you have to say?" he asked mother.

"Thank you," she said, still with that hint of passion.

"I have something important to discuss with you," he told me.

"What?"

"First, tell me what you think of her."

"She's a cunt. She's your cunt."

"Anything else?"

I thought about it and added: "Well, her boobs are big and saggy and she has a big, round rump. And lines under her eyes. I see her nostrils moving and there's another tear so she must be hurting. But if you're not satisfied I can hit her some more."

"No," he said with a smile. "You did fine. But let's get back to her being my cunt."

"Why?"

"She's been a good one over the years. She knows her place."

Without a second thought, he positioned her so he could get behind her. He was fully erect and I knew what was going to happen. He found her vaginal entrance and he started pumping away.

"You're a cunt, too," he said between grinds. "I never treated you as such because this household only needs one and she's it."

I should have objected then and there to what he was saying but how was I to know what was going to happen? I suppose eighteen years should have told me something.

But a cunt?"

"We've had fun with this one haven't we?" he said coaxingly as he continued his ride. I looked at her as she crinkled up her nose in response.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"You can learn a lot from her."

"Like what?" Absentmindedly, I was combing a few strands of hair away from her face and lifting her chin so I could take a good look at her. Her eyes were a little glazed over and I could smell she'd come a second time.

He grunted his own climax and withdrew from her saying: "Hand me the gag."

I picked it up and presented it to him. He forced her lips apart, got it in place and buckled it up securely. He stood with his legs apart and before long a stream of piss entered her mouth. She gurgled and swallowed. Finishing, he allowed her to lick him dry and to then lick his balls with her tongue. Considering the nature of the gag this took some doing but she'd had plenty of practice. Once she'd completed the task he turned to me and said: "I want you to be just like her."

"What?"

"You heard me. I've pampered you long enough. Soon you won't be my little girl anymore."

"What?"

"You should be asking who."

"Who?"

"You know my Saturday night get-togethers?"

I looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Now I know you're joking," I said with more confidence than I felt. "You share your old cunt around with them, isn't that enough?"

"You know Phil Slade?"

Yes," I said warily, the hairs rising on the nape of my neck. He was a butcher by trade and built solid with a streak of cruelty in him a mile wide. Surely he wasn't going to give me to him?

"He has a son and so does Ted Wills, Jack Penn and Robert Knight. We're meeting in the dungeon tonight. Their sons know about you and are anxious to meet you."

"Why?"

"You're going to be a cunt to one of them. You're mother will let me know which one. On your birthday you will have a sort of coming out party."

"And if I don't want to?"

"You have no choice."

"And how will she decide?"

"You'll find out on the night."

"But I want to know now!"

"I'm sure you do."

Dad untied mother's wrists and led her out to the kitchen via a finger through her nose ring. It was composed of eight gauge stainless steel and looked pretty on her.

The story dad tells is this: He took her to a clinic soon after they were married. It was a clinic run by a doctor she had visited before. It was this doctor who, in fact, had discovered mother's strange appetites and had set her up with dad.

Well, she was strapped to a table, no anesthetic, not even aspirin, because that would have spoiled the fun. She was absolutely terrified of what was going to happen and pleasurably excited at the same time. The doctor put three little plastic hooks attached to wire into each nostril and had dad pull them back as hard as he could. He was then instructed to keep the pressure up so the doctor could get a good look at her septum. Mother whimpered. Then, ever so slowly, no doubt glorying in mother's distress, the doctor pushed a sharp instrument through the septum gristle. The hole complete, the ring was threaded through and the ends welded shut by the intense heat of a soldering iron. It made mother cringe. I asked her about it once and she said it was the most wonderful experience she'd ever had and the ring was proof it really did happen.

Sunday morning, as mother was drinking my piss, dad told me what had gone down the night before in our cellar come dungeon. It seems mother did well sucking cock and taking it in the other holes. There were five blokes including dad and they ran her ragged. Then as a special treat they had Phil Slade's German Shepherds lick her and mount her.

"If the guys showed her triangle any mercy," quipped dad as mother finished licking my snatch, "those mutts sure didn't. Sore there honey?"

Mother nodded her head in the affirmative.

"Off for a rest then," he said, untying her wrists and, this time, releasing her ankle chains. She walked off to their bedroom.

"She has a do on tonight," said dad and I knew what that meant. Once every two months, on a Sunday, Paula the butcher's wife, comes over to do whatever she likes to mother.

"Can I go to this do?" I asked.

"Sure, why not? Paula won't mind. I'll let her know. Any particular reason?"

"To learn."

An hour before Paula's arrival, my mother was chained by my father to the far wall of our dungeon, her legs and arms spread wide. He told her to be good as he always did. He greeted Paula at the door and ushered her to the stairs going down. She was dressed in a short leather skirt and a black cotton shirt. Her blond hair was cut short and she was carrying the usual carpet bag. I followed her down, catching her by the arm before she got too close to mother. I didn't want her to hear us talking. Paula was big. She could have brushed me off easily but instead said: "You got something on your mind?"

"Yes," I said. "I need information from her and I want to get it now."

"Information from your mother? How?"

"You know how."

Paula's narrow piggy eyes lit up.

"And you want me to help you?"

"You're going to do it anyway."

"Very well but you'll owe me a coffee."

"Done."

We continued our walk to where mother was waiting.

"Hey! Who canned her tits?"

"I did."

"You must have got the nips a few times."

I strode up to mother and said: "I take it the decision to leave my future up to you wasn't arrived at yesterday?"

"That's true," said mother.

"Then you already know already?"

"Yes."

"You will tell me now."

"No."

I smoothed her hair and smiled. She smiled back. Then I grabbed her right nipple and twisted eliciting a grunt from her. Still twisting I said: "You will tell me."

"That looks like fun," said Paula, taking the other nipple and also twisting. After a savage tug I let go. Paula did the same and we sat down on some comfy lounge chairs to think things through.

"And how long have you been at this?" she asked.

"What?"

"This thing with your mother?"

"All my life."

"I suppose when I have a daughter it'll be the same."

"What now?"

Paula looked into her carpet bag.

"Let's see, I have a paddle here with spikes. When we first used it on her we had her bawling her eyes out in less than half an hour. Nowadays, though, I think she kinda likes it."

"What else you got?"

"Last session I got my arm up her as far as the elbow. Hadn't gotten it that far before but afterwards she kissed me and said that was nice so that's no good. I tell you what, we'll use what I was planning on using and go from there."

Paula got out all the paraphernalia required for a cold water enema including two bags of water with ice cubes still floating in them. It took twenty minutes to set up. She made it so that, simply by turning the second release valve, we could easily change from one bag to the other.

I was the one who shoved the nozzle in. It was a thick silvery thing I wet with my lips. It was nasty going in and mother, despite the bonds, squirmed a lot. Paula told me that once the waters flowed, her position with her legs spread the way they were would add considerably to her situation.

"As you can see," I told mother, "there are two buckets just for you. Any time you want to talk, you'll be free to use them."

Mother looked at me and (I still can't believe it!) she actually beamed. He eyes lit up and she smiled serenely. I released the water from the first bag and viewed its progress with interest. It took a minute for the first of it to go all the way down the tube and past the nozzle but, when it did, she shuddered. The smile, however, remained. Instead of looking at the bags and, in particular, the one emptying out, she looked at me. When the first bag was half empty her stomach began moving involuntarily and there were noises. Also, she was getting bigger. By now the smile was gone. I was pleased about that.

"Had enough?" I asked her casually.

"Yes," she said in a wobbly voice.

"Care to tell?" I offered.

"No," she said in just as wobbly a voice and the smile, though now a little crooked, returned. When the time came I made a great show of turning the knob to send the second bag of chilly liquid her way. The first of it hit her solid making her cry out. Her head flopped forward then came up with that insidious smile. The noises got louder. When all of it was in, Paula showed her a plug and said: "Now I am going to take out the nozzle. You are to hold it in, all of it, till I say otherwise or we'll start all over again and I can keep starting over all night. Got that?"

Mother nodded and she did hold it in though the strain was visible by her furrowed brow and squinting eyes. Paula took her time placing the plug. When it was secure she told mother: "It's in." For a moment some of the strain left her but not for long. For the cramps came on fierce and unrelenting. Her belly sagged and, as the minutes ticked by, she started making this girly OM sound.

"Feels real bad, don't it?" said Paula, patting my mother's stomach with her bulky hand. Mother stopped the sound in order to nod her head in agreement.

"Want to do what your daughter's asking you to?" asked Paula

"No," grunted mother.

I decided to pat her stomach, too. Then I got a better idea. Instead I pushed it upwards at the point of greatest sag and let it drop. I did this several times and she gasped every time but all I got out of her was that infernal smile.

"She's tough," said Paula, taking alligator clips out of the bag. She put them on the very tips of mother's nipples where they'd bite the most.

"There," said Paula. "Pretty as a picture. And you have me to thank."

"I (gasp!) Thank my daughter…"

"How does it feel mother?" I asked.

"Hurts," she said in a tiny, far away voice.

I kissed her affectionately on her sweaty forehead and lifted and dropped her enlarged belly once more.

"She needs stimulating," said Paula, digging into her bag. She pulled out this foot long metallic object and turned it on. It hummed menacingly. She was about to approach mother with it but decided not to. She handed it to me instead.

"Remember to touch her ten times only with the business end. Ten times only or it's not safe."

I nodded and approached mother with it.

"A cattle prod," I told her. "Used on stubborn cows. Do you want this mother? Do you want to be a stubborn cow?"

She was scared. Apart from what Paula said, it was my first indication of what it could do. Regardless of that fact she shook her head vehemently in the negative.

I touched her stomach with it. There was a crackle and she let out a scream I'd never heard before. This was followed by great galloping sobs. I let her sob for a while before following up with two more taps.

"Try her vagina and her nips," suggested Paula. I did so and got howls of agony like you wouldn't believe. I touched her four more times on the vagina which made her fight her bonds for release and, at the same time, make her distended stomach do incredible flip-flops. Tears were now streaming down her cheeks and her nose was a little snotty.

"Just a couple more?" I asked Paula.

"No," she said. "As much as I'd like to say yes, the answer is no."

Reluctantly, I turned the prod off and returned it to her. She put it away. Mother was visibly shaken by her ordeal with the prod but I still wasn't getting anywhere.

"So much for that," I said.

"Time to unplug her," said Paula, looking at her watch. "Don't want to do any permanent damage."

Apart from shivering, mother was dripping. She was dripping from her throbbing, aching vagina. I pointed this out and Paula grinned and said: "I know. She really gets turned on by this shit!"

Speaking of excrement, I was the one who removed the plug. It took all my strength to get it out and then my reflexes to avoid the great torrent. It stopped after a while and Paula said: "Grab a piece of gut, love. We squeeze to get the rest out."

We squeezed mother who was moaning deeply, almost growling at us. When Paula was satisfied we'd gotten it all, we sat down and rested a moment.

"You're lucky dad won't let us damage you," I told mother in my best petulant voice. She smiled wanly.

Fifteen minutes later, Paula coiled one length of cord around each of my mother's breasts and pulled tightly. She then made sure the filth swishing around in each bucket was of even weight. Next she attached each bucket to a cord end dangling from a breast and let go. The weight of the buckets then pulled down on her already distressed boobs. With this new shock to her system, she groaned mightily that almost growl of hers.

"She's still dripping," observed Paula, dipping her fingers in mother's snatch and taking a taste. "Good, too."

I set the buckets to swinging and bumping into each other and sat down to watch. Mother grimaced. None of the vile stuff got out but it might have. Still, Paula thought it was a nice touch.

"Coffee time," said Paula and I went upstairs to get it. When I came back mother still had the buckets dragging on her and Paula was busy irritating her vaginal lips with the bristles of a tooth brush.

"Oooh!" murmured mother softly at this new invasion.

"Doesn't it really smell there?" I asked.

"Here? No. Smells like a fish market. I like fish markets. Further toward the rear I don't want to know about and I'm avoiding those buckets."

I left a cup for Paula on the coffee table. I was half way through my own when Paula put away the tooth brush and removed the buckets, cords and alligator clips from her victim. She downed her coffee quickly and then proceeded to slap mother's breasts. Mother yelped with each hit. "No," she said weakly. "Please don't."

"As much as I am enjoying myself," said Paula, "after being tied the way they were, this must be done to get blood flow back. It's an awful pins an' needles sensation, I know, but I'm sure you'll manage."

Mother was struck vigorously a dozen times before Paula said: "Done." This word elicited a final tear from mother.

"I'm leaving," said Paula. "Your father will take her down."

Paula kissed mother full on the lips. I started to do likewise but instead pinched her lower lip with my teeth. "Ow!" she replied.

"You will tell me before next Saturday," I told her before escorting our guest out.

"No," mother replied. A shadow of a smile followed me out.

The next morning mother was there to take my piss. Her stomach complained a little but she took it anyway. Afterward dad gave her a light spanking. I was delighted to notice the cane cuts were purplish, the cord marks angry and there were blotches of further bruising. A wound had appeared on her lower lip.

"Paula tells me you tried to extract information last night," he said.

"I thought it worth a try."

"She can be stubborn," he said, looking down at the state of her breasts. "But no more of that or I'll give you to Paula for a week. She needs healing time. You will give her this time."

Three days later dad got his usual tape in the mail. I hadn't checked them out before so I didn't know what they were about. This one, however, he wanted me to see. He took me into his study where mother was seated comfortably.

The opening scene had Paula in a plain white dress sitting on a couch with a cup of coffee in hand. She pursed her lips, one of them having a visible cut, and said: "Enjoy." The scene then changed to her being chained naked with legs and arms spread apart in some dungeon. Boy! But she had thunder thighs! And a bush so hairy it could nest starlings. Next there were scenes of Phil working on her. They were enacting, as closely as possible, everything that had gone on in my dad's dungeon Sunday.

At the end of the first bag of cold water into her, Paula was screaming: "Stop! No more! No…More!" Her hubby, though, just laughed and said: "You know the rules" and released the water from the second bag. When the second bag was in her she screamed: "Help! Help me! Too…Much…Too…Much!" Her hubby reacted by chuckling at her and saying: "Rules."

When the cattle prod was brought into use those thunder thighs really got a work out. "Noooo!" she cried with the first jolt. "Yessss!" he cried merrily back. Paula in agony did more twisting and turning than I thought possible in such bonds with those legs.

"Please, no," Paula choked between sobs, her "Please, no" becoming a mantra up until she was faced with number ten. Then she cooed softly: "If you love me, please don't."

"Rules," said Phil and zapped her real good. Her scream from the last one had a lot of passion and the same can be said for the sobs that followed.

At its conclusion, there was a return to the lounge room.

"As you can see," Paula said wistfully, "I took everything I originally dished out to your mother. Phil is very insistent that I should do so. No matter how much I beg or plead he won't stop until the whole thing is complete. He wouldn't be my Master if he didn't follow through. It frees me to beg and plead to my hearts content and Phil just reminds me, when the mood takes him, of our agreement and carries on with his torments. He says he finds my begging and pleading great entertainment. Of course when I am begging and pleading there is a part of me desperate to be listened to and for him to quit making me suffer so much. But there's always that part isn't there? You and your mother can verify I took it all. I do so look forward to the next do. The things I have in mind for your mother are simply diabolical."

The tape stopped then began to wind backwards.

"Well?" asked Dad. "Was anything left out?"

"It was amazing," I said. "Can I see more?"

"I'll let you borrow some of my tapes. Now, was it accurate?"

"Yes," mother and I said in unison and dad grinned.

Friday came and I had just got home from school when dad met me in my room. He had in his hands a new leash and collar. Paula was with him.

"Take your clothes off and put these on," he said, handing them to me.

"No way," I said. "Besides, it's not Saturday."

"You will behave yourself," said Paula evenly. She grabbed my jacket and yanked it off. She did the same with my blouse and skirt. Buttons went flying. So there I stood in panties and bra and both were bright pink!

"Put these on her," said my dad, supplying Paula with a pair of pink fur covered handcuffs.

"Pretty," she said and twisted my arms savagely until she had them on me.

"But it's not Saturday!" I cried, looking at dad for salvation.

"Tough," said Paula, dipping two meaty fingers under my panties and groping a feel of my snatch. I was turned on by this unwanted invasion and tried not to show it. This was the first time it had ever happened.

"Dad!" I cried. "Get her away from me!"

"Want me to gag her?" asked Paula in a warm, moist voice. She was touching the right buttons down below and I'd ceased resisting.

"Please no," I said to Paula concerning the meaty fingers but I wasn't fooling anyone. The please no just seemed to excite her.

"No gag," said Dad, amusement on his face. "Let's get her down stairs."

Paula ended her grope when I really very much wanted her to continue and pushed me along toward the stairs. Then she picked me up and carried me down.

Dad opened the dungeon door for us.

I was taken in and put down onto my feet by Paula. Dad uncuffed me. "You have some thinking to do," he told me. "If I don't see those under-things off you by the time I get back I will assume you do not wish to be my daughter and I will send you out into the world with five thousand dollars on the proviso we never, ever see you again. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Let's go," said Dad to Paula. And so they left me there, locked in the dungeon with lots to think about. My snatch was itching for Paula to finish what she started. Apart from the usual paraphernalia there was a basin full of water, a bar of soap and fresh towels. There was also some bread, a cup to drink out of and an apple. Beside two empty buckets there was a roll of toilet paper. What this added up to was I'd be here for some time. Then it dawned on me I was going to be here until Saturday night and my coming out.

There were two photo albums purposely put on the coffee table for me to check out. I sat down on one of the lounge chairs and opened the first of them. It was mostly early shots of mother. She didn't have her nose ring and she was slimmer with smaller, bouncier boobs. One photo had her as a jolly sixteen year old with shinny, vivacious red hair and her usual elongated nose burning her own breast with a cigarette. The caption read: "When I met her she was a masochist and she used to smoke. Now I take care of her masochistic needs and she's not allowed to smoke." Another showed her as a nineteen year old hanging by her roped breasts from an overhead beam with her ass red from an earlier paddling. The caption read: "This is how we celebrated my new dungeon. She was there like that for two hours before she begged me to let her down. I'm so proud."

There were shots of her pregnancy. You might have thought he'd have stopped giving her grief or her taking it during this time but that was not the case. Apparently, both mother and the clinic insisted that he continue. One has her kneeling, eyes red from crying, belly big and hands reddened from a hand canning. The caption read: "She wanted this and I love her for it." Another had her with belly out, her hands cuffed behind her and her nips covered in hot wax. It read: "Nipples very sensitive." There were a dozen with her strapped to a relentless milking machine with me in the background in my cradle. All of these carried the caption: "Moo!"

The rest were a series of me pissing into her mouth at various stages of my growth. A few showed her face beet red with embarrassment. The first one read: Mother didn't want to do this but I made her. Now she wants to do it everyday."

Eventually there were footsteps. Automatically I got out of my bra and panties fearful he might see me in them and not want me anymore. Dad opened the door and I was there for him – in my birthday suit.

"I see you arrived at the right decision," he said.

He left and returned with my mother. He chained her up against the wall. He then shackled me in such a way that my ass was up and my legs spread wide apart by a spreader bar. When next he left, it was to get my callers. A tear rolled down my cheek and off my nose.

"I can tell you now," said mother.

"What?"

"What you wanted to know."

I sniffed back a tear and said: "Please."

"Each caller has been training a dog."

"A dog?"

"Yes. I will judge the dog."

"Why?"

"Your father never owned a canine and never wanted to. I want you to have something I never had."

"Why?"

"I love you and want the best for you."

When the young men appeared they appeared with their animals. There were four men and four dogs.

"Before I could protest, dad pushed a red ball gag in my mouth and fastened it tight.

"I'm going," he said. "I'll be back in two hours."

The biggest of the guys wasted no time in taking me. He broke my cherry with a loud painful pop. The dogs got excited but they were held back. All four guys were on me one after the other emptying into me. I struggled and pleaded with my eyes for them to stop but they wouldn't. When there was a pause I looked up at mother who was now smiling serenely.

A cold nose entered my vagina and blew warm air, tickling my smarting clitoris. Then there was a sandpaper tongue. I knew a dog was sniffing me out and I couldn't have felt more excited or humiliated. Then I felt the beast mount me and, by its weight, I guessed it was the muscular bull terrier and not one of the German Shepherds. I whimpered. The dog had a huge cock and pounded away on me as if I were his bitch. When I tried to shift it off me it growled and put its weight even firmer upon me. By the time it was through I was snotty nosed and sobbing my little heart out. This interested the other mutts. They were on one after the other so rough it felt like I was going to need stitches. It was awful. It was also very stimulating. I know I began to drip the way mother did when I had hurt her real bad.

My father returned in time to see his daughter being ass fucked for the first time. I was filled in a way I'd never been filled before and it felt like I'd need major surgery to get over what was being done to me. I was also dripping and, when the bull terrier was finished with my ass, it licked up some of my juice blood and all. Then it visited my face where it licked my snot and from my ball the spittle and snorted meaty doggy-breath up my nose. I almost choked.

Its name was Reg and its owner was Brian, the son of Phil Slade. His mother, Paula, I felt I had a special relationship with that scared the bejezzus out of me. I wanted to do the kind of things to her that she's been doing to my mother and I had a feeling she'd like nothing better than to have mother and daughter strung up nicely for her own sadistic pleasure.

"Who's the lucky pair?" my dad asked my mother.

"Brian and Reg," she said. "That is if they want this young cunt."

Brian felt me up and said: "Yeah, I'll take her. Reg will, too."

Reg licked my nose and Brian laughed.

"Can you provide her with training?" asked my dad.

"I'll have a place set up in about six months," said Brian.

"Fair enough," said dad, shaking his hand. "You can visit her every weekend until then."

"Great."

"I have refreshments for everyone upstairs," said dad, ushering the men and dogs out. Before he left me he removed my gag and untied me.

As the door closed, I looked up at mother and said: "Why?"

"You are my daughter and I am a cunt."

"Is it because I've been mean?"

"Mean? You gave me one of the best sessions I ever had with Paula. We must do it again some time. And you gave Paula one of the best she's ever had with Phil. Paula adores you. She wants to break you in lightly. I think you'll get your chance to torture her some day. I might even make the suggestion, when you are ready, that we both suffer under you in a session – your mother and your mother-in-law."

An hour later dad appeared and took mother down off the wall. I was then left in the dungeon all alone feeling very abandoned. Eventually I drifted off to sleep on one of the couches. Reg, the great black dog that so ravished me, became a horse. It was a horse out to snort, to ravish and to plunder. When I was let out this morning I raced up to my room and looked up black horse in my dictionary of dreams. I was not surprised it symbolized passion. From now on passion will be my life.