“Miss Bellus gives the worst homework,” Bennet complained. The young colt stretched his arms behind his head, yawning with the mental exhaustion of a school day. Too much of it had been spent on math, his weakest subject. The golden thoroughbred would have preferred to end the day with gym, but their teacher seemed determined to hammer fractions into them. “Three sheets of questions? I’m going to be stuck doing it all weekend.” The young ram next to him scoffed playfully. “We both know you’re just going to put random numbers for answers. You’ve been doing that since the school year started.” Ace, his best friend, was shorter than Bennett. Most kids his age were, but that was the nature of being a horse. He was naturally tall and, according to his father, they had running stock in them. Given how much he liked to run, it seemed sound. “Easy to do when she doesn’t grade it.” Bennet smiled, nudging his friend’s shoulder, “Don’t tell me you’re going to actually try.” The sheep-boy nodded. His horns were still growing, looking closer to the pointed tips of a goat than the curls of a ram. “You know how strict my dad can be.” “He seems pretty chill when I’m around.” Bennett thought back to the times he met Mr. Moore. The older ram carried a blank, if dissatisfied, glare behind the rims of his glasses. Ace told him his father just had that sort of face, and whenever they talked he was friendly enough. Though he preferred to keep to his garage workshop or the basement. “Then again, my parents are nice when you visit and my dad’s a bit of an ass.” “Thought he was a horse?” Ace asked, grinning wide when Bennett got the joke. The two chuckled to themselves, hooves clopping across the pavement until the colt broke into a sprint. The ram chased after him, their backpacks swaying side to side as they raced down the sidewalk. Ace nearly caught up with Bennett but his longer stride let him reach his friend’s house, declaring victory with both hands raised. The ram rewarded him with a quick jab to the shoulder before inviting him inside. This wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last they raced to Ace’s house. His was closest to their bus stop which gave Bennett free reign to visit for an hour or so before he had to get home. His parents preferred it, both being busy with work. It was a single-story mid-modern styled home with a basement and a single-car garage. His father, when visiting or picking Bennett up, asked Mr. Moore if it was built in the 1950’s. Mr. Moore said something about a ship of some sort, but Bennett didn’t pay attention. After wiping their hooves clean they rounded around to the kitchen. “Just let me get a drink before…” Ace’s hand hovered over the fridge door handle. There was a note he pulled off too quickly for Bennett to read. The ram sighed, “Dad’s gonna be out late tonight, so I gotta take care of the gimp.” Bennett blinked. “The what?” He’d never heard the word ‘gimp’ before. Ace didn’t have any pets, at least as far as the colt knew. “Did your dad get a dog?” The ram raised his brow, “A dog? No, I could walk a dog outside. A gimp is…” He scratched his dark brown chin, lost in thought. “It’s nothing special. I just need a minute to feed it, can you start up the console?” “Nah, I wanna see it,” Bennett said. He could tell Ace knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer by the way the ram sighed. “Fine. Let’s just make this quick.” His interest grew when Ace led him down to the basement. Mr. Moore made a point that the basement and his garage were off-limits when visiting. Something about tools and dangerous equipment. The stairs were covered in rough rubber pads for hooves but the floor was simply cement. His parents had a finished basement, with a guest room and everything off to the side. In comparison, Mr. Moore’s basement was barren yet used. None of the furniture looked comfortable to sit on or looked like it was meant to be by the big X-frame against the wall. Paddles, wooden and made of black leather, hung from hooks alongside short whips with multiple heads. Goosebumps riddled across his skin at the sight of small orbs hanging by leather straps. “What the…” he mouthed silently. Ace carried on as if the displays weren’t there. From a minifridge, he pulled out a clear plastic bottle filled with a thick white liquid. He motioned for Bennett to follow past a door he slid open. The colt followed, feeling the still air across his bristling fur at the sight of some sort of jail cell. It was empty save for something too smooth to be a coffin but Bennett couldn’t place a better word for it. Perhaps a trunk? Ace lifted the top off. “Hey, get up.” He said as if addressing an object. Rattled chains mixed with a muffled grunt. Leather strained as a figure decked in it and some other glossy black material rose from it. Bennett felt his heart skip as the figure turned its head to them. Where their eyes should be were covered by a blindfold latched onto a mask that enveloped its full head. They were some sort of cat, but whether they were a lion, jaguar, panther, or cheetah, was something Bennett couldn’t fathom. He rubbed his eyes, realizing the figure’s lack of arms was thanks to a straitjacket. They grunted. Ace sighed. “My dad’s working late tonight. I’ll let you out later to exercise but right now I’m feeding you early. Guess I should change out your pissbag.” He pulled a short chain at the figure’s mouth, opening a noticeable hole big enough for the shake. The gimp, of which Bennett was definitely sure this was, drained it without issue. His friend, in the meanwhile, pulled a bag of urine out from the trunk and reattached an empty one. “Come on,” He said, closing the trunk back up. “We’ve got a few hours to kill before your mom wants you back.” Bennett stared at Ace, then the closed trunk where the gimp rested, then the bag of piss in the ram’s hands. “Y-Yeah…” he said, still processing everything. Ace put the bag into the fridge before heading upstairs. Bennett stared back at the sliding door once more before following. “Can I use your bathroom?” He asked, feeling a sudden urge that hunched him over. *** At home, Bennett looked up what a gimp was. His first results were about some sort of weird software so he had to be specific, leading him into a spattering of information across the internet. From what he gathered, a gimp was an individual who’d been rendered as a toy. An object to be used however its dominant saw fit. This gave him more questions, which led to more internet searches on the nature of bondage, dominance, sadism, and submission. He’d spent much of the weekend erect and taking care of it, forgetting his homework until the last minute before bed that Sunday. “So why does your dad have a gimp?” He asked Ace that Monday at the bus stop. The ram shrugged, “I dunno.” “How long has he had it for?” Ace looked up to the sky and pondered until the bus arrived. “A few months? Hard to say. You see the new update to Boxworld?” The next few days were the same. Before, during, and after school Bennett would inject questions about the gimp into conversation. At school and on the bus, he was quieter about it, feeling like it wasn’t appropriate to talk about the leather-bound person in his best friend’s basement in front of the teacher. Ace would give half-hearted answers or deflect, being more interested in talking about games or trying to get Bennett to race him. Being so caught up in his thoughts, the colt lost every time. “So your dad didn’t like, kidnap someone?” He asked. “I don’t think so?” Ace shrugged. Bennett’s chest went tight at the thought but not from anxiety. He’d understand anxiety. “It’s not like we’ve had police come over.” “Did you…” Bennett gulped, leaning in low to whisper as they walked down the sidewalk. “Did you ever fuck it?” he asked, guilt clamming his throat tight at using the f-word. If his mother heard him, she’d faint. The ram blinked, his horizontal pupil unreadable despite years of knowing him. He threw his head back with baying laughter. “W-What?” Bennett asked more aggressively than he planned, with tight fists, clenched teeth, and a red face. “That’s what it’s for,” Ace said, huffing with laughter as he leaned over and clutched his friend’s shoulder for support. “Though I haven’t, not really. My dad wants me to ask permission and I’d rather not walk up to him to ask if I can use his toy. Sometimes before feeding it I hump into its mouthhole. But I gotta jack off to finish because the hole is too big for me.” After a moment he composed himself and asked a question Bennett didn’t want to hear despite encouraging it. “Why are you so interested in it anyway?” “B-Because I’d like one for myself one day.” It was the first thing that came to words before he thought about the question. It made the most sense to the colt so he ignored a nagging feeling in the back of his mind as he continued. “Yeah, I’d like my own personal gimp. An, um f…hole doll.” “Hole doll?” “I’m not going to say the f-word so loosely.” “It’s just a word.” Ace sneered. “Fuck.” Bennett hushed him, whipping his head around to be sure no one heard the ram. His friend said it again, louder and louder until the colt tried to physically silence him. The next thing he knew he was on the ground with his friend on top of him, carrying a surprised look on his face. Something told Bennett he felt the same, especially with Ace on his crotch. Ace patted his friend’s scalp, “You need to get your head together, man,” he said, getting up and brushing his clothes. There wasn’t any dirt on them, he just needed to occupy his hands. Bennett felt the same, which is why he casually twisted his backpack’s strap. He took the hand offered by his friend to help him up. Mr. Moore’s car was in the driveway. It was a deep blue wagon that always had the backseats folded down whenever Bennett visited, on account of Ace’s dad needing to unfold it so the two of them could ride whenever picked up. The back windows were also tinted in such a manner he couldn’t peer inside without putting his eyes right on it. He wondered about the trunk space and the gimp’s size before Ace spoke up. “Oh wow, my dad’s home early. Maybe you can ask him about owning a gimp?” He elbowed the colt, who nodded nervously. His common sense screamed at him to just continue going home, but his curiosity won out. His mother always said there was some cat in him somewhere. “Hey, dad! Bennett wants to know about the gimp!” Ace shouted as soon as they entered the house. Bennett never wanted to murder someone until that moment. His arms were already in motion, freezing at Mr. Moore’s response. “Does he now?” Mr. Moore had an air about him. Despite owning and operating a hardware store the sheep dressed like he worked in an office. A white collared shirt and tan khakis with a black belt locked by a golden belt buckle. Bennett guessed this was because getting other shirts around his large curled sheep horns was more trouble than it was worth. Ace told him as much when his horns started growing in. His friend was just too stubborn to wear button-downs just yet. Yet Bennett knew this already. Today there were things different about him, things the young colt hadn’t noticed before until now. For starters, Mr. Moore was more muscular than he realized. Sitting down his shirt covered most of it, but when standing straight his friend’s father had noticeable pecs and arms. Then there was the way his face. As he turned to see them Bennett noticed the ram slipped on a smile, as if putting on a mask. His glasses fit the 1950s decor, so much that Bennett’s dad joked that Mr. Moore was a poindexter or something similar, but the way his horizontal pupils looked at him made Bennett feel small. Not in that he’d disappointed the adult, but in that, he wanted to gain his approval. Did everyone see him as such? Did Mr. Moore view the world through a lens of control, disappointed in any that didn’t fit his design? Bennett wasn’t sure, nor did he realize how rigidly he was standing until the ram coughed. “Is something the matter, Bennett?” He asked. There was concern in his voice along with something else. The colt nodded, nod able to place what kept him tight-lipped. “I see. Well, Ace has been telling me you keep asking about it, so I’m all ears. Though before you do, I’m curious as to why you’re intrigued.” “He says he wants his own one day,” Ace said before Bennett could speak. Mr. Moore furrowed his brow at his son’s interruption but said nothing save for a sigh when Bennett nodded. “I see. Well, a gimp is a big responsibility, one I’m not sure someone your age should have on their own. You’d also need your parent's approval but they may not be into taking care of it, and even if they agreed you’d still need to find someone so willing. No, I don’t think you’re ready to own a full-time gimp. Perhaps one for weekends should you find that special someone, but that’s neither here nor there.” He peered back to the basement door. “Actually, I need to prepare the gimp’s meals for next week. Walk with me, I’ll answer whatever questions you have.” Following Mr. Moore downstairs, Bennett found himself struggling to speak. Ace, stating the whole thing as boring, said he’d wait for Bennett in his room when he was done. It was only when Mr. Moore pulled urine bags from the fridge that Bennett found his courage. “So w-why do you have a gimp?” “Why indeed?” Mr. Moore said, stacking the bags into a bucket to carry upstairs. “I didn’t exactly plan on it. I suppose it started with my leatherworking side hobby. It attracted a few people, one stayed interested beyond just my product, and the next I knew they were at my feet. Originally I wasn’t sure what to do with it, but soon enough I fell into the groove. Once you have a breathing urinal, it’s hard to go back to ceramic.” “Leatherworking?” “Yes,” he nodded, now in the kitchen and taking out a blender. “It takes up the entire garage so I need to park outside. It makes the winter months hell but I can’t move it into the basement, not with the gimp there. Well, I suppose I could. It doesn’t take up much space but I prefer the play area where it is.” He pulled an assortment of food next to the blender. Bananas which he started to peel, protein powder, the bags of urine, and assorted cups of white goop. “You’ve seen the gimp, yes? All the leather on it I made myself. You don’t have to do that, it just feels more personal.” “And you…” Bennett gulped, feeling his trousers tighten at the thought, “Fuck it?” The blender roared, slicing and dicing the bananas, powder, urine, and goop into the white slurried mess he’d seen the gimp drink. He wondered which flavor was the strongest in the mix. “When the mood fancies me.” Mr. Moore stated, pouring the concoction into empty bottles. “My sex drive isn’t what it used to be, but I do enjoy it when I can. I still need to do maintenance though. I, or I have Ace if I’m not available, take it out to stretch and exercise, keep it limber and healthy. It hates it, preferring to be bound but I won’t let muscles break down.” Emptied, he filled the blinder to the brim again and set it to slur, not stopping the process until twenty-one containers were filled. It used most of the little island in their kitchen. “Is that all they’re for?” Bennett asked, following with, “And why do you call the gimp an it?” “Because that’s what it is.” Mr. Moore said, taking the bottles down to the basement. “It was a person but has since resigned that right to me. It is an object and, for what little an object’s desire matters, it wishes to be treated as one. As for what else I have planned for it, eventually, I hope to give it some chores. Mostly cleaning. Given what I spend on feeding it, the price is about the same as a Roomba.” “But what if you’re wrong?” He asked without thinking. For someone to give up themselves entirely was alien to Bennett. The gimp had to have had a name and people who knew him. Why would he, why would anyone, give that up? If Mr. Moore was bothered by the question, he didn’t show it. “Let’s ask it, shall we?” he said. After putting the bottles in the minifridge, Mr. Moore took the gimp out from its trunk. Bennett had never seen the lower half of it, having only witnessed the gimp from the waist up as it stood up to drink when Ace fed it. Its tail was covered in lather, further preventing him from identifying what sort of creature it was. The only hint was the shade of yellow fur around its crotch, where a flat metal disk said where its penis would be. Bennett guessed the gimp was male, but seeing the balls hanging for confirmation made him feel light. Its legs were covered in a glossy black material that, upon closer look, covered much of its body like a second skin. Over them were leather restraints, including its hood, and the chains that bound it together. The chain between its ankles prevented it from doing little more than a bottle, with links leading up to its straitjacket. Mr. Moore dropped his smile when looking at his blindfolded and gagged gimp. He directed it to kneel with his hand, then unlatched the jacket. It held out its arms once free, palms up as if waiting for further restraints. “I have a guest here today,” Mr. Moore said. The gimp rested its arms to its legs when it became clear no more restraints would be added. If Bennett blinked he’d have missed what looked like a disappointed huff at the lack of new bondage. “He wants to know if you prefer to be here. Do you?” The gimp nodded. Bennett believed it without a shadow of a doubt. Pleased in tone, Mr. Moore pet between the gimp’s leather-covered ears, “Good.” Without turning to face Bennett he added, “You may leave now. I want to enjoy my property and Ace has waited long enough for you.” Bennett raced up the steps, hunched over as he had the first time he saw the gimp. At the top of the stairs he waited, the door cracked open to listen in on what happened next. A familiar feeling swirled in his stomach that he hadn’t felt since his sister got a new smartphone. It rose higher, as did his straining erection as the sound of rattled chains, squeaking leather, and gagged gasps reached the top of the stairs. “Close the door.” Mr. Moore ordered. Bennett obeyed.