The ponies are waiting in their kneeling position when Alice and I arrive downstairs for dinner. The floors are all marble, so I expect they’ll be hurting if they’ve been there for more than a few minutes.
“Good evening, ponies,” I say as we pass them, our way to the table.
“Good evening, Master,” they reply in unison, and then a less together “Good evening Miss Alice.”
“Good evening, Emerald. Good evening Opal.” Alice is wearing skin tight leather trousers with stiletto-heeled boots and a leather basque, laced at the front. Her blonde hair is scrunched up at the back of her head with a butterfly clip. I prefer it down, especially splayed out across the pillow in the throes of her second or third orgasm, but I’ll have to wait until later for that. It occurs to me that I now have one of each blonde, brunette and redhead which brings an element of completeness to my collection that it previously lacked.
However, Alice isn’t a slave and she only calls me ‘Master’ in front of the ponies. She’s actually a partner in our Ponygirl porn business, which is something I have yet to explain explicitly to Jenny. I don’t provide these facilities out of the kindness of my heart. Yes, we do go to big fetish conventions and aim to win the Ponygirl dressage events, but it’s really marketing for the videos. Once Alice has done some editing, ‘Opal Fire Joins the Mile-High Club’ will be up on the website to introduce the punters to our new star.
“You may come to the table now, ponies,” I say when Alice and I are seated. Jenny takes her cue from Nuala, following her closely and getting a nudge to clasp her hands behind her back. The table is square, Alice and I facing one another and leaving the other two seats free. We get nicely padded chairs with backs, while the ponies get wooden stools. Jenny is about to sit on hers when she sees Nuala standing behind her stool, legs apart, hands behind her back. She quickly corrects herself, mirroring her mentor’s stance.
“You may sit, ponies,” I say eventually, when both of them are still. “And you may speak, but only when spoken to.” If it was left to me, they would get to say very little all evening, but Alice happily engages them in chatter, encouraging Nuala to tell Jenny about all the cups and trophies she’s won since I rescued her from the clutches of a pimp in the backstreets of Marseille.
It was pure chance that I found her, lying in an alley where the bastard had dumped her, having beaten her up for not turning enough tricks. I was walking back to my hotel from a fetish convention and something about the girl moaning in the gutter attracted me. I got her to a private hospital and paid for them to clean her up without asking too many questions. Along the way I discovered she'd had some experience as a Ponygirl, before the lure of deeper debauchery took her way out of her depth. So, I brought her back with me and put her through her paces. Turns out, she has the ideal temperament for a champion pony, but, when required, fucks and sucks like a whore. Which is an ideal combination for what we do here.
A black-haired girl appears from the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine. This is Giorgia, the teenage daughter of Francesca, my housekeeper and cook. She stands to my right and shows me the label on the bottle, before pouring a little into the glass for me to taste. I tell her it’s good and she can pour the rest. While she does that, I slide my hand under her skirt and check she’s shaved and not wearing knickers. The first couple of times I did that, she spilled the wine and spent the night chained up naked with the dogs in the yard, but now she’s used to it and I have to find other things to punish her for.
Giorgia walks round the table, pours wine for Alice and heads back to the kitchen, leaving the ponies to help themselves to water or fruit juice. The kitchen maid reminds me a lot of the girl who first awakened my interest in dominating women. In those days, when my father was alive, we kept real horses and I remember, even as a child, being fascinated by the harnesses, the bridles - and the whips.
When I got older, I found books on BDSM in my father’s study and one in particular that described, in detail, with photos and illustrations, how to use various types of whip on a woman. I read it several times from cover to cover, soaking up all the details and practising on cushions and pillows. From its pages I learned that some women actually enjoy being whipped and will repay any man, who can give them what they need, with intense love and devotion. I dreamed of finding a woman like that and resolved that, if the opportunity ever came my way, I would take it without a moment’s hesitation.
It came sooner than I expected. It was one of the stable girls, a dark-eyed, curvaceous minx called Sofia. She was a couple of years older than me, nineteen I think, same as Giorgia, and treated me like I was a little kid. One day the teasing and mocking got too much and, since we were alone in the stable, I grabbed her, tied her wrists to a post and pulled down her jodhpurs. As her protests seemed likely to attract unwanted attention, I took the sponge she had been using to wash down one of the horses and stuffed it in her mouth, using her belt to hold it in place.
I beat her with a riding crop, tentatively at first and then more confidently, applying everything I had learned from the book and my experiments on countless mute cushions. Now, however, I could savour her cries and the sight of the welts blooming on her skin. I kept going until her buttocks were red and purple and her angry protests had subsided into anguished sobs. Then I untied her and laid her on the straw, expecting anger and blame, but she pulled me down and kissed me with a passion I hadn’t anticipated. It’s a hell of a rite of passage, to lose your virginity with a girl you’ve just whipped and from that afternoon on, I never looked back.
My private reverie is interrupted by Giorgia returning with dinner. She serves me and Alice first, a pulled pork ragout with sautéed potatoes. Jenny is still watching Nuala to learn how she should behave and, as we begin to eat, sits with her head bowed and her hands clasped in her lap. After a few minutes, the servant girl comes with their meals, a vegetable lasagne by the look of it. It sits untouched on their plates for a couple of minutes, before I give them permission to eat.
“You should realise, Opal,” I say between mouthfuls of pork, “what a rare treat this is for a Ponygirl, to eat like this at the table with us. Even when you are allowed into the house, you would usually be fed in the kitchen with the servants. Enjoy this while you can, it may be the last time.”
“Yes, Master,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes on her plate. “Thank you, Master, you are very kind.”
After dinner, I have some work to do. “You take the ponies for their evening exercise,” I instruct Alice, “and then bed them down in the stable for the night. I’ll see you later.”
Alice says “Yes, Master,” with a grin. If I'm lucky, she'll come to bed smelling of straw and pony cum, which will just inflame my desire for her even further.
Opal Fire written by
As we sit at the dining table, I can’t help contrasting this to all the other dinner parties I attended in my life, with clients, team members, subordinates, Steve’s work colleagues, my parents and friends. On all those other occasions, the emphasis has always been for me to come across as witty, intelligent, funny, elegant, sometimes alluring. I always put myself under pressure to be the queen bee, to prove myself to be a key player amongst whatever crowd I’m with.
This is different, oh so completely different. Here, I’m the least important person, and I’m treated as such, treated like a Victorian child, to be ordered about, to be seen and not heard. I’m told when, where and how to sit, when I can eat, when I can speak, which is only when spoken to.
But this is what I wanted, isn’t it? To escape the constant pressure to dominate the situation, to be in charge, to make decisions. I realised a while ago that I have a naturally submissive personality, but I’ve spent my whole adult life working against it, overcompensating because of some deep-seated shame.
My parents always drummed into me that I should never allow anybody to tell me what to do. They revelled in the times I came home late because I’d been put in detention for disobeying teachers, and they praised me when I came home with a fat lip or a black eye because I’d stood up to a bully. I was never allowed pretty dresses or princess parties. They dressed me like a boy so that no one would take advantage of me.
And I hated every minute of it! I went along with it because I loved them, and even built my life around their world view, studying computers at University and setting up as a freelance so that I didn’t have to work for any man.
But it all started to unravel when I met Steve. I pressured him into satisfying my need to give up control. I started to live a double life. To my parents, friends, colleagues and clients, I was Jenny the boss, the one who could always be relied upon to organise a party, sort out a problem, and get everybody heading in the same direction. But with Steve, I was Jenny the slutty sex-pot, ready and eager to explore any fetish, no matter how depraved, as long as it involved submission.
This is where it has brought me, to a place where everyone, from the man I call Master to this young slip of a girl serving food - her accent tells me we’re in Italy - is in a position of power over me. It feels very strange, but I guess that’s because I’m trying to overcome a lifetime’s conditioning. I know this is what I want, I just need to give myself time to adjust.
After dinner, Miss Alice takes us to the stables, but first we stop at a small anteroom.
“Okay, ponies,” she instructs, “take off those clothes and leave them here. They’re for in the house only.”Emerald and I strip out of our dresses and shoes and follow Miss Alice out into the yard.
I notice that Emerald walks in a very stylised manner. Her head is up, shoulders back, arms behind her back, breasts thrust out. She walks on tiptoe, her heels never touching the ground. I try to copy her, but it’s actually quite difficult and tiring to walk on your toes all the time, and I stumble a few times.
“That’s good, Opal,” Miss Alice says, “always hold yourself with elegance and grace. Remember, you’re a show pony, and therefore always on show.” I feel her hand lightly slap me on the buttock, and I take that as a reward for my efforts, immediately trying harder to please her.
“Your training starts in earnest tomorrow, Opal,” Miss Alice explains as she turns to face Emerald and me when we are inside the stable block, “but I thought we’d have a bit of fun this evening, with a slight training aspect. What we’re going to do will help tone your thigh muscles and build your core strength, both very important for a Ponygirl. Emerald, you can go first and show Opal how it’s done.”
I watch as Miss Alice ties Emerald’s arms behind her back, with her hands up between her shoulder blades in a reverse prayer position. She ties my arms in the same way, then leads us to the far side of the stables, where there is the very unexpected sight of a mechanical bull surrounded by foam mats. Even more unusually, I notice that there are two large dildos sticking out of the back of the device. What’s going on here, I wonder.
“Mount up, Emerald,” Miss Alice orders, and my fellow pony walked forward in her elegant strut across the matting to the side of the beast, where our groom helps her onto its back, ensuring that the dildos disappear into the correct receptacles. I see Emerald’s eyes close, and a quiet moan escapes her lips.
Miss Alice reaches for the control, and the bull erupts into frantic action, spinning and bucking at a frightening speed. To my astonishment, Emerald seems to ride it serenely, a blissed out look on her face. Eventually, I notice that she is gripping the whirling monster for all she’s worth with every muscle in her thighs, calves, even toes. Her stomach clenches into the closest I’ve seen to a six-pack on a woman outside of an athletics meet.
Gradually, her skin begins to shine with sweat as the effort of holding on takes its toll. But I can also see, from the expression on her face, that she is getting pleasure from the toys inside her, adding to her overheating.
It seems like a long time, but is probably only quarter of an hour or so, but it becomes clear that Emerald is about to climax. With a loud scream, she throws back her head and her legs shoot out on either side, suddenly spasming in orgasm. Instantly, she is thrown clear of the bull, hitting the matting with a loud thud. I’m sure that she must have hurt herself but, a few moments later, she rolls over and I see the broad smile on her face.
“Well done, Emerald,” Miss Alice says as she turns the device off, “come over here and let’s see how Opal manages.” I’m feeling extremely nervous as she leads me over to the hide-covered box and help me climb on board.
Those dildos are so fat and long! The one in back is actually quite painful, although the one in front provides sufficient compensation. Mmm, I could get used to this … Just rocking gently backwards and forwards …
Oh shit! Miss Alice takes me by surprise when she turns it on. The thing lurches forward, and - Waaah!! I’m pitched forward, right over the horns, I’m flying through the air … Ooof!! I hit the mats and all the air is driven from my lungs. That was not good, I must have lasted all of 10 seconds!
“Come on, Opal,” Miss Alice says as she helps me up, “it’s not as easy as Emerald makes it look, is it? Have another go.” As she leads me back to the vicious ride, I see the smug, triumphant look on Emerald’s face, as if to say ‘I’m wonderful and you’re a failure’. Well, we’ll see about that!
Over the next twenty minutes or so, what they see is me being repeatedly tossed to the mat, with the odd squeal, scream, cry and moan thrown in for their entertainment. I get nowhere near to staying on long enough to reach orgasm, like Emerald Superstar.
Eventually, with a resigned sigh, Miss Alice gives up and, taking pity on me, leads us both to a stall across the stables. She fits us each with hoof boots and gloves, then shuts the bottom half of the split stall door.
“Get some rest, Opal,” she says, leaning over the door, “you’ve got a busy day tomorrow. You too, Emerald, you’ll be working with her.” She walks away, and the lights go out in the stables, leaving the only illumination the pale moonlight coming through the windows.
“You’ve got a lot of work to do, Opal, if you want to match me!” Again, that contemptuous tone. It’s really starting to rile me!
“Why don’t you cut me some slack?!” I whine. “You’ve been here over a year, I’ve been here less than a day. What do you expect?!”
“What I expect doesn’t matter,” she spits, “what matters is what Master expects. He expects you and me to win him medals, and prize money, and kudos. I know I’m good enough. What I’m not sure about is whether you’ve got what it takes to become good enough, quickly enough. Because I can tell you that if you don’t, you’ll be sold on, like all the others.”
“Sold on? Does he really do that?” I never thought that was true when Greta mentioned it before, but…
“You’d better believe it!” Emerald snarls. “There’s been half a dozen in the time I’ve been here and, if they don’t come up to scratch, he gets rid of them. I’ve seen it! At the end of some of these shows, there’s a selling auction. Some trainers sell their best ponies for profit, some owners sell because they only really enjoy the training, and some, like Master, sell those that don’t come up to their extremely high standards. So, like I said before, you’d better shape up pretty damn quick, or you might find yourself pulling carts around Siberia!”
“Oh my God!” I wail. “Will you help me? Please, Emerald, please help me! I don’t want to be sold!” I start to cry, and I think that’s what finally softens her attitude. She comes over to me and puts her arms around me, pressing her warm, naked body against mine.
“There, there,” she soothes, her hoof-hands stroking my hair and caressing my buttocks, “if you promise to work hard and do what you’re told, I’ll get you through it. We need to become a team. The perfect team. I think we should start working on it right now.”
She raises my chin with one of her hoof-hands, then leans down and plants her lips firmly against mine. Her tongue forces its way into my mouth, delving deep to tangle with my own, while I feel her squeezing me tightly, her breasts squashing against mine, one knee pushing my thighs apart.
She pulls me down onto the straw-covered dirt of the stall floor and pins me with her hooves and by straddling me.
“Okay, this little game will help coordinate our actions,” she says, “the object of the exercise is for us to reach orgasm at exactly the same moment. So I’ll lead, you take your tempo from me.” She quickly turns around and, as she lowers her body towards my face, I feel her touch between my thighs.
Oh my goodness, what an amazing experience! She taunts and tantalises me with just her hot breath millimetres from my trembling flesh. Then quick flashes of her tongue send bolts of electricity through me, making me squirm and grind below her. I try to mirror her actions, with a lick here, a kiss there, gentle nibbling of the thighs, sucking her love lips into my mouth. Full and firm use of the tongue to penetrate is only fleeting, and there is plenty of teasing and tickling of the clitoris.
She manages to make one orgasm last, seemingly, forever. Time and again, my hopes are built, only to be deliciously, excruciatingly denied. It’s almost too much to bear, but I know that she is suffering exactly the same frustrations, and understand that learning to cope with these feelings is all part of my training.
Eventually, when I’m at the point of exhaustion, she relents, and we scream in unison at the point of climax. My body spasms in ecstatic release, and I desperately cling to her until the intense sensations subside. She turns back around and we hold each other tightly, her sweaty body sliding over mine.
“Remember how that feels,” she whispers in my ear, “to be completely synchronised. Imagine, as we train together, that we’re working towards a beautiful orgasm which will only arrive if we achieve total harmony. You’ll need to sense my movements and anticipate them, rather than react to them. It will take time, but we can do it. Now go to sleep, beautiful pony.”
And I did. We slept wrapped in each other’s arms, our legs also intertwined. I was aware of nothing, not the coolness of the night air, not the hardness of the ground beneath me, just her heart beating against my chest.
Philip Campion written by
By the time I get to the stable next morning, Alice already has the pair fed and scrubbed down, ready for the day ahead. Their skin is glowing pink from the soap and brush Alice used on them and there’s a darker tint to Jenny’s legs and pussy, suggesting she’s just been waxed. Together, they look magnificent.
“You take Emerald out for a run,” I tell Alice. “I need to do a serious workout with Opal.”
The gym is attached to the stable, just a short walk along a corridor. Alice put Jenny in a bridle and bit, rubber covered metal with a tongue depressor. Apart from that, she’s naked and barefoot, with her wrists strapped together behind her back. She pads along passively behind me as I lead her with the rein.
In the gym, I find another strap and wrap it round her arms at the elbow. “I wonder how close we can get these together,” I say, as I pull the strap as tight as it will go safely, though her elbows are a way off touching. They will, eventually, if we do this every day. Another strap goes across her breasts, squashing them so they don’t swing when she works. Her nipples poke through metal rings, I squeeze them between finger and thumb, reminding her … whether she feels pleasure or pain is entirely up to me.
We move on to exercises, testing her fitness and stamina. Sit-ups - not easy with your hands behind your back - squats, pedalling her legs in the air and then pedalling on an exercise bike. I’m working her hard, but she is fit, I’m impressed. We move on to the treadmill.
I set that going at walking pace. “Up on your toes, Opal, head up, shoulders back, knees up as high as you can.” I get a whip, press it up under her chin. Then I hold it out above her thighs. “Hit the whip with your knees, Opal.” She does, so I move it higher. “Again.” This time she fails and gets a swipe across her backside. “If you don’t hit the whip, the whip will hit you. Keep your head up, stay up on your toes.”
A few minutes of that is more than enough, so I switch the treadmill to slow down and stop. Then I lead Jenny to a pyramid of bars at the side of the room. It’s a structure of short wooden bars, supported by chrome stands. There are four bars from left to right, each one higher than the one before, then three more bars going lower. I tell Jenny to kick her left leg up onto the leftmost bar, which she does with a little effort. I have to steady her; she can’t use her arms for balance.
“Now,” I say, “move up onto the next bar.” She tries, but she can’t do it alone. “Try again.” This time I help her, gently lifting her ankle onto the higher bar. “And again.” She looks alarmed and shakes her head, but I’m already lifting her leg and moving it up and across. She mews behind the bit, I run my hand over the inside of her thigh, the tendons are stretched, she’s hurting, fighting back tears. I let her bring her leg back down and recover for a minute, then we repeat the exercise with the other leg.
“There,” I say, “that will help you get your knees higher. If it doesn’t hurt like that when you trot, you’re not trying hard enough.”
Now I take her out into the yard, where Alice is waiting with Nuala in full harness, hitched to a sulky. Alice frees Jenny’s arms, sprays her all over with sunblock and puts her into ankle-length hoof boots. She places Jenny between the shafts, directly behind Nuala and fits a spreader bar from Nuala’s left leg back to Jenny’s left. She connects their right legs the same way, and now, however high Nuala lifts her hoof and however far she steps, Jenny has to follow. We will practice like this till muscle memory takes over and Jenny can instinctively match her partner step for step.
Alice leads Nuala slowly forward, pulling the empty sulky, while I watch Jenny. She’s looking at her partner’s heels, thinking it will help to watch what she does. It gets her several hard swats across her buttocks. “Keep your head up, Opal. You won’t be able to look down in a competition, so you’d better get used to it.”
The first run around the yard, from slow walk to trot, is frankly ugly, as Jenny’s failure to coordinate with Nuala’s rhythm nearly brings them both down. Nuala snorts with disgust when they get a chance to rest, but she’s impatient and as much a perfectionist as I am. By the time I call the session to an end half an hour and several circuits later, it’s starting to look a lot more promising. Of course, these are just straightforward walking and trotting steps. Once those are embedded, we’ll move on to dance steps and it will really get interesting.
After lunch, two young men arrive in a small van, pulling a motorbike on a trailer. They are the camera crew for the Ponygirl porn videos and this is going to be Jenny’s real debut, though she doesn’t know that yet. The “Mile High” video got plenty of downloads and likes on the website, so she definitely has the potential to be a star.
Alice puts Jenny into a head harness with a bright orange mane, blinkers and a metal bit. She gets a long butt plug tail, which straps round her hips, so it won’t fall out. Bell clips go on her nipples. Apart from that and a pair of leather mitts she is naked. Alice resprays the sunscreen and positions Jenny between the shafts, giving her some instructions about the motorbike and the camera. The bike is waiting in front of us as I say “Walk on” and it sets off, keeping pace with us.
Antonio, the camera man and Marco, the driver, are an experienced team who also do cycle races and marathons. As I push Jenny up to a trot, they close in a little, focusing on her face, her breasts and the muscles working in her legs. This is entertainment for them, as well as work, and their enjoyment always shows in the finished product.
The track we are following is bordered by trees. The day is sunny and hot, as it almost always is and the dappled shade is welcome. It’s also slightly up hill, giving Jenny a little more work to do and, by the time we reach the clear space of grass where I intend to rest, she is streaked with sweat and breathing heavily.
Of course, there’s a picnic basket in the sulky and Antonio films me unloading it. I give Jenny a rest from the pony gear and bring her to kneel beside me, while I hold a cold bottle of hydration and energy drink to her lips. There’s cold beer in the hamper too, which the guys are pleased about.
One of my possibly more unusual fetishes is hand-feeding melting chocolate to my ponies. There’s some chocolate truffles in the basket and they’re already soft from the heat of the day. I hold one in each hand, squashing them into my palms and between my fingers, then hold out my hands to Jenny. She gets the idea and begins to nuzzle and lick at the sweet, sticky mess. I can feel the moist softness of her tongue and lips on my skin and, by the time I have made her lick me thoroughly clean, I have another problem for her to deal with.
I pull her head down into my lap, where my other hand has already liberated my cock. She licks and sucks at the head, massaging the glans with her tongue, then dives, taking all of me deep into her throat. Fuck, she’s good at this and it’s all I can do to hang on long enough for Antonio to get the footage he needs. Jenny backs off, barely touching me with her tongue, her eyes sparkling, laughing at me as she envelops me again in the warmth of her mouth, her lips forming a tight seal around my shaft. Now I’m kneeling over her, the first spurts of semen splashing onto her face and tits, before she takes the rest on her tongue.
It would be a deeply intimate moment, if it wasn’t for the invasion of the camera and the arrival on the scene of another motorbike. It roars off the track into the clearing and slews to a halt no more than a foot from where we are kneeling. There’s two guys on it, heavily built, muscled, tanned, extensively tattooed. Wife-beater vests hang over beer bellies and tired, oil-stained jeans. The passenger dismounts and grabs Jenny by her hair.
“Need some help, old man? Come on, pony bitch, let’s see how much fun you can have with some real men!”
Jenny screams “Maaaster! Help me, pleeeease!” as the bikers pin her down over the throbbing fuel tank and tie her wrists to her ankles. The pillion rider takes his place and the bike races off, hotly pursued by the camera crew. I can still hear Jenny’s screams over the noise of the engines, until all those sounds fade away and I’m left with the puzzled calls of a few birds. I finish a beer and start to repack the picnic basket.
A few minutes later there’s another engine note, as Alice drives a jeep into the clearing, with Emerald still in harness beside her. They dismount and go over to the waiting sulky, as I approach with the basket.
“How is she?” Alice asks, shading her eyes from the glare of the late afternoon sun.
“Screaming last time I heard from her,” I say with a smile.
“That’s okay then,” Alice grins, reaching up to kiss me on the lips. “I’ll see you later.” She starts to hitch Emerald to the sulky, which they will take back to the stable, while I take the jeep and set off in search of the actors who have made off with my pony.
Opal Fire written by
When I wake in the morning, I find myself alone, but a quick look round reveals Emerald leaning over the door and greeting Miss Alice with a joyful neighing. I quickly get to my feet, or hooves, and join her there, doing my best to imitate the sound she is making.
Miss Alice feeds us in the most bizarre way. She straps a hessian bag across my face and, while I can smell that there is food at the bottom of it, I have to watch Emerald to work out how to eat it. She puts her hoof-hands underneath the bag and pushes the bottom up towards her mouth. I hear her munching on whatever is there, and I follow suit.
It’s a crunchy salad of iceberg lettuce, pieces of raw carrot, bits of water chestnut, and crispy croutons. Quite tasty, actually. I wolf it down!
When we are finished and the bags are removed, she squirts fresh, cold water into our mouths, not worrying about whether we dribble or not. Then she removes our boots and gloves, and takes us out into the stable yard.
She brings out toothbrushes and toothpaste, shampoo, hair brush, a bucket of soapy water and one of clean. It feels quite strange when she cleans my teeth for me, even though I could do it myself.
She takes a scrubbing brush from the soapy water and uses it pretty harshly on me. It’s actually quite painful, but I endure it as stoically as I can. When she does the same to Emerald, she hardly seems to notice, I guess she is used to it.
She shampoos our hair, then brushes it very thoroughly. She can only tie mine into a short tail with a hair elastic, but she plaits Emerald’s into a lovely long ponytail. I’m so jealous!
Miss Alice fits me with a bit and bridle, and is just strapping my wrists together behind me when Master arrives. Emerald is taken away by Miss Alice, and he leads me to a gym. I’m excited that Master is personally taking charge of my training. I must do my best!
He straps my elbows close, although I sense his disappointment that I am not flexible enough for them to touch. I always feel wretched when he’s not entirely satisfied by me, I’ve let him down. Give me a chance, Master, I’ll do better!
Another strap, this time around my breasts, with special rings through which my nipples poke. Mm, I like how he strokes and pulls on them… OW! Fuck! That really hurts, Master! He’s crushing them now, digging his thumbnail into my soft flesh! All I can do is whine in distress around the bit between my teeth. I know I should be grateful that I can satisfy Master’s desire to hurt me at this moment, but it’s bloody difficult!
The training begins, and Master works me hard, first in a standard gym session made infinitely more difficult by my bondage, then with more targeted exercises. I soon learn that what Miss Alice was saying about core strength and strong leg muscles last night was absolutely true, they are going to be very important. And, until I can improve, I am going to get a lot of whipping!
Stretching now, on some strange device which really works out my hamstrings. As I ache from the unfamiliar positions he puts me in, Master tells me something that I know I must take to heart - “If it doesn’t hurt… you’re not trying hard enough.” I think this is going to become my mantra.
The session is finally over, and Master takes me back to the yard. There’s Emerald, looking magnificent in her harness and hitched to the sulky! Miss Alice is there, and she gets me ready as well, in my hoof boots and harness. She moves me between Emerald and the cart and, once I’m hitched up, attaches me to Emerald with bars joining our ankles, left to left, right to right, so that when she steps forward, I’m forced to do the same.
This is difficult! Every time I’m slightly late in moving my leg in response, I can feel my pony companion dragging me along. I have to watch her very carefully, but then I feel a sharp slap on my rump and a shout from Master. I deserved that! Head up!
I nearly trip up as we go around the yard, then nearly trip up Emerald. When we move to a trot, it feels quite scary because I’m sure I’m going to bring us crashing to the ground.
Despite the fact that I can only see the back of her, I’m sure Emerald is getting annoyed with my terrible coordination, and I suddenly remember what she was telling me last night. I need to sense what she’s going to do, to anticipate her movements rather than just react once she’s moved. I need to work towards that climax, to be achieved by knowing that I have pleased Master!
Slowly, it gets better, then we begin to move around the yard in something approaching harmony. Miss Alice seems pleased as she jogs along beside us, and the lack of swipes from Master’s whip makes me hope that he is satisfied with my progress.
Who are these guys? I don’t understand, they’re hanging around, it looks like they have video equipment. Why are they watching as Miss Alice puts me in a different bridle and bit, complete with an impressive mane and blinkers restricting my view. The bit is metal and quite harsh against my teeth, and I have to work quite hard to get it into a comfortable position. Now she pushes a butt plug tail into me, and I notice with surprise that they’re filming all this.
I’m put into the traces of the sulky, alone this time, and Miss Alice adjusts the straps.
“Your first proper training session, Opal,” she says as she ensures I am firmly attached to the sulky, “work hard for your Master. Don’t worry about these cameramen, they’re here so we can monitor your posture and performance from all angles. Plus, you need to get used to being in public view, so you don’t get nervous at competitions.” I suppose that makes sense. Not that I have a choice - I’m now somebody to whom things happen, not someone who makes things happen.
Master mounts behind me. A flick of the reins and a click of his tongue make me move forward. The two young men are now on a motorbike alongside us, filming. I try to ignore them and just concentrate on the commands Master is giving, verbally, through the reins, and with the whip.
As we leave the stables behind, I move to a trot. My breasts are bouncing freely on my chest, and I sense the camera focusing on them, but I resolve not to be embarrassed or humiliated at the thought of this pervy video being watched. Master has decided that I should be filmed, and that is good enough for me.
It’s a hot day, and the track is up and down, so I’m soon bathed in sweat, with saliva foaming on my lips. I’m sure that will look good on the video! After a good long run, Master brings me to a halt and releases me from the buggy. Phew, that’s better! I kneel down and Master removes my bit and gives me a drink.
Master has me lick chocolate from his fingers like an animal, and I sense that he is really enjoying the feeling of my tongue moving around his palm. In response, I make sure that I lick every millimetre, cleaning him thoroughly, delving between his digits to reach every last morsel of the sweet, slimy coating.
Oh my, he really is enjoying that! Having eaten the dessert, my main course turns out to be prime, raw cock, taken whole. As I give him my best blow job, I sense the camera close by. Surely, they can’t be filming this to check my posture and performance?! Well, whatever, Master knows best and, right now, he’s decided to cum in my face. Mm, glorious!
What’s this? Another motorbike, two big, hairy bikers suddenly right beside us. What’s going on? Oh my God, get off me! One of them pulls my hair and drags me away from Master towards the bike. I cry out for help, but they tie me across the bike and roar off. Master, save me!
God, this is scary! I bounce around on the bike for what seems like an eternity before it comes to a halt and I’m untied and thrown to the ground.
“Well, ponybitch,” one of the men says as he stands over me, leering, “I hope you’re ready to take a real man!”
“Please, sir!” I beg fearfully.” Don’t rape me!”
“Why not?” the other one laughs. “If you’ll let that old man fuck you, you must be a total slut. Let’s take her together!”
“At least that will shut her fucking mouth!”the driver adds. I try to crawl away and get to my feet, but they grab hold of me and force me onto my hooves and knees.
“Nice tail, but it’s in my way.” I scream as the butt plug is ripped out and quickly replaced by the biker’s erection thrusting into me. My cries of pain are suddenly stifled as the other man forces his cock into my mouth, driving it to the back of my throat, choking me.
As they hammer away at me, I notice in the corner of my eye that the camera crew are right alongside, pointing the lens close to my face as I’m forced to take it into my throat. What the fuck kind of training review are they going to do with this?!
The camera zooms in even closer when the biker sprays his cum across my face, having filled my mouth to overflowing. Moments later, I get a disgusting warm feeling inside, and realise that the other guy has filled my rectum. As he withdraws, his sticky spunk dribbles out of my arse and down my thigh, and my violation is completed when he painfully forces the butt plug back in place and straps the tail back on.
Dazed and confused, I’m pulled to my feet and a rope is tied around my waist, then passed between my thighs to make a crotch rope digging between my labia. The bit, which was hanging from my bridle, is forced between my teeth and, as I watch with mounting dismay, the other end of the rope is tied to the back of the bike, and the two bikers mount up.
“Okay, ponybitch, let’s see how your training’s going.” The engine fires into life, and I try frantically to untie the rope, completely defeated by the hooves covering my hands. The machine lurches, pulling the rope tight and yanking me forward, the rough hemp scraping across my clitoris excruciatingly.
I break into a jog, then a run, but the bike keeps speeding up, and I’m soon flying along, just trying to keep my feet beneath me. I make it about a hundred metres before the inevitable happens and I fall headlong on the dirt track, grazing my hip and choking on dust.
“Better get up, slut,” one of them calls out, “or we’ll drag you along!” As I scramble to my feet, I see the camera crew alongside, making sure they capture every moment of my torment. Then we’re off again, barrelling down the track.
After half a dozen falls, I’m too exhausted to get up again and, despite their threats and curses, just lie there in the dirt, the dust sticking to my sweaty skin, one knee bleeding. Please, just put me out of my misery!
They finally untie me and drag me across the grass to a wooden fence. They put my back against the bars and, hooking my arms over the top rail, tie me to the fence as if I was being crucified. I feel my legs pulled wide apart and tied in place.
“That pussy looks like it needs some attention,”one of the men says, and I feel him sticking his fingers inside me. I’m only vaguely aware of him dropping his jeans and standing in front of me before he thrusts violently into my aching vagina and fucks me. I take no pleasure from his rhythmic pummelling, just hoping that it will be over quickly. With a loud grunt, he cums, his seed spurting into me, before slowly oozing out again and sliding down my leg.
The camera moves in for a slow, lingering close-up of every inch of my bound, dirty, violated body, finally focusing in on my distraught facial expression, framed by the leather harness. And then I hear both motorbikes roar away, leaving me helpless in the sun, cum slowly congealing and drying on every part of me.
How could you do this to me, Master? What has your pony done to deserve this?!