As Alice leaves, with Nuala pulling the sulky, I set off in the jeep to rescue Jenny. A few minutes out I see the bikers heading back with the camera crew.
“How did it go?” I ask casually, as the bikes come to rest beside me.
“Amazing,” one of the bikers enthuses. “She is one hot little pony. Any time you want us to act a scene with her, you just give us a call. We’ll be there.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Marco the cameraman chips in. “She is so photogenic, the camera loves her and her reactions are just totally natural. We left her where you said, tied to the fence.”
I set off again, thinking that Jenny’s natural reactions might have something to do with not knowing at all what was going to happen to her. I wonder what kind of reception I’m going to get when I find her.
She’s where I expected, except she’s still hanging on the fence with her arms and legs spread. It’s a strenuous position to hold and I’m annoyed with the crew for leaving her like that. In these videos the ponies are actors and their fellow cast and crew members should treat them as such. This wasn’t at all what I intended. I will have to have words.
Once she’s untied and sitting beside me in the jeep, I drape a foil blanket around Jenny’s shoulders and give her a bottle of water to drink. She’s still shivering, so I put my arm around her and hold her close.
“Master?” she says.
“Yes, Opal, what is it?”
“Did I do something terribly wrong? I don’t understand how I could deserve that kind of punishment.”
“That’s not what it was,” I say softly. “It’s what you signed up for.”
She looks up at me, her eyes deeply hurt and mistrustful. “I signed up to be your Ponygirl, Master, not to be beaten and raped by strangers. On camera too, why was the camera there?”
“Jenny,” I say, causing her to flinch at the use of her human name, “in the contract you signed, you agreed to do whatever I tell you to do, be whatever I want you to be. I own you body and soul, we discussed that at length. So, if in return for this immersive Ponygirl experience, which you are enjoying so much, I want you to become a BDSM porn star, that is what you will do. Or … well … you know what the alternative is.”
The look on her face changes to one of helplessness and fear. I can't help smiling at her obvious confusion and what looks like horror.
* * * * *
Six weeks after that incident, I’m sitting in the shade with a pot of coffee, watching Alice take Jenny and Nuala through some new dance steps. It’s early morning, the sun is low and the choreography is complex, but the two ponies are now so totally in sync with one another, and with Alice, that she only needs to demonstrate a sequence a couple of times and they’ve got it. Sure, putting it all together will take more work and it needs fine tuning in places, but there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m looking at a champion team that can take on all-comers and win.
There have been other positive developments too. Jenny’s hair is a little longer and, after a slow start, she has acquired a golden all-over tan. I think she still resents the porn star role I have forced on her, but she is at least going along with it, especially now the abduction storylines routinely include both her and Nuala. There’s a video where the two of them are taken to a cabin in the woods by two men and a girl, which is hot as hell and flying off the website. So, yes, I fired the bikers and hired some more responsible actors, which has also helped.
A small van has just pulled into the yard, it parks and two women get out. One is in her forties, the other quite a bit younger. Alice ends the dance session and takes the ponies into the stable. The older woman, Donna, greets me with a cheery “Ciao Maestro!” and a kiss on the cheek, while her companion takes a box of equipment into the stable. We follow her and find Jenny and Nuala standing side by side, legs apart and hands behind their backs. Alice watches them from the side of the stall. They look worried.
“So, Maestro,” Donna asks briskly, “what are we doing today?”
“Just as we discussed, Donna,” I reply. “We need them both to look their best for the competition next week. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
“Of course, Maestro,” Donna replies. “As you wish, so it shall be done.”
Opal Fire written by
A porn star? Me? What is he talking about?!
It slowly starts to dawn on me that I was just used to make a hard-core porn video! The camera lens, roaming all over my cum-splattered body, ogling my tits, virtually crawling into my cunt… How could I not realise what was happening? They filmed me being fucked in all my holes, as well as being dragged through the dirt, tied to a fence…
And, of course, they filmed me as a Ponygirl, pulling Master in a buggy, with me naked and sweaty, bit between my teeth, breasts jiggling obscenely, being whipped… Oh God, that is so shameful! Imagine if someone who knows me saw that!
I stare at Master and wonder. Is this ‘Ponygirl’ stuff just a front for his porn business? Or worse? Is he really nothing more than a pimp, ready to sell my body and my services to the highest bidder?! I’ve heard that some men force trafficked women to become sex slaves. Is the man I call Master one of those? He must be laughing all the way to the bank to have found a woman stupid enough to have volunteered for such treatment for free!
Surely not, I tell myself, surely that would be too cynical. The journey back to the stable yard passes in silence, and Master leaves me with Miss Alice, walking away without a backward glance. I stare after him, unsure of what kind of man I have given myself to.
“I have to tell you what happened to me today,” I say urgently to Emerald after we are locked away in the stable for the night, “Master had these men rape me, while all the time I was being filmed!”
“Did you get Antonio, the big guy?” she says in a sympathetic tone. “He’s terrible, so fat and heavy. Mind you, he usually works with Alessandro, who has the most beautiful, big cock!”
“Don’t you understand? They raped me! For a porn film!” Why is she being so blasé?!
“And?” she replies offhandedly, before looking at my shocked face. “Oh do grow up, Opal! What did you think this was, a convent? I bet Master already had you fucked in public before you ever agreed to come here.” I think back to that night in the pub, what the waiters did to me…
“But this was rape and abuse!” I protest, losing a little of my conviction.
“Look,” Emerald explains patiently, “you signed up for this. You belong to Master now, for good or ill. You’ll love some of the things he does, and hate others. But, admit it to yourself, you like sex. Not only that, you like being forced to have sex with strangers in wild and transgressive ways. They just took you by surprise today, that’s all. Get over it, it’s going to happen a lot!” But I’m not ready to give up just yet.
“Why did they have to film it?” I whine. “They’re going to splash me all over the Internet!”
“It makes money to pay for this lifestyle,” Emerald says matter-of-factly. “We may be living in a stable, but the running costs of a competition Ponygirl are surprisingly high. Now, shut the fuck up and get your face in my pussy!” The conversation comes to an end as we once more practice our synchronised slurping, or coordinated cunnilingus, whatever you want to call it.
Afterwards, as we lie on the straw in each other’s arms, our hot, sweaty bodies pressed together, I think about everything my pony-mentor has told me. I suppose she’s right, I’m a lot more kinky than I like to admit, even to myself. I’ve been telling myself that all this sexual activity has been forced upon me, but the reality is that I enjoyed it. Even when I think about my ‘rape’ today, hindsight renders it a wild but thrilling rollercoaster ride.
The Ponygirl experience has always been wrapped up with sex for me, whether it was a bedroom game with Steve or my first time in the stables at the Pony Fetish Club. Maybe that’s why I found our monthly visits for Sunday afternoon games so frustrating – no sex!
While I’m at it, I might as well admit to a few more unexpected pleasures. The bondage of pony harness, the subjugation of being a Ponygirl, the strain of prolonged strenuous exercise, the pain of being whipped, they all contribute to my pleasure, the extreme sexual satisfaction I get. It seems that the worse I’m treated, the more I enjoy it.
What does that make me? A submissive, clearly, but am I a masochist? I don’t know whether it’s the pain itself that I enjoy, or the evidence that it delivers of my complete domination by someone else.
It’s too complicated, it’s too late at night, and I’m too sleepy, let’s forget it for tonight. Where better to sleep than in the arms of my fellow pervert. I snuggle into her a little closer, and I’m rewarded with a kiss on the top of my head.
With no way to tell the passing of time other than the movement of the sun across the sky, and with every day indistinguishable from the one before, days stretch into weeks as life follows a strict schedule. Up at dawn, morning ablutions, scrub down in the yard, an early morning nose bag. Then it’s two hours of strenuous workout in the gym, followed by three hours of dance training in the paddock, come rain or shine. After lunch, Master might make an appearance and take us for a carriage drive in the country. If we are very lucky, he might take a break and fuck one or both of us!
Every few days, we are taken away to be filmed as we are used and abused by the troupe of porn actors employed by Master and Miss Alice. Many of the sessions are Ponygirl-themed, but not all. Sometimes, we are stripped out of all harness and become ‘straight’ actors. The difference between us and the other actors seems to be that we can be made to suffer any abuse without the need for faking it.
I’m constantly astonished at the scenes and scenarios they come up with for these porn films, because it means that somebody, somewhere, gets off on seeing Emerald and me suffering in the most bizarre ways. Being whipped or caned is quite run-of-the-mill in the videos, but being thrown into a vat of maggots while naked, bound and gagged? Who buys this stuff?!
In one of the scariest, and most painful, scenes, Emerald and I were marched off to a cabin in the woods by two guys and a girl dressed in SS uniforms. Apparently, we were French resistance fighters, although there was no actual script that we saw. We were roughly dragged along by rope around our necks, each with our hands tied behind our back, both naked – no costumes for us! – while two cameramen followed in close attendance, making sure that they captured every terrifying moment.
“I know that, even under the worst torture, you resistance bitches won’t talk,” the actress in her SS outfit informed us in her cod-German accent whilst the men held us, “but perhaps you will talk in order to save your colleague from further agonising pain. Put that one in the chair and string this one up!”
I was forced down onto a straight-backed chair and tied to it. Meanwhile, they tied a wooden pole to Emerald’s ankles, opening her legs wide, like a spreader bar and, tying a rope to the middle of the pole, hoisted her into the air, hanging upside down. I was rather surprised when one of the guards threw a bucket of water over her, wondering what this was for.
“Tell these Nazi pigs nothing, Opal!” Emerald cried out, again taking me by surprise. Was she now acting her part in this ridiculous drama?
“Opal?” the woman said questioningly, “sounds like a codename! Is that your resistance codename, bitch?” I had no idea what was going on, so I kept quiet.
“You still refuse to talk?” she spat at me, “perhaps when I apply this to your friend, it will change your mind.” She held out some kind of stick device and pressed a button on the handle she was holding. Suddenly, a blue spark flashed between the prongs at the end of the device, and I realised that it was an electric cattle prod. Now the water dripping from the suspended Emerald made sense.
With an evil smile, the woman turned to Emerald and, thrusting the prod against her stomach, pressed the button again. Emerald’s cry reverberated around the cabin as she squirmed and twisted in obvious agony. The actress looked at me expectantly but, despite my distress at seeing my fellow pony suffer, I knew there was nothing I could say or do to change how they decided that this horrendous scene was to play out.
“Please stop!” I cried eventually as the woman shocked Emerald over and over again, the bolts of electricity burning into her writhing body. She paid particular attention to torturing her breasts and nipples, which made Emerald scream even louder.
“You know what to do if you want me to stop,” the actress said as she grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, clearly relishing her role, “just tell me where your secret headquarters are!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” I shouted in her face, sensing the closeness of the camera lens as I did so. “There are no secret headquarters! Please stop torturing Emerald!”
“So, still defiant?” she said. “That just means more suffering for your friend Emerald here.” She turned back to Emerald and, to my horror, drove the electric prod between her upturned thighs, forcing one of the prongs into her vagina while the other lay between her labia. I closed my eyes and turned away, but could not shut my ears to the sound of her desperate screams.
I thought about turning to the camera and telling it that this was all a terrible mistake, and that we were being held against our will and tortured for real, but I realised that this would only lead to a second take, possibly after I had been beaten senseless.
“If this one won’t talk, perhaps the other will.” As I heard one of the men say this, I was quickly untied from the chair and dragged to my feet. I feared that I was about to suffer the same torture as Emerald had been put through, but I should have known better. The viewers of this porn might find torturing two women in the same way boring, so my torment would have to be something different, something even more extreme.
I was dragged out of the cabin and deeper into the woods, until we reached a small clearing. I saw that Emerald was being pulled along as well, despite being barely conscious, and the ubiquitous cameras were still with us, making sure that every moment of suffering was on video.
A hole about two feet deep and maybe six feet long had been dug in the ground, and we stopped beside this. One of the guards tied my legs together at the ankles and knees, and it began to dawn on me what they intended to do.
“Oh God, no, please, don’t! You ca-“ My pleading was abruptly cut off as the man behind me suddenly pulled a clear plastic bag down over my head, while the one in front of me wrapped duct tape tightly around my neck, forming an airtight seal between my skin and the bag. I began to hyperventilate as the bag stuck to my face every time I took in a breath, then moved away when I breathed out. The bag quickly steamed up as I gasped the increasingly stale air in and out.
I was about to pass out from oxygen starvation, my eyes fluttering and my legs buckling, when I felt something hit the bag and push between my lips. It felt like a tube forcing its way into my mouth, and I sucked desperately on it, being rewarded with the sweet taste of fresh air. My vision cleared sufficiently for me to see that tape was now being applied around the tube so that the bag was once more airtight around my head.
I saw that Emerald was kneeling on the ground, looking at me in horror, while the actress in her SS uniform was saying something to her which I couldn’t hear through the plastic. The two male actors picked me up and dumped me unceremoniously into the hole, leaving me on my back, looking up at both the cameras now hungrily roaming over my body.
I could see that, above me, there was some discussion going on. Emerald looked down from the edge of the hole, shaking her head and shouting, and I was sure I saw tears on her face. Suddenly, I was hit in the face, or at least on the plastic covering my face, by what I realised was a shovelful of dirt. The two actors playing SS guards were now filling in the hole, with me at the bottom. I was being buried alive!
I struggled to sit up, to get myself out, but each time I did, more soil was thrown at me, knocking me back. I could see that the tube in my mouth stretched to the top of the hole to act as an air pipe but, while that made me think that they wanted to keep me alive, there was no way I wanted to be buried! I fought as hard as I could, trying to stay on top of the dirt as they shovelled it in.
But I was fighting a losing battle! Gradually, the weight of soil over my legs built up until I could no longer pull them free. My upper body slowly followed in being covered, until only my breasts and plastic-covered face remained above the surface. I took a last look up, seeing the laughing faces of my torturers, the distraught look of Emerald, and the ever-present cameras recording my demise.
They didn’t stop. They continued to pile dirt on top of me, covering my face and imprisoning me in total blackness. The weight above me continued to grow, making breathing difficult. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that if I started to panic, I would probably kill myself. But that rational thought was almost impossible to hang on to, when every fibre of my body wanted to scream in terror at what was happening to me.
I didn’t know how long I was left in the ground before they dug me out until much later that night, as I lay weeping quietly in Emerald’s arms, suffering some kind of PTSD as I relived that nightmare. She explained that she had pleaded with them to exhume me, but they refused until she had satisfied all three of them orally. Frantically, she had given the two men blow jobs simultaneously, until they came down her throat, in her mouth, over her face, in her hair, and across her breasts. She had then set about licking the woman to orgasm as quickly as she could, all under the baleful eyes of the camera lenses, which ran continuously with my ‘grave’ in the background to ensure that viewers would see that I remained buried throughout the sequence.
Even when she had finished them all, they didn’t dig me out. Instead, the two men grabbed Emerald and both took her at once, one in front and one behind, bouncing her painfully on the huge cocks until they filled her with their seed. Then, at last, they released me.
“Why does he do this to us?” I sobbed, wondering how Master could be so cruel.
“Like I told you before, Opal,” Emerald replied gently but firmly, “he can and will do whatever he wants with us. You have to come to terms with that, otherwise you’ll go mad. You just have to take the rough with the smooth.”
“But the rough… it’s too rough,” I groaned.
And so to today, and a change of routine. Master is watching, but our training session is cut short by the arrival of a van into the yard, from which two women get out and are greeted by Master. Miss Alice takes us into the stable and makes us stand quietly to wait.
I wonder who these women are, and what will happen. I look to Emerald for reassurance but, for the first time since I arrived at this place, she looks confused and a little nervous. I realise that she doesn’t know what’s going on either, and I find that even more frightening. Something new, even for her? That cannot be good!
The two women come in with Master and set up some equipment on one of the benches. I see what looks like hairdressing tools, along with some other items I don’t recognise. Oh good, they’re going to smarten us up. My hair has been getting rather long and very unruly!
Miss Alice brings over a couple of high wooden chairs and, after removing our tails, makes us sit down. It is only when she starts to buckle them around my arms that I realise that there are leather straps along the back of the chair so that, when she has them done up tightly, I’m held hard against the wood with my shoulders pulled back. There are similar straps on the legs of the chair and Miss Alice fastens these around my ankles and above and below my knees.
I watch as she does the same to Emerald, and her look of alarm matches my own. Miss Alice then removes our bridles and retreats. I’m getting really nervous about this now!
The older woman, who seems to be in charge, starts to cut my hair, but I realise that she is only feathering and trimming, just tidying it up rather than removing any length or volume. It feels curious to be having my hair done whilst naked and in bondage, but not unpleasant. Maybe all hairdressers should offer this as an option!
She exchanges her scissors for a pair of electric shears, and I guess that she is just going to square off the neck… Holy fuck, she’s run it by my ear and shaved the whole side of my head! Now she does the other side as well and, despite the hot, stuffy atmosphere in the stable, I feel a distinct coolness around my ears. What has she done?!
I glance over at Emerald and see that she has received the same treatment from the younger woman. Her auburn hair has gone from both sides of her head and only a wide Mohican straight down the middle remains. She’s half bald! And I know I look the same, my ginger bob reduced to a Brazilian strip of a mane! Emerald and I stare at each other in shock at this unexpected and undesired development.
The woman is standing in front of me again, having switched her clippers for what looks like a strange pair of pliers. She takes hold of my right earlobe and rubs it.
“Never had your ears pierced, Piccolo?”she says but, before I have any chance to reply or even shake my head, she grips the ear tightly and brings up the tool in her other hand. OW! I cry out as the sharp point in the jaws punches through my earlobe. While I’m still reeling from that, she pierces my other ear, then forces large, thick gold rings through the holes. I start to cry as the pain of the piercing is now amplified by the weight of the rings pulling on the fresh wounds. Jesus! That was horrible!
“Open your mouth and put out your tongue, pony,” the woman says, and I see that as well as the piercing tool, she has a regular pair of pliers in her hands. Jesus, there’s no way I’m going to let her do that! I clamp my jaws together and shake my head, my eyes wide with fear. In response, she looks across at Master.
“Do as you’re told, Opal,” he says coldly, “or we’ll be burying you for real next time.” Oh my God! What a terrible threat, and the worst thing is that I know he is not bluffing! Reluctantly, hesitantly, I part my lips and poke out my tongue. She clamps the pliers around it and pulls, before putting the piercing tool into my mouth.
OW! FUCK THAT HURTS!! The infernal needle goes through my tongue just as easily as it did through my ear, and I taste blood in my mouth. I let out a howl of pain as she withdraws the spike and replaces it with a golden stud. Another tool clamps the locking ball underneath, before she releases me.
The pain is excruciating! I can feel the gold spheres, one scraping the roof of my mouth, the other underneath my tongue, foreign intruders which I can’t expel. My tongue immediately swells up due to the trauma it has suffered, and it seems to fill my mouth. I wail forlornly, my only form of communication.
Oh fuck, what is she doing now?! Distracted by the tongue piercing, I didn’t notice that this awful woman is about to do more! She grabs my nose, brings up the piercing tool, and-
AIYEEE! SHIT!! Now she’s pierced my septum! Tears are streaming down my face, that is so fucking painful! She forces another ring through the new piercing, and I feel it touching my nostrils at either side and hanging down to my top lip.
“Okay, this one’s ready to have the bridle put back on,” she says dispassionately and turns away, seemingly done with me. Miss Alice refits my bridle, although it seems to be slightly different. There is now a leather strap which goes across the bridge of my nose and my cheeks, while the strap across my forehead and round my head feels like a steel band, it is so tight. It feels like there is additional weight to the harness as well, although I can’t work out why.
Miss Alice fits the metal bit into my mouth, and I realise that this is different as well. It is bent so that it presses down on my tongue midway between the new stud and my epiglottis, making me choke and retch. It triggers a flood of saliva into my mouth and, fearful that I’m going to choke on that as well, I bow my head to allow it to run out over my bottom lip. As I watch it drool onto my breasts, I see that it is pink with my blood.
Taken aback by the brutality of my treatment, I look across at Emerald to see how she is doing, and see that she has suffered in the same way. I can now see that the harness around her head holds a plume of green feathers erupting from her crown, forming a very impressive headdress. I must be sporting something similar, although I guess my feathers are probably red – Emerald green and Opal red. Reluctantly, I have to admit that the tooled leather harness looks good against her part-shaved head.
She has been pierced and ringed, and is clearly in as much pain as I am, but that look of confusion and uncertainty I noticed earlier has gone. Despite her physical distress, she seems pretty calm and accepting. I marvel at her superhuman equanimity!
Oh no, that woman is back! What can she possibly be going to do now?! She’s fondling my breasts… tweaking my nipples… making them stiff and erect… oh, Jesus Christ, NO! NOT THAT!!
There is nothing I can do to stop her and she knows it. She slowly, deliberately places my right nipple between the jaws of the piercing tool and…
AAAAAAAAAH!! I scream in agony as she fires the metal dart into my soft, sensitive flesh, weeping with great racking sobs as she threads the heavy gold ring through the new hole. She does the same to my left nipple, totally ignoring my desperate, inarticulate pleas for mercy, mangled into incoherent sounds by the bit and the tongue-piercing. Her job now finally complete, she steps back to contemplate her morning’s work. I hear Emerald screaming as she suffers the same.
Miss Alice releases me from the chair and, after reinserting my tail, wipes away my tears. She does the same with Emerald, then moves away, allowing Master to view his modified ponies. I watch Emerald as she stands proudly before him, head up, shoulders back, breasts thrust out, hooves and arms by her side, one leg straight, the other cocked so that her hoof scrapes the dirt floor. She looks incredible! All the gold rings now look like fine adornments on a magnificent beast! Quickly, I mirror her confident posture and proud expression, and we stand side-by-side, ready for inspection!
Master examines us for several minutes, his face inscrutable. As he does so, my attitude changes from resentment to a desperate desire to please him.
I fervently hope that he likes what he sees…