It was several weeks before Francesco returned and visited Isabel. In that time, a terrible routine had been established.

Initially, the employees of Morris, Shepherd & Turner were shocked by the concept of someone being a company slave, whatever that was, and the idea that it involved the lovely Isabel Matthews was just too much to take in. People gathered around desks and at the coffee machine to discuss what this could mean. They sought out the directors for clarification but they had made themselves scarce, not wanting to answer awkward questions.

Stacey, as Isabel’s closest friend in the office, was nominated to go and find out what was going on. She returned half an hour later accompanied by a woman dressed in a black latex catsuit and stilettos.

“Let me introduce myself,” she said when she had got everyone into the main conference room, “my name is Olivia Agnelli and, as you now know, I will be running the Wellness Centre. As you also know, the firm has been acquired by Moltiverdi Holdings, owned by Francesco Moltiverdi.

“What you may not be aware of is that Mr Moltiverdi and Isabel Matthews developed a very deep and intense relationship over the past few months. Not to put too fine a point on it, they discovered a mutual interest in BDSM - Bondage, Domination/Discipline, Submission/Sadism, and Masochism.” A buzz went around the room at this revelation, and Olivia waited for it to die down before she continued.

“Isabel found out that she is extremely submissive and particularly enjoyed some of the darker elements of their relationship. I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say that Mr Moltiverdi designed the setup we have here to provide Isabel with exactly the kind of experiences she craves.

“Stacey, you’ve talked to Isabel now, and she has confirmed what I just told everyone. Would you agree that she is not under duress?”

Stacey thought about seeing her friend, naked and chained in a cage, and remembered her description of all the sex games she had played with Francesco, and of her time in his villa over the summer. The stories had shocked and appalled her, but she could see the underlying excitement and sheer animal lust in the girl as she recalled all the humiliation, the degradation, the punishment and, above all, the rough sex she had endured. Whatever she said about being forced into her position, it was clear that there was more going on.

“The fact is,” she said to the rapt audience, “our Isabel isn’t as sweet and innocent as we thought. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one who had come up with this plan and nagged Mr Moltiverdi into it. Surely if it was his idea, he would have been here today.” Another buzz ran around the group.

“Thank you, Stacey,” Olivia said, bringing the volume down again, “so you see, you can satisfy yourselves while, at the same time, satisfying a deep need in your new company slave. Just remember, the more you can humiliate her, whether it is through sex, bondage or discipline, the more she will secretly enjoy it.”

Following this meeting, there was no further reticence on the part of the employees, and someone excusing themselves for ‘a little R&R’ became a common occurrence. The joke going round the office was that R&R stood for ‘Rope and Retribution’.

For Isabel, it became a never-ending series of ‘client sessions’, as Olivia called them. Some of her clients just wanted sex, whether oral, anal or vaginal. She was introduced to the ‘titty fuck’, where a man would squeeze her breasts around his erection and he would bang away until he spurted over her chest, giving her a ‘pearl necklace’. Strange variants on this involved using her armpits, her knees, and between her feet as places for jerking off. She could not understand it, but she quickly came to realise that, where sex is concerned, anything goes.

Others just wanted to hurt her. She would be strapped to the St Andrew’s Cross for a flogging or whipping, depending on how much damage they wanted to do. The flogger hurt, making her cry out and leaving her back red with welts which took a day to fade. But the whip, when applied with full force, was agonising, making her scream and cry, leaving her back bleeding. On those occasions, Olivia would have to keep her confined for several days while she healed.

Aficionados of the cane or crop would put her in the pillory, locking her neck and wrists, holding her bent over in the ideal position to be thrashed on her buttocks and the backs of her thighs. That was painful enough, but some would put her in the pillory so that she was staring at the ceiling, the whole front of her body exposed and vulnerable. She hated this because it meant that her breasts and, most likely, her shaven labia would take a beating which, although it didn’t draw blood, resulted in the most excruciating pain imaginable.

Another favourite of the caning fraternity was to put her in the stocks, clamping her ankles, leaving them free to cane the soles of her feet, which always left her with tears rolling down her cheeks.

Isabel’s life became one characterised by hours of boredom, sitting alone in her cage, followed by brief outbursts of pain and, occasionally, ecstasy. It reminded her of her time in Italy as a slave, but there were significant differences. She was fed regularly, with proper food and, after each session, she was allowed to use the shower built into a corner of the office. Olivia made it clear that this wasn’t for her benefit, but that of her clients - they didn’t want ‘sloppy seconds’.

The intense physical strain of the menial work she had been given before was not required but, to keep her fit, Olivia had brought in an exercise bicycle, treadmill and rowing machine. Isabel had to use these for hours each day under the watchful gaze of her Company Mistress, who used the flogger or the cane liberally to spur her to greater efforts.

Isabel tried to measure the passing of time by making a mark on the wall every day. She had reached 40 before Olivia noticed and declared that this was an ‘unhelpful’ activity. She wiped away the marks, took away the stub of pencil Isabel had been using, and thrashed her as punishment.

“You look perfect in there, Isabel,” she heard one day and, looking up, saw Francesco standing near the cage.

“Master!” Isabel exclaimed. “Thank goodness you’ve returned! Please let me out of this place, I need to get out!”

“You don’t need to call me master anymore,” he smiled, “I have passed all that over to Olivia. I may still be the majority shareholder, but I have no more call on you than any employee. Speaking of which…”

He opened the cage and helped her out. Her hopes rose but, rather than freeing her, he locked her wrists into manacles hanging from the ceiling and took down a flogger from a rack on the wall. She screamed as he proceeded to thrash her across her back and then her buttocks. When there was a pause in the assault, she raised her head wearily, hoping to see some mercy in him.

Instead, he stood in front of her, smiling, and brought the flogger down hard across her breasts repeatedly, making her scream even louder, tears running down her cheeks. When, at last, he had finished, he threw the weapon to one side and unfastened his trousers. He grabbed her thighs and lifted her onto his erection, thrusting into her and making her dance on the chains like a marionette.

Afterwards, Isabel hung limply by her wrists, head on her chest, thoroughly spent as he straightened his clothing.

“Well, thank you for everything, Isabel,” he said, lifting her chin and looking into her half-closed eyes, “you have been wonderful. I don’t think we will see each other again. Goodbye, darling.”

“No, Francesco, please,” Isabel begged desperately, “don’t leave me here! Olivia is a sadist! She’ll kill me! Please, you have to help me!” Francesco gave her a smile, patted her cheek, and walked out of the office, leaving his ex-girlfriend still hanging. A few minutes later, Olivia came in and picked up the discarded flogger.

“I hear you have been saying bad things about me,” she said, sashaying back over to Isabel, who was pulling desperately but uselessly on the chains, trying to get away. “That deserves punishment, I am sure you would agree.” She lashed the helpless girl across the front of her thighs, the leather fronds landing across her labia. It was just the start of another agonising nightmare for Isabel.

It was many days and many, many sessions later that Isabel was lying dozing in the cage when Olivia entered. The broken and abused woman scrambled to her knees, bowing her head fearfully.

“I have news, slave,” Olivia announced, “the firm has been sold and this facility is no longer required. The equipment is being sold to a local BDSM club.”

“Does this mean I’m free, Mistress?” Isabel asked, hope rising inside.

“You want your freedom?” Olivia retorted sneeringly. “What would you do with it, slave?”

“I could finally continue my life, Mistress!” Isabel replied joyously.

“Really?” the dominatrix asked, the scepticism in her voice clear. “And do what? You can’t work here, with all these people who have treated you so badly. You would have to get another job. I don’t know what kind of reference they would give you, and how do you explain the last seven months? That would be an interesting CV!” She laughed at this, and Isabel felt uncomfortable.

“You’d probably have to move away, to avoid running into people who have seen you naked and have fucked you,” she went on. “You would have to pay taxes, rent, buy shopping, clothes, food. You would have to make new friends. All so complicated. You’re better off as a slave.”

Isabel looked at her in dismay. Yes, she thought, it will be difficult to adjust. But it would be better than this… wouldn’t it?

“Luckily for you, you don’t have to decide,” Olivia continued, “I have found a buyer for you.”

“You… You sold me?” Isabel said in disbelief.

“Yes, on a slave auction site,” Olivia smiled, “marvellous what you can find on the Internet these days. He seems like a nice guy, your new owner. At least, he can afford your high price, which is the only thing of importance to me. He’s an American, so I guess you will get to see the world, even if only through the bars of a cage.”

* * * * *

Isabel strolled casually across the field, enjoying the hot afternoon sun. When she came to the large, old oak tree, she settled down on the grass then leaned against its gnarled trunk. Gradually, the warm air lulled her. Her eyelids grew heavy and began to droop, her head sank onto her chest, and a quiet snuffling came from her parted lips as she slipped into a doze.

As she slept, she dreamt about all the amazing people she had met here, and her wonderful life in America, the land of the free.

She was woken by an itch on her behind, just in the crack. She tried to ignore it, not wanting to stir, but it was no use, it was just too irritating. With a frustrated sigh, she got up and went to her favourite scratching post and, turning her back and bending over, scraped her buttocks against the wood, worn smooth by its repeated use. She moved along and scratched her shoulder blades against the top rail of the fence, her eyes closing once more in sheer ecstasy.

“Hey, Izzy! C’mere, girl!” She opened her eyes to see Jeff, the ranch manager, closing the gate and heading towards her. She trotted over to him, making the bells on her nipple and clit hood ring jingle merrily. She leaned down and nuzzled the pocket of his jacket insistently.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, “here you go.” He took a sugar cube from his pocket and put it on her tongue. Isabel sucked on it with great pleasure, until it had all melted and she swallowed the last of the sweet treat.

“Your Master’s here and he’s brought some guests,” Jeff told her, “let’s go meet them.” Isabel pranced around excitedly as they made their way to the stable yard. She always liked guests.

She saw Master and four guests, two men and two women. As she made her way towards them, Isabel could already see their startled expressions, as they saw her for the first time. They were taking in her naked body criss-crossed by the tight leather straps of the body harness, the bit, the bridle and, of course, the boots.

When she came to a halt in front of them, she half-turned, showing them the leather pouch encasing her folded arms behind her back, and her tail. She was very proud of her tail. Long, dark human hairs, matched to her own, were implanted around a stiffening rod, surgically grafted to the base of her spine. She wiggled her hips, and the tail swished realistically from side to side. She waited with amusement for the inevitable protestations.

“What the hell is going on here, David?” one of the men exclaimed loudly. “What have you done to this poor girl?”

“I told you about my show pony,” Master replied with a smile, “well, this is her. Poor girl? Would you call yourself a poor girl, Izzy?” Isabel shook her head vigourously, making her breasts jiggle and the bells ring out.

“Izzy is perfectly happy,” her Master went on, “if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t stop her leaving. In fact, I would compensate her handsomely for her service. Do you want to leave, Izzy?” Once more, Isabel shook her head, and so forcefully that all three bells tinkled this time.

“Why don’t we see what she can do?” Jeff led her across the yard to the waiting sulky and harnessed her between its shafts. He attached her reins, and fixed blinkers to either side of her bridle, ensuring she would only concentrate on the path in front. The others followed, with her Master explaining what was going to happen.

“Izzy will take you for a ride around the ranch,” he was saying, “you just use the reins to start her off, slow her down and steer her, and the whip to make her go faster. Who’d like first go?” Although she couldn’t see them because of the blinkers, Isabel guessed from the fact that nobody was clambering into the seat behind her that they were unsure.

“Okay,” her Master said, “why don’t I show you how it’s done?” Isabel felt him mount the buggy and take up the reins. They flicked against her back and she walked forward, taking the weight of her Master and the small carriage easily.

As the reins were pulled alternately, Isabel turned first left then right, illustrating her manoeuvrability. When she felt the whip across her shoulders, she started to trot. With the next lash, she moved up to a canter and finally, as the leather thong played a tune on her back, she broke into a gallop, running as fast as she could down the track away from the stable.

Master slowed her down and turned her around before they were out of sight, then whipped her back up to full speed for the run to the stables and the waiting guests. He brought her to a halt in front of them, earning a delighted round of applause from the mightily impressed group.

Isabel was breathing heavily and had a slight sheen of sweat on her body, making her skin shimmer in the afternoon sun, but she wasn’t tired. Jeff trained her every day, with him on his horse, her by the side, a lariat from her bridle attached to the pommel of his saddle. It was two hours of walking, trotting and cantering, a break for water and a rest, then two hours back. A few joy rides seemed like nothing by comparison.

There was no hesitation now in mounting up and taking the reins. They grew more adventurous as they became comfortable with the idea of whipping a young woman to make her drag them around faster and further. A fun time was had by all until the sun was setting. At last, Jeff led her back into the stable, unharnessed her, and put her in her stall.

“Of course,” her Master told his happy guests, “Izzy can be used for other entertainments if you wish. She will do pretty much anything for you, as my guests, just tell her what you want her to do.” The others clearly took his meaning, but looked uncomfortable with the idea of further exploiting the Ponygirl.

“No? Well, she’s available any time if you change your mind. Let’s go to dinner.” Isabel watched them leave, noticing how the two guys looked back at her thoughtfully, as if rethinking their position. To her mild surprise, she got a similar look from one of the women as well.

A couple of hours later, Jeff was just cleaning some horse brasses when the stable door opened and one of the guests came in.

“Hi, Jeff, how you doing?” the man said.

“Pretty good, sir. How can I help you?” The man suddenly looked rather uncomfortable.

“Just call me Greg,” he replied, “I was… er… the pony… I was just wondering if…?” His voice trailed off in embarrassment but Jeff knew what he was asking.

“Of course, Greg,” he smiled, “she’s just over there in her stall. Feel free to use her as long as you want. I’ll just be in the storeroom, give me a shout if you need anything.” He withdrew discreetly, leaving the guest alone with the pony.

“Well, hi there… Izzy, isn’t it,” he said as he shut the stall door behind him, “I don’t know how this works… do you think you could, maybe… kneel down for me?” He was surprised when she sank to her knees without further prompting.

“Okay, well, I guess I should remove this,” he went on as he unclipped one side of the rubber-coated metal bar between her teeth from the bridle and swung it out of the way. “This is kind of embarrassing, I hope I didn’t get the wrong impression, but could you…?” He unfastened his trousers as he was talking and pulled them and his boxer shorts down. He didn’t know what to say but, before he could formulate the request, Isabel had already taken the initiative.

His cock was only semi-erect before it went into her mouth, but a few flicks of her tongue, and the feel of her soft lips on his shaft, soon sorted that out.

“Oh my God, you’re good!” Greg exclaimed as she went to work on him, bobbing her head up and down like a nodding donkey oil well.

“Oh, that feels amazing!… Oh! Oh God! I think I’m going to… OH!!” Isabel drank him dry, taking every last drop he could produce before releasing him.

“Jesus, girl, where did you learn to give head like that?” Greg croaked as he did up his garments and helped Isabel back to her feet.

“David is a lucky son of a gun to have you,” he added and turned to go, but Isabel gave a whinny and leaned forward, her mouth open and her teeth bared.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot,” he said, and put the bit back between her teeth, securing it to the bridle. As she watched him leave, she felt a trickle of cum dribble out of her mouth and down her chin. That’s okay, she thought, everyone will see what a good pony I’ve been!

Isabel was up with the sun the next morning, to be washed, toileted and fed before the guests had arisen. A while later, she was joined in her stall by Greg and the other male guest.

“I tell you, Peter,” Greg said, “this pony gives an incredible blow job, you have to experience it. Izzy, would you assume the position so that we can both have you at the same time?” Isabel quickly faced the newcomer, bent over and spread her legs. She looked up eagerly, ready for her mouth to be freed and then fully occupied.

“You take the front,” Greg urged, “I’ll see what fresh delights await under her tail!” Isabel found herself driven on to Peter’s impressive member when Greg rammed himself into her pussy. Her bells rang out merrily as they battered her with alternate thrusts, before synchronising so that Peter was forced deep into her throat.

It was actually Isabel who reached the point of no return first, but her muffled cries and spasming vagina stimulated the others so that all three climaxed at the same time. There was a lot of shouting as the two guys delivered their vinegar strokes and pumped the willing pony until she was overflowing at both ends. When the guests had gone, Jeff found that he had to clean her up all over again.

Half an hour later, Isabel was pleasantly surprised to find herself in the company of the woman who had given her the eyes the previous day. From the conversation with Jeff, she had learned that the woman’s name was Chloe. She was probably in her mid-thirties and wearing a lovely floral print summer dress which left her shoulders and neck line uncovered.

“You do look magnificent, Izzy,” Chloe murmured, reaching out and fondling Isabel’s bare breast gently, “I’ve never been into things like bondage, and certainly nothing as outlandish as this Ponygirl fetish. But for you, I could definitely make an exception. I understand that you are ‘available’, as they so delicately put it here. So maybe you could help me out. I’ve been desperately horny ever since I first saw you strutting your stuff.”

She reached under her dress and pulled down her panties, then sat down on a convenient hay bale, opened her legs, and pulled her skirt up to her waist. Isabel was pleased to see that her pubic thatch matched her curly red hair.

The pony wasted no time in getting down on her knees between Chloe’s thighs and fully applying herself to the task. Chloe began to moan loudly as Isabel’s silver tongue worked its way into her delicate flower, parting her labia, allowing her soft lips to latch on to her swollen clitoris and suck deeply. She twisted her fingers into the girl’s hair, grabbing at the leather straps of the bridle and crying out in ecstasy as she climaxed.

“Oh my word!” Chloe panted as she gradually came down. “You’re a dream come true! You’re young, beautiful, dress in leather harness which hides absolutely nothing, and then you can do that! If your master ever gets bored of you, let me know, I’ll be there in a heartbeat!” She kissed Isabel on the lips, and then made her way out. Isabel was just thinking that, at last, she had something to be thankful to Olivia for.

A couple of hours later, Isabel was entertaining the whole group again with carriage rides around the ranch. Everyone was now much more relaxed about using her as their beast of burden, and certainly less shy in using the whip to drive her at maximum speed across the flat open fields.

She was on her final drive, and at the furthest point from the stables still on the ranch, when she was brought to a halt. She felt the driver get down from the buggy behind and, a few moments later, Chloe walked in front of her.

“I realise I was very selfish earlier,” she said. She moved close to the harnessed pony and kissed her around the bit, her hands roaming the sweat-soaked body she had so recently been whipping to run harder and faster.

“Maybe there is something I can do for you.” Isabel felt a hand between her thighs, fingers, first one and then a second, pushing up into her vagina. Chloe brought her thumb between Isabel’s pussy lips, and the bell tinkled as she rubbed the clitoris below.

Isabel put her head back and closed her eyes, moaning and whimpering as the stimulation grew. She parted her legs slightly to allow better access, and Chloe took full advantage, driving a third finger into the panting pony. Isabel became louder as she got closer and, at the point of climax, her cries rang out in the still, warm air.

But Chloe wasn’t finished. She allowed Isabel to recover, before resuming her stimulating manipulation. Isabel screamed out another glorious orgasm, and a third, before Chloe finally relented.

“Mmm, you taste good!” Isabel opened her eyes to see Chloe sucking the juices off her fingers. “I guess we’d better get back, if you’ve still got the strength.” They headed back to the stables at an easy canter, and Isabel was ecstatic to be given a good soaking by Jeff to cool her down, as well as being able to drink cool water from her trough. The guests thanked her for driving them around and letting them enjoy the scenery, before making their way back to their separate lives, now enlivened by pleasant memories of their time on the pony ranch.

Sometime later, Jeff led her out of her stall and into the stable yard. Her Master and the two ranch hands, Mark and Steve, were already there. Master had a bottle of champagne and, after dramatically popping it open, poured it out into glasses, which were then passed out to the others. They all turned to face Isabel, smiling.

“Izzy, this is the anniversary of the day you arrived here,” Master said. “It must have been very disorienting to arrive, jetlagged, in a foreign country, having been bought and sold as a slave, and then to be told that you are to become a full-time Ponygirl. It would have been perfectly natural - and, to be honest, I fully expected it - if you had fought against your fate, complained about it, or just refused to cooperate.

“But from day one, you brought a can-do attitude, a positive mindset, and an impressive determination to be the best that you could be. It would be fair to say that you have consistently exceeded my expectations of you, and I know that I speak for all of us when I say that we are immensely proud that you are our Ponygirl.” There was a general murmur of consent and nodding of heads.

“Even this weekend. My friends arrived yesterday, disgusted and appalled that I would hold a woman captive as a Ponygirl and use her so selfishly for my perverted pleasure. Yet today, they left singing your praises and begging me to ask them back so that they can play with you again.

“So, gentlemen, raise your glasses. Izzy, happy tenth anniversary. Here’s to the next ten years!”

THE END