It was already late. The sun was about to cross the line of the horizon. Samuel would be about to pick me up soon. I wanted a few more minutes. Always a few more. It had been raining the same morning. The wet grass tickled my thighs and buttocks.

I could hear footsteps at my back. He surely would help me getting up. It was a part of his job, after all, but I'd rather do it by myself. It took me a lot of time figuring out how. With my arms bound at my back and a chain between my ankles even the most simple task could be pretty hard. The key was having a bit of help from a dear friend.

Placing my shoulder against the tree, I used it to support my weight just enough so set foot, the other knee still on the grass. Then I just had to change position and push with my other shoulder to set the second foot.

When I turned around I saw that he was carrying a metal bucket and the enema kit, along with the mandatory rope around his shoulder and the riding crop hanging from his belt.

He placed the bucket between my legs. Two soft taps on my puss with the riding crop meant that I musted release my bladder. While I pissed he freed my ass from the black silicone butt plug. It was small and comfortable, I barely noticed its presence after all those years. It's most remarkable feature were the human hairs that hung from it. I was sure they were human because they were mine.

Before I had finished peeing he had already inserted the nozzle of the enema and had started to pump water into my bowels. Shortly after, yet not very shortly from my perspective, he removed the nozzle and the dirty water fell inside the bucket. He repeated the process once more to clean me thoroughly.

I was glad that my hands were bound. If I had to do that I'd rather not. Black leather mittens rendered my hands useless. The leather cuffs around my wrists were joined with leather straps just on top of my elbows, two padlocks locking everything together. My coach made sure that the movement of my arms was always restricted, most of the time in that box tie.

I expected that he would reinsert the plug and tie the rope to the large steel D ring at the front of my tall, black leather posture collar. Instead he just set the bucket aside and left all the equipment on the ground. When he made me turn around and bend down I knew what was coming.

He undid the zipper of his trousers and touched himself. Once he was ready he positioned his glans at the entrance of my ass and his hands on my hips. I opened my legs as far as the chain between my ankles allowed, not much more than half a meter. Generally he did me kindly except for a few occasions in which he got too carried away and hurt me. That day I had no complaints. While he was working on my arse I remembered how it began.

He had mentioned several times he had no time to spend with friends or other women because he was almost everyday with me. He only had free time on sundays which he used mostly to rest, and thus he had no romantic life. As an almost completely naked, young woman in a good shape, I was making very hard for him to focus on his job.

One day I stumbled upon a stone. He helped me get up grabbing my breast, maybe accidentally, though probably not, and I noticed his hard on. Unsure about the reason, a sense of guilt, maybe, I turned around, bent down and rubbed my ass against his crotch. He hesitated and asked me if I was sure. As I guessed that a happy coach would be a better coach, and I wanted a good coach, I offered what I had to help him being a bit happier. That first day it actually hurt.

The next day, Steve, my..., owner, let's say, and Samuel had a rather strong argument. That wasn't against the rules, strictly speaking, but neither was it in line with them. I was just unexpected. Finally they decided that, as Samuel had admitted his transgression, he was forgiven. On the other hand, according to my owner I had behaved as, and I quote, “a cheap slut” and deserved a punishment. In case the rules weren't clear enough my owner's opinion prevailed. Therefor I had betrayed my owner, and had to be punished.

They used ropes to tie me spread eagled in the middle of the barn. The ropes were taut, I was well stretched and immobile. The punishment was twenty blows on my back with a flogger and twenty more on my front. My owner did my back. He was harsh, relentless and merciless, exactly as he should be. I had disgraced his authority, and I didn't deserve less. My coach did my front with the same vehemence. My owner thought that if I could see my coach hurting me so much, my feelings for him would change. Well, I didn't have such feelings, I was just trying to help him release a bit of tension. I didn't love him at all and still don't. Instead, seeing him punishing me made me feel proud of his commitment.

As it had been stated that I had seduced him and he wasn't to blame, from that moment on he could do my ass whenever he wanted, as long as it wasn't for my benefit or on my behalf. As if I wanted it! I didn't!

Along the years he had done me many times. In general I just endured it without further ado. Sometimes he was too anxious and hurt me. I never complained. It was just a service I provided, I wasn't supposed to feel anything more than the pride for a job well done. Besides he wasn't intending to hurt me, it was accidental. Sometimes he was very caring and made me feel a weird kind of pleasure. That was even worse, because it was again the spirit of the rules, yet not actually breaking any. Samuel didn't inform my owner or he didn't care, and of course I didn't want to be whipped again, so moving on.

I was still lost in my thoughts after he had finished inside me and plugged me again. When he tied the rope to the D ring on the front of my neck and tugged I finally got back to reality.

Every afternoon, my coach, or my owner, who took care of me only at sundays let me wander freely around the farm. My absolute loyalty had granted me that privilege. Also my hobble chain was always present. There was no limit as long as I was in sight. Still, leading me by my rope leash out of and into the barn was a tradition of sorts. Besides I liked being led.

It was dinnertime. Samuel led me to my..., chair, let's say. It was rather stern. A pair of strong iron vertical bars around one meter and a half high. At both sides of the long bars, two U-shaped iron bars. On top of the short horizontal bars a pair of cushions that would support my weight. My coach helped me sit down. It was difficult doing it alone with my neck immobile. To sit on the cushions I had to spread my legs wide open, leaving my pussy well exposed. Samuel buckled the two leather straps on the cushions around my thighs and the two straps near the base of the front leg of the U bars around my ankles. Another strap around my waist and my upper chest, plus two more around my upper arms, pinned me to the longer bars. The one for my forehead would be used a bit later.

Samuel didn't cinch the straps too tight, but they were tight enough. The point was immobilization, not pain. Before anything else he used a sponge with water and soap to clean the dirt I might have on my buttocks and thighs. Then, opening the padlocks below my chin and at the back of my head he removed my leather bridle and freed me from the rubber bit.

-Not a single word, champion.- I didn't need to be reminded of that. I knew the rules.

I opened my mouth to accept the foam red ball gag. It was rather big but so soft and porous that it was even comfortable. Yet my tongue couldn't throw it out. Cinching the last strap around my forehead, my set up was complete.

I noticed that he was very attentive to my well exposed cunt. His half smile suggested that he was going to do something funny in his opinion and annoying in mine. He toyed for a few seconds with the two inch gold ring hanging from my clit hood. Then he held the base of my vaginal plug, a three inch high oval shaped piece of silicone with small buds all around, and used it to masturbate me for a minute. The ring at the base of the plug plus the two small and thick gold rings on the center of my pussy lips where joined together by a small and sturdy padlock. I wondered how much time the padlock had been there and if they still had the key. He wasn't supposed to pleasure me that way, but, as I knew that he was just fooling around and he didn't intend to make me orgasm, he wasn't breaking the rules, strictly speaking. There was very little room for movement anyways. He turned on the TV in front of me and left me alone. He used to choose shows that I didn't like, the asshole.

While he cooked I thought on the story of my body modifications. A five inch stylish W inside a horseshoe was tattooed on the left side of my head and my right hip. My owner considered several ideas, including using red-hot iron to brand me but finally he chose just the initial of his last name, Wilson, plus the horseshoe. I still think that he was just kidding. I wasn't excited about what I had at my back, but I understood its usefulness, a list of my podiums tattooed along the length of my spine. It mentioned the name of the race, the date and my position on the podium. I wondered what would happen if I won too many.

On my head I sported something similar to what a horse would have, a single strip of hair not wider than two inches and not longer than three. The rest of my body, except for eyebrows and eyelashes was shaved biweekly, thus the tattoos were on plain view.

In addition to my pussy, my septum and the base of my nipples were pierced the same way, a light chain running between my breasts. The rings weren't removable but a pair of pliers would cut them in case of emergency. For that reason I needed a special harness supporting my breasts, more like a bra. The half cups did nothing to cover my nipples. Two straps around my shoulders plus the main horizontal strap were padlocked at my back. Surrounding the upper half of my breasts two pairs of straps were joined together by a single padlock between the breasts.

There was a reason for which my pussy was locked that way. As my coach was still cooking and the TV was worse than useless I didn't have anything better to do than going over my miseries. My owner, my coach and myself shared the same objective. Turning me into a champion through an intense training, and thus removing every possible distraction. Each week I was rewarded with an orgasm and only one. My coach had to provide it. That's how the system was designed. Therefor the padlock.

After a few days of trial, though, we noticed that I was faster when I was at the right level of arousal. More arousal than the appropriate and I started to lose focus, obviously. A new system was decided. My owner inserted in my vagina the tapered silicone plug and locked it. A new rule stated that, if I wanted to enjoy my weekly orgasm I had to do it by myself. Nobody would help me. The plug would seal away my still virgin pussy as long as my training wasn't over. The ring on my clit hood and nipples were incorporated later.

In several years I hadn't enjoyed more than a few orgasms. I didn't care. I didn't like them, in fact. My legs would feel weak and my brain would blackout. High levels of arousal helped to run faster. Orgasms were just an obstacle. Consequently, everyday I trained myself to control the duration and intensity of my arousal. That wasn't a rule, I just wanted it that way. In other words, I was always horny and frustrated.

Finally, my coach came back with our dinner. He placed the food on a small table in front of me and sat next to me on a comfortable recliner chair. Slipping his fingers in my mouth he removed the damp ball gag.

My diet had been designed by a nutritionist. It was meant to be healthy, assorted and stern. I was never sure about what was I eating exactly, because, somehow, it was always tasteless. It was always carefully sliced in tiny chops, grinded probably, so I could eat using a spoon. There were cereals, vegetables, fruit, meat, eggs, fish..., everything, and yet it was always mixed to make it unidentifiable and very often it was cold. On the contrary, my coach's food's aroma was great. Of course, I understood the point. I didn't live in an hotel. I was there to be trained. To work hard and restlessly. My pleasure and comfort were unnecessary and unwelcome. He fed me my..., whatever, while he ate his well cooked meal, also helping me take sips of water, juice or milk.

After dinner, he gagged me again with the foam ball. Then he went to the kitchen to clean the dishes. After a while he came back to finally enjoy a well deserved rest. He watched TV or read a book out loud. Very often I didn't listen to him, due to the fact that I mostly didn't share his tastes. The best parts, doubtlessly, were those rare moments when he groped and massaged my thighs, calves, arms, or torso. Less often he fondled my breasts, and buttocks, sometimes for several minutes. A few times he even caressed softly my labia, or toyed with my clit ring. I was completely vulnerable, just a immobile doll for him to handle and I loved that. Except when he touched my puss too much, that was inappropriate. That had been stated clearly, he could touch me without limits, but only for his own pleasure. He should not be concerned about my pleasure.

Around an hour and a half later it was time to go to bed. First of all he briefly freed me from the gag to give me a last gulp of water. Re-inserting the gag he placed the bucket behind me and patted me softly twice on my puss with the ridding crop to indicate me to pee. Once my bladder was empty, it was bed time.

Inserting a finger in the fornt D ring of my posture collar he led me to my stall where my box awaited. He used to led me with a rope, but sometimes, because he was tired or any other reason, he led me that way. I actually preferred that. The rope was too impersonal. I loved feeling the strength of his hands and arms on my body. I sometimes wished that he would carry me over his shoulder but then, that would make me seem lazy and I was everything but lazy.

I loved my bed so much. I couldn't be grateful enough. It was an old wooden box with many special features. Inside the box there was a thin matress covered in black latex. Through holes on the mattress passed a bunch of eyebolts and leather straps, that were embedded on the wooden base of the box. On top of the mattress there was a thick, black latex sack. The same eyebolts and straps passed through matching holes on the sack. It also had many tiny holes all around to let me breathe.

Opening the padlocks of the leather cuffs around my ankles, he loosened them a bit. Then he unlocked the padlocks closing the leather straps my boots had on top of my calves. I loved my boots, thick, black leather from toe to upper calves. Below my feet two false horse hooves shoed with hard steel. At the sides, a zipper run from ankle to the top, where it was held closed by the lockable leather strap.

Removing the first boot, he cinched tight and relocked the leather cuff around my ankle. The hobble chain was mandatory all the time unless I was training with the treadmill, in a race or in the shower. He guided my naked foot into the bed. Then he repeated the process with my other leg. During this process there were moments in which I had more freedom of movement than the usual. It was very important that I didn't move a muscle unexpectedly or my coach could consider that I was resisting. An absurd idea. Why would I resist? I liked my bed. Still, my coach wanted me completely under control, and so I did as ordered, of course.

The next step was helping me on my knees. Surrounding my waist with his arm he pushed softly on the back of my knees. I just had to let him support my weight. Once my knees touched the latex he pushed downwards on my shoulders to make me sit on my buttocks, my legs at my sides. He quickly cinched four straps around my ankles and thighs, pinning me to my bed. A padlock joined my clit ring with one of the eyebolts. If I had any wish of resisting, which I had not, that padlock ensured my compliance.

My thirty seconds of doubtful freedom where over. The rest was much easier. A leather blindfold for my eyes and a pair plugs into my ears ensured that nothing would awaken me too early. Opening the three padlocks locking the three straps of my posture collar, Samuel fittted around my head a latex mask that had only a hole from which my nose pocked out. With the mask in place he re-locked the collar. That way, the blindfold, ball gag, mask and collar were locked at the same time.

A hand in the back of my head guided me slowly but firmly downwards until my whole body was in contact with the latex. My head rested on a C-shaped small pillow sewn to the matress. In the center of the C an eyebolt was waiting to be padlocked to my nose ring. Another eyebolt was padlocked to the D ring in front of my collar, and one more to the chain between my nipples. A long strap surrounded my lower back. Samuel padlocked it shut, same as the other long strap surrounding my upper back, except that it passed under my upper arms, just below my armpits. With that I was completely immobile and I officially was allowed to fall asleep.

At my sides, the edges of the sack were waiting to be joined together. The zipper run from my feet to my head. Pulling at the two tabs they joined together on the small on my back. A rather big and heavy steel padlock left me trapped in the sack. Sometimes, due to all that darkness and silence I woke up disorientated. That heavy padlock on my back reminded me where I was. I loved the feel of that weight. It felt secure. It felt right. Why all those padlocks, someone might wonder. Well, for two reasons. First, my owner liked them and I liked them. Second, my coach loved handling and rendering me utterly defenseless and I also did.

Lastly, Samuel closed the two sides of the lid, which made the big padlock press a bit more on my skin. Two old looking iron bolts, plus two more old looking iron padlocks sealed the wooden box shut. On the lid was written in black capital letters “HORSE MEAT”. Again two reasons: my owner's rather childish sense of humor and logical anti-theft security. If someone bursted in the barn they would find a TV and some other things more worth stealing than an old box full of horse meat, twice padlocked. Unless they were some kind of horse meat addict freaks, I was safe.

Alone in the dark I had plenty of time to pleasure myself. Moving my hips I could pull slightly on my clit ring. My vaginal muscles squeezed and clenched, my plug making me both chaste and very horny. Orgasms not allowed, of course, as there was no one to keep track of the used ones deducting them from the reserve. According to my calculations I had around two hundred unused orgasms in stock. I wished I could exchange them for marshmallows.