Midnight-Pearl

Chapter 3 – The Journey

The strangest turn of events in my young life was what I was next to encounter.

I was resting after a very strenuous session in the training pool. I was just too tired to sleep. I was too tired to sleep because of the hyper-state of tension and alertness my mind was exercised into, despite the weariness in my young body. Despite my physical tiredness my mind was as awake as if I had overdosed on caffeine. As I lay awake resting on my bed one late afternoon in even later November, I listened to one side, the only side I could hear, of the strangest telephone conversation I had heard in my life. The voice I could overhear was undoubtedly Fabrina's. The voice I could not hear was, I soon worked out, pretty certainly that of Gaynor, her business partner and one-time lover whom I understood to be in Spain.

"Tell Melinda Ryan I have exactly what her daughter wants for her birthday."

"Yes."

"Prime quality."

"Human name is Emma."

"Yes 'Emma'."

"What's that?"

"You're breaking up….. damned mobile phones! …."

"She wants us to choose the name?"

"That's fine……"

"Black mane …."

"Yes it's the genuine colour."

"Lovely coat – light-brown."

"Combine the black mane and the brown coat, and we are talking a genuine bay here.

As I recall, young Miss Ryan particularly asked for a bay."

"Yes, of course…..From the teeth, I'd say eighteen or nineteen"

"Excellent physical condition"

"Kept in training. Perfect muscle tone."

"Height? Oh easily seventeen-hands unshod".

"Yes, I know that's tall, but she's seventeen-hands at least: she'll be higher when she's hoofed of course."

"Longest rear legs you ever saw with superbly strong hams"

"Rump firm as a rock"

"She'll be a strong one, well capable of hard work and endurance…"

"Lovely forelegs, not that she'll need them of course"

"And up front you are not going to believe, must be 37 or 38."

"Yes. Okay I'd go for 37D or double-D. Whatever. They are beauties…superb udders. Perfect teats with massive aureoles too."

"No. Absolutely not. They are totally natural. No enhancements, no tattoos, and no piercings either."

"No, I'm pretty sure she's never been covered. It's for certain sure at least that she hasn't dropped any foals."

"Melinda knows the price. We'll film and sell the DVDs of course for the extra. Bound to make a profit on this one believe me"

"Tell Melinda her daughter will think it's her next thousand birthdays rolled into one when she sees this babe"

"Okay?"

"No: she doesn't know yet".

Although I admit I was naïf at eighteen, I thought I realised that this conversation had been about me; or at least that it pretty certainly was. But I was to fall immediately asleep in my exhaustion and wonder on waking two hours later, whether I had just dreamt it. It seemed at my next half-waking that all the talk about ponies from the two older women had been distorted within my half-slumbering mind and made play of, as minds are wont to when dreams are screened in the mental cinema. In sum I had been dreaming, and dreaming the conversation not least.

I was allowed to sleep all the rest of that afternoon and till the early hours of the next day. And, such was the accumulated physical tiredness from the constant additional fitness training I had willingly subjected myself to over months since my arrival at the university; that I needed that much sleep to overcome extreme exhaustion, the extreme exhaustion a youthful body still growing to full womanly maturity and thus till lacking staying power.

My world was to change that next morning. My world was to change completely.

I awoke in a blaze of light, no, of lights, no, of spotlights, to find both Alena and Fabrina in my bedroom looking at me, as I lay naked within my cosy bed.

It was only as I blinked myself awake to see that it was but half-past-five on the clock, that I opened my eyes wide enough to realise that both Alena and Fabrina were dressed alike in black boots with four-inch stiletto heels, brown jodhpurs, and red-and-brown chequered shirts.

But what horrified me was what my eyes most immediately caught: both women had riding crops, and Fabrina carried a long pole with some kind of metal hoop band worked by a lever attached to it, rather like a shepherd's crook with a metal hoop lasso at its end.

"Don't let us have to hurt you sweetheart" coaxed Alena "You're ready for Spain now my love. Whether you like it or not your going to Spain to be broken-in. You my lovely Welsh angel are perfect raw material".

I had know idea what on earth Alena was talking about and, although I felt any amount of fear running through me, I was about to be brave enough to challenge the two women to go away and leave me alone, when any chance for me to talk was stopped in an instant, by Fabrina using the crook to grab me around my neck as I lay in the bed propped up in my surprise awakening from the power of the blinding lights.

Propped up on my elbows as I was, by opening the lasso-end wide, and dropping it over my head, and then pulling the lever to close the choker at the end of the crook around me, Fabrina force-guided me to rise to my knees on the bed and thereafter step out of it onto the carpeted floor of the bedroom.

"I've got her safe and sound", Fabrina assured Alena, "Get her tacked out, the truck will be here at seven".

Fabrina loosened the crook only slightly for fear she was choking me, but kept it tight enough to stop me speaking clearly if I tried to talk at all, and certainly tight enough to control me and keep me standing obediently.

If I had slept long there was no doubt that, after all these sudden happenings, I was now as wide-awake as I had ever been in my young life. And yet the proceedings that followed seemed, like the telephone call I had heard the half of, to be unreal and dreamlike in the extreme.

I tried in vain to fight off the choker-crook, wrestling its pole with my hands to try and twist it out of Fabrina's grip to absolutely no avail. Even as I fought now to try and kick Fabrina, she merely tightened the hold of the band around my neck and I was defeated.

But I was not going to give up that easily. Although my eyes were almost starting from my head, so tight was the crook's hoop on my neck, I lashed out with my pretty feet, high kicking to try and disable Fabrina with a foot in her crutch or anywhere I might catch her, anywhere painful enough to get her to let me free.

They had trained my legs. They had built up my stamina. With my long strong shapely legs I would kick out and did in the ever dawning realisation that what had started out seeming like a nightmare dream was rapidly becoming 'daymare' real.

Intelligent though I have always been considered to be, when one is in the deep depth of shock and fear that I was experiencing at the hands of the two women who had so suddenly become my captors, a bright mind telling you that you have no chance and might just as well surrender to their will is not listened to, and I was perspiring heavily as I fought and fought with tears of frustration coursing down my lovely face. Eventually as was inevitable, my wrists tired and I staggered and fell to my knees for the fifth helpless hopeless time.

As I was made to stand again, it was as if Alena had been awaiting my obvious acceptance that my defeat was inevitable, since it was at my letting go of the pole of the crook to try and think of some new way to fight my tormentors off, that she grabbed my right wrist taking it behind me. Standing aside in case I kicked backwards, she manacled my wrist with a black leather band that had a short chain running to another black leather band, that she next folded my arm forearm to my upper arm, so she could pass round my upper arm, just below my armpit, over the bicep and tricep.

Because it involved straps and buckles being tightened and engaged around both my right wrist and my upper right arm whilst I continued to fight and resist, Alena only managed to effect this without being able to tighten the straps fully. She hoped she would tighten the straps afterwards, when I had been further calmed.

My right arm had been strapped up doubled and helpless, but all that succeeded in doing, with the recovery of my determination and adrenalin-fuelled fear-enhanced strength after the previous defeat of my escape bid, was to see me return fully to the fight and, though it hurt my neck to turn, I now tried my very best to keep three-hundred-and-sixty-degree guard from any further approaches to bind me, by threatening a kick to anyone who came within range of my lovely long lithe leggy deterrents.

They had caused me to work on the strength and staying power of my legs and here was the first cause I had found to be truly grateful for it, as it had enhanced my ability and agility and duration in the fight.

"She's a real wild, one and some!" Fabrina exclaimed. "We're going to have our work cut out to break this one in, that's for sure!"

These words I took as a sign that I might yet win my freedom with a chance taken, if it arose, for a good kick from my superbly honed legs, to take one of these women out. I was a gentle girl by nature, but such was my ire and terror at that moment, I would have broken Alena or Fabrina's leg if I could have aimed a kick, or broken a foot if I could have got near enough to stamp down on one.

Then, taken off guard by my fleeting and, on reflection, ridiculous thought that I had any chance of winning, Fabrina used the crook to tighten the grip around my throat even more and thereafter force me once more down onto my knees.

"You'd better bind her hind legs", Fabrina advised breathlessly, "I don't think I can control her with the crook alone. They're best broken-in from the completely wild state, but this one is really something for fighting of her tacking out."

I tried so very hard to rise up from my kneeling stance, grasping the crook rod with my only remaining free hand, but it was hopeless and Alena quickly wrapped a restraining strap around my ankles before grabbing and twisting painfully behind me, my threshing left arm.

Alena showed no mercy as she twisted my arm up my back till my shoulder hurt horribly and I chokingly croaked out in my pain.

Knowing she thus had me beaten, Alena cuffed my left arm in the same manner as my right, and then made sure of the tightness of the bonds already holding my right arm also helplessly tied doubled.

I was now sufficiently secured, both women agreed with an exchange of nods, to let me stand and even to have the choker around my neck loosened a little.

"Please…please don't hurt me…!!" I pleaded in my now obvious defeat.

"Nobody will hurt you sweetheart, as long as you learn to obey", Alena coaxed.

"What's going on!? Why are you treating me like this!!? I begged.

"You will find out when you find out. You must learn to stop asking questions. It is no longer your place to ask questions." Alena instructed me in quiet and gently friendly tone. And, as if to emphasise the point Fabrina, at a nod from Alena, tightened the band around my neck till my tongue almost stood out of my mouth and until with my eyes I begged to be freed and promised my silence.

My arms were bent at the elbows doubled so that my pretty hands dangled down helplessly. I had very effectively lost the use of my hands to fight my tormentors off. For some reason my hands and arms were not seen as any more than visual decorative appendages in whatever they were preparing me for: and believe me I had no idea as yet of the horror they had in store.

The instruction that I was to be silent and the confirmation that I had no right to ask questions, pointed my fevered imagination in the direction of some form of prostitution.

I was young, I was nubile, and much significance had been seen in my confirmation that at only-just-eighteen I remained still a fully intact virgin. Furthermore, my former friends, these older women who had turned on me this way, were forcing me against my will. It therefore took no Einstein to conclude I was intended for something horrible. I was convinced that they were tying me up to take me to a brothel. All that talk of pony training in Spain was code. I was headed for the tourist brothels and my intact virginity would no doubt assure a very high price for me.

This was vile. This was the twenty-first century and girls were still being forced into prostitution. So often the trick was on the young women from poorer countries who were misled into handing over all their wealth and to borrow even more to pay their way to promised employment in richer lands; employment that never materialised because it never really existed. They were then forced into selling their bodies because they had heavy debt, no work, no way home, and faced starvation otherwise.

Given that I was from one of the wealthier lands these poor girls were seduced to, I could not be tricked into paying an extortionate fare to escape poverty as the foreign girls could be: I experienced no poverty. To force me into selling myself, I would have to be physically abducted.

I was convinced that that was what was going on that morning. I was being tied up so that I could be shipped abroad. Perhaps there was even a premium on girls from the first world. I could imagine that to be able to say that I was no poverty stricken eastern European or far eastern girl, but a first world schoolgirl, might well add a dimension to my marketability and enable me to be sold for a higher price still.

I remained of this conviction as my mind whirred, trying over and over to work out how I could escape this sudden unexpected and truly horrendous turn of events. A girl simply does not expect to go up to an English university only to find herself being abducted into the brothels of Europe by one of her lecturers. It is the stuff of erotic fiction, not of the reality I was clearly facing.

Fabrina had used the crook that was still around my neck to guide me toward sitting on the corner edge of the bed I had so recently occupied so snugly warmly and comfortingly. I was made to shuffle because of the strap around my legs to stop me kicking. I sat now with my graceful legs held helpless and with a deep depression beginning to overwhelm me.

Alena now placed two of the strangest looking objects on the floor near my feet and my lovely face creased prettily at the brow as I puzzle-studied them. Each of what awaited me was a wooden clog. These wooden clogs, for that is all I can describe them as, were circular with a flat base and with slightly tapering sides, making them rise like cones, but cones that were cut off before they reached anything approaching a pinnacle.

They looked as if they were seven or so inches in circumference, as they rested on the carpet. Their sloping sides rose six inches, and the cut-off tops to which their sides gently sloped, were six inches in circumference or thereabouts. Integrally attached to and leading into human-foot-wide slots in the tops of both clogs, were black leather bellows-like devices. These lined stiff-leather openings looked like chutes.

To all appearances the leather of the chutes had some kind of core, perhaps of steel, to ensure their rigidity. The sides of the chutes were of pleated bellowed leather. The chutes ran almost vertically into the foot-width holes within the tops of the clogs, but curved back slightly. The lower half of the chutes looked if anything like a shoehorn, and was longer than its upper. The lower half of the bellows-like-chute also curved up and ended in a broad strap that I easily deduced was to fasten around the wearer's ankle. The length of the chute that formed top-half of the bellows, also had a strap, which like the ankle strap was presently open, unbuckled.

I took all this in within milliseconds of pretty faced furrowed browed fascinated examination of what was clearly about to become my footwear. The mental summation my pictorial memory library immediately associated these articles of footwear with, was hooves. They looked for all the world like horses hooves.

At the forefront of my mind, I immediately dismissed this association as being totally ridiculous. But in my subconscious mind, I was recalling all the talk there had been of "ponies" and "hind legs" and "pony training".

Then I realised what they were. I actually admitted to myself that I knew what they were. The thoughts of my subconscious mind and the associations it rapidly made with all I had heard in smatterings in the lead-up to this moment, nudged aside the doubts in the forefront of my thinking. These clogs were undoubtedly hooves. These clogs were unquestionably hooves. These clogs were indeed hooves! I was going to be fitted with hooves!!

My eyes closed in horror and fear as I realised the extent to which I was about to be humiliated. As Alena readied my right foot for its hoof, I emitted a little girly fart of fear.

Alena put the toes of my right foot in the hoof-clog, and I became aware that my toes were not going forwards in the recess made for them in the hoof, as they would in even the highest of high-heeled shoes, but being taken more than straight down vertically, even slightly back from vertical, into some kind of soft springy sheath for my big-toe.

Indeed my toes were going into individual cushioned sheaths as if into a foot glove. I could not understand this. I had, so far, not uttered a word, but now nearly forgot myself, beginning to give voice to the question in my mind, before recollecting that I had no rights anymore. No rights at all. Were I to speak what would they do to me? I knew from the harsh treatment I had already experienced from the use of the crook that still held me around my neck, that I would most likely be punished. I recalled that both women had crops. I caught myself in time.

The toes of my dainty right foot were in the glove-like recess within the clog hoof leaving just my heel out of the clog within the chute-like bellows, and Alena was tightening the strap on the hoof's leather upper, which was thus squeezed tightly over my foot by the closing and buckling of the bellow's strap. She then buckled my ankle by means of the strap at the turned-up end of the longer lower-half of the bellows chute, to hold the clog, indeed the hoof, firmly on my foot.

Alena then busied herself with padlocks to hold the ankle strap and thus my hoof-clog irremovably in place. She then fitted equally carefully and equally securely with a finishing padlock, my left hoof. Then Alena unbuckled and took from my now supremely arched and superbly curvy legs, the strap that had been used to stop me kicking out.

"Stand her up", barked Alena, as she rose from padlocking my left hoof to me.

I uttered a girly gasp as I was effectively instructed to stand by the use of the crook that still grasped my lovely neck. I rose to my full five-feet-eight-inches - seventeen-hands - and now a whole hand and more beyond, as I found myself with the terrible strain of standing on the very tips of my bare toes within the unmerciful hooves: and hooves, I had no further doubt whatsoever, were what I now wore!

I cried out with the shock, "Oh no, please……..no, please……!"

But I was ignored as the women's eyes drank in the incredible beauty of my superbly strong legs. Forced onto tiptoe in permanently stretched heaven high, my calves muscularly stretched strong, my knees locked back and deep dimpled, my stupendous thighs muscularly passionately powerful, my buttock cheeks dimpled deeply concave, as a conspicuous compelling consequence of my being tip-top-tiptoed.

Whistles of amazement at my erotic beauty echoed around the room as all eyes switched from my wonderfully fully stretched legs, to my free swinging and swaying enormous bare breasts and back and forth between these and at my divinely dimpled derriere and my captivatingly curvaceous legs once more.

My lovely face with my deep dark-brown eyes was contorted with fear, but then a strange feeling hit me between my stupendous thighs. My erotic bondage was not only sexually exciting to my captors: it was arousing me more than I had ever been aroused in my sweet young life. I was being made helpless and my enforced surrender to my captors frightened but yet sexually excited me in equal measure.

It was incredibly difficult to stand in this way, on the very tips of my big toes, with my arms tied helpless, wrists chain-linked to upper arms, and my pretty hands thus dangling useless, but I knew that I must, and somehow I suddenly wanted to take this like a girl.

The strain on my legs was from my being unused to having them stretched so high on constant tiptoe. Now that they were, it felt wonderful. It felt sexy, very, very, sexy. And my bondage was not over yet. My bondage was not over yet by any manner of means.

Here I was now standing hoofed: the beautiful eighteen-year-old girl beginning to disappear, a stunningly gorgeous erotically bondaged ponygirl beginning to take her place.

"Fit the saddle-band", Fabrina insisted as she still held me, albeit now more loosely, at the end of her crook.

"Saddle-band"? What on earth was this to be? What in goodness' name were they going to do to me next?

I watched fascinated as Alena took up a black leather corset-like belt from the floor, where further straps and other strange paraphernalia were scattered. This corset-belt, as I noted by turning my curly-haired head the little I could and my dark-deep-brown eyes the rest of the way to study it, had three very strong straps with reinforced eyeholes and equally strong looking buckles to receive the belts.

It was perhaps nine or ten-inches deep. It also had two very strong shining steel rings very securely fitted at the bottom at what would be the front and back of the saddle-band when it was in place around my waist where it was obviously intended to and going to go, and other lesser rings around at intervals. I could not imagine what the rings could be for, the big rings in particular.

The saddle-band was put around my waist with the straps only engaged on their first eyelets at the back of me, and yet it was already tight.

But it was not really tight yet.

Alena now pulled each of the straps in turn to tighten it. Each strap was tightened a notch in its answering buckle in turn. Alena took the middle strap. And I swayed and staggered on my tiptoed legs and my huge udders swung wildly, as she pulled each of these straps, tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and tighter.

Each in turn, Alena pulled the individual straps down one notch at a time, in turn, grunting with the effort of strength from her, its increasing difficulty demanded.

And my 23-inch waist was being squeezed down; and down; and down; and down; and yet further down.

I was being reshaped. I was being forcibly reshaped. My natural shape was superb to anyone's eyes, but I was being forcibly reshaped. I was being wasped. I was being inexplicably inextricably inexorably squeezed till I would have the waistline of a wasp.

I could hardly believe what they were doing. For the last two holes of each strap I had to be held from falling, such was the force needed to tighten the saddle-band to the final eyeholes and thus such was the need for me to be braced. As Alena did this, she was quite exhausted and clearly perspiring in the heat of the bedroom and the spotlights.

And so I finally stood with the saddle-band fitted. I stood with my massive udders swaying. I stood with my divine legs sky-highed. I stood with my lovely slim girl's waist forcibly squeezed down from its natural delectable twenty-three inches to an incredible fifteen-inches. I was wasped. I was forcibly wasped. My trunk and my dimpled buttocks were above and below the waist of a wasp – the fifteen-inch waist of a properly wasped girl.

It felt wonderful to be so enslaved. I was wasped, and my rib cage was lifted giving even more prominence to my huge breasts as they swung and swayed freely and uncontrollably, even as I merely breathed.

I was wasped and, from here-on-in, as I walked my lower body would swing and sway uncontrollable to a degree that was even more emphatically confirmative of my being a girl.

Because of my wasping, when I moved my bum would be forced to wiggle and swing as if I were a rattlesnake. I was wasped to fifteen-inches and thereby extremely emphatically super-girlised.

"Let's fit her tail", Alena mused out loud.

What followed was my most uncomfortable experience so far.

I was shown my tail and I realised that beyond a shadow of a doubt I was, for whatever reason being made to look like a human horse. This was obviously some kind of kinky perversion that Fabrina, Alena and, presumably, Gaynor out in Spain, shared. I was being made to look like a pony. I had no choice but to go along with this. I was still gripped by my neck. I was also gripped by the fascination of horror at what was being done to me. I was also still further gripped by the sexual arousal I undoubtedly felt at being made so super-feminine.

I was being transformed into a human pony. Every pony has a tail but I could not help the look of amazement in my nut-brown eyes as the length of the tail was shown and I was made to note that it matched my head hair for its jet-black coal-black midnight-black wonderful colour.

"Get it up her bum" barked Fabrina, whose arms were tiring as she gripped the crook to hold me in case I began to struggle again.

As the tail was brought up behind me I knew where it was going to go and I had already noted the dildo with its knobbed head like a penis, and how it was bent for some reason, where the hair of the tail came out of it.

I gasped audibly as the dildo was slowly inserted into my unlubricated anus. It hurt. It also gave me an overpowering desire to defecate.

I could not protest this torture. I had no rights. I was clearly now an animal. Animals only have the rights humans are prepared to grant them. No rights were granted me. I must take whatever they chose to do to me. I was to be made into a pony. Ponies have no rights.

At the base of the dildo was a ring that was pushed beyond my sphincter so as to prevent my natural muscular motions ejecting the dildo. And the tail was in place. My tail was in place. I could not see it, but the bend in the dildo was included so that my tail was lifted up and out rather than hanging straight down from my penetrated bottom.

I had a tail and it flowed upwards from the dildo and then curved downwards dangling two full feet downwards and swinging as my bottom swayed. I was animalised the more. My body still fought to force it out of my anus, but I had a tail. I was a true pony.

I had a tail for the first time in my eighteen earthly years. I was become a human pony. I was wasped and I had a tail, and it would swish and sway with every super-emphasised super-feminine swing and sway of my deep dimpled buttocks caused and emphasised by my waist's wasping.

And my ponygirl bondage was not done even yet.

If I had found the insertion of my tail uncomfortable, it was nothing to the humiliation of what I was about to experience.

"Bridle", ordered Fabrina, who seemed to be in total charge of my bondage.

Alena duly produced my head harness. It was made in black leather to match my waspie saddle-band. I could see it included a mouth bit and blinkers and a band that would go around my forehead I assumed.

It was part of my humiliation that that forehead band be shown to me. It was held so I could see it. It was deliberately held so that I could see it. It was part of my initial breaking-in I now realise, even though I did not take that point in at the time, to be shown it.

The headband I was being shown, the black leather band that would be across my forehead when my bridle was fitted had a white flash across it, and on that flash in crimson letters I read my fate, for the flash on the band bore a name.

The band for my forehead bore a name in livid scarlet. A name: not my human name. I was suddenly very clearly no longer Emma.

The flash showed what was undoubtedly my pony name.

That cruel almost luminously bright band with its livid crimson-red letters labelled me for all the world to see that this girl was henceforth to be known as 'Midnight-Pearl', and only ever to be known as 'Midnight-Pearl'.

I was about to become fully and finally a pony.

I was about to become fully and finally a ponygirl.

I was about to become fully and finally the ponygirl 'Midnight-Pearl'.

To complete my tack, I must wear my mouth bit. I had, of course, from proceedings so far, expected to be fitted with a bit. Indeed, I had imagined some kind of straight rod over my tongue and at the back of my teeth; but that was not so.

The bit that was brought to me had two straight round profile steel bars! I momentarily wondered why this should be. Then it dawned on me. I realised what was to happen. I was to have my tongue trapped between the two bars. I was to have my tongue imprisoned!

I closed my eyes in horror as this demeaning implement was put in my mouth. But I made no resistance as I was forced to lower myself from my full nineteen-hands, and open my mouth. I lowered my gorgeous brown eyes submissively as I stuck out my pretty pink tongue as far as I could, and had the two round-profile slim rigid bars of the hard steel bit slid over my poor tongue and to the back of my mouth between my back teeth.

My tongue was not squeezed, but when this bit was tied hard back in my mouth, I had my lovely mouth forcibly held permanently agape, and my pretty pink tongue helplessly imprisoned. It was an act of shear cruelty. It was a deliberate act of shear cruelty. It had its horrible purpose. It would ensure I was totally, but totally, unable to talk anymore.

Not to be able to talk would be a cruel blow for any human, particularly a girl; for a compulsive talker such as I was, this was indeed a carefully calculated and fully intentional cruelty.

My tongue being satisfactorily through the two bars of the cruel bit, the hideous bit was tied at the back of my neck by means of leather straps with eyelets and answering buckle.

The end of my tongue flicked helplessly and lewdly within my agape mouth, as the straps with side blinkers were put to the side of my face and the headband shouting out in luminous-crimson that my name was now 'Midnight-Pearl' was taken behind my dainty little ears and buckled at the back of my head among my dark-brown near-black curly negress' hair.

I had noticed, despite my distress at having my tongue imprisoned, that the bit extended wide of my mouth clear of my face on either side.

My mouth was now forced wide agape with my tongue sticking out obscenely, but the bit went beyond my face cheeks either side and ended in a vertical round rigid hoop at either end. As with the as yet unemployed rings in my saddle-band, I again wondered what purpose these hoops or rings in my bit could serve, or if they were merely decoration.

My neck had been released for the first time in fully half-an-hour and more of my being fitted with my pony-tackle bondage. The crook had been released. Both my torturers now walked around to inspect that all my bondage was properly in place and fully secure. They also undoubtedly walked around me as much to drink-in the deep humiliation I was enduring at their hands, as to enjoy the erotic radiance of my torsioned tensioned tethered and tormented body.

I was now become horribly frightened as I noted that Alena and Fabrina had in their hands held at the ready, the crops with which they were armed. They had done this in case I was about to show more fight. I had never been hit, even once, in all my eighteen years. I could not even begin to imagine what it would be like to be hit by the cruel weapons they carried so nonchalantly, and I feared they might be used on me on a whim even without me giving cause.

Alena and Fabrina stood looking sexily devastatingly pretty, with their horse-whips' wrist-bands in place. They had their whips at the ready to use on me as they walked around me to carry out a full and thorough inspection of 'Midnight-Pearl'.

I looked at the women with their cruel whips and realised how terribly alone and at their mercy I was. I could see nothing of Alena or Fabrina as they walked past the sides of me. My blinkers meant I could only see forward and down in front of me.

As I stood my arms tied up helplessly uselessly, my legs skyscrapered on permanent big-toe-tiptoe, my waist wasped at fifteen-inches, and my tongue imprisoned, I felt terribly alone. My arms ached from their folded-double stance. My superbly arched legs threatened to cramp. My rectum still wanted to eject the hideously humiliating tail that was fixed high hard and, where I was concerned, immovably into my bottom.

I was alone vulnerable and frightened. Very frightened. I had never in my conscious life before been at the mercy, totally and helplessly at the mercy, of anybody and everybody who chose to use or abuse me.

I was no longer free. My bonds imprisoned me as certainly as if I were behind locked bars. Even if I could beg for mercy, I would only be laughed at. My will was no longer my own, and I could not beg for mercy with my tongue so cruelly held fast.

My choices were zero. I was wholly and utterly subject to the will of others, be they people I knew or complete strangers to whom I might be handed over.

My will and my choice were totally non-existent. From now on I was wholly dependent, wholly at the mercy, wholly under the control, wholly at the whim, wholly subject to the will, wholly required to obey absolutely immediately and unquestioningly whatever others, whoever the others might be, chose to make me do.

And I could be beaten. I was totally subject to the constraints of my bonds, but I could quite clearly and obviously also be beaten. Were I to demonstrate any resistance, or reluctance, or insufficient effort to comply with the commands I was given, I could be beaten.

My fear showed in the flicking side-to-side of my gorgeous dark-brown eyes. I became nervous and skittish. I began to shift on my lovely long legs as I turned around as if looking for some way to escape.

Then I saw the two women now back in front of me ready their riding-crops and I was very, very, frightened, becoming all the more skittish as a consequence.

But Alena was the equal of the occasion, she quickly clipped a lead-rein on one of the two hoops at the ends of my mouth bit, and held it tight whilst stroking my nose, and cooing gently and demeaningly to me:

"Dware, dware, dwently now, dwently. Twum on now, twum on Middy-Widdy-Pwerl. There's a good wickle pwoney. Middy-Widdy-Pwerl is a gwood wickle pwoney. Middy-Widdy-Pwerl doesn't weally want to wun away. There's a gwood wickle pwoney. A gwood wickle pwoney. Middy-Widdy-Pwerl is a bootiful wickle pwoney and wants to be a gwood pwoney doesn't she? Middy-Widdy-Pwerl is so pwitty-witty. Such a pwitty-witty wickle pwoney. Middy-Widdy-Pwerl is a gwood wickle pwoney. Dware now. That's bwetter. What a silly-willy wickle pwoney we were den. What a pwitty pwoney, what a pwitty pwoney.…….."

As I listened to and, to my shock and horror, actually became sexually aroused despite myself with this cruel insult to my human intelligence and the relationship it bore to my total helpless bondage, I calmed down, fearing that if I did not, I might be beaten.

Alena kept hold of the lead-rein she had fitted to my mouth bit, and Fabrina fitted another to the other ring in case I had to be physically restrained. Tears trickled down my cheeks as they took turns to gently stroke downwards on my nose and coo soothingly. My humiliation seemed to be complete.

I was now, after fully an hour, at long last fully in the bonds I must wear most of, at all times. I was now, after fully an hour, no longer a human being. I was now, after fully an hour, no longer Emma Jones. I was now, after fully an hour, fully and finally 'Midnight-Pearl', I was now, after fully an hour, fully and finally 'Midnight-Pearl' an unbroken wild wilful ponygirl.

Now Alena confirmed my new status in the world, by giving me the strictest of orders for my future: "You are no longer Emma, you are now and forever "Midnight-Pearl the ponygirl. You have become one of a sub-human species bereft of all rights. You are lower in the world than an animal. You have become an item of goods. You can be treated as anyone pleases. There need never be any concern shown for your feelings: Ponygirls do not have feelings."

I gasped with horror and, I cannot deny, with an increase in my sexual arousal. My absolute humiliation was arousing me. My cognac was moistening my lower lips. This was so perverse. This was so unnatural. It was terrible to me that I was betraying myself so openly, so animally. My nipples visibly pulsed. My clitoris throbbed. I was a girl and I was showing my girlness in my nipples, and it was not going unnoticed by these two beautiful strong women, my captors, my tormentors, my torturers.

Giving a knowing smile acknowledging that both women knew my sexually aroused state, Alena continued my demeaning instructions: "You must do whatever you are made to do. You will never be asked. You will always be commanded. You must always do exactly as you are ordered. There need be no reservation about punishing any misbehaviour. Pain is all a ponygirl understands. A ponygirl must be controlled and bound and beaten to temper and control it, otherwise it is useless."

I gasped again as my girlness caused my cognac to dribble and my nipples to peak.

"The only worth a ponygirl has is to release a horse, a useful animal, for a better purpose. Accordingly, ponygirls, on sufferance, are put to work pulling ploughs in the fields, towing sawn logs in timber yards, pulling the carts bearing the milk-churns to the dairy, as dray horses for the brewery, and towing personal transport."

Alena, announced all this purposely in my hearing, to drive home my helplessness and humiliate me absolutely utterly.

And I was helpless. I was bound so tightly that I was totally helpless and that meant too that I was bound so tightly and in such a provocative way that I was also absolutely utterly humiliated by my bondage.

"You are wild by nature Midnight-Pearl. You need to be thoroughly fully tamed and broken. You have Welsh blood in you Midnight-Pearl. Welsh fire that must run through your veins. But we can douse that fire and turn it to worthwhile use. You, my lovely angel, are going to the pony-farm for breaking-in and training."

It was at this point that I became aware that all that had happened to me that morning had been filmed and that Alena's little speech had been recorded.

The camera crews switched off. The lights were dismantled. I had been so blinded by the spotlights that I had not realised that a bevy of pretty girls were recording my tacking-out from behind those very spotlights. I had been so terrified at being woken in my sleep to be taken and tacked-out, that I had not had time to think out what the lights could possibly be for.

I was down to one lead-rein attached to my mouth bit now, and Alena, my lecturer and personal counsellor, and now my very sexy stable-girl, took hold of that to take me out of her Fabrina's home to some vehicle outside whose heavy diesel engine had been throbbing annoyingly noisily through the walls of the house for some time now.

For the first time I was to experience walking skyscrapered pirouette legged in my hooves, my feet arched back painfully and cruelly within them, to maximise the steepling of my super-erotic long legs and the curvature of my compelling calves.

Alena tugged gently on my lead-rein, "Twum on Middy-Widdy-Pwerl, twum on now, we have got to gwet Middy-Widdy-Pwerl in that nice warmy horseybwoxy haven't we den? Twum on now Middy-Widdy-Pwerl…."

I began to move. It was a relief to do so. I picked up my hooves and 'clumped forward on the carpeted lounge floor. At every step my wasped waist made me swing my buttocks girlilly, and my tail swished gently side-to-side, as did my unencumbered breasts in opposite motion to my tail.

The tightness of my wasping band, the belt that forced my waist to a cruel egg-timer fifteen-inches, from its already naturally superb twenty-three, was such that it enhanced my wiggle, and even as I only walked my beautiful bottom swung into one neighbouring county and back, and then into the county opposite.

I had always wiggled fully fascinating femininely, but this was something else by a million billion miles.

As I walked in my waspie, I waggled my bottom uncontrollably like a stripper showing her wares at the end of her act. I wiggled my bum like a duck its tail. And I too now had a tail, and it swayed softly silently side-to-side, tickling my curvaceous calves with its nether end, as my bummy swung wildly, widely, mega-erotically: a pulchritudinous pendulum swinging like a matadors cape. And I was, as I moved, as mesmerisingly compelling in my super-emphasised gait, as any red rag would proverbially be before an angry bull.

Rather than be taken through the hallway, I was being led to the door that went into Fabrina's kitchen in which I must cross the stone-tile floor to the further door that would take me directly into the outside world.

I lifted my powerful gorgeously shapely tiptoed legs, and planted my hooves in turn, and in turn, swung my wonderful bum side-to-side, wide-to-wide, as I moved, and this just in walking. And for the first time, in the kitchen, on the hard floor of the kitchen, I heard the 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', of my hooves.

My pretty pink tongue flickered sexily through the bit in my agape mouth as I fought to concentrate on walking in my humiliating bondage, my bummy swing-swishing and my tail swaying, as I mega-wiggled on gorgeous tip-of-top-of-big-toe-tiptoed legs, my massive bum-swinging caused by my nearly non-existent waist, my totally unencumbered incredible thirty-eight-inch breasts, flowing with the stomp, and swinging with the 'clomp', and bouncing with the jar of my tiptoed feet.

I was a supreme girl extreemed by her erotic bondage.

I was as beautiful and more as, and than, any and many an eighteen-year old girl, with the natural pre-eminence of my already incredible body confirmatorily crème-de-la-crèmed by my focused fitness and, even then, now taken beyond my seventh-heaveness to a seven-hundred-and-seventy-seventh heaven of overpowering erotic plus-perfection.

"Twum on now Middy-Widdy-Pwerl. Twum on now…" coaxed Alena.

"Oh god", I asked myself, "Why have they done this to me?" But as my bountiful bosom juddered and juggled and joggled and jiggled even as I merely walked in my hooves, I knew why.

"Oh god", I asked myself, "Why me?" But as my beautiful bare bum swung wide-to-wide and wider-to-wider, I knew why.

"Oh god why me?" My answer was in my incredible legs, so long, so strong, so supremely beautiful.

"Oh god why?" And I knew that the sensitive intelligent glory of my beguiling face with my dark-brown eyes and my constant-kiss-proffering full negress' lips was my answer.

As we approached the threshold of the door that was now being opened to take me out into the open air, the humiliation of my bondage and of the dreadful prospect of being exposed to the whole world totally naked and bound so cruelly as a ponygirl, suddenly hit me between my legs, and I emitted a helpless sexy little squeal, made strange and guttural because of my imprisoned tongue, as my cognac oozed inside my minx.

This was a strange, strange feeling. I had never thought like this before. Why did I want the world to see me nude, to see me enslaved, to witness me being cruelly punished, strangely bound, and being forced against my will to perform like a filly for these girls, girls who carried whips to use on me were I to disobey them or try and challenge their total mistressy over me?

I found it deeply sexually arousing to be so humiliated, so forced to behave sub-humanly, to be forced to strip totally nude and have no further right to clothes, to have to remain totally nude at all times like an animal.

I emitted another little feminine squeak of sexual arousal. I had no choice but to go where they were leading me. No choice but to expose myself totally naked and bound prisoner for the pleasure of my tormentors who could take me where they pleased and do with me what they wished.

I had a human's mind. I was an intelligent girl. But I was also girl in body. I was a girl: a very, very, beautiful girl.

I was sexually aroused by what was happening. Extremely aroused. Shockingly aroused. My head-brain was screaming that this must not be allowed to happen: what was being done to me was cruel and unnatural. But the mind between my legs told me that I was a sexy bitch who deserved all she was getting and more. And my head-brain resigned, accepting that I must take my punishment like a girl.

My progress was inexorable, 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp'. It was inevitable I would go through that door and be exposed naked as the day I was born and humiliatingly bound imprisoned. I gave another little girly moan as we approached the door, it was opened, and I felt the cold November breeze on my totally nude body as I was made to step outside.

"Twum on Middy-Widdy-Pwerl, twum on now, there's a gwood ickle pwoneygirl…." coaxed Alena.

I was outside. Before it really registered with me, I was outside. Bound as a ponygirl, being forced to go to the pony-farm. I was outside and my hooves were 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', on the concrete of the drive. As I was urged along, my gorgeous bum swung from side-to-side forced to do so even more than naturally by the wasping of my waist down to fifteen-inches, and my glorious udders swayed and swung and juddered and flowed divinely.

I walked along at my full nineteen-hands on my divine legs, my thirty-eight-inch double-D-cup breasts swaying out wide of my body and then back toward each other, or in the same direction, or flouncing up and down, or knocking soundlessly wonderfully beautifully into each other, they were so wild and so free, as I super-wiggled along, my natural girl-gate multiplied a million-fold by my waist wasping saddle.

I could of course see next to nothing because of my blinkers and that further cruelty and my helplessly bound body was turning me on wondrously.

My cognac was oozing from the closed lips of my completely publicly exposed minx as I 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomped gracefully along. My total helplessness and this utterly extreme abuse of me as I wiggled along, were turning me on, overwhelmingly powerfully and my nipples were engorged and hard, and my clit had escaped its hiding-hood and was pulsing madly within my cognac filled minx.

I was bondaged as a ponygirl. There had been talk of "breaking" me; there had been mention of a daughter and a gift. The stable-girls, my former friends, had whips. What were they going to do to me?

We had come to a stop. A tall truck, dark-blue painted, was in front of me, its rear ramp lowered to ground.

The ramp had horizontal wooden batten slats at intervals up it.

The truck, a van, bore a white-painted legend on its dark-blue sides, on its dark-blue front, and on its dark-blue rear.

The ramp had scatters of straw breeze blown onto it.

The ramp led to a shadowy inside smelling of straw and sawdust.

The van still had its diesel engine running.

My hoof-clogs sounded a hollow echo around the open quadrangle at the rear of Fabrina's mansion, and a 'clump', 'clump', noise was drummed out by my tiptoed feet as I was led up the van ramp's steady, thirty-degree, slope.

The van had a girl driver whose pretty face was hardly spoilt by her evident boredom. Yet, as she watched me from her leaning out the driver's-side cab door to look back, her boredom at the routine of picking-up "yet more cargo for the Spanish flight", showed unmistakably.

Inside the van I was free, but the ramp was being lifted, and the top-door brought down to meet it in the middle.

And the van's driver called back: "Gives us a bang on the doors when you've shut the bloody things will yer!?"

And I had been led by my lead rein to the furthest darkest inside of the van.

And I had felt a sharp needle prick me in the right cheek of my bum.

And Fabrina and Alena had left me standing facing the furthest inside wall of the van, the wall behind the driver's cab.

And the daylight had begun disappearing as the ramp was lifted, and the top door lowered, and the two doors met. And I had wiggled to the doors to try and escape, but it was too late and the doors were being locked shut.

And the back of the van was given a bang by the flat of a hand, and the engine was revved-up, and the van began slowly to move.

And for the first time I had time to think, and the absolutely true horror of what was happening to me made me scream.

But my mind was going numb, and I slowly swooned to the floor, felled by whatever was in the needle I had felt when it had pricked my pretty bum.

And the white painted legend on the dark-blue painted van's side…….

And the white painted legend on the dark-blue painted van's front……

And the white painted legend on the dark-blue painted van's rear……

All the white painted legends on the dark-blue painted van, simply read: 'Horses'.