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Chapter 6 – Javelin
Two girls hardly slept that night.
Four girls hardly slept that night.
Jenna, the New York USA born-and-raised cameragirl, and Julie from York in England, respectively the chief camera and sound recording girls for the film being made for sale and profit of my 'breaking-in' as a ponygirl, spent the whole night finding new angles in which to give physical meaning to the word 'love': their passion for each other only outmatched by their compassion for each other. If love is made in heaven and expressed with licking tongues: Jenna and Julie's was indeed true love.
I surprised myself in two ways that night.
The first of these was in the fact I managed some sleep: hardly any but some.
Poor Night-Breeze sobbed moaned and keened all night long. I had been too tired to even think. When I had been brought back to the stables after my first day of training, I had been too tired to even think. Now my mind screamed at Night-Breeze: 'for god's sake shut up!' But how cruel we can all be when others are suffering. I only longed for her crying to stop, because I was desperate for sleep. Poor Night-Breeze had had her foal taken away from her: she was heartbroken.
The horror was too much for my mind to absorb. I would not admit to myself what they were doing: what Fabrina, Alena, Gaynor, and whoever else might be behind them were doing. Poor Night-Breeze had had her child taken away. I had, absolutely clearly, heard her child referred to as 'a foal'. And now they were going to make Night-Breeze into a cow-pony. I had a mental vision of some 'unit' on the pony-farm, where the lights were on twenty-four hours a day, and where girls bound up as ponygirls, just as I was, were having their breasts regularly milked.
Only later did I find how right I was; and how wrong I was. I was right that there were intensive-farming buildings in which girls were being used as 'cows' for their milk. I was wrong, not only about the number of buildings, and thus the number of ponygirl 'cows' suffering in them, but I had no vision that there was also a creamery and that under the brand name 'Pure Girl', girl-milk, girl-cream, and even girl-cheese were but some of the extremely profitable outputs of the farm. Indeed, girl-cheese was being distributed world-wide.
Perhaps we should all be thankful I remained, until much later, blissfully unaware of the winery. Specially selected girls, most of them Russian for reasons I learned were associated with the delightful quality of their produce, were, and it is surely disgusting to think about it, were being farmed for their 'wine'. I mean of course, their pee: their urine. They were being made to drink their own urine until it had gone through them six times, and then having their sixth pee bottled and sold. Ugghhh!!
Only once did I hear mention of 'meat'. It concerned what happened with the cow-ponies when they were no longer able to lactate. I have to mention it here, as I wish you to understand the true bestiality of the institution I had been forced into. I may be making a false accusation. I do not know if it was true. I just heard talk. I have never investigated the rumour: I find even the very thought so vilely sickening, as I am sure, dear reader, do you.
At two in the morning I shit myself. There is no nice way to put what happened to me. I stood as I was forced to, fixed as I was by two chains from my mouth bit fastening me to the walls of my stall. My diet of bran earlier had made its way through my system speedily; I had also not relieved myself in over twenty-four hours of fear-induced constipation.
Since eating the bran though, I had been parting with wind regularly. The smell of the stables was disgusting. We, all we ponygirls were fed on bran, grass, and oats, every one of them conducive to the terrible flatulence all we ponygirls exhibited and helplessly openly indulged.
We just could not help ourselves. And I just could not help myself. I know it is not nice to think about, let alone talk about, but it is part of the truth: it is a small part of what happened to me. It tells too, so clearly, of the degree to which I was being made to become an animal as a fact and not just a fiction. What I was enduring was no bondage game. The fact that at two in the morning the backs of my supremely shapely legs were completely coated in what seemed like gallons of my fresh stinking faeces surely testifies to that!
I cried quietly. There was no reason for my sobs to wake any of the other girls. After all, what justification did I have for my tears as compared with Night-Breeze? However, as tears rolled down my superbly soft-complexioned brown cheeks, dripping their misery on my pre-eminently prominent breasts, the balance in the bank of justice was not paramount in my mind: all I knew was my misery's misery.
The lights in the stable went on at five in the morning. The lights were followed by the delights of the exceptionally pretty little stable-girls, including my own Hai Moon and Kim Kai.
I was urinating as they approached my stall. I had tried my hardest to hang on, but it had defeated me, and I once more had to accept that I must now piss like an animal, and I was pissing profusely as Kim Kai was the first to reach my stall.
To Kim Kai, there was nothing unusual in the sight of a ponygirl peeing on her straw in her stall, nor even in the fact a ponygirl smelt of the faeces that was caked on her legs.
Kim Kai and Hai Moon unfastened my chains and removed my bit. Hai Moon then poured chilling cold water on my bum and legs to wash of the shit and the flies that were inevitably crawling around my anus.
I had noticed before, that the depth of straw in the stalls seemed to differ between ponygirls. It seemed a trivial matter, but still a little odd. It appeared to be related to time. I assumed some ponygirls had been longer in their stalls than others. But, even then, where was the logic in letting the soiled straw stay?
Then I concluded it had some connection with heating. We ponygirls were, at all times, more naked than covered. The fouled straw rotted down under our feet not only stinking disgustingly, but also giving off heat as it rotted. You could see 'steam' rising from it.
Night-Breeze had come from a neighbouring stable-block. I did not know why they had put her in our block; I mean the stable-block I was in. Obviously, with Noblesse-Oblige having gone somewhere else (sold to a farmer as a plough-pony), there had been a spare stall.
Can a heart sink any lower than when a poor suffering creature is taken away. I cast down my head. I am ashamed to say, that I cast down my head as they led Night-Breeze out of her stall and took her away for the very last time I would see her. They took her, I knew with deep pity in my soul for her, to become a cow-pony: the poor girl was to be used as a cow: she was to spend the next, who knew how many years, kept only for the milk she was producing, and having it physically milked out of her tits twice per day like a cow.
I had to wait to be fed. I still had my bit in place, even though I had been unhitched from the position in which I was obliged to sleep. Kim Kai was turning over the straw on which I had pissed so copiously, and into which my shit had been washed from my legs. Hai Moon was ready to scatter more straw on top of the straw I, and whoever had been the previous occupant of my stall, had soiled.
I thus had a moment or two to look around. They were taking all the straw from the stall Noblesse-Oblige and poor Night-Breeze had occupied. It looked likely that the two Korean girls who looked after that stall, would load up ten or so wheelbarrow loads.
Alena came in along with Jenna and Julie. Julie had the camera this time; Jenna would take care of sound for a change.
"Where's the soiled straw off to? Urghh god it stinks!" Jenna asked Alena, Jenna sweeping a handkerchief over her nose whilst one of the toy-doll Korean beauties wheeled her fourth full barrow out of the stable block.
"Market" Alena answered.
"Get on with it you girls please" Alena, clapping her hands to punctuate her instruction, ordered the scurrying Korean angels, the second of whom was already putting fresh straw in the completely 'mucked-out' stall once occupied by Noblesse-Oblige and Night-Breeze.
"Market?" Jenna queried.
"Manure" Alena answered.
"Manure" Jenna repeated, not as a question, but as a means of confirming she had heard Alena's answer.
Nonetheless, Alena took this single word from Jenna as being a further query, and explained more expansively: "The local market gardeners buy most of it. Tomatoes for one thing. You will never have tasted tomatoes like them. Huge but succulent and full of flavour. I'm told the women running local horticulture call it 'girlnure' rather than manure: for the obvious reason! It fetches a hefty price, that much I can tell you for sure. These ponies are very fecund. Even their piss is promotive of birth and growth. There is a hormonal content to their piss and shit that plant-life simply thrives upon."
"You've got an empty stall now then" Jenna rejoined.
"No" Alena answered, "Gaynor has hired Javelin again. Now Night-Breeze has gone to milk production, Javelin will have the empty stall. Javelin had Night-Breeze's stall in the other ponygirl block last night. That's why we put Night-Breeze in here."
I watched, as my mouth bit was being removed, I watched the name-board on Night-Breeze's former stall being changed, and the name 'Javelin' being placed there, a bit sloppily as I thought: the sign was left a little crooked.
I licked my bran into my mouth. I bent flashing my lovely virgin's minx between god's own legs, using my stunningly attractive proud kiss-proffering negress' lips and bright pink pointed tongue to scoop up my bran. I was very hungry again.
Then I kissed my water. I made love to my water with my gorgeous mouth. I kissed: I formed a kiss with my lovely lips as I sucked up water, and rose from the trough with my lips as wet as my lower lips had been as the flies had crawled over them on the preceding day, just as they were doing again now.
"Wow!" said Jenna, seeing me innocently invitingly run my livid pink pointed tongue briefly over my moist upper 'come-on-and-kiss-me' upper-lip as I rose from my trough, and as she set up the sound recorder.
"Is she one sexy honey!" Jenna opined of me, as a look on Julie's face behind Jenna's back told of a potential cause for murderous jealousy: me.
I now pissed as I walked around my stall. To that degree I had already been made an animal. I simply walked around pissing because I needed to piss.
I dreaded to think what I was going to suffer on that second day. My teeth were cleaned, my tail inserted, my bit was fastened, and I was led out into the courtyard to have my legs, pod, and armpits shaved. And, oh yes, and, of course and, and I was already smothered in flies.
I had been tethered to the wall of the stable more loosely that second morning. More accurately, I was as tightly tethered, but on a longer tether. I therefore found I could look around at what was going on: and to look around gave me some distraction from the flies crawling on around and over my nipples and my completely depilated minx. It also saved my mind from the madness of desire, as my pretty stable-girls coated me all over with sunscreen: 'all over' including my pod and an innocent massage of my stupendous breasts: heaven and hell and hell and heaven: they were so gentle: oh god it was so arousing!
My view of the cobbled yard on which my hooves clip-clopped as I moved, included the ponygirls from the other stable at the pony-farm. I counted eleven or twelve of them. I guessed it was eleven. Presumably it had been the even dozen when Night-Breeze had been among their number.
They were being inspected by a girl that I thought must be Gaynor. My assumption that she was Gaynor, the partner of Fabrina, was only based upon the fact that, whoever the girl was, she seemed to be very much in charge, and I obviously already knew Fabrina and Alena by sight.
Gaynor, assuming of course that it was she, seemed to be carrying out an inspection of the bottoms, the buttocks of the other ponygirls, the ponygirls from the other stable-block. I myself noticed that two of the girls had some kind of bright blue dye smeared haphazardly on their delightful rears, and that it was the names of these two ponygirls that Gaynor, again if it was she, was making sure of, before recording them on a sheet on a clip board, before the ponygirls were allowed to have the dye washed off them.
"Looks like Javelin had some fun last night", Alena, on a tour of inspection, and just arrived to check me out, casually remarked to Kim Kai and Hai Moon as they finished coating me with sunscreen.
I was, of course, led out to the trainer and began, all over again, to be taught how to walk and trot as a ponygirl, and not of course coincidentally, to have every last least vestige of spirit in me broken.
Alena started my day at the trot. I was made to trot for a whole hour continuously, with Alena cracking the carriage whip behind me every time I looked even slightly likely to slack.
…………….
Overnight. there had been a conference about me. Gaynor had brought light into the desperate state of concern Alena and Fabrina were in about my lack of ability to even walk as a ponygirl should, let alone trot or run.
Gaynor had simply concluded that I needed breaking first. There was no use trying to teach me anything until my spirit and been broken, so that I no longer, as I obviously did at present, regarded myself as a human girl. I needed to be taught, no, I needed to have it drummed into me, to understand without question: I needed to know my place in the world. I must accept without challenge that I was now an animal.
"It's been met with it before" Gaynor confirmed as she listened attentively to the other women running the farm, as all three sat in the library after a pleasant dinner and a couple of shared bottles of wine, from the farm's own winery: girl-wine: wine from the stunning Russian girls.
At the conference I was to hear of much later in my life, Gaynor had, apparently sat and listened with patience, and then raised a hand to silence her companions before standing and running through her conclusions.
"You have just got too close to the problem", Gaynor had begun.
"If you stand back and make an assessment, Midnight-Pearl quite obviously thinks that she is still a girl. She thinks she is still a human being. All the books support that conclusion. Alena read the wrong subjects at college", Gaynor weakly joked.
"Remember Johnson's paper 'Ponygirl Will', Johnson and Ming's chapter on 'Ponygirl Assumption Delusion', Smith has a chapter, 'The Confused Ponygirl' and, what's the well known one….you know the one?"
"Majeka?" Fabrina half-heartedly prompted, naming another familiar writer of guidance on 'Girlponyculture' as ponygirl farming is, of course, called scientifically.
"No, no, not Majeka, she was more concerned with the breeding side of the business", Gaynor mumbled, still trying to think of the name of the author, the author of the first book on the scientific approach to ponygirl farming Gaynor had ever come across: the book that had decided her to invest some inherited money in a pony-farm.
"Gadinsky?", Fabrina suggested, but was politely ignored by the pondering Gaynor, as Gaynor paced the room.
Then Gaynor clicked her fingers: "Sapphonica! Of course! Sapphonica: how could I not have remembered Sapphonica?!"
"I've got Sapphonica's 'Foundation Girlponyculture' somewhere here", Alena confirmed, standing up to run her eyes over two abundantly stacked bookshelves.
"If you can find it, let me borrow it a second please" Gaynor requested before taking the book found and riffling through the pages for what she sought.
"I'm sure it's chapter two…" she muttered to nobody in particular.
"Yes: it is chapter two, here's the passage that says in all, Sapphonica at her best. Though she only wrote for beginners and amateurs of course, it doesn't mean there is no value in her words. Here we are………
'Chapter 2 - Delusional Retention of Human Connectivity' that's our girl, good old Sapphonica…. yea, listen to this:
'There is an inevitability in the transference that all will not go smoothly.'
"Right so far eh?!" Gaynor exclaimed, before reading on…….
'There is an inevitability in the transference that all will not go smoothly. This problem, for problem it clearly is, has been called by Johnson and Ming, "Delusional Retention of Human Connectivity" ('Ponygirl Assumption Delusion' Johnson and Ming - Crowborough University Press 1890).'
'Johnson and Ming confirm the impossibility of successively making a ponygirl out of a girl who is not latently pony. The wise doctors go on to confirm that only certain girls in human society are latent ponygirls, and that the art of divining the latent ponygirl from among her sisteren is the prerequisite skill for the successful ponygirl farmer.'
'The commonplace misunderstanding of Johnson and Ming's writings, is that all the would-be ponygirl farmer has to do, is take Johnson's ten confirmatory signs for the absolute certainty that a girl is latently pony. Johnson's guidance has, of course, been shown reliable to ninety-nine percent accuracy over a period exceeding one-hundred years. The concern, therefore, is not with Johnson's 'confirmatory signs', but with the fact that would-be ponygirl farmers do not take full and / or proper account of identity thereafter.'
'The latent ponygirl is, though usually aware of some aspects of her personality (and personality is a significant factor), invariably effectively totally unaware of her latency. As Johnson and Ming state, were it the case that a ponygirl knew she was pony, the term "latency" would have no application and identity not be the absolutely key problem it always is with such girls.'
'"A ponygirl living as any other girl in society, will not be aware of the signs she gives that she is pony." (Johnson and Ming (ibid)). She may be, as mentioned above on this page, aware of some signs, but she will account even for those, with conclusions that are completely other than the fact that she is really a pony. Johnson and Ming produce research proving that even latent ponygirls living among and working with ponygirls, "do not register in their own minds that they themselves are really ponies" (Johnson and Ming (ibid)).'
'Girls who are not pony, need to understand the magnitude of the step change, indeed the revolution the mind of a girl who is a pony has to go through. A girl who is a pony, being pony herself, will be unable to break away from her human identity, she needs to have it done for her.'
'A latent pony has to be broken from the delusion that she has any equality with the human race. She is not a human. She is not a human, but will delude herself that she is, inter alia because of the human association of the term "animal" with something less than human. It is that association, the association of the term "animal" commonly made by humans, and of course accurately made when used as the commonplace to contrast with Homo Sapiens, that is at the heart of Johnson and Ming's "delusional retention".'
'The latent ponygirl must have the fact that she is pony identified for her: she will not realise it until she is broken so that it becomes innate within her psyche, that she is animal and not human. She must be taught her identity. She will not know that she is pony. She can only be taught that she is pony. The teaching must ensure she understands that there is no element of pretence. She must accept her animal status: period.'
'The key to successful transfer of a latent pony to her natural animal state is the breaking of the will. This has been shown by Johnson, Ming and, in her later works, Gadinsky, to be most quickly and effectively achieved by the: "deep and all embracing depth of tiredness that leads to mesmeric transference" (Johnson and Ming (ibid)), so the supposed human girl that was, slowly wakes each day to a pony characteristic she will have newly subconsciously re-foregrounded. A characteristic always there within her because she is innately pony: a characteristic that she has made subliminal hitherto because she has been inappropriately raised as human and thus has an overlay of delusional retention repressing and suppressing her pony animality.'
'The innate pony must be deconstructed to be reconstructed. "She" must become "it". The useless misleading damaging layer of learned humanness must be erased. The Girlponyculturalist will be wise to perform this essentiality integrally with the pony's training. It can be deployed on the innate pony whilst it is still deceived as to its place in society and still living as if a girl among it. However, it must be recommended that the pony is removed from that it has no right to be among, so it will more quickly learn its lesser status and that it has hitherto been deluded and misled both by itself and by the misguided kindness of human beings.'
'Whichever and whatever time and place are chosen, the mesmeric tiredness transference will forefront the pony to the backgrounding and removal of the human. Animal behaviour will be exhibited within days. Animal behaviour will be exhibited because it is the norm of behaviour for ponies. A human is a balancing act between civilisation learned and animal innateness. The ponygirl will quickly lose the learned aspect because it does not belong it because it is not and never was a human.'
'Even in the delusional state, the innate pony is more animal than human in its character if not its behaviour. A ponygirl is an animal. A ponygirl living as a girl in human society is an animal that merely imitates human behaviour. That it can imitate human behaviour does not make a ponygirl a human. It is a disservice to humanity to let a ponygirl continue its deception. It is a disservice to the pony not to let it recover its animal state and be put to good use.'
"There: that middle bit: 'animal behaviour will be exhibited within days…'. You said Midnight-Pearl was pissing all down her lovely legs on the trainer" Gaynor enthused.
"Yes", said Alena, "She was".
"Then your despair is for nothing ladies. You need to drive her very much harder, but the transference is underway. When she is instinctively urinating when she needs to, wherever she is at the time she needs to, then she is on her way to accepting that she is animal: case closed" Gaynor slapped Sapphonica's book shut. The crisis conference about me and my being broken as a ponygirl was over.
…………….
Alena started my day at the trot. I was made to trot around the rotating ponygirl trainer, for a whole hour continuously, my trotting efforts accompanied by foul abuse of me, constant orders that I get my knees up higher, and the crack of the savage whip directly behind my swish-swung bottom and swish swinging tail, whenever I looked at all likely to slack.
After that first hour, they put the hood over my head, and I was made to trot for two hours more.
I ran: as I trotted, I ran with perspiration. The horrible flies crawled all over my body, but still found my jiggering joggering nipples as my titties endlessly bounced in rhythmic unison as I trotted: my nipples and my poor pod were their key fascination. The foul knowledge that many of these flies would have been feasting on faeces in the stables or the cow-pony barn before crawling on my face and around my eyes, and into and around my mouth: my mouth that I was unable to close because of the rubber gag bit I wore, made me feel quite nauseated.
Alena and Fabrina were intending to take me beyond exhaustion: they had determined how to break me: how to make me accept I was animal, and they were going to pursue it without let or hindrance.
If I showed any sign whatsoever of slacking, they cracked the whip behind me and saw me flinch in terror and renew my efforts almost before the last echo of the whip's 'crack'.
I was a fit girl, but even the fittest girl could not take the way they were driving me. More than once I fainted, ending up being dragged around by the training machine; woken in shock by ice cold water hosed over my naked body; and ordered with curse and whip's crack, to trot again.
The shear brutality continued all day. I spent an incredible four hours at the trot, punctuated with the cold water douches and savage language cursing me as a whore, and a bitch, and a slag, always accompanied by horrible adjectives.
Finally, as even Alena and Fabrina had to accept my exhaustion, I was left being dragged around by the machine, my beautiful breasts rising and falling as I gasped for breath, tortured beyond further endurance, or so it seemed.
The machine was stopped. I still hung by the rein running from my mouth bit, in terrible pain as my neck was bent back by the way my collapsed legs had left me.
Water from the hose, water as cold as the south-pole did not rouse me. Increased water-pressure and two cracks of the whip brought me to my shaky very shapely legs. My hood was pulled off. Several flies that had been enjoying the beauty of my face and eyes and mouth within it, flew out, to taste my sweet sweaty nipples next. My hair, even my tight curly dark gorgeously lovely hair hung, still curled, but dripping with my perspiration. My beautiful brown eyes showed my complete and utter exhaustion.
"Midnight-Pearl stand face this way" Fabrina ordered.
I did as I was ordered.
"Midnight-Pearl lift folded right leg so knee squash Midnight-Pearl right titty, toes pointing straight down"
I strained to raise my wonderful right leg folded as ordered and thus display the orgasmic massiveness of the thigh of my folded leg. Initially I found I could not stand straight and raise my folded legs as high as ordered. I bit down on the gag as I tried to obey the seemingly impossible order. And, low and behold, I was doing it. I was in distress, but I was doing it. I was actually standing on my lovely left leg, with my right leg sexily folded in the 'display-leg' mode. Okay this was only the initial 'display-leg' position, but I had managed the physical difficulty even in my extreme exhaustion.
"Midnight-Pearl good girl. Midnight-Pearl good girl" Alena praised.
"Midnight-Pearl kick folded leg out straight up to sky and hold"
I fought to do as I was ordered. Stage by stage they were teaching me to 'display-leg'. I must learn to raise my leg in a snap motion so that it folded at the knee with the back of my hoof next my buttock, then raise my sexily folded leg to touch my tit, before extending my lower leg straight up, once my folded leg was touching my breast.
Try as I might, I was not sufficiently supple to raise my gorgeous leg so that my hoofed foot pointed straight up.
The camera filming my training torture took in the look of deep distress and fear on my face, as my lower leg insistently stayed at only a quarter of the dreadful distance it needed to be raised to please my mistresses.
"Straighten your back whore!" Fabrina barked as my leg began to lower.
"Not good enough. Midnight-Pearl learn stand 'display-leg' five minutes" Alena ordered
But Hai Moon and Kim Kai were running enthusiastically up to collect me, and my second day of being broken was over as, clip clop clip clop clip clop, I was hurried back to the cobbled yard and the warm shower and washing sponge I so looked forward to.
The physical beauty of the girl being showered by Night-Breeze's former stable-girls was unbelievable. I only saw a back view as the little Korean toy-dolls shampooed her dark-brunette ringlets, but I delighted in seeing her lovely, clearly massive, breasts swing out either side of her, as one of her stable-girls really got to work with shampoo.
She was a white girl, with an all-over entirely natural tan. Her body was obviously fit. She had curves to die for. She wore a saddle belt to squeeze her waist down, as did all we ponygirls, but with her, if with any of us, it seemed the least necessary.
She was turned so her stable-girl could shower her back. What a lovely face I saw! She was not pretty in the 'chocolate-box-picture' sense; she was beautiful. But again, her beauty was unconventional. Her nose was a little too big, her brown-green eyes a little too large, her mouth a little too sensuous, at least, as far as I could tell with the gag bit she wore. But, despite any individual minor flaw, her face in combination of all its assets had solacing loveliness, punctuated by a delightful little cleft dimple in the middle of her chin. Her face caught the eye and the eye was amazed with pleasure to see it. Her face lent pleasure to the world and delight to life. She was very attractive. She was an exceptionally attractive girl.
Of course, I only noticed all this after my shock.
I looked to see her name when her stable-girls turned her. I thought I saw 'Javelin' on her head band. She looked at me with gentleness and with what would have been the loveliest and friendliest of smiles, were it not that she, like I, still wore a mouth bit.
Of course, I only noticed this after my shock.
Her penis was seemingly always semi-erect.
Of course, I noticed this: this was my shock!
When the lovely girl was turned, I watched with my eyes so wide-open it was a wonder that they did not pop out of my head. As she turned, her huge penis, it looked at least one-foot long even in its semi-erect state, waved side to side. Had I a thesaurus, I was so completely taken aback, that, had I a thesaurus I would also need a dictionary to find which synonym of 'astounded' might better define my complete and utter amazement at this beautiful creature, a girl with a huge penis and heavy, extremely potent looking, testicles: a massively well endowed girlboy.
…………
Having been showered and sponged down, I was clip-clopped back to my stall for my tail to be removed and for me to be able to feed and drink.
Once that was over though, my two stable-girls surprised me by taking me to the back of my stall and fastening me by my left ankle, my left leg just above the knee, my left thigh, at my crutch, my waist, and my shoulders above my breasts, to a strong metal frame that seemed to have arrived there since I had left my stall in the morning.
This frame in turn was very securely fastened to the sides of my stall.
The tying of my right leg to a rigid steel splint using strong leather straps surprised me, and my screams of agony as my ankle was roped and the rope used to pull my splinted-rigid right leg where they would have me taught to raise it to obey their order to 'display-leg', shocked and silenced my fellow pony-girls.
There was no mercy shown in forcing my beautiful right leg up to the sky, stretching my hamstrings and calf-muscles in the supreme extreme of the agony of hell as I bit down and nearly through my overnight rubber gag bit.
The disturbance of my scream was followed by my continuing moans at the unbearable pain from my stretched muscles, but there was another cause for a flurrying in the stables. My fellow ponygirls were all tethered by their mouth bits stood upright for the night to sleep standing in their stalls and, even in my pain, I was aware of deep disturbance and fear among them.
Even as tears of savage pain clouded my vision I saw what was disturbing them, as the stunning beautiful girlboy Javelin was led in and I could see that already, in anticipation of a night of pleasure, Javelin had a huge erection and her penis stood almost upright, throbbing and bobbing as she trotted in, led my Alena.
Javelin's erection made her penis massive. She must surely have had a cock one-foot long. Her penis, never it seemed flaccid at any time, had seemed twelve-inches even in its semi-erect state. Now she was erect, she was either one-foot long for sure, or more: if she did not have merely a twelve-inch cock, she could only have been more than twelve huge inches because she was absolutely certainly not less.
I slowly shook my head from side-to-side in my pain, taking in without really seeing that, although Javelin was led to Night-Breeze's stall, she Javelin, was not tethered by her mouth bit as we were or, at least this night, all the ponies other than I were.
The other ponygirls seemed distressed and shifted in their stalls as if they were trying to escape.
I looked over at the lovely Javelin. She was a stunning creature. I wondered why though: in my ignorance I wondered why she had a strap around her that squeezed the base of her penis and seemed to hold some kind of coloured block or sponge: a block or sponge of the same light-blue as the dye I had seen on the lovely bottoms of two girls from the other stable block that morning.
"We'll be needing to tell the movie viewers what's goin' on here" Jenna remarked to Alena as Javelin's arrival on station for the night was being filmed.
"Sure", Alena answered in a friendly leg-pulling imitation of Jenna's New York English.
"We're breeding", Alena began to explain. "We need foals. We need new fillies. We need cow-ponies. For breeding, we hire a stallion. Javelin is our regular. She is very potent. Put her in the stables and she'll cover up to three ponygirls in a night…."
"'Cover'?" Jenna queried.
"Yes: 'cover'. A ponygirl is 'covered' by the stallion. In human terms; in crude human terms, she is 'fucked': to 'cover' a ponygirl is to fuck the ponygirl. 'Cover' is the equine equivalent of 'fuck'".
"So Javelin is here to fuck…….I mean 'cover' the ponygirls. What in hell do you get from that?" Jenna asked.
"A pregnancy of two or more if we are lucky", Alena answered. A ponygirl has to drop a foal…. I mean a ponygirl has to have given birth before she can lactate……..I mean before she can produce milk. It will be thirteen years before a ponygirl's foal can become of use, but once she's borne a foal and dropped it, a ponygirl will only be allowed six-months before her foal must be weaned and the ponygirl herself put to milk. Once she is lactating, a ponygirl, as long as she is milked daily, will produce milk for two years or more………"
"And when her milk production days are over?" Jenna asked, as if the question had been planted by prior rehearsal.
"Look Jenna!" Alena began in well-acted self-defensive annoyance, "Whatever you think about the point behind your question, this is a business and there is no use in business for sentiment. There is a market for the meat. A ponygirl is only of use for the meat side of the livestock market till she is thirty. The meat has to be tender or it just won't sell. A ponygirl put to milk will yield for two years or so. After that…It's all done very humanely. The ponygirl is always masturbated as she is slow strangled: masturbated so as to get her full flavour in her meat……… There are professional slaughterhouses………We do our own slaughtering, but not the butchery, that needs real expertise."
If this question were not planted its answer would surely have caused some horror in the asker, and yet Jenna glibly next asked: "And what in god's name is that thing…that blue dye soaked thing above…. I mean that thing tied above on Javelin's lower belly above her penis?" Jenna asked.
"Oh that. It's just a means of us knowing which ponygirls Javelin has covered. She is trained to cover the ponies from behind; not that she needed training since that's how animals fuck anyway of course."
"When Javelin covers a pony the dye will paint the ponies hind quarters, and thus we know next day which ponies have been covered and where our next cow-ponies may come from", Alena concluded in answer to questions that seemed to have been rehearsed, question and answer both, for the camera that now ceased its day's filming.
No light was ever unnecessarily wasted in our stables. As I continued to suffer the terrible hell of my splinted right leg having been forced up so that my ankle was but one foot forward of my chin, in the sudden darkness of the stable as the lights were thrown off, I heard the clip-clop of a ponygirl's hooves, I heard the clip-clop of Javelin's hooves, and, along with it I heard the violence with which the other ponygirls were fighting their bonds in fear and longing to escape. And then I heard the unmistakable sound of Flamenco-Firefly crying in fear. And then I heard Flamenco-Firefly gasp, and then scream an earth-shattering-teeth-clenched scream of extreme pain. And I knew that Javelin's brutal penis had been rammed home in poor Flamenco-Firefly's virgin minx. And then I heard Flamenco-Firefly's chains rattle rhythmically as she was being shagged by Javelin. And next I heard Flamenco-Firefly's cries of pain turn to moans of pleasure. And, seconds later, I heard Javelin's long loud grunt. And then I heard Flamenco-Firefly's moan of longing unsatisfied as Javelin pulled herself out of Flamenco-Firefly's cunt, leaving Flamenco-Firefly's minx dripping semen from the fucking she had received, and frustrated with sexual arousal that would have no satiation other than in masochistic frustration, for Javelin had no need of satisfying any pony bar Javelin herself. And I heard Flamenco-Firefly cry once more from her being no masochist and longing to cum, and from the truly dreadful fear she might have been made pregnant by this, the very first time ever that Flamenco-Firefly had been fucked.
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