Midnight-Pearl

'Midnight-Pearl' (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 9 – The Garden Party

Blood was trickling over my sinfully sexy dimpled knees in my tiptoeing leg-skyscrapering hoof-clogs: over my dimpled knees and around my captivating calves down to my dainty ankles, as I clip-clopped in full obedience-trained ponygirl discipline, being ridden by Her Supreme Serenity the Princess Astrid Maria Poliphnia Sarahnaya De Palmania-Thomasatto-Riento, back to the palace of her mother, the queen.

I had been savagely used. I had been ridden cruelly hard. I had been whipped brutally. I had been stabbed by the spurs to rip my thighs, horrendously. And yet, such was the discipline instilled in me by my months of training, and such was the degree to which those months of training had broken my spirit and dehumanised me, that I was accepting that this was my fate. I was accepting that it was my fate to be enslaved as a pony. I was accepting that it was my fate to be forced to behave at all times as a human pony: a ponygirl.

Kim Kai and Hai Moon, my stable-girls, were in no position to criticise the princess' abuse of me. Their looks of dismay when they saw what the fourteen-year-old nymphet had done to me, Midnight-Pearl, their pride and joy, as I walked under discipline and instruction of the tit-reins, and the naughty-girl's bit that imprisoned my tongue, were more eloquent than their tongues could have been on the subject, even if they were ever allowed to be, which they never would be.

Subjected to the fearsome discipline of the subjugated ponygirl, my lovely face merely showed acceptance; or, rather, nothing. My face registered nothing, bar indications of continuing pain, because I was a ponygirl and all that had happened was entirely within the expectation of a ponygirl. At least, as far as I knew, that was the case. It was for my superiors to debate whether matters had gone too far. I could never be a participant in the debate.

If my mistresses condescended to talk about me, I might be the subject of the discussion; but I was never ever going to be involved in the talks. I was just another animal on the palace's farm. Nobody engaged the hens in the design of their coops. Nobody asked the sheep if they would prefer to graze a different hillside. Nobody consulted the goats about their milking times. Nobody asked a ponygirl if it was content with its stable. Why should they? In what way was a ponygirl different from all the other animals on the farm?

After curtseying, hiding their looks of dismay, my two stable-girls took hold of my bit reins at the sides of my mouth to guide me to the mounting block, where the dainty princess quickly skipped out of the stirrups made by my hands, and the penis-pommel-saddle on my back, discarding her whip and her gloves: simply dropping them on the ground as she went: dropping them where she pleased as servants would pick them up: that was what servants were for: dropping them, as she wiggled, entirely enticement on eternally pretty legs, into the palace to have her maids bathe her after her arduous ride.

"Poor Midnight-Pearl", Kim Kai soothed as she ran the gentlest prettiest little hand over my soft face: and, even in the continuing agony of my spurred bleeding thighs and my wilfully wantonly whip-welted bottom, I felt my body react in sexual charge at the electrical shock of her divine and entirely innocent touch: her medicinal balm for my animal suffering.

…………….

I was over a month in recovering from the torture inflicted upon me by the princess' riding me with crop and spurs.

Immediately I had been unsaddled, I was showered and sponged clean, with gentle care that the horse liniment, used to ease aches in my leg muscles, should not touch my spur cuts. On the cuts caused by the brutal spurs, as on my lovely bottom where I had been violently whipped, the same ointment that had magically healed me, over time, even when I had been flayed raw by the carriage whip, was used to start my body mending.

I was soon returned to the standard arms-stretched-out-cruciform bondage that all palace ponygirls were bound-up by when not to be employed for a solo-ride.

Flamenco-Firefly and Naughty-Nymph showed great concern for my health during that time. When we were in the meadow, because my wounded thighs were still very painful, they would let me have their turns at the water trough, and even their quota of fresh grass if I desired it.

It was no shock that the stunning Flamenco-Firefly should be that loving toward me. However, that Naughty-Nymph should display such generosity and care did come as a surprise, since she and I had had a falling out shortly soon after my arrival at the palace stables.

I had assumed that Naughty-Nymph's attitude toward me in earlier times, had arisen over some kind of feminine jealousy. Since then, I had, I thought, worked out the angle she was coming from. Naughty-Nymph had, or rather had had, a desire for Flamenco-Firefly.

Let me be absolutely truthful and honest here: there was no ponygirl either at the girl-farm where I had first met her, or at the palace stables to which Alena, Gaynor, and Fabrina had now given Flamenco-Firefly and I, that did not love or lust-after the stupendously sexy and tremendously attractive Flamenco-Firefly: and that includes me.

Flamenco-Firefly was not as wild as nature: she was not as heavenly as nature: she was not as beautiful as nature: Flamenco-Firefly was nature girlsonified. Flamenco-Firefly was girl: period.

Perhaps Naughty-Nymph had thought that I was Flamenco-Firefly's beauette, and that is why Naughty-Nymph and I had had a falling out. But that had become the past, as Naughty-Nymph now seemed to have transferred her affections to me.

Time had gone by sufficiently for me to heal and once more therefore to join in the games of tit-tag in the meadow where now we three, Flamenco-Firefly, Naughty-Nymph, and I, frolicked and played.

I say 'we three', but the sexy playful fun of tit-tag had spread like a virus among all the ponygirls. I marvelled too at how loving they all were to little Sparrow-Hop, who only had tiny but supremely firm little titties, and whose consequent double-disadvantage at tit-tag was generously allowed for, by the other girls, who would let the fourteen-year-old 'win' when she was having the turn to chase us, even when she hadn't really got anywhere near to touching another girl with one of her lovely little breasts.

Racing and chasing and tit-tag, passed the long summer days for we ponygirls, lending some lightness and light to our heavy bondage burden. Considering what we might be made to do, towing a Giggle, hauling logs, pulling a plough: to keep fit, was of paramount importance. In common with many of the ponygirls, I would find myself trotting around in a circle in the meadow, in recollection and imitation of the many many hours I had had to do just that on the trainer when I was being broken-in.

We were all young fit and healthy girls: so, it was inevitable that sex would raise its lovely head. Like any girl, even though I was now reduced to the status of ponygirl, I longed for affection, talk, touch: above all, a cum. Bound as we were, none of we ponygirls could indulge 'normal' lovemaking. For goodness sake, we could not even kiss, since our mouths constantly wore bits.

However, it was not the first time that I watched Emerald-Smile and Speckled-Hen at play.

For Emerald-Smile with Speckled-Hen, indeed with any girl where Emerald-Smile was concerned, she being such a randy little honey, the shade under the trees was a chance to let a ponygirl-lover, rub her minx on Emerald-Smile's gorgeous and generously available shiny smooth thigh. Somehow I resisted her tractor-beam green sparkling-champagne eyes, though it was not easy, because I had so often listened to the innocent cries as my fellow ponygirls had a cum on Emerald-Smile's leg.

Learning by example though, I had offered my lovely thigh to Flamenco-Firefly. Unfortunately for me however, I had obviously confused the poor girl. When Flamenco-Firefly had tried to make love to me, when we were travelling on the cart that bore us to the palace from the girl-farm, I had rejected Flamenco-Firefly's advances. Now she gently declined mine.

I sensed that this was not as revenge for my previous rejection of her, but from confusion that, when she had just now really thoroughly got to know me, and love me in the platonic sisterly way I had first offered, I had changed my mind from 'let us be just friends' to 'let me make love to you'.

I confess that Flamenco-Firefly's rejection of me, albeit sweet and gentle, hurt. Spotting the look of near tears on my face as Flamenco-Firefly whinnied and turned her back from my proffered leg, Naughty-Nymph trotted up.

Naughty-Nymph knew my leg was not on-offer for her to masturbate herself on its wonderful beauty. All she wanted to do was to 'kiss' me by rubbing noses to show that she sympathised that the stunning Flamenco-Firefly had rejected my advances, as indeed the supremely desirable Flamenco-Firefly had refused every other ponygirls' wished-for chance with her.

…………..

Naughty-Nymph and I were two of a kind in physical and facial build and characteristics. We were, of course, not twins. We were a variant shade of negress-brown: I was a lighter shade than she. Our eyes were a different shade of brown: mine darker by a seductive-devil's-worth than hers. My breasts were bigger than hers, and so too were my nipples. My hair was darker than hers. We were, though, not so different as not to be facially and 'figuratively' speaking ('vital statistically' that is) closely similar.

In pony-parlance, we were both 'bays': chestnut-skinned with black manes and tails.

Whether the similarity in build and appearance of Naughty-Nymph and I, had been any part in the thinking when the palace had acquired me, I never knew. But I was to be chosen along with Naughty-Nymph for some special training.

The essence of the intention of the training we began to undergo, Naughty-Nymph and I, after the princess herself had ordered it, was to work in step-unison, side-by-side.

For this, the left end of my arm-stretch cangue was linked by the shortest of strong gold chains to the right end of Naughty-Nymph's cangue. We could actually touch hands. I found that incredibly erotic!

We were harnessed thus, by our cangues alone, and made to walk on the rotator, alternating direction from one hour to the next, learning to walk in smart-march unison, with our gorgeous right legs and then our superb left legs being raised together to a uniform height, so that we were akin to leggy kicky girls in a chorus-line from the days when, to the satisfaction of Mr Busby Berkley, leg-kicking in unison was the original line-dancing.

I was by now so inculcated as a ponygirl, that I felt the preen of pride when Naughty-Nymph and I got praise from our trainers. Our trainers were none other than Hai Moon and Kim Kai, who were undergoing a school examination practical test in training Naughty-Nymph and I.

Having tentatively part-learned to walk in unison, we would have to learn other ponygirl-combo movements in due course: trotting not least. But, before then, we had to be got used to a combination harness.

To teach us this, we first-off had experience of a joint mouth bit. We were tacked-out with a head harnesses of the design I had worn when I had pulled the Giggle. The straps were gold coloured because they were covered with gold leaf. Our individual headbands were emblazoned with our individual names: 'Midnight-Pearl' and 'Naughty-Nymph'.

The only difference from the harness I had worn solo in pulling the girl-gig, was that the bit for this combo-head-harness was not a knurled bit, but a straight smooth gold-coated rod of some half-inch cross-section diameter, that I shared with the lovely Naughty-Nymph.

This bit ended at the right side of my mouth, extended all the long-length, equivalent to my outstretched left arm, and Naughty-Nymph's shapely outstretched right arm, before parting the negress 'come-on-then-kiss-me' lips of Naughty-Nymph, and its other end, the far end from me, poking just out of the left of her mouth.

The length of this bit, some six feet, and with its gold coating, would have made the joint bit very heavy for our sensitive little mouths, and would have pulled our heads down, were we not proud ponygirls and our necks not giraffed to make us hold our heads aloft imperiously, and were the bit not in fact a tube rather than being of solid metal.

Of course it was obvious that Naughty-Nymph and I were to be deployed and employed in tandem. This set two very pretty problems for the engineers of the tack we were to wear. One extremely pretty problem was Naughty-Nymph: the other was me. But in the other sense of a 'pretty problem', a means of communicating with tandem ponygirls needed to have been engineered.

The problem was founded upon ensuring the tandemised ponygirls got clear messages as to what they were expected to do. The only sure way to communicate orders to a ponygirl is, of course, through its tits.

A well-trained ponygirl will have learned which is its right tit, and which its left.

Even when ponygirls are side-by-side, reliance could not be put upon them communicating with each other; not if one wished to be sure the message got through properly.

Naughty-Nymph had an MBA from H******* in the USA. I, Midnight-Pearl, was a mere student, but had been often remarked upon for my evidently high intellect. But, as ponygirls, neither Naughty-Nymph nor I would ever be trusted to think for ourselves. Part of our constant subjugation as ponygirls was to insult our high intelligence.

Our bright minds and astute wit made us all the more stunningly attractive as girls; and correspondingly all the more insulted and degraded as ponygirls. Ponygirls were chosen for their bright brains, on the reasoned grounds that if you could control a girl with a brilliant mind, you had a ponygirl constantly on edge. By contrast, a dullard girl would soon go beyond mere surrender and be poor long-term material.

Something, some spark, in the mind of a highly intelligent girl, would keep her, at least subliminally, fighting her mental and physical bonds, and thus keep her constantly at peak performance as a pony, because always fighting, always reluctant, always ashamed, always nervous, always fearful, always skittish, always on-edge, and thus always and always on peak of peak performance.

A bright girl would want to 'get it exactly right' for fear of the consequences of failure. A bright girl would more certainly understand the consequences of failure: pain. A dull girl would be more slovenly and less conscious of punishment, making punishment more frequent and thus detracting from the objective of having punishment as the penalty and perfect performance as the norm, rather than punishment as the norm, and poor performance consequent from that.

I was a brightly intelligent girl being abused like an animal and used like an animal. In the back of my mind though, I still thought all that was happening was a passing phase. Some day, some hour, the police would come and rescue me. My ponygirl training had drummed rebellion out of me. I still knew fear. I would no longer, by now, rebel mentally or physically. But I was in my current state, a state of edgy subservience, because of fear and pain and fear of further pain, and thus I was plus perfect ponygirl material.

I was no fool. I knew that if I performed as, and as well as, my mistresses demanded of me, I would not be punished. I therefore obeyed my mistresses. I had become and would remain their physical and mental slave, because they had kept me constantly bound and guarded in such a way that escape was impossible. I had become and would remain their physical and mental slave, because they had the literal whip hand, and had taught me the meaning of gain to avoid pain.

The problem of communicating orders to two ponygirls side-by-side in tandem, when a ponygirl ideally needs to be given its orders through its tits, was neatly solved.

In the near conclusion of our tandem training, both Naughty-Nymph and I were fitted with the standard tit-reins, with the painful one-inch long nipple-bits forced in our nipple milk-holes and held fast their with the standard saw-toothed clamps.

The tit-reins ran from our individual nipples to rings at the end of the long single mouth bit we shared, and rings in that same bit immediately next to the other sides of our respective mouths: these rings soldered onto, so they rose above the shared bit at the sides of our lovely mouths.

The reins that would operate our right tits by pulling on them, ran between gold handles. Simply put, a rein was attached to the rings at the top of our right tit reins. Both our right tit-reins had a single long carriage rein attached. These two individual right tit carriage reins were then linked to a straight gold coloured metal bar. The bar could thus be held in its middle, and when pulled would operate on both my and Naughty-Nymph's right tits at one and the same time.

Correspondingly, individual carriage reins were attached to our left tit-reins and linked by another metal bar for the driver to pull our left tits with. This left-tits bar was silver coloured, so as to ensure the driver had the correct bar in her hands: the gold bar for our right tits in her right hand, and the silver bar for our left tits in her left hand.

We were being prepared for a special occasion: the special occasion in question being the Princess Astrid's decision to hold a little party for some neighbouring friends: neighbours over the border in Spain that is.

…………….

With our having satisfied a survey by the princess' head of stables of our performance, Naughty-Nymph and I were given a couple of days off training, pending the event we were to be used for: an event of which we, of course, had no knowledge, and no precise forewarning. We were only ponygirls: what was to happen and when was precisely entirely none of our business.

As always when free for a while, 'free' being a relative term of course, Naughty-Nymph and I would frolic to our hearts' content in the pony meadow, along with the other presently unemployed ponygirls.

Flamenco-Firefly joined in our fun, and I could not avoid but get the impression that she too was resting from some training undergone. There was something about that very exceptionally lovely creature's conduct that conveyed extra pride. Goodness knows she was so damned downright desirable and dead-knockout deliriously beautiful, that she had every reason for pride in the fact that she merely breathed, let alone that she might have added a scintilla to nature's supreme accomplishment: her very existence, by learning a new trick or whatever.

…………….

In anticipation of being harnessed on the spike ending the shaft of whatever cart or carriage Naughty-Nymph and I were to be tethered to in tandem, my cunt was salivating. I am deeply, deeply ashamed to admit that my cunt had reign over me in reins, and I was recalling the hell of being shagged by the shaft on the end of the shaft of the Giggle, with a moist trickle within me that caused me to blush and close my seductively deep dark devilish brown eyes with a sensational "oh god I need a damned good fuck" flicker.

When I thought about being fucked by the shaft I was sex incarnate. I was flesh and blood: hot flesh and even hotter blood: I was girl, rampant racy randy girl.

I was girl in all a girl's duality of appearance and truth. My appearance was denial of truth. My appearance was of innocence betrayed. The truth was that my cunt wanted to be betrayed. I lived in a cuntocracy. I was a sensationally beautiful country with gigantically gorgeous hills, and exceptionally exciting valleys, and with its capital city and the throne of its queen between my fabulous legs. I was a sensationally beautiful country: I was sensationally beautiful cuntry no longer contrary to my cunt but concupiscent for its conquest by cuntry matters.

Of course I cried out with the terrible pain as they lowered me onto the eighteen-inch long two-inch diameter penis-coupling of the shaft of the coach I was to pull in conjunction with, and inspiring perspiring wonderfully femininely tandem sexuality with, Naughty-Nymph, to whom I was linked by the mouth bit our sensational kiss-me-forever negress' lips shared.

Of course I cried out with the terrible pain as did Naughty-Nymph as she was slid by her cunt onto the neighbouring shaft, before we were both fastened rigidly immovably irremovably to our individual shafts with the huge penis-couplings full hard up us, by our respective crupper chains.

Our multiple bells tinkled and jingled as we raised and lowered our negress' dark-tight-curled close-cropped heads in enforced unison, as two cunts stood in sexual torment tiptoe tiptop hooves, enduring enjoying the pain of being impaled on eighteen unrelenting unyielding uncaring inches, of penis sculptured cold steel, ready to pull the phaeton to which we were tethered, and be whipped if we did not obey and be whipped if we did obey.

We would obey. There was no doubt whatsoever that Naughty-Nymph and I would obey. Obedience though we could to be whipped at whim, was our worth in the world of ponygirls: a world where we were whore horses for use and decoration, abuse and disregard, use and discard.

We would obey because we had no choice. They, our mistresses, would use us until we became useless and then dispose of us with dispatch by dispatching us. We were girls and we were meat. Today we were girls; tomorrow we could be meat. Our supreme succulence was to be savoured in either scenario.

Her Supreme Serenity the Princess Astrid Maria Poliphnia Sarahnaya De Palmania-Thomasatto-Riento mounted, with her pretty little legs, mounted the single seat at the front of the four-passenger four-wheel coach, her two obedience trained ponygirls were to pull by their cunts, and consequently had the pleasure of watching the side-dimpled-concavity of our wonderful buttocks twitching girl-muscularly to entice her, as she arranged the reins that ran to our tits, via the tit-reins with which she would give these human slave ponies, Naughty-Nymph and Midnight-Pearl, their challenging unchallengeable commands.

Her whip, the princess' carriage whip, whip-cracked above our heads, like doom-thunder to our sundered plundered salivatingly slippery sex slots, which now slid and slithered up and down the poles on which they were impaled, as our dainty fingertips, the pretty finger tips of our gorgeous hands met at extreme arm's length at the end of our cruciform cangues, and we tried to comfort each others' extreme pain, as we pulled in unison with our cunts on the instant of our twice tugged four tits: our four tits pulled twice in quick unison to foretell us to walk.

To overcome inertia and get the cart rolling needed both Naughty-Nymph and I to pull supremely extremely and our two cunts were caused to cream as the obscene penis-couplings on which we were spiked, spitefully pulled out of our succulence, as we leaned forward to test the elasticity of the inelastic steel chain cruppers that held the penis-couplings up us: eighteen whole brutal bruising inches up our wholly holy holes.

The dream of the scene in which I would once more be mounted on the penis-coupling had made my minx cognac capriciously copiously conspicuously. That had been the dream. The dream had been copious; the reality was a nightmare of pain I had forgotten it was possible for a girl to be given, as I was driven along the drive alive with agony in the humiliating penetration of my intimacy, whilst my partner in time slimed on her penis-coupling beside me, as our tits were tugged twice to tell us to trot, and our uniform beautifully shapely four legs in a rhythmic sexually inciting inviting impelling completely compelling curvaceous canter, whisked the phaeton along with our cunts being repetitively relentlessly uncontrollably unceasingly unbearably unendurably fucked as we did as ordered at trotted.

Naughty-Nymph and I mingled our tingling tinkling-bell-ringed fingers as we felt each others torture whilst our wasped waists made our bottoms swing wide, as our female structure caused our hips to swing and sway each way, adding to the rape ravage savaging of our innocent cunts by the relentless penetration of cold cruel steel penis up us, held by cruppers.

It was Naughty-Nymph who orgasmed first.

Through her pretty little finger tips I felt Naughty-Nymph explode. But a ponygirl's cum was an irrelevance to her bounden duty, and Naughty-Nymph was bound on duty to bound with her legs pounding the ground with her 120 pounds of all-girl girl without break of step even as she came with a thunderous shattering orgasm of orgasms in her titular vehicular torture.

Even as she came with a thunderous shattering orgasm of orgasms, Naughty-Nymph must not break step and her cunt must continue to be ravage-savaged and raped by the pole on which the centre of her soul had is holy lowly solo hole sundered, as the penis-coupling slipped and slapped within her endlessly, whilst she lifted the legs of a supreme dream queen orgasmically automatically obediently, the broken ponygirl total, trotting with tit-tips bouncing, titties flouncing nostrils flared eyes wide scared-stared, sweat streaming, silently steaming, bells jingle–jangle amidst a tangle of torture tackle, disorientatingly disorganisingly organised, tormenting and preventing escape, encapsulating her as captured cutie compelled to comply and fly with the phaeton as she pulled and pulled and pulled it along with her magnificent minx: her incredible orgasming cunt.

My own fires were being stoked as I was poked by the pole in my hole and my know-all minx knew no salvation in starvation, as in salivation it drove me to distraction, as every fraction of my vagina was rubbed and clubbed by the penis-pole-coupling, slipping, sliding, and slapping in my slattern's slit, as I continued to be taught what my station was in relation to my former fellow girls, before whom I know must trot in torment torture, a daughter in hell, well tied, and applied to her task with the whip by her mistresses to keep her subdued, as 'she' was become 'it' and it was subjugated by the sex from among the sisteren of which 'she' selected as 'it' had been totally ejected.

I was girl as animal to be tortured and tormented at whim, with the pole up my quim to slice me asunder, and put me under the girls who wanted me only for my body's beauty, to beat and treat to the deepest and darkest shame that could be named: a girl with a mane: a girl torn to perform, a girl born to conform, a ponygirl damned from dusk to dawn.

Naughty-Nymph and I, Midnight-Pearl, trotted along pulling the phaeton in complete obedient exotic rhythm, propelling the phaeton with the utmost extremely supremely wonderfully beautifully fully orgasmically erogenously erotic means of locomotion, the one true goddess in her wisdom had ever created: girl's legs.

We were approaching the railhead, as a passenger train bearing Alena, Fabrina, and Gaynor, guests of honour, pulled into the platform.

A single tug on our tits told Naughty-Nymph and I to slow to the walk. A gentle but insistent tugging on our left tits, told us to walk to the left…..until a single tug on all four of our tits told us to straighten up…. and a final firm pull on all four enslaved tits as one, with a cry of "whoa", brought our torture briefly to a halt.

……………

I had never seen Alena look so lovely. She disported a white parasol, and was in a long white dress, which she filled like a delicate China figurine. She had taken great trouble, unusual trouble for her, who was so damned attractive even without it, with her appearance. I had never seen her with makeup on before.

I could not look for long. It was not allowed a mere ponygirl to look at a pretty girl.

Naughty-Nymph and I ran with sweet sweat from our efforts with pulling the phaeton with our cunts: cunts, which were now red raw with the rasping ripping rubbing of the relentless huge penis-couplings forced up them.

As we stood patience girlsonified, Naughty-Nymph and I dare not now touch finger tips even though I longed to. We must not be seen to fraternise else they would whip our thighs.

We were, of course, completely ignored as the three guests took the passenger seats and a double-tug on our tits told Naughty-Nymph and I to walk once more. And titty tugs to left titties told us in torment to turn to the left and return to the palace.

A single all-four tit tug with the tit-reins, told us to hold our course in walk, and the brisk upward double flick of our tits in fourfold union unison next told us to trot, with our gorgeous legs in girlmuscular godessity, to bless the world with our lithe lower limbs, as we clip-clopped a jingle jangle tangle of tortured temptation in sensational motion to our return destination station.

………………..

The constant fucking of my cunt with the huge pole up it, hurt me horribly on the way home as it wanked me with wild abandon to womanly wantonness. I was being wanked to a cum as I had always known I would be in the anticipation, before I had even been harnessed, of the dilation of my cunt's slippery slickness, by the sliding piston that popped in and out of me hot rod as I trotted.

I was now in the reality of being wank-fucked and my mind was trying and crying in denying that I could be had, and made to be maid and become unstaid by being paraded as a whore to adore, with my minx being shafted with a pole up my hole to wholly rape me arousing my animal girlity beyond control of my brilliant mind to hold.

I trotted being fucked as the sliding penis-coupling caressed my keening cunt constantly: my orgasm assembling its inexorable forces to force me to the collapse of my conscious desire to be in humane regard for my human girlness, and not merely for the mechanical function my body could perform so decadently dextrously decorously decoratively.

It was not an intended consequence of my bondage that I should orgasm from it. Whether I got any sexual pleasure at any time was totally irrelevant. I was bound and used-abused for the decorative way I filled the world, in fulfilling the function of fantasy. I was a fucktoy for the girls to deploy employ and enjoy. To my mistresses, my cums were of no more consequence than my shit or my piss; but woe betide me if I let them interfere with my duty as a cutie.

I bit on the gag-bit that my lovely kiss-me-kiss-me-kiss-me mouth shared with the delicious Naughty-Nymph. I was fighting to prevent my mistress' have me cum like an animal. To cum as I had already been made to by my enslavement pulling the Giggle, was the ultimate in ultimate ultimate degradation. I was going to fight my cum. I was going to fight against coming. I was going to hold onto the last shred of dignity I had: the last scintilla of a scintilla of my human girlness. I was not going to let myself suffer the completely demeaning dehumanising degradation of a cum in harness. I was going to cum as a 'she' and not as an 'it'. I was going to cum in love as a girl, and not in lust as an animal.

But even thinking these thoughts and fighting this fight excited my betraying minx as the rhythm-erotic trot plundered my slot with the penis-pole going in and out and in and out and in and out of my hole.

In my poor heart-of-hearts I knew I was losing control, and that I would cum will she or not she my mind's wishes. To the circumstances belonged my predicament. The more I fought in my mind against coming, the more aroused I became, and the more certain my cum. This was the torture of the daughter of the devil. My body was being relentlessly mechanically raped by the torture I was forced to by my constant controlling bondage, and the pole in my hole was fucking my mind as much as it was physically fucking my all-girl body.

But nor could I think of the pleasure from my degrading pain, as that was the more certain road to instant perdition in a pulsating palpitation of passion's penalty.

I could fight the cum that was coming for only as long as I neither thought about the incredibly unsurpassable pleasure of it, nor fought against it. I was a girl caught with her legs tied between the metaphorical bent over branches of a tree: I knew the equally metaphorical ropes would be cut, and I would be ripped asunder with thunder from my plundered and plucked fuck-hole, as I trotted with the pole allotted rubbing me to ecstasy in my ultimate intimate intricate intimacy.

I had successfully fought and fought and fought and fought a cum, as Naughty-Nymph and I trotted pulling the phaeton driven by the princess, conveying her guests to the garden party that I could see gathered around a large round wooden drum open at the side in which, like a pet exercising in a cage, I recognised Flamenco-Firefly, walking slowly to rotate what closer examination as we drew nearer and nearer, revealed as a wooden treadmill.