An Interest in Ponygirls

Chapter 07 – The Impact of Poor Choices (or Life Can Suck)

The cold desert pre-dawn was still and beautiful in its own stark way. The clear, dark sky was littered with glittering stars. For two women standing in the scenic dawn, even though cold and naked, the chance to move about was pleasurable compared to most experiences at the Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. Doctor Joan Miller, a talented and kinky Miami surgeon used by Aaron Clarke to modify his human acquisitions into better sex slaves, was now possibly trapped in the degrading life she had secretly yearned to briefly taste. Her hope of also enjoying the role of Ponygirl Trainer was looking unattainable at the moment, as she realized that graduating from her seemingly endless rounds of physical torture to become a Ponygirl might not be possible. Joan had connived to get the man she knew as Robert Morgan, the identity used by Aaron Clarke while conducting illegal missions in the United States, to arrange for her have a session at the Ponygirl training ranch where her recent patients had been sent. Joan's plans had gone awry when Marshal Thompson, owner of Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, had demanded that any female ponies on his ranch, even temporary ones, start out as newly processed livestock and earn the right to progress to Ponygirl. Joan, while slim and beautiful at thirty-eight years old was a city girl that had never worked out in a gym. She failed the ranch's basic physical endurance test and was relegated to the remedial training program, the lowest position at the desert ranch. As a permanent sign of her failure, the Ponygirl Heaven Ranch brand now adorned her right hip.

Her present partner in suffering, Paula Laturno, had been Marshall Thompson's Head Groom at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. She had been caught risking the lives of two charges when her petty anger at the Chief Trainer had overcome her carefully controlled discipline. The two valuable bitches she had endangered were Ponygirls in training Lisa Heath è 3 and her twin sister Lori Heath è 4, both property of the East Coast Slavers Organization. The ranch owner intervened before permanent damage was done and instantly reverted Paula's role on the ranch to that of Ponygirl undergoing remedial training. Joan had just seen the naked woman brought over by a leash attached to her bound wrists and restrained in her bondage so that both Marshall Thompson and his Chief Trainer, Cliff Burns could evaluate her potential. As a doctor, Joan had critically examined Paula's powerful thighs and judged her no swimsuit model. “She's got the legs of a worker, not a runner or a model. Strength, not endurance is her forte.”

The two men stepped back from the two women that had just been tacked up. Marshall looked at the two women standing fully naked in their harness except for the pair of white socks and cross-trainer shoes that each wore and the ringgags locked on their heads. They stamped their feet in an attempt to fend off the crisp morning air, making their breasts jiggle enticingly. Each woman had her hands cuffed behind her back and locked in place with a keyed padlock to a steel ring. A leather sling style harness ran on either side of the Ponygirls' heads, crossed down over their shoulders, and ran behind their back to terminate at the same steel ring. A heavy section of chain ran from that ring to another steel ring welded to the frame of a three-foot by eight-foot steel skid plate. Marshall and Cliff shared a clean towel to wipe the sunscreen off their hands. They had finished their task of preparing the two women to face their day by rubbing strong sunscreen over every inch of their lush bodies.

Marshall 's voice rang out in the morning's quiet, “Listen up Little Piggies! You have been given a single task for the day. You are left on your own to accomplish that mission, or die trying; it's that simple.” He walked around the stack of cinder blocks chained atop the skid plate and continued speaking. “Twelve miles down this desert trail,” he swept his hands along the stony path leading into the desert gloom, “is a small pool of water hidden among some rocks. Your trail is clearly marked. Each one-half mile is a pair of drinking nipples at head height attached to a bottle of six ounces of water. You will pull this four-hundred-pound sledge to that little oasis, stopping briefly for drinks along the way. At the watering hole is a set of keys in a can. Some of the keys will partially release you two animals. Other keys will let you into a locked cooler containing food and drink and a storage container with towels and a blanket. You will remain at the watering hole until we come to get you in the morning.”

The ranch owner and his trainer exchanged looks and each lashed out simultaneously with a wooden paddle at a nearby shapely rump. “Heeyah! Heeyah! Get going, Little Piggies!” Cliff shouted as his paddle deformed Paula's fat rump with a loud meaty thump. The slightly delayed response was amazing.

Joan had been standing in the icy darkness of the desert listening to Marshal Thompson explain what they were to do that day. She had just wondered in her mind if she could actually manage to trudge twelve miles without collapsing in failure when her ass exploded with pain. The thwacking of the paddle against her fleshy ass elicited a grunt of pain and she immediately leaned forward to escape the pain, simultaneously setting the sling harness smoothly across her shoulders and tightening the chain leading to the skid plate behind her. She also felt the loop of chain secured around her waist tug slightly as the two-foot section separating her from her harness mate tightened as well. As Cliff's commands to get going echoed into silence, the sledge began to slip across the coarse ground with an obnoxious rasping and grinding noise. The presence of the two men striding alone beside them kept each woman motivated to keep moving.

The strain of the heavy load settled against her skeletal and muscular system; Joan decided that it would be manageable if they shared the load. She glanced over at the naked woman beside her and marveled that this was the same Head Groom that had greeted her upon arrival at the ranch. “She's fallen a long way,” Joan thought smugly thinking how the Head Groom had whipped and goaded her during her naked and desperate qualification run. Then she realized that her situation was not so very different. “Each of us has to earn our way together, or fail together,” she thought. Grimly, she focused on the more experienced woman's movements beside her and tried to match exactly her pace, stride, and body movements. She settled into a rhythm and enjoyed the chance to stretch out her muscles after the last few days. Well before the sun poked all the way over the nearby mountain range, the first painted timber post came into sight.

Joan was beginning to get thirsty; neither woman had been watered after they were awakened. The only concession they were allowed was that of being allowed to pee and shit like the animals they were in a corner of the corral pen. The other reason for the growing thirst was that neither woman could control their swallow reflex properly due to the ringgags. Dried drool had dribbled down out of the corner of their mouths and splashed on their breasts. The damp skin felt icy cold in the desert morning air.

Each woman halted and stared in dismay at the marker post. The innocuous part of the post was the small 0.5 chiseled vertically in the timber and filled in with red paint. What stopped the women cold in their tracks was the unexpected shape of the watering nipples mounted on a horizontal beam. They were actually giant rubbery cocks, easily six full inches long and fat around the base. Each girl already knew full well the significance of the two small raised pads, one just above the base of the cock and the other just below it. Joan had already used the cock as she consumed the only food she had been allowed thus far at the ranch. Each of the two animals knew that the ‘feeder' only released a small dribble each time their teeth depressed each of the two pads simultaneously. Joan remembered feeling so hungry she wished for the opportunity to slip the cock all the way down her gullet to get the nourishment. The memory reminded her of the long hours since she had last eaten.

Moments later, the two women stood side by side, each trying to overcome their gag reflex in order to get their six ounces of water. The two women were savvy enough to know the water would be needed to survive the punishing sun later on in the day. Joan and Paula were getting the inkling that they were on the ranch's low fat, low carbohydrate, high protein diet while on the remedial training regime. The small plaques mounted at eye level didn't help allay their irritation. They each read, “Cocksucking Whores!” a pointed reminder of the significance of the act of drinking or eating.

The Arizona desert sun was now high in the sky. Joan and Paula were struggling to keep moving toward the next mile marker just visible in the distance. Joan was so confused from exhaustion and dehydration that she couldn't remember which marker was next. “Two miles an hour,” she thought dully and then repeated it to herself, “We must be making two miles an hour.” She fought to get the math right in her head. “Twelve miles was our task,” she thought. “That's at least six, … yes, six hours. Oh fuck! We've already been walking for six hours at least. The sun is so high.” She concentrated in putting one foot in front of the other. A glance toward Paula revealed a dusty and gritty caricature of a woman trudging beside her. Runnels of sweat streaked the filthy woman and her hair lay lank and filthy on her shoulders. Joan glanced down at her own legs and saw the same thing. Their rasping breath and the steel skid plate scraping across the gravely trail. She was concentrating on the little pieces of gravel that flew away from her feet with each hard-earned footstep when the marker post appeared in her view just a couple of feet away. Fearfully, she focused her eyes on the pole and slowly looked up to the mileage marker. It ready 11.0. “Thank God,” she moaned. “Only a mile to go. Then we can rest and eat. I'm so fucking hungry and so freaking dirty. Ahhh, so tired.”

Now seasoned at using the drinking nipples, the desperate women almost lunged forward to mount their mouths on the cock feeders. Joan gasped in relief when the first of her six ounces of water bathed her lower throat. She pulled her head off the rubbery dildo, bringing her lips to a tight oval to just cover the fake plastic head of the cock. Still parched, she rammed her face forward, easily sinking the fat dick deep into her throat. Joan's teeth hit the two feeder buttons and another half ounce of life-giving water spurted into her gullet. The small plaques mounted at eye level on this post reminded them that, “Beasts of Burden Have no Rights.” Finished with her water, she glanced over at her fellow beast of burden and watched the eerie sight of Paula's lips and teeth flush against the base of the feeder. “The cock is so far down her throat that I can see the bulge,” she wondered. “Guess that does make us expert cocksuckers.” She saw Paula pull back off the rubber dick and take a deep breath into her open maw. The ringgags kept their mouths open like fish desperate for water.

In silent agreement that the brief rest was over, the two ragged women stepped carefully sideways to tighten up the chain leading back to their heavy load. “Hun hor hile,” Joan spoke as clearly as she could to her partner.

Paula, getting better at understanding gag speak, realized that her partner was telling her that they had only one more mile to go, took deep breath and tried a reply, “Hat hight.”

The sled jerkingly started its loud screeching journey down the trail again. Paula and Joan unconsciously picked up the pace. They were in a hurry to get to the watering hole and rest up for the remainder of the day. Entirely focused on survival, neither of the mostly naked women had thought once about sex since the two men paddled them on their way down the trail that morning. After all, they were mere beasts of burden, not glamorous Ponygirls.

--- To Be Continued ---

 

Author: Desert Dog ****** E-Mail: Desertlickingdog at yahoo dot com

 

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