An Interest in Ponygirls

An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 13 – Bills of Sale (or The Ponygirls Can Never Go Home)

Joseph Loftus, new owner of Ponygirls, looked at the documents and electronic media strewn across the desk in his cabin. “I can't believe how thorough they have been in providing documentation on these bitches and how the poor cunts have confessed to all their crimes. The East Coast Slavers Organization has everything set up to prove to these poor cunts how fucked they would be if the authorities ever get their hands on them.” He shook his head in admiration and thumbed through the first wide, expandable binder. It contained fingerprints and detailed personal information on an Anna Sawyer. Notarized confessions detailed years' worth of scams that she and her older sister, Becky, had perpetrated against rich men. Unknown to Joseph, Anna had been tortured and coerced into documenting every illegal act she had committed as an adult, implicating her sister at the same time. Newspaper clippings verified the details of many of the scams. A final notarized document authenticated how her feelings of guilty remorse led her to willingly confess on videotape the details of her cold-blooded plot to befriend and rob her last victim, Joseph Loftus. The confession and the video tape detailed how the plot to blackmail him in into a lucrative divorce settlement had gone awry when his lawyers insisted on an ironclad prenuptial agreement. “The best part,” Joseph was able to laugh at his slavegirls who had plotted his murder, “is that ECSO has faked a series of newspaper articles about the prosecutor's office getting a mailed copy of the video confessions of the Sawyer women.” The false clippings, dated over a period of months, showed that each was convicted in absensia of attempted murder and racketeering due to their long career of criminal bunko scams. The data presented a complete story of Anna and Becky's sentencing to twenty years in federal prison without a chance for parole for the racketeering and federal income tax evasion charges and fifteen years in state prison for the attempted murder charge. “The crowing blow,” Joseph laughed about, “is that the clippings highlight that the sentences would not be concurrent, they were consecutive. These two will think a future as Ponygirl is easy compared to how they'd be treated in more than thirty years of prison.”

Dozens of 8 by 10 glossy color photographs depicted the kinky lifestyle that Anna needed for herself. She had already written comments about herself on some of the pictures, lending more credibility to this being her own personal photo album. Her signed notes on the graphic images commented on her lovers; the taste and consistency of their sperm, the sizes of their cocks, who was best at anal and vaginal sex. She also commented on her appreciation of being a piece of sex-meat that was mindlessly skull-fucked. Anna proved herself a willing participant in a deviant and demeaning lifestyle. To an outsider, or jury, Anna was simply a low-life, conniving whore who deserved whatever lousy deal she got out of life.

The next section of the binder included more legal documents that Anna still needed to sign. In essence, they relinquished all Custodial Rights and assigned Power of Attorney to her new Legal Guardian, Joseph Loftus. Further, the documents outlined the austere and controlled environment that Anna Sawyer wanted for herself. In payment, since she was destitute and a criminal on the run, she offered Joseph full rights over her body in exchange for her demand that she be treated as mindless, subhuman livestock. While not fully covering Joseph in the event Anna Sawyer was discovered a prisoner (or supposed fugitive) on his ranch in New Mexico , the documentation might muddy the legal system enough to escape any conviction for her enslavement. To Anna, the mound of documentation would crumble any hope of escape and cement her role as a piece of fuckmeat who lived only for her owner's visual and physical enjoyment.

Becky Sawyer's binder was nearly identical to that of her sister. She confessed to every illegal act mentioned in her sister's confession and also implicated Anna. Taken side-by-side by a prosecutor, Anna and Becky would surely be convicted and imprisoned. However, Becky's folder also had the same falsified newclippings that told the story of how she had been convicted to nearly identical prison terms as her sister. The last section in the binder contained Becky's personalized forms acknowledging that she agreed to a term of forced exile at Joseph's ranch in New Mexico in order to protect herself from prison and to keep herself from any temptation to participate in more illegal acts. Becky would also agree that her total legal guardian was Joseph Loftus. After reviewing the binder, Becky would willingly sign herself over to her new owner.

Lisa and Lori Heath's two binders also contained their full confessions for the kidnapping and torture of underage teenage girls that they planned to sell into a lifetime of slavery. The documents and video tapes detailed their plan to get rid of their grandfather and share his millions with their mother, and co-conspirator, Jeanne Heath. Unknown to the Heath twins, their mother had been enslaved during the ECSO raid to rescue Roland Heath, the same raid that freed the captive teenage tennis players and resulted in the capture of both Lisa and Lori.

There was a fifth, equally fat expandable folder. As with the four captive Ponysluts, there was a section in the binder intended to humiliate and potentially control a slave questioning her status as an unwilling slut. Among the twenty or so 8-inch by 10-inch glossy color photographs was one of a woman's sweaty face clearly shown buried in an obviously female pussy. Another photo showed the same woman with her lips tightly suctioned against an erect cock poking out of a black pair of dress slacks; the kinky pubic hair and the chocolate penis proclaimed her lover a black man. In another damning photo, the same woman was shown in a full-body nude shot, with her sweat-slick hair and her sperm-covered face, as she accepts a pile of bills from a man of obvious Italian descent. A particularly kinky photograph showed the woman sucking on the cunt of a chunky woman in cook's whites while a man sunk his cock into her whorish twat from behind. Another image showed the woman bound in a tight hogtie while a woman sprayed her hot, yellow urine down upon her. In a photo sequence that painted the others as vanilla, six photographs showed the woman outfitted as livestock, hauling a manure wagon and a racing surrey. The implication was obvious, Doctor Joan Miller, successful plastic surgeon in Miami has fucked and sucked anything that she encountered and was clearly a mindless whore of a bondage slut. If found out, nobody would doubt that Joan Miller was anything except a fine piece of ass, not suited to hold any professional license, let alone a medical one. A subsequent section of the folder had documents ready for signature that signed over all of Doctor Miller's present and future assets to her husband, Joseph Loftus. Another document awaiting her signature acknowledged her future husband as her lord and master with the authority to make the final decision in every aspect of her life.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Joan grunted as her lover shoved his cock hard into her pussy from behind and her nose was once again pushed into the mattress. “Ughhh,” she groaned and added, “fucking maddening. I can't move myself against him. Ahhhh, yesss!” she cried to herself as his pubic mound briefly thumped up against hers. She tried to move her jaws to relieve the aching pain from the rubber ball jammed deep into her wide-open mouth. It was no use, the hateful ballgag was tightly strapped in place. Hog-tied with binding rope rather than wrist and ankle cuffs connected by chains, Joan's back was deeply bowed and her fingers and toes were numb from lack of proper blood flow. She heard another whistling swish and tensed her ass cheeks for the coming blow from a riding crop.

Joseph Loftus had slipped into his bedroom and wordlessly bound his ‘loaner' Ponygirl into a painful hogtie on his cabin bed. It was the most strenuous bondage he had ever employed on a woman and the act made his cock ache with the need to sink deep into one of her helpless orifices. He lined her head up with a small television set and turned on a DVD feed to the screen. As a documentary on Doctor Joan Miller's progression from staid doctor to slut to Ponygirl progressed on the flickering screen, he had stroked blow after blow of the riding crop along the tender inside of her thighs before he shifted to blows across her ass. Joan had begun to moan in dismay under him from the instant the video started. Joseph carefully stroked the square head of folded-over leather on the end of the crop across her glistening pussy. He pulled back his arm and let a light blow of the crop distort her labia. He watched fascinated as shockwaves from the stroke moved across her tender flesh at the junction of her legs. Finally, after long minutes of slowly beating the woman, he deemed himself ready to sink his cock into her hot, wet pussy. He continued slow, measured blows across her ass as he sunk again and again into her steaming twat. Each blow caused a reflexive clenching of her inner muscles that massaged him in a way that her normally hip wrenching fuck could never match. “Joan Miller is one tight fuck!” Joseph whispered aloud to his bedmate as he threw another hard, spiraling fuck into her juicy fuckhole.

Ranch-strong hands clenched at her widespread thighs and her cunt was vigorously pulled back onto Joseph's long cock. “Both hands,” she gasped to herself, “he's using both hands to fuck now.” Still frustrated by her inability to do anything to increase her pleasure from the fuck, she tried to beg through her gag, “Please! Keep up the fucking and stop the whipping.” The words that came past the rubber ball were too unintelligible to understand. She felt the man fucking her loose one hand from her thigh and she moaned in fear of another whipping blow. Instead, her Mohawk mane was pulled strongly back, forcing her to continue watching the evil documentary about herself on the television. The other hand left her hip and grasped her hands bound tightly at the middle of her back. She cried in real fear as the man's questing fingers found her wedding ring on her numbed finger and began to tug it free. “No!” she cried in silent anguish, “my ring, … my wedding ring, … it's meant to protect me!” Unable to stop the act with her numb fingers, Joan broke down in full-blown sobbing tears as the gold band left her ring finger.

The cock driving deeply into her cunt pulled out with a wet plop, leaving Joan a weeping wreck on the bed. The combination of the tight bondage, the horrifying video that documented her fall from dominate to undeniable submissive slave, Joseph's callous treatment, and the loss of her protective ring was too much. Joan knew she was doomed. Her nostrils started to fill with mucous and her only remaining airway started to clog, stopping her lifesaving breath. Joan threw her head back in panic and tried to signal for help; the room where she had so enjoyed sex began to dim, Joan knew she was dying.

Suddenly, she was on her side with gasping breaths of air rushing into her freed mouth. Joan felt the overwhelming urge to vomit and despite her desperate need for more air, her stomach's contents roared up her esophagus and spewed across the bed's comforter. A cool cloth was laid across her brow and the snot and vomit wiped clear of her breathing passages. Dimly she heard Joseph whisper forcefully into her ear, “Do you, Joan Miller, acknowledge that I am your master?” Dazed she didn't try to answer. “Can't talk, … collar,” she told herself weakly. A blaze of pain from a cruel blow to her ass brought her attention back to Joseph. Once again he hissed, “Answer, bitch; your collar is off. Do you, Joan Miller, acknowledge Joseph Loftus as your only Master?”

“Yes, Master,” she croaked in pain. She grunted at the effort to speak and hesitated before continuing, “I, Joan Miller, acknowledge Joseph Loftus as my sole Master.”

She once again felt the soothing cloth on her brow and heard a somewhat reassuring response, “Good. Good, slut.” She realized that the cloth was a clean one as it continued the same trek down her brow, across her nose, and finally wiping her mouth and chin. She whimpered at the thought of where this might be progressing.

“Slave,” Joseph again verbally prodded his bound captive, “do you agree that our removal of your wedding ring forsakes and breaks any prior agreement or bond that you may have had with your prior owner?”

Joan froze in fear as she realized that her exact fears were coming true. “I'm doomed to this role forever,” she cried in misery. Another hard blow across her ass cheek brought her back to the question. “I'm waiting for an answer you little whore,” she heard.

“Yes!” she cried out in the only response left to her after the brutal hogtie, the whipping, the virtual rape, and now this forced interrogation. “I agree that our removal of my protective ring frees me to become your property.” She burst into loud sobs and forced out the final part of her slave vow, “You are my sole owner and I revoke any commitment I have made to anybody prior to this point.”

Joan continued her fearful sobs even as her bound wrists popped free from her tightly tied ankles. Still helplessly bound, Joan wondered at what horror would follow. She felt her wrists come apart and then her left wrist was pulled up painfully toward her collar. “It stayed,” she thought, “he's tied my arm up behind my back to my collar.” Her right wrist was gently brought forward toward her stomach and she felt Joseph lurch to his feet with her tightly held in his arms.

Naked, sweaty, and thoroughly miserable, Joan found herself thumped down on a dining room chair. Ropes spun quickly around her chest and lower legs, locking her in the chair. Joan had time to wonder at why her right arm was still free when Joseph lurchingly moved her chair close against the dining room table. Her heart sunk at the array of documents strewn across the highly polished tabletop. She now knew why her writing hand was free.

“Read this and sign,” Joseph commanded as he slid three copies of a legal form toward her.

Joan's bleary, tear-filled eyes fought to focus on the tiny font on the document. “Assignment of Unlimited Power of Attorney,” she read to herself. Numbly she glanced down the document, noting her full name and Joseph Loftus' name among the text. A faint red checkmark indicated where her signature was required at the bottom of the form. She looked up to argue and saw that Joseph was sternly holding the riding crop in his right hand. Without further resistance, she carefully signed her full name at the indicated spot on all three copies.

Fully defeated, Joan slumped down in the chair and waited for her next command. Another set of papers slid across the table to her position at the table. Joan saw that this document fully detailed her business and personal holdings. Her gut tightened as she saw that the bottom paragraphs required her signature to validate that she was assigning a half interest in everything she owned to Joseph Loftus. She took a deep breath and signed, realizing full well that the East Coast Slaver Organization had betrayed her. “Nobody else would have known of all my holdings,” she thought. A vision of her ancient and bent form struggling to pull a farm cart flashed through her head. “Oh, God! What a stupid slut I am,” she whispered.

She was actually horrified even more at the next set of papers. It was a modeling and photographic release agreement that indicated she assigned Joseph Loftus as the sole agent to sell and distribute any images of her body. Clauses specifically addressed her approval of nudity and sex in photo sessions. Her hand balked at signing the form. An explosive blow of the crop across her fat left tit galvanized her action. Sobbing again, she signed her name and once again slumped back in the chair.

A breath of warm air blew across her ear. Joseph now stood behind her and whispered, “Nod if you are you my slave?” Joan nodded.

“Are you my Ponygirl?” Joan nodded again.

“If I want, … are you my personal maid, … my houseslave, … my slut, … my fuckmeat, … my whore, …?” Joan nodded at each measured, terse question.

“Joan Miller,” Joseph spoke again, “as my newest slave, I have decided that two-thirds of your life will be spent on my ranch. For half that time you will be my slave; maid or Ponygirl, it's my choice.”

Joan listened attentively as part of her future fate was disclosed. Her heart sunk as Joseph confirmed that she was his Ponygirl slave. His cryptic comment that he would tell her later about her other duties did nothing to allay her fears about her future.

Finally, Joseph cut her ankles free, sliced off the thin ropes holding her to the chair, and jerked her to her feet by her free hand. Joan followed docilely as she was led stumbling back to the bedroom and then the shower. Numbly, she stood still as the soothing water and shampoo that she so welcomed just days before washed the grime and crud off her body. Her tied arm fell limply to her side and she sensed her lover slipping between her legs, his lips questing for her cunt. Joan was too overwhelmed to even appreciate his tongue.

Joseph stopped his cunt sucking with a sigh and wondered if he had overdone his scene with the horrified woman. He turned off the shower and yanked a towel into the shower stall. Even worried about his plan, Joseph had to appreciate her trimly muscular form and her fat bouncy breasts as the towel dried her sexy form.

Joan felt her form thrown back onto the now bare mattress on the bed that she had just been fucked upon. From somewhere, a clean sheet slipped up her form and she relaxed, belly-down, seeking refuge from the awful events of the last hour. “I never came,” she wondered. “This is the first time he's fucked me that I didn't cum.” She tried to divert her attention from sex by focusing on her never-ending predicament. Instead, the submissive part of her nature betrayed her by making her pussy itch. Her hand twitched to shift down to her sex hole. Joan willed it to stop. Instead of making things better, her cunt clenched once, … then twice, a needy warmth spreading down deep into her pussy. A loud moan escaped her lips and then she felt a set of legs spread over her back. Joseph's ass come down on hers and he drew the sheet down her back so that his strong hands could take possession of her neck, her shoulders, and her spine, massaging away her tense muscles. Joan willed herself to relax, hoping that he would return to his previous loving attention to her as a slave rather than the cruel way he acted today. Programmed to respond to his touch, Joan found herself unable to resist panting as her body rolled over and his lean body slid atop hers. Joan, realizing she was now merely a full-time sex slave, opened her legs wide and guided his throbbing cock into her dripping hole herself. “Ahhhh,” she grunted as he fell deep into her core. “Good!” she chanted, “Oh, so, … so fucking good.” This time she was able to fuck back as Joseph plunged into her again and again. She wrapped her legs around his thrusting ass to goad him to harder and deeper penetrating lunges. Her arms wrapped around his back, pulling his chest against her sensitive nipples. Joseph's hands took control of her own hands and he stretched them high over her head as his hips kept up their deep fucking motion. Joseph clasped both her wrists in one strong grip while his hand wandered away on some other task. Joan moaned in clear arousal and she muttered, “Fuck me! Beat me later, … do whatever you want, but fuck me, … now, … please!”

Joan felt her orgasm approaching and she couldn't help but warn her lover, “Cum with me!” His hands fumbled with her fingers and then they were free. She immediately clasped her hands around his back and pulled his ass toward her cunt. “Fuck, … faster now, … cum with me, … please.” Joan felt something on her finger and realized that her ring was back. Even as her orgasm was only microseconds away, she had to look at the ring. A large, rectangular-cut diamond glittered back at her and she sighed in relief, hoping for some sort of respite in her sentence. Joseph's cock started to spurt deep into her vagina just as her eyes focused on the cut of the ring. “Different!” she shouted, “the ring is different.”

Joseph's eyes locked her wary ones and he whispered, “Marry me you sweet bitch. I want your other free time spent as my wife.”

Doctor Joan Miller's eyes flickered in shock from her lover's face to the large diamond on her new wedding ring. Her life's strongest orgasm exploded from her pussy and she had time for a single scream of, “Yessss!” as the unstoppable waves of ecstasy rolled through her overloaded nerves and knocked her unconscious.

Joseph winched as he pulled his tender, and now completely spent, cock out of her sloppy cunt. He slipped out of bed, pausing only to snap his slave's ankle chain on her trim ankle and cover her form with the single clean sheet left in the cabin. He couldn't help but grin down at her form as he activated the voice collar. Joseph had agreed to control the amount of time where his slave was allowed to speak given that Marshall Thompson didn't want her pampered yet as she still owed a brief stint as fully enslaved Ponygirl before she would progress to Ponygirl Mistress and his official fiancé. Marshall had agreed that Joan's use of her voice during her conversion to slave and bride was acceptable.

Joan didn't know the details yet, but her new master, and husband to be, planned to allow her to spend one third of her time in Miami on her career as a surgeon and two thirds of her time at his New Mexico ranch. Her time there would be split between slave and Mistress. Joan would get her chance to be a Ponygirl Mistress on the same ranch where she would herself serve as a Ponygirl. If she had been conscious to voice the words, Joan Miller would have shouted her approval of how well things might turn out. She didn't hear Joseph mutter something about, “How fucking great life is.”

The four Ponygirls purchased by Joseph Loftus would soon face their own document packets, signing away everything; themselves, their rights to make decisions, their modeling careers, and more. As each realized their irrevocable status as slaves, their thoughts would be centered on how poorly their lives were turning out. Their life was not so fucking great!

--- To Be Continued ---

 

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

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