An Interest in Ponygirls

An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 14 – Getting Everything She Wanted (or Ponygirls Forever)

Joan stood on a small footstool and admired her half-nude reflection in the wide mirror over the bathroom vanity. “Amazing,” she thought with complete satisfaction. Her hand slipped down her leather-covered hip and she once again remarked to herself amazement that she could actually wear a size 2. Cattily, she looked up the torso of the reflection and admired the big, perky, C-cup breasts protruding proudly from her now slim and lithe form. She couldn't resist one hand's possessive grasp of a meaty tit and then the hard nipple that capped if off. The hand tugged outwardly from her chest, painfully dragging her tit into an elongated cone. The pain sent twinges through her nerves, making her panty-covered pussy twinge. “Nice,” she hissed aloud. Her own voice was unfamiliar after the months of forced training that she had undergone. Startled at her voice, and her new-found ability to speak, she reflexively checked her neck where she saw the most astounding part of her changed physique, her now-empty neck. Slavegirl Joan's well-worn leather training collar sat in a glass-topped jewelry display case on the vanity beside the sink. One hand swept gently across her displayed neck, as if to confirm that the ever-vigilant electronic collar that had so determined her destiny these long months was truly gone.

Other hateful objects of her recent past were nestled in the open space of velvet surrounded by the leather collar. Two crudely cut halves of a two-inch diameter, one-quarter-inch thick ring of stainless steel, that had hung heavily from her nose, were there as well as three gold rings that had been cut once and then twisted free of her hard nipples and her tongue. Joan breathed a sigh of happiness as she slipped her arms into a loose-fitting white long-sleeve cotton cowgirl shirt with red-silk decorative trim on the collar and cuffs. Happy to be clad in real clothing, Joan didn't mind a bit that Joseph had given her sexy hi-rise panties and no bra. “Besides,” she told herself happily, “my black leather vest will cover anything that might show through.” Humming in happiness, she bent over to tie her black paddock boots in place and then to buckle a set of silver spurs in place behind each ankle. A black cowboy hat and soft black leather kid gloves completed her outfit. She stepped up on the low stool once again and admired her dressed reflection. “Ohhh,” she sighed, “so perfect.”

Joan cocked her head to the side and critically examined her scalp just under the brim of the hat. The hat sat nearly upon her ears, covering much of her lightly stubbled scalp. Her Mohawk had been shampooed till her hair was silky soft and no sign remained of the waxy gel that made a Ponygirl's Mohawk stand up like a peacock's plume. “A hat is much better than a wig,” she thought with a wry grin. East coast girl Doctor Joan Miller had never worn western apparel, let alone the type hat, boots, spurs, or riding gloves that she now wore. She flipped her head to see her ponytail and grinned once again.

Content for the first time in months, Joan stepped proudly out on the wood porch of her fiancé's cabin and walked, boot heels thumping and spurs jangling, to the steps. She took a deep appreciative breath of the crisp desert air and glanced about the ranch compound, temporarily a free woman for the first time in months. “Time to go see our new Ponygirls,” she thought and turned toward the Ponygirl barn.

The scene that greeted her in the Ponygirl barn surprised even Joan, a veteran of months of unwilling service at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. Five completely naked women were lined up side-by-side, each tied with arms outstretched into the air and legs tied widespread. Five ropes from the ceiling ended in clips attached to the female livestocks' nose rings. Ungroomed, the two blonde, two black, and one red Mohawk hung limply across the shaven scalps of the bound Ponygirls. Marshall and Joseph were busy at a table facing the women. Joan walked up silently behind them and saw the men preparing five trays of small inoculation syringes as well as three extremely large syringes full of a milky liquid. A fully trained and board-certified doctor, Joan knew instantly what her tasty morning shakes were for. “The devious bastards, they're feeding us hefty doses of hormones.” Joseph glanced up, smiled a welcome to his fiancé and moved toward the blonde bimbo on the right. Marshall walked over to the nearest black-haired women and held up a smaller syringe. Joan watched the men tap the syringes with a fingertip, clearing any air bubbles by squirting some of the liquid up into the air, and swab the injection sites.

“ Marshall is giving everyone their inoculations,” Joseph explained. “The only shot routinely given here is for Tetanus. I wanted them fully up to date on everything, including Tetanus/Diphtheria, Measles/Mumps/Rubella, Yellow Fever, Small Pox, Polio, Cholera, Meningococcal, Hepatitis, Plague, and Anthrax.” While he was speaking, Marshall had deftly given the first woman most of her numerous shots laid out on her tray. “He agreed and decided to add Paula here into the lineup.”

Joan looked to the very middle of the Ponygirl lineup and saw her Ponygirl partner, Paula Laturno, standing miserably, her nose ring binding her in place and her hands cuffed behind her back; obviously unable to resist as it became her turn for an inoculation. Joan didn't respond, she simply pointed to the overly large syringe in her fiancé's hand.

Joseph had the good graces to blush and admit, “Well, dear, … this is kinda an idea I came up with.” He looked quickly over to the only other male there for support, saw that he was not going to get any help, and quickly continued, “I thought it would be delicious if two of my Ponygirls were lactating. So, …” he paused, took a deep breath, and continued, “so, I decided that the blonde, taller cunts would look best with swollen boobs and probably produce more milk. Plus, it will be nice to add a little layer of softness, baby fat, to their sculpted muscles.” He quickly looked back to the fat tit he held in his left hand and speared it with the first injection. Without looking at his silent fiancé and part-time slave, he continued with the next injection.

Unwilling to make a scene just minutes after attaining her freedom, Joan walked over and took the next syringe from the table. She strode purposefully over to the other blonde cunt, looked her square in the eyes, and grabbed a perfect tit in a bruisingly tight grasp. Having placed the implants into this woman's breasts herself, Joan knew exactly where to place the injection and she studiously pumped in the exact amount required after she heard her fiancé's quietly speak, “Ten cubic centimeters in four sites on each tit and ten more on each ass cheek. They get a total of 120 cc each time.” Joan looked up at her Ponygirl and finished with the first four injections, let loose the first tit to gently brush a tear from the Ponygirl's eye. “Shhh,” she whispered, “you'll look so good as a lactating Ponycow that I'll want to suck you dry myself.” She then grabbed the other breast and poised the needle for the first injection, “Course, we'll probably have to hook you and your sister up to a milk pumping station to get all that nice milk out of your extra fat jugs every day.” Joan quickly finished up her Sawyer sister and set her empty syringe back down on the table. She was a little surprised to see that Marshall had picked up a third syringe full of the hormones and stood beside the tear-stained face of the former Head Groom and Ponygirl Mistress, Paula Laturno.

Paula jerked in her bondage as Marshall caressingly took possession of one of her breasts. Joan was surprised at the tender, almost loving, way Marshall injected her with the horribly painful sequence of hormone shots. Joseph's hand lightly touched on her shoulder and he whispered into her ear, “Paula is crying because she keeps submitting willingly for breeding with Joseph. Once a week he sexes her, every Monday night. If she can resist him by denying herself two orgasms, then he has to leave her alone for the coming week. If she cums the second time, he dumps his sperm into her and can keep using her as a cum receptacle for the rest of that night. Then, he gets to try and force a second orgasm on her every night remaining in the week.” Joseph gently rubbed her neck with a teasing finger and added, “So far, Paula has popped off multiple times like a whore in heat, taking his sperm numerous times every single night for the last week. If she becomes pregnant, it means that she has willingly signed herself over as his property – chattel, slave, and livestock – forever. If she resists his sperm and stays free of pregnancy for three months, it means that she doesn't want to become his slut and she is a free woman again.”

Joan watched her friend get what was certainly a series of painful shots. Joseph licked her neck while his fingers delved below her vest to find her lower tummy under the leather skirt and added, “It looks like Paula is no longer strictly lesbian and she has come to crave his cock. Once she is pregnant, she will have multiple duties on the ranch; part-time lover/wife, part-time sex slave, part-time French Maid, the ranch's Ponygirl Mistress, and occasionally, a Ponygirl.”

Joseph's fingers had crept down the leather skirt along the outside of her slippery panties where he found the faint impression of the faux brand ‘0'. He teasingly circled the slightly raised circle of pubic hair and added, “She is clearly torn between what her body wants and what her female-only sexual orientation wants. In the end, … Paula mostly wants to be possessed and controlled. She'll make a fine mother of their children.” Joseph finally found her clitoral hood where he pinched either side of the clitoris and after Joan humped her cunt up at his hand to get more stimulation, added, “Joseph has already decided that if she gets pregnant, they will marry and continue the relationship as he decides for the first year of their child's life. She will have only two choices at the end of a year; take her retirement money and leave without her child, or stay in the relationship for the coming year. Each year she will have the same hard decision. And, … as a slave, she'll never be fully free of a electronic control collar and a GPS anklet.”

As the men worked on the remainder of the inoculations, Joan stood by and reflected on how similar Joseph's plan was for her future. “He's marrying me and hasn't even given me the chance to decide about pregnancy and lactation. The only difference between Paula and me is that I am fully free part of the time. I bet that our child will stay at the New Mexico ranch.” Her mind furiously studied her situation from as many possible angles as she could figure.

Later, while the men groomed the Ponygirls for the day's activities, Joan volunteered to put away the medical supplies. She gathered everything up and walked into the normally locked room where specialty tack, supplies, and a fully equipped medical section were located. Joan quickly found what she wanted. She ripped the protective foil off five packages and set all of the contents into a vest pocket. She stood for long minutes with a sixth package in her hand before she sighed, and hesitantly set it back on the shelf. The five foils and instruction sheets were safely hidden in an empty cardboard box already in the garbage. Joan quickly finished cleaning everything up, locked the door, and walked out to where the Ponygirls had been. Paula was left alone, hanging from an overhead beam; the other Ponygirls were already tacked up and gone to the arena.

Joan walked up to Paula's naked form and pressed her clad body fully up against her helpless former lover. She unlinked the nose ring and snaked a tongue deep into the livestock's mouth. Paula's faint groan of passion triggered Joan to sink a soft goatskin finger into an already juicy wet twat. Joan dug deeper at the appreciative response and renewed her tongue dueling session. “Paula still has her tongue ring,” Joan thought as she realized how nimble her own ringless tongue was in exploring the Ponygirl's mouth. Her other hand mauled the woman's breasts and ass. Joan stopped the kissing with a gasp and she leaned to Paula's ear. “I guess you can't speak because of the collar?” Paula twitched her head in a negative response. Joan's free hand now gripped the trapped woman's ponytail while her glove-covered fingers dug deeply up into Paula's pussy, already getting a slow, hip-humping response. “You know he's going to make you lactate and then he's gonna impregnate you?” Paula shook her head up and down signaling her understanding. Still holding the back of the Ponygirl's head, Paula snaked her slime-covered fingers up to her face and smeared them under her nose. “Do you like his dick creaming jism up your fertile little twat?” she asked. The Ponygirl didn't respond; only a tear or two formed at the corners of her eyes. Paula licked her tongue up the woman's neck in a long wet flickering caress. “So, little Ponyslut, I understand that you are willingly letting him pork you at night. If you keep cumming you will be overflowing with his sperm every night. He'll do the same with you that my new Master is doing with me. You'll be a pregnant, lactating slave, a maid, a Ponycow, and a Ponygirl part-time and a Ponygirl Mistress the rest of the time. I relish the predicament in which I've fallen. But, … if you don't want that option, then how come you can't keep from orgasming so much?” Paula looked at her with a miserable expression on her face and shrugged her shoulders. Joan whispered, “If you want to reconsider, I have a long-term contraceptive implant here that you can have. All you have to do is stick out your tongue and I'll know that you want it and regardless of how many times you fail to resist his overtures, you will remain pregnancy free.” She paused and reiterated her offer, “The implant will protect you for up to three years unless you remove it. This way, … you can more clearly decide your final fate. Otherwise, your own orgasms will doom you to pregnancy and slavery. Stick out your tongue!”

Paula weighed the choices in her mind. Part of her was screaming mindlessly to accept the contraceptive and attain her freedom in just less than three months. Back and forth ran the scenarios for her future. Unable to decide, she remained mute as tears streamed down her cheeks. The fingers digging into her steamy twat increased their movement against her ‘G' spot, eliciting her own furious humping that continued until she exploded in a satisfying orgasm. She felt a gentle set of wet lips kiss her cheek and a whispered, “Good luck, sweet one. I'll see you later,” tickled her ear.

Joan pulled one of the implant sets out of her vest pocket, tossed it to the barn's concrete runway and locked eyes with Paula. When Paula's tongue stayed locked in her mouth, Joan crushed the implant under her booted heel and picked up the pieces for surreptitious disposal. Paula had lost her chance at birth control protection. Her ability to control her orgasms would determine whether she becomes enslaved or not. “Obviously,” Joan whispered to herself, “the stupid slut likes the sex and is willing to gamble with her future.” She quickened her steps to catch up with the men and the two sets of Ponygirls. As she walked, she had to shudder at Paula's choice, “She's not certain what she wants and yet, … she and I always orgasm like Fourth of July fireworks when a strong man fucks us. She doesn't stand a chance.”

Everything was already set. Both teams of Joseph's new Ponygirls were tacked up, harnessed up, and ready to go, one matched set to a lightweight racing sulky. Weighing not much more than a bicycle and with oversize tires, a team of two Ponygirls could easily pull sulky and rider across the desert floor. Joseph had promised to take her on a familiarization ride to get used to the Ponygirls and the use of reins. “You already know all the commands, the feel of the reins, and the snap of the whip. Just take it easy and you'll be fine. At some point, we'll switch mounts and you can try out the other team.” He stepped onto his low-riding seat, adjusted his feet on the tiny footrests, and took the slack out of the reins. After a fast look at his bride's trim form and the exultant look of joy on her face as she popped her carriage whip over the heads of her black-haired Ponygirl team Joseph flicked his own whip lower down, popping one of the blonde Ponysluts on his team across her white ass. He waved goodbye to Marshall Thompson and the two sulkies rolled silently out of the arena and into the mid-morning Arizona sun.

Joan adjusted the unfamiliar headset, set the earpiece, and pulled the throat microphone into place. “Testing, … one, … two, … three.”

Marshall heard Joan's voice loud and clear. The fully automated pickup microphone would transmit each time anyone spoke, eliminating the need for a transmit switch. “Got it love,” everything feel alright?”

The ground rushing by so silently gave Joan the sensation of flying effortlessly at great speed across the hard Arizona desert. “What a rush,” she hollered into the onrushing wind. “What an amazing feeling!” Knowing full well that handling only two sets of the reins was far easier than a full four-Pony team, she was glad for the easy introduction into driving. She slowed her team at a wide spot in the trail and waved Joseph to pass. “What's the plan,” she called out over the radio?”

“This is a two-night, three-day event. We've started late on purpose because even though our campsite is a full twenty miles away, I wanted to push the Ponycunts a little harder than normal.” Joseph adjusted his team's long-reaching stride to an easy, mile-eating pace of seven-minute miles. “We keep this same pace all the way to camp; no stops for resting or goofing off. Marshall already has water, food, and sleeping gear at the site as well as a few surprises for our bitches.”

Joan was thrilled to be beginning her long-awaited stint as a Ponygirl Mistress. “Looks like this might be a nice life,” she spoke back into the microphone. “Joseph, you keep a steady pace and I'll drop back, make some short side turns, and then sprint back up.” Realizing what her fiancé might be thinking she quickly added, “I know, … I'll keep the pace pretty steady to keep with your plan to go the full twenty miles nonstop. But, … I do want to get a feel for the reins in something more than just a set pace.”

“You've got the right idea. Just so you know, … tomorrow will be fairly rough terrain and winding trails, twenty-five miles of it. Our strategy tomorrow will be running for an hour or so and walking for an hour, unless the trail is too rough. The last day will be fifteen miles and we'll watch them close to pick our traveling strategy that day. Altogether, … that's sixty miles in three days, … by far the longest, hardest workout you girls have seen at the ranch.”

Joan mulled over what her fiancé had just said. “Joseph, you're right about me never working out like this. But, these Ponygirls have been here at the ranch four to six weeks longer than me. I think they can do it; the trick will be giving them a good rubdown and structural inspection tonight.”

“Got it girl! OK!, we'll try and keep radio silence for awhile so we can best enjoy the drive.”

As promised, the radio remained silent as Joseph's Ponygirls slowly pulled ahead of Joan. She had to snap her whip repeatedly across their backsides to remind them that she was the Mistress and she knew how they were expected to perform. The two Heath sisters had automatically sped up to stay behind the lead blonde team. Vivid red welts on her Ponygirls' asses made Joan's pussy clench, reminded her of the sexuality of Ponygirls. “Guess I'll go into heat even as a driver,” she whispered. She squeezed her thighs together and wondered how wet her panties were. The rhythmic movement of her team's black ponytail butt plugs was completely erotic. The pressure on the girls' intestines made their ass cheeks open up and expose a raised swelling of flesh around the anal sphincters that were so tightly grasping at the narrowest part of their butt plugs. Joan forced her eyes away from the hypnotic swaying of the girls' black hair woven into an upright ponytail.

She deliberately scanned the trail ahead of her to Joseph's sulky nearly a half-mile ahead. She glanced down at the map taped on a display board beside her and noted that further on, the trail branched in a ‘Y' with a several-mile-long alternate route that climbed up a short hill before rejoining the main trail further down the valley. At the ‘Y', she carefully pulled her two Ponygirls to the right and popped the whip to slightly increase their pace as they approached the steeper hill climb.

The first two or three switchbacks were not too steep and Lisa and Lori Heath were able to keep the sulky moving smoothly behind them. However, as they started to lose their wind and their muscles began to feel like fire was consuming them, the Ponygirls' strides shrank and their pace slowed. Joan saw danger at the next switchback; the trail turned up sharply about thirty feet before the summit. Too slow a pace and the tired Ponygirls might falter or slip with the result that the sulky could drag them backwards, tumbling down the steep cut. Another, equally chilling result could be that the sulky could overturn if the Ponygirls cut the steep corner too sharply. Either way, falling or sliding down the rocky slope was not an option for Joan. She also knew that unlike the racing surreys, the low center-of-gravity sulky was not easy to dismount from in an emergency. Unable to stand upright to project her presence, Joan remained seated, grabbed the carriage whip, and cracked the heavy frayed tip inches from the Ponygirls' black Mohawks while shouting, “Hiyah! Hiyah! Pull you long-legged whores, pull! Hiyah!”

A surge of adrenaline hit Joan and she felt fully alert as her Ponygirls somehow picked up enough speed to skid her sulky's wheels through the turn with a grinding of gravel and a cloud of dust. She carefully aimed her next two vicious snaps of the whip to hit each sweating Ponygirl high on the ass. The extra motivation did it; the team slipped up over the hilltop to a small plateau overlooking the valley floor. Joan scouted the trail and saw that they only had about three hundred feet before they began the smoother descent back to the valley floor. The team had quickly climbed up over two hundred feet over the last ten minutes of steep rises and switchback turns. Satisfied with their show of strength, Joan signaled her team to slow to a walk.

Hidden from view atop the small plateau, Joan had a secret task to perform. She set the sulky's handbrake and tied off the two sets of reins. “First, water them and thank them for the fun hill climb,” Joan thought. She wet a white cotton washcloth from the storage well under her seat and sponged off each sweaty face, upper torso, and the slimy junction between their legs before she let each mount take long refreshing swallows from the water bottle. Joan kept up a constant whispering of how pleased she was with the run, … how strong and obedient the Ponymares were, … how amazing the two Ponycunts leapt up the last steep hill, … and how wet and randy the Ponysluts were from the slime dripping between their legs. Finished inspecting and watering her stock, Joan threw the cloth to the ground and set one pretty knee down atop it. From her position, she was able to inspect the pussy just inches from her face. “He's not trying to impregnate these two mares yet,” she thought to herself. “But, I'll just put a stop to that silly idea right now.” She pulled one of the sets of contraceptive implants from her vest pocket, pinched a loose fold in the extreme back of a fat cunt lip, and eased the first of two contraceptive slivers under the tough skin, just inches from an asshole. Joan buried the second contraceptive sliver in the identical spot of the opposite cunt lip. Joan did the other Ponygirl in the same manner and thought, “Well, … that'll keep these two from getting stuck with any squealing brats for the next three years. The lactation idea is OK, but we don't need to deal with newborn infants on my ranch.” She decided that it would be simple to implant the two blondes at some point during the long, three-day ride. “Yes,” she spoke happily aloud, “this is alright!”

Before leaping back in her seat and starting after Joseph, Joan remembered to feed her Ponygirls. Each got a full eight-ounce serving of icy-cold high-protein, low-fat, and low-carbohydrate vanilla drink. Tasty and filling, the drinks provided plenty of instant energy, vitamins, and protein for a stressful exercise regime while ensuring fat loss. After seeing herself in the cabin's mirror this morning, Joan Miller could swear by the effectiveness of the liquid meals.

Halfway down the drop back to the valley floor, Joan was positive she wasn't yet ready to reverse this same course. She cursed with every lurching turn where the lightweight sulky fought constantly to run away out of control and crush her own team. “I never realized how poorly the livestock do at slowing moving carts,” she hissed in anger at both her own lack of skill and the nearly worthless nature of the sulky's handbrake. As they rumbled down off the last heart-wrenching fifteen-foot drop after a tight downward switchback, Joan was as sweat-drenched and miserable as her team. “We have to practice that later on girls!” Joan shouted as gaily as she could while they began to slow to a proper distance-consuming gait.

Luckily for them all, the rigorous hill climb and the challenging descent had actually been a shortcut. As the panting team rejoined the main trail winding through the valley, Joan saw that Joseph was only a couple of hundred meters ahead. She snapped the whip overhead and shouted, “OK, girls! Just a little faster, … faster, … yes, you marvelous sluts, … hold that pace!” Content to be once again in control of her team, Joan was able to sit back and relax to fully enjoy the undulating motion of her seat on its soft leaf springs that somehow seemed to match the hypnotic movement of her Ponies' fake tails woven of their own shorn hair. Once again, Joan's eyes flicked to where the tail disappeared into their brown anal stars. She shivered at the thought of something that huge being stuffed up her ass. “And, exercising for hours like that, … eeuuww!” she observed with a scrunched up face showing her distaste. The thought made her wonder how her fiancé would react when he discovered she had railroaded his plan to make the blonde Ponycunts pregnant. “I'll have to distract him with the two blonde sets of lactating tits and hormone-loaded sexes he has to play with as well as my swelling tummy because of his sperm and my own hormone-doctored shakes. Yes, … I have those cards to play.”

As erotic thoughts of how her fiancé and Master could force lactation and pregnancy on his livestock flashed through her brain, Joan could feel her pussy clench and throb under the protective cover of her black leather skirt and wispy black silk panties. For the first time that day, Joan's free left hand snaked its way up her short leather skirt and she began to tease her pussy through her thin silk panties. “Imagine how most women would react if their man had a plan to not only make them swell up with child, but to actually milk his wife like a Ponycow.” The nonconsensual acts made her groan at the sexuality of it all, “Hmmm, yes!” Joan imagined that the few days' worth of extra hormones were already making a difference in her system because of the copious flow of feminine lubricant that had already seeped out of her tight pussy. An image of a whip whistling toward her naked ass by a husband furious with her interference almost made her lose control of the sulky. Then, without thinking the words in her brain, a tactile image formed of herself bent forward, whip-striped hips over a hitching rail, while a calloused hand shoved and twisted to get a huge knobby inflatable cock buried deep into her rectum. Joan moaned as she ‘felt' the knobby sections pop into her guts with audible plops and electric shocks through her nerves as her sphincter kept snapping down onto the thinner sections of the cock. “Eiii!” she moaned, “God, … what if he wants me to have my own tail? No, … I hope not, … eiiii, that feels so good, … so nice. Oh, Joan, you are such a slut.”

Joan finished frigging herself to a nice quiet orgasm, aided by the bouncing sulky, the erotic waving of the tails jammed into her Ponies' asses, and the visual image of herself forced to accept a monstrous inflatable cock. As she drew within fifty meters of Joseph and his blonde Ponygirls, Joan reluctantly pulled her fingers out of her sopping wet cunt and eased her team's speed just enough to stay back the fifty meters distance. A quick glance at the detailed map display board indicated that they were already well past the halfway point for the day.

The map display board was a combination of the old-fashioned and the high-tech. A detailed topographic map, with the day's route highlighted, was taped on the left of the display board under a protective layer of clear plastic. Next to the map were four digital readouts adapted from bicycling. A magnetic pickup unit / transmitter on the side of the sulky ‘counted' each rotation of a wheel by sensing the passage of a magnet mounted on a wheel spoke. The first digital display unit received that ‘count' and converted the rotations into an accurate groundspeed in miles per hour. Normally these devices had a button to switch between modes of display. Instead, another identical unit that received the same broadcast data was mounted beside the first and showed the running average speed. A third digital display indicated the actual number of minutes and seconds elapsed since the wheel started turning. Lastly, a fourth unit simply displayed the current time. Below the four digital displays were mounted a GPS unit with a color screen and a full digital mapset of the local terrain. The progress and current location of Joan's team was clearly displayed on the GPS display. Each of the two sulkies were outfitted identically. Joan knew that the training she was receiving on how to use these devices in the field was invaluable for complicated driving trials and eventing.

Almost exactly two and a half hours after they started, the two sets of nearly exhausted Ponygirls approached a campsite. Joseph used the radio to explain to Joan that Marshall had arranged for separate sleeping tents for themselves and the livestock, a large open-sided tent for cleaning and grooming the Ponygirls, and meal service from the ranch. Joan saw that a large ranch truck and trailer were also at the site alongside a dusty truck that somewhat resembled what large-animal veterinarians often use. Joan stopped her sulky beside Joseph's and set her handbrake. As she stood for the first time in several hours, Joan couldn't hold back a groan as her muscles and joints protested.

Cliff Burns strode out from under the large tent and extended his hand to Joan. He said with some conviction and sincerity, “Doctor Miller, congratulations on your graduation to Ponygirl Mistress. You certainly deserved it. It is a success story that is most remarkable.”

Joan smiled and quickly thanked him. Inside her guts had clenched up as his comments clearly confirmed what she had already surmised; she was one very lucky bitch for getting her ass out of the trap she had set for herself.

Cliff led the way to a small table with an ice chest on top of it. He looked to Joan and asked, “Beer, wine, water, or a soda?”

Joan's chapped lips and dry throat told her the proper decision was for the icy cold beer. She took the offered Corona beer, tapped bottles with the two men, and heard Cliff's toast, “To life, to hot livestock, and to a tight piece of helpless pussy; it's all here at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch!” Joan took a deep swig of the Corona beer and admitted to herself that despite his arrogant, clearly masculine toast, he was right. “It's all about power and controlling pussy,” she told herself. “I'm lucky because I like both sides of the equation, controlling sexy bitches and being controlled myself. And, … I love the physical side of this Ponygirl thing.”

The beers were quickly consumed and Cliff steered them back to business. While they were toasting, four of the swarthy Filipinos had descended upon their Ponygirls and efficiently unharnessed the women and stripped off their corsets, socks, and shoes. The women stood in the shade of the tent, tethered by their noses below a rope run high overhead between two poles.

“Joseph told you that there were some surprises in store for yourselves and the Ponygirls,” Cliff declared without asking a question. “The first is that tonight you and Joseph will learn the details of caring for your Ponystock. Joan, you've been on the receiving end of some of the basic care. However, neither of you know how to care for these Mares during a multi-day, grueling trek.” He walked up to the first sweat-drenched woman, one of Joan's team for the day. “The basic difference is that on the type event you are training for, you have to deal with a severely restricted ration of water.” He bent to pick up a bucket with about one gallon of soapy water in it and a sponge floating on the top. “This is the most water you'll ever have at the end of a twenty- to thirty-mile-day to wash all four of your Ponygirls. Too much liquid soap in the solution and you won't be able to rinse everything off with a second gallon of water.”

He set down the bucket and grabbed the black tail of his example Ponygirl. “This stupid tail is great for the arena and short shows. We left them on to graphically demonstrate to you the long-term problems of a butt plug and a tail outside of the show arena.” Cliff firmly grasped the base of the tail while Joan and Joseph looked on with interest. The pressurized air trapped inside the butt plug began to hiss out, shrinking the swollen mound under the area around Lisa's (One's) ass grommet. The plug almost fell out of the grossly distended intestine of the Ponygirl and immediately bloody sweat and feces began to drain out of the sphincter muscle. “Even with the small diameter right at her anus, the sphincter has still been stretched out enough that it needs time to regain its elasticity. Also, the blood is from the long expanded plug rubbing against her intestinal wall during the run out here. She'll be fine for this one day. Anything more, and you risk perforating her intestine. If that happens, she'll die on the trail.”

While Joan clinically felt around and inside of Lisa's abused asshole, Cliff finished removing the butt plugs of the other three Ponygirls. Joan was shocked at how big the rectum just inside her ass grommet was stretched. She turned to Cliff and asked him to pump up one of the butt plugs to show her how much it expanded. Joan's stomach turned queasy at the sight of the fully inflated seven-inch ribbed butt-plug. “I know Joseph will make one for me,” she worried, more than half aroused at the thought. “How can they walk with that inside them?” she asked herself.

Cliff returned to the bucket. “Be sure to start at the top and work down to only as low as their pussies in front and their upper ass cheeks in back. Work the soap into all four girls before you come back and start again, beginning with their assholes, to flush the filth down their legs.” He wrung part of the soapy water out of the sponge and said to Lisa, “Cunt, remember to keep your eyes closed until I say otherwise.” With that said, Cliff began to briskly clean the helpless Ponygirl's scalp and Mohawk. Silently, he grabbed another sponge, threw it into the bucket and handed it over with a, “You two will finish this up, I'll watch.”

Joan enjoyed the silent session that followed as she and her fiancé swiftly soaped and then rinsed off their stock, successfully using only the allotted two gallons of water. She was a little surprised when after Cliff combed Lisa's Mohawk and tied it off into a braided ponytail, Cliff led the woman to another tether line. Joan looked down at the filthy desert sand where Lisa had been washed, and realized why Cliff moved the Ponygirls after washing; shit and blood traces were clearly visible on the wet sand. She winched again at the level of pain her Ponygirls must have been under as they bravely finished their long desert run.

Next Cliff led them through an amazingly thorough exam of each Ponygirl, from the toes of their feet up. As a physician, Joan was surprised that a horse trainer and handler could know so much about the human anatomy. As each Ponygirl was finished with her inspection, Cliff showed them two padded massage tables where he secured the first Ponygirl with a loose chain to her nose ring and another around an ankle. Cliff then demonstrated deep muscle and joint massage techniques on the first Ponygirl. “The idea is that you have to keep your stock in the best possible shape during longer events.” He leaned his weight into a blonde Ponygirls upper thigh muscles and added, “Not only does this help remove lactic acid built up during long runs, … it also helps prevent, and in some cases to recover from, light muscle strains or injuries. Cliff massaged the next Ponygirl while keeping up a running commentary on Ponygirl care and feeding. Joan and Joseph finished up with the last two Ponygirls while Cliff critiqued their work.

Joan had been wondering where all this repeated mention of long races and eventing had come from. She had decided that it meant that she and Joseph were going to begin training their teams for a very long and grueling race. She already knew full well that the four Ponygirls Joseph had purchased were talented runners and excellent stock. With every week that passed, Lisa and Lori Heath and Anna and Becky Sawyer left more of their humanity behind as they narrowed their brain and body activity to Ponygirl pursuits. Cliff explained that it was primarily their responsibility to maintain their mounts' peak physical condition.

Cliff had a number of final comments to make about repeated long-distance running. “Feet!” he said. “Feet are the most important and least recognized part of a runner. Every night, you have to spend time massaging and cleaning their feet. Even on a long race where every pound counts against your survival, carry rubbing alcohol to dry their feet at night.” He demonstrated by picking up Anna Sawyer's (Three's) right foot and washing it with alcohol. Cliff's deft fingers checked each toenail for proper length and lastly rubbed an antifungal treatment between each toe and under the ball of every foot.

After cleaning both feet, Cliff moved up to Anna's ass and yanked her butt cheeks apart, showing her well-tanned skin to Joan and Joseph. “This is another problem. At Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, we mostly produce Show Ponies and, I have to admit, Ponygirls mostly for indoor pleasure with non-outdoorsman owners. Running these Ponygirls naked looks good in an arena, but it isn't reasonable for rough terrain and brutal desert heat and sunshine.” He cupped one of Anna's plump breasts and added, “One reason these Ponygirls are so weather hardened is they have felt the desert heat directly from the sun. But, … never doubt that the Saudi Peninsula would broil these tender morsels like calamari in a deep fryer.”

“The Saudi Peninsula !” Joan Miller wondered. “What the fuck is Joseph planning?”

Cliff opened one of many boxes stacked atop another table in the tent. “What Marshall and I recommend is something built on the tried and tested method of clothing developed over the centuries in the eastern deserts.” He held up a set of Lycra, long-legged, pastel-colored running leggings and a matching long-sleeved top. “These are the undergarments your Ponygirls should wear. The stretchy material gives easily with movement and wicks away moisture from the skin. The fit is tight enough so that no rubbing against sensitive skin occurs. The only problem with this material is that it has to be washed each night and you have to clean and fungus-treat their sex area just like their feet. This is important to prevent jungle rot that is painful if it gets into their labia.” He flexed the stretchy material of the top and demonstrated that it had a built-in breast support.

“Given the differences and similarities of your Ponygirls, you are lucky that you only have to carry two sizes in everything. The shorter black-haired bitches wear one size and your taller blonde bimbos use the other,” Cliff explained. He pulled another top and bottom set from a box. “These are what we recommend for outer wear. The fit is intentionally very loose to let air flow across the Lycra underneath, providing cooling as the sweat is evaporated away. The idea is to keep the skin cool and dry.” Cliff stuck his hand down a filmy, almost transparent sleeve. “Don't be fooled by the negligee look of this material. This is high-tech synthetic that lets air flow easily through the material while reflecting away most of the sun's direct radiation. The little energy that is absorbed into the material radiates away without touching the Lycra, keeping it safe from the warming effect of the sunlight.”

Joan held out her hand to examine the outer garments and the more familiar Lycra running material. “These make it look like the girls are escapees from a movie set harem or a bedroom,” she remarked.

Cliff smiled and replied, “Actually, a team in a matching set of these pastel colors is amazingly striking. Many Ponygirl aficionados are shocked at the look because they never really use their mares for much other than show and light, short races.” He picked up a set of running shoes from the box and added, “That's why we only use appropriate human footwear at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. If you want fancy dressage Show Ponies, you can always add rigid, stiletto-heeled boots with horseshoes under the balls of the feet. But, … don't kid yourself, that's not how the human anatomy is built for real running. You are talking about using world-class athletes to move you across more than a thousand miles of burning sand and gritty volcanic grit that eats vehicle tires for breakfast. To survive that, … you have to be smart in every fashion.” Cliff grimaced and then laughed once again when he said to Joan, “Can you imagine running this day's relatively easy twenty-five miles in heels of any sort? Fuck no!” He laughed again as he folded away the running gear.

Cliff reached into a smaller box and held up a pair of lightweight gloves much like the kid-leather gloves Joan had donned that very morning. “These are fifty-dollar kid gloves. Beginning today, you put them on your Ponygirls each morning before their workout. Most demonstration or Show Ponygirls are harnessed with arms tied back in painful sleeves to make the girls run more like horses. We also think that is bullshit in a Racing Ponygirl. The tack should properly anchor the running Ponygirl in place so she can pull her pair of drawbars. However, for maximum pull and control of the cart behind them, Ponygirls need positive control of the drawbar. We do that either by chaining the drawbar to a heavy waist belt or by chaining each wrist to the drawbar. In either case, the Ponygirl uses her hands to grip and pull on the drawbar. These gloves will protect your runners' hands while giving them more strength and control of the drawbar.” He put the gloves away and added, “You two will have to decide which method of control you demand during your marathon runs. The heavy waist belt gives you the best restraint of your livestock. On the other hand, … a chained wrist allows for a more full and natural pace. Only you two can decide this part of your program.”

Cliff stepped over to Becky Sawyer's cot and firmly grabbed her chin and a handful of her blonde Mohawk. “This is another thing that has to be changed with your race. Once the initial fancy show parade is finished, pack away the show tack and shave away this Mohawk. The whole intent of this new gear is to let your livestock have skin that can breathe naturally. Thus, you won't want to clog their pores with sunblock and lotions during the day. Like it or not, you will have to select proper headgear and sunglasses for your stock. The hat will need to be very lightweight, with a wide brim, and be comfortably tight against the scalp without cutting off blood flow. We recommend a raffia straw cowgirl hat with the wide brim steamed out flat. Like most good cowboy hats, it has a narrow chinstrap that can hold it in place.”

“Holy Shit!” Joan thought. “What the fuck is he talking about, … the Saudi Peninsula , … long races, … a thousand miles of burning sand, … world-class athletes, … fungus, … how long of a race is he thinking of taking on?” she wondered. Joan looked at her watch and realized that even accounting for the teaching nature of today's post-run activities, it would take two of them at least two full hours to accomplish the washing, grooming, massaging, and pampering session each day after long grueling hours of racing. “We'll be worn to a frazzle in just a few days,” she thought with wonder. “How can we accomplish everything we need to do?”

While she had been daydreaming about what Joseph had in mind for them, Cliff and Joseph had flipped each Ponygirl onto her left side and then tightly strapped them into place against the unyielding, drum-tight canvas of the cots. Joseph then wrapped a black bandana tightly around the head of each woman, effectively denying them the use of their eyes, and then he jammed a bright red ballgag into each unresisting mouth.

Cliff turned to Joan and smirked, “This is another one of the surprises for your new Ponygirls. Joseph Loftus, their new Owner and Master, has been so impressed with Ponygirl Heaven Ranch's training regime that he wants to mark each graduating Ponygirl as Sonoran Desert Trained.” He passed a colorful printed version of a Sonoran Saguaro cactus with the words ‘Sonoran Desert Trained,' ‘Certified Prime Ponygirl Livestock,' and ‘available for breeding' emblazoned across the drawing. Joan gasped as she realized that a green saguaro complete with thorns and blossoms was to be tattooed onto each of their flawless right hips. An unsavory looking bearded man strode into the tent and coolly appraised Joan in a manner that made her skin crawl. “I'm thankful I'm free now,” Joan thought as he ignored the four naked Ponygirls to leer at the only free woman in the tent. “What a pig he is,” Joan thought with distain.

Despite his occupation and unsanitary look, Joan was impressed with the business-like way the tattooist laid out his tool and inks before he began sketching the tattooing.

Becky Sawyer, the pretty, blonde, thirty-seven-year-old had been almost completely broken to her new life. This occurred over months of backbreaking labor and hundreds of hours of mindless exercise in a bleak and humiliating lifestyle with no personal choices of any sort. Becky accepted that her body was now alien to her, sculpted in muscle and identical to her sister's thanks to surgery. She had also been forced to accept that she was now nothing more than livestock, always collared with a punishing electronic training collar, decorated with various metal rings, and now being fattened with massive female hormones to end up a pregnant, lactating cow. Even with all this, Becky shook with fear as she contemplated attempting to escape to keep from being tattooed. The two-inch nylon straps that held her in place were industrial strength and left her now chance for escape from the tattoo needle regardless of how much she struggled.

Becky felt the first stinging prick of the vibrating needle and wrenched her head back in a clear attempt to escape. The thought of another permanent reminder of her slave status had somehow triggered her first sign of resistance since her capture and delivery to the surgeon who had modified her body and forced weeks of lesbian sex upon her. “Nooo!” she attempted to shout through her ballgag. “Please, no more!” she wanted to shout. The straps at her feet, knees, torso, and either side of her hips kept her tightly bound in place. The needle stopped momentarily and her breast exploded in agony. “Eiii!” she cried. Her ears heard her protesting, “Hoo! Hoo! Hop!” come muffled through her gag as her shouts of ‘no, no, stop' were made unrecognizable by the gigantic rubber ball tightly expanded in her mouth. Her breast was struck hard again and again until she quieted down completely except for gentle shaking sobs that periodically wracked her body. The buzzing needle returned to her hip. Becky felt helpless as the tattooing seemed to last for hours.

Over stimulated during her first day of freedom, Joan watched the first of four tattoos get well underway before she grabbed Joseph and literally dragged him back to their tent. Desperately horny from the long day of sexual stimulation that started from her long exposure to her Ponygirls' strenuous workout, followed by hours of massaging and playing with their wondrous forms, and then the empathetic feelings that coursed through her own body as the tattoo artist worked on their helpless forms, Joan was ready to fuck. Just inside her tent, she spun on Joseph, ripped at his shirt buttons in a need to caress his bare skin. “Hmmm,” she moaned in need as she raped his mouth with her tongue while her hands furiously unbuttoned her own vest and blouse. She ground her sensitive tits into her fiancé's strong pectorals and pulled his jean-covered ass tightly toward her horny slit. “Yes,” she hissed into his mouth as her leather shirt popped up over her ass on its own, leaving her skimpy panties as the only protection between her pussy and the fat knob of a cock erect under his jeans. Joan climbed up his form and set her horny cunt right on top of the protrusion in his jeans. When his big hands covered her ass and ground her mound against his cock, Joan kicked her feet about in the uncoordinated spasm of a mini-orgasm. She felt one hand left her ass, so Joan tightened her legs' grip on his hips and her arms' hold around his shoulders to remain in place, balanced on his hard dick while no longer touching the ground.

Somehow, Joseph managed to unsnap his jeans, unzip his fly, and worm his throbbing dick out of his underwear to begin a search for her tight, wet cunt. Joan felt his fingers fumbling about and thought he was trying to finger-fuck her in rapid foreplay. She knew it was his cock only when the fumbling attempted entry of her wet slit became a heavy pressure that burst through her lips with a juggernaut that felt as big as a baseball bat. “Eiiii,” she shouted, “yes! Yes! Oh fuck, … yes!” In her enthusiasm to fuck herself on his hard cock, Joan's legs slipped off his slim hips and she hung, fully impaled, cunt mound to cock mound. She then quivered in her second, and longer, orgasm.

Joseph was already sweating from his desperate attempt to get into his delicious fiancé's pussy. “A horny cunt!” Joseph whispered to his lover, “I love a horny cunt.” The words seemed to trigger another spastic, writhing, moaning orgasm from his insensate lover jerking about on his cock. The pressure was so intense, … so amazing, that he wasn't tempted to cum himself. “Gotta get more of this pussy,” he thought. “Oh, fuck! Whatta piece of ass!”

Joseph waddled toward a cot and fell forward onto the canvas bed atop his sex partner with a thud that drove him even deeper into her hot depths. Finally, able to jackhammer himself in and out, Joseph almost reluctantly pulled out of her buttery interior, wriggled his hips to stir his fat knob around her inner labia, and then drove in with all his strength. “Yes,” escaped his lips in an almost intelligible grunt. This time he pulled back a little more eagerly, feeling her tight box sucking at pulling at his cock as it withdrew inch by inch. Knowing her vagina's exact entry angle, Joseph once again drove in with every ounce of his strength. The thumping jarring of their pubic bones together elicited a set of grunts in perfect stereo. He started to feel that her flailing legs were interfering with his hard pile driving thrusts so he grabbed her ankles, drew them up, and forced them forward toward her ears. “A tight pussy,” he groaned aloud, “nothing like skewering a tight pussy!”

Joan was momentarily frustrated at the shift in position until his next hammering thrust brought a slight groan of pain as their pubic bones collided. The painful thrusts also released waves of sexual stimulation from nerves throughout her vagina, labia, clit, and her spasming asshole. The continuing stimulation became overwhelming and she exploded in a long, earth-shaking orgasm. It seemed like an hour before she became aware that her lover was still pounding into her raised and vulnerable cunt. “Ahhh, yesss,” she moaned limply as she tried to get her hips to move in her very restricted position. Finally, she gave up and relaxed, passively enjoying his rough, bone-jarring, cock-pounding sex.

This time, it was long minutes before Joan became aware of where she was. Joan came slowly back to consciousness fully content and happy. She knew her heart was beating at a normal cadence, meaning that at least ten minutes had elapsed since she lost awareness after the last orgasm. Her shoulders and knees felt oddly wrenched by her position on her back. It was awareness of something jammed into her mouth that brought her eyes jarringly open in a desperate need to find out what was happening. “Hoo,” came out muffled through her panties jammed into her mouth. Joan was blindfolded and unable to see anything. She was sure that a scarf or cloth was wrapped tightly around her head, drawing the panties deep into her mouth. “It feels like my arms and legs are pulled to the outside of the cot,” she thought. “What's going on? Is this another double-cross?”

Hours seemed to pass as Joan lay helpless on the same cot she had been so wondrously ravaged upon. She was able to determine that her shirt was buttoned over her breasts but that her leather skirt seemed to be pulled up over her hips, exposing her just-used sex. Joan could feel Joseph's thick creamy jism slowly weeping out of her thoroughly satisfied cunt lips. Occasional breezes against her wet pussy confirmed that she was fully displayed to anyone who came into the tent. “He was as eager for the sex as I was,” she thought. “Did I do something to change his plans? Has he changed his mind about marriage?” She was still debating all these issues and questions when she felt activity at the tent's entry.

“It must be someone from the ranch,” she thought worriedly. Feet shuffled around her and she decided that someone was on either side of her hips. The first touch she felt was across her pubic mound. The fingers seemed to be tracing her only remaining hair below her head, a short, black-dyed circle of pubic hair that made up her faux brand. Joan's faux brand was a circle that bespoke her Ponygirl designation of ‘Zero.' Unlike the unruly Ponygirl ‘Two', Becky Sawyer, Joan remained as still as possible despite her inner terror and uncertainty of what this development might mean.

Joan reflexively jumped as a buzzing sound filled her ears and fueled her imagination. The vibrating touch of something running across her pubic mound was the clue that a set of hair clippers was cutting across her three-inch circle of pubic hair. “They're clipping my pubes,” she thought without a clue about what it portended.

More unexplained touches and whispers followed the clipping. Joan's heart suddenly lurched as she heart a faint, high-frequency whine. “A tattoo, he's gonna tattoo me!” she thought. Then she flushed in both humiliation and arousal as she gave it another perspective, “Another mark of shame!”

Joseph would later explain to Joan that she already had the PGHR logo of Ponygirl Heaven Ranch brand on her hip. “I wanted to mark you as mine with something that would have some meaning to both of us. The desert saguaro seemed perfect to mark your time at the ranch and our first meeting place. The ‘PONYSLUT' below the cactus is an accurate description of your complex nature. You do thrive when you are a carefree slut of a Ponygirl.”

Joan would later admit that the almost three-inch high cactus centered inside her faux brand of a ‘Zero' correctly marked her. “He's right. I am a desert-trained, hot-blooded slut of a Ponygirl. Regardless of what my future roles in life are, I'll always remember this phase of my life as a bittersweet combination of the best time of my life and the worst time of my life.”

--- To Be Continued ---

 

 

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

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