BDSM Library - Midnight-Pearl

Chapter 1 – The Undergraduate

"Okay, light brown half-cast white and negress, five-feet-eight-inches tall, 120 pounds, thirty-eight double-D-cup tits, twenty-three around the waist, and thirty-eight around my bum. And, yes, you can believe that my nipples as well as my tits are really and truly that big. Two-inch diameter brown-pink aureole, since you're asking. And, no, I have never had enhancement of any sort at any time. All you see is beautiful bountiful me: me strictly only as nature generously made me. Nor would you run a mile from my mile-long legs, because my stupendous legs can run a mile faster than yours can. And, anyway, you would want me to catch you wouldn't you?!"

Strangely, most of the compliments in the emails to my website had been about my high cheekboned face, my seductive mouth with its full negress' lips and shy smile, my short shorn curly brown hair, my intelligent sparkling dark-brown eyes, or even my pretty little ears. "Prof", as I still call her, had added the heading quoted above to my Frequently Asked Questions ("FAQ") page. She wanted to spice the site up, she said. What she wrote was no more and no less than the truth. It worked too. Starting from my amateur website I was, in time, to be talent spotted and become the very highly paid glamour model I am now. But there was an intervening life-changing destiny I was to endure, and it is that that is my story.

"Prof" was Alena ******. She was to be my tutor-counsellor from the day I started university aged eighteen, till my bachelor degree graduation, aged twenty-one. By the time I was twenty-one, I would therefore have been under Prof's care for three years. By the time I was twenty-one, I had also been under Prof for three years in another way. Alena and I had been lovers of a sort almost from the very outset of my college life.

For both Alena and I, it had been love at first sight. But what a first sight I must have been for Alena. It had been "freshers' week". The "getting-to-know-you" week when the new students assemble at English universities to settle into their accommodation, find their way around campus, meet their tutors for the first rime, and say hello to their fellow new students.

No productive work was expected from the students during freshers' week, which was just as well. Most of the students were away from the restraining control of their family homes for the first time in their young lives. Dedicated drinking was expected, and that expectation not disappointed.

When Alena first came across me I had indulged in a lot of drink with my new found pals around the local town. It was three in the morning. I was staggering back alone to my room when I bumped into Alena. Alena, a professor at twenty-eight, was not so long from having been an undergraduate student herself as to have forgotten the joys of getting rolling drunk for the very first time.

For me this older tall slim ice-cool blonde English white girl, whom I was yet to meet formally and be introduced to as my personal tutor, looked knock-dead gorgeous, even in the sodium-yellow lights that dimmed the walkways of the college campus at three in the morning. I took one look at her and I entirely purposely, entirely literally, fell entirely into her arms.

Alena swears to this day that I greeted her with a very slurred, "Hello gorgeous", with breath that reeked of beer and whisky a plenty, and then kissed her, totally uninhibitedly, full on the mouth.

Both you and I will have to take Alena's word for that. I was so drunk that night I can recall as much about it now as I could the morning immediately after: absolutely nothing.

What I do recall for certain though, was that the morning after, I awoke for the first time, around 10.00, in a strange bed, and with the swinging rear view of a very pretty older blonde white girl preparing black coffee beyond the open kitchen door of what must be her apartment.

"You were talking in your sleep all night", called this girl whose name I did not yet know to be Alena.

"I've always found the musical lilt of the Welsh accent incredibly lovely. What part of Wales are you from?"

I made no answer, but as Alena came back into her bed-sitting room, I suddenly leapt out of Alena's bed with one hand cupped over my mouth the other clutching my lower belly, and a querulous look in my panicked eyes.

"Through there!" Alena laughed, as she pointed, and I ran into her bathroom to be vomit heartily, crouched over her lavatory bowl, thereby paying that morning the price for my over-indulgence in alcohol since the morning of the previous day.

The first phrase I actually recall saying to Alena is: "Please may I have a glass of water?"

I felt decidedly the worse for wear. So ill did I feel, that any marching tambourine tapping temperance tempter would have recruited me for the rest of my natural life had one been passing through Alena's bed-sitting-room at the time.

The phrase "the evil of drink" did not, for me at that moment, need to be preceded by "beware". It was too late to warn me. I had succumbed and how. And how I regretted it too. My head was fuzzy, my eyelids heavy, I was sure my eyes must be badly bloodshot, and my tongue felt like Velcro.

"You'd better drink lots of water, Emma. It is 'Emma' isn't it? You're dehydrated I wouldn't be surprised", Alena commented and enquired in the friendliest of "one-girl-to-another" tones.

It was only then that I realised I was standing in what must be this young woman's apartment, because it was definitely not my student dormitory, in a state of total, but total nudity.

Alena laughed again. "I'm sorry Emma, it was the look on your face. I had to undress you, you were in no fit state. You'd puked all down your top and jeans. I threw all your clothes, and the sheets you made a mess of when you were sick again later, in the washing machine. If it wasn't for the reward of the look on your face just then, I'd give you my bill for room service!"

"You might as well take a shower while you're dressed for it!" Alena joked with another attractive smiling laugh. "Fresh towels coming up for her ladyship right now!"

Despite my post-alcohol haze and hangover, the smile and the laugh of this lovely girl, what would she be, twenty-eight perhaps, set me smiling too, and I joined in the joke, by dropping her an exaggerated curtsy, after I had caught a huge soft warm bath towel she had thrown me.

Moments later, in Alena's bathroom, I soon had the powerful flow of hot water pummelling fresh vigour into my gorgeous soft light-brown skin.

If the world of good was ever done by the shower in the cliché, that shower did me the world of good. I hoped Alena would not mind if I "borrowed" some of her shampoo, and I gave my body the head-to-foot recharge that only hot water in strong jets at high speed can bring.

The shower cured the worst of my hangover. It was now climbing toward eleven in the morning, and I was just beginning to arrive at the freshness claimed for daisies, or do I mean dew, in an earlier part of the day.

Having read this far, you may express surprise that I would throw myself into the arms of another girl in the way I had on my first night at university.

To be perfectly honest, on that next morning, so was I surprised. My drunkenness must have loosened more than inhibitions. I certainly had no cause to believe that I was a girl for girls. I must have been so drunk that I had mistaken identity. I would have just as eagerly thrown my arms around and passionately kissed a boy wouldn't I?

I patted myself dry with Alena's wonderfully huge soft bath towel, and then wrapped my lower half in another drier smaller towel Rather than walk back into Alena's bedroom, bare chested, I wished I could also find something to cover my naked breasts. In the end, I resorted to putting her bath towel around my neck so that it hung over my more than ample bosom.

I opened the bathroom door shyly. A voice called from the kitchen, "I've put your laundered clothes on the chair beside the bed. They may still be a bit damp. Sorry they're not pressed, I'm lousy at ironing. ………Come through here when you're ready……… Can you face breakfast? Even if you can't, I've lots of fresh orange juice here and that'll do you the world of good".

As I dressed in panties, bra, my jeans and t-shirt and the cowboy boots I had worn the night before, smelling and hearing bacon on Alena's grill, I called out: "No. No thank you. No breakfast. I don't eat meat."

My laundered clothing smelt wonderfully fresh and, yes, they were a little damp.

"I know" called Alena again. "About the meat. Might have been something you said in your sleep see. If it was, it was one of the few intelligible things you said. Better than all-night TV you were though. Better for a complete insomniac like me."

I began to wonder what else I might have revealed in my sleep, and exactly where Alena had been in relation to me whilst I had slept in her bed.

Her voice, loving and pretty at the same time, became softer in the instant, as I soft-wiggle-glided into her kitchen.

"Well" she said, smiling at me, "You look spick and span but for the creases in the t-shirt, I'm….."

"…..Useless at ironing", I gently echoed from her earlier calling out to me, and we both laughed.

"Fresh orange juice: real oranges, or so it claims on the label", she prompted, pointing toward an opened carton, "Sit yourself down Emma, and make yourself at home"

"You said I said I was 'Emma' in my sleep, right?" I enquired, between sips of pleasingly sharply pallet-zinging orange juice.

"There's grapefruit if you prefer….", Alena answered to the look on my face.

"The orange is fantastic", I said, "I really am grateful….."

"You kept sleep-talking in a voice imitating someone telling someone else off, 'Emma this', and 'Emma that', so I guessed your name or someone you knew must be Emma."

"Bronwyn Emma Jones" I said, "But I prefer the Emma, and I don't know……"

"Alena" answered Alena. "If you want the whole lot, I'm Professor Alena *****. But I can't get used to the 'professor' bit. It's so stuffy. Please call me Alena, or 'Prof' if you prefer. One of last year's failing students started calling me 'Prof' behind my back. I rather like it though."

"And, I know a lot about you, not just because you're a chatterbox when you're sleeping, but because I have a file on you. In fact I have a file on fifty of you and your fellow newcomers, because I'm your counsellor: the tutor appointed to be your guide and helper throughout your university career. You're one of only three Afro-Caribbean girls on my list. Sorry to mention that. Don't get me wrong. But that picture on that file obviously had to be you now I've seen you in the flesh, if you'll pardon the expression! That's why I could be pretty sure you must be 'Bronwyn', or rather, 'Emma' see? Actually, did you know that your picture is even prettier than you are for real!?" she said in a tone meant to convey a compliment through the silly joke.

I loved the compliment, and felt a hot blush as I smiled at this delightful older girl.

Even with the quick glance to find if there was truth in her eyes when she indirectly told me I was pretty, my eyes snapped an agreeable mental photograph of this lovely blonde girl with middle parted hair swept back over her shoulders, hair that looked lovely, but not as if she often saw a professional hairdresser. Her ice-cool heart shaped intelligently pretty face, with blue-green eyes, petite nose, small chin, and pretty little mouth, were a delight to look at. What was she, five ten tall, but shapely. She could almost be a model if she were to take more time and trouble with her appearance.

"Whereabouts in Wales are you from Emma?"

We then got into a long conversation about me, and I told "Prof" about my never knowing my parents, and the orphanage, and foster parents because I had no living relatives, and my luck that someone spotted I had brains, and how I had been granted a bursary to fund my final secondary education through a private school with a very high academic reputation, and my sporting prowess, particularly where running long distance was concerned, and that, like all Welsh girls, I could sing, and had always taken the solo parts at school choir festivals.

"Your Welsh lilt is adorable" Alena smiled.

"Your dad was English and your mum from Wales?"

"I know what you want to know", I smiled, "They all do. 'Why are you coffee coloured then?' is one of the nicer ones they ask. It missed a generation. Grandda came from Jamaica. Grandda was a sailor on merchant ships, till he settled on shore in Cardiff."

There was a pause in the conversation. Then, for no apparent reason Alena said, "Nothing happened you know".

She was spot on target with that comment. It was exactly what I had wanted to hear. I wanted to hear it, but I would never have asked, and I was upset for the embarrassment for poor Alena in her having to tell me, though it was very honourable of her to do so.

"It's difficult to say that I'm going to be straight with you Emma, when the truth is that I am gay", said Alena, attempting another bad joke.

"I would hate for there to be gossip about you, but you had better beware Emma. I know some people do not like gay people. I do not want to give you a bad name. For the record, you slept alone in the bed, and I kept an eye on you from the chair. I don't sleep much, so it was no hardship. And someone who has drunk as much as you had, silly girl, needs an eye kept on them in case they choke. It's not nice to say, but some drunks lying asleep on their backs, choke to death on their own vomit……."

"Erhgh!! Thank you very, very, much for telling me that Alena!" I joked in order to make the tone of our chat lighter again.

"How about a very pretty girl like you then Emma: lots of boyfriends?" Alena asked almost as if she was resigned to the inevitable "yes".

"No, not that many…….. Well….. none really", I answered, "But I'm not………."

Alena just smiled, "And I should hope not!" she joked.

"More orange juice, or hows about a coffee".

"Only decaffeinated for me", I answered.

"One decaffeinated coffee coming up for madam!", Alena announced.

I helped Alena with the washing of the breakfast ware, and found where she kept her crockery and utensils.

"I'd better get back to my room" I said, "I've not even unpacked yet".

"Are you sure you can find your way in broad daylight?" Alena ribbed me.

"Yes thank you very much!" I responded with mock indignity.

"I'd better go then", I added.

Then we both spoke at one and the same time, "I….", we both began and then both abruptly halted in confusion.

"You go first Prof" I mock instructed, with a new found confidence in the friendship I unconsciously knew I was striking up with this girl.

Alena suddenly looked a little serious. "Emma, I had better tell you right now, that I did look over your face and your body".

I hung my head blushing. I was not sure that I wanted to hear this, and began to leave Alena's apartment in the hope of quitting it before Alena embarrassed herself, let alone me.

"I was searching all over your face and body for the label", Alena ventured, in a voice that told of an overwhelming desire not to upset me, but to get out what she wanted to say before I was escaped and her chance might be lost forever.

I confess that I was intrigued, puzzled even, and I turned toward her. I did not want to hurt this gorgeous girl by anything I said or did either. I had caught the tone in her voice, the tone that told of fear of rejection.

"'Label'?" I asked as gently as I possibly could, "What do you mean 'label'?"

"The label that would say 'made in heaven'!" Alena answered.

"Thank you" I whispered, avoiding Alena's eyes, and closing her door quietly

I then dawdled to my dormitory, pleasantly mystified and yet also very happily flattered by the compliment and, above all, surprised at the damp patch in the gusset of my panties.

………….

Back in my appointed rooms, I must have spent as long as maybe two-minutes unpacking one of the many boxes I had brought to the university from my school dormitory, before I found myself wandering back to Alena's apartment, strangely hoping and praying to find her still there.

I knocked on her door.

"Come in whoever you are!" Alena called.

"Oh, it's you Emma", she smiled, as I entered, "……….I haven't come across anything you might have forgotten….."

All the way on my way back over to Alena's, I had planned what I was going to say to her. It included thanking her for the compliment, how I was not gay, but that I was not sorry that I had kissed her, if I had indeed kissed her, and how nice, no, how pretty she was too.

Perhaps a girl who talks in her sleep is also prone to having her sub-conscious mind take over her tongue, for I can never forget nor can I ever explain why I said what came straight out of me next, as I looked Alena in her lovely blue-green eyes:

"I'm still a virgin" I said.

Alena, caught my note of seriousness and obviously sensed my arousal and my confusion that I was finding myself so passionately attracted to another girl.

"That makes you even more beautiful Emma. And believe me you are exquisitely beautiful", Alena coaxed.

"I've never ever done anything with anybody, see…" I stumbled on.

I could not believe what I was coming out with. But I had gone this far, and my subconscious seemed to be in charge of me:

"Would you like to be the first to take me to bed?", I asked shyly but surprisingly boldly.

"Well, I would have to think about that for all of less than one-billionth of a second", Alena joked.

Strange things were happening to my nipples and inside my panties as I spoke to this girl in this completely open and submissive way. I somehow felt a desire to surrender myself, almost to demean myself, the more I gave myself to her, the more aroused, sexually aroused, I seemed to become.

The look on Alena's face told me that she knew what I was experiencing and, furthermore, that she knew why and yet furthermore that she sensed a special conquest was at the end of her metaphorical fishing line.

"…..It is just that, some girls Emma….", she began, and then halted, as if her mouth was giving voice to thoughts that had shot through her brain too quickly and thus become disordered, or that needed couching in a less direct way….

"How can I put this…….." she continued…..

I hung my head assuming Alena was trying to find the kindest way to turn me down flat, and also though, and oh so strangely, feeling yet greater arousal, almost enjoyment, no, definite enjoyment at the anticipation of being turned down.

I had asked if Alena wanted to take me to bed, because I had wanted to surrender to this older girl. Yet, strangely, and completely perversely, I was now feeling as if I wanted her to turn me down, to reject me, even to eject me from her apartment.

This was not because I had changed my mind in the conventional sense. I had not suddenly realised what I had just said, and become overwhelmed by desire to withdraw it. I was not even hoping for Alena to say "no" to save me having to say I was sorry and had been stupid, or that I had not meant to say what I had said.

I had said what I meant to say: my subconscious desire had spoken truth from my gorgeous lips. Yet, though it seems idiotic in the extreme, I wanted to be turned down by Alena, because it would hurt me. The certainty I had at that moment that Alena would laugh at me and mock me and send me away dismissively, was turning me on even more.

These were new feelings to me. This girl not only attracted me to her in the way that I thought I should really only be attracted to boys, but I also, though it did not have acceptance at the forefront of my mind as of then, found that I wanted her to take charge over me.

I was only too aware of my feelings as I lightly bit my lower lip, and strained not to let go a little fart indicative of girly sexual arousal, when out of the blue, Alena shocked me with:

"Do you agree that naughty girls should be spanked Emma?"

"No!!" I gasped with astonishment, looking up at her suddenly and seeing her smile and the loving look in her eyes, a look that said she knew exactly what I needed, precisely how a beautiful girl like me should have love made to her, indeed the only way a truly beautiful girl should ever have love made to her.

Then I felt further love juice seeping into my already soaking girl-wet panties….

"Yes" I sighed with my head submissively down.

"I sometimes beat pretty girls when they don't do as they are told Emma", Alena announced to me in a quiet tone, like a whisper, or as if she did not want, or could not afford to be overheard by her neighbours, as would be entirely understandable.

"Girls as lovely as you are, are so overwhelmingly provocatively sexy. You light up the world by the delight you bring into dull life. You are heaven on earth. You turn heads, transfix eyes, and compel us to look at you in admiration and awe, filling us with overwhelming pleasure and desire. The beauty of girls like you outweighs that of any other creature or flower, or mountain, or stream, or the sky, the sea, the sun, the moon or all the stars in the heavens."

"Girls like you are life affirming. Just to catch a glimpse of your faces makes life worthwhile, and tomorrow a pleasant prospect after all. Given only conventional love, you may forget that your duty is to maintain your incredible desirability at all times at its absolute peak. You therefore need to have the fact that you are beautiful beaten into you."

"Conventional love will never ever satisfy you. You are, of course, free to leave here right now and look for conventional love. Return of your free will, and I will introduce you to the particular way that you should lead your life. You have a particular destiny Emma. You were born for it, and you have lighted upon the beginning of the pathway that will lead you to that destiny."

I looked up at Alena with total surrender in my eyes, and then cast them down again.

"I will not take you to bed Emma. You must think about what I have told you. You don't have to come back here again if you don't want to…."

"If you do, Emma, I will expect you to surrender to a very special kind of love. Come back here any time you like. I will certainly be hoping and praying you will. And Emma, please understand that just because I have said what I have just said to you, it does not mean I think any the less of you. You truly are an incredibly lovely girl. I mean that. You are truly incredibly lovely. It is just that there are two ways that love should be made to a girl as facially, physically and mentally as beautiful as you are: the tepid and the strong. You, Emma, need strong love. You deserve strong love."

My mind and my body were transfixed by this pronouncement. "Dirty talk" some would call it. I had my choices given me and I would think about them. I would in fact think about nothing else all day.

Alena and I went on to talk about clothes and shopping and where best to go for my hair. Despite the seeming evidence of her not taking overmuch care with her own appearance, Alena had recommendations for all my beauty needs and definite views as to which emporia it was the best for me to use.

Although she recommended the university gymnasium, she pointed out how crowded it was likely to get, and invited me to go swimming at a privately owned pool in the home of a very wealthy local woman.

"There is also a running track there Emma. It is very important that you build up your strength and stamina," Alena told me. Alena told me this, but I had no idea why it was supposed to be so important I have strength and stamina, in my running.

"A minimum of three miles every day" Alena almost instructed, "and you must be doing at least five-mile runs at weekends, both days. Best to do five each weekend day, so you can do four thereafter with ease" she concluded.

I looked at her quizzically. I would willing do the running she sought. I loved to run and was already well capable of greater distances.

"You have divinely beautiful legs Emma" Alena said in answer to the query on my face, and as if it explained everything.

After this, the strangest interview in my life, I returned to my own rooms. Once there, and with my door locked, I slipped out of my tight jeans and pulled my soaking wet panties down my glorious legs, scenting as I did so, the overwhelming aroma of my love musk.

I was a young girl with an adventurous spirit and powerful curiosity. Whatever it had been that Alena had been talking about I would go along with it, at least some of the way. What other evidence did I need that my desire was aflame from the talk Alena had given me, than the fact that I was forced, on my return to my own rooms, to change my girl-juice saturated panties?

The sign to Alena that I would comply with her wishes for me, would be my return to her rooms.

To hell with unpacking, I thought. I needed to think and in order to think I needed to run. Somewhere in this pile of suitcases and boxes were my trainers and running shorts. I came across the trainers, and some summer shorts, rather than the ones I sought. They would have to do. I put on my training bra, an absolute necessity for a fulsomely-breasted girl like me, and jogged out into the early October sun, my mind in a whirl of confusion and mixed messages and possibly misunderstood apparent understandings.

Outside, I did some on-the-spot chest bouncing jogging in order to warm my muscles up, and then took a gentle trot around the university grounds. It would be a means for me to learn my way around, and the wolf-whistles from the girls repairing a roof over what I realised was the gymnasium, were very pleasing.

By my return, after jogging gently for an hour, I had made up my mind.

I showered and got stuck into my unpacking with a purposeful will.

Having unpacked and distributed my belongings more or less where I would have them be, I showered again, and dressed to go over to Alena's.

I wanted this older girls admiration. I adored her compliments. I would dress, as I judged, to please her. I was always a t-shirt and jeans girl. But I had a crop-top t-shirt that was "torn-off" so as to leave my flat belly bare, and jeans, that constantly threatened to show the tops of my panties. I wanted to look as if my body was falling out of its clothing, as if I did not belong in clothing. I was in two minds whether to wear a brassiere, but decided I could not be so daring as to leave it off. Three-inch heeled booties completed my simple outfit. I was ready.

………….

I was ready. It was 5.00 in the evening I took a deep breath, fixed my money-belt at a sloping angle loose on my hips, and glided my delightfully girly-bottom-undulating-way to Alena's rooms. Once there, I knocked.

Once outside Alena's door, I knocked, but there was no response. I suddenly felt a return of all the tension I thought my afternoon jog had fully relieved. And with that tension, doubt and fear that I was being made a fool of, and the question whether I was doing the right thing. What was Alena on about when she talked about, what was it she said, a destiny, a fate, and an inevitability for me? Had she not said that it was something I had been born for? What on earth could she be talking about?

I could, of course, have walked away right then. I was a free human on the verge of starting a course in the sciences and mathematics with reasonable expectation of a good degree, according to my very supportive schoolteachers. Attending an all-girls school had helped, even if my education in love, where boys are concerned, was thus made so narrow as to be non-existent.

I could, of course, have walked away right then, but instead, I put my back against the wall of the corridor outside Alena's rooms, and slowly slid to a "resigned-to-waiting" crouch, leaning on my back against the wall, my arms outstretched, elbows on my knees, legs in a squat.

The degree to which I had made up my mind of my own free will, can be judged from the fact that I squatted there for at least forty-five minutes, with only the sound of the traffic on the main road outside the block in which Alena had her apartment, for my entertainment.

The only human company I had was another tutor I assumed, a woman of around forty-five, coming to the neighbouring apartment.

"Are you alright there sweetheart?" she asked me in the kindest of voices.

"Yes. Yes thank you", I responded on reflex.

She had already turned the key in her door. "Oh, a Welsh accent, how lovely. Have you signed on for the university choir? They're doing auditions all this week for an oratorio at Christmas. ………..Sorry, that's a silly assumption about you Welsh always being fantastic singers…."

"Yes…… Well no actually", I nearly lied. "I do sing. I love to sing", I truthfully told her.

"Would you like to wait in my place, till Alena comes, I'm dying for a coffee myself……..Oh there she is now. Lovely talking to you. Hope we'll see you at choir practice. There are Welsh boys there too!" she smiled.

As Alena approached with heavy bags of food shopping I rose slowly to standing.

Alena then exchanged greeting pleasantries with her neighbour, before turning to me.

"Emma, how nice", was all Alena greeted me with.

"Take a couple of these bags whilst I get my key, would you please" she commanded, gently.

Alena clearly assumed I had come to take up her offer to be shown a way of love that she had already made absolutely clear, unless it were just dirty talk, might include my being beaten. And indeed, my curiosity and the compelling attraction I had to Alena, had made me come back to see her entirely of my own volition.

"Are you hungry?" she enquired.

"Yes, just a little" I lied. In fact I felt famished, but was two polite to say so.

"I hoped you would come back, so I went shopping on the off-chance, and I also hoped you would stay to eat, so I have set the table", Alena said.

I glanced at the table, noting in passing that two chairs were there, two place mats, but only one of the two place mats had cutlery beside it. Alena had been what appeared to be her usual undomesticated self, I assumed, as I smiled at the thought of that fairly evident side of her personality, thereby further confirmed.

Alena and I then chatted like old friends, but still with the exploration of each other's personalities and backgrounds to the fore in our questioning and answers. I made us both coffee, whilst Alena went out of the kitchen into her bedsit lounge-dining room, with two plates holding cold meals she must have prepared some time earlier and kept fresh in her refrigerator.

"You would be as well to start your degree…….." Alena began, as we chatted, both standing in her kitchen once more. "You are quite clearly a very intelligent girl. I think you are bright enough to do the degree in perfectly reasonable expectation of high honours: a first at least. But you are going to be offered a change of life. You need to be examined on whether you are worthy of it of course. Unfortunately, you will be not be able to pursue your degree as well as take up the other future we have in mind for you."

I immediately noticed the "we".

"'We'?, I enquired.

"Oh yes said Alena. The universities are a recruiting ground for us. We do not want just beauty we want brains. A beautiful girl is just a beautiful girl. A beautiful girl with high intellect is outstandingly beautiful. The universities are the most obvious repositories in which to find the outstandingly beautiful," announced Alena.

"Have no doubt about it Emma, you are outstandingly beautiful, indeed as the good judge you will just have to take my word for it that I am, I would say that without a doubt you are outstanding even among the outstandingly beautiful. Your face is astonishingly lovely and your physique naturally superb, your bright intellect self-evident". Alena spoke this to my deep blushes entirely matter-of-factly.

"At eighteen, though I see from your file in a couple of months you'll be eighteen, you are still a girl growing into the full bloom of womanhood Emma. We must work on your strength and stamina, to build you up, whilst not in any way making you unfeminine. If there is a god, she undoubtedly made you, and who are we to spoil her perfect work?"

"Please!" I called out in a croaky whisper of embarrassment, "All these compliments"

"When you get to know me better Emma, you will learn that, as of just now and forward of now, I only deal in facts."

My nerves were tingling with my deep down excitement I knew better than to break the spell by asking what was in mind for me. I took it as read that whatever it was I would have the right of refusal. And, what's more, my panty gusset was wet with my musk once more. If they were not compliments, then these "facts" being told me were turning me on. Even the most lovely girl in the world never ceases to enjoy being told she is adorable, and I was in the world, a girl, and being told I was gorgeous.

"May I deal in facts too please?" I enquired, with the hint of humour obvious in my voice and clearly acknowledged by Alena's gentle smile.

"Of course you may young lady!" Alena pretend scolded. "What fact do you wish to raise with your tutor-counsellor?"

I looked at Alena with huge pupils all but replacing the deep-brown irises in the eyes of the deeply sexually aroused girl I was, and ventured: "I hope it is a matter of fact that you are going to kiss me".

"Well Emma!" Alena teased, "I AM surprised at you……….. What took you so long to ask?"

The tingling in my finger tips was matched by perspiration from my extreme nervousness as Alena took my pretty hands. I closed my eyes in surrender as her lips approached my face. But, in another tease, she just gently kissed only the tip my nose. Then she pulled back still holding my hands in hers.

"I half-opened my eyelids and my absorption in my sexual wantonness was clearly to be seen in my dreamy-eyed absent stare. "Please!………" I begged, longing for her real full kiss on my lips.

"Let's eat", Alena announced brightly, letting go my fingers.

I was left in the kitchen recovering my senses, even more aroused by the non-kiss, if truth be told, than if our lips had caressed.

I splashed my face with cold water and used one of Alena's always wonderfully soft and fresh-smelling towels.

I had a naturally felinely feminine gait, but my flooding hormones now seemed to have increased even my superb girlness, and my damp panties added to my perfect snake-slow-slink as I glided into Jackie's bedsitting room, my fire only slightly dampened by my dousing my face with the cold water.

Then the flame flickered again as I saw that Alena was standing waiting for me to come to her table, and she was paying honour to my femininity, by holding my chair for me, as I moved between it and the table, and moving my chair gently under me as I sat.

As I sat, I thanked her. I was of course thanking her for playing the role of the gentleman and paying me the honour that her own beauty could equally have commanded of me, were I the boy that in no possible set of physical circumstances, bar in an absolute and extremely opposite universe, could I in fact ever be.

This holding of my chair, was the first sign of the way the relationship between Alena and I was to develop. I had no objection to this: none whatsoever.

Other signs were stranger; more alien; less obvious in their founding, and, truth told, decidedly peculiar.

I was to meet with the first of these next. Sitting down before the meal Jackie had prepared, I immediately noticed, as she moved around to take her place opposite me, that I was on the side of the table that she had, in her usual forgetful way, failed to set with a knife and fork.

I began to rise from my chair to make good this shortcoming, thus saving her the trouble.

"Where are you off to?", Alena enquired quietly.

"Sorry Alena, I should have asked first, may I fetch one of your knives and a fork?"

"Sit down Emma" Alena commanded quietly.

I sat down once more, assuming that she wanted to further demonstrate her honour of my feminine charms, by being the one to fetch what had been forgotten.

"Let's eat, I'm starving, I don't know about you" Alena announced in the friendliest of girl-to-girl intonation, having made no effort to find cutlery for me.

"Am I to eat with my fingers then?" I asked with a giggle, to remind her, since she seemed to have instantly forgotten that she was to get me a knife and fork.

"No Emma. Just those lovely lips and your tongue", Alena replied sounding so serious I just knew she must be joking.

I began to rise from my seat again.

"Emma!" cried Alena, "I'm so sorry, you stay sat and I'll fix the problem." I smiled and slowly shook my head behind her back, at Alena's lovely scatterbrain sexiness, as she wandered to her kitchen.

"I had already fine-shredded it in the mixer" came Alena's louder toned voice as she called from the kitchen, among the sound of crockery rather than cutlery.

"Here they are", she called and came back to the table with two heavy pottery bowls shaped to my eyes like the bowls dogs or cats are served their meals in. To my astonishment, she then let my meal slide from the plate it was presently on, into one of these bowls, and poured some water from a jug that seemed to be only for me, into the other bowl.

"There", she announced, "That'll be easier for you. Curse me for a fool for not thinking and finding the bowls in the first place…….."

I looked at her amazed: astounded.

"Just your pretty lips and your tongue Emma. You need to learn to drink that way too."

"Why?" I asked overwhelmed by curiosity.

"Because you don't want to starve or die of thirst do you, silly girl? You'll have to have a change of diet too. Vegetarian definitely. That which is in your bowl is a mix of ingredients we'll keep a secret for now. …."

I looked at her quizzically once more.

"We are working on your beauty", she explained. "A girl as naturally beautiful as you are will keep that beauty longer if she eats strictly only what nature provides. All the ingredients of your meal are absolutely and totally organic. None has seen a factory let alone a packet or a supermarket. Even your water is fresh from the sky and not from the tap or a supermarket bottle."

"We must take you back to nature. Eat only with your lips and your tongue Emma: that is how you begin your return to nature…………"

If this was what turned Alena on, I would do it, and, anyway, I was hungry. It occurred to me to ask why she was eating a more routine salad and using a knife an fork to eat it with, but I was very hungry, and Alena did not seem to be wanting to converse fully till our hunger was somewhat more sated.

"If you finish up with any on the end your nose, I'll kiss it off!" she teased, between mouth-fulls of her own meal.

That was enough for me. I leant forward and curled my lovely pink tongue under a morsel. Thus I discovered that what was in the bowl was truly delicious. After my moments of doubt had been overcome, I set to and devoured the whole bowlful with my generously curled negress' lips and my slim pink pointy tongue and my full enthusiasm. I had been ravenous. I even lapped water from the other bowl. After eating, still avoiding use of my hands and since, unlike Alena, I had no napkin, I licked my gorgeous full negress' lips to clean them, and coincidentally moisten their beauty, watched with evident sexual arousal in Alena's stunning eyes. But, to my disappointment, there was no food caught on the tip of my nose…..and thus no kiss.

'Midnight-Pearl' (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 2 – The Pool and the Beach

"You have done wonderfully well there Emma. As you must have guessed, it was just a little test, but it won't hurt for you to have more practice eating with only your lips teeth and tongue when you dine here", Alena smiled.

"Did you like the food?" she enquired with some assurance I was going to say "yes" from the evidence of my enthusiasm for consuming it.

"It was great". I responded. "Just what were the ingredients?"

"That's a secret till I choose to tell you little lady! Alena teased.

"Have you things you want to do this evening, or would you like to meet a friend of mine: Fabrina?" Alena asked. And, without waiting for my answer, continued: "You'll love her. She's divorced, or at least she was 'married'-as-can-be to another girl, till a couple of years back. They are still in business together though. Fabrina owns a big estate with its own running track, a swimming pool and a stretch of private beach that goes on for miles."

"We'll need to fix up a fitness programme for you my lovely lady. Running some miles in the soft sand of the beach will get those glorious legs of yours in real trim. And Fabrina has a pool."

"Curious thing to have a running track with your home" I quizzed.

"Yes. I suppose it is", Alena answered absent mindedly thoughtfully. I call it a running track as if it were for athletics. I can understand why anyone would think that. When they were together, Fabrina and Gaynor used to train ponies on it. When they split up, Gaynor took that business out to Spain where the weather is a bit warmer. Fabrina would like to start again though. They've apparently come to an agreement, because the world is crying out for genuine English, or I ought to say British ponies, and Gaynor just can't meet the demand."

"Pity it's ended, I mean the ponies here", I said, "I would have just loved to have worked with them. I was stable girl once", I enthused.

"Well: I should have known you'd be a girl with a love for animals! Maybe, if Fabrina takes to you, you can join the ponies over in Spain along with Fabrina and I during the Christmas vacation. Would you like that?"

"Like it? I'd love it!" I cried out.

"Then shall we go and meet Fabrina tonight?" Alena asked as if she really needed to know my answer as I leapt from my chair and hugged her.

"You are a passionate little girl aren't you?" Alena laughed.

"We Welsh are pure passion, head to toe!" I joked.

Just as Alena was grabbing her car keys though, her mobile rang.

"Fabrina! Hi!"

"It's Fabrina", Alena silently mouthed to me as if I had not heard her phone greeting.

"Hi" Alena repeated into her phone, "We, me and a girl you'd love to meet, Emma, we were just on our way over………. Saturday? What's happening till Saturday?….."

"Looks like it's off" Alena breathed in a stage whisper, with her hand ineffectively over the microphone of her mobile.

"Okay. Saturday then. Yes I'm sure Emma would love to come. She's adorable; you'll just love her. A beauty with brains. She's a bay. Hey, Emma loves a swim, can she use your pool. No! It's not her asking she wouldn't be that presumptuous, she's too sweet and polite. It's me that's asking. Emma is a fitness fanatic see……… Look, you're obviously in a hurry to fly out to Spain. Glad you're getting together again. If you're back on Friday….. I'll ring you to check about Saturday this coming Friday. And don't forget Emma wants to use your pool! Emma is a student. Eighteen; well nearly. No years not hands: seventeen-hands or thereabouts. She is exquisitely beautiful and built like the Venus de Milo, you'll just adore her, you won't be able to help it…..Oh she's gone!"

As with so many mobile phone conversations, not least those where one party is in a chauffeuse driven car, Alena and long-time friend Fabrina had been cut off. Alena switched off her mobile.

"She won't ring back now. They were near the airport already. As you'll gather, Fabrina is away till Saturday, so you'll just have to do your fitness stuff around here." Alena concluded, as if I were bound to agree, which indeed I did.

"What was that bit about my being 'a bay' and 'seventeen-hands'?" I asked, with considerable curiosity.

Alena laughed, and then laughed again and the realisation of the silliness to an onhearer of the words she had used in her chat with Fabrina. "Some people think in euros, some in dollars, Fabrina was practically born in a stable, talk to her in feet and inches and she thinks you're talking gobbledegook! A hand is four inches and the height measure for such as ponies, but you'd know that having been a stable girl…." Alena explained. "And you are a bay, after a fashion, with your lovely brown body and your dark-brown, nearly black hair. I suppose I should have said negress, but I wanted Fabrina to get a clear mental picture of you, you adorable girl, and Fabrina, believe me, only eats, drinks, sleeps, and thinks ponies!" she smiled.

Alena moved to her kitchen and called out to me from there: "She's off to Spain as you'll have gathered. Gaynor and her are hoping to get back together…….Well, more than hoping really. Sounds great news. I love them both dearly!"

Alena then reappeared with a cup of coffee for herself.

"You must only drink water from now on" she told me: no beverages and no alcohol"

After last night I don't ever want alcohol again I thought to myself, so I willingly humoured Alena by accepting the jug of ice-cold water and the empty glass she brought me.

"You must start your weekday three-mile runs tomorrow Emma" Alena all but ordered.

"Why?" I asked: "What is all this about Alena"

"Do you trust me Emma?"

I blushed.

"I don't know", I answered.

"Please trust me to know what is best for you young lady" Alena joked. "Early to bed, early to rise, three-mile runs every morning and five at the weekends, unless we can get you in at Fabrina's place for the pool and her private beach. And only water to drink. Promise?"

"Only if you kiss me" I challenged.

There was a long silent pause, with Alena looking at me in clear admiration of my beauty.

Then Alena said emotionally, "I cannot kiss you in that way Emma".

"You are a beautiful young virgin and one day you'll find someone or some way worthy to surrender yourself to. Keep yourself pure my darling. Just go along with my wishes about the training and not drinking anything but water. Add to that, keeping away from boys and other girls. It's only till the end of Christmas term. Now Fabrina and Gaynor are back together, I'm sure we can make Spain at Christmas for certain. So you only need to do basic fitness here and we can share the winter sun in northern Spain over winter!"

I felt and must have looked very downcast.

"Cheer up you!" Alena teased. "I didn't say we couldn't hold hands did I?"

I cheered up instantly. The thought of holding hands with this compellingly lovely older woman tuned me on incredibly. We sat in her lounge together with my pretty left hand in her right, and the gusset of yet another fresh pair of panties soaking up the droplets evidencing my surrender.

"I wish I hadn't told you I was a virgin now" I teased.

"I'm so glad you did", Alena responded in a loving tone, "It makes you very special as well as very beautiful……….. You don't need to tell me if you don't want to, but are you saying you still have your hymen? I mean, your hymen is still intact? You do know what I mean don't you?"

"Well if you must know Miss Nosey Parker!" I responded with mock superiority, making Alena laugh

"You are? I mean, it is, isn't it?" Alena asked again, seemingly almost anxiously.

"Yes" I said "I'm intact. There are no half-measures with us Welsh girls", I joked again, to hide my embarrassment.

Alena turned to me, lifted my left hand in both of hers, turned it so the white palm faced her and kissed my palm with gentle adoration. "Sweetheart, that is so very wonderful. For you to be completely untouched is so incredibly erotic!"

"Well, I'm glad it pleases someone", I mocked humorously.

"You silly darling girl. You should hold your head up with pride that you are so pure."

"But what use is it to me, if you won't even kiss me?" I challenged. "It's not because I'm half-black is it?"

Alena suddenly seized both my hands and looked at me until my wondering doubting troubled eyes were firmly fixed on hers.

"Emma, you are the most wonderful advertisement for the mixing of the races I have ever beheld. The loveliest girls in the world are the loveliest girls in the world because they are the colour they are, whatever colour they are, and to mix two of the most beautiful colours to arrive at the likes of you……..well, I wish it would happen a million times more often!" Alena whispered passionately.

"Oh, so only a million times more then is it?" I joked, and Alena squeezed my hand gently, laughing at my mock protest.

Then standing up from her seat next to me, she announced, "It's about time you went to your bed now young lady. Come on. I'll see you home. You have unpacked?"

"Yes" I answered, "But can't I stay here?"

"No sweetheart, no" .

"Did you locate the running track here at the university?"

"Yes, I took a jog earlier…." I answered.

"Good. Then I'd guess it must be three or four circuits of the track for you tomorrow, in order to keep those stupendous legs of yours as sexy as they are!" Alena instructed.

"I'll make a deal with you my lovely lady. If you do your three miles every day this week up to and including Friday, and if you still want me to by then, on Friday night, I'll give you a kiss!"

I instantly hugged Alena as we stood in readiness for me to reluctantly leave.

………….

Every morning for the rest of that week, I religiously ran my three miles. I found it easy. I was used to running and my lungs were attuned to the steady pounding of my trainers round and around the track. I found it so relieving and relaxing too. For me not to have run would have been the more tiring and taxing option. Running was, for me, as natural as walking talking and breathing. I was no Olympic athlete, and had no wish to compete, but I felt I could not live without my daily run.

Every night that week, after college lectures, I went to Alena's home, and ate one of her delicious meals with my lips and tongue only. This was weird. There is no other word for it. It pleased Alena though to let me learn the skill. By the third night, she had me eating with just my lips and tongue, standing up. She told me that, henceforth, I must always eat at her place standing up and lowering my head into the bowl to lick up my food, and I drank that way too.

I know you'll think it kinky, but I rather got to enjoy this: it was a challenge and I loved to master challenges. There was also the funny side to it: like when her neighbour rang the bell, and Alena had to hide my bowls and give me a glass to drink from but fast!

Then too, there was another odd thing Alena began to do. When she was pleased with me: when I had done something well, she would take my hand and kiss it, which I adored, but she would also gently stroke my nose.

She would just gently rest the part of her bent forefinger between the first and second knuckles, at the top of my nose, between my eyebrows, and stoke my nose downwards and do it several times. Truth told I found it soothing and very sexy. Sometimes it would make me want to sneeze, and I would shake my head for a little. Alena would wait for me to settle again and stroke my nose over and over, sensuously once more.

The way she would talk to me when she was stroking my nose was also a turn on for me. It was baby talk: "Dares a gwood wikkle gwirl" she would coo over and over as she stroked my nose. It sounds so silly written down, but believe me it was so soothing and calming.

Friday evening came and the kiss I had been promised. What a lie that turned out to be! Alena just kissed my forehead and giggled at my sigh of disappointment, before taking me in her arms, hugging me, and telling me once more that I was adorable.

It was on the Saturday morning at the end of the first week that this biography takes up with another strange event.

I arrived at Alena's flat at 7.00, by arrangement, only to meet her coming out already. At her insistence I was dressed only in my tracksuit and trainers, very unglamorous I can tell you! To be wearing no bra and panties also felt really weird.

Alena smiled lovingly at me, then took my right hand in both hers, lifted it to her pretty lips and kissed my palm. I just so loved it when she did that.

"Stamina, training for you this morning my little lovely" she announced gaily.

Of course I was wondering what on earth all this was leading to. But I did not ask. I was in love: love means trust. Alena was taking me where she wanted me to go. By now, I trusted Alena implicitly. The more I was with Alena; the more I trusted and loved her, even after only a week. We Welsh girls are that passionate! Believe me it's true!!

We drove out through the pouring rain to meet her friend Fabrina, who was back now from Spain. Fabrina lived five-miles and more away from the university in an old mansion near some cliffs with an entirely private all-sand beach below. And Fabrina's home well, "massive" is not a big enough word. And all her wealth was from training and selling ponies, if I understood aright what Alena told me! They must have been very special ponies, I thought to myself.

Fabrina herself was about fifty, much older than Alena. She was black and she was beautiful. There was also something about her that the word "strictness" does not entirely convey. I didn't think she could ever be cruel, but she had, an aura of authority. She seemed warm and friendly, but with me at least, though she praised my beauty fulsomely and genuinely, she seemed distant, as if she did not consider me quite to be an equal: almost as if I were of a different species you might almost say.

We had barely arrived and introduced ourselves one to the other, when Alena enquired of me: "Do you trust me Emma?".

"Of course I do!", I answered in surprise.

"Then undress for us. Leave your trainers on but let Fabrina look at you in your full natural exquisite beauty".

This was so embarrassing. I would do anything for Alena by now though, so I, blushing all the while, unzipped my tracksuit top. Without removing my top though, I next undid the drawstring around my tracksuit bottoms and lowered these before stepping out of them, and then, only after that, removed my top.

"Turn for us, so we can admire you fully, Emma, you are perfection my love, believe me" Alena asked and assured.

Alena had only to ask and of course I would do what she asked me to do. But then, upsettingly for me, the two women began to talk about my body as if I were not there or was stone deaf or, and it seems horrible to think it, again as if I were some kind of animal and not a girl.

"The udders are superlative and entirely natural" said Alena to Fabrina. "Just look at the rump: big strong and firm. And the hind legs: have you ever seen such long wonderfully powerful but still stunningly shapely hind legs before?"

"She's perfect" Fabrina responded. "Such a gorgeous face. And she is yet to have her heaven's gate breached?"

"Sorry about this", Alena apologised to my hanging-headed near-tearful blushes.

"Yes, that's right. She's wonderfully bright and very fit, she just needs to build her stamina," Alena continued to Fabrina.

"Oh please: this is very embarrassing!", I sighed. "Please tell me what you two are talking about…."

"I'll tell you exactly what it is about" said Alena. "Fabrina, among other skills, is a glamour photographer, and we, or rather she, would love you to pose for her camera. If you agree, we'd put a website together. You have a heavenliness that it is your duty to share with the world, Emma".

"You mean you want to take dirty pictures of me?" I enquired with a hint of upset in my voice.

"No. Never ever would that be so" Alena responded with a hint of upset for me in her voice. "Nothing would be published that did not show your exquisite loveliness at its best, and, above all, nothing that you had not approved beforehand. Look Emma, you love to swim. We'll set you up in the pool, and after you've had your exercise, Fabrina can show you the kind of photographs she does, and then it is entirely up to you. Okay?"

"Okay, I'll think about it if I may." I answered with a smiling laugh at this reassurance.

"Good" said Fabrina, speaking at length for the first time. "I'm glad you said you'll consider it. And, don't forget, little lady, that the earnings for a beautiful girl like you can be the far side of fantastic. The only reservation is that the camera always lies. You look gorgeous in real life, but what we will have to do, is find if the camera loves you. You can see what I mean later if you wish to. Alena won't mind me showing you pictures I took of her. It just didn't work. Alena is stunning when she troubles to make herself look lovely, but it just didn't come through with her. The camera could not capture her. It just happens sometimes".

"Now, the swimming pool is out the back" Alena told me.

"I've no costume" I observed.

"We're all girls together and nobody can see the pool, though it is in the open", Alena coaxed.

This concluded, in just my trainers, I followed Alena and Fabrina out into the heavy rain to the pool, the first sight of which nearly made me giggle, as indeed I would have if it had not been rude to do so.

My imagination had pictured an Olympic sized ocean of a pool with high diving boards. But this was no more than a hole in the ground almost. It was maybe eight feet by six feet, and, as I approached, I could see the water would be about to the depth of my chin as I stood in it.

I say: "as I stood in it", but it looked to me more a case of "if I stood in it". It appeared to be a complete waste of time. I was also already getting chilled as the rain soaked my short-cropped curly hair and trickled down my girl-smooth delightfully delicious bare brown skin, with sexy occasional droplets dripping off my extraordinarily huge eye-compelling nipple aureole.

I looked up to see that both women were clearly enjoying the erotic compulsiveness of the sight of a naked girl with the streams of heaven's cascade tumbling in tributaries turning to rivers head-to-ankles down her flawless soft brown skin: nature's natural oils dividing and sub-dividing the streamlets that followed the heavenly girl-curvature of her perfect charms, leaving bright droplets that bediamoned her: heaven's jewels awarded to confirm her girl-perfection: my girl-perfection.

Fabrina broke the spell by pulling back a cover to reveal a waist-high lever and a wheel atop a broad shiny metal pipe, that dived into the ground, presumably to pour water into the pool, and then seemed to come out the other side of the pool, round in a circle, through some kind of pump.

"I don't mean to be rude, but it's a very small. You see, I'm a good swimmer and …."

"You're not being rude Emma" said Alena, "You're puzzled and I don't blame you one bit. This is a training pool. You don't swim in it as such; you run in it".

"How's that then?" I asked.

"Well, Miss curious" Alena teased, "Down at the bottom is a rolling-road, it's quite safe even though it is electrically powered and under water. You run on the rolling road whilst in the water of course. Running under water is at least twice as hard as running on land, so it adds to the strain and builds up your legs and your stamina, whilst the water is also a cushion against strain and injury. The water flows too, making you run against the flow of the tide all the time. You need some weights on your pretty ankles to compensate for not being on land and so that your body is not just buoyed up…. They do this to train ponies", Alena explained.

I shook my pretty head and the raindrops with which my short dark curly hair was totally bejewelled flew in a light-catching rainbow-inducing halo.

"Sorry about the weather Emma, but you must get used to the open air…." said Fabrina.

"Must I? Why?" I asked, deeply puzzled.

"That was a statement not an instruction Emma" Alena intervened, with a smile.

"Fabrina knows you do a lot of open-air running…"

"Well" I said, I can't be wetter in the pool than stood here!"

"That's my Emma!" Alena cooed, "Fabrina will put your weights on, and you can exercise for an hour. Later, we'll have you running on the beach, that will be great for building up your lovely rear legs too."

"What do you mean 'rear legs', that's at least twice I've heard that from you ladies. I only have two legs. I'm a girl remember?" I challenged.

Alena laughed perhaps a little too amusedly: "You must think us silly Emma, and I don't blame you one bit. Pony talk again. Fabrina thinks in no other terms and when I'm with her, and remember we've worked together for a long time, I get into the same bad habit. Sorry. Yes indeed, you are a girl!"

Fabrina had knelt to put individual heavy bands around each of my ankles, bands loaded with lead. I was obviously to keep my trainers on, which concerned me, but the older women assured me they would provide brand new ones and keep these present ones, once wet, for my pool training.

I lowered myself down the steps into the cold pool, my huge natural firm soft breasts erotically buoyed up, as I went down with the weights till my head was only just above the water if I kept my chin high up, neck bent back. Either side of me were two rails I could grasp with my lovely hands down by my side, as if I were a soldier standing at attention.

I answered that I was ready, when Fabrina asked and, after she had pressed a button to start it going, I began to move my legs to run on the spot under water to keep the rolling road from pulling my feet from under me.

I found it challenging. It was not dissimilar from running on the open road but, because of the resistance of the water, it was as hard to lift my lovely legs at the beginning of this underwater run, as it would normally be at the end of an open-air run, when I had tired my legs out.

"I'm going to open the sluice, turn on the pump, and get the water flowing now. That will increase the difficulty for you Emma", Fabrina announced. "Are you okay?"

"Fine thanks!" I called from my mouth, which was only just out of the water as I jogged along. I seemed to be running on the moving road at the base of the pool, as if I were in the film scene where the lovers meet on the station and run to each other's arms in slow motion. It was very challenging to my strength.

As the water began to flow toward me with the pump working I called up: "This isn't easy. I can see why it would build my legs and my lungs"

"You'll have the loveliest hind quarters that could be wished for, when you've done some days of this and the running in the sand on the beach. They are both great for building wonderful rear legs, and staying power. They do it with ponies for the same reasons", Alena called down from her squatting position beside the pool.

"Was the pool for training ponies then?" I called up, already a little breathless from my continuing physical efforts.

"Yes it was. I suppose you could also say that it still is too" Alena answered.

"You're at half-speed. Will you be okay if Fabrina and I leave you for a while? We are getting soaked in this rain. You're alright in the rain my lovely, being naked. If you need anything, just call out. We're sure to hear you." Alena instructed as she rose to go indoors for a while.

"I'm fine", I answered trotting briskly in the constant onrushing tide pumped into the pool through the broad pipe I had noted.

Running in that pool was harder work than I had imagined. An hour of such exercise would be like a half-marathon, I thought. But I loved exercise and was determined to master this challenge.

……………

It was an hour-and-a-quarter later that Alena and Fabrina came to turn the machine off. I was so relieved. I had never been more exhausted in my young life. I had been absolutely determined not to call for help, even though I knew I was reaching almost beyond my limits at the hour interval. My legs shook like rubber-jelly as I climbed up the ladder out of the pool.

Alena held out a full-length white towelling robe, and I nearly fell into it. It was wonderful to be in that warm robe and in Alena's arms. As Fabrina took off my ankle weights and saturated trainers, Alena kissed my forehead: "You little angel! You have done perfectly!"

I leaned against Alena as I tried to walk on my incredibly aching and shaking legs: legs that would hardly move anymore.

"See what I meant about the need for stamina, Emma?

I nodded. It was all I could do; I was so exceedingly weary.

"Fabrina and I have been talking about what is best for you. We want you to run at least three miles on the beach this afternoon"

"Oh must I, I'm worn out?" I sighed.

"You must. Also, we want you to stay here with us all the rest of this weekend and indeed the next couple of months. A pool run for an hour each morning starting tomorrow, and a beach run of three miles minimum, working up to five miles every afternoon. By the end of the two months we'll have so much pent up strength in your hind legs… I mean you legs….that you'll feel like a kangaroo!" Alena coaxed me.

I looked at Alena with big sleepy eyes.

"Do this for me, you adorable sweetheart" Alena coaxed. "When you run on the beach you can go naked too."

"No. Please, I can't…" I protested mildly, so mildly it was more a 'yes' than a 'no' to the proposal.

"You'll have your trainers on!" Alena quipped.

"The beach is entirely private. Nobody, but nobody will see you bar Fabrina and me. And, the very good reason for you running around nude as nature intended, is that Fabrina will be photographing you for your website, and that's when the money will start to roll in for you, you incredibly lovely girl".

"I'll look so silly" I protested quietly and tiredly.

"You'll look wonderful and wonderfully erotic" Alena assured me.

We had walked to what was a bedroom. I now stood on still unsteady legs, dressed only in the towelling bathrobe. Alena pulled back the duvet on a king-sized double bed: a bed I longed to just fall onto, into, and into sleep forever.

"The shower is in there", she indicated: "Shower and rest sweetheart. Let's see, it's coming up to 11.00. Let's call it two o' clock this afternoon for your first run on the training sands".

I was so tired I made no comment, but merely took my still wobbling legs into the shower. Was my love for Alena worth two solid months of this? Then I smiled to myself. Of course it was. And what about missing lectures? Oh hang lectures; college could wait. I was going to be a rich glamour model wasn't I?

…………….

To drag myself out of that warm wonderful bed for the afternoon run that first day was almost torture. Bleary-eyed and still with aching legs from the morning trot in the training pool, I donned new dry trainers and, otherwise as naked as nature, glided my feline leggy way out to the beach.

Once there, in what was now warm sunshine after the morning rain, I woke myself up with a steady jog. It was, as predicted, very much harder running in soft sand than on a hard running track. And so it was intended it should be. The training in the pool and on the soft sand of the beach was to put me under greater strain and thereby increase the power and indeed the staying-power in my lovely legs and my lungs.

Fabrina was, as had been planned with my consent, photographing me as I ran to and fro past her. But how she could expect a sweaty girl to look her glamorous best in the pictures she was taking I just could not understand.

I found this run quite a strain. I had thought I was fit, but the extra effort I needed to trot in the soft shifting sand tested my lungpower such that I was gasping for breath after the second mile, and only by sheer willpower was I able to drive myself into running the third.

There was another discomfort too. Running naked might sound like great fun but, believe me, it is no fun for a girl with a big chest. Nature had endowed me with a perfect thirty-eight inch double-D-cup breasts. And a girl with big natural breasts has them slap her hard and often as she trots.

I had tried running with my breasts bare beneath a t-shirt before now. That had resulted in very sore nipples. Sore nipples were not going to be the problem running, bar my trainers of course, totally nude, but the slapping of my breasts on my chest was very uncomfortable.

The slapping was uncomfortable because it was unpleasant. But the fact it was unpleasant and uncomfortable was also surprisingly sexy. As I ran I found my mind becoming obsessed with the bouncing flouncing flicking flowing frolic of my breasts as they danced upwards at each stamp downwards of my feet.

Indeed, I began to run with my arms held down by my side in order to give my beautiful breasts freedom to dance and prance as it pleased them to dance and prance before me. And I was all too aware, as the dampness in my minx was leaving me in no doubt, how very sexy my free-floating and flowing chest was both to me and all onlookers, including the video camera Fabrina was now pointing at me.

All thought of complaining that I would never run in future save in my sports' bra disappeared with the coming-on of the moisture in my minx. And when at long last my run was over I felt such a pleasure tingling in my mounds and my minx that I had the hardest job imaginable to hide from Alena and Fabrina, that I had been and still was aroused, sexually aroused, by running naked.

If to run in the sand on the afternoon of the first day after a morning in the training pool was hard work, so much more so was it to face the same routine the next day and the next. But, by the end of a fortnight I was finding it no strain at all. By the end of three weeks by body could not have done without these demands upon its wonderful structure.

I stayed at Fabrina's home throughout this time, being driven to and from there by Alena who took me thereby also to and from my studies at the university. I was up each morning at six o' clock for the pool, and on the sands at five in the afternoon, under floodlights as the daylight grew shorter in the English autumn.

My runs in the sand were regularly four and five miles by the end of the second month and my pool runs were long since with the water flow at full and nearly overpowering flow. I felt supremely fit and yet, at the same time, became more and more skittish with my nerves on the ragged edge, such that Alena would have to calm me by stroking my nose gently and cooing to me.

Of course, being no fool, I knew that all this fitness training was for a purpose and that that purpose was something additional to ensuring I looked good in the pictures that were now on my website. But I was totally ignorant and innocent of the purpose that was in mind for me.

I had heard yet more talk of my wonderful "hind legs" and my breasts being referred to as "udders" or "teats", but I had put this down to what Alena had told me about Fabrina being obsessed by ponies, or to some kind of "naughty talk" that turned on these two women and, come to that, me also.

It was coming close to Christmas and the trip to Spain I had had dangled before me as a promised gift if I adhered to my training. I had done all that had been asked of me. I was assured the trip to Spain for Christmas was on. I was going to make that journey, but not in the way I had imagined.

'Midnight-Pearl' (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 3 – The Journey

The strangest turn of events in my young life was what I was next to encounter.

I was resting after a very strenuous session in the training pool. I was just too tired to sleep. I was too tired to sleep because of the hyper-state of tension and alertness my mind was exercised into, despite the weariness in my young body. Despite my physical tiredness my mind was as awake as if I had overdosed on caffeine. As I lay awake resting on my bed one late afternoon in even later November, I listened to one side, the only side I could hear, of the strangest telephone conversation I had heard in my life. The voice I could overhear was undoubtedly Fabrina's. The voice I could not hear was, I soon worked out, pretty certainly that of Gaynor, her business partner and one-time lover whom I understood to be in Spain.

"Tell Melinda Ryan I have exactly what her daughter wants for her birthday."

"Yes."

"Prime quality."

"Human name is Emma."

"Yes 'Emma'."

"What's that?"

"You're breaking up….. damned mobile phones! …."

"She wants us to choose the name?"

"That's fine……"

"Black mane …."

"Yes it's the genuine colour."

"Lovely coat – light-brown."

"Combine the black mane and the brown coat, and we are talking a genuine bay here.

As I recall, young Miss Ryan particularly asked for a bay."

"Yes, of course…..From the teeth, I'd say eighteen or nineteen"

"Excellent physical condition"

"Kept in training. Perfect muscle tone."

"Height? Oh easily seventeen-hands unshod".

"Yes, I know that's tall, but she's seventeen-hands at least: she'll be higher when she's hoofed of course."

"Longest rear legs you ever saw with superbly strong hams"

"Rump firm as a rock"

"She'll be a strong one, well capable of hard work and endurance…"

"Lovely forelegs, not that she'll need them of course"

"And up front you are not going to believe, must be 37 or 38."

"Yes. Okay I'd go for 37D or double-D. Whatever. They are beauties…superb udders. Perfect teats with massive aureoles too."

"No. Absolutely not. They are totally natural. No enhancements, no tattoos, and no piercings either."

"No, I'm pretty sure she's never been covered. It's for certain sure at least that she hasn't dropped any foals."

"Melinda knows the price. We'll film and sell the DVDs of course for the extra. Bound to make a profit on this one believe me"

"Tell Melinda her daughter will think it's her next thousand birthdays rolled into one when she sees this babe"

"Okay?"

"No: she doesn't know yet".

Although I admit I was naïf at eighteen, I thought I realised that this conversation had been about me; or at least that it pretty certainly was. But I was to fall immediately asleep in my exhaustion and wonder on waking two hours later, whether I had just dreamt it. It seemed at my next half-waking that all the talk about ponies from the two older women had been distorted within my half-slumbering mind and made play of, as minds are wont to when dreams are screened in the mental cinema. In sum I had been dreaming, and dreaming the conversation not least.

I was allowed to sleep all the rest of that afternoon and till the early hours of the next day. And, such was the accumulated physical tiredness from the constant additional fitness training I had willingly subjected myself to over months since my arrival at the university; that I needed that much sleep to overcome extreme exhaustion, the extreme exhaustion a youthful body still growing to full womanly maturity and thus till lacking staying power.

My world was to change that next morning. My world was to change completely.

I awoke in a blaze of light, no, of lights, no, of spotlights, to find both Alena and Fabrina in my bedroom looking at me, as I lay naked within my cosy bed.

It was only as I blinked myself awake to see that it was but half-past-five on the clock, that I opened my eyes wide enough to realise that both Alena and Fabrina were dressed alike in black boots with four-inch stiletto heels, brown jodhpurs, and red-and-brown chequered shirts.

But what horrified me was what my eyes most immediately caught: both women had riding crops, and Fabrina carried a long pole with some kind of metal hoop band worked by a lever attached to it, rather like a shepherd's crook with a metal hoop lasso at its end.

"Don't let us have to hurt you sweetheart" coaxed Alena "You're ready for Spain now my love. Whether you like it or not your going to Spain to be broken-in. You my lovely Welsh angel are perfect raw material".

I had know idea what on earth Alena was talking about and, although I felt any amount of fear running through me, I was about to be brave enough to challenge the two women to go away and leave me alone, when any chance for me to talk was stopped in an instant, by Fabrina using the crook to grab me around my neck as I lay in the bed propped up in my surprise awakening from the power of the blinding lights.

Propped up on my elbows as I was, by opening the lasso-end wide, and dropping it over my head, and then pulling the lever to close the choker at the end of the crook around me, Fabrina force-guided me to rise to my knees on the bed and thereafter step out of it onto the carpeted floor of the bedroom.

"I've got her safe and sound", Fabrina assured Alena, "Get her tacked out, the truck will be here at seven".

Fabrina loosened the crook only slightly for fear she was choking me, but kept it tight enough to stop me speaking clearly if I tried to talk at all, and certainly tight enough to control me and keep me standing obediently.

If I had slept long there was no doubt that, after all these sudden happenings, I was now as wide-awake as I had ever been in my young life. And yet the proceedings that followed seemed, like the telephone call I had heard the half of, to be unreal and dreamlike in the extreme.

I tried in vain to fight off the choker-crook, wrestling its pole with my hands to try and twist it out of Fabrina's grip to absolutely no avail. Even as I fought now to try and kick Fabrina, she merely tightened the hold of the band around my neck and I was defeated.

But I was not going to give up that easily. Although my eyes were almost starting from my head, so tight was the crook's hoop on my neck, I lashed out with my pretty feet, high kicking to try and disable Fabrina with a foot in her crutch or anywhere I might catch her, anywhere painful enough to get her to let me free.

They had trained my legs. They had built up my stamina. With my long strong shapely legs I would kick out and did in the ever dawning realisation that what had started out seeming like a nightmare dream was rapidly becoming 'daymare' real.

Intelligent though I have always been considered to be, when one is in the deep depth of shock and fear that I was experiencing at the hands of the two women who had so suddenly become my captors, a bright mind telling you that you have no chance and might just as well surrender to their will is not listened to, and I was perspiring heavily as I fought and fought with tears of frustration coursing down my lovely face. Eventually as was inevitable, my wrists tired and I staggered and fell to my knees for the fifth helpless hopeless time.

As I was made to stand again, it was as if Alena had been awaiting my obvious acceptance that my defeat was inevitable, since it was at my letting go of the pole of the crook to try and think of some new way to fight my tormentors off, that she grabbed my right wrist taking it behind me. Standing aside in case I kicked backwards, she manacled my wrist with a black leather band that had a short chain running to another black leather band, that she next folded my arm forearm to my upper arm, so she could pass round my upper arm, just below my armpit, over the bicep and tricep.

Because it involved straps and buckles being tightened and engaged around both my right wrist and my upper right arm whilst I continued to fight and resist, Alena only managed to effect this without being able to tighten the straps fully. She hoped she would tighten the straps afterwards, when I had been further calmed.

My right arm had been strapped up doubled and helpless, but all that succeeded in doing, with the recovery of my determination and adrenalin-fuelled fear-enhanced strength after the previous defeat of my escape bid, was to see me return fully to the fight and, though it hurt my neck to turn, I now tried my very best to keep three-hundred-and-sixty-degree guard from any further approaches to bind me, by threatening a kick to anyone who came within range of my lovely long lithe leggy deterrents.

They had caused me to work on the strength and staying power of my legs and here was the first cause I had found to be truly grateful for it, as it had enhanced my ability and agility and duration in the fight.

"She's a real wild, one and some!" Fabrina exclaimed. "We're going to have our work cut out to break this one in, that's for sure!"

These words I took as a sign that I might yet win my freedom with a chance taken, if it arose, for a good kick from my superbly honed legs, to take one of these women out. I was a gentle girl by nature, but such was my ire and terror at that moment, I would have broken Alena or Fabrina's leg if I could have aimed a kick, or broken a foot if I could have got near enough to stamp down on one.

Then, taken off guard by my fleeting and, on reflection, ridiculous thought that I had any chance of winning, Fabrina used the crook to tighten the grip around my throat even more and thereafter force me once more down onto my knees.

"You'd better bind her hind legs", Fabrina advised breathlessly, "I don't think I can control her with the crook alone. They're best broken-in from the completely wild state, but this one is really something for fighting of her tacking out."

I tried so very hard to rise up from my kneeling stance, grasping the crook rod with my only remaining free hand, but it was hopeless and Alena quickly wrapped a restraining strap around my ankles before grabbing and twisting painfully behind me, my threshing left arm.

Alena showed no mercy as she twisted my arm up my back till my shoulder hurt horribly and I chokingly croaked out in my pain.

Knowing she thus had me beaten, Alena cuffed my left arm in the same manner as my right, and then made sure of the tightness of the bonds already holding my right arm also helplessly tied doubled.

I was now sufficiently secured, both women agreed with an exchange of nods, to let me stand and even to have the choker around my neck loosened a little.

"Please…please don't hurt me…!!" I pleaded in my now obvious defeat.

"Nobody will hurt you sweetheart, as long as you learn to obey", Alena coaxed.

"What's going on!? Why are you treating me like this!!? I begged.

"You will find out when you find out. You must learn to stop asking questions. It is no longer your place to ask questions." Alena instructed me in quiet and gently friendly tone. And, as if to emphasise the point Fabrina, at a nod from Alena, tightened the band around my neck till my tongue almost stood out of my mouth and until with my eyes I begged to be freed and promised my silence.

My arms were bent at the elbows doubled so that my pretty hands dangled down helplessly. I had very effectively lost the use of my hands to fight my tormentors off. For some reason my hands and arms were not seen as any more than visual decorative appendages in whatever they were preparing me for: and believe me I had no idea as yet of the horror they had in store.

The instruction that I was to be silent and the confirmation that I had no right to ask questions, pointed my fevered imagination in the direction of some form of prostitution.

I was young, I was nubile, and much significance had been seen in my confirmation that at only-just-eighteen I remained still a fully intact virgin. Furthermore, my former friends, these older women who had turned on me this way, were forcing me against my will. It therefore took no Einstein to conclude I was intended for something horrible. I was convinced that they were tying me up to take me to a brothel. All that talk of pony training in Spain was code. I was headed for the tourist brothels and my intact virginity would no doubt assure a very high price for me.

This was vile. This was the twenty-first century and girls were still being forced into prostitution. So often the trick was on the young women from poorer countries who were misled into handing over all their wealth and to borrow even more to pay their way to promised employment in richer lands; employment that never materialised because it never really existed. They were then forced into selling their bodies because they had heavy debt, no work, no way home, and faced starvation otherwise.

Given that I was from one of the wealthier lands these poor girls were seduced to, I could not be tricked into paying an extortionate fare to escape poverty as the foreign girls could be: I experienced no poverty. To force me into selling myself, I would have to be physically abducted.

I was convinced that that was what was going on that morning. I was being tied up so that I could be shipped abroad. Perhaps there was even a premium on girls from the first world. I could imagine that to be able to say that I was no poverty stricken eastern European or far eastern girl, but a first world schoolgirl, might well add a dimension to my marketability and enable me to be sold for a higher price still.

I remained of this conviction as my mind whirred, trying over and over to work out how I could escape this sudden unexpected and truly horrendous turn of events. A girl simply does not expect to go up to an English university only to find herself being abducted into the brothels of Europe by one of her lecturers. It is the stuff of erotic fiction, not of the reality I was clearly facing.

Fabrina had used the crook that was still around my neck to guide me toward sitting on the corner edge of the bed I had so recently occupied so snugly warmly and comfortingly. I was made to shuffle because of the strap around my legs to stop me kicking. I sat now with my graceful legs held helpless and with a deep depression beginning to overwhelm me.

Alena now placed two of the strangest looking objects on the floor near my feet and my lovely face creased prettily at the brow as I puzzle-studied them. Each of what awaited me was a wooden clog. These wooden clogs, for that is all I can describe them as, were circular with a flat base and with slightly tapering sides, making them rise like cones, but cones that were cut off before they reached anything approaching a pinnacle.

They looked as if they were seven or so inches in circumference, as they rested on the carpet. Their sloping sides rose six inches, and the cut-off tops to which their sides gently sloped, were six inches in circumference or thereabouts. Integrally attached to and leading into human-foot-wide slots in the tops of both clogs, were black leather bellows-like devices. These lined stiff-leather openings looked like chutes.

To all appearances the leather of the chutes had some kind of core, perhaps of steel, to ensure their rigidity. The sides of the chutes were of pleated bellowed leather. The chutes ran almost vertically into the foot-width holes within the tops of the clogs, but curved back slightly. The lower half of the chutes looked if anything like a shoehorn, and was longer than its upper. The lower half of the bellows-like-chute also curved up and ended in a broad strap that I easily deduced was to fasten around the wearer's ankle. The length of the chute that formed top-half of the bellows, also had a strap, which like the ankle strap was presently open, unbuckled.

I took all this in within milliseconds of pretty faced furrowed browed fascinated examination of what was clearly about to become my footwear. The mental summation my pictorial memory library immediately associated these articles of footwear with, was hooves. They looked for all the world like horses hooves.

At the forefront of my mind, I immediately dismissed this association as being totally ridiculous. But in my subconscious mind, I was recalling all the talk there had been of "ponies" and "hind legs" and "pony training".

Then I realised what they were. I actually admitted to myself that I knew what they were. The thoughts of my subconscious mind and the associations it rapidly made with all I had heard in smatterings in the lead-up to this moment, nudged aside the doubts in the forefront of my thinking. These clogs were undoubtedly hooves. These clogs were unquestionably hooves. These clogs were indeed hooves! I was going to be fitted with hooves!!

My eyes closed in horror and fear as I realised the extent to which I was about to be humiliated. As Alena readied my right foot for its hoof, I emitted a little girly fart of fear.

Alena put the toes of my right foot in the hoof-clog, and I became aware that my toes were not going forwards in the recess made for them in the hoof, as they would in even the highest of high-heeled shoes, but being taken more than straight down vertically, even slightly back from vertical, into some kind of soft springy sheath for my big-toe.

Indeed my toes were going into individual cushioned sheaths as if into a foot glove. I could not understand this. I had, so far, not uttered a word, but now nearly forgot myself, beginning to give voice to the question in my mind, before recollecting that I had no rights anymore. No rights at all. Were I to speak what would they do to me? I knew from the harsh treatment I had already experienced from the use of the crook that still held me around my neck, that I would most likely be punished. I recalled that both women had crops. I caught myself in time.

The toes of my dainty right foot were in the glove-like recess within the clog hoof leaving just my heel out of the clog within the chute-like bellows, and Alena was tightening the strap on the hoof's leather upper, which was thus squeezed tightly over my foot by the closing and buckling of the bellow's strap. She then buckled my ankle by means of the strap at the turned-up end of the longer lower-half of the bellows chute, to hold the clog, indeed the hoof, firmly on my foot.

Alena then busied herself with padlocks to hold the ankle strap and thus my hoof-clog irremovably in place. She then fitted equally carefully and equally securely with a finishing padlock, my left hoof. Then Alena unbuckled and took from my now supremely arched and superbly curvy legs, the strap that had been used to stop me kicking out.

"Stand her up", barked Alena, as she rose from padlocking my left hoof to me.

I uttered a girly gasp as I was effectively instructed to stand by the use of the crook that still grasped my lovely neck. I rose to my full five-feet-eight-inches - seventeen-hands - and now a whole hand and more beyond, as I found myself with the terrible strain of standing on the very tips of my bare toes within the unmerciful hooves: and hooves, I had no further doubt whatsoever, were what I now wore!

I cried out with the shock, "Oh no, please……..no, please……!"

But I was ignored as the women's eyes drank in the incredible beauty of my superbly strong legs. Forced onto tiptoe in permanently stretched heaven high, my calves muscularly stretched strong, my knees locked back and deep dimpled, my stupendous thighs muscularly passionately powerful, my buttock cheeks dimpled deeply concave, as a conspicuous compelling consequence of my being tip-top-tiptoed.

Whistles of amazement at my erotic beauty echoed around the room as all eyes switched from my wonderfully fully stretched legs, to my free swinging and swaying enormous bare breasts and back and forth between these and at my divinely dimpled derriere and my captivatingly curvaceous legs once more.

My lovely face with my deep dark-brown eyes was contorted with fear, but then a strange feeling hit me between my stupendous thighs. My erotic bondage was not only sexually exciting to my captors: it was arousing me more than I had ever been aroused in my sweet young life. I was being made helpless and my enforced surrender to my captors frightened but yet sexually excited me in equal measure.

It was incredibly difficult to stand in this way, on the very tips of my big toes, with my arms tied helpless, wrists chain-linked to upper arms, and my pretty hands thus dangling useless, but I knew that I must, and somehow I suddenly wanted to take this like a girl.

The strain on my legs was from my being unused to having them stretched so high on constant tiptoe. Now that they were, it felt wonderful. It felt sexy, very, very, sexy. And my bondage was not over yet. My bondage was not over yet by any manner of means.

Here I was now standing hoofed: the beautiful eighteen-year-old girl beginning to disappear, a stunningly gorgeous erotically bondaged ponygirl beginning to take her place.

"Fit the saddle-band", Fabrina insisted as she still held me, albeit now more loosely, at the end of her crook.

"Saddle-band"? What on earth was this to be? What in goodness' name were they going to do to me next?

I watched fascinated as Alena took up a black leather corset-like belt from the floor, where further straps and other strange paraphernalia were scattered. This corset-belt, as I noted by turning my curly-haired head the little I could and my dark-deep-brown eyes the rest of the way to study it, had three very strong straps with reinforced eyeholes and equally strong looking buckles to receive the belts.

It was perhaps nine or ten-inches deep. It also had two very strong shining steel rings very securely fitted at the bottom at what would be the front and back of the saddle-band when it was in place around my waist where it was obviously intended to and going to go, and other lesser rings around at intervals. I could not imagine what the rings could be for, the big rings in particular.

The saddle-band was put around my waist with the straps only engaged on their first eyelets at the back of me, and yet it was already tight.

But it was not really tight yet.

Alena now pulled each of the straps in turn to tighten it. Each strap was tightened a notch in its answering buckle in turn. Alena took the middle strap. And I swayed and staggered on my tiptoed legs and my huge udders swung wildly, as she pulled each of these straps, tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and tighter.

Each in turn, Alena pulled the individual straps down one notch at a time, in turn, grunting with the effort of strength from her, its increasing difficulty demanded.

And my 23-inch waist was being squeezed down; and down; and down; and down; and yet further down.

I was being reshaped. I was being forcibly reshaped. My natural shape was superb to anyone's eyes, but I was being forcibly reshaped. I was being wasped. I was being inexplicably inextricably inexorably squeezed till I would have the waistline of a wasp.

I could hardly believe what they were doing. For the last two holes of each strap I had to be held from falling, such was the force needed to tighten the saddle-band to the final eyeholes and thus such was the need for me to be braced. As Alena did this, she was quite exhausted and clearly perspiring in the heat of the bedroom and the spotlights.

And so I finally stood with the saddle-band fitted. I stood with my massive udders swaying. I stood with my divine legs sky-highed. I stood with my lovely slim girl's waist forcibly squeezed down from its natural delectable twenty-three inches to an incredible fifteen-inches. I was wasped. I was forcibly wasped. My trunk and my dimpled buttocks were above and below the waist of a wasp – the fifteen-inch waist of a properly wasped girl.

It felt wonderful to be so enslaved. I was wasped, and my rib cage was lifted giving even more prominence to my huge breasts as they swung and swayed freely and uncontrollably, even as I merely breathed.

I was wasped and, from here-on-in, as I walked my lower body would swing and sway uncontrollable to a degree that was even more emphatically confirmative of my being a girl.

Because of my wasping, when I moved my bum would be forced to wiggle and swing as if I were a rattlesnake. I was wasped to fifteen-inches and thereby extremely emphatically super-girlised.

"Let's fit her tail", Alena mused out loud.

What followed was my most uncomfortable experience so far.

I was shown my tail and I realised that beyond a shadow of a doubt I was, for whatever reason being made to look like a human horse. This was obviously some kind of kinky perversion that Fabrina, Alena and, presumably, Gaynor out in Spain, shared. I was being made to look like a pony. I had no choice but to go along with this. I was still gripped by my neck. I was also gripped by the fascination of horror at what was being done to me. I was also still further gripped by the sexual arousal I undoubtedly felt at being made so super-feminine.

I was being transformed into a human pony. Every pony has a tail but I could not help the look of amazement in my nut-brown eyes as the length of the tail was shown and I was made to note that it matched my head hair for its jet-black coal-black midnight-black wonderful colour.

"Get it up her bum" barked Fabrina, whose arms were tiring as she gripped the crook to hold me in case I began to struggle again.

As the tail was brought up behind me I knew where it was going to go and I had already noted the dildo with its knobbed head like a penis, and how it was bent for some reason, where the hair of the tail came out of it.

I gasped audibly as the dildo was slowly inserted into my unlubricated anus. It hurt. It also gave me an overpowering desire to defecate.

I could not protest this torture. I had no rights. I was clearly now an animal. Animals only have the rights humans are prepared to grant them. No rights were granted me. I must take whatever they chose to do to me. I was to be made into a pony. Ponies have no rights.

At the base of the dildo was a ring that was pushed beyond my sphincter so as to prevent my natural muscular motions ejecting the dildo. And the tail was in place. My tail was in place. I could not see it, but the bend in the dildo was included so that my tail was lifted up and out rather than hanging straight down from my penetrated bottom.

I had a tail and it flowed upwards from the dildo and then curved downwards dangling two full feet downwards and swinging as my bottom swayed. I was animalised the more. My body still fought to force it out of my anus, but I had a tail. I was a true pony.

I had a tail for the first time in my eighteen earthly years. I was become a human pony. I was wasped and I had a tail, and it would swish and sway with every super-emphasised super-feminine swing and sway of my deep dimpled buttocks caused and emphasised by my waist's wasping.

And my ponygirl bondage was not done even yet.

If I had found the insertion of my tail uncomfortable, it was nothing to the humiliation of what I was about to experience.

"Bridle", ordered Fabrina, who seemed to be in total charge of my bondage.

Alena duly produced my head harness. It was made in black leather to match my waspie saddle-band. I could see it included a mouth bit and blinkers and a band that would go around my forehead I assumed.

It was part of my humiliation that that forehead band be shown to me. It was held so I could see it. It was deliberately held so that I could see it. It was part of my initial breaking-in I now realise, even though I did not take that point in at the time, to be shown it.

The headband I was being shown, the black leather band that would be across my forehead when my bridle was fitted had a white flash across it, and on that flash in crimson letters I read my fate, for the flash on the band bore a name.

The band for my forehead bore a name in livid scarlet. A name: not my human name. I was suddenly very clearly no longer Emma.

The flash showed what was undoubtedly my pony name.

That cruel almost luminously bright band with its livid crimson-red letters labelled me for all the world to see that this girl was henceforth to be known as 'Midnight-Pearl', and only ever to be known as 'Midnight-Pearl'.

I was about to become fully and finally a pony.

I was about to become fully and finally a ponygirl.

I was about to become fully and finally the ponygirl 'Midnight-Pearl'.

To complete my tack, I must wear my mouth bit. I had, of course, from proceedings so far, expected to be fitted with a bit. Indeed, I had imagined some kind of straight rod over my tongue and at the back of my teeth; but that was not so.

The bit that was brought to me had two straight round profile steel bars! I momentarily wondered why this should be. Then it dawned on me. I realised what was to happen. I was to have my tongue trapped between the two bars. I was to have my tongue imprisoned!

I closed my eyes in horror as this demeaning implement was put in my mouth. But I made no resistance as I was forced to lower myself from my full nineteen-hands, and open my mouth. I lowered my gorgeous brown eyes submissively as I stuck out my pretty pink tongue as far as I could, and had the two round-profile slim rigid bars of the hard steel bit slid over my poor tongue and to the back of my mouth between my back teeth.

My tongue was not squeezed, but when this bit was tied hard back in my mouth, I had my lovely mouth forcibly held permanently agape, and my pretty pink tongue helplessly imprisoned. It was an act of shear cruelty. It was a deliberate act of shear cruelty. It had its horrible purpose. It would ensure I was totally, but totally, unable to talk anymore.

Not to be able to talk would be a cruel blow for any human, particularly a girl; for a compulsive talker such as I was, this was indeed a carefully calculated and fully intentional cruelty.

My tongue being satisfactorily through the two bars of the cruel bit, the hideous bit was tied at the back of my neck by means of leather straps with eyelets and answering buckle.

The end of my tongue flicked helplessly and lewdly within my agape mouth, as the straps with side blinkers were put to the side of my face and the headband shouting out in luminous-crimson that my name was now 'Midnight-Pearl' was taken behind my dainty little ears and buckled at the back of my head among my dark-brown near-black curly negress' hair.

I had noticed, despite my distress at having my tongue imprisoned, that the bit extended wide of my mouth clear of my face on either side.

My mouth was now forced wide agape with my tongue sticking out obscenely, but the bit went beyond my face cheeks either side and ended in a vertical round rigid hoop at either end. As with the as yet unemployed rings in my saddle-band, I again wondered what purpose these hoops or rings in my bit could serve, or if they were merely decoration.

My neck had been released for the first time in fully half-an-hour and more of my being fitted with my pony-tackle bondage. The crook had been released. Both my torturers now walked around to inspect that all my bondage was properly in place and fully secure. They also undoubtedly walked around me as much to drink-in the deep humiliation I was enduring at their hands, as to enjoy the erotic radiance of my torsioned tensioned tethered and tormented body.

I was now become horribly frightened as I noted that Alena and Fabrina had in their hands held at the ready, the crops with which they were armed. They had done this in case I was about to show more fight. I had never been hit, even once, in all my eighteen years. I could not even begin to imagine what it would be like to be hit by the cruel weapons they carried so nonchalantly, and I feared they might be used on me on a whim even without me giving cause.

Alena and Fabrina stood looking sexily devastatingly pretty, with their horse-whips' wrist-bands in place. They had their whips at the ready to use on me as they walked around me to carry out a full and thorough inspection of 'Midnight-Pearl'.

I looked at the women with their cruel whips and realised how terribly alone and at their mercy I was. I could see nothing of Alena or Fabrina as they walked past the sides of me. My blinkers meant I could only see forward and down in front of me.

As I stood my arms tied up helplessly uselessly, my legs skyscrapered on permanent big-toe-tiptoe, my waist wasped at fifteen-inches, and my tongue imprisoned, I felt terribly alone. My arms ached from their folded-double stance. My superbly arched legs threatened to cramp. My rectum still wanted to eject the hideously humiliating tail that was fixed high hard and, where I was concerned, immovably into my bottom.

I was alone vulnerable and frightened. Very frightened. I had never in my conscious life before been at the mercy, totally and helplessly at the mercy, of anybody and everybody who chose to use or abuse me.

I was no longer free. My bonds imprisoned me as certainly as if I were behind locked bars. Even if I could beg for mercy, I would only be laughed at. My will was no longer my own, and I could not beg for mercy with my tongue so cruelly held fast.

My choices were zero. I was wholly and utterly subject to the will of others, be they people I knew or complete strangers to whom I might be handed over.

My will and my choice were totally non-existent. From now on I was wholly dependent, wholly at the mercy, wholly under the control, wholly at the whim, wholly subject to the will, wholly required to obey absolutely immediately and unquestioningly whatever others, whoever the others might be, chose to make me do.

And I could be beaten. I was totally subject to the constraints of my bonds, but I could quite clearly and obviously also be beaten. Were I to demonstrate any resistance, or reluctance, or insufficient effort to comply with the commands I was given, I could be beaten.

My fear showed in the flicking side-to-side of my gorgeous dark-brown eyes. I became nervous and skittish. I began to shift on my lovely long legs as I turned around as if looking for some way to escape.

Then I saw the two women now back in front of me ready their riding-crops and I was very, very, frightened, becoming all the more skittish as a consequence.

But Alena was the equal of the occasion, she quickly clipped a lead-rein on one of the two hoops at the ends of my mouth bit, and held it tight whilst stroking my nose, and cooing gently and demeaningly to me:

"Dware, dware, dwently now, dwently. Twum on now, twum on Middy-Widdy-Pwerl. There's a good wickle pwoney. Middy-Widdy-Pwerl is a gwood wickle pwoney. Middy-Widdy-Pwerl doesn't weally want to wun away. There's a gwood wickle pwoney. A gwood wickle pwoney. Middy-Widdy-Pwerl is a bootiful wickle pwoney and wants to be a gwood pwoney doesn't she? Middy-Widdy-Pwerl is so pwitty-witty. Such a pwitty-witty wickle pwoney. Middy-Widdy-Pwerl is a gwood wickle pwoney. Dware now. That's bwetter. What a silly-willy wickle pwoney we were den. What a pwitty pwoney, what a pwitty pwoney.…….."

As I listened to and, to my shock and horror, actually became sexually aroused despite myself with this cruel insult to my human intelligence and the relationship it bore to my total helpless bondage, I calmed down, fearing that if I did not, I might be beaten.

Alena kept hold of the lead-rein she had fitted to my mouth bit, and Fabrina fitted another to the other ring in case I had to be physically restrained. Tears trickled down my cheeks as they took turns to gently stroke downwards on my nose and coo soothingly. My humiliation seemed to be complete.

I was now, after fully an hour, at long last fully in the bonds I must wear most of, at all times. I was now, after fully an hour, no longer a human being. I was now, after fully an hour, no longer Emma Jones. I was now, after fully an hour, fully and finally 'Midnight-Pearl', I was now, after fully an hour, fully and finally 'Midnight-Pearl' an unbroken wild wilful ponygirl.

Now Alena confirmed my new status in the world, by giving me the strictest of orders for my future: "You are no longer Emma, you are now and forever "Midnight-Pearl the ponygirl. You have become one of a sub-human species bereft of all rights. You are lower in the world than an animal. You have become an item of goods. You can be treated as anyone pleases. There need never be any concern shown for your feelings: Ponygirls do not have feelings."

I gasped with horror and, I cannot deny, with an increase in my sexual arousal. My absolute humiliation was arousing me. My cognac was moistening my lower lips. This was so perverse. This was so unnatural. It was terrible to me that I was betraying myself so openly, so animally. My nipples visibly pulsed. My clitoris throbbed. I was a girl and I was showing my girlness in my nipples, and it was not going unnoticed by these two beautiful strong women, my captors, my tormentors, my torturers.

Giving a knowing smile acknowledging that both women knew my sexually aroused state, Alena continued my demeaning instructions: "You must do whatever you are made to do. You will never be asked. You will always be commanded. You must always do exactly as you are ordered. There need be no reservation about punishing any misbehaviour. Pain is all a ponygirl understands. A ponygirl must be controlled and bound and beaten to temper and control it, otherwise it is useless."

I gasped again as my girlness caused my cognac to dribble and my nipples to peak.

"The only worth a ponygirl has is to release a horse, a useful animal, for a better purpose. Accordingly, ponygirls, on sufferance, are put to work pulling ploughs in the fields, towing sawn logs in timber yards, pulling the carts bearing the milk-churns to the dairy, as dray horses for the brewery, and towing personal transport."

Alena, announced all this purposely in my hearing, to drive home my helplessness and humiliate me absolutely utterly.

And I was helpless. I was bound so tightly that I was totally helpless and that meant too that I was bound so tightly and in such a provocative way that I was also absolutely utterly humiliated by my bondage.

"You are wild by nature Midnight-Pearl. You need to be thoroughly fully tamed and broken. You have Welsh blood in you Midnight-Pearl. Welsh fire that must run through your veins. But we can douse that fire and turn it to worthwhile use. You, my lovely angel, are going to the pony-farm for breaking-in and training."

It was at this point that I became aware that all that had happened to me that morning had been filmed and that Alena's little speech had been recorded.

The camera crews switched off. The lights were dismantled. I had been so blinded by the spotlights that I had not realised that a bevy of pretty girls were recording my tacking-out from behind those very spotlights. I had been so terrified at being woken in my sleep to be taken and tacked-out, that I had not had time to think out what the lights could possibly be for.

I was down to one lead-rein attached to my mouth bit now, and Alena, my lecturer and personal counsellor, and now my very sexy stable-girl, took hold of that to take me out of her Fabrina's home to some vehicle outside whose heavy diesel engine had been throbbing annoyingly noisily through the walls of the house for some time now.

For the first time I was to experience walking skyscrapered pirouette legged in my hooves, my feet arched back painfully and cruelly within them, to maximise the steepling of my super-erotic long legs and the curvature of my compelling calves.

Alena tugged gently on my lead-rein, "Twum on Middy-Widdy-Pwerl, twum on now, we have got to gwet Middy-Widdy-Pwerl in that nice warmy horseybwoxy haven't we den? Twum on now Middy-Widdy-Pwerl…."

I began to move. It was a relief to do so. I picked up my hooves and 'clumped forward on the carpeted lounge floor. At every step my wasped waist made me swing my buttocks girlilly, and my tail swished gently side-to-side, as did my unencumbered breasts in opposite motion to my tail.

The tightness of my wasping band, the belt that forced my waist to a cruel egg-timer fifteen-inches, from its already naturally superb twenty-three, was such that it enhanced my wiggle, and even as I only walked my beautiful bottom swung into one neighbouring county and back, and then into the county opposite.

I had always wiggled fully fascinating femininely, but this was something else by a million billion miles.

As I walked in my waspie, I waggled my bottom uncontrollably like a stripper showing her wares at the end of her act. I wiggled my bum like a duck its tail. And I too now had a tail, and it swayed softly silently side-to-side, tickling my curvaceous calves with its nether end, as my bummy swung wildly, widely, mega-erotically: a pulchritudinous pendulum swinging like a matadors cape. And I was, as I moved, as mesmerisingly compelling in my super-emphasised gait, as any red rag would proverbially be before an angry bull.

Rather than be taken through the hallway, I was being led to the door that went into Fabrina's kitchen in which I must cross the stone-tile floor to the further door that would take me directly into the outside world.

I lifted my powerful gorgeously shapely tiptoed legs, and planted my hooves in turn, and in turn, swung my wonderful bum side-to-side, wide-to-wide, as I moved, and this just in walking. And for the first time, in the kitchen, on the hard floor of the kitchen, I heard the 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', of my hooves.

My pretty pink tongue flickered sexily through the bit in my agape mouth as I fought to concentrate on walking in my humiliating bondage, my bummy swing-swishing and my tail swaying, as I mega-wiggled on gorgeous tip-of-top-of-big-toe-tiptoed legs, my massive bum-swinging caused by my nearly non-existent waist, my totally unencumbered incredible thirty-eight-inch breasts, flowing with the stomp, and swinging with the 'clomp', and bouncing with the jar of my tiptoed feet.

I was a supreme girl extreemed by her erotic bondage.

I was as beautiful and more as, and than, any and many an eighteen-year old girl, with the natural pre-eminence of my already incredible body confirmatorily crème-de-la-crèmed by my focused fitness and, even then, now taken beyond my seventh-heaveness to a seven-hundred-and-seventy-seventh heaven of overpowering erotic plus-perfection.

"Twum on now Middy-Widdy-Pwerl. Twum on now…" coaxed Alena.

"Oh god", I asked myself, "Why have they done this to me?" But as my bountiful bosom juddered and juggled and joggled and jiggled even as I merely walked in my hooves, I knew why.

"Oh god", I asked myself, "Why me?" But as my beautiful bare bum swung wide-to-wide and wider-to-wider, I knew why.

"Oh god why me?" My answer was in my incredible legs, so long, so strong, so supremely beautiful.

"Oh god why?" And I knew that the sensitive intelligent glory of my beguiling face with my dark-brown eyes and my constant-kiss-proffering full negress' lips was my answer.

As we approached the threshold of the door that was now being opened to take me out into the open air, the humiliation of my bondage and of the dreadful prospect of being exposed to the whole world totally naked and bound so cruelly as a ponygirl, suddenly hit me between my legs, and I emitted a helpless sexy little squeal, made strange and guttural because of my imprisoned tongue, as my cognac oozed inside my minx.

This was a strange, strange feeling. I had never thought like this before. Why did I want the world to see me nude, to see me enslaved, to witness me being cruelly punished, strangely bound, and being forced against my will to perform like a filly for these girls, girls who carried whips to use on me were I to disobey them or try and challenge their total mistressy over me?

I found it deeply sexually arousing to be so humiliated, so forced to behave sub-humanly, to be forced to strip totally nude and have no further right to clothes, to have to remain totally nude at all times like an animal.

I emitted another little feminine squeak of sexual arousal. I had no choice but to go where they were leading me. No choice but to expose myself totally naked and bound prisoner for the pleasure of my tormentors who could take me where they pleased and do with me what they wished.

I had a human's mind. I was an intelligent girl. But I was also girl in body. I was a girl: a very, very, beautiful girl.

I was sexually aroused by what was happening. Extremely aroused. Shockingly aroused. My head-brain was screaming that this must not be allowed to happen: what was being done to me was cruel and unnatural. But the mind between my legs told me that I was a sexy bitch who deserved all she was getting and more. And my head-brain resigned, accepting that I must take my punishment like a girl.

My progress was inexorable, 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp'. It was inevitable I would go through that door and be exposed naked as the day I was born and humiliatingly bound imprisoned. I gave another little girly moan as we approached the door, it was opened, and I felt the cold November breeze on my totally nude body as I was made to step outside.

"Twum on Middy-Widdy-Pwerl, twum on now, there's a gwood ickle pwoneygirl…." coaxed Alena.

I was outside. Before it really registered with me, I was outside. Bound as a ponygirl, being forced to go to the pony-farm. I was outside and my hooves were 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', on the concrete of the drive. As I was urged along, my gorgeous bum swung from side-to-side forced to do so even more than naturally by the wasping of my waist down to fifteen-inches, and my glorious udders swayed and swung and juddered and flowed divinely.

I walked along at my full nineteen-hands on my divine legs, my thirty-eight-inch double-D-cup breasts swaying out wide of my body and then back toward each other, or in the same direction, or flouncing up and down, or knocking soundlessly wonderfully beautifully into each other, they were so wild and so free, as I super-wiggled along, my natural girl-gate multiplied a million-fold by my waist wasping saddle.

I could of course see next to nothing because of my blinkers and that further cruelty and my helplessly bound body was turning me on wondrously.

My cognac was oozing from the closed lips of my completely publicly exposed minx as I 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomped gracefully along. My total helplessness and this utterly extreme abuse of me as I wiggled along, were turning me on, overwhelmingly powerfully and my nipples were engorged and hard, and my clit had escaped its hiding-hood and was pulsing madly within my cognac filled minx.

I was bondaged as a ponygirl. There had been talk of "breaking" me; there had been mention of a daughter and a gift. The stable-girls, my former friends, had whips. What were they going to do to me?

We had come to a stop. A tall truck, dark-blue painted, was in front of me, its rear ramp lowered to ground.

The ramp had horizontal wooden batten slats at intervals up it.

The truck, a van, bore a white-painted legend on its dark-blue sides, on its dark-blue front, and on its dark-blue rear.

The ramp had scatters of straw breeze blown onto it.

The ramp led to a shadowy inside smelling of straw and sawdust.

The van still had its diesel engine running.

My hoof-clogs sounded a hollow echo around the open quadrangle at the rear of Fabrina's mansion, and a 'clump', 'clump', noise was drummed out by my tiptoed feet as I was led up the van ramp's steady, thirty-degree, slope.

The van had a girl driver whose pretty face was hardly spoilt by her evident boredom. Yet, as she watched me from her leaning out the driver's-side cab door to look back, her boredom at the routine of picking-up "yet more cargo for the Spanish flight", showed unmistakably.

Inside the van I was free, but the ramp was being lifted, and the top-door brought down to meet it in the middle.

And the van's driver called back: "Gives us a bang on the doors when you've shut the bloody things will yer!?"

And I had been led by my lead rein to the furthest darkest inside of the van.

And I had felt a sharp needle prick me in the right cheek of my bum.

And Fabrina and Alena had left me standing facing the furthest inside wall of the van, the wall behind the driver's cab.

And the daylight had begun disappearing as the ramp was lifted, and the top door lowered, and the two doors met. And I had wiggled to the doors to try and escape, but it was too late and the doors were being locked shut.

And the back of the van was given a bang by the flat of a hand, and the engine was revved-up, and the van began slowly to move.

And for the first time I had time to think, and the absolutely true horror of what was happening to me made me scream.

But my mind was going numb, and I slowly swooned to the floor, felled by whatever was in the needle I had felt when it had pricked my pretty bum.

And the white painted legend on the dark-blue painted van's side…….

And the white painted legend on the dark-blue painted van's front……

And the white painted legend on the dark-blue painted van's rear……

All the white painted legends on the dark-blue painted van, simply read: 'Horses'.

Chapter 4 – Rosamund

Dawn had dawned not too while ago.

Rosamund Kelly was sixteen.

Rosamund was about to bathe, but there were necessary preliminaries.

Some distance from the bank of the lake, among some bushes, between bushes, Rosamund found a patch of loose soil, and swept a hollow in it using sensitive hands with long slim fingers that, to judge by their dirty broken nails, had never ever been manicured, let alone seen a professional manicurist.

Unselfconsciously and unconcernedly, having made her hollow, Rosamund lifted the hem of her ankle-length dress clear, as she squatted, thunderous thighs parted, on her delightful girl-confirmatory curved haunches and, preceding it with a copious torrent of freshest whitest wine from her bladder, proceeded to deposit two healthy turds, and then, after a momentary pause, a third turd of her excreta in the cesspit she had just made.

Rosamund knew nothing of panties. Rosamund knew nothing of brassieres. Rosamund had known nothing of clothing save that her mummy had lately and latterly insisted she must now wear a dress because Rosamund's maturing body had begun to excite the other women and girls in the camp far too much.

Rosamund was one-third Irish, one-third Spanish, and one-hundred-percent Gypsy, in the sense that she had also one-third of Gypsy blood, but this last third was steeped deep in her heart and soul.

Brown as the proverbial nut from the tinting of nature and from her having gone almost always nude and always barefoot since she had been a child, until last week and the insistence on the inhibiting ankle-length dress her gorgeous bare unsupported uncontrolled and uncontrollable bosom was now excitingly teasingly roaming around within.

Rosamund's black curls-within-curls-within-curls-curled-hair was tangled and wild as she: coiled springs intertwining down her back to her waist. Rosamund's eyes were browner than her exceptionally pretty face, but only just. Her lips were a natural full-bodied full-blooded passionate explosive red, and yet, yet to be kissed. She wore no makeup. Her beauty could not possibly be enhanced.

Always moist lipped, Rosamund had the whitest strongest teeth sparkling in bright contrast from her tanned face when she smiled, and she smiled constantly: shyly constantly, not only with her teeth but with her lips and, above all, with her sparkling startling eyes.

Rosamund Kelly knew nothing of education but spoke both English and Spanish fluently.

Rosamund knew nothing of education, but was acutely intelligent, and had also long since discovered the power of her face and body. She knew she entranced other women and girls and that that was why she was now the girl used the most, from among all the girls in the camp, to sell the wooden clothes pegs and artificial flowers her nimble fingers assisted with manufacturing, around the towns her caravan visited through the year. Sales trips such as these were the only other times at which Rosamund had ever before worn clothing.

Now she was no longer a child, Rosamund had also had to learn to walk rather than run everywhere, and she hated it.

Her long dress rolled up and tied above her thus bared bottom, around her near non-existent-slim waist, to free her legs, she had just run the four miles from her encampment to the lake and was still as fresh and without breathlessness as she would be when she had run the four miles back again and even, had she chosen, four more beyond.

It was five-thirty in the morning and Rosamund had run through the early mist of the day like a wild wraith, her bare feet, she never wore shoes, seeming hardly to touch ground. She had run-leaped leaving ground over fallen trees and rocks as if no obstacle could stay her wilful way, as indeed had always been so, as metaphorically as literally, and as literally as metaphorically, all her sixteen sweet years.

Still squatting huge-thighed, shuffling forward from having deposited her cognac and droppings in her self-scooped hollow, Rosamund swept the soft soil she had pushed to the side to make her latrine, over her natural expellations, leaving them to the steps nature would take with them, beginning, as these already had, with the flies that hummed, homing precisely to settle on her fresh faeces, faeces still not yet entirely covered by the soil she was hand-shovelling.

Up she now leapt, and off now came the hated long dress. Thrown carelessly over a tree stump. Rosamund cared not the slightest if it were torn or blew away. She was now au naturelle, as she was used to being, and as had turned her the all-over unblemished blameless brown that covered all bar the soles of her hands and the palms of her feet.

Naked as nature and as wild and beautiful, Rosamund knew nothing of hesitation as she skipped with her supremely shapely legs and boundlessly bouncing breasts, down to the banks of the stream, and began to coat herself, even by rolling in it, in the clay that would act as the soap to wash her peerless body, when she eventually waded out and then began to swim, as she did, and as she did next after: as she did indeed every day when her family were camped in this part of Spain.

She coated herself with the soft grey-to-white clay as she did each day. Rosamund filled her dainty hands and slowly completely unconsciously sensuously sexily, coated her beautiful young body.

Oh how any onlooking girl would have gasped with desire as she coated her breasts, as if their astonishing soft firm boldness was of no consequence. And oh how she would giggle, like the highest gurgle of the tripping skipping brooklet, as she coated her face and caught her reflection in a pool next a pond next the lake in which she was about to slake beauty's need for cleanliness to restore its completeness.

Rosamund's now grey-coated brown legs long down to dainty feet kicked up a splash as she into the water dashed, squealing with innocent delight as its coolness her breath took, as its depth grew so that her body could slide writhe glide through it, the water that flowed over her curved contours caressing the curvaceous curvature of a mermaid-maiden made more maiden than mermaid by lovely legs, not fishes tail, and thus more, by millennia of miracle more beautiful than mere mermaid. This was girl with lower limbs god had given to end the tale of the mermaids tail and thus stand tall, rather than unable to stand at all, her loveliest creation of all.

The sun was slowly rising higher, and Rosamund would later dry in its loving warmth after she had bathed and swum to her hearts content, before she put back on, did she really have to, she hated it so much, before she put back on her dress, her only clothing: her clothing, the clothing she had, even at age sixteen, only just begun to regularly wear.

………….

It had happened the week before and Rosamund had escaped them.

She could run faster than the wind, not as fast as they, but still quickly enough to defeat them by taking a path down which, despite their amazing speed, the two-wheeled chariots could not follow.

She had been astounded when they had appeared. There had been three, each pulled by one pony, if pony it was.

And the ponies that pulled the chariots! They were beautiful! They were astonishing! They were astounding! What legs they had: oh god what legs!!

They were girls. There was no doubt they were girls. They were girls being used as horses. And oh god how they beat them! The charioteers thrashed them. The charioteers thrashed the poor girls who, bound, and bitted and blinkered and reined as horses, ponies more accurately perhaps, pulled and ran with the two-wheeled chariots to which they were tethered, with all their lovely might, on supremely beautiful legs wearing what must be hooves, as Rosamund had seen the hoof-marks left, between the obvious runs and ruts made by the chariots wheels when they had passed, where they had passed.

It was savage and cruel, but oh hell's heavens how exotically exciting, yes even erotically exciting, it was to see them!

Rosamund had been lucky to escape. The ponies had had formidable speed in short bursts. Rosamund could not outrun them, but she had staying-power in her favour and could leap where no wheels could go.

She had giggled full-god-given-girlishly at the charioteers when she had leapt logs and they had had to rein their poor girl-ponies to a halt, chariot wheels scurrying up the dust as they slewed sideways under braking.

Did they, did the charioteers, care for the poor girls who were being made to pull them along? Did they care after all?

Rosamund had been staggered by the degree of obedience the girls enslaved as ponies had shown. Not for one second had they flinched from the path their mistresses had instructed them through reins and their whips to take.

Did they, did the charioteers care for the poor girls who were being made to pull them? Did they care after all?

They had, in the end, pulled on the girls' reins. The girls hauling the chariots had obediently continued running such that they would smash themselves into the logs, the trunks of the toppled trees on which Rosamund daintily stood, naked as nature, mocking her would be captors and ready to run furthermore further more. The ponygirls would have smashed into these if not stopped, if they had not been pulled up mercifully short by the hauling on their reins just short of the certainty of broken limbs. Such discipline!

………….

I was being nuzzled. It was by no means an unpleasant sensation. I was being nuzzled awake by some strange creature that my mind, absented for a long while since by the injection in my bottom, was shocked to see.

I had been dreaming I was at my desk in college being lectured by 'Prof' Alena naked. Alena was naked in my dream and discussing calculus with her students, myself among them, as if it were normalcy personified that a professor teach class nude. Then we were nude. The class was nude and Alena clothed and wielding a cane: such is the strangeness of dreams it seems.

She, for she was undoubtedly female, the creature nuzzling me awake was definitely female: She was wearing nothing bar the hooves I also wore, with her wrists tied as mine still were to her upper arms, a rubber gag in place of a bit in her mouth, her waist squeezed extremely to extremity down to perhaps only thirteen-or-fourteen-inches, and a band across her forehead with red letters on a white flash announcing her, to my fluttering eyelids as I blinked myself back to consciousness, as 'Flamenco-Firefly'

Flamenco-Firefly, a tamed and trained ponygirl, as I was to find out later, had been put in my stall in trust to give me company and so that she could whiny for help if I needed any.

I too was now rubber gagged, as was Flamenco-Firefly. She was kneeling and putting her gorgeous face on mine and, as I realise it now, 'kissing' me by rubbing noses: thereby willingly going beyond the strictest interpretation of her duties. Her duties being only to watch over my coming around from my being drugged for the crate they had put me in to fly me cargo, as cattle, from England to, where I assumed I now was: Spain.

………….

They had been better prepared during their second visitation: the charioteers.

They had tethered their ponygirl pulled chariots some distance away from the lake, and on foot weaved their way to it, hiding from tree to tree, and now behind trees three, had spy-eyed from tree trio, as Rosamund had swum and idled in the lake, floating on her back, kicking her superbly shapely legs the while, watching the sky and innocently dreaming, as she occasionally turned over, diving dolphinly in the water, the soft swell savouring superbly supremely streamlined she.

By the simple act of dismounting, they had got her. By surprise they had won their prize.

Rosamund had been betrayed by her ankle-length dress, the dress she abhorred wearing.

They had sneak-snatched it whilst she swam, and crudely fastened closed the neck of the dress.

They had had to be quick. They had put bent pins galore in the neck of the dress so as to close it off, and then scattered the dress back over the tree trunk Rosamund had first cast it over, ensuring it looked as discarded as when Rosamund had thrown it, but also so that the sealed up neck did not show.

Rosamund was in no hurry that morning; she was loving her swim and the sweetness the washing off of the clay mud, nature's soap, brought to her pores.

Eventually though, she had glided to a rock onto which she had climbed and sat her divine body, the body of a girl in her early spring, glistening with the droplets sparkling on and trickling down her achingly astonishing soft skin, as she worked her fingers through her tousled hopelessly tangled kinks using the only apology for a comb she had ever yet used in her sweet young life, her fingers, as her heavy firm breasts floated and swung unrestrainedly, never ever restrained, free as eternity, even whilst her gentle breathing of the air she sweetened by taking it into and breathing it out of her, also heaved her handsome bosom.

In a moment, in a movement, alive lissom and catlike as she: she, Rosamund, had next leaped from the rock to the dry ground that banked that part of the lake, and lithed her luscious legs-long along to where she had left her dress.

For seconds then, she had stopped still naked nude and looked around her.

Rosamund was a girl close to nature and her seventh and eighth senses, let alone her sixth, seemed to be telling her, 'beware!'.

Had she spotted a careless telltale footprint from when the huntresses' had grasped the dress to pin up its neck? The hidden and hiding charioteers looked silently concernedly at each other.

They were indeed huntresses and Rosamund their quarry. Gaynor and Fabrina would have them whipped if they failed to catch her this time; that much was for certain. They would probably also be broken back to the ranks as mere stable-girls too.

At long lingering last, Rosamund picked up her dress, and rolled up its hem ready to put it over her incredible dark curls, the curls on her head: the tight dark curls tumbling every which way on and from her head, dark curls only outmatched by the shorter tighter darker curls surrounding her maiden minx.

Then she had stopped again and looked around, sniffing the air for danger it almost seemed.

Now, just before putting her arms through the dress' sleeves and lifting it to pull it over her head, she had smiled irresistibly sweetly: and then next? And then next staggered and reeled almost drunkenly, as peels of her innocent laughter rang out appealingly musically, because her dress covered her face and chest and down to her knees, but she could not pull it over herself any further.

As she fought to pull her dress fully over her head, with no suspicion it had been spiked so as to prevent her so doing, Rosamund had danced and swayed, twisted, staggered, and spun like a top on the tips of her toes, all but rolling with bubbling gurgling giggles, her soprano squeals and squeaks of delight echoing sweet song on the summer breeze among the trees, pealing in waves as she stopped only to gasp for helpless breath, pausing to gulp air between her paralysing paroxysms, tears running down her cheeks from her unstoppable unstaunchable lovely loving laughter, the birds momentarily silenced by her music, the sound of godsent girly giggles that no mere birdsong could match for their deeply significant innocent invoking provoking profound confounding confiding consoling solely soulful sexiness.

In a trice, two lassos were around her and a third had missed its target.

A lasso loop hoop silently dropped over Rosamund's dress encumbered head, and down to her naked ankles. Whipped tight in a millisecond, it dumped her on her divine derriere in the dust, winding and suddenly silencing her.

In a trice, two lassos were around her and a third had missed its target.

A second lasso found home over Rosamund's head and around her lovely arms at the elbow as she sat, clamping her arms to her side where she sat on her bum, stunned when the ankle encompassing lasso had been pulled tight to rope her in.

In a trice, two lassos were around her, and in sudden shock, after a long moment of astounded stillness: As the loose rope ends of the lassos were wrapped tightly around to cocoon and helpless-bundle her, Rosamund had began to try and kick, and to scream for real, and to fight for her freedom against inevitability: against the inevitability, did she but know it then, of being forced to become 'Flamenco-Firefly'.

…………..

They were gentle and brutal with me.

A bevy of pretty girls came into the stables where I lay curled in the dusty sneezey straw. I was in a stall; my new home but that I did not know that yet. I was in one of a half-dozen or maybe eight or ten stalls, each with a girl bound as I was in it: bound to obey and thus bound to obey.

There must have been two pretty girls for every stall: I mean from the bevy of beauties that wiggled and giggled in to greet the dawn. They ranged in age from around fourteen, upwards to no more than seventeen.

They were all naked, save that they walked in brown leather knee boots, riding boots, but with ballet-shoe-style squared toes on the tips of which they stood, soles reinforced and rigid to hold them en pointe permanently: no heels, on the tiptops of their toes, with no heels, as if it were as natural to them as they had walked entirely on tiptop tiptoe with no heels on their boots and shoes since they were babies.

There were at least sixteen or more of them, two for each of eight, or, as I later confirmed, ten stalls in my stable block: or thirty-two to a gross of them if we are talking extremely pretty legs, and very pert very firm many mostly newly budded breasts.

They were shaven. Their pretty pod's had been completely depilated though they were clearly post puberty.

Any number of them appeared to be of Chinese extraction and the word 'doll' does not even begin to define their delicate prettiness.

Their hair in twin pigtails ended with ribbons, these little girls, many with big brown innocent sigh eyes, were pony obsessives, and our stable-girls.

I was lying on the straw in a stall, the stall of a stable somewhere in Spain I assumed: as I was yet to confirm.

Two of the pretty little fourteen-year-olds drove Flamenco-Firefly away from me and back to her own stall, calling her "naughty girl" when they found her nuzzling me, nose-to-nose.

Initially I was allowed to continue to stretch in the straw, but opted of my own choice, after a while, to stand, on luscious legs still wibble-wobbly from my having been heavily drugged and my being still unused to standing forced onto the very top tips of my big toes within my hoof-clogs.

In a moment, a lovely little Chinese angel had slipped off my rubber gag bit, to allow me to drink and eat if I desired, though I did not as yet appreciate that that was what she had removed my head harness for.

She was, as I noted later, one of Flamenco-Firefly's two stable-girls, my own being yet to arrive with me.

I looked around the stall, still staggering with my dozy dizziness, swaying and staggering like a newborn foal, from my having been knocked out for the air trip.

There, in the stall, I saw a manger full of a liquid mix of what looked very like grass, and some sweet smelling fibrous material I thought could be oats or maybe bran. Next to the food manger, was a trough of water. And the realisation why Alena had trained me to eat and drink with just my lips and tongue was already beyond dawning in my mind as treasonous treachery.

The extreme tightness of my saddle-band, the brutal belt forcing my waist down to just fifteen-inches from its extremely slim natural twenty-three, was, as yet, controlling my appetite and I had no desire to eat. Nonetheless, I surrendered my dignity, as I must, to bend over the trough and lap up water, copiously sucking with my adorable kiss-constant-proffer-offer proud negress' lips, to slake a thirst that raged, perhaps from my being drugged and so long in an unnatural sleep in consequence.

In dizzy daze I then turned and looked with only half-seeing eyes at the ponygirls, for I accepted now that that was what the bound-up girls I was among were and, indeed, what I was to be made to be too. I stared with half-awake eyes particularly at the ponygirl in the stall opposite mine. It was: no: she was, Flamenco-Firefly.

How naturally lovely this girl was. She moved with such grace as would disgrace a goddess to compare if she dare. Her legs were leagues long, and equally as strong as they were beautifully curve-muscled and sensuously sinewed. Her boastfully bold bouncy breasts had obviously never been borne by a bra. Her flawless flesh was as brown as gravy from nature and the smiling sun's constant kiss.

She was nature incarnate, her fiery brown eyes, equalled by her pink-brown nipples in compelling attention to her complicated simple completeness. And the black of her hair and her fur, her head hair and her minx fur, both curled tight as might, kissing curls aswirl whirring winding and whirling to her neck's nape and between thighs that did not hide her magnificent mound………..

………..But then something really horrible happened right before my very eyes: something really really dirty and sick-making.

Even as I looked, Flamenco-Firefly, walking around in her tiptoe hoof-clogs, openly peed on the straw in her stall. She just walked around peeing. She just peed on the straw as she walked around her stall, completely openly and unselfconsciously, even whilst she seemed to be moving to her manger to eat, for goodness sake!

And then after she had peed, she parted with a secretion of her faeces which flopped at her feet, and which her hoofed right foot soon after trod on, as if she were incapable of thinking and minding her step. How could she be so filthy?

I was nauseated and dismayed at this disgusting animalistic display. How could such a beautiful girl as Flamenco-Firefly behave in such a degrading and demeaning way?

And yet, as I looked further along, in the stall next to Flamenco-Firefly's, two stable-girls, of Asian-Indian origin and light-brown skin that almost shone with its transparent soft smoothness, were using a pitchfork to scatter fresh straw over the evidently overnight-ejected, still steaming turds of a brilliantly-bright-light-blue-eyed, perhaps Swedish or Norwegian, blonde, whose stall bore the name 'Laser-Dream'.

These astonishingly astounding outstandingly beautiful girls were or had been urinating and defecating on the ground like animals!

Even as I looked further along still, at another white girl, was she English or American, 'Liberty-Belle' was the name on her stall, Liberty-Belle was bending over her manger, licking up food, even though the solid proceeds of her recent animal duties were caking and drying on the back of her handsome calves. And Liberty-Belle's piss was pouring to ground even whilst she ate! I watched in total nightmare horror and rising nausea!

Nobody batted an eyelid as Laser-Dream nextly pissed again whilst she drank from her water trough. Her pretty stable-girls merely leant on their respective broom and pitchfork, whilst Laser-Dream pissed openly copiously, and then paused a while to see if she was going to drop her faeces, before they simply got on with tumble overturning her straw.

Just exactly what hell was I in?! These girls, these lovely creatures, these, the finest examples of nature's finest creation, were walking around urinating and even defecating as unconcernedly as animals! It was horrible! It was really and truly nauseatingly horrid!!

Just exactly what hell was I in?!

So much was going on among the lovely giggles and chatter of the bevy of stable-girls, naked as nature and chirpily cheeky and cheery as they busied themselves, admirably efficiently, with the duties they loved, among the ponygirls they adored to serve, that my mind could not focus on any one activity, let alone decide whether what I was witnessing was reality or a dream of the darkest sharpest sharkest horror: when I discovered that I was crying.

I had trodden in some faeces left perhaps by a previous occupant of my stall. It had made me realise, my gall rising, that I could have been lying in it when still unconscious from the knockout injection I had been given.

At the misadventure of my clog-hoofed foot and the thought that spun off from it, I felt the soft soulful sweetness of the tiny twin trickle of tired tears curving to contour my cheeks and then dew on my luscious proud ever-a-kiss-proffering pert negress' upper lip in pearly diamonds. Without sob or sound I was crying with heartbroken helpless hopelessness.

Squeezing my long-lashed eyelids closed to make this horror go away as I wished it would, only caused my tears to drip and puddle at the bottom of my dark-as-sin brown orbs, and then to waterfall onto my soft cheeks, making my lower lashes rainbow consequently, with light spectrummed by their saturation.

In reflex, I flinched away in surprise as I opened my weeping eyes after my closing eyelids had wrung more tears to drip down my soft cheeks, to find the gentlest of gentle hands caressing my tear soaked face.

"We no cwy" said a sweet voice so melodic in its soprano soothingness that I sobbed and cried the more for its loving gentleness.

"We no cwy" said the little Chinese angel stroking my face and touching my full naturally permanently-pouting lips so gently that, in pure reflex, I lip-brushed the palm of her balming hand.

"We no cwy. We bwave!" she sweetly coaxed as I saw her, a shimmering vision of doll-pretty loveliness through the globes of tears that soaked my gorgeous eyes.

"Twum on now! We bwave wickle gwirl. We proud we 'Midnight-Pwerl'!"

Her equally exquisitely pretty companion had joined us, and was strapping a rubber bit between my teeth as the first little maid: 'Kim Kai' continued to comfort me with all the sweet gentleness of a fourteen-year-old girl's love for the suffering animal she saw in me and saw me as.

Kim Kai and Hai Moon, my allotted stable-girls, attached a lead rein to my bit, and gently tugged to instruct me to go with them. And so I wiggled with my bottom swinging like the devil's pendulum from the tightest of tightness of my fifteen-inch waist, enticing exciting and inviting as I swing-swung my bold brown bare buttocks without the tail that had been cruelly inserted hitherto and I must wear again where it was worn when its turn came.

I 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomp', 'clomped' on tiptoes within my wooden clog-hooves, divine leggy legged, obediently behind the young girls, who guided me gently.

I had dried my tears, but was fighting the pins and needles in my arms, still bound up as they were, with my leather strapped wrists chained tightly, arms thus bent double at the elbow, hands dangling helplessly, to a strap around their respective top of upper arms, at top of biceps.

My udders swung silently slowly side-to-side, or nodded sagaciously wise one would assume from the pretty plunges they freely dived and divinely sprung up from in their firm brown soft turns, or together, or individually, or as one wisely nodded or swung to out-nod or out-swing its twin, and its twin then nodded and swung more to catch up, my huge areoles like pink-brown headlights with tiny peaked central bulbs to beam and dance their light before the sight of the site I filled and fuelled with my perfect delight.

We stopped momentarily in the cold dawning air of morning Spain to greet two other stable-girls who hosed the faeces off my hooves with soft cold water.

Hai Moon and Kim Kai led me to a ring in the wall, the stable wall, where they tied the short lead rein that led to my mouth bit, and began to foam my legs in readiness for shaving them as I gently chomped on my rubber bit.

As I gently chewed on my rubber bit, my mind goodness knows where, in its longing to escape, Kim Kai stropped a cutthroat razor whilst Hai Moon meticulously flowed its dangerously sharp twin along the endless curvature of my right thigh the while, biting down lightly on her tongue which she stuck out from her mouth and flickered at its pointed end to increase her concentration on shaving my wonderful legs, tensioning each patch of thigh as her razor grew nigh and sweeping it over me more gently than a sigh.

With swapping razors and stropping without stopping, I received the closest shave from these pretty girls in the highest speed with the most brilliant skill, even down to the down at my bikini-line, which was now boldly delineated as an instant step from flesh to dark-brown fuzzy fur. They also shaved my neck and tidied my short-cropped curly head hair.

Why did I not even try to run?

I can answer that only with another question: where would or could I have run to?

I knew only that I was in Spain; or rather, I assumed I was in Spain as that had been the offer that Alena had made to me when she had had me in very preliminary ponygirl training at Fabrina's mansion.

As I was being shaved, all I could brave, was a look at the stone stable wall, so tightly was I tethered to the ring in it. But in the background I could hear a hubbub of girls' voices and laughter and shouts of: "whoa!!" and "steady, steady, steady now!" and "giddup there!" and "good gal! There's a good gal!!" among the constant clatter and clomp of hooves on the cobbles in which I stood in my tiptoe hoof-clogs myself.

And in between those, clattering the air with a constant harsh hard rhythm, with silent intervals between, I heard: 'tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang-clang; tang-tang clang: tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang-clang; tang-tang clang'' and then 'hssssssssssss'.

The spare soap and shavings washed of me with a douche sloshed, ice-coldly and goose-pimply from buckets down my derriere and confronting my private pod, untethered, I was turned and watched the throbbing bobbing breasts of the sweat-shiny farrier, as she beat out her relentless rhythm with two taps of her hammer on her anvil to weigh its poise, before each one or two taps on the pony-shoe she was preparing, and then the hiss of once red hot metal being cooled to zero when she thrust a satisfactory shoe swiftly into her trough, and took the next iron, heating in her fire, or pumped her bellows to heap the flames higher, before bending skilfully to shape the next initially red hot iron shoe with heavy hammer tread, her leather apron tied around her waist and not covering her chest, spotted where sparks must have flown and her nipples surely threatened by sparks as she was otherwise nude, apron and eight-inch heeled black leather booties aside.

I was clomping on my tiptoed legs, my bottom swerving swiftly from side to side as my wasped waist snaked me, toward another stone building, where I immediately upon entering, recognised Alena and Fabrina.

And would you believe that despite that they had coerced me into the horrible fate I was enduring, I wanted to trot up and greet them as friends?!

"… Girl-cart", I thought I heard Fabrina say.

They seemed to be the last words on an instruction sheet headed 'Midnight-Pearl' that Fabrina had had in her hands, fixed on a clipboard she was now casting to one side as I was clomped in on the end of my lead rein.

What strange words, and how did it fit into the jigsaw of horror that was being pieced together with me at its centre?

'Girl-cart'? Was what Fabrina had just cast aside part of some kind of announcement that would be made to me as I stood before them all, my two lovely stable-girls who had been so gentle and loving with me, and Fabrina and Alena who had so callously betrayed me?

I watched Alena's eyes as she surveyed my naked bound body from head to toe and toe to head and back again. I could see in her pupils widening how much she desired what she could see. But she never offered to speak, let alone acknowledge me as her student and fellow human-being, friend, and would be lover: her fellow girl. She just ogled me as if I were girl-meat, and showed in her eyes that she lusted for what she could see of me.

I lifted my eyes to look her straight in hers, and she just looked right past me and then turned away: she purposely turned away and ignored me.

Oh how that hurt! Oh how it hurt to know I was being seen now only as if I were an inferior!

I tied to talk despite my bit gag.

Hai Moon pulled gently on my rein, whispering: "No be nwarty gwirl. Midnight-Pwerl gwood ickle gwirl!"

I wanted to scream that I was a girl: I was as human as they: as much a girl as they: "Oh god I am a human being just as human as you are! Don't do this to me. Oh please heaven don't do this to me!!!"

I was beginning to get fretful, and the echo of my hooves as I shifted on my tiptoed feet clattered around the huge barn I was now in. Hai Moon pulled on my rein to control me, and Kim Kai attached another lead rein to my bit to try to keep me steady.

"Whoa! Whoa! Gwood gwirl, be gwood gwirl. Steady now! Steady! Easy gwirl. Easy now ickle gwirl!"

"Watch she doesn't kick" Fabrina warned as I pulled on my lead reins to fight my capture, hurting my mouth in inevitable consequence.

"Just watch she doesn't kick!" Fabrina repeated.

I would never have kicked the lovely little stable-girls: they were adorable; but to kick Alena or Fabrina if I could get near with my hooves……..if only I could near with my hooves………!

Each call to me to relax from my rising fear and the consequent clattering of my echoing hooves as my beautiful legs beat a dervish's dance on the cobbles, only added to my skitter-scatter nervousness, until that is, until Kim Kai began to stroke my nose with her bent forefinger.

She, Kim Kai, knew her ponygirls. She was only fourteen, and only just fourteen at that, but she had been among ponygirls all her short life, and knew, though never officially taught, she knew how to calm a skittish ponygirl, and she gently stroked my nose as she cooed: "Dwers a gwood ickle Midnight-Pwerly whirly" as she pushed something between my gag-parted lips, and I tasted the sweetness of a rewarding sugar-lump melting on my bit gagged tongue as I obediently settled down once more.

I settled slowly. I could not and would not do anything to hurt the gorgeous gentle kind and loving stable-girls. I calmed myself in that thought, as well as the realisation I was in the wrong location and the wrong situation as of present, to try to escape.

What immediately followed seeing me settle to comparative calmness, was a mistressclass in denouncement from Fabrina to my two adorable-doll Chinese stable-girls.

Fabrina's voice never rose above a whisper, but lacked nothing of piercing clarity and unchallengeable condemnation as it posed question after rhetorical question, her tone hissing like poison snakes off the echoing walls of the high-roofed barn we were in.

"Where is her tail?"

"Have you cleaned her teeth?"

"Why has she not been smoothed with sunscreen?"

"Is she not an initiate?"

"Is she not, as you were told, still technically a foal?"

"As she is an initiate / a technical-foal, why is she not shaven?"

Hai Moon and Kim Kai's heads sank lower and lower as they were dressed down by Fabrina's inexorable cold condemnation.

"Do you wish to continue the privilege of being educated at the 'Equine School De Española'?" Fabrina continued.

"You are both doing so brilliantly in the classroom: so why do you let yourselves down so badly out of lesson hours, by being so completely incompetent?"

"You did so well with Flamenco-Firefly. Flamenco-Firefly was given you, as what we said at the time was a last chance, because you had done so appallingly with Liberty-Belle. And now? And now, are we back to another and very much the absolute last chance for you?"

"We took your whip and spur tassels away because of Liberty-Belle. I was minded to return the spur award, to say that you had earned your spur tassel at least, when I saw the work you had done with Flamenco-Firefly."

"You can forget the award tassels now: you will have to find something else to dangle from your lovely little nipples; though there are no rewards this school gives that can be worn with such pride.

As for real whips as such ……..well, you will be whipped, both of you will be whipped, if you do not pull your act together now: right now: not in the next hour, not in the next minute, not in the next second, but right now!"

Fabrina's demolition of Kim Kai and Hai Moon was total, and I saw their sweet tears drip to terra firma, as they dare not even sob for fear it would displease. My heart cried out for them in their sweet innocence.

"Carry on with your duties. Put right your wrongs before you start classes, and I will let this go. But you will be out of this school faster than Liberty-Belle can run, if you break, even just fractionally break, even one more code", Fabrina concluded.

For these lovely little girls, the prospect of expulsion from the equine school did not threaten any diminution in the standard of their classroom education, but would break their poor hearts, as they would never again be able to brush or wash or shave or exercise or stroke or pet or perform the menial offices of 'mucking-out' the faeces and urine saturated straw in the stalls of the gorgeous 'Liberty-Belle' an American girl as I was to learn, the fascinating highly strung 'Koala-Bare', a willowy Australian catwalk model, or 'Ice-Queen', the supremely blonde Finnish girl, or 'Laser-Dance' the Swedish lovely with the fascinating penetrating eyes, or 'Calypso-Canter' a mixed-race Chinese-negress from Trinidad, or 'Noblesse-Oblige' a gorgeous tall serenely queenly black girl from Sudan, or 'Made-Maid' a former highly-paid and oft head-hunted businessgirl from London England, or 'Fuego-Fury' from Chile, or, above all, the surely unsurpassable natural beauty of the fiery and headstrong Flamenco-Firefly, the Irish Spanish Gypsy girl.

Kim Kai lovely naked bottom juddered as she tiptoe tore out of the barn I graced with my tip-top-tiptoed allure, running to fetch my tail to where Hai Moon once more, once more now led me to tether me: to where I had been tethered to be shaved: to where my totally tantalising legs had been shaved.

Towed by fourteen-year-old Chinese doll Hai Moon pulling gently on my lead tether, my comparatively grown-up girl's tight-saddled waist above my grinding hips, whipped my want-nothing wanton wicked bottom wildly, wide to side, side to wide in Satan's rhythm, as I simply walked: my posterior so powerfully potent with motion-potion that one would have to be posthumous not to enjoy, whatever one's predisposition or predilection, being positively pole-axed by it.

I could have escaped at this juncture. My mind was full of the sorrowful pain of being ignored, completely snubbed by Alena. But equally, I felt softhearted loving care for the hurt the charming little Chinese stable-girls had just had in the withering assessment by Fabrina of their total lack of performance.

I could have escaped at this juncture. I was only being controlled by one little schoolgirl: her companion was just now wiggle-trotting around the corner to rejoin us with my tail: my tormenting torture trail tale, my telltale tail. I could have escaped; but that I should become thereby the probable consequent cause of these lovely little angels being whipped, was more that I could bear to think of.

The powerful fear Hai Moon felt was palpable as she panicked over tethering me to shaving-foam my luxuriant between-legs curls, the curls that swirled around that which pronounced me pre-eminently girl. And my fear as she neared with the cutthroat razor to raze my curls to stubble, and my stubble to soft brown bare skin, to mark out, as if by flashing neon signs, so obviously pronounced and shoutingly announced would it be by my resultant nudity, that I was, despite my eighteen-years, a completely intact virgin: a 'foal' in girl-farm parlance, was making me nervously skitter once more.

Then came an inhuman human scream of the most agonising pain imaginably unimaginable, from, I was sure, Noblesse-Oblige, her deep distinctive contralto distinguishable despite, no doubt, the bit between the teeth of the nubile Nubian Sudanese, the tall girl so black she shone, the tall girl with the regal majesty so natural to her, during whatever had been done to her: and oh the dreadful smell of something scorching, and her sobs and cries and the clearly agonised gasps, that rang around the courtyard smell and yells both, as I once more began to become skittish and my shaving had to be postponed till I could be calmed.

Oh god what kind of hell was I in?!

Kim Kai took the razor as Hai Moon settled me, and its supreme fully stropped shimmering sharpness stripped me of my pubic posies to pose me publicly as pre-pubic positioned in my love-life: a girl exposed as untouched and untaken: a girl who was having removed from her pubis and pod petals the medals awarded to reward experience undertaken; a girl whom love had so far forsaken: a girl with hymen hymned unaltered in her altar: a novice, a know-not, a had-not, a virgin unvisited, unviolated: a girl whose magical beauty had still the mystery of her pristine citadel to be ripped ripe from nun none, even to won one.

And oh the dreadful shame as my pubis and pod lips were shaven and I stood with my nude minx shouting to the world that I was a virgin, an eighteen-year old girl who knew nothing of love or sex.

Tears started in the corners of my eyes as I realised that I was being purposely shamed by the show between my legs, that all was new between my legs, that all I knew between my legs was that there had been nothing between my legs, that I was all virtue and virgin and vulnerable and as inexperienced as the disappearance of my pubic curls confirmed: that indeed I might just as well be, as I virtually was through my vain virginity, a pre-pubescent girl: an eighteen-year-old girl yet to earn her curls.

And the dreadful scream from Noblesse-Oblige and the smell of whatever was burned and the shame of my shaving, oh god why, was, why oh why, was, oh no please, was, oh please no why, let me know why, why oh why, why, why, why, oh please why, oh heaven, please in heaven why, why, why, why, the scream the dreadful scream of inexplicable incredible unendurable pain and my nude shame was wetting my pod, oh god I was wetting, my minx was whetted and wetted and keened and keening and I was as moist as a melon, warm wanting and wanton, and bowed and shamed at my maiden minx's arrival at arousal.

My nipples danced and were entranced and enhanced as Hai Moon began to moisturise my skin with a tinted tincture to protect my soft girlness from the sun's beat on flesh with its heat. And my moistness, not just the moistness of my brown flesh caressed by my gentle adorably pretty fourteen-year-old stable-girls, but the moistness within my maiden's minx, grew and flowed as I glowed with the protective ointment, and the little girls were near to my breasts.

Oh god please help me, Kim Kai and Hai Moon were near my breasts with the cream for my breastal dreams. And they girlhandled my chest's medallions, my melons my mounds, my profound girl-confirmatory monumental mammaries. And I closed my eyes and rolled them to heaven behind my eyelids as I fought what I did not want to fight, as these fourteen-year-old schoolgirls made virtual love to my sensitive body, though seemingly insensible of the lust they were causing me, and my mouth bit on my gag bit as I gagged to fight with all my might the girl-arousal that was paramount and mounting still with the skill of the little maid's hands glossing my glorious brown skin by gliding over my huge breasts and their impertinent insolently mid-pointed nipples.

I took the re-insertion of my tale resignedly. The plugging by the bent dildo of my anus with the resulting insulting swinging confirmation of my transference from humanity to animality in the eyes of my tormentors, was filmed by a returned crew of cameragirls, who would be in trouble soon for lazing abed when they were to have risen before dawn, had they not ignored their alarms for one more kiss of each others damned-devil-desirable lips: a kiss that had led, lain still but not still in bed, to two pods desperate to be fed and feed need; and greed only satiated by an hour of leisured pleasure, in divided-treasure-eager-beaver-soixante-nerf.

And my eyes were aglaze and my slink was lubriciously lubricated as with long lissom legs and with my minx ablaze, Fabrina taking over, overtaking the little schoolgirls who to their school desks now skitter scatter scadaddled, I was led by my tether to the blacksmith's forge, my tail swinging long and wide, side-to-side, lifting from my anus up to dangle down and tangle brushingly with my tiptoe tension torsioned calves.

Can anybody, just anybody please just explain my body? As I swung my wasped-waist-enforced-devil-may-care-rear like a sidesman's censer, my tail swishing aswing, a pendulumed announcement of my pronounced girlity, the smell of the searing became clearer, as we neared the blacksmith, and yet my surrender increased as did the slick at the lips of my nude shaven minx.

I knew fear and fear was foremost; but I knew no choice and no voice, and obedience had penetrated my timbre as I wiggle-walked without daring, indeed without thinking I had a dare within me, to challenge the right to treat me this way, as my bare bottom swung and swayed both and each way.

I knew that the sear and the scorch were one and the same as Noblesse-Oblige's pain. And yet I was being led nearer to the epicentre of that clearly horrendous happening, without resistance.

I realise now that my path was lubricated: that my minx was my mind. Sure I felt terrified, but my terror caused my minx to flow at what I did not know. But when I did know, oh hell and heaven, how quickly did my slithering slot slaver?!

Fabrina led me into a shelter at the blacksmith's forge. The farrier, busy with her constant fire, did not even turn her black-haired head to look to see who had been brought in as Fabrina tethered me to a rail facing a wall.

"Fuckin' burnt mesen on the 'andle of that brandin' iron!" the blacksmith cursed to nobody and anybody.

"All the fuckin' years, I've bin in the fuckin' trade, and I goes and burns me fuckin 'and on a brandin' iron 'andle. Would yer fuckin' believe it? Shud a worn me fuckin' gluv eh?"

"Still, there'll never be no doubt now: no doubt as that there black beauty belongs to the Circle-C."

"Fancy wastin' an incredible 'oney like that'n on pulling a fuckin' plough for gord's sake!"

"Circle-C Farm?! They must be rollin' in fuckin' poneygirls to waste a 'orny 'oney like that there whatwer 'er fuckin' name: 'Knobble –Thingy'. There's bin some lovely ponies through 'ere; but talk abart a fuckin' beauty…..'Grace' does yer call it? Fuckin' disgrace to put 'er to plough that much I does know………"

…….Her monotonous mono-conversation stopped as she heard a trickling noise.

"Oh fuckin' 'ell" she cursed, with a hint of gentle understanding despite her crudity.

She had cursed because she had turned at the sound of a trickle. She had cursed because she had turned to see the cause of the sound. She had cursed because she had turned to see my shimmering shiny droplet wet legs, and that I stood in a puddle of my pee, as in my fear at the sight of the branding iron just used to mark a 'C'-within-a-circle on poor Noblesse-Oblige, I had let go my bladder, and my urine had snaked around my wonderful legs to smack on the ground at my feet.

That was the state of my unslaked fear!

Oh god what kind of hell was I in?!

And the deep humiliation of this? Oh no, and oh why oh why, I was slippery in my slot once more, not from the last drops of my cognac, but from a soulful slick that my sundered pee-pod was producing in wonder abunder. I was being girl in such a strange context, yet my head-mind could not unsex me. And my eyes implored that I be explored and exploited and used and abused, for no reason my reason could reason.

I wanted to be, but not really be, hurt. I wanted to be, but not really be, sullied. I wanted to be, but not really be, bullied. I wanted to be, but not really be, frightened. I wanted to be, but not really be, taken. I wanted to be, but not really be, forsaken. I wanted to be, but not really be, beaten. I wanted to be, but not really be, despoiled. I wanted to be and really be girl. I wanted to experience the extremity of the extreme of girl, to be forced into orbit beyond the end of the girl-system outlawed and rocketed into deepest girlspace by my mistress, all-other-girls, and made to suffer the dismal distant dismissal till I could please as she pleased to be pleased, and as I could, only as yet, plead to be taught to ply, till I could apply for her clemency.

"Oh fuckin' 'ell" cursed the blacksmith gently and understandingly as she looked at my divine legs wrapped around with the slow pouring of pee from my pod in fear, shaking-quaking piss-making fear, that she was going to brand me.

"Ain't you a lovely one too" she coaxed as she poured warm water on my legs to wash the urine of fear off me, and off the cobbled paving I graced with my gorgeousness.

"You must be that there student girly wot they flew out from England like. Day said you was pretty and day wont wrong nyver! You is a fuckin' bootee, you is: a fuckin' bootee"

"Two black bootees, one arter de uvver! Must be me fuckin' lucky day eh?! She comforted.

Her gentle demeanour belied the fact she had just, not long since, just matter-of-factly, as part of her daily work, as if it were done every day, as if it were the norm, branded poor "Noblesse-Oblige" on her bare body with a red-hot iron.

She walked around admiring me, resting from her work as something heated in her fire readying.

"Your prettier than 'er too: that there 'Nobble-Whatsit'! Ain't you just fuckin' gorgeous eh?!"

Then, moments later in her movements around me admiring me, she exclaimed: "Coo and gord 'elp……just fuckin' look at yer!! Yer a fuckin' foal!!"

She had spotted my completely shaven minx and was pointing astonished.

"Cor, bloody 'ell, yer a fuckin' foal!" she questioned her unbelieved questioning eyes by her intonation here.

"Ow did de uvver girls ever keep dare 'ands off yer?! I can't niver believe it! Yer a fuckin' cracker. Yer just so fuckin' gorgeous! Ow did dey ever leave off on yer, for fuck's sake eh?! Was dey all fuckin' blind where you kem from, or wot?!"

Then she saw the tears welling in my gorgeous brown eyes, and her instinctive gentleness came to the fore.

"Yer a shy gel ain't yer luv? Dat's not nice when dey mek yer inter a pony when yer shy like." She sympathised, as I blushed in my naked shame, lowering my lids over my glowing dark-chocolate eyes.

But she had business in hand: work to do: she had a job to do on me.

"Nagh den, lets 'ave a look at yer 'ooves shall us?"

At that the cameragirls sidled crabwise away from pointing their ever-seeing eye at my shame: at the depilated vee between my powerful thighs: to where the farrier, with all the experience of positioning, born of years of experience telling her the best way to avoid a startled ponygirl's kick, was readying herself to lift one of my legs.

I nearly tumbled forward from where I was tight tethered by my bit as, in a flash, my right ankle was grasped as I was, in the same instant, expertly nudged over to put my weight all on my left leg, and thus prevented from kicking, being but a two-legged pony and now balanced only on my one remaining grounded leg.

The farrier drew my right leg up between her thighs and clasped it there to expertly cast her eyes over my clog-hoofed foot.

"Pretty little foot yer got ain't yer?" she muttered as she studied with the experienced eye of years, seeming to measure with a hidden calliper or mental rule within her mind: to measure my hoof in mental-millimetres.

"Forgot me fuckin' specs dis mornin' ain't I. Oo ever 'eard of a blacksmiff wiv specs anyow? She coaxed me with her gentle humour, comforting me in my continuing high distress that, to my clearly clouded fearfully frightened mind, whatever she was doing in carefully inspecting my clog-hoofed foot, squinting in substitution for her eye-glasses, was but a preliminary to my getting what Noblesse-Oblige had just horribly had.

"Well den: specs or no specs, I reckon as 'ow I can do fer you my pretty black bootee, an' no trubble eh" she uttered in further gentle understanding comfort conveying mutter to me.

My foot was lowered and her voice rose in 'tune', if such it could be called if honesty were to prevail, as, behind me and unseen, unseeable by me because my rubber bit gagged mouth was tethered to the rail, she used her steel tongues to pull the first red-hot strip of iron out of her fire, watch its colour change to that her long-experience told her was perfect, and began to hammer it 'U' curved around the horn of her anvil, after having first beaten it flat and forced seven square-profile holes at equally spaced intervals through it.

A long hiss of heat in water bubbling, told of iron making cold as water warmed, and another hiss, the farrier could not hear, told of more piss from my pod in my continuing terrible fear at what she must be at, hidden behind, blind to my rear, behind my back.

My second shame was eagerly easily caught on camera, as the sound boom was distanced from the 'tang-tang clang' the expert blacksmith beat out with her hammer as her voice rose above the noise of her forge whilst she bellowed, before bellowing her fire higher, and belting her iron strip curved, the only musical sound she knew: the one called, she prided, the 'anvil chorus':

"Da, da, dar-de-dar, de-dar, de-dar, de-dar-dar",

'Tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang-clang',

"Da, da, dar-de-dar, de-dar, de-dar, de-dar-dar",

'Tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang-clang',

"Da, da, dar-de-dar, de-dar, de-dar, de-dar-dar",

'Tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang; tang-tang clang'

It would be amusing to be able to say here that this highly unmusical offering, was proffering pleasure; but in fact, as testified by my terrified trembling, it taunted and haunted as, daunted, another hiss of my piss from fear, flowed down my flaunted legs.

I had never ever been so frightened in my young life as now, trembling and tremulous I awaited the unknowable agony of, what I was sure was in store, the branding iron on my bare body.

"Oh fuckin' 'ell! Not agen!" The farrier had spotted I stood in a pool of my piss once more and that my lovely legs were shining with the yellow tint of my minx's tincture.

More warm water followed from a bucket flowed and throwed over my calves and my pod by the ever-patient blacksmith, who now seemed to see, for the first time, as if it had not been so ever since I had been tethered in her workshop, that my legs were trembling and my body St Vitasing uncontrollably, with shudders that juddered my free-swinging breasts down to their tips, which were consequently correspondingly reverberating like the ends of just-struck tuning-forks.

"Dare dare darlin'! I knows wot yer finkin'! No wonder yer is scared an' all, pissin yersen like that. We ain't gonna brand yer nor nuffin' yer silly little darlin'!" the blacksmith cooed.

"Wot kinda fuckin' bitch am I den, makin' a bootiful gal like you is, fink she was gonna get branded eh?"

"No wunder you is tremblin' and pissin yersen an' that: yer poor little darlin'"

Oh please, please, please, let this be true! Let it not be a lie to lure me to relax so as to take me and burn my skin with the red-hot iron. She seemed, the blacksmith seemed so genuine. I could believe her! Surely I could believe her?!

Now I heard her coaxing voice in a muffled mumble that tumbled from her lips strangely to my unsighted eyes, as I unsighted could not see that she had aligned square-profile-tapering-to-tip nails in her mouth, so as to have then ready to take out and use in turn, and meanwhile free her hands for the duty she had with me that first morn's post dawn.

My left leg was no longer trembling as the farrier lifted it between her very handsome and erotically warm thighs, thighs smooth with the pride she took in her strong mature fit and very feminine body. And was it in reflex reaction to her removing my fear that I felt my pod take interest in her sweet sweat lubricated limbs: the limbs between the evidently enormous strength of which she clenched my extremely pretty lower left leg, as she swept her leather apron to one side?

As the brutal-gentle farrier swept her leather apron to one side so as not to hide my clog shod foot. She was humming, since she could no longer 'sing', her lips and teeth being a quiver for her store of nails, as I felt, insofar as I could through wood, her align what I now realised was an iron shoe, a pony-shoe fresh made by her for this maid, and squarely hammered in the top nail, the nail at the mid of the bend in the 'U' of the shoe, the first and seventh nail, to be followed by three at equidistant intervals down each tail of the 'U' till I was shod: till my hoof was shod with an iron pony-shoe secured by seven nails.

My hitherto 'clomp' was now a 'clip' as my left leg was lowered, and the onomatopoeic overtones of my dainty footfalls would henceforth beat out a different tune.

And my 'clip' was to joined by a 'clop' as my blacksmith raised my right leg, with seven nails anew for her lips to chew as she drew the 'U' of my shoe in place, and speedily unerringly skilfully nailed it to my right wooden clog-hoof.

Is it strange to relate that the 'clip-clop' of my metallic shod hooves, as I tried my feet on the cobbles of the farrier's workshop filled me with pride inside?

A mental picture, a daydream, was relaxing me momentarily now. I was in my study: no, in my dormitory at school. There I slouched in the microist of micro-miniskirts, with my lovely brown legs, one folded under me and the other draped over the arm of the lounge settee, on which my delectable all-girl poundage snuggle-nestled. Off my loosely trailed foot dangled the very latest and finest fashion Italian leather shoe, of horrendous expense, half-shed in my dream of careless wealth and the best that money could afford me being mine. I was browsing a magazine with headlined article labelled 'Paris Shoeshine', and with pictures galore of all the shoes in store for the millionairess I was deemed to be in my dream, fee free.

The mental picture was momentary, and its dousing came as the pleasure of having my pretty calves held between the crude-rude-sensitive, hard-gentle blacksmith's enormously strong and shapely fit thighs, an action to which I, being in so complete-a-contrast-supremely-feminine, had willingly surrendered. 'Out of strength shall come forth sweetness' it has been said, and sweetness was what my pod, from the grip of my lovely legs in turn in the strength of the blacksmith's thighs, sugarly willingly surrenderingly secreted inside.

That action, an attraction that had heavily moistened my minx, had had to be supplanted when my newly pony-shoe shod feet were both on ground planted, and the sudden shocking and surprising pride I now found was in the new sound I could echo in place of the 'clomp clomp' my pretty feet emitted before the 'clip clop' they now transmitted.

My young body was betraying me to secrets my foremind had no knowledge were below the metaphorical stones my cruel and demeaning imprisonment as a novitiate ponygirl was revealing as they were overturned.

It was Alena who collected me to take me next to goodness only would know where and what.

What Alena and I, neither of us expected, as she unhitched me from the rail in the blacksmith's forge, and tugged gently on my lead rein, the rein fixed to one side of the rubber bit across my tongue in my mouth, was the sight and fright of what was to nearly throw us off our feet as she led me clip, clop, clip, clop, newly, clip, clop, clip, clop, iron shoe shod away to face whatever was planned for my day.

Alena must have met with the phenomenon before, but my lovely devilment-deep-dark brown eyes, shot enormously wide as we stepped aside from a sight of unbelievable horror and fascinating fright.

It was Hai Moon.

It was Hai Moon the tiny Chinese doll of a fourteen-year-old stable-girl and she was riding.

It was Hai Moon having a riding lesson.

Hai Moon was riding, and oh god how she was using poor Koala-Bare. It was savage and wicked. Koala-Bare had her head pulled hard back by the tight reins from a steel bit that opened the flame-red lips of the Australian honeychild's mouth. Her nostrils were flared and her eyes stared wildly wide, as the near child on her back drove the long-legged lovely with whip and spur to run faster than the fastest she was able, and faster still.

Koala-Bare's waist was saddled like mine down to a wasped wisp of its natural size. Around her wasped-waist now though, and resting on hips enhanced by her wasping, was another tight-as-hell-tight broad black leather belt holding a penis-pommel saddle on which Hai Moon rode.

The belt around the supremely slim waist of the enforcedly-wasped six-foot-one lanky Australian catwalk model had, in its middle at the back, a curved steel rod, curved to match the supreme arch of the Koala-Bare's back, atop which, at bottom-of-ribcage level and rising up and out, was a ten-inch-long leather-coated dildo pommel, which now disappeared into the minx of the mischievous jockey, who thereby, at sacrifice of any chance of having retained intact her virginity, saddled the miraculous maid made to carry her on her back.

Koala-Bare's saddle was secured for certain by the crupper. Poor tortured Koala-Bare had a tight slim belt running from the front base of the second belt around her waist, the belt holding aloft the penis-saddle with Hai Moon astraddle, pulled agonisingly between the lips of her minx, whereafter it divided in twain to leave her long tail, the tail obscenely lifting before lowering and swinging from the dildo forced hard up her anus, and fixing, the crupper fixing its two ends, the 'V' of its 'Y', to the bottom-side-back of the saddle belt, having first surrounded the lovely hemispheres of her bottom.

Her seating sensuously sexually taken care of, Hai Moon had need of stirrups and stirrups, will she or not she, poor Koala-Bare's pretty hands were forced to be, her wrists being cuffed and strapped one-and-a-half-feet-apart at her front, and her hands, at the end of her arms otherwise dangling free, made to hold steel stirrups fixed to her index fingers by rings therein and thereon, and their tops chained to her imprisoning wrists' bands. Hai Moon had her tiptoe-booted toes thrust through these stirrups, and her lovely lively little legs, hugged Koala-Bare as she rode her like a horse, like the ponygirl Koala-Bare was forced.

Hai Moon fisted Koala-Bare's reins horribly shortly and terribly tightly in her left hand and wielded a welting whip crop with fury on Koala-Bare's gorgeous bottom as she dug wheeled needle spurs into Koala-Bare's bare thighs.

With the savagely cruel wheeled spurs at the heels of her riding boots, all she wore, being otherwise completely nude naked, Hai Moon slashed poor Koala-Bare's naked thighs till bloody trickles rivuletted down to her knees, as she drove her, totally without mercy, bouncing on her back, being heavenly heavily cunt-fucked by the penis-pommel sliding in and out of her sopping minx as she bobbed up-and-down with Koala-Bare's trotting motion, as the brutally abused panting Koala-Bare; Koala-Bare glowing and trickling with aromatically erotic girl-sweat and foaming at her mouth, jogged by us with her titties bouncing in incredibly flowing floating erotic unison.

And I quietly came. I looked wide-eyed innocently at this vision of hell and heaven from hell's hell, and felt an infinitesimal instant of un-Richter-scaled minor rictus, epicentred in my minx. It was so tiny I was hardly aware it had happened. The cameras saw only my eyes wide in horror and amazement. Only the seismometer my clitoris formed, found echo of the telltale eruption disruption of my equilibrium, as I saw the tortured Koala-Bare ridden like a demon with a fury on her back, flee by us, her swinging bottom, with cruel crude tail forced into her anus swishing, being wildly crop-swatted and her thighs spur-tip-rip-bloodied as she ran faster than light, driven by her only hope that she could gain ease of her pain by doing as she was made, as Hai Moon boundlessly brutalised her beauty ……….

Then fear and fright hit me once more. That Koala-Bare could have been me, that Koala-Bare's plight could be mine, was clear; as clear as the pee that trickled from my pod to the floor once more as I shook uncontrollably, trembling with horror: complete and undiluted, absolute and undoubted horror, until I was petrified.

I was petrified.

Oh god what kind of hell was I in?!

'Midnight-Pearl' (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 5 – Sobs

After the horror and fascination of seeing poor Koala-Bare being ridden so terribly brutally with whip and spur I, 'Midnight-Pearl' as I had been so cruelly dubbed, was wiggled along at quite a pace, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip clop in my tip-top-tiptoe-topping wooden clog hooves, hooves now shod, literally shod, with iron pony-shoes, being dragged along, as my beautiful bottom, and the obscene tail forced into it, wagged like the sinful buttocks of a whore seeking custom.

I had no choice other than to go where Alena would have me go. I had a rubber bit tied hard back between my teeth and over my tongue in my thus gaped mouth. And from this bit, fastened to one of the rings the bit had at either and of it, and thus at either side of my lovely negress' lips, hung a short strong lead rein, clipped to one of the rings, and being pulled by Alena as she would have me move as if we were, she at least, and me presumably in consequence, late.

With my waist squeezed savagely down by the saddle belt I wore around my tummy, my bottom seemed to, no, decidedly did swing to and fro alarmingly. No decent girl would walk like the saddle belt made me walk. I had seen hookers, or rather actresses playing hookers, in films on TV. But prostitutes, or even the lap-dancers I had also seen portrayed on celluloid, were not a metaphor for how sensuously sexily my beautiful firm brown bottom undulated and swung as a consequence of my waist being squeezed down from twenty-three delightful inches to a mere fifteen.

'Belly dancer!' That was it; that was the comparison my mind was seeking for, as I was hurried along clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, over the cobbles in the main yard of the pony-farm.

We know, we all know, the enticing and exciting hip-whip of the belly dancer in full flow. That was exactly what my murderously squeezed-down waist was making me do. My belly held steady whilst my bottom, as well as having its girlmuscular hemispheres rise and fall, whipped to and fro like an upbeat metronome. I wiggled like a rattlesnake on speed, and the long tail that rose from the end of the dildo forced up my anus, rose in a parabola before obeying gravity and then the command of my wickedly wildly swinging extremely sexy rear, as it must not just sway at leisure, but swing almost like a puppy dog's tail in time with my deeply erotic gait.

Deep embarrassment and horrible shame were the accompaniments of my lovely bottom's accomplishment. I was never ever a girl who would disport herself this way, and to be stripped naked and made to wiggle endlessly emphatically obscenely, was mental torture for me. Even dancing before and for a girl I loved, I would surely not have flaunted my feminine charms so dirtily! 'Dirty' is a good word for it: I was forced to swing my bottom like a dirty little trollop, no, like a cheap vamp tramp whore, and it shamed and deeply embarrassed me.

As I was walked along, swishing my bottom and swaying my tail, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, I had visitors: very unpleasant visitors.

The sun had risen and I felt its comforting warmth on my nakedness; but even the comfort of the sun could not relieve the irritation from the mass and still building visitation I was receiving.

My absolute and total terror and horror at witnessing Koala-Bare being so savagely used and abused, coming on top of my terrible thought I had harboured, that the blacksmith had intended, once she had deceived me to calmness, to brand me on my bare body, had caused me to piss down my lovely legs. I had pissed in my terror and horror as Koala-Bare was viciously whipped and spurred past me, and the proceeds of my copious peeing was now dried on my thighs and legs.

In the stories, flies always 'buzz'. So do flies buzz in real life: believe me they do! If you don't believe me, imagine a pretty girl bondaged as a ponygirl, wafting her bottom uncontrollably dementedly side-to-side as she clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip-clops obediently on the end of her lead rein, with irritating itch making flies discovering her dried-piss-coated inner-thighs and legs, and then you will know what I mean.

I tugged at the cuffs holding my arms, trying to rescue them from being held up, bent at elbows, wrists fastened above biceps by chains from wrist cuffs to cuffs on upper arms, with my lovely hands no more than extremely decorative dangling appendages. I could not possible free them, as I simply longed to, in order to have some means to drive off the horrible flies: and flies were crawling all over the front insides of my superb thighs. Oh god how they itched and tickled me!

Why? How? How do flies find their target? They were on my breasts now. Ignoring, indeed seeming to enjoy the challenging of hanging on and crawling over them as they bounced, as my huge firm thirty-eight double-D-cup titties bounced, they were enjoying and I consequently enduring, enjoying, oh god, enduring, oh god, my nipples, oh god my nipples!

Why? How? Why had they gone for my nipples? These flies: One or three at first, and now in tens, they were crawling and then flying off from, before returning to the lovely soft complexion of my thighs and, oh god my nipples, my nipples, oh please god my nipples!

How? Why? As I clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip-clopped along with the flies buzzing around me and crawling on me, I shook my shoulders to make my breast swing: I must try and make my lovely breasts swing so as to get the horrible flies off my nipples, oh god my nipples, my nipples, oh please god my nipples!

How? Why? It did not work. I surreptitiously swung my titties as hard and as quickly as I could, but the flies clearly loved my two-inch-huge diameter areoles, and to my nipples, within milliseconds of my breasts settling to a standard bounce from my deliberately swinging them: settling, my titties settling, to their natural pronounced bounce and pounce, flies were once more crawling all around and over my nipples as I clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip-clopped to where, my nipples, my nipples, oh god my nipples, my nipples, oh please god my nipples! to wherever I was being taken.

Flies were now on my face and threatening my mouth and I must blink to keep them out of my eyes. And flies had discovered, in their tens or grosses, had discovered, oh no, oh please no, had discovered, no, no, please, please no, had discovered, no, no, no, no, had discovered, no, no, please, no, no, no, no, had discovered, NO, had discovered, no, and covered no, no, uncovered depilated and unprotected, no, no, no, no, they vectored onto my, my, no, my no, no, my, my, my, my no, no, my, my pod!! My, my, my, no, no, no, no, my, my, my, my pod!!!

Torment, total torment: torment almost beyond torture. The flies were driving me out of my mind as they crawled on my face and my lips and my eyelids, and my nipples and my shaven naked minx. They zigzagged up and down the lips of my minx driving me insane with desire. They were arousing me. Despite all the filthy dirtiness of it, they were arousing and had aroused my poor nipples and were making my pod ooze.

It was disgusting and horrible. I was behaving in a manner disgracing and devaluing the depiction description 'animal'. I just could not help it. The awful flies were tormenting me to lust; and my body, rather than fighting the disgustingly foul, was excited and aroused, yes, sexually, truly sexually aroused by my being so downrightly filthily abused.

My swishing swinging tail kept the horrible flies off my swishing buttocks and, correspondingly, where my tail dangled, off the backs of my thighs, and off my calves, but oh heaven and hell how I longed that my tail could get the taunting haunting tantalising tormenting flies off my pod, off the nude shaven petals of my lovely virgin's tight lipped purse, off my maiden's minx!

But even then, the lubrication of my love-lips caused by the taunting teasing crawling flies, seemed also to lubricate the sexy-devil-width-wide my bum swung as I clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clopped, being led like the animal my body was betraying me to portray, as much if not more than my bondage could persuade, off the courtyard area to open grassed ground.

I say 'grassed ground'. Through my sin-inducing-deep-brown eyes, my eyelids flicking as I tried to waft-off the devil's own flies, even in my tormented tortured degraded depraved deeply shamingly aroused state, I saw a circle without more than the odd tuft of grass, worn scored by constant footfall, and some kind of post with an arm horizontally leading out from its top

Alena dragged me on my lead rein clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop onto the grass, and then, knowing the routine of course from years of training ponygirls, tethered my lead rein to the arm that came out of the upright post, leaving me thus standing on the worn circular path I had noticed as she forced me to clip, clop, clip, clop, out to where we now were.

"You will learn to walk, trot, run, and display-leg", Alena told me completely coldly.

"You will NOT kick your legs out sideways as you run, like some silly frightened little bitch of a schoolgirl. You will run rhythmically with your pretty legs straight fore and aft."

Why had Alena told me that? Alena knew I was a practiced runner; not a young girl who had had no training in how to run properly: properly for an athlete that is.

The cameragirls had caught up with us. All I could assume was that Alena was playing to some kind of script in which my subjugation featured, and they wanted to make it seem as if I needed more training to run than in reality I did. Yet they were supposed to be filming what was really happening! It would remain an unresolved conundrum, why I should be told not to kick my legs out sideways, as, uncorrected, a girl's natural construction makes her do when she runs.

Alena now strolled casually over to the central pole, and, even in the midst of the tormenting flies crawling all over my sexual parts, or perhaps because the flies were arousing me so much; I admired her shapely bottom in the tight jeans she wore. Her breasts moved within her gingham shirt as if they must, yes as if they were, no, because they were, because they had, no, because she wore no brassiere.

Alena looked at me momentarily as she bent to pick something up, as she bent showing cleavage in her wonderfully soft white bosom. I concluded she was enjoying teasing me with the loveliness of her shapely horny body, as I watched in horror when she picked up a whip and some kind of radio or the like, but seemed to linger overlong, beyond even the longest time surely needed, in doing so.

At the sight of the whip, I clenched my buttocks on the sphincter-penetrating dildo that held my tail in me.

"Well might you flinch you filthy little whore!" Alena hissed with the venom of an asp.

"If you ever, and I mean ever, look at me again like you did just then, when I was over in the centre, I will, believe me, I will whip you, you fucking slag!"

I dropped my eyes to the ground in instant total trembling fear-filled fear-fuelled surrender.

So, I hoped, so I could not be seen doing so, I did my best to look out of the corners of my gorgeous brown eyes at the terrible whip Alena held. I recognised, from the old-fashioned films I used to love on TV, a carriage whip. I recognised the long handle and longer flagellum of a carriage whip, and felt an instant sexy gasp escape me, partly because the murderously abundant crawling flies on my now distended nipples and the lips of my naked pod were so stimulating, making me seep like a slut, and because a flash of the opening sequence in the film 'Belle De Jour', where the carriage bells jingle and jingle till the girl, oh god, the girl, oh no, oh, no, the girl, she, the girl is dragged off, dragged into the woods: she, the girl is dragged off into the woods, and tied up and the girl, she, the girl, tied up and, and, and whipped, oh god, my fly smothered purse was all but dribbling my cognac as I recalled how I had almost masturbated watching that scene.

Whatever Alena had picked up in addition to the whip, she now pressed a button on, and I heard a heavy buzz before I began to be dragged and was having to walk, as the arm from the central post was pulling on the lead rein by which I was hitched to its farthest end. The central post must have had a motor fitted as it now rotated and thus forced me to wiggle-walk with my bottom beating out the teasing torment sensation-temptation of the very devil herself, as I swung my rear like a toreador's cape, but more excitingly invitingly than any red rag before a revengeful bull rage-full.

"Give the little slut seven hours to ease her in" I heard Fabrina suggest.

And with just that phrase it was decreed without any consideration whatsoever of me, that I must walk around the circle I circled, dragged by the arm from the rotating central post of that training device, for that is what it was, a ponygirl trainer, for the next seven, yes no less than seven long hours!

No. No, of course it was not as simple as that. Alena stayed with me. Initially, Alena stayed with me.

Alena sipped her water within my sight clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop.

Alena raised her white parasol as the sun got higher in the sky and beat down on my nude body, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop.

"Get your feet up you lazy slut!" she would shout, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop.

Around and around, and endlessly around the central pole I wiggled my enticingly excitingly succulently supremely sexy body, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop at a fast walk, flexing my gorgeous legs at every step

The heat beat, the flies swarmed, my eyes closed as the flies crawled over my eyelids, my mouth was dry and filthy as flies tickled my lovely lips, and crawled, yes they even crawled onto my tongue, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop.

And the flies were driving me insane as, "Get your feet up you fucking whore!" as they danced on my nipples and zigzagged wandered all over my super-sensitive sex, trying to get inside me, "Get those fucking feet up you filthy slag!" clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop.

"Get your feet up you idle bitch!" the voice was different; Fabrina had taken over: clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop.

I knew that this would go on for endless hours. I was a fit girl but……….

But then I heard a terrible scream!………. clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop. A shiver went down my lovely curved spine and I came back from the strange auto-pilot clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop with which I continued to circle.

"Get those fucking feet UP you fucking idle bitch!" Clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop, the scream again!

For two whole hours, punctuated by a horrible scream from some poor girl, a ponygirl know doubt, I was made to walk at a brisk pace around and around the central pole on the warn path in the grass, where so many ponygirls must have had to walk as I was, before me.

For two whole hours I suffered either Fabrina or Alena's abuse. For two whole hours I suffered the purgatory of the obscene things the creeping crawling flies were doing to me.

"On order Midnight-Pearl trot", Fabrina called, "I say 'trot': Midnight-Pearl trot! Midnight-Pearl trot with the back straight. Midnight-Pearl lift pretty leg every time so Midnight-Pearl knee at level with top of lovely bum. If Midnight-Pearl not good trot, Midnight-Pearl made hurt with naughty whip" she concluded dismissively, insulting my intelligence, and as if a whipping was of no consequence, as indeed it was of no consequence for her.

Fabrina pressed the button on what was obviously a remote control, and the rotator speeded, as therefore must I. My gorgeous powerful supremely shapely legs must now work like pistons to obey the order that I trot in the way a ponygirl must learn to trot, even though it is not entirely natural. My gorgeous legs speeded me, clipclop clipclop clipclop clipclop clipclop.

I feared the whip. I was terrified I would be whipped. I jogged my lovely long legs and juddered my huge titties as I beat the ground with my newly pony-shoe shod hooves.

"That good girl! Midnight-Pearl good girl! Midnight-Pearl clever girl" Fabrina called to me, though a hint in her voice was more of despair that I was really bad, and she was merely trying another tactic to her preferred one, that of abusing me.

I could not believe my ears. Suddenly I preened with pride. I was being subjected to the degrading torture of being made to perform like a human horse, and yet suddenly I felt pride that I had received praise.

I trotted round and round and round and round, my heart pumping and with my pride, yes pride at having been praised for my trotting ability, that pride showing in my eyes.

"She is good. Don't you think she is good?" I heard Fabrina query of, I assumed, a returned Alena.

"Good? She's fucking lousy and you know it…………" then, as a bye-the-bye, "By the way, Night-Breeze has had her foal weaned", Alena replied.

I trotted obediently around and around and around listening, as the two older women talked as if I were not there or, even if acknowledged to be there, as if I were of no consequence.

"Night-Breeze could go to the plough now of course, but we have a shortage on the production side. I've detailed Selina and Jonquil, let them off classes for a while, to hitch Ice-Queen to the gig, and take Night-Breeze's foal to the ponygirl nursery", Alena quietly confirmed informatively for Fabrina's half-listening ears, whilst she, Alena, half-watched me trot round and round and round.

Now I knew the reasons for the screams of pain I had heard: some poor girl had had her child taken away: this was the commonplace of the pony-farm. That is why it can be described so glibly. A girl had had her child taken from her.

There was a pause in the conversation of the two women as I trotted endlessly round and round and round…

Then, just as casually, Fabrina asked in a voice that said that of course she knew Alena would have taken care of the problem, but just wondered, in order to tuck away a loose end in her briefing: "What about the ploughing?"

"Oh: Koala-Bare of course. She needs a damned good whipping that girl. Pulling the plough will do her the world of good".

No more was said for a good five minutes as I trotted, straight-backed, lifting my lovely thighs horizontal with each step, around and round and around and round the central post, the horizontal arm from which I was securely tethered to the end of by my mouth bit.

"Lunch?" enquired Alena of Fabrina, as Fabrina momentarily looked away from inspecting me, and slowly shaking her head in despair at my performance.

Fabrina turned to look at me again, as I trotted endlessly around and around and around. With eyes not really seeing let alone studying what she saw, she daydream-watched me picking up my superb legs, flashing my folded legs with their beautiful strong muscularity, curving my compelling calves, thunder in my thighs, as I trotted as ordered and as compelled by the machine, around, and around and around, and she saw without seeing, because it was nothing unusual to see, certainly nothing unusual for her to see: she watched the flies crawling all over me, she watched as they buzzed away from my obviously excited nipples, to either re-settle and feast some more on my judder jodder jigger joggering sweaty breasts, as they bounced in unison whilst I trot-trot-trotted, or to join the hundreds of their compatriots who, to an eye easily deceived, gave me the appearance of having re-grown my pubic hair, so thickly had they congregated and so keenly were they nudging and jostling each other to get a taste of the lovely secretion from my pod. And she watched too, as continuing to obediently trot, around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around, I pissed like an animal. Even whilst I trotted around and around and around, I was publicly openly copiously pissing: pissing like an animal.

"Lunch! Yes! Good idea!" Fabrina replied.

………………

Lunch was leisurely. Why should it not be, I was well taken care of. I trotted around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around for two solid hours and more. In fact, I myself had no idea from other than the fact that the sun had gone overhead, what time of day it was.

The two women were laughing giggling and snorting with lovely laughter, from some private joke as they casually sauntered over to where I was still obeying my order to trot.

"You fucking slut!" Alena shouted at me: "Get your fucking knees up!

"UP I said!!"

"Get your knees UP you idle bitch!!"

I was nearly dropping with exhaustion and Alena knew it: she full well knew it. I had been trotting for two-and-a-half hours non-stop.

This was the bitter part of my training. This was when I was to have my lesson driven into me. This was where the border between Emma Bronwyn Jones, the girl, and Midnight-Pearl, the ponygirl lay. This was the point at which I could begin to be broken.

I trotted around and around and around and around and around now Alena began to crack the whip behind me to remind me who my mistresses were and what my place in the world was.

Around and around and around and around and around I trotted exhausted, beyond exhaustion, with the carriage whip cracking behind my obscenely swinging bottom every time I showed even the slightest sign of a sign of a sign that I might slacken.

Around and around and around and around and around I trotted. They were going to drive me into the ground in order to teach me my place: in order to break me, I was to be exhausted beyond exhaustion's exhaustion.

Around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around I obediently trotted: "Get those fucking knees up you filthy slag!!" Fabrina cursed and the whip cracked.

Around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around I trotted and then I stumbled "Get going you slag!" Alena shouted, "Get fucking going!"

I tried: I tried to move my lovely legs. I was being dragged around by the machine, the flies crawled all over my breasts and my nipples not least, and were feasting, literally feasting on the tightly in-tucked in-curving luscious lips of my virgin pod, as I was dragged along around the circle having fainted from exhaustion in the searing heat of the Spanish mid-afternoon.

I came around to the splash of two buckets of cold water over my nakedness as I was still being dragged around by the training machine.

I came around in darkness. They had put a hood over my head. I could see nothing. "Trot you fucking whore!" Alena shouted and cracked her whip behind my body. I found, from somewhere, god know where, I found some reserve some last drop of adrenalin perhaps, that got me once more trotting around and around and around and around once more. "Keep going you slag!"

How I managed it I do not know, but, being taught by the blindfold bag over my head that I must quite literally learn blind obedience, I trotted around and around and around and around and around for half-an-hour or forty-five-minutes more, till I fainted and fell again.

…………..

Another douche from cold water brought my fly-crawled-over body back into the realisation of how hot the sun was. I was lying on the ground. The hood had been taken off my head. They were playing cold water over me from a hose.

I instinctively rose to my hoofed feet, my head hanging knowing I must have disappointed.

"Useless! Totally useless! She's a slag! She's a totally useless fucking slag!" Fabrina hissed in despair at Alena, whose resigned look confirmed she shared the view expressed even without need of it being expressed.

"Seven fucking hours wasted! She's no idea! After seven fucking useless hours, she's no idea how to walk properly; her trotting is abysmal, and she's yet to run let alone learn how to display-leg!!" Fabrina stomped a foot down in anger and disappointment.

"How the fuck are we ever going to get this totally useless bitch up to the standards little Miss Ryan will want, and has every right to expect in her pony?

"We've had tougher jobs" Alena tried to sympathise.

"Like what?!" Fabrina snapped back in an instant of fully surfaced frustration and anger.

"Well: like Flamenco-Firefly" Alena proposed.

"As you damned well know, Flamenco-Firefly, was an animal, or as near as, when she arrived. To break a girl so close to nature in the first place was easy. She had a lot of spirit I grant you. This one's got no stamina: no stamina at all. Flamenco-Firefly would be on the trainer for twelve and fourteen hours and still be going strong…….." Fabrina countered.

Tempers were clearly growing shorter as the women despaired over my breaking and training and lack of staying-power.

"Yes Fabrina, yes, but if you'll recall, if indeed you can be troubled for one single simple moment to be bothered to recollect, we had to give Flamenco-Firefly ten lashes across her cunt to initially break the stubborn bitch!!" Alena shouted.

"Sorry! Sorry! You're right. Sorry", Fabrina whispered, holding up a flat hand palm of peace to Alena.

There was a pause: a silence in which both women wanted to apologise to each other for my causing their anger and frustration.

"Anyway it was nine" Fabrina whispered.

"Nine what?" Alena asked, before immediately realising how silly her question was, and both women thereafter ended up laughing that two such close friends should have been falling out over a mere ponygirl…………..

School being over for the day, Hai Moon and Kim Kai were running enthusiastically up to take me back to the stables.

"Gaynor is coming by tonight by the way", Fabrina said.

"We'll have a talk about this one then: with Gaynor too I mean" Alena prompted.

"Sounds good to me" Fabrina laughed, putting a loving arm around her friend as they left me in the care of my stable-girls.

………………

To say that I was exhausted would not be to even scratch the surface for a suitable depiction of my state, as Kim Kai took my lead rein and I clip clopped behind the two lovely little Chinese dolls.

The fear I now knew, knew no relaxation in the presence of these seeming angels, my pretty little stable-girls, now either. Had I not witnessed Hai Moon brutalising Koala-Bare as she rode her, whipping Koala-Bare and driving her vicious spurs into poor Koala-Bare's thighs?

Then, as I wiggled submissively along on the end of the lead tether, Kim Kai loosely held, I realised that I did not know the names of these girls. No, not my stable-girls… But let us start with them. In admitting that these, Kim Kai and Hai Moon were my stable-girls, I was accepting my relative position wasn't I? And in knowing the other girls in the other stalls only as 'Laser-Dance' or 'Flamenco Firefly' or 'Calypso-Canter' was I not, oh it was so horrible to have to admit, but was I not accepting that they were ponygirls and had no other existence other than as 'Laser-Dance', 'Flamenco Firefly', and 'Calypso-Canter'? And where did that leave me? Surely, oh god, surely, oh hell and heaven, surely it could only mean that I was accepting, or at least beginning to accept that I was, relative to Kim Kai, Hai Moon and the girls in the stalls, that I was and only now existed as 'Midnight-Pearl'?

I clip clopped back onto the cobbles of the pony-farm's stable area, the flies that had taunted and teased me all day, continuing to crawl all over my sweaty body and my filthy sweaty piss-smelly pod in particular.

Kim Kai tethered me to the stable wall in the outside air once more and I experienced next, the most wonderful event to date of my captivity. I was being sprayed with warm water by Kim Kai. As Hai Moon was using a sponge soaked in soft soap to wash me down, I was being given a shower. I was in heaven, as they shampooed my hair and at long last washed the wicked flies off my breasts and from around my sex.

Now I was being blown dry, hair and body, and my hair was being brushed and combed, my lovely dark short negress' curls were being combed and brushed. This was bliss! This was total and absolute bliss. Now they were massaging my lovely long legs, and treating my aches with the horse-liniment that was so relaxing to my tired, tired, lower limbs.

My post exercise treatment over, Hai Moon led me to my stall. I was almost too exhausted to feel it as she pulled out my tail. I would certainly be unable to escape any distance, so extremely enervated was I, as they took out my bit.

My mouth freed just for a while from the vile bit, I wiggled over to the trough within my stall the instant my bit was removed, and risked another girl demanding that such lovely lips not be wasted on other than a luscious kiss, as I pouted my gorgeous constant-kiss-provoking negress' lips to suck up the water, I was so completely desperate for, so extremely dehydrated had I become after seven and more hours in the sun.

I heard sobs.

And then I ate from my manger.

I heard sobs.

I took hungry mouthful after eager mouthful of the bran, the warm steaming sweet-smelling hot water liquidised bran that was in my manger.

I heard more sobs.

I was so hungry. I was famished. I licked my manger! I actually completely emptied and animally licked the bottom and sides of my manger with my pink pointy-ended love-luring tongue, degradingly desperately, I was still so hungry.

I heard yet more sobs.

Kim Kai poured something new in my manger as I sucked up more water with my commandingly delicious lips. I returned to my manger, and bent over it, thereby showing my naked shaven pod to the young stable-girls, who were giggling shyly as they became excited at the sight. I eagerly ate and chewed what Kim Kai had dumped in my manger, even though I knew it contained fresh grass: grass being, of course, the key component in the diet of a ponygirl. Now I knew what had been the 'secret ingredient' in the food that Alena had fed me at the university: grass!

I heard more sobs.

I drank more water, and then wiggled back to my manger to eat more grass, and as I wiggled between water trough and manger, I was pissing like an animal. I gave it no thought. I gave no thought to the fact that that very morning I had nearly wretched-up my bile watching the other ponygirls urinate like animals, and now here I was walking around on the straw lining the bottom of my stall, so tired that I was just pissing, I wiggle-walked around my stall my urine hissing even as I walked. I walked peeing on the straw floor of my stall as I went: peeing like an animal.

The sobs grew louder.

My hunger thirst and need to urinate satisfied, I became more aware of them.

Having watched me slake my thirst and sate my hunger, Kim Kai moved in to brush my teeth, and put a fresh rubber bit in my mouth. This done, she clipped two lead reins, one to each of the hoops at each end of my bit, and fastened the chains that ran from these lead reins to ready hoops firmly fixed to the sidewalls of my stall.

The chains were short and I could not move bar to transfer my all-girl 120 pounds from one lovely leg to the other. I assumed this was temporary and I would later be released to move around or lie down to sleep: and the chance to sleep could not come soon enough: oh for the chance to sleep!

A terrible sob tore the air.

"Why Night-Breeze make much noise so?" Hai Moon asked Kim Kai as Hai Moon gave me what looked like it was, unbelievably since I was chained still standing up, some kind of last check over.

"You no hear? She have foal weaned." Kim Kai answered "Foal taken. Night-Breeze not got foal no more. Foal go nursery. Night-Breeze cry. You double-check me please", Hai Moon asked Kim Kai, who also then looked me over as if in some kind of finality.

"Night-Breeze plenty spare milk now?" Hai Moon speculated matter-of-factly.

"She Noble-Obliger stall tonight. Tomorrow, Night-Breeze go dairy, made be cow-pony" Kim Kai responded distractedly as she inspected my bit.

One of the two cameragirls who had followed me all day, lowered now the all-seeing-eye of her digital 'film' machine, and stretched and yawned.

My two little doll Chinese stable-girls began to go out of the stable to find their own supper, leaving me tightly chained up by my bit, standing in my stall.

"Say!" called the still stretching cameragirl after the receding Kim Kai and Hai Moon, "Ain't one of you pretty chicks gonna let Midnight-Pearl get some shuteye: you know, a lie down?"

Kim Kai and Hai Moon turned around and looked back blank faced.

Thinking my stable-girls had not understood her, the American girl hitherto operating camera, repeated her enquiry, using insulting broken English: "You know! Lie down: go bye-byes, snore, snore!?" putting her hands together like a church steeple, and tipping her head sideways on her held-together hands, as if they were a pillow she was snuggling down upon, to show what she meant.

Kim Kai and Hai Moon still looked blank, then Kim Kai realised the American girl's ignorance. Firstly looking at Hai Moon to see who was going to answer, and getting a 'you go' look, Kim Kai, politely ignoring the strange unenlightenment of the city-born-and-raised cameragirl, quietly responded: "You no see horse in field? Ponygirl is like horse in field: ponygirl sleep standing up!"

"Well: if you say so honey!" the cameragirl concluded as she yawned behind a pretty hand, and then took her sexy companion's hand, before kissing her full on the mouth very lasciviously, directly in front of where I stood experiencing the dawning of the horror that I was expected, as a ponygirl, to sleep standing.

"Food or bed, Julie?" asked the American accented cameragirl of her English sound boom carrying companion.

"Bed of course" laughed Julie, blushing shyly.

'Midnight-Pearl' (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 6 – Javelin

Two girls hardly slept that night.

Four girls hardly slept that night.

Jenna, the New York USA born-and-raised cameragirl, and Julie from York in England, respectively the chief camera and sound recording girls for the film being made for sale and profit of my 'breaking-in' as a ponygirl, spent the whole night finding new angles in which to give physical meaning to the word 'love': their passion for each other only outmatched by their compassion for each other. If love is made in heaven and expressed with licking tongues: Jenna and Julie's was indeed true love.

I surprised myself in two ways that night.

The first of these was in the fact I managed some sleep: hardly any but some.

Poor Night-Breeze sobbed moaned and keened all night long. I had been too tired to even think. When I had been brought back to the stables after my first day of training, I had been too tired to even think. Now my mind screamed at Night-Breeze: 'for god's sake shut up!' But how cruel we can all be when others are suffering. I only longed for her crying to stop, because I was desperate for sleep. Poor Night-Breeze had had her foal taken away from her: she was heartbroken.

The horror was too much for my mind to absorb. I would not admit to myself what they were doing: what Fabrina, Alena, Gaynor, and whoever else might be behind them were doing. Poor Night-Breeze had had her child taken away. I had, absolutely clearly, heard her child referred to as 'a foal'. And now they were going to make Night-Breeze into a cow-pony. I had a mental vision of some 'unit' on the pony-farm, where the lights were on twenty-four hours a day, and where girls bound up as ponygirls, just as I was, were having their breasts regularly milked.

Only later did I find how right I was; and how wrong I was. I was right that there were intensive-farming buildings in which girls were being used as 'cows' for their milk. I was wrong, not only about the number of buildings, and thus the number of ponygirl 'cows' suffering in them, but I had no vision that there was also a creamery and that under the brand name 'Pure Girl', girl-milk, girl-cream, and even girl-cheese were but some of the extremely profitable outputs of the farm. Indeed, girl-cheese was being distributed world-wide.

Perhaps we should all be thankful I remained, until much later, blissfully unaware of the winery. Specially selected girls, most of them Russian for reasons I learned were associated with the delightful quality of their produce, were, and it is surely disgusting to think about it, were being farmed for their 'wine'. I mean of course, their pee: their urine. They were being made to drink their own urine until it had gone through them six times, and then having their sixth pee bottled and sold. Ugghhh!!

Only once did I hear mention of 'meat'. It concerned what happened with the cow-ponies when they were no longer able to lactate. I have to mention it here, as I wish you to understand the true bestiality of the institution I had been forced into. I may be making a false accusation. I do not know if it was true. I just heard talk. I have never investigated the rumour: I find even the very thought so vilely sickening, as I am sure, dear reader, do you.

At two in the morning I shit myself. There is no nice way to put what happened to me. I stood as I was forced to, fixed as I was by two chains from my mouth bit fastening me to the walls of my stall. My diet of bran earlier had made its way through my system speedily; I had also not relieved myself in over twenty-four hours of fear-induced constipation.

Since eating the bran though, I had been parting with wind regularly. The smell of the stables was disgusting. We, all we ponygirls were fed on bran, grass, and oats, every one of them conducive to the terrible flatulence all we ponygirls exhibited and helplessly openly indulged.

We just could not help ourselves. And I just could not help myself. I know it is not nice to think about, let alone talk about, but it is part of the truth: it is a small part of what happened to me. It tells too, so clearly, of the degree to which I was being made to become an animal as a fact and not just a fiction. What I was enduring was no bondage game. The fact that at two in the morning the backs of my supremely shapely legs were completely coated in what seemed like gallons of my fresh stinking faeces surely testifies to that!

I cried quietly. There was no reason for my sobs to wake any of the other girls. After all, what justification did I have for my tears as compared with Night-Breeze? However, as tears rolled down my superbly soft-complexioned brown cheeks, dripping their misery on my pre-eminently prominent breasts, the balance in the bank of justice was not paramount in my mind: all I knew was my misery's misery.

The lights in the stable went on at five in the morning. The lights were followed by the delights of the exceptionally pretty little stable-girls, including my own Hai Moon and Kim Kai.

I was urinating as they approached my stall. I had tried my hardest to hang on, but it had defeated me, and I once more had to accept that I must now piss like an animal, and I was pissing profusely as Kim Kai was the first to reach my stall.

To Kim Kai, there was nothing unusual in the sight of a ponygirl peeing on her straw in her stall, nor even in the fact a ponygirl smelt of the faeces that was caked on her legs.

Kim Kai and Hai Moon unfastened my chains and removed my bit. Hai Moon then poured chilling cold water on my bum and legs to wash of the shit and the flies that were inevitably crawling around my anus.

I had noticed before, that the depth of straw in the stalls seemed to differ between ponygirls. It seemed a trivial matter, but still a little odd. It appeared to be related to time. I assumed some ponygirls had been longer in their stalls than others. But, even then, where was the logic in letting the soiled straw stay?

Then I concluded it had some connection with heating. We ponygirls were, at all times, more naked than covered. The fouled straw rotted down under our feet not only stinking disgustingly, but also giving off heat as it rotted. You could see 'steam' rising from it.

Night-Breeze had come from a neighbouring stable-block. I did not know why they had put her in our block; I mean the stable-block I was in. Obviously, with Noblesse-Oblige having gone somewhere else (sold to a farmer as a plough-pony), there had been a spare stall.

Can a heart sink any lower than when a poor suffering creature is taken away. I cast down my head. I am ashamed to say, that I cast down my head as they led Night-Breeze out of her stall and took her away for the very last time I would see her. They took her, I knew with deep pity in my soul for her, to become a cow-pony: the poor girl was to be used as a cow: she was to spend the next, who knew how many years, kept only for the milk she was producing, and having it physically milked out of her tits twice per day like a cow.

I had to wait to be fed. I still had my bit in place, even though I had been unhitched from the position in which I was obliged to sleep. Kim Kai was turning over the straw on which I had pissed so copiously, and into which my shit had been washed from my legs. Hai Moon was ready to scatter more straw on top of the straw I, and whoever had been the previous occupant of my stall, had soiled.

I thus had a moment or two to look around. They were taking all the straw from the stall Noblesse-Oblige and poor Night-Breeze had occupied. It looked likely that the two Korean girls who looked after that stall, would load up ten or so wheelbarrow loads.

Alena came in along with Jenna and Julie. Julie had the camera this time; Jenna would take care of sound for a change.

"Where's the soiled straw off to? Urghh god it stinks!" Jenna asked Alena, Jenna sweeping a handkerchief over her nose whilst one of the toy-doll Korean beauties wheeled her fourth full barrow out of the stable block.

"Market" Alena answered.

"Get on with it you girls please" Alena, clapping her hands to punctuate her instruction, ordered the scurrying Korean angels, the second of whom was already putting fresh straw in the completely 'mucked-out' stall once occupied by Noblesse-Oblige and Night-Breeze.

"Market?" Jenna queried.

"Manure" Alena answered.

"Manure" Jenna repeated, not as a question, but as a means of confirming she had heard Alena's answer.

Nonetheless, Alena took this single word from Jenna as being a further query, and explained more expansively: "The local market gardeners buy most of it. Tomatoes for one thing. You will never have tasted tomatoes like them. Huge but succulent and full of flavour. I'm told the women running local horticulture call it 'girlnure' rather than manure: for the obvious reason! It fetches a hefty price, that much I can tell you for sure. These ponies are very fecund. Even their piss is promotive of birth and growth. There is a hormonal content to their piss and shit that plant-life simply thrives upon."

"You've got an empty stall now then" Jenna rejoined.

"No" Alena answered, "Gaynor has hired Javelin again. Now Night-Breeze has gone to milk production, Javelin will have the empty stall. Javelin had Night-Breeze's stall in the other ponygirl block last night. That's why we put Night-Breeze in here."

I watched, as my mouth bit was being removed, I watched the name-board on Night-Breeze's former stall being changed, and the name 'Javelin' being placed there, a bit sloppily as I thought: the sign was left a little crooked.

I licked my bran into my mouth. I bent flashing my lovely virgin's minx between god's own legs, using my stunningly attractive proud kiss-proffering negress' lips and bright pink pointed tongue to scoop up my bran. I was very hungry again.

Then I kissed my water. I made love to my water with my gorgeous mouth. I kissed: I formed a kiss with my lovely lips as I sucked up water, and rose from the trough with my lips as wet as my lower lips had been as the flies had crawled over them on the preceding day, just as they were doing again now.

"Wow!" said Jenna, seeing me innocently invitingly run my livid pink pointed tongue briefly over my moist upper 'come-on-and-kiss-me' upper-lip as I rose from my trough, and as she set up the sound recorder.

"Is she one sexy honey!" Jenna opined of me, as a look on Julie's face behind Jenna's back told of a potential cause for murderous jealousy: me.

I now pissed as I walked around my stall. To that degree I had already been made an animal. I simply walked around pissing because I needed to piss.

I dreaded to think what I was going to suffer on that second day. My teeth were cleaned, my tail inserted, my bit was fastened, and I was led out into the courtyard to have my legs, pod, and armpits shaved. And, oh yes, and, of course and, and I was already smothered in flies.

I had been tethered to the wall of the stable more loosely that second morning. More accurately, I was as tightly tethered, but on a longer tether. I therefore found I could look around at what was going on: and to look around gave me some distraction from the flies crawling on around and over my nipples and my completely depilated minx. It also saved my mind from the madness of desire, as my pretty stable-girls coated me all over with sunscreen: 'all over' including my pod and an innocent massage of my stupendous breasts: heaven and hell and hell and heaven: they were so gentle: oh god it was so arousing!

My view of the cobbled yard on which my hooves clip-clopped as I moved, included the ponygirls from the other stable at the pony-farm. I counted eleven or twelve of them. I guessed it was eleven. Presumably it had been the even dozen when Night-Breeze had been among their number.

They were being inspected by a girl that I thought must be Gaynor. My assumption that she was Gaynor, the partner of Fabrina, was only based upon the fact that, whoever the girl was, she seemed to be very much in charge, and I obviously already knew Fabrina and Alena by sight.

Gaynor, assuming of course that it was she, seemed to be carrying out an inspection of the bottoms, the buttocks of the other ponygirls, the ponygirls from the other stable-block. I myself noticed that two of the girls had some kind of bright blue dye smeared haphazardly on their delightful rears, and that it was the names of these two ponygirls that Gaynor, again if it was she, was making sure of, before recording them on a sheet on a clip board, before the ponygirls were allowed to have the dye washed off them.

"Looks like Javelin had some fun last night", Alena, on a tour of inspection, and just arrived to check me out, casually remarked to Kim Kai and Hai Moon as they finished coating me with sunscreen.

I was, of course, led out to the trainer and began, all over again, to be taught how to walk and trot as a ponygirl, and not of course coincidentally, to have every last least vestige of spirit in me broken.

Alena started my day at the trot. I was made to trot for a whole hour continuously, with Alena cracking the carriage whip behind me every time I looked even slightly likely to slack.

…………….

Overnight. there had been a conference about me. Gaynor had brought light into the desperate state of concern Alena and Fabrina were in about my lack of ability to even walk as a ponygirl should, let alone trot or run.

Gaynor had simply concluded that I needed breaking first. There was no use trying to teach me anything until my spirit and been broken, so that I no longer, as I obviously did at present, regarded myself as a human girl. I needed to be taught, no, I needed to have it drummed into me, to understand without question: I needed to know my place in the world. I must accept without challenge that I was now an animal.

"It's been met with it before" Gaynor confirmed as she listened attentively to the other women running the farm, as all three sat in the library after a pleasant dinner and a couple of shared bottles of wine, from the farm's own winery: girl-wine: wine from the stunning Russian girls.

At the conference I was to hear of much later in my life, Gaynor had, apparently sat and listened with patience, and then raised a hand to silence her companions before standing and running through her conclusions.

"You have just got too close to the problem", Gaynor had begun.

"If you stand back and make an assessment, Midnight-Pearl quite obviously thinks that she is still a girl. She thinks she is still a human being. All the books support that conclusion. Alena read the wrong subjects at college", Gaynor weakly joked.

"Remember Johnson's paper 'Ponygirl Will', Johnson and Ming's chapter on 'Ponygirl Assumption Delusion', Smith has a chapter, 'The Confused Ponygirl' and, what's the well known one….you know the one?"

"Majeka?" Fabrina half-heartedly prompted, naming another familiar writer of guidance on 'Girlponyculture' as ponygirl farming is, of course, called scientifically.

"No, no, not Majeka, she was more concerned with the breeding side of the business", Gaynor mumbled, still trying to think of the name of the author, the author of the first book on the scientific approach to ponygirl farming Gaynor had ever come across: the book that had decided her to invest some inherited money in a pony-farm.

"Gadinsky?", Fabrina suggested, but was politely ignored by the pondering Gaynor, as Gaynor paced the room.

Then Gaynor clicked her fingers: "Sapphonica! Of course! Sapphonica: how could I not have remembered Sapphonica?!"

"I've got Sapphonica's 'Foundation Girlponyculture' somewhere here", Alena confirmed, standing up to run her eyes over two abundantly stacked bookshelves.

"If you can find it, let me borrow it a second please" Gaynor requested before taking the book found and riffling through the pages for what she sought.

"I'm sure it's chapter two…" she muttered to nobody in particular.

"Yes: it is chapter two, here's the passage that says in all, Sapphonica at her best. Though she only wrote for beginners and amateurs of course, it doesn't mean there is no value in her words. Here we are………

'Chapter 2 - Delusional Retention of Human Connectivity' that's our girl, good old Sapphonica…. yea, listen to this:

'There is an inevitability in the transference that all will not go smoothly.'

"Right so far eh?!" Gaynor exclaimed, before reading on…….

'There is an inevitability in the transference that all will not go smoothly. This problem, for problem it clearly is, has been called by Johnson and Ming, "Delusional Retention of Human Connectivity" ('Ponygirl Assumption Delusion' Johnson and Ming - Crowborough University Press 1890).'

'Johnson and Ming confirm the impossibility of successively making a ponygirl out of a girl who is not latently pony. The wise doctors go on to confirm that only certain girls in human society are latent ponygirls, and that the art of divining the latent ponygirl from among her sisteren is the prerequisite skill for the successful ponygirl farmer.'

'The commonplace misunderstanding of Johnson and Ming's writings, is that all the would-be ponygirl farmer has to do, is take Johnson's ten confirmatory signs for the absolute certainty that a girl is latently pony. Johnson's guidance has, of course, been shown reliable to ninety-nine percent accuracy over a period exceeding one-hundred years. The concern, therefore, is not with Johnson's 'confirmatory signs', but with the fact that would-be ponygirl farmers do not take full and / or proper account of identity thereafter.'

'The latent ponygirl is, though usually aware of some aspects of her personality (and personality is a significant factor), invariably effectively totally unaware of her latency. As Johnson and Ming state, were it the case that a ponygirl knew she was pony, the term "latency" would have no application and identity not be the absolutely key problem it always is with such girls.'

'"A ponygirl living as any other girl in society, will not be aware of the signs she gives that she is pony." (Johnson and Ming (ibid)). She may be, as mentioned above on this page, aware of some signs, but she will account even for those, with conclusions that are completely other than the fact that she is really a pony. Johnson and Ming produce research proving that even latent ponygirls living among and working with ponygirls, "do not register in their own minds that they themselves are really ponies" (Johnson and Ming (ibid)).'

'Girls who are not pony, need to understand the magnitude of the step change, indeed the revolution the mind of a girl who is a pony has to go through. A girl who is a pony, being pony herself, will be unable to break away from her human identity, she needs to have it done for her.'

'A latent pony has to be broken from the delusion that she has any equality with the human race. She is not a human. She is not a human, but will delude herself that she is, inter alia because of the human association of the term "animal" with something less than human. It is that association, the association of the term "animal" commonly made by humans, and of course accurately made when used as the commonplace to contrast with Homo Sapiens, that is at the heart of Johnson and Ming's "delusional retention".'

'The latent ponygirl must have the fact that she is pony identified for her: she will not realise it until she is broken so that it becomes innate within her psyche, that she is animal and not human. She must be taught her identity. She will not know that she is pony. She can only be taught that she is pony. The teaching must ensure she understands that there is no element of pretence. She must accept her animal status: period.'

'The key to successful transfer of a latent pony to her natural animal state is the breaking of the will. This has been shown by Johnson, Ming and, in her later works, Gadinsky, to be most quickly and effectively achieved by the: "deep and all embracing depth of tiredness that leads to mesmeric transference" (Johnson and Ming (ibid)), so the supposed human girl that was, slowly wakes each day to a pony characteristic she will have newly subconsciously re-foregrounded. A characteristic always there within her because she is innately pony: a characteristic that she has made subliminal hitherto because she has been inappropriately raised as human and thus has an overlay of delusional retention repressing and suppressing her pony animality.'

'The innate pony must be deconstructed to be reconstructed. "She" must become "it". The useless misleading damaging layer of learned humanness must be erased. The Girlponyculturalist will be wise to perform this essentiality integrally with the pony's training. It can be deployed on the innate pony whilst it is still deceived as to its place in society and still living as if a girl among it. However, it must be recommended that the pony is removed from that it has no right to be among, so it will more quickly learn its lesser status and that it has hitherto been deluded and misled both by itself and by the misguided kindness of human beings.'

'Whichever and whatever time and place are chosen, the mesmeric tiredness transference will forefront the pony to the backgrounding and removal of the human. Animal behaviour will be exhibited within days. Animal behaviour will be exhibited because it is the norm of behaviour for ponies. A human is a balancing act between civilisation learned and animal innateness. The ponygirl will quickly lose the learned aspect because it does not belong it because it is not and never was a human.'

'Even in the delusional state, the innate pony is more animal than human in its character if not its behaviour. A ponygirl is an animal. A ponygirl living as a girl in human society is an animal that merely imitates human behaviour. That it can imitate human behaviour does not make a ponygirl a human. It is a disservice to humanity to let a ponygirl continue its deception. It is a disservice to the pony not to let it recover its animal state and be put to good use.'

"There: that middle bit: 'animal behaviour will be exhibited within days…'. You said Midnight-Pearl was pissing all down her lovely legs on the trainer" Gaynor enthused.

"Yes", said Alena, "She was".

"Then your despair is for nothing ladies. You need to drive her very much harder, but the transference is underway. When she is instinctively urinating when she needs to, wherever she is at the time she needs to, then she is on her way to accepting that she is animal: case closed" Gaynor slapped Sapphonica's book shut. The crisis conference about me and my being broken as a ponygirl was over.

…………….

Alena started my day at the trot. I was made to trot around the rotating ponygirl trainer, for a whole hour continuously, my trotting efforts accompanied by foul abuse of me, constant orders that I get my knees up higher, and the crack of the savage whip directly behind my swish-swung bottom and swish swinging tail, whenever I looked at all likely to slack.

After that first hour, they put the hood over my head, and I was made to trot for two hours more.

I ran: as I trotted, I ran with perspiration. The horrible flies crawled all over my body, but still found my jiggering joggering nipples as my titties endlessly bounced in rhythmic unison as I trotted: my nipples and my poor pod were their key fascination. The foul knowledge that many of these flies would have been feasting on faeces in the stables or the cow-pony barn before crawling on my face and around my eyes, and into and around my mouth: my mouth that I was unable to close because of the rubber gag bit I wore, made me feel quite nauseated.

Alena and Fabrina were intending to take me beyond exhaustion: they had determined how to break me: how to make me accept I was animal, and they were going to pursue it without let or hindrance.

If I showed any sign whatsoever of slacking, they cracked the whip behind me and saw me flinch in terror and renew my efforts almost before the last echo of the whip's 'crack'.

I was a fit girl, but even the fittest girl could not take the way they were driving me. More than once I fainted, ending up being dragged around by the training machine; woken in shock by ice cold water hosed over my naked body; and ordered with curse and whip's crack, to trot again.

The shear brutality continued all day. I spent an incredible four hours at the trot, punctuated with the cold water douches and savage language cursing me as a whore, and a bitch, and a slag, always accompanied by horrible adjectives.

Finally, as even Alena and Fabrina had to accept my exhaustion, I was left being dragged around by the machine, my beautiful breasts rising and falling as I gasped for breath, tortured beyond further endurance, or so it seemed.

The machine was stopped. I still hung by the rein running from my mouth bit, in terrible pain as my neck was bent back by the way my collapsed legs had left me.

Water from the hose, water as cold as the south-pole did not rouse me. Increased water-pressure and two cracks of the whip brought me to my shaky very shapely legs. My hood was pulled off. Several flies that had been enjoying the beauty of my face and eyes and mouth within it, flew out, to taste my sweet sweaty nipples next. My hair, even my tight curly dark gorgeously lovely hair hung, still curled, but dripping with my perspiration. My beautiful brown eyes showed my complete and utter exhaustion.

"Midnight-Pearl stand face this way" Fabrina ordered.

I did as I was ordered.

"Midnight-Pearl lift folded right leg so knee squash Midnight-Pearl right titty, toes pointing straight down"

I strained to raise my wonderful right leg folded as ordered and thus display the orgasmic massiveness of the thigh of my folded leg. Initially I found I could not stand straight and raise my folded legs as high as ordered. I bit down on the gag as I tried to obey the seemingly impossible order. And, low and behold, I was doing it. I was in distress, but I was doing it. I was actually standing on my lovely left leg, with my right leg sexily folded in the 'display-leg' mode. Okay this was only the initial 'display-leg' position, but I had managed the physical difficulty even in my extreme exhaustion.

"Midnight-Pearl good girl. Midnight-Pearl good girl" Alena praised.

"Midnight-Pearl kick folded leg out straight up to sky and hold"

I fought to do as I was ordered. Stage by stage they were teaching me to 'display-leg'. I must learn to raise my leg in a snap motion so that it folded at the knee with the back of my hoof next my buttock, then raise my sexily folded leg to touch my tit, before extending my lower leg straight up, once my folded leg was touching my breast.

Try as I might, I was not sufficiently supple to raise my gorgeous leg so that my hoofed foot pointed straight up.

The camera filming my training torture took in the look of deep distress and fear on my face, as my lower leg insistently stayed at only a quarter of the dreadful distance it needed to be raised to please my mistresses.

"Straighten your back whore!" Fabrina barked as my leg began to lower.

"Not good enough. Midnight-Pearl learn stand 'display-leg' five minutes" Alena ordered

But Hai Moon and Kim Kai were running enthusiastically up to collect me, and my second day of being broken was over as, clip clop clip clop clip clop, I was hurried back to the cobbled yard and the warm shower and washing sponge I so looked forward to.

The physical beauty of the girl being showered by Night-Breeze's former stable-girls was unbelievable. I only saw a back view as the little Korean toy-dolls shampooed her dark-brunette ringlets, but I delighted in seeing her lovely, clearly massive, breasts swing out either side of her, as one of her stable-girls really got to work with shampoo.

She was a white girl, with an all-over entirely natural tan. Her body was obviously fit. She had curves to die for. She wore a saddle belt to squeeze her waist down, as did all we ponygirls, but with her, if with any of us, it seemed the least necessary.

She was turned so her stable-girl could shower her back. What a lovely face I saw! She was not pretty in the 'chocolate-box-picture' sense; she was beautiful. But again, her beauty was unconventional. Her nose was a little too big, her brown-green eyes a little too large, her mouth a little too sensuous, at least, as far as I could tell with the gag bit she wore. But, despite any individual minor flaw, her face in combination of all its assets had solacing loveliness, punctuated by a delightful little cleft dimple in the middle of her chin. Her face caught the eye and the eye was amazed with pleasure to see it. Her face lent pleasure to the world and delight to life. She was very attractive. She was an exceptionally attractive girl.

Of course, I only noticed all this after my shock.

I looked to see her name when her stable-girls turned her. I thought I saw 'Javelin' on her head band. She looked at me with gentleness and with what would have been the loveliest and friendliest of smiles, were it not that she, like I, still wore a mouth bit.

Of course, I only noticed this after my shock.

Her penis was seemingly always semi-erect.

Of course, I noticed this: this was my shock!

When the lovely girl was turned, I watched with my eyes so wide-open it was a wonder that they did not pop out of my head. As she turned, her huge penis, it looked at least one-foot long even in its semi-erect state, waved side to side. Had I a thesaurus, I was so completely taken aback, that, had I a thesaurus I would also need a dictionary to find which synonym of 'astounded' might better define my complete and utter amazement at this beautiful creature, a girl with a huge penis and heavy, extremely potent looking, testicles: a massively well endowed girlboy.

…………

Having been showered and sponged down, I was clip-clopped back to my stall for my tail to be removed and for me to be able to feed and drink.

Once that was over though, my two stable-girls surprised me by taking me to the back of my stall and fastening me by my left ankle, my left leg just above the knee, my left thigh, at my crutch, my waist, and my shoulders above my breasts, to a strong metal frame that seemed to have arrived there since I had left my stall in the morning.

This frame in turn was very securely fastened to the sides of my stall.

The tying of my right leg to a rigid steel splint using strong leather straps surprised me, and my screams of agony as my ankle was roped and the rope used to pull my splinted-rigid right leg where they would have me taught to raise it to obey their order to 'display-leg', shocked and silenced my fellow pony-girls.

There was no mercy shown in forcing my beautiful right leg up to the sky, stretching my hamstrings and calf-muscles in the supreme extreme of the agony of hell as I bit down and nearly through my overnight rubber gag bit.

The disturbance of my scream was followed by my continuing moans at the unbearable pain from my stretched muscles, but there was another cause for a flurrying in the stables. My fellow ponygirls were all tethered by their mouth bits stood upright for the night to sleep standing in their stalls and, even in my pain, I was aware of deep disturbance and fear among them.

Even as tears of savage pain clouded my vision I saw what was disturbing them, as the stunning beautiful girlboy Javelin was led in and I could see that already, in anticipation of a night of pleasure, Javelin had a huge erection and her penis stood almost upright, throbbing and bobbing as she trotted in, led my Alena.

Javelin's erection made her penis massive. She must surely have had a cock one-foot long. Her penis, never it seemed flaccid at any time, had seemed twelve-inches even in its semi-erect state. Now she was erect, she was either one-foot long for sure, or more: if she did not have merely a twelve-inch cock, she could only have been more than twelve huge inches because she was absolutely certainly not less.

I slowly shook my head from side-to-side in my pain, taking in without really seeing that, although Javelin was led to Night-Breeze's stall, she Javelin, was not tethered by her mouth bit as we were or, at least this night, all the ponies other than I were.

The other ponygirls seemed distressed and shifted in their stalls as if they were trying to escape.

I looked over at the lovely Javelin. She was a stunning creature. I wondered why though: in my ignorance I wondered why she had a strap around her that squeezed the base of her penis and seemed to hold some kind of coloured block or sponge: a block or sponge of the same light-blue as the dye I had seen on the lovely bottoms of two girls from the other stable block that morning.

"We'll be needing to tell the movie viewers what's goin' on here" Jenna remarked to Alena as Javelin's arrival on station for the night was being filmed.

"Sure", Alena answered in a friendly leg-pulling imitation of Jenna's New York English.

"We're breeding", Alena began to explain. "We need foals. We need new fillies. We need cow-ponies. For breeding, we hire a stallion. Javelin is our regular. She is very potent. Put her in the stables and she'll cover up to three ponygirls in a night…."

"'Cover'?" Jenna queried.

"Yes: 'cover'. A ponygirl is 'covered' by the stallion. In human terms; in crude human terms, she is 'fucked': to 'cover' a ponygirl is to fuck the ponygirl. 'Cover' is the equine equivalent of 'fuck'".

"So Javelin is here to fuck…….I mean 'cover' the ponygirls. What in hell do you get from that?" Jenna asked.

"A pregnancy of two or more if we are lucky", Alena answered. A ponygirl has to drop a foal…. I mean a ponygirl has to have given birth before she can lactate……..I mean before she can produce milk. It will be thirteen years before a ponygirl's foal can become of use, but once she's borne a foal and dropped it, a ponygirl will only be allowed six-months before her foal must be weaned and the ponygirl herself put to milk. Once she is lactating, a ponygirl, as long as she is milked daily, will produce milk for two years or more………"

"And when her milk production days are over?" Jenna asked, as if the question had been planted by prior rehearsal.

"Look Jenna!" Alena began in well-acted self-defensive annoyance, "Whatever you think about the point behind your question, this is a business and there is no use in business for sentiment. There is a market for the meat. A ponygirl is only of use for the meat side of the livestock market till she is thirty. The meat has to be tender or it just won't sell. A ponygirl put to milk will yield for two years or so. After that…It's all done very humanely. The ponygirl is always masturbated as she is slow strangled: masturbated so as to get her full flavour in her meat……… There are professional slaughterhouses………We do our own slaughtering, but not the butchery, that needs real expertise."

If this question were not planted its answer would surely have caused some horror in the asker, and yet Jenna glibly next asked: "And what in god's name is that thing…that blue dye soaked thing above…. I mean that thing tied above on Javelin's lower belly above her penis?" Jenna asked.

"Oh that. It's just a means of us knowing which ponygirls Javelin has covered. She is trained to cover the ponies from behind; not that she needed training since that's how animals fuck anyway of course."

"When Javelin covers a pony the dye will paint the ponies hind quarters, and thus we know next day which ponies have been covered and where our next cow-ponies may come from", Alena concluded in answer to questions that seemed to have been rehearsed, question and answer both, for the camera that now ceased its day's filming.

No light was ever unnecessarily wasted in our stables. As I continued to suffer the terrible hell of my splinted right leg having been forced up so that my ankle was but one foot forward of my chin, in the sudden darkness of the stable as the lights were thrown off, I heard the clip-clop of a ponygirl's hooves, I heard the clip-clop of Javelin's hooves, and, along with it I heard the violence with which the other ponygirls were fighting their bonds in fear and longing to escape. And then I heard the unmistakable sound of Flamenco-Firefly crying in fear. And then I heard Flamenco-Firefly gasp, and then scream an earth-shattering-teeth-clenched scream of extreme pain. And I knew that Javelin's brutal penis had been rammed home in poor Flamenco-Firefly's virgin minx. And then I heard Flamenco-Firefly's chains rattle rhythmically as she was being shagged by Javelin. And next I heard Flamenco-Firefly's cries of pain turn to moans of pleasure. And, seconds later, I heard Javelin's long loud grunt. And then I heard Flamenco-Firefly's moan of longing unsatisfied as Javelin pulled herself out of Flamenco-Firefly's cunt, leaving Flamenco-Firefly's minx dripping semen from the fucking she had received, and frustrated with sexual arousal that would have no satiation other than in masochistic frustration, for Javelin had no need of satisfying any pony bar Javelin herself. And I heard Flamenco-Firefly cry once more from her being no masochist and longing to cum, and from the truly dreadful fear she might have been made pregnant by this, the very first time ever that Flamenco-Firefly had been fucked.

'Midnight-Pearl' (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 7 – The Giggle

I had a heavy limp the next morning. My leg muscles, my calf and especially my thigh muscles, the muscles of my right leg pulled up overnight to the 'display-leg' position hurt dreadfully. Yet I was glad of the pain because my suspension with my leg tied up by its ankle had made me unavailable to Javelin, and because Hai Moon's lovely little hands were soon stroking my calf and the back of my thigh with the horse-liniment that was easing my leg muscles' horrible stiffness whilst causing a pleasurable one in my nipples.

Even so, even though I had been unavailable to Javelin's ministrations, I was lined up along with all the other girls from my stables for inspection. Fabrina looked all of us over from our rears.

Despite what it threatened, I noticed that a number of the other ponygirls looked tense and frustrated as if they had wanted what they had not wanted: as if their bodies had complained to their minds of the need for Javelin's stiffness within them to stroke their inner-minx muscles and take them to a cum, despite their overwhelming horror of a pregnancy.

Apart from myself, the only other pony not with the look of combined relief that she had not been fucked, and longing to have been fucked by Javelin, was Flamenco-Firefly, who had tears rolling down her wonderful face.

Fabrina smiled as she noted the profuse quantity of the blue dye that told of Flamenco-Firefly's having been covered by Javelin. Fabrina smiled and shook her head slowly, as if to say 'I'm not at all surprised', as she noted that Flamenco-Firefly's buttocks were the only ones smothered with the telltale blue. She had already checked to see that Javelin's pad was properly in place still, so it told her, the dye on the beautiful bottom of Flamenco-Firefly told her, that Flamenco-Firefly alone had been covered by Javelin that night.

Fabrina's smile told that she could not blame Javelin for wanting the outstanding astounding beauty of Flamenco-Firefly, and perhaps to remind herself to order one of Flamenco-Firefly's lovely thighs from the butcher for a celebratory spit-roast, if there had been success and Flamenco-Firefly's dropping a foal nine-months hence, followed by her post-lactation slaughter two or three years hence, was now inevitable.

Perhaps Fabrina did not know, as I and the other ponies knew, that Flamenco-Firefly's tears were also duplicitous. We had all heard Javelin return to Flamenco-Firefly's irresistible beauty four times in the night and Flamenco-Firefly whinnying to attract those visits; and yet none of us had heard Flamenco-Firefly cum with pleasure.

Poor Flamenco-Firefly had betrayed herself. She had longed and whinnied for another covering, each time after the first because she needed and wanted satisfaction through the satiation of a cum; and yet each of and all of five times she had been left waiting and wanting.

Flamenco-Firefly's body had driven her mind and now her tears told of her fears and regret. That night had seen the first sexual experience Flamenco-Firefly had ever had. That night had seen the only sexual experience Flamenco-Firefly would ever have. Flamenco-Firefly would now never ever experience a cum.

Flamenco-Firefly's stunning beauty could in fact of course; only ever really have been answered by the love of another pretty girl. Only another girl of equal beauty could ever have satisfied the rare stunning natural wonder of a girl like Flamenco-Firefly. Flamenco-Firefly could not be made to go-off half-cocked by a cocked half-girl like Javelin. Javelin was not the girl for Flamenco-Firefly.

Yet nine-month's hence, sexual satisfaction or frustration being totally irrelevant in such matters, Flamenco-Firefly would drop her lovely foal, breast-feed her for six or seven months, and then have her taken away, so that she, Flamenco-Firefly, could be farmed for her milk, until ……until… Yes: Fabrina would put her name down for one of Flamenco-Firefly's supremely hugely beautiful thighs when Flamenco-Firefly was eventually slaughtered and butchered, and invite all her friends to the roast: a roast to be toasted with copious quaffs of Russian girl-wine, or some from that sugar sweet little Inuit girl just coming into production.

My daily shaving completed, I had expected to be returned to being broken by having to walk or trot on the ponygirl rotator, but I was wrong: I found myself being walked to the blacksmith.

"This one's for Miss Ryan" Fabrina ordered the slightly obtuse farrier, with a hint of a nudge and wink in the emphasis given the name 'Miss Ryan'.

"Miss Ryan?" the gentle-cruel rough simple blacksmith enquired momentarily, "Oh Miss Ryan" she concluded, seeing the annoyed look in Fabrina's eye that she, the blacksmith, had not registered more quickly the inference.

"You've got it" Alena replied, "You've got it, and you've got all the necessary gear."

"Yea" the blacksmith answered.

I was tethered as I had been when I had been shod. I now knew the gentleness behind the bluff rough exterior of the blacksmith, and felt no nerves as I stood obediently, tethered by a single rein from my rubber mouth bit.

"Cor ain't I lucky eh? Wot a bootee you is, and you is 'ere wiv me" the blacksmith coaxed to relax me "Day sed you was pretty and day wont wrong" I felt my heart melt for this gentleness and seeming appreciation of my girlness.

"Yer is one lucky pony yer is. 'Miss Ryan' they keep callin' 'er" the farrier cooed.

Behind me, to where I could not turn my head to see, I heard a metallic scraping, but after an initial flinch and flash of the memory of Noblesse-Oblige's scream, thought nothing more of it.

"Miss fuckin' Ryan, my fuckin' arse", the crude farrier chortled, as if at a private joke.

"Naa den. We gotta giwaff yer darlin'. Where Miss fuckin' Ryan comes frum, dey 'ave der ponygirls giwaffed. Mek yer luk all 'aughty it will. Yer won't nivver talk ter the likes o' me agen after yer giwaffed an' all 'aughty will yer?" she sweetly comfortingly teased.

I could not understand what the gentle-cruel girl was talking about, and understood it less when she brought a long strong straight bar with a hinged round hoop at its centre, and put the opened-out hoop around my neck, before closing the hinged hoop and padlocking it behind my neck.

I therefore stood with my shoulders bearing a long rigid bar that stuck out at least an arms-length beyond my shoulders either side of me. Each arm of the bar had open rings, halfway along and at their ends. I was totally mystified and in considerable awe as the bar was ore: the bar was gold. The bar was probably not gold all through, but it was plated with precious gold.

Now the farrier was unfastening my lovely arms. She had undone my right arm from the wrist strap that formed one end of the manacle that tied that wrist up helplessly to my upper arm, and had put my shapely pretty arm out straight in parallel with the bar around my neck, fixing it to the bar by clipping closed the ring at its half length, just above my elbow, and the ring at my wrist, at the bar's furthest extremity. She threw aside my former wrist ties after she had repeated the new bondage arrangement with my left arm, and I now stood with my arms immovably outstretched as if I were crucified.

To keep the circulation in my outstretched arms from stopping, I twiddled my dainty hands and pretty fingers as the farrier hummed whilst she went about the business of bringing a gold ring for my neck; and another gold ring for my neck; and another gold ring for my neck.

Each and all of these gold rings were hinged at front as worn, with a nicked tongue and answering scabbard at rear as worn, so that closing the ring and pressing the tongue into the scabbard caused the nick to click and the ring to become immovably locked close-clinging-tightly around my graceful neck.

One by one the farrier surrounded my neck with lovely gold rings. Each gold ring round in end-section profile, fitting close around my slim neck, building up from the gold ring formed my the centre of the bar, the straight gold cangue that held my gorgeous arms stretched cruciform.

Each gold ring was a centimetre in cross-section-diameter, and each seemed to have its place in the order as one-by-one the rings around my neck were built up: a half dozen: then ten.

It was becoming most unpleasant now. I had found the gold rings eye-openningly flattering to my beauty, honouring my girlness; but now each ring fitted was beginning to hurt my neck as it had to be forced into place.

The blacksmith took no notice of my moans as she fitted yet another gold ring around my neck, and yet another gold ring, and yet another gold ring, and yet another gold ring, and yet another gold ring, and yet another gold ring until I wore seventeen gold rings, eighteen if the base ring of my cangue was counted, and I was suffering immense pain as if my poor neck had been dislocated. It had not, but it had certainly been horribly painfully stretched.

My neck was now held imprisoningly rigid. As the blacksmith had forecast, I looked imperiously haughty with my head held so very high.

Save that my extremely lovely face and body would look just as glorious in silver or base iron, gold was a wonderful colour for me to be decorated with. Gold has such association with the highest honour and beauty, so gold was my colour, or at least the colour best to contrast with my flawless natural naked negroid brown.

With my gorgeous face held fixedly eyes-front-only at all times now, I could not move my neck a single micro-millimetre in any direction. My loveliness was sacrifice to the gold of my giraffing, being more enslaved thus, because I could not see myself anymore. I could not successfully look down bar to see the tips of my nipples, though that would be award of heaven for any other girl of course. Unless I were to turn my whole body, I could only look rigidly at the horizon or such sweep of the horizon as my sensationally-sinful-dark-chocolate-brown-eyes could survey.

I was being prepared for 'Miss Ryan'. 'Miss Ryan', or rather her mother, 'Melinda Ryan' so called, in what I was to discover to be a cover disguise. 'Melinda Ryan' who was to gift me to her daughter, had demanded that her daughter's ponygirl be giraffed as per the custom in her homeland, and so I must suffer the constant agony of having my neck stretched as it now was, and being unable to move my head, as I now also was. But the erotic vision of my neck multi-ringed with wider diameter rings at base and top, curving in to smaller rings at centre, and then wider rings under my chin, so that my neck was concave-curve-encircled as if contained within the walls of a precious golden vase, or the true holy grail, was stupendously stunningly erotic.

There was no waiting or patience or standing-on-ceremony about the piercing of my earlobes. The farrier brought open-ended gold bells that were to dangle from my delectable little ears, and made me howl with pain as she closed the sharpened tongue-spike through my ear and clipped the tongue-spike into the ring's scabbard so I was pierced and dangled the two-inch diameter gold earrings and dangling and dinging open ended ding-dinging bells, one on each pretty little ear.

The farrier held a filthy cloth below my nose as she clipped a hole in my septum. I could not move my head, and was thus easy prey for the pincers pushed up my flared nostrils, pincers powerfully pinched to punch a hole through which a huge gold ring was snapped shut as my blood dripped and my eyes smarted with the pain of the hole punched in my nasal partition.

And the gold ring was snapped closed in my nostrils, dangling from the hole punch pierced septum, so that another open-ended bell and its musical clapper could dangle from a ring. This time the ringer rang from the ring in my nose, and the dinger dangled over by gaped negress' gorgeous constant-kiss-lips, my lovely 'kiss-me-I'm-adorable' lips held open by my bit gag, over my justifiably proud, proud top lip.

Sleigh-bells, closed sleigh-bells were fitted to the side of my nostrils, with arrow-headed pins that pierced my nose: pins with 'V' arrow heads that flicked open-out within my nose so as to ensure the pins took a one-way journey and the sleigh-bells they bore at their outer ends would jingle on my pretty nose forever immovably, as the pins were forced through my nose at its base just where my nostrils began to flare.

My cry of pain as my lower lip, the lower lip of my mouth was pierced through in its middle with yet another gold ring from which dangled yet another open-ended gold bell, contrasted with the musical 'tinkle-tinkle' from my ear bells and my nose bells, as the chain from the ring through my negress' beautifully proud lower lip, dangled below my chin.

But the cry of pain at the fixing of a bell to my lower mouth-lip, was nothing compared with my crying protest in horror and fear and pain as the farrier pulled out my left upper eyelid, and pierced it though with the sharp tongue of yet another gold ring, and repeated the agony on my right upper eyelid, clicking the nicked tongues of the rings through my top eyelids closed, leaving me with open-ended bells swinging and dinging in front of my gorgeous brown eyes, hanging, these savage bells, hanging from the bottom of my top eyelid rings, on chains that swung before my eyes, leaving pretty gold bells, open-ended gold bells, dangling on my soft face cheeks, the lips of these bells' open bottoms on my lower eyelids, among my soft tears of agony.

The farrier knelt as she put six gold rings, six loose gold rings, with multiple sleigh-bells around them, around my slim ankles and lower lovely legs, and stood once more as she fitted two rings, one tailored to fit on each of the longer between-knuckle-sections of my eight fingers, to every one of my fingers and, one-only, on each of my thumbs: eighteen gold rings, each gold finger and thumb ring having a sleigh-bell fitted.

Amulets: gold amulet rings were clicked closed around my widespread arms just above my elbows, and huge three-inch diameter open-ended bells dangled on chains from these.

My sobs in pain were punctuating the heavenly music my heavenly face and body tinkle jingled the air of the blacksmith's forge with, as I cried with the extraordinary pain of being so brutally beautifully bedecked with dangling ding-ding, sing-ding, swing-ding, swinging singing bells, as my body was decoratively brutalised: as they treated me like the inhuman non-human animal I was now considered to be.

Among the tinkling of my dingling dangling bells, all I heard was the farrier spit and a soft swift sizzle.

The farrier spat to check its heat.

All I heard was the farrier spit and a soft swift sizzle: I could not turn my head.

The farrier spat to check its heat.

It had dulled from the red.

It was an oval with a large 'HSS-AR' in reverse: a large 'HSS-AR' in mirror in its centre.

It had dulled from the red approaching yellow its end glowed when the blacksmith pulled it from the fire with her leather gloved hand.

The farrier spat on its end to check its heat.

Then she paused, not satisfied.

Then she spat on its end again.

All I heard was the farrier spit and a soft sizzle, the soft sizzle of rapidly burning-off spittle. I could not turn my head.

Satisfied the second time, the farrier close-focused on my beautiful soft brown bare flesh, my girlsoft girl-complexioned skin at the top middle of my left buttock, where imperial buttock was becoming incomparable back, where my cheeky bum cheek ended and my girl-arched back began.

She had forgotten her eyeglasses yet again. She had forgotten her eyeglasses on purpose. She thought her wearing glasses spoilt her looks. She had deliberately forgotten her eyeglasses, but she had branded a ponygirl before.

I felt the heat even before it touched me.

Even before it touched me I felt the heat and I knew, I just knew what it was.

I felt the heat even before it touched me, and I became rigid as a post in absolute terror: I became literally petrified.

Ruinously for any defence of my poor body I became rigid. My eyes stared as my mouth screamed and screamed and screamed as the farrier counted: "one; two; three; four; five" as she held the branding iron on my naked body: and the stench of, and the slow smoking sizzling of my slow burning flesh, underscored the air I vibrated with screams of excruciating-excruciating-excruciating agony that caused even Koala-Bare in a distant field to stop and suffer the whip yet once more to drive her as she plodded to pull the plough she was harnessed to in her long days at the front of and harnessed to the plough.

I didn't cry. My pain was so unbearably enormously immense I didn't cry.

I bore a brand: a hardly discrete one-and-a-half-inch diameter wide, three-inch long brand, labelling me with 'HSS-AR' within its evil oval perimeter.

'Astrid Riento' was the real name of the girl to whom I was to be gifted. 'Miss Ryan' was the cover name for Her Supreme Serenity the Princess Astrid Maria Poliphnia Sarahnaya De Palmania-Thomasatto-Riento, the heir to the throne of the Queendom of **********, a tiny country located between Spain and France. I bore the wickedly painful brand 'HSS-AR' standing for 'Her Supreme Serenity - Astrid Riento' burned forever indelibly into my naked body.

Labelled like meat, I was to become yet another animal owned by Her Supreme Serenity the Princess Astrid Maria Poliphnia Sarahnaya De Palmania-Thomasatto-Riento to be used or not: to be used; or to rot in her stables just as she may choose.

And as my unearthly scream of agonised agony as I was being branded, broke to a silent croak, I slumped in my bonds: I fainted with the pain of being branded with a near red-hot iron on my bare body.

……………

The hell of my branding, the torture of my giraffed neck, the agony of my arms being held permanently out cruciform, the savagery of the bells with which my adorable face was adorned, none of these saw an end to my breaking and training.

No sooner did a bucket of the coldest cold water over my near nakedness rouse me from my faint, the faint I had fainted and not feinted at or falsified, than I was being led out of the farrier's workshop by Fabrina to be put through my seemingly never-ending paces once more.

It had been Alena's suggestion that I should experience the crupper.

This horrible leather belt showed me what the hoops at the bottom of my waist waspie were for. Alena fastened its slim black leather single strand to the large hoop at the middle-bottom-front of my waspie, and then pulled it up between my girl-lips, the petals of my pod, pulled it up hard before fastening off its divided ends to hoops on my waspie at the rear, either side of my swinging tail.

I was made to walk. Fabrina put on a long rein and made me walk in a circle being chafed by the crupper with all my cruel bells a swinging jinging jingling jingle-jangle as I moved, tall and haughty not in nature, where I was warm and gentle, but in presentation with my gold ringed-around giraffed neck.

Oh god it was heaven. The bells dangling from my upper eyelids were far the cruellest of cruelties aside from my freshly branded bare bottom, but the crupper pressed on my mons mound and excited my clit and it rubbed on my outer and inner lips and would have hurt and rubbed me raw were it not that I seeped and seeped abundantly my most girl secretion to steep it: I was marinating the crupper in my cognac as I walked.

I walked proudly with my giraffed neck high, looking the height of haughtiness as I wiggled by, all jingle-jangle from my ankles, my elbows, and above all musically unforgettably, from the bells on my earrings, the bell on my nose ring, the bell on my lower-mouth-lip-ring, the bells at either side of my nostrils, and the brutal swinging singing bells that dangled from my top eyelids, causing to be blinkered by nature, as my eyelids were pulled down and I thus must cast my eyes submissively down to see anything.

And I was walking, as a ponygirl should. I was being made to walk, as a ponygirl must. I was walking, as a ponygirl must. I was putting one tiptoed hoofed foot directly in front of the other and swinging my hips my beautiful bum and my tail, the tail at the end of the dildo forced up my anus, as I was masturbated on the teasing pleasing now soused and soaked crupper strap splitting my minx's petals.

I was a girl in hell and heaven: a heavenly girl in hell. The mocking bells swinged and dinged. The brutally cruel bells on my eyelids swonged and donged. The pain from my fresh branding throbbed. My limp from having had my right leg forced aloft overnight was just perceptible, but the heaven in my minx from the tightness of the crupper was, to my complete horror, making me enjoy my extremely extreme humiliation and torture.

For the next five nights I had my right leg tied up aloft to stretch its muscles. For another six days after that, the savage torture was carried out on my left leg. And every day between I was made to walk and trot.

I must trot with my knees up at every step so my thigh was at or above the horizontal. And I was so musical now. At my every tiny move I tinkled. My ankle and finger bells set up a rhythmic jink, jink, jink, jink, jink, jink, jink, jink, jink, jink as I trotted with my ear nose and eyelid bells swinging and dinging: and indeed, my trainers took guidance from the uniformity of the noise I made as I jogged in trot, to confirm that I was trotting properly.

I wore the crupper every day now. I am ashamed, deeply ashamed to have to admit that I looked forward to having it divide the lips of my pod and press on my clitoris.

Of course I dare not show that it was giving me pleasure. Had I showed that I welcomed the crupper and that it was pleasuring me to heaven, they would have taken it away. At least, I assume they would. The other possibility is that my trainers knew full well what the crupper was doing. Indeed, now I reflect, the obedience and increasing conformity with their desires as to how I should trot walk and run, brought about by the tightness of the crupper within my minx must not only have encouraged them to continue fitting it but, from the way in which it was sodden with my cream when they pulled it out of my pod, must have revealed by depraved arousal as the source of their victory over my will.

I was broken-in and trained for two more months. Every single day was the same. I was taught to obey without question. Every single night one or other of my legs was stretched, and my day's training would finish with the command: "Display-leg-right" at which I would fold my right leg in an instant flash with my thigh up against my right tit, before alofting my lower leg till I stood with my beautiful right leg held up, straight up like an erotic periscope, my hoofed big toe pointing to the goddess who must have created me, my erotic muscles shouting out my superlatively supreme dream girlness as I posed thus for as long as ordered: and the time got longer till I must hold the ordered leg, be it left or right, thus decoratively aloft for five whole minutes.

This achieved, I spent a further week learning to walk in display leg mode. In this, I must kick a leg up to the stars, count to five before lowering sexily slowly and taking a step forward with it, and letting my un-kicked leg join it, before kicking my opposite leg to the sky once more count to five before lowering it, and thus on and on in the most demeaning, humiliating, and degrading manner.

My multiple bells ensured I was now the least popular pony in my stables. I could not even breathe without several of my dangling bells dingling and, of course, my eyelids must flicker and my eyelid bells thus 'ding-ding' 'ding-ding' constantly. Sleep was very difficult with one or other of my lovely legs tied straight up to stretch its muscles, and with my eyelid bells, the rings from which my eyelid bells dangle dingled rubbing on my eyes and stopping me closing my eyelids fully together.

Kim Kai and Hai Moon were very gentle with me. The cruelty of my bells and the giraffing of my neck made them feel tenderness for me. Their loving kindness aroused me. All this brutality had made me extremely girl-sensitive. I was turned on in the instant of their touch. My body did not just posses sexual organs; my body was, as if it were, in itself my most sensitive sexual organ.

At the end of the third week of my fourth month of captivity, I was introduced to my head harness and the carriage-reins.

In training, in my endless training, I had worn a rubber gag bit and headband labelling me 'Midnight-Pearl'. The bit brought to me on this late day in my training was made of no soft rubber; it was a half-inch diameter bar of gold knurled and roughed into diamonded spikes so as to hurt my tongue as it was pulled back into my mouth over my teeth and onto my tongue.

Strapped at the back of my head, the bit I now wore, came out either side of my mouth and ended in two horizontal hoops.

This bit was cruel: very cruel. Its diamond-hard spikes hurt my lips and brutalised my tongue. It showed a new force; a renewed force; an increase in the desire to control me and use me. As if the fitting of my giraffing neck-rings and the brutality of the bells on my face including even my upper eyelids did not tell me that I was now enslaved beyond, far beyond mere enslavement, they must also hurt my lovely mouth to give me constant pain to mistress me and control me.

What had I done to deserve this? After week upon week, month upon month now, of constant training, I was completely broken. I was pony: I was a ponygirl first and foremost and a human girl a million millennia ago. My instincts were now all ponygirl. Such fripperies as my humanness had caused me to indulge before my breaking had disappeared forever. I had been broken down to the core animal beneath the thin veneer of my human girlness, and reconstructed as a tamed and instantly obedient pony.

Of course I still had my high human girl intellect. But, like all girls, I had animal instincts centred on the pleasure zone between my gorgeous legs. I was a human girl with a bright brain, but I also had tits, a cunt, and a womb, and a body and mind minded to have my cunt invaded for pleasure if I was fortunate, but for reproduction as the agenda hidden or open. I was made for sex and reproduction. I was a fuck machine. My wonderful sexiness was in reality only to get me fucked: my cunt was to be fucked, my womb filled and my tits would then feed my foal. I was, in sum, an animal and all my trainers had done was to take away all the falsities, all the deceptions that such as stockings and suspenders and brassieres and miniskirts superficially give a girl that she is something more sophisticated than the animal she is founded upon.

My trainers had broken through to my foundations. They had stripped me, not only in the peripheral ephemeral sense of my miniskirts, a hugely beautifully filled bra, a pretty garter atop sinfully dark stockings on a gorgeous leg, with a low neckline showing supreme cleavage, and a face with lips that it should have been a capital offence not to kiss, but in the corporeal sense. All ridiculous, ridiculous for a ponygirl that is, 'civilised' niceties had gone. I instinctively urinated whenever I needed to wherever I was. I no longer sought privacy and the technicality of a lavatory-bowl in which to defecate. I had straw in my stable stall, I pissed and passed my shit as an animal should and it was now first nature, not second nature, for me to piss and shit that way. Even when I had had my monthly bleed, it had just seeped from me and dripped on my fantastically fabulous bare legs. That was how it should be for a ponygirl, and that is how it was for me: because I was now just a ponygirl: period. I was now just an animal: period.

Up from the side of my new cruel bit, ran straps that held blinkers to either side of my eyes, and these were made doubly secure by the new headband on my forehead, being strapped behind my head with a link strap down to the strap that held the bit in my mouth. The headband, covered in gold-leaf in place of the one I ordinarily wore, blared out my name: 'Midnight-Pearl' in crimson capital letters on a white ground.

Through each of the hoops at either side of my mouth bit, Alena now fed two short straps, one through each hoop. These straps finished in a sharp-toothed clip with a one-inch central tongue-spike and the seemingly inevitable bell dangling from them.

The straps through the hoops at the ends of my mouth bit were prevented from falling through the hoops in my bit, by the fact that the straps ended at the mouth bit end, with hoops, gold rings, larger than the diameter of the hoops at the end of my bit.

I had no idea what these short straps and the clips at the ends of them were for as of yet; but I was to find out soon, and it was to be very painful.

Now came that very pain. Alena showed no compassion as she opened the toothed jaw at the end of the short strap dangling on my right breast, and forced its one-inch long tongue-spike into the milk hole of my nipple, before letting go the dog clip's jaw, so that the multiple teeth it had, gripped my poor nipple cruelly hard. Even in my gag I gasped with the pain and set my eyelid bells a jingle jangle as my eyelids closed and fluttered as the dreadful pain of the inserted needle burned in my brain.

The same treatment was meted out to my left breast, and then long carriage-reins were fitted to the hoops at the end of the short reins running from my gag hoops to my tortured nipples from which two new bells swung and jingled as I breathed, still feeling the pain of the grip of the nipple-bits, for such was what the needles forced into my milk-holes and the clamps that bit my nipples were called. I had had nipple-bits fitted, and the short straps that ran up to the hoops siding both ends of my mouth bits were my tit-reins.

The carriage-reins were in fact a long, one single long leather strap. This strap was fourteen or sixteen feet long, with a clip at either end. These clips had been opened to fix the ends of the single long carriage-rein strap, to one end each of the rings at the end of my tit-reins, the rings that rested against the rings of my mouth bit, being larger than my mouth bit end rings and thus unable to pass through them: the rings that were atop of my tit-reins, the short reins that ran from my mouth bit to my nipple-bits, the painful needles inserted in my nipples and held there with the toothed clamps biting on my poor nipples.

"Midnight-Pwearlwhirly wearn cart wain obey", Alena informed me in the insulting way I was now addressed, the way the stupidest of stupid animals might be spoken to.

"Midnight-Pwearlwhirly wearn cart wain obey. Cart wain pull Midnight-Pwearlwhirly pwitty titty witties. Cart wain tell Midnight-Pwearlwhirly what do, by pull Midnight-Pwearlwhirly pwitty titty witties" Alena continued.

My eyes closed, rubbed by the rings in my upper eyelids, my eyes closed at the insult to my intelligence and the cruelty of the demeaning and degrading use to which my lovely breasts were to be put. My eyes closed, and my eyelid bells dingle-dingled.

"When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly standy wandy, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly told goegowey, by two tuggy wuggies both wains both pwitty titty witties together"

"When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly standingwandying, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly told goegowey, by two tuggy wuggies both wains both pwitty titty witties together, and Midnight-Pwearlwhirly then goegowey walkly walkies"

"When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly goegowey walkly walkies, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly told twotty wotty with two tuggy wuggies both pwitty titty witties together.

"When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly goegowey walkly walkies, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly told twotty wotty with two tuggy wuggies both pwitty titty witties together, and Midnight-Pwearlwhirly then twotty wotty.

"When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly twotty wottying, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly told wunny wunny with two tuggy wuggies both pwitty titty witties together.

"When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly twotty wottying, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly told wunny wunny with two tuggy wuggies both pwitty titty witties together, and Midnight-Pwearlwhirly then wunny wunny.

When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly given one little tuggy wuggy both pwitty titty witties together, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly go back from wunny wunny to twotty wotty, or twotty wotty to walkly walkies.

When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly given one big big biggywiggy tuggy wuggy both pwitty titty witties together, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly stoppy woppy: Midnight-Pwearlwhirly go 'whoa' like gwood ickle pwony"

"Midnight-Pwearlwhirly have two pwitty titty witties. Midnight-Pwearlwhirly have one wight titty wittie. Midnight-Pwearlwhirly have one weft titty wittie."

"When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly moveywoovying and Midnight-Pwearlwhirly wight titty wittie pulled, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly go wightwighty"

"When Midnight-Pwearlwhirly moveywoovying and Midnight-Pwearlwhirly weft titty wittie pulled, Midnight-Pwearlwhirly go weftwefty"

"Midnight-Pwearlwhirly cwever gwirl. Midnight-Pwearlwhirly do what pwitty titty witties say Midnight-Pwearlwhirly do-do"

"Midnight-Pwearlwhirly is cwever as her pwitty titty witties. Midnight-Pwearlwhirly feel what pwitty titty witties say. Midnight-Pwearlwhirly do what pwitty titty witties say. Midnight-Pwearlwhirly wewy cwever ickle gwirl and do what her wuvly wuvly pwitty titty witties say."

The cruel insult to my high intelligence? The cruel insult to my high intelligence shamed me twice, once from the insult itself and once for the dampness in my pretty pod. I closed my eyes in my shame and set my eyelid bells dingling again.

"What in the name of hell was all that in aid of?" Jenna posed to Alena in a pre-disposed questioning for the benefit of the camera that had recorded my demeaning instructions on the reins I wore. The question was posed so as to get a clear explanation for the future viewers of the DVD being filmed. Alena went over the ground again……..

"Midnight-Pearl is to be harnessed to a Giggle……." Alena began

"Hold it please: hold on there awhiles: hold it right there please Alena. What's a 'Giggle' for chrisakes?" Jenna intervened.

"A Giggle is a gig: a Girl-Gig. A 'gig' is, of course, a light two-wheeled carriage. A 'gig' is also a flighty girl. The carriage, the gig that our flighty girl Midnight-Pearl will pull, combines the two meanings of 'gig' and takes account of the loveliness of a girl's giggle, and we call it, we call what is technically a Girl-Gig, 'a Giggle'" Alena explained.

"Midnight-Pearl is wearing tit-reins", Alena continued, casually. "Midnight-Pearl is to be harnessed to a Giggle. The driver must communicate her commands to the pony. In a Giggle, the pony is some six feet in front of the driver. She can be reached with the carriage whip of course, but routine instructions, as opposed to spurring-on or punishment for misbehaviour, need more than mere voice command or the whip. A reasonably intelligent ponygirl can be taught to obey the commands she is given through her tits."

"When a ponygirl is standing, a double-tug on both her tits together, tells her to walk: another double-tug after that, again on both her tits together, tells her to trot: a third double-tug on both tits in unison, to run."

"Single tugs on both tits in unison tell her to go back to what she was doing before. So, if she is running, a single tug on both her tits through the tit-reins, tells the ponygirl to return to the trot."

To order her to stop, no matter if she be walking, trotting, or running, all the driver has to do, is pull on both of the ponygirl's tits firmly and she will understand."

"What about steering then?" Jenna enquired in an obviously planted question.

"Steering is very easy", Alena replied matter-of-factly, "Obviously a ponygirl has two tits: repeated tugs of the rein on her right tit, is all it needs to tell her she must go right until both her tits are pulled once to tell her to go straight again; and repeated tugs of the rein on her left tit, will tell her she must go left, until both her tits are pulled once in unison to order her to go straight ahead."

"It is very simple. In fact we have more trouble teaching the drivers than the ponygirls, and the drivers are supposed to have human intelligence!"

"We have to remember that ponygirls are stupid animals. We used to use the mouth bit to guide them. But tit-reins are far more effective. After all, a ponygirl has two tits, and they might as well be used for something worthwhile" Alena concluded

This was vilely degrading. It had been said in front of me so that the camera could film my eyes as the humiliation and insult to my intelligence and my beautiful body sank into my pained and tortured mind as I slavered uncontrollably disgustingly down my chin from my mouth being forced open by the cruel golden bit.

………………

I was harnessed in all bar the carriage-reins and the crupper the next morning.

I had so looked forward to the crupper. Secretly, at least I thought it was a secret; I enjoyed the crupper exciting me. Of course I had no say on whether I would wear the crupper or not. I was only a ponygirl; such matters were for my superiors: my mistresses: my owners to decide.

There was an electrifying buzz around the pony-farm that day.

I stood obediently, the pain in my nipples from the nipple-bits having been inserted throbbed. I slavered down my chin as I so wished I could stop but could not control, so wide open did the gold Giggle-bit hold my mouth.

I was harnessed in all bar the carriage-reins the next morning. But I also wore something extra: a strong slim steel chain dangled down from the strong hoop at the bottom front of my waspie: the waspie that unmercifully squeezed my waist to fifteen hourglass inches. This chain, like the crupper, divided into two chains, the single tail-end of its 'Y' shape being the end fixed to the front of my waspie, the 'V' at the top of its 'Y' formation, presently dangling loose, unused between my supreme thighs.

The tail dangling from the dildo forced up my anus, swung in the breeze. I had been prepared with extra care by my delightful stable-girls that morn.

Now I stood, held by Kim Kai with Hai Moon on standby. I had the long carriage rein on just one end of the rings in my mouth bit, and not actually, as yet, attached to one of my tit-reins. Kim Kai and Hai Moon had been given the day off school in honour of their hard work with me, and the honour of meeting royalty.

For now, I stood with time to spare and stare, and take in the strange vehicle, a light carriage, that stood with its single shaft resting on a sawhorse, the end of its shaft being covered over so I could not see it: covered with a velvet drape, that seemed to have some kind of 'upthrusting' central support. The end of the shaft was covered as if it was to be unveiled in a ceremony.

It had two main wheels: two multi-spoked: two golden multi-spoked main wheels and a single shaft: two golden multi-spoked wheels: wheels slim in profile with rubberised tyres and a single golden shaft: two main wheels some six feet in diameter.

It could seat three. Pretty evidently, one would be the driver, and two passengers. All the seats were forward of the wheels. A third much smaller wheel on the end of a vertical strut, a wheel clearly able to rotate freely, both when and if it touched the ground and also in steering mode, dangled from the six-foot long single shaft. This was the Giggle's balancing wheel. It touched ground only to safeguard the comfort of driver and passengers if, for example, the ponygirl stumbled.

I jingled as I merely breathed. My arms tied out as if I were crucified, each of my fingers and both my thumbs jingled as I flexed my pretty hands to stop the pain in my outstretched arms and my shoulders. My golden-belled anklets also jingle-jangled, as did the bell from my nose ring, the bell from my lower mouth lip ring, the sleigh bells imbedded in my nostrils at the side of my nose, the sadistic bells dangling from my ring pierced eyelids, and the bells dangling from my nipple-bits: the needles inserted in my nipples and held in with vicious clamps.

The attraction to Alena, Fabrina, and Gaynor of giving me away, was royal patronage. We were arriving at the culmination of all I had been abducted and subsequently tamed and trained for.

The attraction to Alena, Fabrina, and Gaynor of giving me away, was royal patronage. For the world to acknowledge that theirs was the pony-farm supplying the Queendom of ********** would, for Alena, Fabrina, and Gaynor, be a great coup. No amount of advertising or carefully planted publicity in the media could even approach equalling, acceptance by the royal family of a land where ponygirls overflowed the stables of the royal household, and only the very finest were accepted as additions. Their ultimate hope, the ultimate hope of Alena, Fabrina, and Gaynor, was to be able to put: 'By Royal Appointment' on their letter heading; but that might, they had concluded, be a little too ambitious just as of yet.

"She is named 'Midnight-Pearl' your Supreme Serenity" I heard Fabrina say as a simply stunning petite blonde angel in the heelless tiptoeing riding boots I had seen the stable-girls in, glide-wiggled into view. Like the stable girls, this angel, with a multi-curled supremely soft blonde-white tresses tumbling to her ankles, wore heelless boots, but hers were of the very finest brown kid-leather.

Within her white pure silk blouse her breasts were obviously bare. She was what: she was fourteen if that. Her breasts were very firm and had no need of a bra. Her nipples pushed out the blouse like tent-poles she was so firm: her young bosom, her virgin's breasts were so very firm.

She wore tight white jeans tucked into her boots. Her shapely little bottom was a delight.

Her face was the exception to even the exceptionally pretty. Though she was sullen and petulant as of this day; even a sulking pout was supremely attractive when worn on such an angelically pretty face.

"One would have preferred the Gypsy, 'Flamenco-Firefly'. This one is not even half as pretty" Princess Astrid: the Princess Astrid Maria Poliphnia Sarahnaya De Palmania-Thomasatto-Riento, announced.

"But your dear mamma chose Midnight-Pearl for you your Supreme Serenity", Alena dared to reply.

"You would do well not to quote dear mamma to me!" the princess responded politely but tartly, with a strong hint of teenage rebellion and spoilt boredom in her tone.

"May we beg to give you Flamenco-Firefly as well, your Supreme Serenity? She is not trained for the Giggle but we have high hopes that she is with foal". I will order her to be branded………." Alena was stopped by a gloved hand, the kid-leather gloved hand of the overwhelmingly pretty, blue-eyed princess.

"Have her whipped" Princess Astrid replied with a dismissive look on her extremely lovely face.

"Your Supreme Serenity?" Alena enquired in total astonishment, querying Princess Astrid's seemingly unbelievable instruction.

"One said to have Flamenco-Firefly whipped: one-hundred lashes. Do I now make myself clear?" Princess Astrid asked brusquely, like the spoilt child she was.

"We will arrange it for when your Supreme Serenity can award our humbleness with her precious time to witness her order being obeyed" Alena, clearly still shocked by the instruction, answered as calmly as she could.

"One has no wish to witness it. Just have her whipped" Princess Astrid dismissed the subject.

"Immediately, your Supreme Serenity" Alena answered, looking to find a means of conveying the order and beckoning to Hai Moon, my stable-girl, with a view to using her as messenger.

"Oh don't bother!" Princess Astrid then as suddenly pouted prettily.

"Your Supreme Serenity?" Alena asked.

"One said 'don't bother'. Don't bother with the whipping, one has changed one's mind" Princess Astrid answered.

Alena curtsied her understanding of the changed order, trying not to show her relief that the cruel whim had been withdrawn.

"And what is this ugly whore supposedly capable of?" the Princess asked dismissively, turning her attention to me.

"Display-leg-right" Astrid ordered me, and in reflex I shot my tight leg to the sky and held its extreme beauty aloft.

"She does have very beautiful legs, I'll grant you that" Princess Astrid pouted as she openly admired my alofted leg's curvaceous muscularity.

"Whoa" came Alena's order, and I lowered my leg.

"Display-legs-walk" I was ordered.

I kicked my beautiful right leg straight up to the stars, then lowered in sexily slowly till my pointed hoof touched ground, swung my provocative hips so as to join my advanced right leg with my left, and then kicked my left leg to the heaven it was so clearly made in, and so provocatively advanced toward the adorably pretty princess, who was trying not to show how sexy she was finding my arousing display.

"Whoa" her pretty as posies little voice called to me, with a hint of a lovely giggle.

"You have done well with this pony," the petulant prima donna pronounced.

"Thank you your Supreme Serenity" Alena and Fabrina, with clear relief in their voices, responded in unison, or as near unison as their pleased surprise would allow.

"Would you honour us with a ride in your new Giggle" Alena asked very tentatively.

"One will" the princess, still knocked out by the beauty of my legs, answered.

Alena clapped her hands, and Hai Moon and Kim Kai rearranged my carriage reins so that they were now clipped to the rings at the end of my tit-reins, and I was led forward to the single slim gold coated shaft of the Giggle: the single shaft that rested on the sawhorse, so as to hold the two-wheeled, the two main-wheeled girl-gig in readiness for its pony: in readiness for me.

Alena now matter-of-factly whisked the velvet cover off whatever it was that stuck upright from the end of the shaft, and I nearly stumbled in my sexy walk as I saw it.

As I was being led toward the Giggle to be harnessed to its single shaft I nearly stumbled in my sexy walk as I saw it. It, that which Alena had just revealed, was the coupling to which I had absolutely no doubt I was to be 'attached'.

It was gold.

It was two-inches in diameter.

It was gold.

It was two-inches in diameter.

It was gold.

It was eighteen inches long.

It was gold.

It was eighteen inches long.

Thrusting up from the end of the single shaft was the ponygirl coupling. It was gold, it was two-inches in diameter and eighteen inches long, and fashioned: it was fashioned: sculptured as an erect penis, and I knew, I just knew that I was going to be impaled on that brutal hideous horrible unyielding spike.

"Mercy, oh god mercy, I am a virgin, I am a virgin, oh please god I am an intact virgin!!!" my mind screamed as my eyes closed and my eyelid bells jingle jangled wildly.

My screaming mind surveyed my destiny as I began to shy a little in my reins and Kim Kai and Hai Moon both had to grasp my reins next my Giggle-bit tightly.

I looked at the huge penis, at its brutal eighteen inches and its massive two-inch width as it stood upright at the end of the shaft, in front of a hole in the shaft.

There was a dividing in the shaft's single straight length into two, before it merged back into one, and the one it merged back into held the brutal penis-coupling upright at its end. The division and subsequent re-combining of the single shaft left a hole just behind the penis-coupling.

I was being turned around. I was having my lovely back turned so I stood with my gloriously bold and beautiful buttocks facing the shaft, facing the single shaft, with the horrible eighteen-inch tall penis-coupling touching my tail, the tail that dangled from the dildo forced up my anus.

Fabrina and Alena now grasped my thighs and lifted me up. I was going to be impaled!

"Mercy, oh god mercy, I am a virgin, I am an intact virgin, oh please god I am an intact virgin!!!" my mind screamed as my eyelid bells jingled madly with my horror.

Let slide, I slid down the penis in milliseconds. I was terrified and unlubricated and the penis tore me. The penis ripped me as, let go by Alena and Fabrina, I slid down onto the penis-coupling, unlubricated by my cognac, but made slippery by the burst of blood, that followed a scalding fire that hurt like the branding iron as my hymen was ripped and my innocent virginity burst asunder as the pole pushed ever onwards its all-eighteen-inches into my hitherto intact virgin's virgin cunt, raping me to womanhood taking my innocent girlhood until I stood with it buried in me.

What had been eighteen inches of cruel cold gold metal had disappeared. All eighteen unyielding inches were in my body. The penis-coupling's savage eighteen-inches were thrust up my cunt, and its top was buried in my belly. All eighteen-inches had disappeared, as the chain that dangled still from the strong ring at the bottom front of my waist squeezing waspie was taken between my legs, pulled through the hole, where the single shaft of the Giggle divided, divided itself, the chain itself was divided, so as to leave my tail dangling undisturbed, and then padlocked to two strong rings in the back of my waspie: the securing chains were padlocked to my waspie where hitherto the crupper had been fastened.

The supporting sawhorse was being taken away. I was now harnessed to the Giggle. I was a ponygirl harnessed to the Giggle. My virgin's blood, the blood from my fresh ripped hymen trickled its crimson pain down the insides of my powerwonderful thighs as I stood fresh rip-raped to womanhood with my rapist still hard up my cunt, my haughty head held high with my giraffing neck-rings, my taunting bells a dinger-linga-ling from my nipple-bits, my lower mouth lip, my nose-ring, my nostrils, my viciously cruelly pierced upper eyelids, and my lovely arms. I stood tiptoed in my pony-shoe shod hoof-clogs with my lovely arms stretched out on my cangue as if I were crucified, and the bells dangling from my armlets, and the bells on my finger rings, constantly dingalingalinged.

Alena curtsied to the pretty curly blonde haired angel princess, as she passed the princess the long black carriage whip, and my carriage reins, the reins that ran to my tit-reins.

"One is happy to have passengers" the princess Astrid condescendingly announced.

"We are the honoured ones your Supreme Serenity" Alena replied.

Kim Kai held my reins close to my mouth bit, my Giggle-bit, as through my sensitive minx, through the penis-coupling forced up my cunt and held hard their by the crupper-chain, I felt movement six feet behind me, as Alena and Fabrina took the two places on the passenger bench seat at the rear of the Giggle, and then as the princess, the fourteen-year-old sulky petulant exceptionally pretty princess, sat her delightfully delightful little bottom on the driver's seat.

Their movements, the movements of these very attractive women, and the exceedingly pretty girl, were working down the shaft of the cart and moving the penis-coupling inside me. My tortured minx was so sensitive that I could almost feel them move a finger, let alone as they settled their sexy bottoms in their seats.

"Walkie" came the princess' pretty voice in command followed by two confirmatory tugs on my titties by use of the carriage rein to pull on my tit-reins, and thus confirm the command I must obey: to command me to walk by pulling twice on my tits.

I began to walk putting one pony-shoe shod foot directly in line before the other, as I had been trained, and to pull the Giggle, I was being used as a pony, I was pulling a girl-gig, I was pulling a girl-gig, a Giggle, like the obedient trained pony I was. I asked no questions I walked as soon as I was ordered and my tit-reins were pulled, and I was pulling the Giggle to which I was harnessed by my minx, my pod, my cunt.

I was obedience personified: no obedience 'girlsonified'. I was Midnight-Pearl. All the weeks and weeks of training and pain were paying back now. I was Midnight-Pearl, obedience girlsonified as she, Midnight-Pearl, as I Midnight-Pearl wiggled in my supremely sexy walk, obediently pulling the Giggle, fastened as a fascinating pony to the end of its six foot long shaft, pulling my two passengers and my driver, with all my bells a-pretty-jingljanglejingle with my arms stretched out on my cruciform cangue, a helpless hopeless prisoner girl, being subjected to the ultimate in degradation, being used as an animal, having been trained as an animal, being used as a donkey, an ass, a mule, a horse, a pony, a filly, a ponygirl to pull a cart for my mistresses, my human superiors, no longer my fellow humans, for I was now only an animal and no longer had any human status whatsoever.

My obedience was unquestionably unquestioning. I was a highly intelligent girl but I had not questioned and did not question that I was now required to pull this gig. I had had all challenge against that I was now an animal pony, broken out of me. If my mistresses wanted to harness me to a girl-gig they had every right to do so.

My mind did not challenge that what I was now doing was, what it was right and proper for me to be doing. I accepted now that I was less than human. I accepted that, if I were human to any extent, it was purely in my physical build. I had the body of a human girl, but that was to be expected: a ponygirl has the body of a human girl. A ponygirl can be as beautiful and attractive as a human girl; the difference is in status. A human girl forefronts her humanity; a ponygirl has no humanity to forefront. Once her animality has been forefronted, a ponygirl recognises that such humanity as she appeared to posses, was a veneer, better removed so that she can have fulfilment in her true place in the world, and leave the world of humans to the humans.

It is sometimes raised that there is an 'interland', a zone between human and animal status, and that a ponygirl occupies that zone. That is quite simply not true. There is a clear distinction to be drawn between the enponied girl and a ponygirl. A girl who finds pleasure in being occasionally enponied, is a human taking delight in an exciting aspect of her personality and sexuality. A ponygirl is an animal: period. A ponygirl does not exist on the cusp betwixt human and animal-animals. There is a clear black and white, or rather black or white, demarcation. This may be rare in life but it can exist in fact, and there is no doubt that in very fact a ponygirl is an animal and not a human: period.

As I wiggled and tinkled along, walking in obedience pulling the Giggle, I was only too aware of the sensitivity of my raped minx. I was, I know it is very naughty, but I was grinding myself on the penis-coupling. I was becoming aroused. It was horrible but oh so nice. I was becoming aroused and my sweet little pod was becoming moist as I was made to pull the Giggle to which I was coupled by my deeply penetrated cunt: my cunt filled with eighteen huge inches of two-inch diameter unyielding cold gold penis-coupling.

I tried so hard not to let the naughty feeling in my naughtiest part please me. I was a ponygirl. I accepted that I was a ponygirl. A ponygirl has no right to feelings, no right to the naughty feelings I was feeling in my naughtiest part. I thought about the pain as the penis-coupling had ripped into me as my unlubricated cunt slid inexorably down and down onto its eighteen inches: but the thought of the dreadful pain now made me feel even more naughty.

I was wiggling along, my bells, the bells on my ears, my nose, my mouth, my eyelids even, my arms and my titties, on the very painful nipple-bits inserted in my titties, with my naughty naughty cunty wunty all wetty wetty with my naughty waughty cweam.

The dildo up my cunt bobbed up and down within me as I pulled the Giggle, with my sexy wiggle-wiggling hips swinging the more for my squeezed down waist. The penis was fucking me. I was being gently but insistently and uncontrollably slowly fucked by the penis dildo up my cunt going up and down up and down as I wiggle-pulled the girl-gig: the Giggle.

I was feeling more and more naughty as I wiggled along. I must stop this! I must stop my body being naughty. I was only a ponygirl. A ponygirl has no right to feel naughty in this way!

I thought of the penis-coupling as my cunt had slid down upon it, and the tremendous burning pain as my hymen, my intact virgin's hymen, had been reached and the horrible pain as my hymen was stretched, and the fiery red-hot-brand of agony as my hymen, my little protective septum, had stretched and stretched as its elasticity had been tested beyond its limits and had then snapped in an agonising instant so that its torn ends viciously whipped the walls of my vagina, even as my virgin's blood, the blood from my forever ripped hymen, spat on the penis that had raped her, and my virgin's blood had splattered out of my cunt onto my beautiful girl's thighs: and yet, at recall of the truly excruciating agony of my hymen being snapped, I felt more naughty still.

My cognac was flowing as the princess tugged twice on my tit-reins, calling "Twot", and I began to trot as ordered, and my right titty was being tugged, and I took the gig I was being made to pull around to the right, and both my titties were being pulled by the tit-reins so I would straighten up again, and now my left titty was being repeatedly tugged to tell me to go left, and now both my titties were tugged and I obeyed by trotting straight forward once more, speeding along pulling the Giggle by my cunt.

And my right titty was being tugged so I obediently went to the right as my right titty was used to tell me through my tit-reins what I must do. And both my titties were tugged and I must trot straight forward.

And I was off the farm and pulling the Giggle down the road to the local town. And my bells were ringing 'jing jing jing jing jing' in rhythm with my trot. And as I passed poor Koala-Bare pulling the plough in the field, I saw her bum being whipped to drive her as she patiently pulled the plough. And the princess, Princess Astrid saw this too, and picked up the carriage whip and cracked it over my head as I obediently trotted pulling the two women and the pretty princess seating on the Giggle I hauled along with my cunt.

"Wun!" he pretty princess called and I obeyed the order to run as my titties were tugged twice by my tit-reins to confirm her command, the order of Her Supreme Serenity the Princess Astrid for her ponygirl to run with the girl-gig Giggle she pulled with her harnessed cunt.

And as I ran it was as if the crupper chain holding the penis-coupling up my cunt was elastic, as it might as well have been, as my bouncing bounding steps made the penis dildo dance up and down, and down and up, and in and out, and out and in, of my cunt, my cunt that was now sopping my sweet cognac. I was wetter than the wettest melon. My naughty naughty minx was dribbling and dripping my cognac.

All my bells were a jingle jangle of jingle jangling jingle jangle as they bounced, by titty bells bouncing the most and my eyelid bells beating my face as they swung out and back and to and fro in front of my already blinkered eyes.

And the princess whipped me.

It was Princess Astrid's privilege to whip her ponygirl whether the ponygirl deserved it or not, and she just wanted to whip me; and so she whipped me as I dashed along all powerful and overwhelming powerfully beautiful legs pulling the Giggle with its three lovely lazing passengers aboard, pulling the Giggle with my cunt.

And my bouncing bounding steps made the penis-coupling dildo dance up and down and down and up, and in and out and out and in of my cunt. And all my bells were a jingle jangle of jingle jangling jingle jangle. as they bounced, my titty bells bouncing. And my cunt was dripping my cognac as the penis-coupling fucked me, as I ran and ran and ran. And the princess whipped my bum without mercy to drive me to run faster. And I ran and ran and ran. And the princess whipped me and whipped me and whipped me. And I ran and ran and ran. And all my bells were a jingle jangle of jingle jangling jingle jangle, as they bounced, my titty bells bouncing and flouncing and swinging and dinging. And I ran and ran and ran pulling the Giggle: pulling the Giggle with my cunt. I ran and ran and ran. And the princess whipped me and whipped me and whipped me. And the penis-coupling fucked me, as I ran and ran and ran. And the princess whipped me and whipped me and whipped me, striping my bum with blood-red bleeding welts, as she whipped me and whipped me and whipped me. And I ran and ran and ran. And my bells jingled jangled and jingled, as I was pulling the Giggle: pulling the Giggle with my cunt. And I whinnied as the penis-coupling's eighteen cold gold inches fucked me, and the princess whipped me and whipped me and whipped me, and I ran and ran and ran pulling the Giggle as an obedient ponygirl, being whipped and whipped and whipped as I ran and ran and ran. And I whinnied as I came: and came again: and came again: as the princess whipped me and whipped me and whipped me, and blood flowed from the stripes as she stripped my beautiful bottom of its flesh with her cruelty, as she whipped me and whipped me and whipped me, and I ran and ran and ran, and my bells jingle jangle jingle jangle jingled, and I ran and ran and ran, and she whipped me and whipped me and whipped me, and I came, and I whinnied as I came, and I ran and ran and ran, and the penis-coupling went in out in out in out in out of my minx, fucking me unmercifully, as I ran and ran and ran, pulling the Giggle, pulling the Giggle and its three passengers with my cunt. And the princess whipped me and whipped me and whipped me, and whipped me and whipped me, and I ran and ran and ran and my bells jinglejanglejinglejanglejinglejangel jingled, as I ran and ran and ran. And the princess whipped me and whipped me, and whipped the obedient animal pulling the cart. And the princess' obedient animal whinnied with joy as it, for it was now an 'it' and no longer a 'she', animally, totally animally, orgasmed, and animally, utterly totally uninhibitedly uncontrollably orgasmed again; and again; and again; as the princess whipped it, and whipped it, and whipped it, so its buttocks were just raw stripped meat. And it ran and ran and ran pulling the Giggle, obediently unquestioning pulling the Giggle with its cunt: with the blood trickling down the insides of its beautiful thighs from its rape-ripped-raw cunt, as it obediently ran and ran and ran, being whipped and whipped and whipped: the eighteen-year-old university student, the astonishingly, outstandingly, astoundingly intelligent and beautiful Welsh negress, Emma Bronwyn Jones, now forever 'Midnight-Pearl', being whipped and whipped and whipped like an animal, as she orgasmed as an animal: Emma Jones the eighteen-year-old hitherto girl: the henceforth forever pony: the now for evermore Midnight-Pearl. Emma Jones, the broken; trained; obedient; eternal ponygirl. The former Emma Jones, now, externally and internally, eternally, Midnight-Pearl ……...

'Midnight-Pearl' (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 8 – The Palace

As I continued to run as ordered through my tit-reins, pulling the Giggle, the girl-gig, with my cunt, I felt both my beautiful breasts being tugged, and I immediately obediently slowed to a trot, then my left breast was repeatedly tugged. Through the long reins Princess Astrid controlled her pony by: controlled me by, the fourteen-year-old pouting princess was pulling on the left of the loop formed by the carriage rein and thus pulling on my left tit-rein and thus tugging my beautiful left breast repeatedly to tell me to turn left.

Midnight-Pearl obeyed the order it was being given through the pulling-up of its left tit: I obeyed the order given me through the pulling-up of my left breast: I pulled the Giggle into an open field. As I trotted pulling the Giggle with my cunt, I was hauling my three passengers on a shortcut back to the pony-farm.

From the passenger seat of the Giggle, the bench seat behind the driver, Alena and Fabrina surveyed my savagely whipped buttocks and, unseen by the princess who was driving, raised their eyebrows in dismay at the sight of the site of the terrible and unnecessary cruelty the princess had meted out to me with the carriage whip. Flies were crawling in their hundreds on my bleeding whip welts.

I was a river of perspiration as I hauled the Giggle back onto the path returning us to the stables. A single tug on both my breasts told me to slow to the walk, and I obeyed.

I was a river of perspiration covered in crawling tickling licking sucking flies, and covered with sacrificial blood. I had been whipped brutally severely, and my cunt still bled from the tearing of my hymen when I had been impaled on the penis-coupling: the penis-coupling still buried its full eighteen inches within me as I wiggled my walk, swishing the tail sweeping upward parabolically from the dildo in my anus, and then dangling down.

Kim Kai and Hai Moon tried not to show their horror as they uncoupled me. The princess and my two mistresses had dismounted and left to discuss business. I howled with the pain as Hai Moon undid the rear fixings of the crupper chain from my waspie, and the eighteen-inch long two-inch diameter penis-coupling slid out of my still very aroused but no-longer intact no longer virgin minx.

A horse-blanket was thrown over my naked body, to keep me warm as I sweated, and I was led to the stable yard, before having the horrible diamond-knurled Giggle-bit that had made my mouth and tongue bleed, removed.

Ordinarily I would have welcomed the warm shower and hair wash I was now given, if only because it rid me, albeit very temporarily, of the accursed flies; but the soap stung my whip welts horribly. However I welcomed the horse-liniment as it warmed my leg-muscles wonderfully.

My whip stripes were bathed with ointment and Kim Kai cooed to me: "Bwave ickle pwoney" as I winced when she pulled out my tail and smoothed the cool cream over the dream of my curvy bottom, now ridged by throbbing stinging welts.

The same cream was used on my mouth lips, where the Giggle-bit had torn them. I then, after I had been allowed to drink water with my supremely succulent negress' lips - I was extremely thirsty - had a rubber mouth bit fitted, and jingle-jangle clip-clopped to my stall to be tied standing, to sleep.

And I slept! For the first time since my abduction, I slept throughout the whole dark night.

…………….

I was awoken before the five-o'-clock switching-on of the stable lights, by a terrible gagged-scream of pain. Moments later, the smell of fresh scorched flesh met my nostrils.

Once released from my sleeping stance by Hai Moon, I ate lightly. I was drinking water from my trough and pissing at the same time, when poor Flamenco-Firefly was led back in.

I could smell the horrible smell that told all we ponygirls, that Flamenco-Firefly had just been branded. A raw red, sore red oval was now deeply impressed in her lovely left buttock, near her back's base, and within the evil oval were the initials: 'HSS-AR'. Like me, Flamenco-Firefly had also been given to Her Supreme Serenity the Princess Astrid Riento.

That morning, in the stable yard, my armpits and legs were shaved by my stable girls, and more ointment put on my whip stripes. Perhaps as a reward for the torture I had endured the previous day though, I was not put to any arduous training but, once I had been coated with sunscreen, allowed to wander the farm. Fences were high and electrified; there was no risk of my escape. Anyway, I could only just manage to walk. My whipped buttocks swung like hell and stung like hell and my buttock muscles were exceptionally stiff after my whipping.

I wondered as I wandered clip-clop around the main cobbled farmyard. Even though I had been reduced to the status of an animal, I retained my human curiosity. I also combined that curiosity with both an animal and human awareness that I must not risk being caught where I had no right to be.

In fact, of course, as I was constantly bound with my arms outstretched as if I was crucified, and was covered with decorative bells that tinkled and jingled constantly, I was hardly equipped for secrecy in any mission I might try to undertake.

It was in these meanderings that I learned what a comparatively lucky girl I was.

The double doors at the end of a large long barn were open. Pretty schoolgirls were wheeling out soiled straw. One would have called the girls with the wheelbarrows full of 'girlnure' stable-girls, save that I was pretty sure that there were but two ponygirl stable-blocks on the pony-farm, and this long low building was not one of them.

In fact, where I was held captive was an expansion of the original intention of the farm Gaynor and Fabrina had set up with Gaynor's inheritance. They, Gaynor and Fabrina, joined later by Alena, who had also sunk money into the project, had originally intended to concentrate solely on Girlponyculture. They had intended only to capture train and sell ponygirls. The idea of breeding from a bull-ponygirl, such as Javelin, had been Alena's. The logical literal offspring, or rather offshoot from this, that cow-ponies be kept and a dairy thus set up, had followed as night day or day night.

Alena had suggested the winery. She had prompted her partners to consider the importance of diversification. The mares born through the breeding took the best part of thirteen years to arrive at puberty combined with a semblance of maturity, and even then, needed two or three years before they were saleable ponies. A risky gap needed bridging.

Fabrina had originally suggested agriculture using the girlnure. Alena had never been too happy with that proposal but, as the junior partner, since she was the latecomer to the partnership, had gone along with it.

Agriculture was never going to be profitable in Alena's view, and she had not been wrong. Nonetheless, the pony-farm still had four ponygirls, put to the plough to prepare the growth of such as maize to feed the stabled ponygirls such as myself and the cow-ponies and girlwine ponies, and lend this and other elements of self-sufficiency to the enterprise, by for example, also being used to pull the mowers that produced the fresh-cut grass that was the main staple of the ponygirls' diets, as well as harvesting the maize and such as oilseed rape when the crops matured. All this kept the bills for feeding the animals, the ponygirls, down and the profits of the farm correspondingly up.

The plough-ponies were also income earners, because they were loaned out to neighbouring farms during the ploughing seasons, but their produce, the produce from the fields they ploughed on this particular farm, was not sold off the farm but used on it.

The plough-ponies were particularly popular with the local timber-merchant, who regularly hired them to haul logs around his yard and to pull loaded carts of prepared wood to the local rail-sidings.

Alena's insistence on a winery had finally won through though. The winery was now, in fact, the biggest and most profitable part of the farm. This being so, it would be more appropriate to call my location a girl-farm, strictly speaking, rather than a pony-farm or a ponygirl farm.

I was shooed away. I gave my presence away with the jingle-jangle that the fright from the sight through the end-doors of the winery gave me. I had never realised just how many girls there were on the farm. I would guess that I would not be wrong to guess that there were fifty lovely young women in the winery.

I only caught a glimpse before I was spotted and shooed off, but my eyes burned a photograph on my mind of what I saw. The poor girls were kneeling in cage boxes. There were rows of open-ended-front-and-back square wooden compartments lined with straw. The girls were naked and had had their hair cut to ragged stubble. They knelt on the straw in their box with their wrists tied up to the rear of the box. The boxes were on top of one another: there were two rows of girls in the boxes, about twenty-five in the bottom row, and the same number in the one on top of the bottom row.

I can only assume they had had their heads short shorn for hygiene purposes; but the sale of their hair for wig making or similar cannot be ruled out. In fact, as I was to learn later, they were being regularly shorn like sheep; so these girls were also being farmed for their hair!

The individual girls were in a tangle of tubes. I only saw briefly, but it seemed that some kind of clear thick-glass hopper was above each of the battery boxes, and was dripping yellowish water into the girls' mouths via a tube pushed through a hole in a gag they each wore. Another tube came from a cup over their cunts, and they were obviously peeing into what looked like more glass hoppers. Apart from when they were fed, they clearly had to live all day, all week, all year like this and, their urination having been taken careful care of, to defecate out of the back of their boxes.

Whilst I dare stare, I watched frozen in horror, as one girl had the empty glass hopper from which she had swallowed all the contents, replaced by the one into which she had peed; and the hopper she had drunk empty, put so the tube from her cunt would eventually fill it with her piss once more.

A numbered wheel next the drinking hopper for this girl was then rotated to show '5', and I realised that what she now had to drink was the fourth or fifth recycle of her own pee. The poor girl was being made to act as a still, drinking and re-drinking her pee until it was of the thickness and quality for which the farm was famed: until it was 'super-strong girlwine'.

Next to her a very attractive blonde, to judge from her hair stubble and eyebrows, had a good two-gallons of fresh water to drink to start the cycle, and the counter against her drink hopper read '1': so I realised that the counter must refer to the piss produced rather than the piss being drunk.

It occurred to me that these girls must menstruate and, as happens with girls who cohabit for long spells, it was likely that their monthly periods would have begun to coincide. My flash question was answered in a millisecond, when I spotted filled bottles: clear glass ones labelled 'Circle6 Super-Strong White' and fewer green glass bottles labelled: 'Circle6 Super-Strong Red'. 'Circle6' seemed to be a brand-name.

Shooed away from the winery I found something even more horrifying. In a new venture, girls were being prepared for meat. I do not mean that girls were being fed meat. I mean that girls were being kept on the farm with the full intention that they eventually be slaughtered and sold as meat.

Thank goodness I witnessed none of what was going on in that venture. All I saw was a building the size of the winery, with a board above the closed doors reading: 'Circle6 Girlmeat - brought to you by the "Pure Girl" people'. Believe me, I trotted my lovely 120 pounds of pure girl as far away from that particular shed as I could.

In a previous chapter I raised the assumption that such as this could not be true. My raising it that way at that time, shows exactly how my mind worked in regard to the matter. I could not accept it. I could not admit that it was possible. My sight of this building finally forced my subconscious to yield and stop shielding me from the terrible truth.

The school had also been Alena's idea. The 'Equine School De Española' was founded upon Alena's promise, therefore a university professor's promise, to remain its titular head.

It was a girls-only fee-paying establishment, but fees were reduced if the girls volunteered to work on the farm. Most of the girls were pony fanatics. So, here was another symbiotic relationship: the school provided high-class education: the girl-farm provided practice in girlponyculture, dairy work with cow-ponies, agriculture with plough-ponies, a girlwinery, and, unfortunately, the raising of ponygirl livestock for meat. And all the assistance from the schoolgirls was 'free' insofar as they were paid nothing directly, and the part of their school fee foregone in recognition of assistance on the farm, was never greater than the profit element within the full price school fee.

As I meandered around the farm, I saw Flamenco-Firefly, the freshly branded Flamenco-Firefly being led out of the farrier's workshop. Flamenco-Firefly wore all the gold rings I now did. Her gorgeous arms were stretched out cruciform by a gold cangue, and she had had her neck giraffed.

This was horrible to see, but I sensed a happiness about Flamenco-Firefly as she clip-clopped at the end of a rein wielded by Gaynor. I immediately spotted the probable course for Flamenco-Firefly's recovered contentment, despite the fresh pain of her brand and her arms being stretched out as if she was crucified: Flamenco-Firefly was menstruating. Flamenco-Firefly had not missed her period. Flamenco-Firefly was happy because she was pretty sure that Javelin had not made her pregnant.

My time at loose leisure was short. It appeared I had been let loose a while, because Alena and Fabrina had business to attend to. It concerned Alena's acceptance as a lecturer at a local university: she having already resigned from full time work at the English one I had been abducted from. This business sorted, Fabrina collected me and attached me by my lead rein to the exercise machine I had been broken-in on.

Flamenco-Firefly was already tethered to the bar that through the central motor caused one to have to walk or trot in a circle. A different bar had been fitted. This one could have two ponygirls tethered to it. Instead of an inverted 'L' coming up from the motor and central pole, there was now a 'T', and I was tethered by my rubber mouth bit to the other arm of the 'T' to Flamenco-Firefly's: the arm one-hundred-and-eighty-degrees from the sensationally attractive sixteen-year-old Gypsy girl.

The simple order, "Walk" found us both obeying without even the need of the motor being turned on to make us move. We were being walked, Flamenco-Firefly and I, purely for light exercise.

Flamenco-Firefly needed to get used to her cruciform cangue, her giraffed neck, her brutal branding, and the dreadful bells that hung, as with mine, from her fingers, her ears, her nose, her lower mouth lip, and her arms, including from her top eyelids. For my part, I was being made to walk to loosen my stiffness after my whipping.

The degree to which we were both broken as ponygirls can be illustrated perhaps by the fact that, as well as us not requiring the motor to make us obey and order to walk, as we began to walk in a circle in obedience of that order, Flamenco-Firefly was openly unselfconsciously pissing, and yet I walked on over where she had pissed without any show of disgust or the slightest reluctance, thus demonstrating my acceptance that I was merely an animal now.

……………

The weeks passed. My whip wounds had healed. I had returned to trotting and running on the exercise trainer. I had also been left with Flamenco-Firefly for a whole day in an open field, and we had trotted and run around together, even without mistresses to order us to do so.

I was beginning to find that I needed to avoid Flamenco-Firefly's lovely eyes. The way she looked at me, at my gorgeous body, made me feel very strange in my tummy: the way I had felt meeting Alena the day I had woken up in Alena's flat, indeed in Alena's bed.

Don't get me wrong. I liked, I even loved Flamenco-Firefly looking at me, and I thought her absolutely astoundingly gorgeous. She was only sixteen. She was incredibly shapely, fit, firm, and lithe. I could go on for hours about how lovely she was……… I was only two years older than her of course, but I did not want to lead her on. I felt some responsibility as the older pony… I mean the older girl.

Loneliness, extreme loneliness had been our lot ever since our abduction. Contact with another pony… I mean another girl of course, would have meant an end to loneliness for the pair of us.

I was not playing 'hard-to-get', I was just being cautious for us both. All I wanted was to communicate, but Flamenco-Firefly seemed such a randy little firebrand I feared she was after more than I was willing, let alone able, to give. I did not want to encourage what I was pretty sure she was after. But I had no way, with both of our mouths constantly gagged with bits; I had no way for me to say 'lets just be friends'.

…………….

It was difficult to get us on the four-wheeled cart. With our arms stretched out as if we were crucified, it was a problem to get Flamenco-Firefly and I on the cart that was going to take us to the Queendom of **********.

I was clip-clop clip-clop clomp, clomp, clomp, ting, ting, jingle-jangled up the wooden ramp first. As the canvas canopy that formed an inverted 'U' over the vehicle did not have an outstretched-arms-width between its sides, I had to stand sideways once aboard. With a jingle jangle jingle of all her more newly fitted bells, Flamenco-Firefly joined me and faced my way: we faced each other.

The farrier was to do the driving. She slid the planks we had clomped up, onto to the back of the four-cart-wheel wagon she had loaded us onto, and then lifted shut, and put securing pins through, to hold the tailgate up where she had closed it.

We, Flamenco-Firefly and I, were under the inverted 'U' of canvas, held up by inverted 'U' steel frames, but with no canvas back or front cover, so that a cool breeze blew on our lovely bodies as we stood. And as we stood, face-to-face, I was already casting down my eyes to avoid Flamenco-Firefly's blatant stare at my gorgeous face.

With our necks painfully stiffly giraffed, neither of us could avoid but to look at each other.

Close-up Flamenco-Firefly was a joy of nature. Surely no more wonderfully beautiful sixteen-year-old girl had ever been witnessed by a world that should have got down on its knees to worship her.

I tried to get my mind on other things. I had noticed that we were to be pulled by Koala-Bare and another plough-pony I had not seen or heard of before: a raven-haired Spanish girl with very profuse wildly widespread curly pubic hair. She was called 'Jungle-Dream'. Koala-Bare and Jungle-Dream were bent forward like the letter 'L', and were fastened to the cart by leather yokes on their shoulders: yokes through the middles of which their lovely heads poked. They wore steel mouth bits, and the blacksmith had both their reins.

This bent-over-at-the-waist 'L' position was the one Koala-Bare and Jungle-Dream were used to for all the heavy haulage and ploughing they were employed upon. They had worked as a team before taking wood from the timber-yard to the train sidings. The driver only had to tug the reins, and thus the bit in the mouth of the ponygirl on her right or her left, for both ponies to know they were being ordered to move in the direction of the girl whose mouth had been tugged.

I would have been delighted to have seen the beautiful legs of these statuesque girls as they had to put their lovely shoulders hard to their yokes and tense their calf and thigh muscles to start us rolling on our way, but that was not to be my privilege.

"Gidduppyaa!" the gentle-cruel blacksmith ordered Jungle-Dream and Koala-Bare, as she gently smacked the cart's reins on Koala-Bare and Jungle-Dream's bent backs: and moments later we began our slow heavy way to the Spanish border with the Queendom of **********.

The farrier must have been completely mesmerised as she watched the gently grinding swinging roll of Koala-Bare and Jungle-Dream's round smooth sweating buttocks and swinging tails, as their fabulous legs pulled us slowly but surely and, of course, completely obediently along our two-mile way.

I did not want it to happen, but in the instant of our moving, Flamenco-Firefly was rubbing her nose gently against mine. As we both wore mouth bits, it was the only way in which she could 'kiss' me.

I wanted the 'kiss'; who would not want a kiss from such a beautiful girl? Now she began to rub her wonderfully firm pert breasts on mine, and I felt my nipples flicker with excitement. I could not shake my head to tell her 'no', so I tried to say it with my eyes. She instantly understood and felt the rejection add to her loneliness, and began to cry. As she saw my rejection of her forwardness from my eyes, Flamenco-Firefly began to cry: and so did I for having hurt her.

I did not want to hurt the feelings of this lovely creature. As best I could with my giraffed neck and a rubber bit firmly in my mouth, I put my soft left face cheek against hers and gently caressed her cheek-to-cheek, and she sobbed and then began to giggle with joy at the 'human' contact we had made despite our bonds.

And I rubbed noses with her to thank her for her lovely giggles, giggles that reverberated right through her superb body. And we rested our heads, such as we could with our necks giraffed, we rested our lovely faces against each other and, with our wonderful naked girl-sensitive bodies pressing against each other, we felt the comfort of 'human' warmth and Platonic love, as we lurched along in the cart taking us to our new home, with the brutal bells with which our faces were tormented ding-donging in our ears.

……………

Flamenco-Firefly and I were among any number of ponygirls that were strangers to us. We were new in stables new to us too. Kim Kai and Hai Moon were still our stable-girls. They had insisted on coming with me and had agreed to provide for Flamenco-Firefly too. The two-mile journey to school at Gaynor, Fabrina, and Alena's farm, was covered by the omnibuses that ran, literally ran in the case of the six-ponygirls harnessed to pull them, every hour, so they would not miss out on their education.

Compared with the stables on the girl-farm, there was considerable luxury in the stables of the Palace of the Queendom of **********, though much of that luxury, such as marble floors, was necessarily hidden under the straw scattered to catch the ponygirls' piss and droppings.

Of the new ponygirls with stalls near mine: 'Flaxen-Sky' was astonishing. She was a mousy-blonde haired Russian girl, all of six-feet two, with legs as long as the trip to the sun and back. 'Emerald-Smile' was an Irish colleen with corn-blonde hair and the brightest shiniest lightest green eyes I have ever seen. 'Autumn-Leaf' had the most glorious auburn hair. 'Speckled-Hen' was another redhead: she had a profusion of lovely freckles on her very pale, very pretty face.

'Titiana-Titan', a gorgeous negress, had, or course, as you can tell from her name, the most enormous breasts. When Flamenco-Firefly and I arrived at the palace, she was already heavily with foal. Titiana-Titan's potential milk yield was phenomenal, and she was headed for the dairy as soon as she had dropped her foal.

'Sparrow-Hop' was an adorable little thing. She was only fourteen: a brunette, prettier than the proverbial picture. Sparrow-Hop had been born on the palace's farm and raised as a ponygirl since she was just a foal. It is terrible to have to say that her dam (her mother) 'Lula-Lulu', having dried-up after a three-year spell as a cow-pony having her breasts milked twice a day, had long since gone to the slaughterhouse, humanely killed and her lovely body jointed for sale in the girlmeat market.

The palace had its own farm and the ponygirl plough horses were mingled among us rather than being housed separately.

Even after only a short while in my new stables, I was having a problem with a ponygirl called 'Naughty-Nymph'. I seemed to have aroused her jealousy, and had to watch that she did not kick me. I would never normally have indulged such a thing, but she made herself such a threat to me, that I managed to team up with Flamenco-Firefly one morning and, Naughty-Nymph suddenly 'accidentally' fell flat on her tits! I really cannot think how that could have happened! She left me alone after that. I felt sorry for her though. She was obviously very lonely.

There was always a cacophony of ringing, dinging, donging bells in the stables I was in. I am sure there were a hundred ponygirls, ninety-nine and myself. We were all giraffed, with eighteen to twenty gold rings around our necks. We all had our arms held out cruciform. We all wore bells on our ankles, our fingers, our arms, our ears, our noses, our lower mouth lips, and dangling from our upper eyelids: what a musical dingle-ding-dinging there was all day and all night!

Perhaps the palace had too many ponygirls. None of us were neglected, but few of us were fully employed. Perhaps it was policy to keep us fresh. I often spent my days roaming at will in a meadow. So too did Flamenco-Firefly.

Although we could not communicate, we always wore a bit and talking during drinking and feeding would have been punished very severely, Flamenco-Firefly and I had developed an innate understanding, and would exercise by trotting around the field together, side-by-side, and sometimes, when we had a surfeit of energy, by playing 'tit-tag'.

In tit-tag, one of us would chase the other till the ponygirl chasing managed to touch one of her tits on the girl being chased who was trying to avoid the touch. Then the girl who had been chasing was chased in her turn. With our arms tied up as they were, we had to use our tits, as they were our only available front facing protuberances. I called it 'tit-tag', but of course I could not talk to Flamenco-Firefly, so I don't know what name she gave it, or even if she gave it a name at all. We chased each other in naughty and saucy pony play, because we wanted to keep fit and did not want to become bored.

Flies continued to be a dreadful nuisance. No ponygirl went anywhere at any time without flies crawling on her nipples and smothering her pod. Perhaps the darker flesh of a delicious nipple got warmer in the sun than the rest of one's pendulous protuberances. The flies would, of course, crawl on ones breasts, but they all ultimately made for the nipple.

When it was really hot, Flamenco-Firefly and I would stand in the shade of a tree, alongside each other, facing opposite ways, so that by swinging our lovely bottoms, we could swish our tails across each other's lower fronts, to keep at least some of the constant filthy flies off one-another's minxes.

We would stand for half-hour-long stretches in shade from the midday heat this way, swishing our tails across each other to drive the flies off one-another's pods, and flicking our tits to make them swing, so as to try and get the terrible flies off our own nipples.

We all regularly shook our titties to drive the flies off. I could get my beautiful breasts swinging side-to-side in a microsecond. But the relief was always only momentary, as the flies flew back and began to crawl and taste my sweet sweat and, inevitably, tease and taunt my nipples once again.

Of course you have a right to details here. It is very embarrassing for me, but you have a right to know. I would swing my titties from side to side, or up and down, to rid the beastly flies from feasting on my nipples. But that never worked for long, so I practiced making my titties go in a circle. It was a very dirty and naughty way to behave, but we ponygirls were all girls together, and we all had to find some way to get the flies off our breasts. Making my titties go in a circle also swung my bottom, and that swished my tail, and both these helped get rid of the truly dreadful flies; if only for a few seconds.

Now I was no longer a technical-foal, having been deflowered by the Giggle's penis-coupling, my pubic hair had been allowed to re-grow, and if there could be such a thing, I almost had a fly's nest in my negress' very tightly coiled pubic curls.

That was how very bad the flies were for we poor ponygirls. Flies were constantly crawling up and down my pod's lips. With the flies on my nipples and on my pod, it was a feat of supreme will not to become sexually aroused: I was and am a very very sensitive girl.

I felt sorry for little girls like Sparrow-Hop. She was only just fourteen, and her breasts were still budding, so she did not have enough to swing. The flies just loved her peaky pointy pink nipples too, poor sweet dear little thing.

We were well into the spring now and, despite the constant accursed flies, life trotting around a field and playing tit-tag with Flamenco-Firefly in the glorious sun was very pleasant. At some time around midday, our mouth bits would be removed for a while, a trough filled with cold water for our thirst, and a manger filled with fresh cut grass for us to eat.

……………..

I could hear the howling at night.

People say that they are no threat: wolves.

On this part of the French – Spanish border, in the hilly and mountainous little enclave forming the Queendom of **********, wolves still roamed wild in the woods and hunted in packs. It was more than a little spine-chilling to hear their howling late in the night.

There was, I was to learn, a myth that the royal family had rule over the wolves and could protect the public, mostly peasant farmers, from the wolves killing them and their families as opposed to savaging their sheep.

This myth, 'that as long as there was a De Palmania-Thomasatto-Riento girl on the throne, the wolves would kill no man woman or child in the queendom' (not that they ever would anyway), had grown over the years, and, around the year 1015, had prompted a wolf slain by a golden arrow to become the royal family's coat of arms.

By the 21st century, as one would indeed hope, such ideas as that a sacrifice to the wolves in spring would keep them under the command of the royal family, who could thus thereafter order them not to attack the queendom's human population, was no longer believed in. Or so it was said outside the queendom at least. Inside the queendom, there were rumours of an annual 'spring sacrifice' to transfer the wolves' power to the ruling De Palmania-Thomasatto-Rientos.

……………

I had not been ridden solo before. Initially, I had no idea what was going on when Hai Moon and Kim Kai released my arms from the horizontal bar cangue, unlocked the cangue and took it off me.

It was a gorgeous early spring early evening. School had finished five hours since. The princess had despatched Kim Kai and Hai Moon to saddle me up. The princess had a fancy for an evening ride under the rising full moon.

I cannot describe what a joy it was not to have my arms out cruciform. To have a ponygirl's arms tied out permanently like that was very cruel, and I know full well that it was only done for decorative reasons as well, of course, in order to leave the ponygirl's breasts unencumbered for the tit-reins.

Around my wrists they put black leather cuffs with a strong slim strap about two-feet long, linking the cuffs together. My slim shapely pretty arms were thus in front of me, hanging down at my sides, with my cuffed wrists lightly touching my upper-front-side thighs.

Now Hai Moon brought a pair of stirrups, and I began to become fretful, as I recalled Hai Moon riding Koala-Bare so cruelly.

Hai Moon struggled to fit the stirrups as I began to dance with my hooves a clip-clop clip-clop arrhythmic dance on the cobbled yard in my rising state of fear, my bare bountifully-big breasts flow-bouncing with the judder-ripples from my percussive feet.

Kim Kai took a tighter grip of my lead rein, as Hai Moon managed to put the rings at either side of the stirrup for my right hand, on the little finger and the thumb of that hand, after removing my sleigh-bell rings from them, and clip the short chain running from its top, to the back of the leather strap that cuffed my right wrist.

With greater difficulty, she repeated the treatment on my left hand, and I now bore stirrups, for which my beautiful arms were to be used as the 'straps' holding the stirrups ready for the rider.

I was sidling with my dancing feet a clip-clop clip-clop as Kim Kai struggled to hold me in my rising fear.

"Midnight-Pearl wewy naughty!" Kim Kai tried to sooth me.

"It frisky. Need made tired. Need long stretch legs. Need good ridden hard" Hai Moon opined

Kim Kai began to stroke my nose downwards time and time again: "Midnight-Pearly whirly wewy gwood ickle gwirly-whirly weally. Midnight-Pearl whirly not be fwitety-whitied. Dare now. Dare now. Midnight-Pearly whirly girly whirly, gwood ickle gwirly whirly…"

My little fingers hurt. I had not experience the stirrups before. These were slightly different to the ones I had seen on Koala-Bare. The stirrups on Koala-Bare had also used her wrists, but had only used her index fingers for the steadying ring. The stirrups I bore, were like two capital-letters 'D' turned so that the flat side of the 'D' was facing the ground and my thumb and little finger wore rings on what had become the curved upper side of the 'D', now its flat side had been tipped to form the rod on which the rider would rest her boot as she rode me.

As I was being calmed by Kim Kai, Hai Moon had brought the saddle. Like my saddle-band 'waspie', the tight strap that I constantly wore to hold my natural twenty-three-inch waist squeezed down to just fifteen inches, the saddle was about ten or twelve inches deep.

Hai Moon operated from in front of me in case this frisky nervy ponygirl might kick. The saddle went around my waist with its bottom edge resting on the super-enhanced hips I had from wearing so tight a waspie. The three straps on the black leather saddle were pulled tight till it hugged my belly extremely snugly, and were then buckled closed.

At the back of me was the saddle's pommel. The pommel was curved to match the exquisite curvature of a girl's back. Within the saddle, the pommel-to-be, as you might call it, was actually shaped like the blade of a spade used for digging a garden, only curved so as to match the curve of a girl: a truly amazing engineering feat! It was shaped like the blade of a spade so as to distribute the weight of the jockey around the ponygirl's back, when the jockey mounted her.

It was sewn into the saddle with its lower end touching the bottom of my curvy-girl's spine, where my very feminine back began to become my equally feminine bottom. The 'pommel-to-be, made of steel sewn into the leather saddle, curved with my spine and followed its wonderful line. This curved steel followed my spine's line, the whole length of the depth of the saddle: the ten or twelve inches of the tight leather saddle.

At the top middle of the saddle, having had the honour and supreme difficulty of following my all but unmatchable curvature, the pommel merged from blade into rod as, like the handle of a garden-spade, it emerged from the leather of the saddle in the form of a three-quarter-inch diameter round rod, that was angled out and away from my back at 60-degrees from the straight: not that my supremely girl-arched back could ever be called straight.

The three-quarter-inch diameter round rod, rose rigidly free of the saddle some twelve inches, sticking out behind me, 60-degrees away from my body, from the top of the saddle, the rod's base being at about the height of the bottom of my ribcage. The rod, the pommel, was coated with leather and showed clear sign of having been kept moist. Steel-core and leather coating combined, the pommel was shaped to make, in effect, a three-quarter-inch diameter round, twelve-inch long penis.

I was still being frisky and sidling as I clip-clopped the cobbles with my haphazardly dancing prancing clog-hoof shod feet. Another stable-girl came to Kim Kai's assistance, fitting another lead rein to my bit.

Now Hai Moon must risk this stunningly superbly leggy ponygirl kicking out with one of her wonderfully fit and shapely legs as she, Hai Moon, went around behind me to fit the two ends of the 'Y' formed by the crupper that must be worn by me to secure the saddle on me.

The crupper strap's 'Y' was taken under my tail, and the 'V' of its 'Y'-shape, buckled to straps hanging like suspenders from the rear back of the saddle.

In her heart of hearts, Hai Moon knew that I was too gentle a girl to kick her.

Whether the little schoolgirl Hai Moon could be adjudged as gentle as I, can perhaps be assessed by the strength and enthusiasm with which she pulled the tail of the 'Y' of the crupper up between my superb thighs, and horribly tightly between the soft petals of my minx, wide-dividing the lips of my pod, and notching it off at the buckle hanging middle-front of the saddle.

My minx was dry, I was not lubricated by my cognac, and this vicious crupper strap threatened to rub me raw as I was ridden.

They needed to steady me now, because I must be fitted with a riding bridle. Accordingly, as I still sexily danced with my glorious legs in my high voltage state of nerves, Hai Moon and the extra stable-girl, fitted lead reins to hoops at either side of the bottom of my waspie, and thus controlled me from the two sides of me, as Kim Kai took over my preparation, removing my rubber bit and the head band labelling me as 'Midnight-Pearl'.

My bridle, combining mouth bit, blinkers, and new headband to confirm me once again as 'Midnight-Pearl', was once more in all black leather: all leather that is except the bit for my mouth, which Kim Kai struggled to fit as I resisted the cruelty of wearing a 'naughty-girl's bit'.

A 'naughty-girl's bit' had two roller rods of steel between which my tongue was forced, before it – my bit – and my headband were buckled at the back of my head, thus putting the blinkers each side of my head beside my sin-invoking-dark-chocolate eyes.

As with the bit I had worn when I pulled the Giggle – the girl-gig – this bit had rigid hoops at each of its ends: hoops that were sticking out beyond the sides of my face. I became even more restless and disturbed when I recognised that Kim Kai was bringing tit-reins with nipple-bits.

The prospect of the one-inch needles of the nipple-bits being inserted was not even half as horrible as the painful reality as my nipple milk-holes were stabbed into by the needle tongues and the toothed sprung crocodile clamps bit down on my nipples to hold the tit-reins in place as I danced with my feet a mad clip-clop with the pain: pain I could not ease. All my bells were a tinkle-jinkle. These tit-reins did not have bells this time though.

Riding reins, a strap some three-feet long with a clip at each end, were fitted to the rings at the end of my tit-reins, the rings that were sized larger than the rings in my mouth bit so as to prevent my tit reins falling through my mouth bit end rings.

Finally, another strap, about two-feet long, was passed around the back of my head, and clipped either side of my pretty face to rigid rings in the lower of the two bars that formed the bit in my mouth: the lower of the two bit-rods between which my tongue was imprisoned by the naughty-girl's bit.

One of the reins to hold me and lead me was now transferred to one of my mouth bit rings, and the remaining controlling rein taken off the hoop at the side of my waspie.

I was sidling and resisting the lead rein as I was led to a mounting block on which the extremely pretty Princess Astrid Riento stood with her back to us, pulling on her white kid-leather riding gloves, the only clothing this fourteen–year-old perfect little angel wore, apart from knee-high white kid, clinging riding boots: boots that held her on her tiptoes as she stood on their squared-off metal capped toes: boots with little heels that did not even offer to attempt touching the ground, being only little lugs to lodge her booted foot in the stirrups. Boots shaping her short curvaceous legs by tensioning her muscles provocatively sexily: boots on which were fitted star-wheel-spurs: real spurs with eight spaced spikes at the ends of each wheel at the back of her almost heelless riding boots.

Astrid Riento stood with her back to us, her simply stupendous blonde–white hair tumbling down to her heels. Having completed the pulling on of her soft leather riding gloves, she turned toward us, totally naked bar her gloves and boots, and even I gasped with astonishment, not only at her ravishing glorious young body and stunningly pretty face, but at the wonder of wonders of nature that was between her shapely legs.

As the princess stood having turned now and having previously climbed the steps behind the marble block forming a mounting block, standing her, three-feet off the ground, in readiness for mounting her chosen ponygirl, me, I could not help but look at the blonde-white hair, the neatly bikini-line trimmed blonde-white pubic hair of the delectable deliciously delightfully delicate princess.

I was completely astounded and astonished and stared! Princess Astrid was graced by an inheritance of the female line of the De Palmania-Thomasatto-Rientos. Her pubic hair was a mass of kinked blonde that dangled from around her minx: her minx being hidden somewhere excitingly dark within its fantastic forest. The little princess' pubic hair was dangling down well below her knees, halfway down her calves.

I had never seen pubic hair so erotically wonderful. I shuddered to think how she could keep it clean when she had to answer nature's calls. That she had let it grow, only shaving her lower belly and the inside tops of her thigh sides of her crutch, showed how a girl must suffer for beauty: for this sight for sighs and eyes was stunningly exceptionally electrically erotic. And yet she had had it trimmed. Up until a few days before, Princess Astrid's kinked blonde pubic hair had hung down to her ankles!

This was shear magic. I daydreamed of the orgasmic thought of watching this incredible girl washing brushing and combing her more than three-feet long pubic hair.

Then, in an erotic gasp I reminded myself that she was a princess, and would have servant girls to shampoo wash blow-dry comb and brush to a shine this absolute wonder of nature.

This sight was so powerfully erotic that I was staring at the wonder of it, against all rights I had in the world I now inhabited: such rights amounting to precisely none in fact, and certainly not that of ogling a princess' superb below-knee-length pubic hair.

What I did not know, was that the princess normally wore her pubic tresses in ribbons, and only took the ribbons off for riding. Her pubic hair was normally parted and tied with two ribbons so that her maids could hold it to each side of her, when she used the bathroom. She also had the beribboned hair rolled up into two coils by the maids who dressed her, so it could be contained within her panties.

What I also did not appreciate, as I should have by now, was that my looking at the princess was of no consequence. I was regarded as an animal. Animals can behave rather oddly. What a ponygirl thought mattered not one jot. It was a stupid animal, and should be treated as such. It could always be swatted with a whip to drive it off if it got in the way.

My mind and my compelled eyes were quickly brought back to the reality of the then present.

Keen to win praise from the princess, Kim Kai held me by my lead rein and Hai Moon, though superfluous, was in close attendance, once more keeping clear of my pony-shoe shod tip-top-tiptoed feet for fear I might kick, as I was still extremely skittish and frisky.

Kim Kai and Hai Moon curtsied low as they approached close to the lovely princess, who acknowledged them with a nod and smile.

"You may speak", said the princess gently and kindly to my stable-girls.

"Thank you Serenity Supreme for gracious kindness." Hai Moon whispered loudly in her broken English.

"Serenity Supreme, Hai Moon fear Midnight-Pearl frisky ponygirl" Hai Moon warned, as I continued to pull on my lead rein, and to tug to the side with my hoofs clattering a dancing clip-clop, clip-clop on the cobbles, raising the odd spark in the sudden night dark; a darkness relieved by a very bright full moon reviving the daylight gone by reflecting some of tomorrow's ration from the other side of the world.

The howl of wolves shivered the air with its spine-chilling threatening coldness, and a girl somewhere off in the distance let out a terrified gagged-scream.

I became even more anxious. I was terrified of the wolves. I tugged hard on the lead rein and was working up a sweat, despite the cool evening air.

The princess looked at me. She was a very experienced rider and had dealt with many a frisky frightened ponygirl.

"You do me great kindness by your warning," the princess smiled to Hai Moon "This pony is very beautiful, and you have prepared it perfectly for me", she condescended to say in a kindly way.

Having worked her fingers satisfactorily within her soft leather gloves, the princess completed the preparations for her ride, by putting the loop of a black riding crop around her right wrist, and checking its business-end by lightly tapping the folded-double leather strap that concluded its flexible black fibreglass shank, on the palm of her gloved left hand.

Kim Kai and Hai Moon curtsied once more and then led me to the mounting block, turning my back to it. From there, the princess easily practicedly took hold of my main reins, as Hai Moon and Kim Kai, by holding the strap that manacled my wrists close to one of my wrists apiece, forced me to hold my arms by my side, so that the princess could slide her cunt down onto the pommel of the saddle, so the foot-long pommel filled her cunt like a penis, whilst slipping the toes of her boots through the stirrups my hands had been forced to hold and form.

My lead rein was unclipped and I had the pretty princess on my back pulling up hard on both of my tits as the inside-sides of her boots tapped me repeatedly on the outside-side of my upper thighs, in order to begin to bring order to my behaviour.

I skitter-scattered around on my lovely legs to try and unseat her, my fear had got the better of my judgement and I was behaving as if I had never been broken, as if I did not acknowledge that I was a ponygirl and had to accept being ridden by my mistresses: my superiors.

As I skittered on the spot, Princess Astrid checked my tit reins by pulling on the main reins to work my tits rapidly up and down. She was a very skilled ponygirl-rider, and quickly had me assessed as I skitter-scattered about, disobeying my orders even before I had been given any.

The princess' shapely bare legs pressed my front sides as she pressed down in the stirrups to hurt my thumb and fingers to force me to keep my arms loose so that she could use them as stirrup straps. I felt her soft long long pubic tresses tickling my bare bottom, and instantly also felt an oozing of my cognac within my pod at its absolutely astonishing erotic stimulation at the thought, let alone as the reality that a seismically stunning fourteen-year-old angel like the princess had pubic hair so very long that it could blow in the breeze, as her three-foot-and-more-long pubic tresses were doing as of right then and right there.

Having satisfied herself that my tit-reins were in order, Princess Astrid decided to put an end to my skittish sidling and friskiness: she tugged on the short rein, the other rein, that ran around my head from one end of my bottom bit to the other, and the lower half of the bit was pulled up hard so that my tongue was squeezed extremely harshly and very painfully between the lower and upper metal rods of this, my 'naughty-girl's bit', and, in the same instant, she swotted me very hard on my right bum hemisphere with her crop.

My tongue still painfully trapped, squeezed between the two halves of my naughty-girl's bit, the reflex squeak I tried to emit as I leapt with the wicked sting of the crop on my bare bottom, hurt my tongue even more cruelly. I could not say: 'okay: okay: I surrender!' but, that I would do anything to have my pretty pink tongue released and to avoid another swat from the crop, immediately evidenced itself in my instantly modified behaviour.

The princess 'felt' her rides. Her body, especially her legs, told her what was running through a ponygirl's mind when she, the princess was on the saddle. The princess knew I had surrendered. She let go the tongue clamp, ordered me, "Walkies" as she clapped my flanks with the inside-side of her boots and in the same instant pulled both of my titties upwards together twice, businesslike brusquely, to confirm her instruction in the way a ponygirl understands.

All my breaking and training came back to me. Counting my experience of pulling the Giggle, I had learned to obey, above all, the orders given me through my tits. The oral orders coincided or preceded the tugs on my tits through the tit-reins, but the savage whipping I had been given as I pulled the Giggle had come from my pre-empting my tits. I had, as I had had a long agonising time to reflect while I recovered from the welts with which my gorgeous bottom had been lividly striped, almost anticipated the order to run on that occasion.

I could therefore conclude, that even my thinking of starting to run on the instant of the oral order for me to do so, thereby anticipating by the split-of-a-split-second the two tugs on my tits to tell me to run rather than trot, had caused the princess, quite understandably, and entirely rightly, to lose her temper at my stupidity and punish me with a sound whipping.

I was never sure that my conclusion was right. I really had no right to think about it. I was in no position to ask and it was entirely for my mistresses to tell me as, when, and if they chose to do so. A ponygirl was credited with some intelligence, albeit at a pretty basic animalistic level, too low a level for more than the simplest communication. Nobody was going to discuss with me why I was whipped so hard when I was pulling the Giggle. Even if I could be expected to understand, it was none of my business.

Lesson learned: presumed lesson learned, I now had heard the order to 'walk' but had not begun to walk until the instruction was confirmed by the two pulls upwards of both of my tits through the tit-reins. I was proud that I had learned this lesson in more complete obedience.

I had had the order walk followed by my titties being pulled upwards brusquely twice to confirm the command. And so, after I had gone sideways for three or four paces in the final echo of my nervous skittishness, whilst Princess Astrid tightened the grip of her thighs on me, in case I was going to attempt to throw her, I obeyed the order she had given me through my tits, through my tit-reins, and began to walk forward, knowing she would tell me through my tits, with or without confirmatory voice command, what I must do next, and that I would do whatever she told me.

To get a ponygirl to understand that it was to feel its commands through its tits, and that that was why it wore nipple-bits with their one-inch-long needles in its nipples' milk holes, so as to make its nipples constantly painful, and the ponygirl therefore more constantly consciously aware of its tits, and that it must feel for the slightest movement in them from the tit-reins, that even a twitch from the tit-reins must be obeyed, was considered the ultimate ideal of ponygirl training.

I was being ridden. I had a girl on my back riding me. I was being ridden like a pony. I was being ridden like a ponygirl. I was being ridden as a ponygirl.

……………

Princess Astrid Riento was a superb ponygirl-rider. She had been riding ponygirls since she was child, using a platform saddle to stand on to start with, and the standard seat-saddle once she was tall enough to see over the ponygirl when she, the princess, was sitting. Only since a month ago had the queen authorised her daughter, the heir to her throne, to use the pommel saddle, usually reserved for ponygirl racing, knowing, but not admitting she knew, that her strong-willed daughter had already anticipated the permission and lost her virginity riding 'Maple-Syrup', a stupendously sexy Canadian-Indian squaw.

I felt the princess' complete mistressy over me. She was controlling me routinely, not through the reins, which she held loosely, but through the strength of her shapely legs. The occasional squeeze of my trunk between her wide-parted thighs accompanied by a "Steady now steady" or a "Good girl" reassured me that I was behaving as required.

She was light on the stirrups. Her weight being on the pommel, she did not need to hurt my arms by pressing down on the stirrups my hands had been turned into, using my lovely arms as the straps for the stirrups my hands had become.

This too was good riding. Nothing stresses a ponygirl more than inappropriate weight distribution. The saddle on the ponygirl's back is where the rider should concentrate her mass: that is what the saddle is for. The stirrups are for the comfort of the rider, the reins for instructing the poneygirl, a good ponygirl-rider does not need to use stirrups or reins for support. In any case, the stirrups need to be kept at the ponygirl's side-front thighs, so as not to encumber it, 'her' if you will, in its progress.

Sometimes a "good girl" or a "steady girl, steady now", was accompanied by the lightest of taps on my right bum cheek with the crop, thus combining praise and comfort building my confidence, whilst providing a reminder to me, that my rider was to be obeyed implicitly, and there was a very literal sting in the tail at the ready if I were to make a mistake or disobey.

I was very nervous being ridden for the first time. To be pulling a gig was one thing. Pulling the Giggle, the ponygirl was at a distance from its mistress, and could even let its thoughts drift a little. To be saddled and ridden, put its superior too close at hand for it to dare to try and think of anything other than the last order given it through the tit-reins.

The princess was a good enough and experienced enough rider to sense my novice's nervousness, and to recognise my wish to please, and so she reached and actually patted me on my right bottom cheek as she gave me another "good girl" which, because of my novice's nerves, had to be close followed by a "steady girl, steady" as the pride I felt at having earned her gloved hand's pat on my sexy bottom, made me momentarily forgetful.

I was become less fearful. I had experienced the princess' wrath, now I was experiencing her skill and gentleness. She knew, as if by instinct, she knew what her ponygirl needed and was as ready with a reassuring word and a gentle tap of the crop, as with a heavy crop swipe and even the spurs if a pony got out of hand.

Although I had never been ridden before, I sensed, rightly, that I was being ridden expertly, and I admired the princess' skill with me.

My left tit was being pulled up repeatedly: instantly I veered gently to the left: a single gentle pull on both my tits followed and I began to walk straight ahead once more. "That's a good girl: good girl", the princess praised.

We were heading for a path in the wild woodlands: a girlmade clearing in the trees.

Once more I heard the wolves yowl, a fox's yap this time too, and a girl's gagged-scream. A chill went down my spine and I was instantly covered with goose-pimples, but continued to obey my rider, as a good ponygirl must. The gagged-scream was horrible and seemed to be closer now.

We had entered the woods. Both my tits were pulled up hard, as the princess whispered "Whoa", and then gently patted my bottom again, in praise of my instant obedience: "good girl".

I had stopped walking. She seemed to be looking around and listening. To keep me calm, she stroked my mane… Sorry, of course I mean my negress' natural tightly curly hair. I found it very sexy, but knew better than to react as a girl, and took it, as it was intended, as an a-sexual comfort to keep a potentially skittish ponygirl calm.

Moments later a double-tug on both my tits ordered me to walk again, and instantly after, a gentle repeated pulling upwards of my right tit, ordered me to move in that direction, till a single gentle tug on both my tits made me go straight forward again.

Again I heard the wolves howl, and this time too, I heard the close-by hooting horn, long and chilling in the cool moonlight, of a passing train.

My hooves were cracking fallen twigs now as I was ridden off the main path through the woods, onto a sidetrack.

Suddenly we came upon a clearing and both my tits were pulled up together hard. I stopped as my rider leaned over my shoulder to try and see what a wisp of cloud across the moon had momentarily hidden. Saying nothing, the princess reached and patted my bottom to praise me and reassure me.

When the cloud had gone by, I nearly reeled backwards in fear as I suddenly became aware how close to the edge of a cliff-like shear drop I had been ridden. But my eyes too began to focus on what was happening in the hollow below.

From the hollow below came the sound of a girl breathing very heavily in deep dark sexual pleasure. From the simply glorious redness of her hair, I just knew it was Autumn-Leaf. Poor Autumn-Leaf appeared to have been staked out on the ground. She was still in her arms-wide cruciform cangue, but the ends of her cangue were tied to two uprights, two posts that kept her in a kneeling position. It was obviously Autumn-Leaf's gagged-screams that I had heard earlier.

Cries of uninhibited sexual pleasure and an approaching climactic crisis now came from Autumn-Leaf, before a cloud went over the moon once more, just as she screamed with an orgasm.

It was only as that cloud cleared that I saw Autumn-Leaf's lovers.

Autumn-Leaf was having her dangling breasts licked and tugged and fought over by six she-wolves, who had already made one of her nipples bleed, whilst a huge slavering male wolf was standing on its hind legs, with its front paw claws having also made Autumn-Leaf bleed by scratching her girlsoft skinned back. And it was truly horrible to see that it, the massive male wolf, had its cock deep in Autumn-Leaf's cunt, and was shagging her with slow burning fury, whilst keeping at bay twelve other male wolves waiting their turn to fuck the poor ponygirl.

Autumn-Leaf was the spring sacrifice. Every year the royal family continued a tradition to assuage the wolves. Every spring they tied a ponygirl to the stakes somewhere in the woods where the wolves would eventually find her. It was Autumn-Leaf's misfortune, not only to have been chosen this year, but that for the past two years, the ponygirl staked-out for the wolves to rape had been a lactating cow-pony, leading the wolves to expect Autumn-Leaf's breasts to yield milk, and their now satisfying their desire for fluid from her breasts, by having bitten one of her nipples in trying to get milk Autumn-Leaf's breasts did not have, so that her nipple bled, and they could suck the blood.

As we heard Autumn-Leaf's gasps of what sounded distinctly like another orgasm, the princess was pulling on my left tit to order me to turn.

I could tell that the sight of Autumn-Leaf's ordeal had excited the princess sexually: I could feel her nipples go so stiff that they were almost scratching my shoulders.

She was silent as she rode me back along the path with loose fallen twigs, that she had diverted me onto from the main forest track clearing.

As we rejoined that clearing though, the princess was tugging up my tight tit with the reins, when to turn left was the direction in which to ride me home.

I obeyed her order to me through my tit, and turned onto the main path, feeling both my tits pulled up once briefly, to tell me to now go straight, and then a double-tug on both of my titties together, ordering me to trot.

To trot with the princess in the saddle on my back was surprisingly easy, she was that good a ponygirl-rider. I trotted lifting my knees high bouncing on my toes as my hooves fell on the soft ground. I was enjoying the exercise. My breasts bounced my bells jingled, the bells on my eyelids swung side to side till they hit my blinkers and then bashed into each other. The bell from my nose-ring kept hitting my bold negress' upper lip, and the one fitted to the ring through my lower lip, struck me repeatedly on the chin. With my severely wasped waist, a mere fifteen-inches squeezed, my bottom swung wildly with my steps, and I sensed that the princess was having the highest form of pleasure with the pommel up her cunt, as my steps slid her cunt up and down its pole.

I was trotted to a clearing made for the train lines, and a single tug on both my titties, then ordered me to return to the walk. The princess walked me over the single train line and then pulled both my tits up hard to stop me, before pulling repeatedly on my left tit, to have me turn toward the train line we had just crossed, and which was now twenty-metres away.

Princess Astrid stroked my mane as we stood waiting, for I knew not what.

In the far distance I heard Autumn-Leaf's muffled scream of joy from another orgasm.

A fox barked.

A train hooted.

I felt the princess settle herself in the saddle, check her feet in the stirrups and check the reins were arranged in her hands as she wished them to be.

The train hooted again: already a surprising degree much closer.

I could now hear the warning bell on the top front of the diesel engine clanging.

I felt Princess Astrid grip her whip.

The train was now in sight, but the princess held me still.

Then the train was where she clearly intended to wait for it too be, as she pulled both of my titties together twice, and I began to walk, and she pulled both of my titties together twice more as I was walking, and I began to trot, and the train was getting closer and closer, and I was getting nearer and nearer to the line, trotting in obedience of my superior. And the train was getting closer and closer still, and now the princess was whipping my bum as hard as she could. And we had reached the line and I had lost the race with the train. I dare not cross the line for I was sure to be killed and the princess with me. And the princess whipped me and whipped me as I stood terrified, she whipped me and whipped me to make me obey her impossible order that I trot over the track. And the train horn was blaring like a foghorn, as the driveress had seen us. And I was disobediently trying to turn away in my terror. And to make me stay and drive me over the track, the princess dug her spurs into my naked thighs. And I screamed with the pain. And she dug her spurs into my thighs once more as the train was now thundering across in front of us whilst my hooves drummed the ground on the spot. She was determined to make me obey the order she had given me through my tits that I must trot, and so she whipped me and dug in her spurs. I felt, even in my absolute horror, I felt warm blood trickling down my beautiful thighs. And as if to confirm its cause, the princess dug her spurs into my naked thighs yet again. And I yelped with the agony. And she whipped my bottom as hard as she could, and drove her spurs into me. And she pulled hard on the second rein to trap my tongue brutally between the top and bottom cold steel bars of the naughty-girl's bit in my mouth. And the pain was horrific. And I was….unbelievably, I was becoming sexually aroused, and my minx was loving the pressure of the extremely tight crupper dividing its lips. And my clitoris was dancing as the princess drove the spur wheels up and down my naked thighs and kicked the spurs into my inner thighs, and whipped and whipped and whipped my gorgeous bottom to make me go forward, even when it was impossible because the train was still passing, as she whipped me and whipped me and whipped me and whipped me, and again drove in her spurs. And the train had passed. And, from dancing on the spot being whipped and spurred in screaming pain and fear, I leapt forward at the trot with blood running down my beautiful legs. And the princess laughed like a maniac and then I heard and felt her orgasm. And she pulled both my titties twice to order me to run. And I ran as ordered, and she whipped me and whipped me and whipped me, and she orgasmed again. And then she pulled hard on both my tits together so that I stopped. And then she pulled on both my tits together twice, and I began to walk again. And she giggled cruelly as she tried to get out a completely ironic and intentionally deeply insulting and hurtful "good girl" as, after she had used me so violently viciously cruelly for her own satiation, she rode me at the walk back to the palace stables.

'Midnight-Pearl' (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 9 – The Garden Party

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…………….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…………..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…………….

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

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

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

…………….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Naughty-Nymph who orgasmed first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……………

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

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

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

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

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

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

………………..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Midnight-Pearl' (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 10 – A Prescient Present

Ever never after I was never ever whether sure, if I had dreamed the horrendous scene of Sparrow-Hop's live writhe roasting. The scene was too terrible for the mind to store or recall, but revolt and recoil yes.

She was no longer among us, that much was for sure.

I was so disgusted at my reaction to it too. I had seen it only as a masturbatory fantasy and orgasmed at the sight of it, so overpoweringly erotic had I found it, not least after the constant pounding of my minx by the eighteen-inch penis-coupling by which Naughty-Nymph and I had hauled the phaeton with our cunts, even whilst I had fought the good fight not to suffer the unedifying indignity of a demeaning cum from my own torture.

I had resisted the ultimate in degradation. I had successfully fought against coming in my bondage. My mistresses did not care a jot if I had a cum or not, but for me to cum in my bondage because of my bondage, was the supreme way to degrade and control me. Were I, a highly intelligent eighteen-year-old girl, to become so that my bondage was sex to me, I would fear my bondage not only for the severe stress it put my beautiful body through, but also because it led to my further diminution and animalisation. If I came as a consequence of the labour I was forced to whilst wearing it, I came as an animal and not as a girl: I came as an 'it' and not as a 'she'.

My cums in bondage were animal cums: they were not human cums. No mere girl could experience the cums I had had. Such cums needed the removal of the supervening intervening interfering human intellect. At the time of their happening I was my cunt, I was my whole cunt, and I was nothing but my cunt. And I wanted to fight these cums because they depraved me. My cums betrayed me to the sub-human world to which my ponygirl bondage had exiled me from the heavenly world of my fellow, now former fellow, girls.

The massivity of my cums was monumental, and thus fundamental in destroying my veneer of girlness, and confirming my animality: in forcing my "itness" to replace my "sheness".

Epileptic in their ecliptic power over my humanity, I was in fear of them. I wanted to cum but I did not want to cum. I did not want to be overwhelmed so by the animal that was at the core of me, such that the core was become the outer of me. I did not want to have my desire for the heaven of the cums I was experiencing to finally tip me over the boundary, beyond which I really and truly lost the last flicker of the fight to remain holding the torn vestige of the hymen of my human girlness.

I was regarded as an animal. I was treated as an animal. I was forced to behave as an animal. I feared beyond fear that my cum-longing, my natural girl's desire for sexual fulfilment in the ultimate of the orgasm, would take me and make me an animal and an animal alone: that I would, through my cums, transubstantiate from girl to pony, to the point of no return. My cums were catalytic to my conversion and thus a perversion from which I must adhere to my aversion.

I was in fear that I would be punished for buckling at the knees with a cum at the sight of pretty little Sparrow-Hop being spit roasted alive. I shudder at the mention of it! I deserved to be punished for that: not for my collapse but for my unholy wholly sadistic cum at such a horrible happening. I could never and would never understand how and why or why and how Sparrow-Hop could have died with an orgasm as she was slowly rotated being cooked alive as if she were just meat.

There she had been, alive live meat with a skewer right through her. Her little titty's nipples were already cooked into their erect aroused state. She had been enduring the ultimate raping fuck from the rod rammed up her cunt and right through her till it emerged from her mouth. And she was licking it! She was fellating her murderous lover, the spit upon which her body was completely and helplessly impaled as it was slowly rotated just above the red and yellow-hot coals. And the unyielding unmerciful flames from those coals were licking her bare flesh, roasting her body. She was still alive to feel her flesh kissed by the constant flames and her body beginning to cook, always and always rotated so that she would not be scorched but would be heated thoroughly through evenly! Oh god it had been so horrible!!

I was in fear that I would be punished for buckling at the knees with a cum, and yet for weeks on end I was left to exercise and cavort in the meadow, running riotously free, and playing tit-tag with my fellow ponygirls.

So long had been my captivity that by now, I had long since lost track of time. I knew the time of day to an approximation because I was guided by the sun. I knew what season of the year it was to an approximation because I saw the height of the sun. But I knew not what month it was for sure, what week in the month, what day of the week, and least of all what date of the day of the week of the month. All of these were the concerns of my superiors and need form no matter meet for my mind.

I had endured my slavery for months on end. I, of course, knew I had arrived in Spain at around Christmas of the preceding year, and that another year was yet to fully elapse. We had gone through spring and summer, and with the evolving revolving calendar had dissolved my fantasy that a police raid would one day free me from my horrible constant cruciform bondage, release my neck from the gold giraffing rings, see my pretty little bells clattered to the ground, take the bit from my mouth so I could talk once more, and dismount me from standing always on the erotically stretched legs of a girl always on the tip-tip-top of her big toes in pony-shoe shod hoof-clogs.

Of course my beautiful buttocks would always display the 'HSS-AR' brand burnt into me. I would forever be labelled the property of Her Supreme Serenity the Princess Astrid Maria Poliphnia Sarahnaya De Palmania-Thomasatto-Riento. But with the passage of time had gone my assumption that my bondage, unlike the brand, would not last. I no longer had any right to conclude that this torture had an end. I could no longer fool myself that this was tantamount only to transient temporary terror. Only my will kept me from despairing.

Of course I knew that I was still Emma. I was still Emma Jones the shy pretty eighteen-year-old university student. Oh please call me Emma! Someone please call me Emma! But then I knew in my heart that Emma was gone. I was, despite my fight, having to accept that I was and was only and completely now Midnight-Pearl. It was become such, had I realised it, and I did not realise it, because it was not tested, that had "Emma" being called out, I would not have reacted: just as it had become that my lovely face was raised tinkling my multiple face bells in the instant of the calling out of "Midnight-Pearl".

The girl had gone away; the pony was here to stay. My mistresses had had their say. I was Midnight-Pearl first and foremost and Emma not even almost. I was to forever trot: Emma was foregone and forgot.

………….

My body was cold as the rain trickled like angels' tears all down all round my heavenly shape. The silken soft rippling rapids of a rolling river flowed in the ravine between my soft gentle breastal mountains, and their peaks, high above the snowline as they would have been were they the mere Everests of earth, capped with nipple-brown-pink where the earthly snow would gravity and sun defy, contributed myriad millions of sweet trickling contributory tributaries to my heaven's valley river's flow.

I was wet. I was soaking wet. I was thoroughly wet from head to pretty feet. I was shivering and quivering with the coldness of being wet in the breeze of an autumnal day, and my bosoms were jiggering and joggering as the soft rain ran down them and dripped or gathered and dribbled droplet nectar streams from my huge bold brown-pink negress' nipples.

I briskly shook my soft-tight-short-curly-dark-brown-haired head and rainbowed a thrice-multi-coloured halo around my lovely face as the droplets scattered three-hundred-and-sixty-degreeingly from my close-cropped negress' curls-within-curls.

I was excitingly enticingly beautiful when wet. My coffee-coloured negress' skin sheen-shining with a glow of erogenous perfection: droplets of sweet soft rain dripping from my sweet firm-soft nipples: rivulets running the complex contoured completely curvy course of my compelling legs.

I was about to be put to plough. My beautiful youthful body was to be made useful in turning the soil by its toil.

I was solo and so low because I was lonely and frightened.

Before me was the huge virgin field, all tall unkempt grass and tugging hugging weeds. And I was going to be made to plough it. I had no choice in the matter. I had been chosen to pull the plough: pull the plough I must, pull the plough I would.

I was giraffed and cruciform-cangued and bell bedecked to tinkle like heaven's hell's heaven, as I shivered awaiting, naked else, to be fitted to the plough I must obediently pull or else.

My plough-mistress was arranging her rainwear. She smelt delightfully of rubber. Naked beneath it, she wore a sleeved huge rubber cape down to her ankles, and a hat with brim so wide as to shrug of the rain that poured from it onto the cape without touching the humid human warmth of her lovely body in ten-inch-heeled knee-high boots. Kim Kai was to drive me and had been ordered to show no mercy.

The plough of bright shiny stainless steel, had four blades to bite the earth and turn the turf before the serf and her pony, eponymous me.

The blades were mounted side by side on a strong bar. Up from the middle of the strong bar rose two more bars, one leading fore to where the pony would be harnessed, and one aft, with a handle formed like a 'T', for the plough-mistress to hold and guide the blades. To give the plough substance and purchase, the four share blades were sharp and there were lead weights on the bar the blades hung down from, to press them and keep them in the ground once they had been dug in.

Kim Kai had led me by a short rein from the ring of a steel bit that had been forced into my mouth. This bit was huge rustic and unyielding. Solid cold steel, its one-and-a-half-inch diameter gaped my mouth extremely wide and painfully, pushing my tongue completely down and grinding my teeth, so hard was it pulled back into me.

I wore huge side and tunnel-funnel blinkers. Firstly, black leather half-moon shaped side blinkers. The straight side of the semi-circles these formed at the sides of each of my eyes, being married to three-inch-long tubes of the same leather that I wore integrally with the side blinkers, in the manner of eyeglasses pulled up close to my face so that they looked like glassless binoculars permanently at my eyes.

These side-blinkers and tube-blinkers were to control me. I must not be allowed to see any more than I needed to see so that I would not be distracted from pulling the plough.

The huge steel bit and the side and eye-tube blinkers had been strapped to my head before Kim Kai had led me to the field, and let me taste on my nakedness the wetness of a day which was the second of which on which it had rained from dawn to dusk and back again.

Of course I wore a blazoning band brazenly across me forehead shouting to all who needed to know, which need no longer include me, as I knew all to well by now, that this sensationally sensuously curvy creature was 'Midnight-Pearl': a farmer's pony: a former girl.

I wriggled in my wet waspie, fifteen-inch waif-waist-wiggle-waisted, swinging my gorgeous bottom as Kim Kai led me out where there was no sun, with my tail up my anus, soaked and dripping, such that even the erotic undulations of my super-feminised hip-swings, could not cause it to flick to and fro with all its usual magical magisterial majesty.

A girlplough-pony must keep its lovely eyes always cast humbly to ground and never be allowed to look around, and my heavy blinkers would ensure, that in that I was found sound.

I would, of course, wear tit-reins so that I could be instructed in the only way a ponygirl understands, in my movements and my turning. And I must suffer the twin agony of having extra-long nipple-bits inserted into my nipples' milk-holes this day.

And I gasped and closed my eyes and bit down on the savage huge bit, as I suffered the horrendous pain of having six-inch long needles pushed into my titties through the central hole in my nipples, to be held there to agonise me, by the multi-toothed crocodile clips in which these six-inch-long needle nipple-bits formed a central tongue.

My tit-reins were fed through the hoops at the ends of my mouth bit, and the dog clips at the end of these reins next my nipples, opened so as to clip my reins to rings in the nipple-biting crocodile six-inch-long-nipple-bit-needle-holding clips.

Tears from terrible pain filled my gentle devil-deep-dark-brown eyes.

Today I was to be a girlplough-pony, and so I must also be fitted with straight-furrow-guides.

I had, as of yet, no idea what these were as the agony in my nipples was increased by my having one-foot long chains clipped and dangled, one from each nipple-bit. Both of these chains hung like plumb-lines, with a one-pound lead weight pulling unmercifully hard on my poor tits.

This was why I wore extra-long nipple bits. The pull of these chains tugged the needles in my breasts cruelly as they swung uncontrollably freely from my nipples so feely.

If I had thought the penis-coupling of the Giggle and the phaeton to be huge and painful I was now to be gainful of a hard lesson in the true meaning of pain. From a four-foot chain at the front rising handle of the plough hung a two-foot-long, three-inch diameter, spiked steel penis-coupling, covered and caked in the mud in which, on this soaking wet day, it lay adangle.

This was to go up my cunt. I must have all two-feet of this ripping tearing raping rasping obedience conformer forced into my vagina.

I was led before the plough and faced it with my lovely bare rain running bottom, before being made to bend, straight legged slightly apart parted, and having my lead rein tethered to a huge rock with a hoop in it readied for the purpose. And my inhuman human screams of unbearable pain to be borne, as I was torn, echoed from the distant woodland as my nether lips were sundered and the two-foot-long, three-inch-wide penis was pushed inexorably inside my minx, with the multiple needle spikes with which it was spitefully spikeley adorned ripping my softness so that I bled, and was thus led to understand that I was animal cunt and no more.

And I screamed as the two-feet of tearing steel, still filthy wet and muddy from the ground on which it had rested, slowly filled me. And I moaned as my softness nestled to the spikes that bit into the walls of my minx. And I cried endless tears of pain in the rain as the girl from Spain fixed the crupper chain to me again, so that with my cunt the plough I could and would full pull. And the reason for the spiteful spiked penis-coupling filling me, was to increase my super-sensitivity, so that I would not from the straight furrow stray away that day.

The chain crupper soon held the penis-coupling deep thrust up me. Its 'Y' shape had its strong single tail attached to the heavy ring at middle-front of my waspie. The two chains of the 'V' of the 'Y', were then fed through a ring at the base of the penis-coupling pushed up me, before being divided to leave my ponytail unencumbered, and being padlocked to two strong rings at the rear of my waspie. I was filled with the agonising pin-prick-rip decorated cold steel penis, and the crupper chain's tightness held it hard up my cunt, full deep dark in my body's most gentle and sweetly sensitive orifice.

I sobbed with my endless agony as I remained bent double though now untethered. To walk bent like an inverted 'L' with my lovely arms outspread tied cruciform to my cangue, was my fate in pulling the weight of the plough to sate the hunger to torture my beauty by making me perform my duty.

The weights dangling from the chains hanging from my nipples swung and swang. These were my guarantee of a straight furrow. A girlplough-pony learns to have its plumb-lines swing only back and forward as it walks pulling the plough. If its tits are swinging only fore and aft in a regular rhythm, it is going straight and will sate the state of her mistress and save its back from the whip.

A good and experienced girlplough-pony sets its nipple plumb-lines swinging oppositely to one another, so that one tit is pulled maximally fore, just as the other is maximally rear, and thus it is sure it is correctly steered the right way all day.

Of course this hurts. An artist has to suffer for art, and the art of the girlplough-pony is to furrow the earth apart in a dead straight line.

A tangling of its plumb-lines will only bring strife and confusion to the girlplough-pony. From this it must be sorted with force. The brute is stupid and will only understand pain. The whip must be the constant companion of the plough-maid's gain, and again and again must it rain down to reign-in the girlplough-pony in its reins.

……………..

Kim Kai attached the long single loop of the equivalent of a carriage rein to the hoops in which my tit-reins ended at the further end from my nipples, where the large rings of the tit-reins prevented them falling through the smaller rings siding the ends of my mouth bit.

I stared dispassionately passionately pulchritudinously, dripping and slippery with the never-ending velvet rain that poured from the skies and tumbled down my heavenly thighs.

Kim Kai stood on the crossbar from which the ploughshares descended and thus sent them their descent into the soft muddy earth.

I waited obediently patiently for my orders to be given me, and felt the double tug on my tits to tell me to start walking.

She bore a whip of wicked weight. A long, long, three-ply plaited all along, leather intertwined tapering to tip, black leather bullwhip, pregnant with deep saturated steeped wetness from lying in the rain, having been purposely left to soak and gain the water that would increase its vicious violent pain.

Kim Kai had always hitherto been so kind and gentle with me, that the way she had dragged me out to the field, and the eagerness and cruelty with which she had filled my minx with the penis-coupling's huge enormity, told me that there was no solace in her sweetness for my soreness, but only sourness to savagely swat me in harness.

I dug in my tiptoed pony-shoe-shod feet with all the power of my wonderfully shapely legs, displaying the magnificence of their subtle supple muscularity, their curvaceously caressingly curved feminine strength, as "THWICK!!!!" Kim Kai whipped my exposed shoulders with a thwack that splattered the water torrenting down me in squirts of rainbow hue dew, as I hooted and hollered with agony from my cunt being ripped as I pulled and pulled to get the plough to move and cleave the soil and "THWICK!!!!" Kim Kai whipped my bare back unmercifully once more and I reared in reflex and cried out with pitiful pain and "THWICK!!!!" Kim Kai whipped me again.

My beautiful legs struggled to slither in the mud as the whip on me fell with a thud that thrashed its message into my cunt and raised livid live red welts on my naked nudeness. And I was pulling and pulling with all my might, all the might that could be mustered by my cunt: with cunt power I was pulling and I was getting nowhere as the ground was so muddy my hooves just slipped.

And Kim Kai cursed me as "THWICK!!!!" she whipped my provocatively bare bottom as hard as she could, to get this useless slut to do her bidding, and "THWICK!!!!" she whipped it again, the it that was me, she whipped so I screamed and tried to beg for mercy.

And then I was going I was going I was going! I was walking forward pulling the plough with my cunt! I was dividing the sod behind me. I was turning the earth in a fourfold four furrows, and I was crying with my pain as I walked. My lovely velvet soft tears were mingling with the constant rain that poured down my whip-striped coffee-brown body.

My walking with my wanky bummy wiggle set my plump-guides waving. They went every way to torture my nipples. I knew that I must set my tits swinging fore and aft. I knew instinctively that this would tell me I was ploughing a straight furrow. I worked my shoulders to set my plump-bobs aswing, and felt the agony of my tits being stretched and pulled in opposite motion fore and abaft, forward and aft, left and right, to keep me tight right on the path I must plough to please my mistress and to save me from the savagery of the whip on my nudity.

I was the complete slave, my head cast down as I bent forward to pull with all my might with my gorgeous legs shining with the wetness of the coursing rain caressing them. As I used the muscles of the trained runner I was to pull with my cunner.

My tits swung to and fro, fore and aft, being used as a tool to guide me, blind as I was to what was happening to the plough blades behind me. I was as much a tool as the plough itself though of less market value and more likely than it to be discarded rather than repaired if injured.

My lovely legs propelled me in the hell of my latest use and abuse. My owners, for they were my owners, and the onus of the emphasis must go on ownership rather than willing participation, could drive me to hell if they were so minded.

I was inaudibly begging for mercy as I pulled my obedient plough obediently, and still "THWICK!!!!" and "THWICK!!!!" and "THWICK!!!!" and "THWICK!!!!" and "THWICK!!!!", Kim Kai flogged me.

My eyes so heavily blinkered could see nothing but the ground, above which my queenly sweetly gently arrogant negress' head hung submissively, my hair running with rain, my ringlets of tight soft curly black, dripping with rainwater. Only by feeling the forward and backward swing of my tits could I be sure I was going straight.

My minx hurt like hades. The strong crupper chain held the penis-coupling two-feet up me for the greater part, but despite the spikes in the coupling that were meant to bite into my flesh and stop it being pulled in and out of me, as with the Giggle and the phaeton, I was being rhythmically slowly fucked by it.

The dildo the penis-coupling comprised, was moving insistently consistently back and forward back and forward many-mini-inches within me, tearing the supersensitive flesh of my most supersensitive part with its vicious spikes, so that I was bleeding, and then tearing me more so that I bled some more.

Were my mind not numbed with the pain, the pain that was in my mind to the degree that the pain was my mind, and I was become an inhuman human scream, I would have been aware that I was being put to the plough to punish me for collapsing in an orgasm before the princess' special guests on the day that Sparrow-Hop had been spit-roasted alive.

"THWICK!!!!" "THWICK!!!!" "THWICK!!!!" "THWICK!!!!" "THWICK!!!!", Kim Kai splashed the water off my naked back and screamed me some more, with her unmerciful whipping. I had wandered off the straight and narrow. So much was I at wonder from the pain in my cunt that I had let my guiding plumb-weights swing and clash and become forgetful of my duty to feel the swinging of my tits forward and backward. The very reason my tits had been pierced with six-inch needle nipple-bits had, after all, been to increase my pain in that area so that it would register the more as my tits hung and swung.

We, I, 'it', the girlplough-pony that was me, that was it, that was the it I was, had reached the end of the field and its left tit was being tugged with the long reins pulling on its left tit rein to tell the stupid creature to turn.

And I executed a perfect turn with the plough shares still splitting the ground into spits behind me, and began my lonely lowly painful wiggle-walk back alongside where I had already ploughed, returning to four plough blades aside distance from the point where I had started.

And despite my agonising pain I felt pride flood me for the simple pleasure of now seeing how well I had already ploughed the land with four straight and even stripes that had cost me fifteen evil painful strikes with the whip on my poor nudity.

And I renewed my efforts to be obedient and to do the job I was enslaved to, to the best of my ability, knowing the pain of the whip so increased by its wetness in the water of the rain and the wetness of my body over which the relentless pitiless rain ran in erotically compelling rivers, would rain down on my naked flesh again, should I gain again a strain to stain a stray away from the path of true righteousness I furrowed so thoroughly in constantly consistent insistent horrible pain.

And I dutifully, having begun to walk the straight and narrow like an arrow, I dutifully set my tits swinging with their plum-bobs pulling my nipples to tell me by their motion forward and backward, without a scintilla of sideways, or the threat of them clashing, that I was walking straight and dashing the soil aside with the plough blades as my cruel mistress would have me. I the 'it', with my virgin's cunt raped hard with a brutal mistress penis that filled me to fulfil me, that I nil she must be good and obey her, and obey her here and now and plough.

And my head nodded as I patently patiently plodded, the obedient little donkey, with its nose bell, and lower lip bell and ear bells and eyelid bells adangling and adingling musically as its sexy legs gilrmuscularly strove to divide the sod on which it must endlessly plod.

I turned the virgin soil with my virgin's minx pulling the sacred plough with the penis-coupling I was now wetting with my intimate innermost minx moisture as my lust made me what is called 'boisterous'; but in such a heavenly feminine creation as I could only be poetically poignantly appropriately rendered tenderly "girlsterous".

My minx was being raped as the rain poured in diagonal torrents its soft caress upon my flawless nakedness, and my wetness was becoming as inside outside and as outside inside, such that my supremely soft smooth flesh gleamed inside as outside. My intimacy was intricately infinitely inflamed by the raw rubbing and rampant scratching raw, and scraping sore, of my most sensitive minx by the spiked penis-coupling's copulating of me, as I walked the walk my female body's naturalness made me walk.

The soft rain stung the fifteen whip welts with which my eighteen-year-old's supremely feminine body was zebrared. My cunt was on fire with the heat of its ripped inners. My nipples bled from the cruel six-inch nipple-bits with which they were imbedded and from the pulling of them as I swung my tits back and fore, fore and back as I must to guide me straight.

The profoundly round half-moons of my rear performed mesmerising circular orbits as my hips were rattlesnake-forced to do by my fifteen-inch waspie, and by the very fact that I was fundamentally the greatest gift that heaven had ever bestowed on the undeserving earth: girl.

I could do nothing that was not provocatively sexy, and the fascination of watching my beautiful bottom, glistening with the constant rain, undulate and grind my minx on the huge penis she knew was forced up me, was arousing my mistress of the day with desire for the me what she knew she could not have, and therefore wanted to punish for making her feel so, even though I was innocent of any deliberation in what I was doing, insofar as my being sensationally sensually sexually provocative was concerned.

I could not help my oh-so-stunningly-smackable bottom rising and falling and waggling from side to side. I could not help the wonderful strong and yet still supremely feminine smooth shapeliness of my legs. I could not help the massiveness of my tits or the hugeness of my nipples. It was not my fault that my eyes were such a stunning deep-dark brown. I could not help that I had such pretty little ears. It was not my fault that my negress' lips were so constantly completely compellingly kissable. I could not help my high cheekbones giving my face queenly grace. It was not my fault that my coffee-brown skin was shining in the rain with all the stars in all the heavens unable to match its deliriously deliciously delightful soft smooth languorously caressable lickable longfortotouchness.

I was just girl: no more than girl.

I was girl aroused as I ploughed my second set of four furrows. They were clean-cut and straight as dies as I worked my thighs and emitted my sighs at the size of the penis up my intimate hole ravishing me without mercy as I pulled the plough in fear and pain. My mouth filled with the huge round bit slivered by slaver, which dribbled down my chin as my mouth was as moist as my quim, and my desire fire grew ever higher.

My mouth was as wet and as dribbly as my cunt. I walked straight the arrow-line of absolute and completely unquestioning obedience. My sexual pleasure was parallel with my good behaviour and the lines I was ploughing four side-by-side, with my plumb-weights swinging my titties to keep me abide with my bidding. I was letting go as my cunt was letting me know that though I had fought the rape of the penis-coupling as I had pulled the phaeton, this was a holy wholly holey different fate. My minx was ordering my mind to give in to sin.

My minx, but not my mind, knew that I was being metaphorically date raped.

As my tits were swinging fore and aft and aft and fore pulled savagely by the chained weights dangling from them, they were pendulums of passing time mounting my mountaining pleasure to its peak, timeously to the coincident event that I would soon, so soon now, give wholly holy holey wanton vent.

My mind fought against the cum in cruel bondage my minx would have me have. I could not cry "get thee behind me Satan" when, bent over 'L' as I was, my satin smooth salivating Sataness was behind me already, and already all ready to enjoy the joy of enforced animal cum. I mentally begged my minx to give me peace. I begged her not to take me to beyond critical mass. But she laughed at my timorousness and reminded herself of the timeliness, and that I was ticking to the point of no return with a cum that I could not spurn, a cum without sperm, a cum so stern in my stern that was so near to the point of no-return.

My right titty was being tugged by the long rein through my tit-rein to turn me again as I had gained more fourfold furrows in the cold earth as the rain poured on my shining body: my shining heavenly body. And I obeyed my cruel mistresses, Kim Kai and my cunt both, and turned in total submissive obedience of the rein that jiggled my titty so plainly in its plane. And I began to plough my third set of fourfold furrows in the soil with my endless toil. And I hung my sweet head to examine the ground before me, such as the limit was that I could see with my eyes so thoroughly blinkered, with eyes in a brown study: brown eyes a study of stately sexual seductiveness.

And I set my tits to swing back and forth for my first second third and fourth ploughshare to score the earth apart in a line, my titty's torture would tell was straight and keep straight. And the frustration of my guiding guardian angel Kim Kai grew to a fearsome rage, as I ploughed another page with my lovely body so near and yet so far to and from her. And she drew back her whip to welt me for her hatred of the power of my body over her, and she beat me savagely brutally "THWICK!!!!" "THWICK!!!!" "THWICK!!!!" "THWICK!!!!" and I screamed as her welting me with whip ticked the time to my crisis, a crisis commemorative of my mother's natal ripping as my head had poked from her in the agony for her of my birth, this day, this time, this year but nineteen whip stripes and nineteen-three-six-five days ago, to the very very split of the split second, as I orgasmed, screaming my birth pangs with unearthly inhuman screech, as had my lovely dam, as her dam had been breached by me as I was now breached and bled with my cunt red, as I spurted my girl-juices with my blood, as I came with a massive thunderous nuclear of explosive cums, my cunt screaming: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!" as my nineteenth brutal lash had taken this essentially sensual sexy sassy lassie, to the lasting moment of torment that was the total orgasm: the completely animal uncontrolled and uncontrollable orgasm that echoed my birth, the anniversary of my presence, my anniversary present, my birthday present, as the clock ticked to 19.19 hours and I was become in my cum, a girl second to no girl, to the split-second exactly sweet 19-years old.

I had come to my birthday and cum on my birthday at the very split second of my birth.

My mind unconscious of what my minx had known, my mind not knowing I was now nineteen, my track of time lost with my long imprisonment, my titties swung fore and aft, fore and aft, as I obediently ploughed yet more furrows, sensationally sensuously sated, but for the moment a girl can be so stated to be, for, fully obedient slave, I would plough on under the whip and in the rain to have two more monumental cums again, before it grew too dark for my birthday to continue that way.

FOOTNOTE
The above apparently imaginary writings were found on the laptop PC of a student of Camford University in January 2000, after the girl who owned the computer had disappeared along with her tutor-counsellor. All enquiries at the university pointed toward a passionate love affair between tutor and pupil, now missing together.

As the tutor, Professor Alena Crupper, and the student, Bronwyn Emma Jones (who sometimes styled herself 'Emma Bronwyn' and usually used 'Emma' as her first name), were both of adult age when they had apparently absconded together, the British police confirmed that the matter was one they could not pursue, since there was no evidence of any crime having been committed.

Despite their protestations to the British authorities, Emma's parents who, contrary to Emma's writings on her PC were and are very much alive, could only look to 'missing persons' charities, or the hiring of a reliable private detective with, since the lesbian lovers had possibly fled abroad, international reach.

The detective hired recommended publicity to flush out any hitherto hidden corners where information might yet be forthcoming.

Apologetic to Emma's mother as she needed to be when she raised the matter, this latter-day Pinkerton's agent delicately conveyed that "the lesbian angle" would assure maximum coverage in the national 'popular press'.

Salacious interest was indeed assured in the more disreputable quarters of the British press, where the pictures of the missing professor and her exceptionally attractive student, soon appeared under the headline "Lesbian Lovers Leap Law", the angle of the story being more concerned with the hinted-at bedroom activities of two such lovely young women, than with the fact that Emma's parents were frantic to know that she was alive and well.

Publicity worked its charm though, if in a slightly happenchance way.

The trail seemed to have gone completely cold, when the private detective agency Emma's mother had engaged, received a telephone call from a helicopter pilot working in Scotland. He had been packing to move home back over the border to England. And he had been using old newspapers he had been given, to wrap a vase against prospective breakage, when his romantic eye had been caught by an exceptionally attractive mini-skirted girl, immediately below the headline: "Lesbian Lovers Leap Law".

He had noticed that the article hinted at fetishistic indulgences…….. Could he see someone face-to-face……

The detective had rushed up to see this pilot in Glasgow, and taken notes and notice of his admission that he and his fellow pilots would get bored with low flying to check over gas and oil pipelines, and that one of their favourite diversions was to overfly a fetish club where there were "goings on" with pretty girls trussed up all tight like they were horses.

The club met at the beachside private estate of a Fabrina Saddlesmith, who had often telephoned and occasionally written to his then employer, to complain of the intrusions from helicopters flying unnecessarily and possible dangerously low, undoubtedly poking their noses into what was happening in an entirely private and completely legal institution, "for", as she put it, "reasons, no doubt, of indulging a disgusting male practice".

"To get to the point", this pilot had said, as his eyes roamed the detective girl's very shapely legs, he and his "co" (his co-pilot) had seen a very attractive young black girl one day at this club, in a huge open fallow field.

She was all but naked and seemed to be being made to pull a plough.

She was decked out in some very intricate "tackle", if that was what you called all those reins and things you put on horses, and was bent over forwards pulling with all her might with the plough at the end of a chain, which his mate (his co-pilot) swore was fixed to a ring at the end of something that was in the poor girl's twat (her sex).

And they were whipping her terribly, whipping her for real.

"And she was doing a great job with the plough too……. There were furrows straight as ramrods where she'd already been….."

The detective was not beyond indulging in the odd "break-in". With the help of the pilot, she had tracked down the field the girl had been forced to pull a plough in. The fact that the whole of this field had been ploughed at some non-too-distant time, was still evident from the air. At ground level though, it had overgrown once more.

A brick-built shed in a neighbouring field looked worth investigating. An illegal 'night visit' with strong bolt cutters, resulted in the discovery of a massive and exceptionally cruelly designed dildo, with some poor girl's still lingering musky aroma on it. This was later confirmed to have Emma's very intimate DNA coating it. Emma's dried spittle was also found on what could only be a bridle and bit, clearly designed for the human mouth. DNA from this matched with that of Emma's mother confirmed this also.

Thereafter, the trail went finally forever cold………..

However, the bridle had had incorporated a headband for the wearer's forehead, and the headband had included a peculiar name, very boldly and clearly lovingly carefully tooled into it. The name was 'Midnight-Pearl'…………..

THE END

Midnight-Pearl

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