BDSM Library - An Interest in Ponygirls

An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 01 – New Ponygirls (or A Matched Set)

By: Desert Dog

Any graphics in this story are solely my work and

I take full responsibility for them – Desert Dog

The loud clanging of steel striking steel brought Anna Sawyer to a rude awakening. She groaned at the pain from her cramped muscles. A tug on her collar focused her mind on her task of creeping out of her tiny wire mesh dog cage without the assistance of her arms as either her elbows or wrists were always clipped to a two-inch leather belt ever-present around her waist. Anna's joints creaked and groaned with every movement. She wished she was still servicing her prior trainer's pussy, a plastic surgeon, instead of having to undergo her current grueling training regime. Soundlessly, she was led to a grooming post and her leash secured to a ring at nose level. Her Groom carefully ran a brush through her long blonde Mohawk to get any tangles out before the Groom added a thick layer of gel and a final combing to get the blonde tufts to stand upright. Anna was next subjected to the indignity of a lukewarm shower from the neck down from a handheld nozzle on the end of a flexible hose. The Groom ran a coarse sponge over her soapy form, giving special attention to her breasts and pubic mound. Thanks to Doctor Miller, Anna Sawyer would never have to shave again. Her entire body had been subjected to several painful treatments of laser hair removal.

Anna, now known simply as 'One' stood meekly as her body was toweled dry with vigorous rubbing of her skin. The Groom used a powder puff ball to apply scented powder to her armpits, breasts, and chest before bringing a black whale-bone corset to her belly. Anna let her breath out obediently as the Groom yanked the ensemble painfully tight, compressing her already trim figure to an eye-catching wasp waist. The corset cupped a portion of the underside of each breast meat, lifting them up and providing support without covering her areole or brown nipples that were crowned with golden nipple rings.

The Groom's fingers manipulating her pussy lips brought pants of lust to 'One.' A tongue, from the slightly chunky female Groom fitting her tack, flicked across the sensitive side of her neck, further inflaming her rising lust. "Oh, God!" she moaned to herself, "can't I resist anyone's sexual advances. What a slut I am! And a woman, … how can I respond sexually to a woman, … oh what have I become?"

Paula Laturno, the Ponygirl Ranch's Head Groom laughed at 'One's' easy arousal and moved behind her to raise a bare foot off the floor, exactly as a horse's hooves are moved for cleaning and in preparation for shoeing. She slipped clean white sports socks on each foot before slipping on white leather cross trainer shoes. With 'One's' feet ready, the Groom delivered a stinging slap to her ass cheek and praised her with, "Good, slut, Ponygirl."

A damp cloth was vigorously rubbed across her face and she opened her mouth wide at the brusque command, "Open." Anna, sighed inwardly, she knew the drill. Next was the awful ringgag that kept her mouth open, followed by the buckling of heavy leather blinders, and the attachment of a set of thin leather reins running across each side of her head to terminate at her nose ring. The reins were left draped from her nose to run loosely down her naked back. A Groom had explained to her that while two of her molars had already been pulled in preparation for a proper bit, she wasn't ready, wasn't well trained enough; the Trainers were fearful of hurting her mouth before she was ready to learn the subtle cues of control.

Anna whimpered and spread her legs for the final insult. Paula reached down with red-tipped fingernails to the Ponygirl's slick pussy and clipped a fine chain lead to a ring on each fat labia lip. The Groom fed the two leads under her groin and behind her where they attached to another set of leather reins. Anna, now blinded to her location by the blinders, felt her adjusting the four leads behind her before her release from the Grooming pole. At the command, "Walk on!" Anna lightly pranced out of her cell and moved gracefully down a hallway to a huge indoor riding arena. She knew their destination; it was a two-pony, racing sulky drawn by two sets of drawbars. For locomotive power, two Ponygirls, one on each set of drawbars, pulled the rider or riders around. It took a deft hand to control each of the two Ponygirls with a total of four driving and four punishment reins.

'One' stood patiently in place waiting for the other Groom to bring out her sister, Becky Sawyer, now identified as 'Two." Compared to her present entirely physical training regime, Anna almost remembered fondly how she and Becky had been initially stored in wire dog cages at the doctor's facility. For weeks following numerous surgeries, they had undergone rigorous sexual training in giving oral sex and receiving hard cocks in all of their three sexual orifices by their kinky doctor. Announcing that they were ready, their unnamed doctor, Doctor Joan Miller, had bundled up the two blondes for transport. Anna reflected on how she had been led to crouch over a plastic mold, similar to sitting atop a personal watercraft, or Skidoo, that was bolted to the bottom of a crate. Anna had slid her knees down into a recess ready to receive her knee, lower leg, and foot. Her Doctor had reached between her ringgag and attached a clip to her tongue ring. The leash on the clip was thrown through a face-sized opening and Anna's head was pulled down into the cushioned cutout designed to hold her face. A nylon strap across the back of her head, and Anna was helpless. Her arms were already held uselessly at her side, elbow cuffs locked tight against a wide waist belt. Anna realized that her face, held the way it was against an opening, had easy access to breathing air.

A plastic sheet had been thrown over Anna's bound form and then the top of crate, comprised of the lid and four sides, was lowered over her helpless body and bolted to the base. Anna heard a hissing noise and a cool foamy chemical spread across her back on the other side of the plastic sheet. Over the next few minutes, the foam warmed, solidified, and then started to expand, squeezing Anna evenly down onto the plastic form below her. Eventually, Anna was cast into place with no way to free herself.

Becky, Anna's sister was packaged in an identical fashion. After several uncomfortable hours, Doctor Miller met the delivery man at her door and signed off on a shipping manifest for the two slaves destined to face the challenging task of becoming Ponygirls. The specialty Slave Delivery Service took charge of the two girls and whisked them away on their cross-country journey to the desert training facilities in Arizona.

Anna Sawyer heard her sister shuffle up beside her but was unable to see her because of the leather blinders she wore. She heard the Chief Trainer, Cliff Burns, come over to make final adjustments with the harnesses and knew that she and Becky would be harnessed identically between the drawbars. The Ponygirl Ranch owner, Marshall Thompson, had informed them that they would wear ringgags until they were in good enough physical shape to begin learning the bit and bridle. Instead, they were steered by a set of leather reins leading from their nose rings to either side of their faces. The sulky driver used the reins and a surrey whip to give the women incentives to cooperate. Also, there was the very real chance of awful punishment sessions if they were judged to have not given one hundred percent effort.

Her nose reins shook gently and she heard Cliff command, "Walk on." Anna and Becky Sawyer, longtime con artists had specifically targeted rich Joseph Loftus after reading his mother's obituary in the Raleigh North Carolina News and Observer. The two had callously planned to get his money by making him fall in love with the youngest sister, Anna. After Joseph proposed a generous prenuptial agreement, the two women became angry that the capped potential share of the married couple's assets was only two million dollars during the first year of marriage with increasing increments of one million dollars per year of continued marriage. Given the complication of the prenuptial agreement, the two women were talking about the possibility of killing him soon after the wedding. Joseph discovered the murderous plans and arranged to have the women permanently removed from his life. The head of the East Coast Slavers Organization, Aaron Clarke, abducted the women and made them slaves. Doctor Joan Miller had remade the two sisters into identically beautiful exotic creatures.

Anna's sore muscles quickly loosened under the easy pace of the walk. When she felt the displaced air and crack of the carriage whip close to them, she and her sister stepped up the pace in a perfectly coordinated motion borne of long practice. The two women had been running endless circles and tracks in the indoor arena for several weeks. Anna could feel that her body had toughened immensely under the daily exercise sessions and careful diet. The whip snapped above their heads again and they obediently stepped up the pace, each now beginning to feel their increased heartbeat and the beginnings of a heavy sweat beading on their luscious bodies. Their trim bare ass cheeks jiggled enticingly.

Cliff Burns blessed his best friend for getting him to make the move from the bare subsistence living of working race horses to his current job of training beautiful women as Ponygirls. He especially loved that most of the women that came to Marshall Thompson's facilities in southern Arizona were unwillingly undergoing their training. "And," he told himself with a huge grin, "the sex is world-class." His dick throbbed at the thought of the identical women in front of him. It was impossible for him to guess their age. He admired their flawless skin, perfect bodies, full ripe breasts, and aristocratic faces. The forced look of brainlessness from a gag on an otherwise perfectly sculpted face was his favorite turn on. "These two are the best I've ever seen," he muttered. He loved the faux brands of the Roman numeral I and II on the sides of their heads and above their pussies. "Hmmm," he moaned in frustration. "Sorry we have another hour before this session is finished. I need a fuck." Frustrated, he flicked the whip above the blondes' Mohawks and brought them to the fastest measured pace, a canter. At this speed, he knew that he had to keep encouraging the twin Ponygirls to hold the pace. He flicked the whip again and repeated the command, "Canter, … canter, … canter, … good girls, … hold that pace."

The thought of the next level of training made his dick throb even more. He judged that the two were nearly ready for their bits and bridles. Then, he could fit each with their own long blonde tail, mounted at the end of a fat anal butt plug. One of his favorite sexual positions was a Ponygirl thrown over a hitching post with his dick buried in her wet twat. He could yank the livestock's ass around by pulling on the inflatable butt plug. "Plus," he added to himself, "the butt plug squeezes a pussy even tighter against my dick."

He shook himself free of his daydream and gently pulled back on the nose reins. "Slow, girls," he whispered. "Slow, … Walk on," he commanded as the Ponygirls slowed to the correct pace. Rivulets of sweat ran down their gleaming haunches. "Before we finish," he thought, "maybe I'll take them outside the arena for a run across the desert floor. That'll finish the session well. Maybe a good run on the six-mile course?"

About thirty minutes later, the two sweaty and thoroughly worn-out blonde Ponygirls slowed their pace as they approached a hilltop miles from their training arena. Cliff Burns brought his two obedient Ponygirls up to a Mesquite tree where he pulled back on all four driving reins and commanded, "Whoa!" Anna and Becky stopped, gasping for breath from the long uphill track they had just traversed. Their slender Trainer set the brake on the surrey and walked around to face his two identical Ponygirls. He let each drink thirstily from a sports bottle full of cool water while he used his free hand to rub the breasts and pussies of each heated woman, a long finger snaked into the moist pussies to judge their state of arousal.

He pulled his hat off to set beside him on a boulder and said, "Which one of you two fillies wants a good fuck?"

Anna and Becky each pawed the ground instantly with their right feet. Like smart trained horses counting, they stomped their feet hard on the dusty ground and threw their heads back. Uncertain how to select one over the other, the Trainer simply grabbed the closest woman and unclipped her nose and pussy ring reins. He pulled a chain leash out of a handy pocket and attached it to her collar. Barely a minute later, Becky was tied across an already warm desert boulder, naked ass up. Without ceremony, or preliminary foreplay, Cliff walked up and simply stuck his cock straight into her hot cunt. Becky felt the rough rock surface bruise her breasts and belly as the strong ranch hand fucked deep into her pussy. Becky moaned mindlessly and came, well before the man fucking her cunt spurted deep inside her buttery depths. Her hips moved expertly, even with her elbows cuffed against her waist, to draw out his orgasm and to slack the itch in her own cunt. Becky's fingers clenched in joy when the Trainer's thrusts become deeper, less controlled, and he spurted with a grunt. Before Becky fully recovered from the mindbending orgasm, her collar was yanked hard, bringing her around and to her knees in front of Cliff's spent dick. Without thought or hesitation, she slurped the flaccid, sperm-covered cock into her mouth. The Trainer's hands brushed against her cheeks and he complimented her with a "Good, Ponygirl. Good slut."

Becky was aroused once again by the compliment and wished that there were more hard dicks to service. Given her sluttish response to her offhand treatment as a sex object, she repeated her thought that she was becoming more of a whore than ever.

Too soon, it was time to return down the long hill toward the stables and arena. Anna moaned with each footstep and her nose stung from the Trainer's gentle yanking on her nose reins. "Oh, Joseph," she cried to herself, "where are you? How come you haven't found us yet?" Becky had similar thoughts, hers punctuated by the sticky jism dribbling out of her pussy from the Trainer's perfunctory fuck. Both Anna and Becky were blissfully ignorant of the connection between their kidnapping and enforced slavery to their murderous plot against Joseph Loftus. Each dreamt of rescue by their lover and a return to a life of luxury. Gone, for now at least, was the thought of killing Joseph soon after the planned wedding to take his assets.

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 02 – The Newcomers (or Life Has to Get Better)

Lori heard the approaching Ponygirls before she could spare a glance up to see where they were. She saw Cliff Burns, the ranch's Chief Trainer, holding his complex handfuls of leather reins, easily controlling two tall and perky blonde Ponygirls. A whip cracked painfully across her ass, bringing her attention back to the back-breaking task of hauling the overloaded manure cart.

Anna and Becky Sawyer obediently halted at the brisk command from their driver and used the opportunity to gasp for breath. They were halted to allow a slow-moving cart, heavily laden with manure, to cross their path onto another side trail. The strong odor of urine and decomposing horse shit brought a sneer of contempt to each of the Ponygirls. Anna and Becky spared no compassion for the black-haired Ponygirls-in-training that trudged by, hauling slowly on the heavy cart. Having spent several weeks of strength-building hauling doing the same mindless work before they moved on to the lighter, and far faster, racing carts, they well understood the slaves' predicament; but had no energy or compassion to share on the plight of others.

Lori felt the sting of the heavy whip strike her ass again from the impatient Filipino worker walking along beside her. She looked with envy at the two dapper Ponygirls lucky enough to haul the light surrey rather than the heavy red manure cart. Her own black mane hung limply and knotted down one side of her otherwise bald head. Without looking, she knew that Lisa looked just as miserable. Each wore a huge, baffled ballgag that whistled with every gasping breath. Like the blondes, Lori and Lisa wore a modified black corset that supported her enhanced boobs. However, everything about the two stunk of horse and cow shit, including their corsets, socks and shoes. Neither had been bathed since arriving two full weeks ago. Paula Laturno, Head Groom, cracked the whip again and after Lori leaned forward; the overburdened cart slowly began to move. Afraid of loosing momentum, each slavegirl kept up the pace. Lori thought her heart would explode from the exertion. "Oh for a soothing bath," she moaned to herself.

Lori reflected on the horrible weeks before coming to the ranch. She vaguely remembered a long van-ride south from her upstate New York estate after she had been captured while enjoying her first catch of slaves. They stopped several times, and at some point, she realized that her four previously captive teens were no longer in the vehicle. She was vague on events after that point until she woke up feeling disoriented and stiff. The dizzy part of waking up slowed her normally quick wit. Plus, the initial images in her awakening fuzzy brain were about why her head felt so bad, why her bed was so uncomfortable, and why her body ached everywhere as if she had been run over by a truck? She tried to stretch before rolling over to get up; her feet seemed locked down and her brain jumpstarted itself. Lori was horrified to find herself still naked and with her jaw ratcheted open with a huge ringgag stuffed in her mouth.

"Oh God!" she had moaned, "Was I really raped and kidnapped?" When she looked up at the ceiling, Lori almost had a heart attack. She and her sister, Lisa, were bound naked, side by side, on identical tables. Lisa was still deeply unconscious. She saw that each was laying with legs open, arms outstretched over their heads, and a wedged pad under their shoulders thrust their breasts up into the air. A slim, cute looking brunette wearing a white doctor's coat was busying herself with a tray of instruments. At Lori's loud moan of despair, she looked over her shoulder and winked at the terrified woman.

"Be right with you dear," she called over with a cheerful smile. "After all, I can't wait to get you two started on your training as my pussy slaves. Yes, … I can't wait, … I've been so lonely since I had to sent away the two blonde sluttoys I had," she added. "I thought that you would appreciate watching me work on your sister. After all, you will get identical treatment and you might want to see my work before it's your turn."

Lori thought the woman's laughter was a little too theatrical, or at least she hoped so. The woman held up a framed photograph for Lori to see, it was a glamour shot of the twins taken in Hawaii during a recent vacation. Helpless and horrified, she watched the doctor set down what had been her favorite picture and turn to her unconscious twin. She reached down to roughly grasp one of Lisa's breasts around the base. "Three here," she said, "has perfect B-sized titties. Perfect for most free women or your average street whore that is; but not perfect enough for a skilled Demonstration Ponygirl. Therefore, you two sluts will each get a modest implant to give you full C cups and a little breast lift to keep them perky looking while you race around the track in pretty Ponygirl bondage. Yes, girl, you will really like the new look. Oh, yes, I forgot." Doctor Miller paused and returned both hands to Three's face. "I get to do some experimental dental work to prepare you for your custom bits and you each get a nice strong nose ring. Since you two cunts are just fuckmeat now, the nose ring will be one-quarter inch thick stainless steel, passing through a reinforced grommet anchored on either side of your septum. Oh, and those hairstyles will have to be drastically changed." She slid her thumb and forefinger into Lori's nostrils and squeezed hard. "Yes," she finished with, "you are really lucky cunts to have me to help you satisfy your new owner. He will be so pleased."

Lori was speechless. "Ponygirls?" she wondered. If she could have sprinted to freedom, she would have when the statements about 'racing around the track' and 'Ponygirl bondage' sank in. "They're going to make me a beast of burden!" she screamed wordlessly.

Lori's fruitless struggles against her bonds brought Doctor Miller's attention. "Ahh," she smirked, "I see you are either not brainless or you have kinky hobbies. Yes, … Ponygirls. You two Heath sluts will leave here for training as Ponygirls." Doctor Miller returned to getting more instruments ready. "Oh, by the way," she added, "there is little doubt that you will eventually wish you had stayed here, in safe luxury with me, as my pussy slave."

After marking each of the twins with measured marker lines, the doctor picked up hair clippers and adjusted the cutting head to leave a full one-quarter inch of stubble. "I have to leave enough of your black hair stubble left so that after I apply a dye, the laser flash will be able to burn the hair out down below the skin's surface," she observed aloud to Lori. When Joan clicked on the clipper, the telltale sound let the horrified woman know that something bad was going to happen to their beautiful hair. The doctor held Lisa's scalp tightly with her left hand while the right began to run the clipper smoothly up and around her ears. Lori watched in horror as the doctor clipped rapidly across the sides of her sister's head. Moments later, the doctor turned the clipper upon Lori and she felt the vibrating buzz of the clippers through her skull. Her own long hair fell away. In the mirror above, she saw the pale white flesh of her skull exposed to sight for the first time in her life through the thin stubble. She wept at the loss of her hair.

Then, Lori felt the buzzing vibration of the clippers through her pubic bone. The doctor leaned over and said to her, "I'm so glad you have such an untrimmed forest of pubic hair down here, it saves us a treatment or two." Lori cried soundlessly as the clippers continued to remove her prized pubic hair.

The doctor moved to her sister's pubic area and ran the clippers over the entire mound. After each twin's head and pubic hairs were trimmed, the doctor added the necessary dye to allow the laser to flash off the hair, permanently, below the roots. Before turning on the laser, she stuck sets of Roman numeral 'III's and 'IV's on the twin's heads and pubic areas.

Finished with laser burning the hair off the sides of Lisa's head, the doctor took a damp towel to her scalp and cleaned off the dark ashes and the remainder of the goop on her head. The Roman numeral three was clearly identifiable in the only patch of stubble above her ear, clearly framed by the stark white of her bare scalp. The doctor became busy measuring two chemicals into a small plastic mixing tray. She explained to Lori that it was permanent black hair color dye to make their identifying numerals stand out clearly, deepening the natural black of their hair color. After smearing the hair dye behind her ears, the doctor moved down to Lori's pubic hair and also colored the numeral four on her enticingly naked mound.

"High-grade pleasure pets like you two will need identity tattoos inside your lips and a security chip deep into your bellies. After all," she added gaily, "if you ever get lost, your owner would want to recover such valuable property. That work, and your other surgeries, we'll save for another day."

Lori looked through her tear-filled eyes at their images in the mirror above their bound bodies. Except for the numerals, Lori saw that her sister's shaved head and faux brands were identical to hers. "We are already identical twins, even before surgery," she thought. "God we're beautiful creatures," she thought to herself with another whimper. "Granddad, I wish you were around to rescue us. We really fucked up this time."

Doctor Miller moved a tray of sterilized instruments to Lori's side. Looking above in the mirror, Lori saw a heart-stopping array of gold rings, needles, and stainless steel tools. When cold alcohol was swabbed across one of her nipples, Lori knew what was next. Her doctor expertly pierced each nipple and then moved down to her denuded pussy. The doctor's head blocked her view in the mirror, but she felt her pussy lips moved around before the first stinging pain. Lori wondered what was taking so long. Then, a final, blinding sting from her cunt made her eyes roll back in pain.

The doctor explained that Lori's pussy lips now had six rings, three on each nice fat labia. "Plus," she added, "I put a nice gold ring on your clit. It will be extra sensitive from now on and much easier to stimulate as the ring is so much larger than your clit." The doctor leaned over Lori's face and said gently, "Stick out your tongue." Then with greater force, she added, "Now!"

Lori whimpered in fear and tentatively stuck her tongue through the ring. Something suddenly grasped her tongue in an unrelenting grip and Lori thought her tongue was being yanked out by its roots.

Doctor Miller loved this part the best. Her face was only inches away from her victim and the little slut was scared shitless. Joan yanked on the forceps again, and Lori's face contorted in pain again. "Ohhh, your wondering what's next" she whispered in her prey's ear. "This is for your tongue ring. When we want to anchor livestock like you in place, we use a nose ring. But to lead you around, the tongue ring is kinda nice, especially in the bedroom. I love how it pulls a slut's tongue out through her ringgag. Ummm, God, this makes me hot!"

'Four' watched as the doctor prepped her sister for surgery. Her tongue piercing hurt dreadfully from where the surgical punch had removed a tiny cylinder of her tongue meat and the ring felt weird; vaguely too big for her small mouth. She shook herself free from her thoughts and watched the doctor start the surgeries with the stainless steel nose grommet and then the breast implants. Despite the horror of her forced conversion, Lori was astounded how easy the breast implants slid in through the clean incision under Lisa's breasts. In contrast, the nose grommet caused a huge spurt of blood and then seeped rivulets of thick blood for long minutes before the doctor staunched the wound. As the doctor worked, she chatted about her plans for the twins. Her plan was to start Lori's pussy training while Lisa healed from her first surgery. "You will be getting an advanced degree in pussy eating by the time your sister gets her second surgery; that's the dental work, nose job, cheek work, and extra piercings. Trust me, you will be a world-class lesbian love slave before you go under the scalpel in two weeks. Then, you heal while I work on your sister. Later, you will look back fondly on how you were pampered here under my care."

After Doctor Miller washed up from her medical modifications to Lisa's already delectable body, she slid surgical gloves on again and approached Lori's side of the table. "I have a neat little trick that I tried on the two pussies here before you," she said as she held up a speculum and a syringe with a three-inch needle. "Basically, I will open you wide, …," she started and then paused while she coated the stainless steel speculum with sexual lubricant. She looked up at Lori's fearful eyes as she flinched from the icy cold steel as it slid past her outer labia. Joan grinned and then pushed, hard, to set the surgical instrument deep in her pussy. She loved the look of anguish on her helpless patients as the speculum audibly clicked again and again, opening up the elastic opening of their cunt. "Next," she said with a grin while squirting excess air out of the syringe, "I inject this into tiny little pockets throughout your pussy, your inner and outer labia, and around the ring of your ass. The results are almost instantaneous and will steadily become worse over a period of time lasting as much as a week The trick, my dear, is to not inject too much of the solution. Hmmm, just so you know, this is a mixture of diluted poison ivy extract and bee venom."

Lisa writhed in horror at this latest development. It didn't sound good at all. She struggled, in vain; she already knew that the doctor's bondage was unbreakable. Finally, she sagged back in despair as the tiny needle pricks began to be applied deep within her vaginal walls. Unable to resist, she looked up into the mirror above and watched the doctor carefully penetrate her cunt wall again and again. It was easier to see the pin pricks applied to her labia. As the needle was withdrawn, it left a small raised bump similar to a bite from a tiny mosquito. As if in a trance, she heard the doctor whisper to her, "Soon you will itch and itch. Your bound arms will keep your hands away. Unable to scratch, you'd hump a chair leg for relief in the middle of a public concert, if I let you. Imagine the relief you'd get if someone rubbed, or better yet, licked your itches away. Sorry, but any relief you get will only be temporary. Within an hour or so after getting relief, you'd be ready to fuck a dog in church to escape the itching in your ass and pussy. Believe me, it works. You're the third victim I've used it on. It is the closest to Spanish Fly that medical science has found. Hmmm, how delicious."

Doctor Miller finished with the outer edges of the fat labia and moved down to the brown anal sphincter. She placed slightly greater amounts of the poisonous fluid in each star point of her flexible grommet. Lastly, she rolled open the sphincter with fingers of one hand while the other injected six tiny bubbles just inside her anal entrance. As a coup-d-grace, she pulled up Lori's clit hood and stuck the needle straight inside the little man in the boat. She smiled as Lori jerked in pain from the last needle prick. Doctor Miller looked at her syringe and said, "Ohhh, we have some left. Wonder if, …" She paused and looked over Lori's body with a critical eye. "Yes," she said with excitement when her eyes focused on Lori's fat nipples adorned with their shiny new gold rings. She grasped a nipple and made a series of tiny injections around the base of the fat nubbin before planting a larger drop directly into the tip.

Doctor Miller looked down at her latest fucktoy and ran a soothing washcloth across the toy's brow. "I'm going to put you away for the night in your cage, in a loose hogtie, belly down on a nice soft mattress pad. You will not get any satisfaction tonight. In the morning, we will talk about what you can do to earn relief. Yes, … I think you can dwell on what you will offer during your long night. Yes, lovely thought isn't it. Tomorrow you have to convince me to give you relief; you know, sell yourself on what your capabilities are. After all, you're the sextoy." With a final laugh at Lori's plight, Doctor Joan Miller loosened the speculum from the distended pussy and prepared to move her captive to a dog cage.

Lori moaned into her ringgag. The itching was becoming more intense and unbearable with every second. She tried to thrust her pubic bone down to the cage floor, only to meet the soft mattress under her belly. "Oh, fuck!" she thought to herself, "I'm going nuts. The doctor was right, I'll do anything to ease the itching." She whimpered when she thought of how many hours until dawn and her hoped for relief. Lori had all night to decide how to entice the doctor to give her relief.

Early the next morning, Doctor Joan Miller looked down at the writhing captive moaning piteously in her dog cage. Lori, or Number Four, as she was already thought of by Doctor Miller, was still desperately trying to hump herself on the mattress. Lori's hands and feet were held in a loose hogtie by X-shaped, leather cross straps. Doctor Miller leaned down and set a bowl of water inside the cage. She laughed as Lori attempted to wriggle like a snake, using her shoulders and breasts to pull herself up to the low shoulder of the bowl. Steeling herself, she lowered her face and stuck her tongue through the ringgag. It was slow going, but she was able to lap some of the water up, catlike.

Still kneeling, Doctor Miller decided to undo the slave's ringgag and discuss what might happen next. Doctor Miller waited while Lori Heath wriggled her jaws and finally regained her speech.

Lori wriggled her stretched jaw muscles and wiped the drool off her head by brushing her cheeks against the mattress pad. She looked up at the expectantly waiting doctor; broken, she knew what she would say. "You win," she whispered. Then, with more life in her voice, she begged, "I'll do anything you want; just please, help me relieve this itching."

Doctor Joan Miller shook her head sadly side to side. "No, that's not what I want to hear, little slave. You have to be specific on what you'll do for your Mistress. I want to be eager to receive your attention."

Lori groaned and wriggled her ass fruitlessly. "OK," she whimpered. "I, … I'll lick your pussy. Please let me, … lick your pussy." With effort, she was able to look up enough to see the smile of satisfaction light up the doctor's face.

Doctor Joan Miller pulled her long skirt up around her waist and slipped her thumbs under the waistband of her size 5 panties. She grinned and wriggled her hips theatrically as the wispy black silk slipped smoothly over her trim hips. The panties wafted down to the floor and Joan stepped backwards out of the legs. "Crawl forward and pick up the panties in your mouth," she ordered. "Then, eat them and chew them until I say stop."

Lori whimpered in need of relief. Her titties popped over the threshold of the cage as she crawled toward the panties. "Ahhh," she thought, "that's better." Each inch of progress brought more stimulation to her aching breasts, and unfortunately, highlighted the unrelenting aching from her cock-hungry pussy. Lori was going mad with itching and need.

Her lip finally touched the edge of the silken panties. Just days ago she would have cringed at her task; now she didn't hesitate, her tongue caught the seamed edge and pulled it to her waiting mouth. The panties smelled faintly of a flowery perfume. Only after the entire silken pair were soaked through with her saliva did the taste of the doctor's pussy hit her tastebuds. "Thank God," she told herself, "the panties must have been fresh."

Panties still in Lori's mouth, the doctor freed Four's arms from the hogtie and brought each elbow back to her waist belt before loosening the leg bonds. She grabbed a sore nipple ring and tugged Lori toward her bed. On the way she explained what was going to happen next.

Lori ended up on her back in the doctor's giant king-size bed. Her legs were free, only her elbows remained locked tight to her waist. The doctor's slim form crouched over hers. She heard the doctor remind her, "You seal your vows with your tongue and then I'll relieve your itching." The doctor's brown pubic hair lowered its way toward her mouth. Lori extended her tongue and tasted salty sweat on the outside of her labia. The woman's pussy moved closer to Lori's mouth and she began to slavishly service the already juicy twat. Lori felt her new tongue ring slip around the inner walls of the pussy and felt the doctor jump in response to her teeth's gentile nipping on the woman's prominent clit. The pussy pressed harder against her face and Lori sped up her tongue action.

It seemed hours before the doctor rolled off of her body, exposing her sweaty, pussy-juice streaked face. Lori had fulfilled her promise beyond expectation. The doctor had moaned, cried, and screamed her way through dozens of small and huge climaxes. Lori thanked her sister for her only experience eating pussy, it had served her well tonight. The cool bedroom air on her exposed body renewed her aching, burning need. "Ahhh," she moaned. "Mistress, … you promised to help me." "Please," she begged quietly.

Doctor Miller turned around in the bed and laid beside her newest toy. Idly she ran a fingernail down from under Four's chin to between her breasts and down to her belly button. She admired the already perfect form of the young woman and she wondered with lust at what the little slut would look like after a month of Ponygirl training. "Can Robert Morgan get me an invite to the training ranch?" she thought with renewed desire. "It would be so much fun to watch the two sets of ponies I've prepared put through their training paces. Wow! Since Robert started giving me his little slaves to work on, I've become such a randy bitch. It's like I'm in heat anytime another person is nearby." She shivered at a forbidden thought and Goosebumps ran down her spine. "He needs me; but I truly wonder what it's like to bottom under him. Hmmm, maybe we can discuss that as part of my fee. But, … is it safe?"

With that final thought, she moved her lips toward the nearest nipple of her prisoner. It was so hard and swollen, Joan knew the future Ponygirl was aching with need. The doctor's lips closed over the swollen nubbin and its cool golden ring while her fingers slid possessively over the woman's slick pussy, bringing a renewed ache of passion to her own pussy while the trapped woman below her immediately sighed in relief. The slave's needy cunt spasmed and quivered like a live being as it tried to suck Joan's caressing fingers deep inside the steamy hole. "This is the life!" she exclaimed around the fat nipple. "This is the fucking life!"

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 03 – The Doctor's Vacation (or Yes, What a Rush)

Aaron Clarke, sole owner and chief executive officer of the East Coast Slavers Organization (ECSO), pulled his spent dick out of the tight, clasping pussy and rolled over with a groan. He had just finished a marathon fuck session on his sailing yacht Destiny's king-size master bed with the luscious Doctor Rachael Patricia Quaid. Aaron, known to Doctor Quaid as Robert Morgan, had called her just hours before to let her know he would be arriving at her clinic's pier located not far from Fort-de-France, Martinique. He had a set of favors to ask.

After Robert had tied off a mooring line to a cleat on the clinic's dock, he had been immediately surprised by her passionate squeal of welcome and the sex that followed within minutes. Despite keeping in touch over the last few months, Robert knew well that the last time he had seen her, she was intentionally left in a precarious position; bound down while a tattooist and a doctor prepared to make bodily modifications on her unwilling form. Robert had forced her to participate as a submissive in a celebratory fuck after picking out her new clinic site. Then, he had left her bound while a tattooist sunk his cock into her just fucked twat as partial payment for placing a tattoo over her pussy and giving her some piercings. A west coast doctor stood nearby, getting his equipment, and his dick, ready for additional surgery and a chance to try out her tight ass.

Robert's critical eye admired the trim redhead's new C cup breasts. He remembered making a comment to her in a goodbye note that whenever she had sex and her new tits jiggled about, she would think of him. "Her tits really did jump around like Jell-O on a hotplate," he thought, the idea making his dick jump. He still thought it was funny that the pretty redhead kept her hair blonde. His eyes looked to her single pierced nipple, with a small gold ring and a short golden chain dangling from it. "She never took off her nipple ring and her clit ring is still there too, along with the identical golden chain. Good thing it's too short to get caught in her pussy when we're fucking. I'll bet it pulls the clit about nicely though!"

Just above Rachel's pussy was a tattoo that proclaimed her 'Roberts Slut Toy – Kitty' reflecting her pet name when acting the submissive . Robert's fingers traced the tattoo's pattern through her matted pubic hair. "I'll have to get her to shave this properly. After all, I can't have my property hiding their brand," Robert muttered with a grin.

Rachael groaned and rolled over onto her tummy, next to him. "Oh, God," she thought. "I remember how perfect his cock was. Eiii, I needed that fucking. It was way too long since, …" and her inner voice stopped as she remembered the last time they had sex at her clinic. She came up on all fours and scooted over his body. She licked his sweaty chest and said, "You better be careful around me stud, just in case I've not forgiven you for what you did to me."

Robert brought his hands down to her luscious ass cheeks and squeezed her butt hard. "Remember what I did? Kitty, I kept you alive, … I kept you from whoring in a mining camp, … I negotiated a deal that left you rich, independent, and with the clinic of your dreams. That's what you better remember."

A moan of lust escaped Rachael's throat as he recapitulated his deeds on her behalf. "Well," she purred, "all that's true, but maybe you went a little overboard with your insurance program." Then she pouted, "But I am upset that you let those little toads have me as part of their compensation."

Robert laughed and then suckled at her salty throat. "I thought you would have complained about the breast implants, the two piercings, and the watchdog in your ovaries. Women are so funny. If I remember right, you exploded in passion at the thought of being used. I bet you've masturbated often thinking about that night and the note that I left you."

A hot wave of humiliation flushed through her body at the truth of his statement. "You really do know me," she whispered huskily. "Oh, God! You're hard again." She grabbed the head of his cock and thumped it across her clit chain; she arched her head back and moaned at the wonderfully enhanced stimulation from the ornament. "You're dick head is so big," she groaned as she poised the fat head at her drooling pussy.

Robert groaned and rolled off the horny doctor. He yanked off the bulging used condom and wiped himself clean with a handy damp washcloth from an ornamental plate on the nightstand. Without losing a second, another condom foil was stuck between his teeth and he ripped it open. Fresh condom on his fat cock, he grabbed his lover and yanked her atop his body again. "Put it in, you little cock hound," he ordered.

"Oh, I follow your orders so happily," she said in fake subservience while she eagerly stuffed the dick back against her cunt lips. "Eiii," she howled as she sank down hard on the big pecker. "Yes, fuck me," she said with satisfaction as her hips started to rock against his pelvis.

"No!" Robert commanded in an emotional voice, "In this position, you fuck me!"

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

Robert sat in a beach chair and admired Rachael's luscious ass. She was wearing only the bottom half of a blue thong and was sunning herself, topless, on her beach next to the pier where Destiny bobbed gently on the calm bay waters. She reclined on her elbow, head cocked back to listen to what he had to say.

"So that's why you sent me the specifications for modifications you have been doing on your latest victims," she said. "Yes, I'll do what you want and then come to Miami for at least the next three weeks. This is rather delicious isn't it?"

Robert held his cold Pacifico Beer up in a toast to the helpful doctor. "Yes," he said, "it is rather ironic; after all, the little slut volunteered."

"Remind me not to fuck up and volunteer like that," she said with all seriousness. "I know you won't lie in a deal and would never renege on an agreement. But your version of an honorable contract can have hidden thorns. You are, after all, a scoundrel at heart."

"Ummm," Robert agreed. "That's business. Both parties better pay attention during negotiations. If people focus too much on what they want, then often they end up agreeing to be screwed in the deal without knowing all the consequences." Robert took a final sip of his Pacifico Beer and muttered, "You finish sunning here and I'll get the package set up for you in the clinic."

Robert threw the cover off a bench seat in the dining room of Destiny. A sweaty and bedraggled slave was bound tightly within. A harsh gag and bondage hood with eye patches covered her head. The long ponytail of a brunette stuck out an opening at the rear of the leather hood. Other than the bondage gear, she was naked. Robert reached in and picked her up. "Time to start your adventure, Little Ponygirl," he whispered.

The slim woman on his back was an easy carry. The problem was the long hill leading up from the pier to the clinic's main building. By the time he reached it, Robert was sweaty and regretted drinking the beer. Inside the clinic, he knew his way to the operating theater. After all, he had tricked Doctor Quaid in that very room the last time he was with her.

Robert strapped the slave's torso down onto an operating table and pulled her legs open wide to attach them to the table's leg extensions. He ran his fingers through the brunette's hairy bush and slid two fingers into her moist pussy. She moaned through her harsh gag and thrust her hips up to his fingers, attempting to fuck herself. Robert stopped teasing the helpless slave and thrust his fingers in deep, paused, twisted his fingers, and gave the now drooling pussy about twenty energetic fucks with his hand. His other hand mauled her tight B cup breasts. The rippling across her belly heralded her climax. "That's it, cum for me," Robert coaxed as her hips shivered out of control.

Doctor Quaid came into the operating theater and looked at her patient humping herself up onto his hand. "OK, Robert let's start with the easy stuff. Clean her tits off with Betadine and we can get the nipple rings in. We'll skip the pussy rings completely and do the clit ring after her pubic hair is burned off. The tongue ring, breast implants, and the nose ring will be saved for last."

The patient stiffened and then began to fight against her bonds. Robert put his hands on her brow and whispered, "Relax, it's all part of your Ponygirl training. I'll let you keep your hair though. The rest is mandatory to enjoy your special vacation. It's what you agreed to after all. Trust me, it'll be the most unique vacation of your pampered, high-society life, Doctor Joan Miller."

Robert pulled a rubbery nipple out from Joan's chest and Doctor Quaid deftly ran a piercing needle through it. The second nipple was finished in a matter of moments. The slave jerked again when she felt Doctor Quaid checking out her pussy and pubic area. Robert grinned when the slave arched her back in helpless protest when the buzzing clippers started removing her brown pubic hair. "Put a numeral zero on her bush before you start the laser burn Rachael," he said.

The laser's buzzing every few seconds triggered a spasm of protest from the gagged slave. Robert ran his hands across her brow and said, "Lucky Zero, you'll get your wish to play as a Ponygirl soon. I will tell you that we had to change the plan somewhat. This will last longer than you thought because of some requirements set by the Ranch's staff. You're lucky though, Doctor Rachael Patricia Quaid has agreed to take over your medical practice in Miami until you return. The program will be one week of preparatory training hauling manure as the lowliest of Ponygirl livestock, … followed by a week of training on a surrey as a pampered Ponygirl just as you wished, and a week of learning how to be a Trainer. Well, … the kicker is that you only get to be a Trainer if you pass your Ponygirl time acceptably. The men at the Ranch are pros and while you are in initial training they have the option to keep you forever if you don't pass their various Ponygirl exams, the same exams that all my girls undergoing training have to take. Remedial training is very tough and not fun. So, I advise you to put forth every ounce of effort you can find in your body." Robert grabbed her tit and squeezed it hard. He raised his voice and added, "That's three stages and you will never progress unless you pass each stage. I'm serious, Joan. Work hard and you will love this, I know your personality, it's my specialty."

Doctor Quaid bobbed her head further down Robert's massive cock. Her moist lips left a trail of saliva on the hard rod as her head pulled back up. She kept peeking over at the video monitor with the live feed from Doctor Joan Miller's recovery room. The woman's awakening would be delicious to watch. Doctor Miller had been so proud of her version of Spanish Fly that she had eagerly provided the specific formula to Robert for use at other slave modification facilities. Steve Austin and Aaron Clarke had paid her a liberal bonus for the development and quickly put the formula to work at various west coast and east coast medical facilities used by the slavers.

Earlier, after the other operations, Rachael Quaid had opened Joan's pussy widely and injected her inner vaginal walls and labia lips liberally with Joan's poisonous concoction. When Joan woke up, she would be ready to fuck an army of mannequins to ease the itching. Rachael thought it especially humorous that the doctor was caught in her own trap.

Doctor Joan Miller lay unconscious on a bed in a tightly secured room of the clinic. All her bonds had been removed following her surgery and she had been dressed, in a manner, for bed. Rachael and Robert had put a black Lycra bodysuit over her torso, covering her breast bandages and attached hose to the built-in garter straps of the snug bodysuit. Otherwise, Joan was naked. Her now hairless cunt was adorned with a single gold clit ring and a jet-black numeral Zero of close-cropped hair was all that remained of her pubic hair above her pussy. The bandages and the bodysuit covered her now full C cup tits. Joan's beautiful and fine-boned face was now marred with a heavy ring dangling from between her nostrils. The ring hung heavily down to the bottom edge of her top lip.

On the monitor, Joan Miller stirred, and in Rachael's bedroom, she rolled over so she could better watch the coming show.

Dreams of lust, sex, and endless fulfillment provided needed and satisfying sleep to Doctor Joan Miller. Her body somehow ached from the dream sex and Joan groaned with dismay when her last dream ended. Her body rolled over and caught the fluffy comforter, capturing herself in a warm and cozy prison of blankets. "Mmmm," Joan whispered in a husky morning voice as she wriggled her toes and feet under the covers. "Morning is my favorite time." Her hands wandered down to her groin to find her sex, part of every daily morning wakening ritual. Bleary-minded, her fingers found the slick lips of her pussy and dove in deeply without noticing the absence of her pubic hair. Joan's only thought about her sex was how amazingly wet she was and how much she needed the fingers inside her. "Ahhh," she moaned in lust as a first, small climax hit her groin. Fingers from each hand were now inside her sloppy pussy; rubbing, massaging, thrusting, and pulling at herself. "Eiii, that's nice," she muttered and then was amazed that her fingers kept masturbating. "Oh, you are horny this morning, you bitch," she told herself silently.

The wriggling, moaning roll of blankets containing the aroused slut abruptly stopped moving and then a wildly contorting woman crawled nakedly out of the covers. Joan fell off the bed and landed on her ass on the bedroom's carpeted floor. Howls of dismay and anger echoed through the speakers and Doctor Quaid stopped fingering herself and crawled up her lover's body. "Robert, … fuck me! This is too delicious to watch without your big cock in me," she whispered and then added in a more needful voice, "Fuck me!"

In the nearby room, the camera showed Doctor Joan Miller standing hunched over in the middle of the room staring at a fat black, glistening dildo mounted on top of a low wooden stool. Her hunched posture was due to the hand still buried in her itching pussy and her other still slimy hand was exploring her pubic area. Joan already knew what her fingers would find and mesmerized, couldn't have looked away from the cock if she wanted. Only two thoughts ran through her mind: First, that this was her fault entirely. Second, that if she didn't get fucked soon, she would go out of her mind. She took a hesitant step toward the massive fake cock and then practically leapt upon it.

"Ahhh," she shrieked as the fat head slipped halfway into her vagina. The dick's movement over the pussy walls soothed the tiny blisters caused by the poison ivy and bee venom solution. She held her position over the stool to enjoy the feeling of being stuck on the too-dry shaft. She cautiously wriggled, letting the dry dildo pull and tug at her itching insides. Too soon, she gave in to the sensations and pulled out far enough to let her natural pussy lube grease the dick. Down she plunged, hard, and buried its full length in her needy pussy. "Eiii, you fucker, Robert!" she screamed. "Oh, fuck me Robert, you asshole. You bastard, … ahhh! Fuck, what have I done!"

Joan's body and mind became totally focused on the rapid fucking of her body upon the never softening cock that caused unending waves of relief and climax. When Rachael finally collapsed in sweaty exhaustion across her lover from the passionate sex with Robert, the lust crazed Joan was still feverishly humping up and down the now froth covered cock.

Joan slowed to still her racing heart; it was beating so fast she imagined she could see its thumping reflection on her own chest. Her eyes swept up and she was horrified anew. Unnoticed but directly in front of her position on the stool, was a full-length mirror showing her sweaty form crouched like a possessive lioness above a recent kill. A feminine part of her brain acknowledged that she looked hot and sexy despite her very bedraggled appearance. Her medical background wondered that her heart could have withstood the equivalent of sprinting for hours. The still wildly heaving chest in the mirror bespoke of her exertion. The last thing that horrified her was the video camera sitting on a chest next to the mirror. A red blinking light indicated that it was recording and the small antenna unit beside it told her that the camera was broadcasting to a receiver close by. She hung her head in shame at her whorish behavior, even if it was induced by her own poisonous concoction.

Temporarily satiated, Joan crept back into the bed and covered her entire body with the covers. She needed some quiet time to replay how she came to be in this position and to try and figure out what would happen next. The next round of itching would overwhelm her within the hour. She spurred her memory and recalled phoning Robert Morgan at one of his contact numbers and leaving a message that she wanted to meet him for a combination business and pleasure meeting over dinner. It was several days before his response came, in the form of an email.

Joan:

Thank you for your invitation to meet over dinner. Since you mentioned both business and pleasure, I have planned an evening accordingly. I want you waiting curbside outside your home at 8:00 pm on Thursday. My limousine will pick you up, be prompt. Dress for elegant dining at La Lupa di Roma where we will take care of the business part of our evening and get to know each other a little more intimately; I warn you, on my terms of course. If you wish, pack a small bag that you can leave with the limousine driver. I have a room reserved through the weekend at the Ritz Carlton South Beach.

Looking forward to a fun and challenging evening,

Robert

"The Ritz Carlton!" she muttered, "he is a presumptuous bastard, isn't he? And he wants me waiting for him outside for the ride, ridiculous!" The outraged romantic nature of the female doctor was taken over by her lustful side as she thought of his gigantic cock. "I've seen that monster dick of his at the B&D club. He looks to be a great fuck. Why not? And, … maybe I can talk him into setting up that vacation I thought of, becoming a Ponygirl Mistress."

As directed, Doctor Miller wore a black sheath dress that both clung to her slender frame, and hung enticingly. Her narrow waist was accented by the dress' snug fit across her hips and breasts. Too fine a material for a bra, Joan had forgone that necessity and even donned one of her few thongs, a particularly wispy black one that left her pubic hair visible under the sheer crotch panel. "What little there is of the panel, that is," she had thought with satisfaction upon seeing her thong-clad reflection in her bathroom mirror. She also packed a small bag with essential toiletries, a couple of sets of racy lingerie, a single set of casual daytime attire, and a few of her bondage items. Joan chanced putting in her personal bondage cuffs, a set of nipple clamps and chains, and a strap-on dildo of normal proportions. "Hope he doesn't see what I've packed until I make sure this is going well," she thought. "After all, I don't want a slaver to think I'm a submissive little slut all the time."

Promptly at 8:00, Joan glanced out her window where she sat reading 'Scientific American' and watched a long limousine pull up to the curb outside her townhome. She returned her attention to the article she was reading and with a wry grin decided to finish the article and be fashionably late. The ringing of her doorbell ten minutes later interrupted her reading. "Oh, well," she giggled, "guess I won't be arriving fashionably late after all."

A slim, dark-haired woman wearing elegant black slacks, a starched white shirt, a black dress jacket, and a chauffeur's cap stood on the entry. "Doctor Joan Miller?" she asked with in a businesslike tone.

"Yes, I'll be ready momentarily," Joan answered back with a grin and feeling on top of the world.

Surprisingly, the woman abruptly pushed past her, strode into the entry, and picked up the overnight bag without invitation. She turned and walked back out into the humid night, pausing only to throw back over her shoulder, "Your date will be waiting at the restaurant and I wouldn't suggest starting off the evening on the wrong foot if I were you. I've seen firsthand what comes from that attitude."

A little shocked and mentally off balance, Joan followed the saucy driver, almost forgetting to lock her entry door. She judged the woman as about her own age of thirty-eight, or perhaps a few years younger. Hesitantly, she asked the woman her name.

"My name is unimportant. We will be formally introduced if Master decides it is necessary." In an abrupt change of subject, the woman said, "You do know that you were late for a meeting you asked for. He considers that a lack of respect, and perhaps worse, poor manners."

Joan was speechless. She was a respected member of the community, reasonably wealthy thanks to hard work at medical school and her medical practice. Unable to reply, she sputtered before falling silent. "I'm not used to be being ordered around," she finally got out. "And, especially not by what is apparently either a servant or a slave," she added in a haughtier tone. "After all," she added with a flip tone, "I've seen you as a submissive at the club."

The driver ignored her comment and instead pulled out a small cell phone. Despite Joan's attempt to eavesdrop, the small opening in the partition that separated her from the driver's area effectively blocked the quiet conversation. Apparently finished with the call, the driver signaled for a right turn and pulled into a convenience store parking lot. Once halted parallel to a row of cars, the driver turned back to face Joan. "I'm to take you home Ma'am, Master has decided that you have ruined his mood with your attitude. You can contact him about regular business affairs through your normal channels."

Speechless, Joan sat in her seat.

Unrelenting, the driver added, "Ma'am, if you don't cooperate, I'll drop you off here and you can catch a cab home."

Doctor Miller was stricken. Not only had her romantic evening been destroyed, she had no cash in her small clutch purse, only her identification card and a single credit card. Even her debit card was at home.

The driver stared boldly back at the doctor, a strange glittering gleam in her eyes scaring Joan a little. "Ma'am, I … a simple slave, … have been empowered to make this a salvageable evening if you wish. Though, knowing Master as we both do,… it might be dangerous to take me up on my offer, … especially given your insulting attitude. You must weigh your own goals for the evening and decide if your 'penalty' will be worth it."

Joan knew that she had lost the initiative with this striking woman the instant they met. Her bungling was going to spoil her evening. "I can make this situation better once I sit down with Robert," she told herself fiercely. She attempted to control her voice and decisively asked the driver, "What can we to do to get back on the right footing and make this evening work the way I intended?"

"Hmm," the driver responded with a thoughtful voice. "It doesn't work that way, Doctor. If you want Master to meet you as planned, you have to agree to follow my orders and accept your penalty. Oh, and the agreement is binding. As in all deals with Master, reneging is not an option." Before the doctor could respond, she quickly added, "A final warning, Master sets rigid standards and failure or disobedience is met with dire consequences. Somehow, I don't think you are up to the challenge. Perhaps you should do this on another occasion."

The doctor was ready to call off the entire evening until the woman made the added warning note at the end, as if she was an unschooled novice. Joan Miller was outraged and with renewed certainty that she could set things right at the restaurant spitted out, "OK, I agree. Let's get this over with!"

"Close, Doctor Miller," the woman said holding a small voice recorder toward her passenger. "Please repeat in several concise sentences your errors of the evening and your agreement to accept my directions; specifically turning yourself over as my slave until your punishment is completed."

Joan audibly gasped. She knew full well the consequences of her recorded statement to a slaver like Robert Morgan. A scoundrel with a strong streak of sexuality and honor, he would consider her promise binding. She thought to herself with horror, "No telling what this will entail. I can't leave this woman with absolute control over me." Aloud, she sputtered, "Bbut, … wwhat, do I have to do?"

The driver put away the recorder with a clear sigh of regret and the limousine abruptly pulled away from the curb. "Ma'am, we'll be at your home in a few minutes," was her only comment.

Within seconds, Joan blurted out, "No! Please, get out the recorder. I'll do it the way you demand."

A quiet, "OK, … as you wish, Ma'am," came from the driver's compartment. "I'll pull over again at the next convenience market and 'you will get it right this time;' else by Master's rules, you belong to me anyway for either being deceptive or too stupid to wander around free."

The last was given in an ominous tone that chilled Joan's heart. "It's too late now, you silly slut," she told herself with alarm. "Now you can't back out and have to proceed, hoping for release from the driver and a reprieve from Robert Morgan at the restaurant."

"I, Doctor Joan Miller, understand that I failed to follow directions tonight and rudely kept Robert's driver waiting at the curb, despite specific instructions to be waiting for the Limousine's arrival," Joan started as tears of fear pooled at the corners of her eyes. She continued speaking clearly into the recorder, "Further, I was unnecessarily rude to the driver and agree to a penalty for these errors in return for getting my evening with Robert back on track with my original expectations. Therefore, if Robert Morgan agrees to these stipulations, I turn myself over fully as slave to the driver until such time as she and Robert Morgan agree that my penalty is satisfactorily completed." With wide-eyed dismay, Joan fell back against the smooth leather of her seat in drained, emotional exhaustion.

The driver smiled back and reflected that the woman had ended up making some smart provisos in her statement. "Guess I don't get to keep her long," Ingrid Gaviard thought with some reluctance. "It would have been fun to make her grovel for a week or so until she gets off her high horse." Turning to Joan she softly asked, "Do you have on panties, Slut?'

Recognizing the reversal of their roles, Joan choked back a sob and answered, "Yes, Mistress, I do have panties on." Within seconds, Joan was following specific directions and pulled her dress up above her waist to yank off her thong panties before jamming them into her own mouth.

"OK, slut, since you are so eager to get my Master's cock, I suggest you go into the convenience store and get three dozen condoms of several brands, sex lube if they have it, and a bottle of the cheapest champagne you can find. Oh, and if they have those edible panty roses, … get three of those as well. Hurry, Master is waiting."

Joan moved to remove the damp panties from her mouth when a signal from her Mistress made her stop. Humiliated beyond belief at her barked command to leave the panties in place, she strode into the cheap corner market with her expensive evening clothing and chewing her tasteless panties while she searched about for her items. Given that she had no cash, Joan used her credit card and had to prove her identity with her driver's license. Finally finished shopping, she nearly ran out of the market clutching her items in a flimsy plastic bag. She sat back in her seat, chest heaving and looked to her Mistress for guidance.

Ingrid hissed back at her, "What the fuck are you doing back there, you stupid slut. Nobody invited a whore like you to get in. Leave your purchases on the seat and run around to the trunk, you'll know what to do."

Indeed, Joan instinctively knew what to do. When she heard the metallic click of the remote lock, she raised the trunk lid and hesitantly crawled within. She slammed the trunk shut above her with a sound like the doors of hell locking her inside for eternal torture. Joan whimpered in the dark and tried to keep her dress from wrinkling and her mascara from smearing due to the tears welling up in her eyes.

While Joan was tearfully curled fetus-like in the trunk, Ingrid dutifully updated her Master about the latest developments with her cell phone. She smiled, happy that her Master was pleased. Ingrid unbuttoned her slacks and slid one hand down to her crotch. Her fingers slipped smoothly between the silk slacks and her pubic mound. She was never allowed to wear panties, an unchangeable decree from Michael Moore, the name her Master was using when they first met. At his command over the phone, she pinched her clit and then started fucking herself with her long slender fingers. When he told her that her actions that night and her loud pants of arousal had earned her a reward, she exploded in ecstasy, glad that she was still parked in the convenience store's lot; else, she'd have likely wrecked the limousine.

Ingrid parked the limousine at a special area of the five star Italian restaurant's parking lot reserved only for limousines. There were several drivers lounging about, most waiting for paid fares to finish eating. The La Lupa di Roma was an expensive restaurant located in the six hundred block of Lincoln Road, South Miami Beach. Ingrid pulled on her cap and pawed through the woman's overnight bag. She grinned at its kinky contents. "And I was worried Master wouldn't be pleased with my improvisation with his victim," she told herself as she held up the bondage cuffs and nipple chains.

Joan remembered how the limousine trunk had opened slowly to reveal the face of her temporary owner and tormentor. Even now hiding under a thick comforter in the bed at the Caribbean clinic after exposing herself to humiliation while fucking the black dildo mounted on the stool, Joan had another flush of shame left as she recalled her brilliant response to the woman outside the trunk. "Hmmph," she had started to speak involuntarily before she realized her self-gagged state. Drool and a corner of panty escaped her mouth before she could suck the black silk back in. Deft fingers had opened the front of her favorite dress, exposing her braless tits to the hot Miami evening air. Joan recognized her own nipple clips as they swooped down, each stingingly capturing a tender nubbin. When one nipple was yanked painfully toward the other, she realized that the interconnecting chain had been drastically shortened. The result was that each nipple was tugged tightly toward the other. "Oww," she moaned through her panty gag.

"Shut up you little slut," came the instant, harsh response. "Your arrogant attitude and horny pussy got you into this mess. Use your brain to follow orders and earn your way out of this mess." With that, Ingrid pulled the disheveled slave out of the trunk and thrust her to her knees.

Ingrid saw the woman driver undo her slacks, dropping them around her ankles while her ass plopped down on the limousine. In clear view of at least three male limousine drivers, Joan's face was pulled into the dark-haired woman's cunt and after a pinching yank on her ear, Joan spit out the damp panties and went to work. Joan remembered the pretend gusto with which she attacked the aromatic pussy. She remembered thinking that the woman had obviously just masturbated, "No way a woman has a pussy this wet unless she's just climaxed."

As the woman above her shook in clear climax, she heard her voice ring out, "Boys, you want a blowjob? This bitch is doing it for twenty bucks a pop. The best part is, she doesn't want to, I'm blackmailing the haughty slut into doing it. She's some rich man's personal fucktoy."

The woman's hands above her head exchanged twenties for condoms. Then, unceremoniously, her face was thrust into a hairy male crotch. The lubricated condom made her face flinch at the foul taste, but her face was yanked hard into the cock, burying the stiff dick in her throat. The man skull-fucked her without mercy. Vaguely, she remembered the brilliant flash of a camera only inches away from her distorted face. Joan's knees ached in remembrance of crawling around the warm pavement going from one stiff limousine driver's dicks to the next. Doctor Miller rolled herself up tighter in the bed's comforter and cursed her whorish nature, especially that awful night. Altogether, Joan sucked off five limousine drivers and earned a total of one hundred dollars for her temporary owner.

Later in the restaurant, her limousine driver set the crumpled twenty dollar bills down on the white starched linen tablecloth. By then, the driver's cap and black jacket had been left in the limousine and the two women entered the restaurant hand in hand. Joan remembered standing dully as directed before Robert Morgan, her dream date for a expected weekend of romance and sex, and the dark-haired woman that had played her so well.

Robert stood up and unexpectedly greeted her with a hug and a kiss, on her cheek. His welcome of the driver was a little more passionate, including a slightly lingering liplock. She remembered how Robert introduced them. "Your driver of the evening has already met you, Joan, but let me more formally introduce you. Joan, this is Ingrid, one of my top trainers of sluts, whores, and slaves. Ingrid, I understand that this is your slut for part of the night, Doctor Joan Miller." Robert reached down and waved the twenty dollar bills in the air, pointed to the front of her dress distorted by her obvious nipple ornaments, and added, "Joan, I can see you are being an obedient little slut. See that it continues. I understand that you already know full well that the consequences are extreme for people reneging on deals with me or my staff."

Joan sat down and noticed that the table was set for three, with a glass of white wine already in place. She remembered blushing and lowering her gaze before asking in a hushed voice, "Robert, I understand our deal is that our planned evening goes on as normal except for my 'penalties.' Is that so?"

Robert ignored her question and instead picked up his glass of wine and after swirling it about, drank deeply of the aroma. "Yes, Joan," he said in a normal voice, "that's correct. You and I will interact as peers tonight. However, whenever Ingrid addresses you, your response will be as her obedient little pussy slave. Enough of the rules, your instincts will lead you through this. Ladies, to a beautiful evening and beautiful company."

Somewhat relieved, Joan had quickly picked up her glass to gently clink with her two dinner companions. She relaxed a little to be on more familiar ground. Doctor Miller then explained her latest development, the special combination of poison ivy extract and bee venom. She remembered being pleased at how appreciative Robert had been when she offered the formula for him to use. After Robert got her to explain the specifics of how and where to apply the syringe, he had chuckled at the irony of a woman needing to fuck herself or go mad from the itching. "After all," Joan had explained, "it's not too different from the maddening itch that irritates you from under a cast." "Except," she added with a grin, "it's much more sensitive flesh we are talking about."

The three diners shared a sophisticated laugh at the expense of the two sets of Ponygirls that had experienced torment and humiliation at her clinic. "My only regret," Joan said, "was that I never got a chance to use the potion on the first two sluts you sent me, Carolyn White and Rosella Koch."

Robert smiled in remembrance of Carolyn White the ex-real estate agent and Rosella Koch the ex-prostitute. "Carolyn learned that being a bitch was dangerous and Rosella learned not to blackmail my friends," he thought. Both slim, beautiful women, Robert paid Doctor Joan Miller to enhance their breasts from B cups to full D cups. Robert added aloud, "They were the ones that gave me the idea for making Ponygirls, you know. I still haven't decided on their final disposition, it's most likely that they will end up as sex slaves in a whorehouse or bordello since they now look like porn stars with their huge breasts." Then he laughed softly, "If I'm lucky, I'll find someone that wants to buy some topless dancers; after all, it'll probably mean more money in the sale."

The conversation that followed gave Robert some things to mull over regarding his future plans for Carolyn and Rosella. The fact that Rosella was a natural redhead spurred the thought in his mind of converting Carolyn from a blonde to a redhead herself. "Hmmm," he thought, "it might just work out. Their fat D cups might be a problem though." Robert decided to make a final determination about their status soon.

Later, over her second glass of the Viognier, Ingrid had asked Doctor Miller, "Well, Joan, did you experiment with the concoction on yourself?"

Joan had blushed at the verbal image of herself masturbating wildly to relieve her endless itching and retorted, "Of course not! That's obscene, Mistress."

Ingrid had raised an eyebrow and added, "Hmmm, Master, I find it interesting that the horny little slut was so adamant about meeting you tonight. The Ponygirl situation and the artificial Spanish Fly are delicious, but both could have waited until later." She fixed her temporary slave in a penetrating glance and asked, "Did you want to meet my Master for sex or did you also have something else in mind? Remember, honesty is the only path to freedom, my little slutbunny."

Joan's mouth had fallen open at the question and then the direct admonition afterwards. She gasped, gulped for air, and then swallowed a deep draught of cool water before she answered. "Uhhh, uhhh, no" she stuttered, "I did have sex in mind, … and several other things." She blushed again and looked down at the table before her head snapped back.

Robert's hand had shot across the short space and painfully grabbed her neck in a choking hold. "You forgot to add Mistress at the end of that sentence, Joan, he hissed and then added, "and, I don't expect my trainers to have to drag answers out of slaves either. Please explain in more detail."

"Rrobert, Mmistress," she stuttered and fought to get her intellect fired up again to rescue her from this situation. "I hoped to have sex with you tonight Robert. I'm ddominate with the slaves, but do have some thoughts of a submissive nature."

She noticed that Robert and Ingrid exchanged glances as everyone took a short break to sip the wonderful wine. Robert waved off the waiter and said, "Well, thanks for the truth, Joan. What else did you have planned for this meeting?"

"I already told you that I wanted you to sexually dominate me at the hotel after our romantic dinner. At least only a little bit of domination, nothing with any real pain. Then, …" and Joan visibly hesitated before continuing in a weak voice, "then I wanted to ask him a favor." Joan hesitated in real fear of exposing herself to the Slave Mistress but forced herself to continue. "I wanted Robert to get me an invitation to be a guest Mistress at the Ponygirl Ranch and, … let me spend a day pulling a surrey like a real Ponygirl." She shriveled at the glances she was getting and quickly added, "It would give me a better understanding of them, after all." She smiled and waited for their agreement.

Instead, Robert took another sip of wine and addressed Ingrid, "I fully understand what your little slut wants, Ingrid. Do you?"

Ingrid reached over to Joan and gently clasped her hand and said, "Yes, Master. I understand that the horny slut likes topping males and females and wishes for your help to determine if her submissive nature is worth developing. She wouldn't have asked about the Ponygirl training unless she liked your treatment of her though."

Robert nodded sagely and responded, "Hmmm, all that's correct. Good job Ingrid! But, she lied at the end about wanting the experience to better her handling of our slaves. No, Ingrid, the horny doctor is submissive curious." He turned his attention to Joan and added, "You just earned an extra punishment from me. Quibbling is not allowed, ever; whether it is among friends, or between Master and slave."

Joan blanched. They had read her like a book. She knew better than to respond with anything except barely nodding her head as she stared down at her lap.

Luca, their waiter took that moment to interrupt, smoothly asking if they were ready to order anything else. Robert told him, "Three salads, bread with olive oil, and an order of antipasto for now. Later, we'll decide on our dinner entrée." He looked around the table and added with a smile, "We are in no hurry, Luca, we wish to enjoy the evening."

Robert later told Joan that as the waiter walked away, he noticed two young girls whispering together at the distant bar, across from his dining room. He was pretty sure that they were having some kind of contest or bet. They kept huddling together about every few minutes, apparently comparing notes about something. He thought maybe it was a treasure hunt of some kind. It was intriguing.

"Joan," he said after returning his attention back to his table and breaking a ciabatta roll in half. "I value your work for my organization. The amazing potion you have created is an example of your dedication. You will receive a substantial bonus, much of which you have earned by freely offering it to me to use. Also, I will grant you the favor you have just asked of me. You will get an invitation to the Ponygirl Ranch and get a chance to train Ponygirls, probably the same four girls you have modified and sent on their way. The free session as a Ponygirl is a little more difficult, and had things gone differently tonight, I'd have been inclined to refuse it. Marshall Thompson, the owner of the Ponygirl Ranch will have input into that request and you will be bound by his stipulations. I will not attempt to influence them beyond explaining your status with me and your request. Again, they will fully control any session you participate in as a Ponygirl. Is that fair enough?"

Doctor Joan Miller had agreed; half certain it was what she wanted, and half certain it was a dreadful mistake. In either event, she was positive that things had proceeded so far out of her control that she had no choice but to accept Robert Morgan's offer. Even now, laying in bed with the beginnings of the urge to go fuck the black dildo some more, Joan knew she had brought it all upon herself. If she had been more cautious that entire night, Joan knew that Robert Morgan would have refused the Ponygirl request. From bitter experience, she also knew that her evening that night had not ended at all on the note that she wanted. "Robert Morgan and his slut, Ingrid, are tricky bastards," she thought. Even so, she knew that she would continue to work with Robert and looked forward to a private session alone with him. "After all," she thought with rising passion; enflamed partially by the poison eating at her pussy walls, but mostly by the thought of Robert Morgan's big dick and masculine manner, "He made me hornier than I've ever been in my life. What a cocksman!"

She shook herself free of the future imagined sex with Robert and focused again on the events that closed out that night. "My biggest mistake," she thought ruefully, "was telling that half-truth about wanting the extra experience with Ponygirls. Shit! He knew right away I was only doing it for the thrill and sexual satisfaction. He knew how to make me pay, …"

The remainder of the dinner at La Lupa di Roma proceeded more or less normally until just before desert. Robert's cell phone rang, after listening for a moment, he motioned Ingrid to leave.

Ingrid returned to the table with two packages, each a simple brown paper sack. Wordlessly, she took Joan's arm and led her toward the ladies' rest room.

Ingrid and Joan were unaware that as their drama was unfolding in the ladies' room, Robert noticed the chunkier brunette of the pair he had seen at the bar earlier approach his table hesitantly. She introduced herself as Megan and asked, "Can I sit and talk for a few minutes while your friends are gone?"

Robert was now sure his earlier hunch of the night was correct. The two women were clearly playing a game that he might be able to use to his advantage. "Sure, Megan," Robert said with a grin, "I'm Robert. What can I do for you?"

Megan blushed and stuttered, "Wwell, my roommate and I are having a contest. It's something we started last month." Then with a little more reassurance, she added, "You see, we've just started working after college and we've been having trouble getting all of our rent and utility money together on time for the first of the month. Anyway, … in our contest, we have to collect the most money at a bar or restaurant. Kate, my roommate won last month and I would like to beat her tonight. So, …"

Robert interrupted her long-winded explanation with, "Stop, Megan. I'll be happy to help out if I can. What do you need in order to beat Kate?"

She blushed furiously and shyly looked down at her lap and pausing before stuttering, "Wwwe are t..trading k..kisses for twenty dollars each."

"This might be fun," Robert told himself. "Their game might have potential for fun on another occasion as well," he continued. "Megan," he said aloud, "what if I guarantee that you will win tonight as long as you focus on raising the money?"

"Hhow?" she responded.

"Anytime she gets too far ahead, just come by my table and we can work something out. Oh, and Megan, what are the penalties you two have worked out?"

Megan answered quickly, "Oh, … it's not much. What we decided is that the loser has maid, cook, and personal servant duties depending upon how much cash the winner brings in. Just for fun, we've been thinking of adding additional penalties if the winner brings in more money; but, … it's too much. We'll never get past the smallest amounts."

Megan Dietz and Kate O'Rourke's Friday Rent Contest Rules:

Winner 'earns' up to $250 - Loser is the maid for a week

Winner 'earns' over $250 – Loser is the maid and cook for a week

Winner 'earns' over $500 - Loser is the maid and cook for the month

Winner 'earns' over $750 - Loser is maid, cook, & servant for the next month

Robert smiled as he read the card containing the young women's contest rules and their signatures below. "Looks like I know who you two are now," he thought. Aloud he asked, "How much did you two 'earn' last month on your Friday Night Contest?"

"Oh," Megan squeaked before continuing in a normal voice, "Kate got over one hundred dollars and I only got sixty dollars. We each sold some kisses for twenty dollars each." With a rush she added, "She's prettier, so it's easier for her to get men to play the game."

"Here's my starting offer, Megan," Robert leaned forward and continued, whispering in her ear.

A few minutes later, Megan was gasping for breath as Robert slowly brought his passionate kiss to a lingering conclusion. Robert walked away, back to his table from their quiet spot leading into a darkened private dining area, leaving the woman leaning open-mouthed against the doorway arch, sixty dollars clenched in one sweaty palm.

As Robert Morgan, sex slaver, sat back down at his table, he was amused by the naïve young girl's responsiveness. "Guess she's just plump enough that the guys have always ignored her. With her inexperience, Megan is doomed to always lose the monthly contest. Maybe I'll ratchet up the pressure."

Megan drifted out of the alcove, passing near Robert's table, heading back to the bar.

Robert knew that she would be back. He had promised to always keep her ahead of her roommate during that night's contest. His only warning, that she stay focused on her task for the night, winning the contest.

While Robert was amusing himself with the contest among the two twenty-four year old girls, Ingrid and Joan were still in the bathroom, crowded into a single toilet stall; Ingrid had locked the door behind them. "Strip," was her only comment to her slave for the evening. Joan remembered that her brain had shut down entirely and she had numbly followed Mistress' directions. The return to her table would be a low point in her life; she had been outfitted in clothing a common street hooker would have worn.

In the tight confines of the stall, Ingrid put a gaudy belly chain around Joan's trim waist and applied a large faux tattoo above a breast and down one shapely thigh. Joan's new skirt was a garish red spandex that, even lowered below her hipbones, barely covered the bottom swell of her ass cheeks, fully exposing the tattoo on her thigh. For a top, Ingrid gave Joan a bright green spandex tube top that left most of her ribs below her breasts bare, a swath of at least a foot of flesh. The tight top was creased over the pointy nipple clips and their connecting chain. Cheap hoop earrings replaced her tasteful gold studs inlaid with Colombian emeralds. A magnetic, fake nose stud completed her jewelry. Tasteless whore's shoes completed her clothing, neon pink 'fuck-me' heels with five-inch stiletto heels.

Joan was pushed back against the wall of the stall while Ingrid tongue-raped her mouth and her hands fluffed and yanked at her hair. Ingrid stuck a finger into Joan's easily accessible cunt and after finding it wet and sloppy, wormed more fingers in until only her thumb was outside the drooling pussy. When Joan's feet left the ground, her body hoisted on the cruel hook of Ingrid's hand and the sharp thumbnail pinching against her clit, Joan's feet started to twitch in orgasm. Overwhelmed with passion, her feet involuntarily kicked at the stall walls, creating a beating crescendo that echoed out into the nearby dining room.

Minutes later, she meekly followed the elegantly dressed form of Ingrid, looking like a cheap hooker brought to a fine restaurant by a gentleman with poor taste. Joan had been given the additional indignity of having her own leather bondage cuffs attaching her wrists behind her back, captured hands that felt only of the bare skin of her back. Sitting was another experience in humiliation. The act of leaning over to sit let her stretchy skirt pop up around her hips, letting her bare ass and sloppy pussy hit the fine leather of the chair.

Robert had witnessed the clumsy act of Joan's seating. He subtly caught the waiter's attention. The waiter came over and stood between the well dressed gentleman and lady, looking directly at Joan with a clearly disapproving glance. "Luca," Robert addressed their waiter, "the lady has made a dreadful mistake tonight and wishes to earn her clothing and former status back. She has acted the lying slut and now must play the role. Can you help her become the lady she was?"

"Why certainly, Mr. Morgan," Luca responded with a bow. "What can I do to assist her out of this situation?" he added with a leer toward Joan.

Ingrid simply threw a large handful of the condoms that Joan had purchased earlier in the evening onto the table. "The slut has to earn five hundred dollars before we leave in order to redeem herself," Ingrid added in a quiet voice.

Robert added in a reassuring tone, "Luca, you of course are welcome to either take the hundred dollars she earned on an earlier penalty, one-third of her earnings under your tutelage, or rely upon our generosity after dinner. It is your choice."

"Oh, … and Luca," Ingrid added sweetly, "the little fuckbunny is cuffed so you will have no problem with her and she's obviously naked under her skimpy attire. Just roll the top down to her waist and the skirt will join it of its own accord. You can certainly take her for a test drive to be sure she'll perform up to your expectations. I think you'll find her an 'E-ticket' ride."

Robert added, "When you have her situated, please come back so we can decide about dinner."

"Certainly, sir," the waiter responded while he tugged Joan's skirt back below her ass, exposing more than a hint of pubic hair below her belly button in getting the outfit somewhat presentable.

Joan didn't like to dwell much on what followed. The waiter had not quite followed Ingrid's directions; he had taken off her top and skirt and ravished her on a long bench seat in a private dining room. Then, leaving her naked with wrists still bound, he had ordered her to stay in place while he brought her first customers in. The waiter had been smart enough to remove any linens from the room along with Joan's clothing. Her first customer was surprisingly the somewhat fat female chef from the kitchen. Dressed in crisp white, the woman had thrown a fifty dollar bill on a nearby table beside the condoms already strewn there and pulled a squealing Joan over to an overstuffed chair. Her ear still throbbing from its use as a handle, the woman had slapped her across a taut breast and in a heavy Italian accent demanded, "Eat me, you slut!" Joan's fear for what she had gotten herself into at the Ponygirl Ranch grew as the chef used her ears freely, much like a rider uses reins on his horse. "Oh, God! What a fucking mess!" she moaned into the salty and hairy pussy she was sucking on.

While Luca was getting a freebie fuck by pumping his cock into Joan on the couch in a distant private dining room, Robert and Ingrid continued to sip their remaining Chateau Neuf du Pap from their dinner. Ingrid arched her eyebrows and Robert sensed someone coming up to his shoulder. He turned and saw a blushing Megan. "Megan, meet one of my dates for the evening, Ingrid. Ingrid, meet Megan. Megan and her roommate are engaged in a contest similar in many ways to what you and Joan are doing. Joan and Megan have a lot in common, … they keep losing contests."

Megan stood there, uncertain what was going on, and blushed when Ingrid laughed deeply; she thought at her expense. At Robert's direction, she found herself kneeling on the soft carpet beside his chair. She took some comfort in his shielding her from Ingrid's imposing form. "She's beautiful," Megan described Ingrid while whispering into his ear. She continued, "You told me you'd help. Wwell, she's ahead now by eighty dollars. The slut just got four businessmen to give her big sloppy kisses at the bar. I've got one-hundred twenty, sixty from you and sixty I earned by myself. But, she's already at two hundred; I need help."

Robert smiled over at Ingrid as he heard Megan's comments. As before, Robert made Megan a proposal. Her face clearly showed her dismay at what he said, she blushed, and then she scurried away. "Ingrid, she'll be back. I guarantee it."

Ingrid purred audibly and said, "Master, you're always right about sluts. When can I play with them?"

Luca brought over their deserts on a small tray. While Joan was munching on the chef's pungent pussy, Luca had returned to Robert and Ingrid's table with a sample tray of delicious Italian deserts. After they made their desert choice, along with an after dinner liquor, the removal of the second tray's cover revealed Joan's tawdry top and skirt, openly displayed on the silver.

Robert shook his head with a grimace and said, "Luca, please! Ensure that these are put in the trash bin immediately. We will dress the whore in her previous clothing when we leave. Thank you."

"Yes, sir, of course. Please enjoy your deserts and kindly accept all your post dinner items as my treat, madam and sir."

The rest of that horrid evening passed like a blur to Joan who was forced to repeatedly engage in every possible sex act. Hours passed while most of the restaurant employees used her services. By the time Ingrid came in to set her free and slide her expensive gown over her sweaty body, she was exhausted but had earned an even one thousand dollars. After Luca's cut, her clutch purse bulged with fat condoms of jism and both her one-hundred-dollar cocksucking earnings and her six hundred and seventy dollars from whoring. Only as Joan staggered to her feet did she realize that Ingrid had left her with the whore's pink 'fuck-me' heels. When she opened her mouth to protest, Ingrid jammed her thong panties back into her mouth. Dried and crusty from her saliva earlier, they were worse tasting the second time around.

Waddling like a duck, she left the restaurant, looking exactly as a woman who has been recently butt-fucked. Joan grimaced under the covers at the clinic, thankful that Ingrid had not filmed her whoring in the private dining room as she had the cocksucking episode in the parking lot.

At the Ritz Carlton, Joan had been forced to check into her room and pay herself, going through the indignity of identifying herself to the clerk and using her own charge card while her mouth was again bulging from her thong panty. "Next time," she had vowed, "I'll wear regular silk panties, at least they form a tiny ball in your mouth, unlike that awful, thick thong that ran down hugging my own asshole."

As her uncomfortable whore's heels clacked loudly across the polished granite of the lobby flooring, Robert and Ingrid followed her discretely into the elevator, keeping well away from the disheveled woman as the mirrored elevator rose high above the lobby atrium. She recalled trying to stay far away from the two as Ingrid told her, "Little slutbunny, you did well tonight. Master's penalty is over with and you will be finished with mine at dawn. Then, if you dare, you can go to breakfast alone with Master and discuss the remainder of your date."

Doctor Joan Miller spent the rest of the evening and long night bound naked in a strict hogtie on a blanket thrown in the spacious Jacuzzi tub. Ungagged, she listened quietly to sounds of wild sex and joyous shrieking of orgasms through the long night. Each time Ingrid's pussy was loaded with Robert's copious jism, Joan was forced to suck Ingrid's gross twat clean when she crawled naked into the Jacuzzi and yanked her face into the stinky mess. At every episode, Ingrid whispered the same thing, "If you had controlled yourself, this could have been your pussy getting the fucking of a lifetime. Thank God you were such an arrogant slut!" Admonished to cry quietly, her body shook with silent sobs during much of the night.

At dawn, Ingrid came in and removed the blanket from the tub in order to draw a soothing bath for the two well-fucked women. Still bound at ankles and wrists, Joan was at least able to stretch out in the bubbly water of their bath. Ingrid acted the part of a loving sister as she soaped a cloth and gently rubbed her aching muscles and sluiced away the filth. Shortly after, Ingrid gave her a long kiss, thanked her again for her wondrous night with Robert, and strode purposefully out of the suite.

Joan had nearly sobbed with relief when she saw her overnight bag and wholesome daytime wear. She remembered Robert watching her from a comfortable chair as he sipped coffee, already showered and dressed, as she ran, naked across the room and grabbed her bag before running back to the bathroom. She almost forgot her panties in her haste to get some clothing on. Her padded bra felt wonderful as the cups supported her aching tits. The breasts ached from being bitten and mauled the evening before and her nipples still throbbed in pain from the hours she wore her own nipple clamps. The hateful thong and nipple clamps were thrown into the trash container beside the toilet. With a final smoothing of her blouse and skirt, she walked in to talk with Robert Morgan.

To her surprise, he stood up as she approached and gave her a heartfelt hug and a deep kiss. Already aroused, she felt his hands grab her ass tightly before he motioned her to a seat. "Good morning Joan. I hope we start afresh this morning," he said cheerfully. "Are you a good sport about loosing?"

Already deciding the entire debacle of a night was her fault, she nodded and tried to put on a cheerful look of her own. "Yes," she said quietly, "and I think I've learned some lessons as well. I have to admit, I'm a little scared of what I put in motion last night about the Ponygirl training."

Robert passed her a bowl of fresh fruit and a basket of bread before responding. "Well, so am I. You didn't know what you were asking. In any event, it's too late; I've already contacted the men at the ranch and they've agreed, with some provisos of course. We can speak of those later, after dates are selected and final preparations are made. Let's focus on the rest of our day instead."

Not relieved at all by his reply, Joan Miller resolved to get what enjoyment she could from the remainder of her date with this unique man. Her final thought on the matter, at least during that day, was that sometimes life really sucked. "Yes," she thought again, "life can be a true bitch sometimes. I just wish my body didn't like what happened last night so much. Fuck! How I wish last evening could be replayed the way I dreamt it would be. Fuck!"

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 04 – Arizona's Ponygirl Heaven (or A Ponygirl at Last?)

Doctor Joan Miller was at the center of a wriggling, moaning roll of blankets, locked in a bedroom at Doctor Rachael Patricia Quaid's clinic on Martinique. Resisting the increasingly itching sensations coming from her crotch and pussy, Joan was reliving how she came to be in her present situation. Joan was naked; her now permanently hairless cunt was adorned with a single gold clit ring and a jet-black numeral Zero of close-cropped hair. Bandages and a bodysuit covered her now surgically enhanced full C cup tits. Joan's beautiful and fine-boned face was now marred with a heavy ring dangling from between her nostrils. The ring hung heavily down to the bottom edge of her top lip. Another, smaller ring of gold passed through the tip of her tongue. Doctor Miller had only been spared the small indignity of nipple rings and the huge indignity of a shaved head.

In a nearby bedroom, Doctor Quaid was rocking her hips atop Robert Morgan's fat cock while watching a live video feed of Doctor Miller's writhing form. She had just watched Joan flee back to the safety of her comforter after wildly fucking a fat black dildo mounted on top of a low wooden stool. The fake cock was still coated in a white frothy foam residue left by her pussy cream. Joan had been victimized by her own creation, a special mixture of poison ivy extract and bee venom that left tiny, aching, itching blisters deep within her vaginal walls. The only possible relief from the maddening blisters was to 'scratch the itch' by getting fucked, hence the dildo on the stool.

Rachael had just yelled out, "Robert, fuck me, … harder." She had heard Joan's howls of climax atop the fake cock and then her humiliated retreat from the dick and the noticeably mounted video camera. Robert Morgan, Aaron Clarke's pseudo-name while conducting his illegal acts within the United States and sole owner and chief executive officer of the East Coast Slavers Organization (ECSO), thrust his hips, and his throbbing dick, up into Rachael's greedy pussy. Her quivering tits and animalistic grunts heralded another orgasm. "The slut likes to watch Joan get humiliated; that's for sure."

Joan Miller was a talented Miami Beach surgeon that kept two aspects of her life hidden from her family, friends, and clients. She was an avid fan of bondage and frequented a Miami B&D club where she eventually began to work nights as the club's physician. After meeting Aaron Clarke, in his Robert Morgan identity, she began to do custom surgery on ECSO's unwilling slaves. Then, during what should have been a night of romance with Robert Morgan, a series of missteps by Joan ruined the evening. Forced to confess her reasons for the romantic evening, Joan admitted that she wished that Robert would top her sexually and if satisfied by the experience, she would have asked Robert to get her an invitation to be a guest Mistress at the Ponygirl Ranch where four of her unwilling patients had been sent. Her biggest mistake was her additional request to serve a day as a Ponygirl, pulling surreys around the countryside. Given Joan's mistakes during the evening, mostly driven by arrogance, Robert agreed to the requests after admitting that he only did so based upon her egregious behavior.

Hours later, an emotionally and physically beaten Joan crawled across the bedroom's carpeted floor to get a drink of water from the bathroom. On the way, she noticed that the fake cock she had used so many times over the last days was gone. In its place was a cardboard box with a hand-written placard on top. Too thirsty to stop, Joan moved across the cool tile floor of the bathroom and barely managed to pull herself up to the vanity. She drank greedily from the tap and then walked on wobbly legs over to the box. Weak from two days without food, she collapsed on the carpet next to the box. Joan cringed upon reading the note; after all, her last call to finagle a night of joy with Robert Morgan had resulted in a formal invitation from him for dinner and a night at the Ritz Carlton in Miami. Resigned to more ironic twists in her life, she picked up the card and read:

Joan:

As you have no doubt determined, your requested Ponygirl adventure has begun. Please remember, I tried to warn you of the dangers of asking for a day of service as a Ponygirl. Ponygirl Heaven Ranch has agreed to let you début as a Ponygirl and work your way up to Training Mistress. Unfortunately, failure to progress through the stages prior to becoming a Mistress could result in your permanently becoming livestock at the Ranch. Beware of what you wish for.

You have choices in how you move to the next step. One choice is to package yourself as a girlcow, ready for shipment. The other is to let Ingrid and I do the job. As an incentive, I'll give you a good luck fuck if you follow the rest of the directions inside the box and then notify me via the pager.

Good luck in your adventure and I hope to greet you upon your return at the Miami airport. I'd hate to find you still at the Ranch when I pick up the other two sets of girls after their training is completed.

Love Robert

Joan sat cross-legged on the floor, her grossly swollen pussy puffed out between her legs. "Fucking thing still itches," she groaned, barely able to keep her fingers off herself. "And the heartless bastards took away the fucking stool!" She stared at the cardboard box, uncertain what to do. Finally she decided, after all, Robert would make her a slave forever if she resisted. It was too late to do other than jump in wholeheartedly.

Then she realized that during the distraction of getting ready to package herself for a trip to what might be a lifetime of slavery, she hadn't finished her recollection of how she came to be on Robert's boat and this clinic. She remembered that a good week passed before she and Robert were able to agree on a start date for her fun adventure; Joan had to clear her clinic schedule so that Robert's guest doctor could take her place. The last thing in her memory before awakening bound in a small cubbyhole on the pitching vessel was locking her clinic door about a week after her 'date' with Robert Morgan. "He must have grabbed me after I left the parking lot and used that concoction invented by my predecessor, Doctor Patricia Kay. It's a solution not unlike a 'roofie', only with added tranquilizers and muscle relaxers that produces an period of amnesia."

That mystery somewhat solved, she turned her attention to the cardboard box. It took a while to figure out what all the bondage items were for, and even longer to decide how to put them on in the correct order. Before she started binding herself, she opened a thick legal binder and read another note from Robert.

Dear Joan,

After I prepared the rest of the package, Ingrid and I realized that during your 'vacation' you will be vulnerable in a way none of us expected. As a temporary captive undergoing preliminary Ponygirl training, someone on the Ranch staff might find out who you are and be tempted to keep you forever as a means of getting to your rather substantial wealth. While I trust the staff, I have a sincere offer that will provide extra protection for yourself and your hard earned assets.

Attached are documents that complete our marriage application, our actual wedding license, letters of joint tenantship, etc. A friendly judge has already signed his portion of the legal documents and fondly remembers our private wedding service. Your signatures will give me authority to lock all your assets in place, requiring both our signatures for any disposition. Further, your signature on the prenuptial agreement protects both of us from the other stealing assets upon dissolution of the marriage.

A wedding ring is enclosed. If you wish to take my offer, sign everything as marked and put on the ring. You will be able to keep it during your training. Looking forward to making my goodbye / good luck fuck the consummation of our marriage of convenience.

This is not at trick. Helpless as you are, I could sell you off after torturing you for details on how to rob your holdings. No, Joan, this is a little insurance to protect you during training. Now if you fail, then it will be your own fault, not due to the greed of someone else.

Wishing you happiness in however this risky endeavor turns out,

Love Robert

Stunned at the revelation of yet another bizarre twist in her seemingly simple request to visit the Ponygirl Ranch, Joan tried to examine Robert's offer from all angles. "Fuck! How could I have been such a simpleton," she moaned. "He's right. I'm worth several million dollars in cash plus my business and personal property assets."

After a few more minutes of pondering she told herself, "I'm a thirty-eight year old woman. Surely they won't want me as a permanent sex slave, let alone a ranch worker; but regardless of that, I'll sign Robert's paperwork, wear the ring, and excel at the training so I can have my week as a Ponygirl Mistress." Happy to have a decision and direction to proceed, Joan quickly signed all the various legal documents and slid on the wedding ring. She admired the gleam from the rather large diamond. With a deep sigh of regret for how things were working out, she turned back to the box of bondage items.

Having figured out the necessary sequence of outfitting herself, she began by applying locking cuffs on her ankles, knees, elbows, and wrists. She then stuck a fat red ballgag in her mouth, held in place by a wide, leather head harness. Her jaws started to ache immediately. Next, she took a slender, three-foot section of rein and carefully snapped the tiny clip at one end through her tender nose ring, throwing the other end over her shoulder. A second rein followed the first, to be thrown over her opposite shoulder. Also inside the box were four two-foot spreader bars, two of which were connected by six inches of chain. Joan had figured out that those spreader bars would keep her knees and elbows wide-stretched, and the chains would hold her body in a doggie position. She groaned in dismay and started with the ankle spreader, then the knee, and finally, for now the elbow spreader bar. Having a little more difficult time maneuvering around now, she set a garage door opener mechanism below her face and picked up the glass syringe containing a clear liquid. The note around the syringe said it was a strong tranquilizer that would take about thirty minutes to put her out. The note added, "… plenty of time for a good luck fuck – your first as livestock and a newlywed." As directed in the note, Joan pinched a handful of her breastmeat with one hand and carefully injected her titty with the tranquilizer. Panting with sexual need and not wanting to loose any time, she quickly tied a blindfold over her eyes and blindly locked one wrist onto the last spreader, and finally used her nose to click the last lock in place. Blind and helpless now, she leaned her face to the carpet and keyed the garage door opener with her nose.

Robert walked into the room within a minute of Joan paging him with the remote control. She was quite a sight, her denuded cunt exposed from her forced doggie-style position. The trapped girlcow was unable to move anything except her head. Robert glanced first at her left hand to see if the wedding band was in place; it was. With a grin, Robert turned his attention to the four spreader bars, two with binding chains, that kept her tightly in place. Robert was also naked, and throbbingly erect. "This is just so fucking priceless," he chuckled to himself. He knelt beside the former doctor and gently tugged on her nose reins. A muffled grunt of pain came from the gagged livestock. "Not yet the Ponygirl I see," Robert asked Joan while running a strong hand down her almost horizontal spine. "But Little Zero," he added, "you've put your reins on wrongly." He took the free end of each rein and fed it through a small D-ring on each side of her head harness and then laid the reins across her back.

Robert knelt carefully between her spread legs, not wanting to hit a hard spreader bar with his sensitive knees, and lined up his fat cock with her swollen pussy lips. He decided to leave the reins alone for now and rubbed his plumb-sized cockhead across her pussy to get the condom more lubricated. With a grunt of effort, the head finally pushed through her swollen lips. Joan's mew of distress revealed that her abused pussy wasn't accepting his dick easily. Robert took mercy on the woman and pulled his dick out with a wet plop. He sat cross-legged behind Joan and yanked her hurting pussy back onto his face. With an enjoyable wet lick across the musky cunt, Robert delved deeply into the pussy.

Joan had heard the door open and close behind her. She blindly turned her head as if she could see the person entering. She knew it was Robert when he spoke. The hand on her sore nose reins was a surprise. Tears, caused both by pain and her body' automatic response to form teardrops when a nasal passage is disturbed, ran down her cheeks. The soothing touch down her back helped her re-center her thinking on the coming sex. "Please, please, fuck me," she chanted to herself. Then her body protested in pain as the fat cock slipped just past her abused pussy lips. "Ughhh, hut hoo hoch, hop hit, hease!" she protested in gagspeak. Her sweaty brow leaned down on the carpet as the painful pressure went away. "Hank, hoo," she mumbled in grateful response.

Abruptly, her ass was yanked back and up, onto a warm and wet mouth that began to ease her raw pussy flesh. She was pleased when his tongue moved on to flick her clit and tug on her new clit ornament. "Ummm," she moaned through her gag. One hand slid over to her tight tummy and massaged deep inside, as if he were massaging her uterus from without. That stimulation, plus the electric shocks from her clit sent her over the edge with a pussy-clenching orgasm.

Robert kept munching away at the clit while he thought, "Geez, just like I want my sluts to act; an orgasm less than two minutes into eating her out." Robert bit down and yanked the sensitive nubbin again and exclaimed aloud, "Christ, what a firecracker!" when she started to shake in a second orgasm. Deciding that the poor oversexed woman had been building up all afternoon for more orgasms, Robert took mercy and decided to speed things up. His hand not rubbing her tummy caught a goodly amount of her flowing honey and lathered up his now-dry condom. A second swipe across her wet thighs garnered more of the slimy juices. The residue from a third swipe was pushed deep within her rectum, without warning, by two fingers.

Her back arched immediately and she tried to shout, "Ho!, … Ho!, …Ho!" through her gag to stop his planned action. Robert heard her muffled attempt to halt his intended cornholing of her rectum, but her third, pussy-clenching orgasm betrayed what her body wanted. Robert set Joan back down on all four spreader bars, grabbed a slim-covered cock in one hand, momentarily speared her ass grommet with three fingers on his free hand, and buried his cock head in a synchronized rapid shift, replacing fingers with throbbing dick.

Robert arched his back as the tight, hot walls of her lower intestine yanked hard against his dick. "Eiii," he moaned, "I'm half way in. Rachel, … with this push I thee wed." He leaned forward with all his strength, tearing deep into her rectum. On his outward pull, each hand grasped a rein and quickly adjusted the tension of the leather on her nose ring. His next inward lunge was assisted by the strong tug he made on the set of reins, effectively pulling her onto his forward-thrusting dick. "Buried," he moaned aloud. "Joan, you are a gloriously tight fuck. Even after all that self abuse on the dildo stool. Yes, … the tightest thirty-eight year old whore holes I have ever imaged! That's it Little Ponygirl, fuck me back, …. harder, … harder. Yesss."

Despite his obvious pleasure, from the furious fuck, Robert survived Joan's wrenching orgasm induced by the brutal anal rape atop her humiliated state. While Joan wheezed and tried desperately to catch her breath, Robert pulled out, switched condoms, and fell into her steamy pussy. "Fuck!" he screamed, "it's like a furnace in there. Joan, you cock whore, you're still cumming. You slut, … you love this, don't you."

Joan could no longer hear his voice; drained from the massive orgasms and her inability to catch her breath, she was drifting into unconsciousness minutes before the drugs could hit her system. Robert kept pounding away at her pussy, battering into her from behind. He was unaware she was unconscious; her body remained erect only because of her stringent bondage. Afterwards, Robert had to laugh with Rachael about how he had filled his condom while fucking an inert, and totally fucked out sexbunny. "What a whore she is at heart!" Robert exclaimed to Rachael while they showered each other off.

Afterwards, over coffee, Robert told Doctor Rachael Quaid that he really thought Joan would hate the pre-Ponygirl training because of the rigorous workouts and the total lack of sex. "She's in for a rude awakening. It's all about physical strength and conditioning. Her body is a wonderful big city sextoy, but she hasn't ever hit the gym in her adult life. Her lack of endurance alone is enough to fail her initial testing. Poor slutbunny."

Joan came awake slowly. Her fuzzy brain and sluggish bodily responses told her that she had been drugged. She didn't know how she knew, just accepted it as a fact. The memories came slowly and only after she realized that her body was bound, tightly but without pain or loss of circulation. From the swaying and gentle vibration, Joan's own memories of packaging helpless young women told her she was probably in a wooden crate, locked in the back of a moving vehicle, probably a truck. Each move was answered by her own gentle swaying. Joan felt her down-hanging breasts jiggle and sway with the truck's movement. "I'm still chained in my spreader bars, … and Robert must have changed the ballgag for a whiffle ball one. Thank God! At least I can breathe." Her harnessed head turned about trying to see anything in the darkness. She wondered that her pussy and ass weren't plugged with vibrating dildos. "It's what I did to the sluts packed away to the Ponygirl Ranch. Eiii, I bet I'm wet down there. Hmmm, no way to scratch or stimulate myself. Robert, where is your cock when I need it?" Unfulfilled, Joan whimpered and moaned, trying to pass the time. Eventually, her urge to pee overcame her reluctance to make a mess and she began to empty her bladder. First a dribble, and then a deluge, hissed from between her legs. The ammonia stench of pee filled the box. Joan wrinkled her nose in disgust and tried to think of something else. Somehow, the roads' vibrations lulled her to sleep.

The next time Joan awoke, her crate wasn't vibrating. "Ohhh," she moaned. "What's next?" More hours of boredom followed. Joan was thirsty, starving, aching from her forced position, and cramping from her full bowels. "Ohhh, they never get into this part in movies. How does the heroine ever go to the bathroom? Owww!" Sweat beaded on her brow from the effort to hold her shit within her intestines. "I need a butt plug so bad," she told herself. "Eeewww," she cried as a pocket of gas noisily blew through her fluttering anal sphincter. The smell worsened in the crate. It got lots worse inside the crate as Joan's bowels emptied themselves long before Joan heard boots outside her prison.

As Joan knew from packaging sluts herself, the wooden crate was cleverly designed so that the sides simply fell away after the top was removed. She heard a ratchet wrench clicking at each corner and then bright daylight flooded in along with surprising heat. With loud bangs, the four sides fell outward, rotating down from hinges on the base plate of the crate. Sounds of disgust came from around her. Joan knew her lower legs were covered in her own dried shit and urine had soaked a heavy vinyl tray under her body. Her eyes still burned from the brilliant sunlight, leaving her blind except for moving shadows around her.

A strong masculine voice commanded, "Paula, get the hose, detergent, and a scrub brush. Clean this filthy pig off so we can grade her potential. It doesn't look good from here. Notice that the grimy cunt is packaged like a cow, it's not even set on a Ponygirl Mount."

"Boss, you're right," another male voice responded. "This one will probably grade out at way below Prime, maybe even as low as Commercial Grade. Not much use for them. That's Mexico whorehouse stock, not Ponygirl material at all."

"Well Cliff," Joan heard the 'Boss' answer, "let's read her shipping invoice and then decide after all the manure by her feet is cleared away."

Doctor Joan Miller, the formerly successful thirty-eight-year-old Miami Beach doctor cringed at their statements. "I'm gorgeous. I know it!" she told herself fiercely. "They'll see once I'm cleaned up."

A jet of seemingly ice cold water drilled into her side. After a moment, the spray was adjusted to more gently sluice off the filth. Joan sputtered as the water soaked through the openings in her whiffle ball gag. She groaned as a set of strong, calloused hands ran sponges full of a soapy mixture cleaned her body. Her still-sore boobs ached as the sponges cleaned her belly and moved down to her crusty sex and anus. A female voice spoke up from inches away from her shoulder, "Cliff, this cow isn't even housebroke yet. I've never seen one show up so filthy."

"OK, Paula," the Head Trainer responded, "according to the shipping invoice, this little cow had quite a sendoff. Get this, … in the comment section her 'Husband' says he gave her a real nice going away party after their 'wedding' when he had her modified for Light Ponygirl activity. She packaged herself, even administering the animal tranquilizer herself. What a brainless twit. She's still wearing her brand new wedding ring."

Paula ran a final drying swipe across her body with a coarse towel and grabbed a hanging tit. "Christ, Cliff," she exclaimed in disgust, "this is an old whore. I'll bet she's almost forty. What rich moron marries a used up bitch like this and then pays for Ponygirl training. We could have processed any choice he wanted into a combination Trophy Wife and Ponygirl. Your most stringent obedience classes are world renowned, Cliff. What a mistake this is!"

Joan arched her back in pain as a hand started to burrow into her cunt. Another hand clipped a chain to her nose ring and yanked her head back hard, raising her dazed eyes to look at the noon desert sun. She grunted through her gag in pain. Hands squeezed, pulled, pinched, and slapped at different parts of her body. Finally, it was over. Her three tormentors stepped away to discuss Joan like she was truly livestock.

"Well what do you think?" Marshall Thompson asked his Chief Trainer and Head Groom.

Cliff responded, "She'll never pass the Ponygirl physical entry exam. I vote she goes right now into an enforced training cycle."

Paula put in opinion, "Her muscles are slack. She's never run in her life. It'll be months before she's ready to pull a surrey. My vote, … tell her owner to cut his losses, … sell her to a bordello south of the border."

Joan grunted in protest and squirmed in her bonds. The three trainers of Ponygirls looked down with disgust at her.

Marshall decided, "Paula, put the bimbo in a straw stall. In the morning, explain her situation and give her the physical tests. She'll probably fail; if so, then we'll talk about how to deal with her. At least the brainless bitch will decide her own fate. Can you imagine being so stupid that you'd volunteer to come here as livestock. Christ!"

Hours later, Joan shivered in the cool desert evening. She was very uncomfortable, unable to burrow deeper into the scratchy straw animal bedding in her stall. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and the black whiffle ball gag was still in place. The heavy steel chain anchored to the wall ended at a clip attached to her tongue ring. Joan was uncertain what was causing her the most discomfort, the chain pulling heavily upon her tongue or the evening's deepening chill.

Paula Laturno took her steaming mug of coffee out to her small cabin's veranda and standing at the railing, admired the pre-dawn stars of the Arizona sky. "Hmmm," she said contentedly. "What a great place this is. The sky is clear year round." She sat down and thought about her coming morning. As Head Groom, one of her responsibilities was administering any required physical testing on the Ponygirls and Candidate Ponygirls. She was already certain that the newest 'cow' would have to go through remedial training. "First thing is the distance run. We'll start six miles from the Ranch and the 'cow' will be herded back to the corral which marks the end of a six-mile gallop." Paula smiled thinking about how she would be whipping the poorly trained 'cow' to keep her moving. "Even knowing its fate for failure, the 'cow' will never make it back at the required eight minute per mile pace," she thought. "Shit, and that means so much extra work for me. Remedial training comes before even manure cart duty. At least the last four sluts we got were in good physical condition." Then Paula took another sip of coffee and realized, "Whoa! If she utterly fails her running test in the morning, then we can sell her off to a Mexican counterpart. That's a much better use for her and won't waste our time. Yes!"

A groan of pain from within her cabin distracted Paula from thoughts of her upcoming day. With a grin, Paula forgot about how much work the coming day would bring and turned to look at her toy for the night. As she normally did when her charges became better trained in their role as Ponygirls, she had taken Ponygirl Number One as a play toy for the night. Given her crime of attempted murder, Paula was freer in her bondage play with her than with other livestock at Ponygirl Heaven. She looked down and admired the animal's fine figure. A blonde, the slim woman now had nearly no body fat left. Paula had pulled the woman backward across a leather cushion designed to support only the back of a victim. One's hands were bound tightly behind her head and her feet were bent under her ass with each knee tied off, far apart, at the cushion's edge. Her muscles were stretched taut from her bondage and her strength was revealed by the ropy nature of her muscles. Paula ran a calloused hand across the tight belly and watched the muscles twitch in response to the caress. "Yes, you are a receptive little slut now, aren't you?"

Anna Sawyer was unable to respond in any way. In addition to her other bondage, the inflatable penis gag in her mouth kept her silent and the silk blindfold kept her eyes unable to communicate. Anna's lower legs had been numb for hours due to their 'folded under' position. She only hoped that her leg muscles loosened enough for her morning run. Cliff, her Chief Trainer had already told her that she would be pulling the surrey that would take the new meat out into the desert for her running test. Anna knew from experience that she would have to run out the six miles pulling Paula the Head Groom as well as the new slave and then return at a pace that equaled the new slave's running pace. She hoped the new meat couldn't run well. Anna also hoped that her sister was there to help pull the heavy load. "Two," she thought with a choking sob as her sister's new name rang through her head, "they've named us for numbers. Oh, God help us."

While Anna was lamenting the predicament of the Sawyer girls, Paula was yanking the last strap into place of her favorite 'Bitch Buster' strap-on dildo. The fat cock waving from her pubic mound was a parody of a man's dick. It was huge, at least as fat as a soda can, and long, the curved length easily was fourteen inches long. Paula leaned down, set the fat knob at the end of the beastly giant against Anna's slick pussy, let the air out of the inflatable ballgag, and yanked it out just as she sunk the baseball bat-sized cock into Anna's tight pussy. Howls of pain echoed eerily through the dark Arizona Ranch. Paula grinned, the shrieks of pain only spurred her rapidly fucking hips to a faster pace. "Oh, yes!" she cried as her fake cock bottomed out against the Ponygirl's cervix and Paula's clit was stimulated by her end of the dildo, "what a fucking life! What a fucking life!"

The sun was still just below the mountains far away. Joan Miller looked about her and saw only unending desert wilderness about her. A woman stood nearby, critically examining her after readying her gear for the upcoming physical challenge. Joan shivered in the cool pre-dawn and stamped her feet. "At least they gave me good footwear," she consoled herself. "That and a jogging bra," she added. Otherwise, Joan was mostly naked. She was already learning not to be so self conscious of her nudity. She stood easily, knowing her pussy lips and her clit ring were open for viewing between the cleft of her legs. Joan flexed her fingers and wondered how she would run with her wrists loosely chained across her tummy and her elbows tightly held against her leather waist belt. Joan had just finished her own stretching exercises and was as ready as she could be. A streak of fire lanced across her buttocks and Joan quickly swiveled her head to give attention to her Groom.

"Final reminder, cunt!" Paula Laturno hissed at her charge. "The path is easy to follow and it leads straight back to Ponygirl Heaven. Try to run away, and you become permanently classified as livestock! The run is exactly six miles and there are monuments along the way that count down the miles. The test ends when you enter the first corral you encounter by the Ranch House. I will follow you to provide encouragement; trust me, you will need it. It's only six, eight-minute miles. If you fail, you get punished and then you begin forced remedial training. That's a long way from qualification as a Ponygirl. A last warning; too slow a pace may result in your evaluation as completely unacceptable as potential stock. If that occurs, you will be disposed of in the most profitable manner. We hold quarterly reject stock auctions for just that reason."

Becky Sawyer, Ponygirl Number Two, listened dispassionately to the exchange between her Groom and the new bitch. Becky was only focused on preparing herself for the run home. She was thankful for the respite during the bitch's loosening up exercises so she could catch her breath. "Today is the first time I've run with two sets of Ponygirls in harness. Fuck, that Paula made us run so fast. With four of us, the load was easy, but it was the pace that was hard."

Anna and Becky Sawyer, the blonde Ponygirls were harnessed in the lead positions. Their long Mohawk-style manes waved colorfully about above their heads. Still without traditional bits and bridles, each had a thin set of reins attached to their nose rings. Anna tossed her head to clear away an annoying fly and stamped her feet to keep her muscles loose for the return run.

Behind ponies One and Two, Lisa and Lori Heath were harnessed in an identical manner. However, the brunettes were still breathing hard. Unlike the older two Ponygirls, One and Two, Lisa and Lori had undergone only half the training and strength building exercises of the lead Ponygirls. Three and Four's asses and flanks were streaked with numerous whip marks that reflected Paula's displeasure at their inability to maintain the pace and failure to keep their footwork in precision time with the lead Ponygirls. Like One and Two, the brunette manes were still perfectly coiffured, even after the strenuous six-mile desert run.

Joan took her final moment of quiet time to twist her neck down to get to the water nipple of the hydrator strapped to her back. She wasn't yet used to the metallic taste of the electrolyte-laden water but thought, "At least they gave me plenty of water for the run. Concentrate, Joan. You can do it."

With a loud crack, the carriage whip flashed near Joan's shoulder and Paula yelled, "Hiiyah! Run, bitch, run!" Joan immediately began to run; slowly at first to gain her balance and establish her momentum, and then faster as she sought a pace that felt comfortable.

Paula looked on with an approving glance at the cowgirl's starting effort, it showed a lot of spirit. Despite the strong start and the rapidly increasing distance between them, she knew from the jiggle of the slim woman's enticing ass and upper thighs that there wasn't enough muscle tone there for her to make it back to Ponygirl Heaven at any decent pace. "She'll crap out in about three miles." Paula hated the thought of the extra work necessitated by the cowgirl's coming failure. She loved working with the Ponygirls themselves, especially the amusing bonuses she got from playing with the livestock, but felt running the remedial training and manure cart cattle was demeaning to her status. With a shrug, she stepped up into her surrey, balancing herself with long practice as the springs threw the box seat over to the side from her weight before she set herself in the middle of the bench seat. It took only a single snap of her long carriage whip to get her two matched sets of Ponygirls started forward. "My Ponies will get a little rest on the way back," she thought, "after all, it's a slow, eight-minute mile pace. They came out here at six-minute miles." Paula took their smooth performance as a direct reflection of her own skillful training. She knew that she, herself, could never manage the grueling training and endurance required of her mounts. "It doesn't make a tinker's damn," she thought with a slightly arrogant shrug, "since I'm a Mistress, not a slave."

Joan ran valiantly, knowing full-well that failure meant horrible conditions for her. She saw a squat concrete marker ahead with the Roman Numeral V on it. "One mile finished!" she thought with satisfaction. The burning stitch in her ribs told her that her breathing was wrong. "Being a doctor might help me out even if I'm not a runner," she spoke aloud in halting, gasping breaths. "Gotta get my breathing right." Her newly enhanced full C cups bounced distractingly inside her tight sports bra. She thought of the Ponygirls' half bustiers that lifted up their breasts while exposing the entire upper half of their breast meat and their golden nipple rings. "Stop thinking of sex," she gasped aloud, "focus or you stay a cow." Joan deliberately began to hold in her breath for measured paces and then let it out. The cramps in her side slowly subsided and she soon felt good enough to pick up the pace.

The four Ponygirls' hopes of an easy lope back to Ponygirl Heaven were quickly dashed when Paula decided to use the event for sprint practice. After a few hundred yards, the snapping carriage whip above their heads spurred them to speed up their pace. Soon, the four were pulling the thundering surrey along the hard desert trail at a five-minute mile pace. Lisa heard her own breath rasp even louder than her three companions as the cool, dry air sucked the moisture from her heaving lungs. She momentarily fought her reins to snatch a quick drink from her hydration nipple before looking forward at a smoothly moving set of haunches and ass in front of her. Lisa and Lori were harnessed too close to see the blurring white running shoes of the Ponies in front. They had learned to focus on the moving shoulders and elbows ahead of them to determine the pace. To fall could mean death under the spinning tires behind her. To wreck the surrey and survive was an unthinkable thing. Lisa shuddered at the thought of the potential punishments for crashing the surrey and then brought her full attention to maintaining perfect precision. A shouted, "Good! Keep pace, bitches! Good job!" brought a reluctant smile of satisfaction. All four Ponygirls had been trained to think only of training, speed, precision, rest, and most important of all, pleasing the Grooms and Trainers.

Only Anna and Becky saw that they were quickly overtaking their seemingly slow moving quarry. Anna grimly realized how strong she had become as each long stride closed the gap. When they pulled even, only Becky in the right hand, number two position saw the blur of the whip as it flew beside her to strike the running woman's glistening thigh. All heard the gleefully shouted, "Hiiyah, cunt! Nice running. Keep the pace and survive!" Having caught up, Paula brought the racing Ponygirls down to a steadily slower pace until the new bitch once again pulled far ahead.

Joan felt exhilaration as the Groom shouted that she was doing well, making the painful whip burn across her upper thigh almost worth it had the tip not curled around to nearly kiss her hairless mound. Both acts encouraged Joan to maintain her punishing pace. Through blurry eyes, she saw another marker ahead, it was the III mile mark. "Three miles," she gasped aloud, "I've actually run three miles. That's the farthest distance I've gone in my entire life." Then a bit of uncertainty struck her, "What the hell is a thirty-eight year old doctor doing running half naked across the desert. You stupid bitch!"

Steeling herself, Joan deliberately managed her breathing, her pace, and also maintained careful consideration of her heartbeat. She remembered that Robert had told her that she could only pass these tests if she mentally accepted that defeat was impossible. "Non-athletes quit demanding events well before they are half worn down. It's a simple matter of 'knowing' you can do something." Joan knew with steely certainty that she could do this, having defeated adversity her entire life. The four mile mark was just coming into sight.

Anna and Becky were chaffing at their current slow pace and Paula was especially pleased with their brilliant responsiveness and energy level. She could feel their impatience in her reins. On the other hand, the two youngest cunts she was driving, III and IV, were barely maintaining pace. Carefully aiming with her whip, she slashed each of the brunettes twice across their tight asses, leaving a perfect 'X' across the twin cheeks of each. The intersection of the 'X' was invisible, as it was flawlessly centered over the crease in their bouncing asses. Paula grinned at the increased energy her second set of Ponies instantly exhibited. She rose to a crouch that negated the surrey's bouncing and quickly struck a series of whip cracks over her girls' heads. "Hiiyah! Hiiyah!" The Ponygirls increased pace so quickly, Paula was thrown back to her seat. The surrey once again thundered down the trail, closing quickly on the doctor, a wildly grinning Head Groom handling the four sets of reins.

Joan maintained what she considered a blistering pace, rapidly overtaking the 'II' mile marker. Her satisfaction at her continued pace was offset by the increasing pain from her ribcage and thighs. "My muscles are burning with pain. Is it too much Lactic Acid?" Her doctor's brain tried to figure a way to continue. Sadly, she realized that despite her determination, she might not have enough endurance to end the race on time. Feeling a little slower in her pace, Joan grimly picked up the pace again. "I must still be on time because Paula hasn't said anything about failing yet. You can do it, Joan!"

This time Paula kept up her Ponies' maximum pace as she blew by the would-be-Ponygirl. As she roared by, she let fly a punishing blow across the small of Joan's back and again screamed words of encouragement. Paula then snapped her whip above the bobbing crescents of the Mohawk haircuts, maintaining the blistering pace well beyond Joan. She intended to keep the sprint for another half-mile then turn to zip back toward her runner. The surrey's wheels skidded in a tight circle at mile marker 'I', only one mile from Ponygirl Heaven. At least a half-mile back, Paula could see the steadily plodding cunt still running, having passed four and a half miles of her race. "My judgment must be slipping," she thought, "She's almost to the five mile mark. The bitch is made of sterner stuff than I thought." A quick glance at her own livestock verified that they were covered in rivulets of dust-coated sweat and their considerable bosoms heaved with the effort to catch their breathes. Deciding to continue pushing her charges, she once again brought the surrey to it's fastest pace. In the now near distance, Paula saw her candidate collapse forward while still running at her speedy pace. "She's down, poor cow," Paula lamented.

Paula Laturno leapt off her surrey without setting the brake and ran over to check on her livestock lying in the middle of the dusty trail. Her cow was lying atop a huge puddle of her own vomit and her quivering muscles made Paula fear shock or sunstroke. She quickly clipped a lead line onto the dry-heaving cow's nose ring and dragged her back to the surrey with hands under her armpits. Paula heaved her stinking charge behind the surrey seat and tied off her head by the lead line connected to her septum. A quick wrapping of a handy rawhide strap from her pocket around Joan's ankles ended any chance of her struggling free. With a last grimace at the disgusting mess, Paula once again hopped onto her surrey and signaled a more reasonable return pace to Ponygirl Heaven.

Once back at the Ranch, Paula unceremoniously dumped Joan onto the hard-packed desert soil beside the central corral and ignored her completely after ensuring that she was still breathing. Instead, Paula took care of her steeds and began the ritual of unbuckling the harnesses of each Ponygirl and moving them under a heavy timber beam running high overhead a concrete grooming pad. Each Ponygirl's septum ring was snapped to a chain hanging down, every six feet or so, forming an alluring line of fully naked, huge-titted Ponygirls. Each girl's only bondage was the ever-present waist belt with attaching cuffs holding their elbows tightly against their sides.

As the lead girls performed best, that's where Paula started. She filled a bucket with cool water from a yard hydrant and began sponging the totally naked Anna down, beginning with her face and neck. Paula lingered with the sponge under Anna's full tits, enjoying the size and heft of the large meaty mounds. She dipped the sponge back into the bucket and used the water to sluice off dirt all the way down to her pussy. Paula used her fingers to test the heat of her charge. Having long since progressed beyond needing a gag or control collar, Anna knew not to speak back to her betters. She did grunt her approval at the motion of the questing fingers.

Paula looked up at Anna from her kneeling position and looked at the face framed above her between the big, jutting titties. "Well, my Ponygirl, did you enjoy my attentions last night?"

Anna looked down with big expressive eyes and meekly nodded. Internally, she was miserable at her new position in life, remembering how far she had fallen since she had been on the verge of attaining wealth by bilking millions of dollars from her fiancé, Joseph Loftus. At thirty-one, she was strong and shapely. "Oh, my cunt still hurts so bad," she lamented. "She fucked me for hours. God, it was awful, her sweaty tits rubbing across mine while her hips pushed that gigantic cock in me. And, … my back was nearly ruined by that awful position over the leather cushion."

Paula grinned at the Ponygirl's conflicting emotions. She slid a strong hand up the rock-hard haunches of her Ponygirl and slipped the tips of three fingers into the pussy at her eye level. The clit ring danced around as the labia below were manipulated by her exploring fingers. Freezing her fingers in place, Paula looked up slyly to Anna and asked, "Hmmm, looks lovely, 'One'. Who should I pick to play with tonight, you or your sister?"

"Mme, Mistress," Anna answered the direct question with some reluctance. "Pplease play with me, Mistress."

Paula smiled and shoved her hand up hard, burying all three fingers to the hilt in the moist pussy.

Anna arched her head back at the sudden intrusion and winched at the pinching pain of the penetration. Her inadvertent grunt of displeasure excited Paula. At Ponygirl Heaven, the staff knew little of the past lives of their charges unless it was something deemed important. However, everyone knew that 'One' and 'Two' were converted to livestock because of a plot to murder a fiancé and that 'Three' and 'Four' had committed their own grandfather to a tortured death at an insane asylum. Those facts made all four of the Ponygirls a target for some careful abuse. As a professional, Paula loved being able to take advantage of the sluts but knew to temper her abuse to not interfere with training or progress. If staff unwittingly injured a Ponygirl, they were held accountable at a formal inquiry.

Paula left 'One' panting from a combination of fear as well as horror at the lust she was unwillingly susceptible to. She turned her attention to the older sister. A lifelong lesbian, Paula, was able to appreciate the thirty-seven-year-old's luscious body. Her soapy hands lovingly cleaned Becky's face and neck.

'Two' closed her eyes to protect herself from the stinging foam and stood meekly in place. Slightly disoriented from closing her eyes, she danced on tiptoes around her upright nose to keep her balance. She winced slightly when the questing soapy sponge and hands caressed her enhanced breasts. Her face and scalp still soapy, she kept her eyes tightly closed while the Groom's fingers pinched and pulled at her labia and clit ring. "She works me hard all day and then takes me at least once a week to play with," she thought as her lust level rose," she thought lustily. "I'd like a comfortable night in bed with a lover," she added, "rather than being bound all night."

Paula roughly toweled off her muscular lead Ponies and led them away from the remaining grim-covered set of Ponygirls. She whistled as she walked toward her cabin. "These two are deserving of a rest in my bedroom," she thought with a grin. Moments later, she admired the first of the two women bound atop her bed. 'One' lay on her back with her lower legs hanging over the bottom edge of her bed. Her thighs were stretched wide apart by cuffs and chains leading from her knees to the stout bedposts and 'One's arms were similarly attached to the headboards timber posts. Paula left 'Two' kneeling on the floor and climbed onto the bed. She grabbed one full breast and squeezed it hard while her hand brought a tit clip and chain to that tit's nipple ring. She threw the long chain to the side, and picked up a very short clip. She placed it onto the passive woman's clit ring. Anna prepared, she turned her attention to her twin.

'Two' stood up placidly while a similar clip and chain were attached to one of the full breasts so identical to those of her sister. The simple clip was then attached to her clit ring. Paula tugged Becky onto the bed and directed her to place her tongue against her sister's clit. Clits and tongues were quickly attached. The chain from Anna's breast was easy to route over her sister's back and then tightly adjusted to Anna's other nipple ring. Paula had to struggle to get the chain from Becky's breast under Anna's body due to the weight of both girls. Soon enough, both girls were helplessly attached together, tongues to clits.

Paula stood up and stretched kinks out of her back. To make sure her victims couldn't escape from their reward session, she went to the corner of the room and pulled two long chains toward the bed. Two padlocks and each woman had an end of the chain looped around their necks and locked securely in place. Paula put a hand on Becky's head and the other on her ass. She pushed both down toward Anna underneath and commanded, "I've got two video cameras running, you better each eat nonstop until I return. Enjoy the nice clean pussy of your sister. Be thankful you aren't the two slacker bitches. Just before she left the room, Paula threw a light blanket over the twins to protect them from the air conditioner's chilly air.

Becky hadn't been this close to her sister since arriving at the camp. She knew not to attempt to communicate; the known cameras' presence wasn't the deterrent, it was the training. She hunched forward to get her mouth over Anna's entire pussy. She sucked hard, winching at the momentary sound of broken vacuum slurping, and tasted her sister's sweet nectar. At the same time, she arched her own hips down, smothering Anna with her musky scent. The pull on her own clit sent electric rushes threw her pussy and up her spine. She moaned and sucked harder on Anna's pussy. "She's sure getting wet fast," Becky observed with joy as her hips ground down on her sister's tongue and lips. The joyful thought was due to her success at getting a target to cum. Her new role as trained Ponygirl included following orders in any sexual situation. In this case, her sister was no different than any other sexual organ she was ordered to satisfy. No shame was generated at her realized conversion to fulltime slut and sextoy. "Course, Anna was always the whore, an easy fuck by any guy that wanted a piece."

Anna was surprised that her sister attacked her pussy with such abandon. "She's nearly the slut that I was before this started," she wondered. "How could they make her so easy and compliant?" she wondered as she applied her own sexual skills to Becky's already drooling cunt above her face. Becky's jerking motion almost pulled her tongue out as Anna counted the first of her sister's orgasms. "What a slut!" she thought before she added, "guess she's the same as me now." Finished reflecting things, she focused entirely upon drawing more orgasms from the meaty pussy covered in secretions of lust.

Paula returned to the grooming pad and stood silently, surveying her other team of Ponygirls. It was time to figure out how to punish them and reinforce the need for more than one hundred percent effort.

Cliff Burns walked up beside her and looked at the hanging set of Ponyflesh. "Well, Paula, how did everything go today?" he asked pleasantly.

Paula turned to her boss and rival and archly responded, "How do you expect? I trained them, they did superbly."

Cliff's voice changed from pleasant to harsh as he answered with a growl, "Look Groom, you are a fantastic groom and trainer. You have a real knack for working the livestock. Don't blow it by letting your dislike of me ruin things for you. I've told you I'm sorry for hitting on you. I respect your sexual tendencies, hell; we have to in this business. It's the one lesson you haven't yet learned."

Paula watched Cliff walk away and thought how he really didn't get it. "I'm better than you and will get your job. It's only a matter of time," she muttered.

Unknown to either employee, Marshall Thompson, owner of Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, watched the brief exchange between Cliff and Paula on one of twenty video monitors on the wall facing his desk. He had zoomed in on that camera feed by copying it to a fifty-five-inch monitor nested in the middle of the wall. The crystal clear audio feed and the video made it as if he was beside the two ranch workers. Up until that particular exchange, he hadn't been able to determine which employee was at fault. He trusted both, but realized that one might have been lacking in some trait needed for continued employment. Paula's muttered comment told him she was harboring unprofitable visions of advancement. Marshall leaned forward and rested his head on his steepled fingers. He had to figure out what to do about the unseemly rivalry before something occurred that damaged a Pony or risked his trusted status as a dependable trainer of unwilling and willing Pony flesh.

Paula walked up to stand between 'Three' and 'Four'. "I'm disappointed in you two," she thundered in apparent anger. "You each slacked off when you had plenty of energy to do your share." She tapped her right cowboy boot against the ground in frustration, "Tonight, you two get a taste of what happens to unqualified weak pussies." Then she added, "After an appropriate whipping of course!"

Paula drew her arm back and struck forcefully against the nearest grime-coated woman. She smiled at the instant reaction and turned to strike the sister. A rush of adrenaline from her powerful role with these subservient women made her feel momentarily weak at the knees. As her charges spun slowly on their tiptoes trying to keep their balance, Paula thought, "Yep, this is the life. Soon I'll get Cliff's job and it'll be even better. Yes, life is fucking great!"

--- To Be Continued ---

Chapter 05 – Punishment and Humiliation (or A Role Reversal)

Cliff Burns, Chief Trainer at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, and his Head Groom, Paula Laturno, had just exchanged words in a brief, hostile conversation. Paula, harboring a desire to take her boss' job, had responded in a bitchy manner to Cliff's attempt to find out how the morning's Ponygirl training session and the test of a Ponygirl Candidate had gone. Unknown to either employee, Marshall Thompson, owner of Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, watched the brief exchange between Cliff and Paula on a video monitor system in his office. The crystal clear audio and video feed let him witness the exchange as if he stood beside the two. He had noticed a tension between his two key employees and wanted to determine the specific cause. Paula's muttered comment about taking Cliff's job told him she was harboring unprofitable visions of advancement. While trying to decide what to do to defuse the situation, he saw Paula ready herself to punish her slowest team of girls.

Half-paying attention, Marshall watched Paula walk up to stand between 'Three' and 'Four'. "I'm disappointed in you two," she thundered in apparent anger. "You each slacked off when you had plenty of energy to do your share." After a pause, she added, "Tonight, you two get a taste of what happens to unqualified weak pussies." Then she added, "After an appropriate whipping of course!"

Paula drew her arm back and struck forcefully against the nearest grime-coated woman. As her charges spun slowly,

Marshall saw Paula draw her arm back and forcefully strike the nearest grime-coated woman. As she turned to strike the sister, Marshall's leather chair thumped against the office wall as he launched himself out of his seat. Cursing, he ran to the stairs and charged down, heading for the yard.

The two Ponygirls were gurgling in pain as they danced around on their tiptoes, dangling from their grossly extended tongues while being whipped. Paula Laturno drew her arm back to swing again when it felt as if a mountain struck her from behind. Marshall rolled Paula over and struck her on the chin, hard. While her head lulled back, he quickly pulled leather straps from his rear pocket and speedily captured his Head Groom in a vicious hogtie. He ran over to the reeling women and quickly unbuckled their tongue clips and eased the gagging and gasping women to the ground. Then, he ran to a nearby tack box and grabbed the largest red rubber ballgag he could find. He jammed it into Paula's mouth, tightened the head straps, and left her on the dirt. Marshall reached back with his dominant hand and swept his sheath knife from his belt. Short, curved, and devilishly sharp, the skinning knife doubled as Marshall's disrobing knife. He started at the cuffs of her black jeans and swept the knife up her leg, cutting through the thick material with a soft slithering sound. He had no compunction about stripping his worker. "Soon she'll be either gone from here, fired, or starting her punishment," he muttered.

Marshall pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed his Chief Trainer. "Cliff, it's Marshall. Come over to the grooming pad. We've had a problem with Paula Laturno. I need you to put away the brunettes; they're loose right now, … check out their tongues to be sure they weren't yanked out. I'll take care of Paula. We'll meet later and talk it all through." He spun around and loudly commanded, "You too sluts, stay put. Move one foot and you're dog meat."

He leaned down and easily hefted the slightly chunky Groom by the tie holding her wrists and ankles together. Carrying her like baggage, her sensitive breast meat dragging across the rough yard, he dragged the woman back to just below a hanging pulley above the grooming pad. Marshall manhandled the woman to an upright position and tied the hanging blue rope off to a top-mounted ring on Paula's facial gag harness. He let loose her weight and cut the helpless woman's wrist ties and secured them with more nylon rope, forcing her arms into a fully outstretched position. Marshall picked up several sections of coarse hay baling twine and proceeded to wrap the line around the base of her fat tits. He watched them start to swell and redden with the first complete wrap. When her tits were fully bound, a long section of the twine hung from the area between her breasts. Marshall took this free end and ran it between her sensitive cunt lips, up between the cheeks of her ass, and tied off the line on the back of her bondage collar.

The rancher dealt with her legs in a manner similar to her arms. He wrapped the blue line around her ankles and then pulled each leg outward before tying off the twin.

Since Paula's cabin was the closest building to the grooming pad, Marshall ran over to her bungalow where he raided Paula's closet of bondage gear. He stopped cold at the sight of two trapped blondes noisily eating each other out on Paula's king-size bed. He grinned at their predicament but kept focused on his task.

Back at the grooming pad, Marshall attached a dog leash to a 'D' ring on each side of the bound woman's neck and tied it to a rail behind the hanging carcass. He saw that Paula's wrists were already turning blue from the tightly wrapped nylon lines. Awake now, Paula was weakly struggling to get free. Grimly, he yanked on the leash holding her head back and then stood back to survey her bound form. The Head Groom was now tied fully spread-eagle and accessible for whatever punishment the rancher decreed.

Marshall ran a gloved hand across the somewhat fleshy ass and watched the woman twitch in response to the caress. He drew his arm back and let fly with a vicious swipe at her belly with a two-foot long riding crop. She jerked about and mewed in pain.

"Paula, you've let your anger at Cliff get in the way of your job. You've risked your charges with your stupidity. You have a one-time choice here: to continue working in your chosen career, or retire. Which do you choose? Nod to take a punishment and keep working, shake your head to retire."

Paula loved her job too much to retire. Further, she was sure each choice was fraught with danger. "Retirement under such circumstances might be final," she thought. Nonetheless, she vigorously nodded her head up and down to indicate her choice of punishment and continued employment.

That decision made, Marshall leaned down and commanded, "Don't talk to me cunt. You risked our Ponygirls by acting unthinkingly; all because you were too focused on some kind of revenge against Cliff. A mistake I can work with, … but I can't allow any distractions here while training the livestock. Resist what I'm going to do and I might beat you to death!" He popped out the red ballgag and slipped in an adjustable ringgag with its own teeth mounting depressions. Without any remorse, he cranked the gag tight, yanking her jaws wide open.

Marshall threw Paula belly-down upon her own leather ottoman he had brought from her cabin and thrown on the concrete grooming pad. He pulled his razor-sharp knife again from his belt sheath and sliced through the ties holding the woman's wrists and ankles outstretched. Her bound legs flopped lifelessly down to strike the floor. Paula's belly was dragged to the edge of the ottoman and Marshall quickly wrapped leather thongs around each knee and then stretched each widely apart to the short fat legs at that end of the ottoman. Marshall sat down on her back and strapped a wide leather collar around her neck. He attached another dog leash to the one already clipped to a 'D' ring on her tall collar and tied the two ends off to opposite corners of the ottoman.

Paula's struggled weakly as if to test the limits of her bonds. Grimly Marshall tightened the two leashes holding her head and then stood up to survey her bound form. The Head Groom was now tied down, fully naked on her own ottoman, fleshy ass presented openly for fucking.

Moments later, Paula and her ottoman sat atop a skid plate beside the grooming pad. Marshall threw a bag of equipment down beside her along with her doormat from the cabin and picked up the towrope. His muscles swelled as he put his weight into towing his victim. "It's been years since I had to do something this drastic," he thought. "What a waste of time and energy. Paula, you should have kept your head in the game," he complained aloud.

Once the skid plate was in the middle of a small stallion-holding corral, Marshall dropped the towrope and approached the bound woman. He threw Paula's welcome mat across her back, examined how it sat, and rotated it till it read 'Welcome' while looking at her back from the ass end. He tugged one end down to the small of her back and reached down for a handful of galvanized roofing nails. One by one, he drove a series of the fat-headed nails across each of the mat's sides, tightly securing the thick mat over her back. Marshall picked up a length of chain and set a lag screw through the free end. Twisting a ratchet wrench, he drove the lag screw into the ottoman's side just below a black-jean-clad thigh. A few minutes of clicking and a similar chain was secured in the wooden frame below her other thigh. Marshall carefully fed the chains up under the thighs above the lag screws and then routed them up over her back to meet at a point one foot behind Paula's neck. He slipped a snaplink through the junction point and used boltcutters to snap off the unneeded links from one chain. Marshall tugged the chains and was satisfied that they met equidistant from the lag-bolt-secured ends. The single remaining section of chain was wrapped around Paula's head and fed behind the ringgag holding her mouth open. Once through, the chain was pulled tight, yanking Paula's head painfully back and embedding the chainlinks in the corners of her yawing mouth, distorting her cheeks. Marshall pulled back tightly once again and slipped the appropriate chain link through the snaplink already in place at the junction behind Paula's head.

Stepping back to appraise Paula's position, Marshall saw his former Head Groom tightly secured doggie style over her ottoman with a welcome mat over her back and a chain tightly holding her head back in a punishing angle. The woman's ass was presented in a perfect fashion for sex, her exposed twat easily accessible for mounting. Marshall ran his gloved fingers through her puffy pussy gash. Marshall had no desire to fuck his lesbian Groom. But he had to start her punishment somewhere. "Paula," he declared, "ten slices of the cane across your ass will start your path to a return as my employee."

"Unghh! Unghh!" Paula tried to talk through her double gag of chain and ringgag.

The rattan cane in Marshall's two hands sliced through the air with a hiss and a meaty sound of impact followed. Paula's, "Eiiiii," of pain was recognizable even through her gags.

"One," was Marshall's dispassionate comment following the slash. The cane once again sliced through the air. Paula's shrieks of pain continued. Marshall surveyed his work. He was certain that under her black Jeans her ass had heavy welts already forming. Two of his strokes had crossed her open crotch and one pussy lip was bleeding, the rest so swollen that the lips had joined in a single puffy mass. He swung his last stroke hard against her lower thighs. "Ten," he counted and threw the cane aside.

Marshall pulled Paula's 'Bitch Buster' strap-on dildo from the bag of toys borrowed from her closet. Marshall had to crouch down to align the fat cock with her narrow slit. The grossly swollen flesh was almost impossible to separate for the cock's head to center itself. The huge, soda can-sized beast dwarfed the slim woman's cunt. He leaned down, setting the fat mushroom-shaped head against her dry gash. Marshall pulled back an inch and squeezed a thin line of sex lube down the fourteen-inch length and onto the inner edge of her pussy lips. Paula's ass started to wriggle desperately about, trying to evade what she thought was Marshall's cock. He reset the head against her cunt and leaned down. The blunt end of the beastly giant sunk relentlessly into Paula's dry cunt and her grunts of pain through her gaping mouth sounded similar to a squealing pig. Marshall marveled that her tiny cunt could stretch so easily to accommodate the baseball bat-sized cock without splitting her wide open. He bumped into the bottom of her fuck hole and then swiveled the mammoth cock around, stirring the depths of her pussy. Muffled howls of pain came faintly from her head. Marshall started pumping the eternally stiff monster into her abused cunt, faster and faster. Her grunts, squeals, and yowls of pain remained constant. He grinned at the animalistic sounds coming from her mouth. "It is perfect, given what will happen next," he said aloud.

Finally, after Paula slumped weakly on her ottoman, Marshall pulled the cock free of her cunt with a long slurping, sucking sound. Her cunt remained open by inches, too stretched out to retain its elasticity. Marshall reached behind him for a squirt bottle taken from Paula's closet and slipped half its length inside the cavern without touching the sides. He gave the bottle two strong squeezes and then jammed the fake cock back inside. The effect was electrifying, Paula immediately came to life and began wriggling about like a snake trapped on a sizzling grate. "Guess her hot chili paste does work wonders on a pussy needing punishment." The wildly spasming muscles about her cunt made the long strap-on embedded in her abused pussy dance about. Marshall left to get a bottle of beer from the nearest refrigerator.

Marshall strolled through Paula Laturo's cabin, sipping her beer. The ice-cold Tecate Beer hit the spot. He was curious about how the blonde Ponygirls were doing and walked into Paula's bedroom. The smell of hot pussy was overpowering in the enclosed space. Marshall set his beer bottle down on the floor and pulled off one of his cowboy boots. "I don't use these cunts much," he thought, "but I think I've deserved it tonight." He clambered up onto the bed at the headboard end and knelt down behind one of his animal's butts that was slowly grinding down on the sister below. The tongue trapped against the cunt above fascinated Marshall. Careful not to interfere with their forced union, he set his condom's lubricated tip against the tiny anal star of the upper woman's ass.

Becky was the top sister on the bed and the one whose ass Marshall was preparing to fuck. She felt the weight of someone she supposed was Paula on the bed behind her and steeled herself to be viciously fucked by the gigantic fake cock favored by the Head Groom. The fingers fumbling around her ass as the tip of a rock-hard dick gently eased its way inside, convinced Becky that it wasn't Paula. "She's never gentle," she thought, "I wonder who it is?" The slippery cock was moving carefully enough to fuel her sexual fires that had been simmering for hours. Her clit had become numb from too much oral stimulation and the motions of the cock stirred fresh sexual nerves in her rectum. "Oh, yes!" Becky moaned in silence, "if I'm gonna get it in the ass, this is the way to do it." She shivered as the strongest orgasm of the night overtook her. Tears of joy rolled down her face as she cried aloud when the orgasm continued unabated and she felt the man behind her spurting his jism down his pulsating cock into the tip of the condom buried in her intestines. "Oh what a fucking life this has become," she screamed as best she could around her anchored tongue.

Marshall Thompson groaned as his dick erupted. He echoed her comments aloud, "Yes! What a fucking great life! What a life!"

Despite the turnabout in her life, Anna Sawyer's thoughts behind her musky, cunt-juice-covered face were similar. "Yes," she gloried as Becky's tongue triggered another wrenching orgasm, "this is fucking great! Life is fucking great."

Paula Laturno, still writhing in pain from the hot chili paste in her cunt would never have agreed with their sentiment. Abandoned to the cold desert night, Paula was tortured by her burning pussy and the painful throbbing from her caning. She finally passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Doctor Joan Miller spent a night in misery as well. After her impressive start on the desert run, she had become exhausted and the run ended in disaster when she passed out cold while still running. As her body suffered scratches and rock burns from the abrasive desert floor during her tumbling fall, her stomach was hurling vomit everywhere, covering herself in vomit and gritty sand. Cliff found the unfortunate woman bound in the back of the surrey when he went to put away the brunette Ponygirls. "I'll leave this one here," he said when he saw the disgusting mess of a woman. "After I review the video feeds of the run, I'll know what to do with her."

Much later, Joan was dragged to the muddy pig pen and thrown naked into the slimy mess. Cliff left her unbound except for a length of chain padlocked around one ankle. The other end was locked to a steel spike already driven deep in the earth for just that purpose. Joan spent a horribly uncomfortable night, trying to burrow her naked form deep into the chilly mud to escape the icy desert night. She was unable to enjoy the bright stars that spotted the clear, black sky. At some point soon after sundown, several pigs shouldered themselves against her tender skin. The pigs' bristly skin rubbed her skin raw. Desperate for the warmth, Joan cradled her stiff form against the slimy creatures.

Daylight at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch brought drastic changes to most of the staff and livestock. Paula Laturno had been a key player and her absence was felt. At the crack of dawn, Marshall stepped outside his home on the property and walked over to his horse. An eight-year-old gelding, Wind Dancer, had been saddled and waiting for his rider for over thirty minutes. Marshall caressed his mount's neck and shoulder, greeting him with quiet words of greeting. One set of saddlebags were opened for stowing the few items he was bringing to the Ponygirl Training Camp. He reached down with practiced fingers to find Wind Dancer's girth strap. Quickly he set his knee to the gelding's relaxed belly and tugged smoothly upward on the girth. Saddle prepared, Marshall leapt easily into the custom-built roping saddle, clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and gently eased his horse off the hitching rail. At a slow walk, Marshall organized his thoughts to optimize how best to perform his many tasks for the day. Wind Dancer knew the trail by heart and led the way without cue from his owner. A gentle squeezing of his rider's knees, a shift of weight in the saddle, and Wind Dancer moved into his smooth, mile-consuming trot. Marshall knew he had about fifteen minutes of riding to prepare himself to tackle the day's events.

Wind Dancer's first stop was outside the stallion holding corral. Marshall approached the eight-foot high, solid oak plank wall and let himself in. He dropped his small backpack beside Paula and moved to her head to check her condition. Although she was in obvious pain, Paula was breathing easily. Marshall continued around her bound form and ended up at the giant phallus sticking out of her cunt. He ran his fingers across pussy lips that were so tightly stretched that the lips were white from lack of proper blood flow. Marshall took off his goatskin gloves and grasped the fake cock to tug it out; the cock resisted and Marshall pulled again.

Paula Laturno had come to life when the gigantic cock was tugged upon. She grunted in protest and wiggled her hips. Undeterred, Marshall wrapped both hands around the fat cock and pulled strongly. The cock released with a sound like a cork popping out of a champagne bottle. As it had done the night before, Paula's pussy remained wide opening. Marshall reached into his pack for an unadorned four ounce plastic bottle. He uncapped the bottle and pulled out the brush attached to the screwcap. He smiled grimly as he brushed the bottle's contents across her pussy framed within the opening in her black pants. It took some careful stretching to open the abused vagina and then he dabbed the gooey mess inside as well. Marshall left the stallion pen and walked the short distance to a nearby cinderblock building. Cliff Burns had left a wagon with a heavy-duty steel cage atop it beside the building, as requested by Marshall. The ranch owner picked up the tongue and heaved back hard get it slowly rolling. His goal was the stallion pen. Once inside, Marshall closed the oak gate behind himself and then opened the doors of the cage atop the wagon.

Marshall's six male Scottish Deerhounds leapt silently out of the now open cage and circled his form. Well trained, they formed a soundless cordon around him and sat alertly awaiting his command. With a silent hand signal to his hounds, all seven males approached the bound form of Paula. She never knew what hit her. Following Marshall's cue, the lead male bounded forward, set his forepaws on the Welcome Mat, and thrust his hips forward, nailing her dog-bitch-musk-covered pussy in one stroke. Invisible and unscented to man, the dogs had smelled the odor of bitch in heat from their kennels. They knew that their owner was bringing them closer to the bitch in season that needed their cocks. Paula grunted unabated as the first dog's knot formed and slipped painfully inside her pussy. Marshall saw that her still-swollen pussy lips closed tightly over the knot, locking it inside her body while the dog whined and then started to pump again. The powerful thrusts of the 100-pound stud yanked his knot inside her pussy lips as if an alien creature was trying to burst free of her vagina. Paula shrieked in extra pain as the knot popped free only to begin to batter its way back inside. Another unearthly howl burst from her hoarse throat as the knot ripped a path back inside. Marshall ran his hand across Paula's head and heard her loud pants as she attempted to control the pain and her emotions. "Only six more dogs to go Paula," he said. "Oh, … that is unless they decide to keep fucking you all day long. After all, you do smell like a bitch in heat. Enjoy."

Paula's animalistic grunts followed Marshall until he was well away from the stallion pen.

Marshall's next stop was the pig pen where Cliff had left Doctor Miller alone through the long night, forced to huddle with the muddy pigs. Joan's form was indiscernible from the filthy livestock. "Joan," Marshall yelled, "wake up, you lazy pig."

Joan heard the voice and weakly struggled to gain her knees in the thick goop. She had to wipe gobs of dirt and filth from her face in order to see the Ponygirl Heaven Ranch owner. With a struggle, she crept on hands and knees toward his position along the pen's board fence. The chain let her face come within inches of the top board where one of his cowboy boots rested. Not daring to touch him with her soiled hands, she carefully flicked out her tongue to convey the only message that she thought would work, attempting to convey love and obedience. The feel of her new golden tongue ring against the dusty leather created odd sensations in her muscular tongue. Marshall's voice drifted down, "You stay here today, cow. Stay deep in the mud or you'll burn your skin off in this desert sun. Tomorrow, you start your time as a Cowgirl. Trust me, it's nowhere near the glamour of a job like hauling manure. How long you remain in that job is up to you. If you make progress, you'll move on. Two more failures, though, and we give up on you, forever."

Joan crouched in misery as he started away. He stopped and added over his shoulder, "Oh, by the way, tomorrow you have company. The two of you will progress or fail together, so you better become good friends. Enjoy your day of rest. Your partner is not having so much fun, she's getting her ass shagged off."

Latter that day three time zones west of nighttime Miami, the Arizona late afternoon sun had rapidly lost its heating effect as it slipped below the nearby mountain range, chilling Joan Miller's skin. As the gooey mud also lost its daytime heat, Joan crept after the hogs in the filthy pen, hoping they would stand still long enough for her to become warmer by cuddling against their bristly hides. Her muddy tits dragged through the mud as she moved wearily on all fours. In addition to being filthy dirty, Joan was starving, having been fed only two cans of low-fat, low-carbohydrate meal replacement when she first arrived. She remembered the easy humiliation she felt while sucking the vanilla-flavored liquid through a giant rubbery cock. The healthy meal had been consumed a dribble at a time as the cock only spurted 'food' down her gullet when the cock was deep-throated enough for her teeth to depress two pads, each time triggering a small feeding. "I'd be happy to deep-throat that thing now. I'm starving. The pigs wouldn't let me get to the trough to eat any of the slop they poured in during dinner. Fucking pigs!"

Paula was too fucked out to grunt or complain in any way as with a faint whine from his throat, yet another of the huge Scottish Deerhounds was able to get her swollen pussy to release his deflating cock. An entire day's worth of thin watery sperm from the six dogs had dribbled down from her two abused holes to dry into a crusty mass on the back and inside of her thighs. She could only grunt in worn out dismay as another of the seemingly insatiable dogs nosed around her pussy. At this point, Paula almost welcomed another abusing, hard-thrusting dog dick in her pussy; as long as they left her equally abused asshole alone. "Stupid fucking dogs," she muttered, "they only want a bitch's smelly hole to fuck; ass or cunt, it makes no difference to them." She took a deep breath as another heavy dog clambered up onto her back, its spear-like cock tip thrusting wildly, attempting to find a hole. Paula winched as the dog thrust against the thin partition between her two holes, only to thrust again and again until finally, the pointy tip struck home. The rock-hard cock slammed home into her pussy, eliciting a winch of pain as the inflating ring around the cock struck her beet-red outer pussy lips. The dog howled in satisfaction as it buried itself in the hot vagina of the unwilling bitch. Paula already knew to expect the hammer-like blows to double in speed as the dog picked up his inhuman fucking pace. Her inner muscles spasmed in response to the abuse, finding nothing sexual or exciting about the pounding. Earlier in the day, the dogs had been able to build animalistic lust in her loins from the amazing stimulation of the breeding fucks, triggering earth-shattering orgasms in the avowed lesbian. However, Paula hadn't orgasmed during the last four hours of hammering sex; instead, she had fallen into a stupor except when she was first mounted by a dog and then during the extremely painful dismount after the dog had pumped dozens of spurts of watery sperm inside her. Each of the six dogs had 'bred' her at least a half dozen times.

Some unhappy bitches went to sleep very late that night. Both Joan, the doctor, and Paula, the trainer, ended their days in very different fashion from what either had expected. The coming days would be critical for each.

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 06 – Branding in the Cowpen (or Ohhh, Shit, It Hurts!)

Women who deal with Aaron Clarke's slaver organization or its related business concerns find that their lives can drastically change as a result of consequences from schemes they set in motion themselves. Kate O'Rourke, a just-graduated twenty-four-year-old was caught cheating in a private bet between herself and her not-quite-so-pretty roommate, Megan Dietz. The two had started a monthly contest to generate extra rent income and to impose ‘penalties' upon the bet's loser. The penalties became increasingly difficult to bear in direct proportion to the amount raised during the contest. Kate became more and more angry over her humiliating defeat and a month of servitude as apartment maid and cook. Aaron Clarke, in his Robert Morgan identity, arranged to tap into Kate's phone and recorded proof of her scheme to soundly defeat Megan and force her into months of servitude. As usual, Robert's idea of a fitting punishment was to turnaround the situation with a greatly increased penalty.

Doctor Joan Miller, the Miami surgeon used by Aaron Clarke to modify his acquisitions, had harbored secret yearnings to briefly taste submission. Normally dominate over her charges, Joan wanted Robert to arrange for her have a session at the Ponygirl training ranch where her recent patients had been sent. Joan's plan be a Mistress over the Ponygirls and then to undergo a short session as a Ponygirl herself, had gone awry. Marshal Thompson, owner of Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, had demanded that any female ponies on his ranch, even temporary ones, start out as newly processed livestock. The slim and beautiful thirty-eight-year-old was a city girl that had never worked out in a gym. She was unable to pass the ranch's basic physical endurance test and was relegated to the remedial training program, the lowest position at the desert ranch.

Paula Laturno was Marshall Thompson's Head Groom at the Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. Her aspirations of acquiring the job of Chief Trainer by any means was discovered by Marshall Thompson when he was using his operation's sophisticated surveillance system. She endangered two of her charges (Ponygirls in training Lisa Heath è 3 and her twin sister Lori Heath è 4). Marshall intervened before permanent damage was done and instantly reverted Paula's role on the ranch to that of Ponygirl undergoing remedial training.

Joan heard the welcome voice of Marshall Thompson calling for the ‘Lazy Pig' and she weakly struggled to gain her knees in the thick goop of the pigpen. Struggling to respond quickly to the beckoning call of the Ponygirl Heaven Ranch owner, she crept on hands and knees toward his position at the pen's entry gate. She almost wept with joy when she saw him holding her chain in a gloved hand and a riding crop in the other.

Marshall 's commanding voice gruffly said, “Follow me cowgirl. Knees or feet, it makes no matter to me; just keep up or feel the crop.”

Joan struggled to overcome her cramped and painful muscles as she fought her way up to stand on two feet. She staggered after Marshall , the long chain lead chain sagging between them. He led her to an odd corral with solid oak board siding and they passed through a man-size gate. When the gate thumped shut behind her, Joan fell to her knees in disbelief at what her eyes saw. A giant furry dog was just pulling its huge and slimy dick free of a woman's cunt; a long string of white dog sperm stretched out from her distended lips. The puffy lips were so distorted and swollen that the pedals of her cunt lips and anal sphincter closed in nearer appearance to a wedge of cauliflower than a woman's lips guarding the portals to her womb and rectum. Joan couldn't help but beg weakly, “Nnnno! Pplease, not this! I promise to obey and try as hard as I can. Aanything! Ppromise!”

Marshall drew her trembling body against his masculine form and stroked her muddy back. “Shhh,” he whispered, “this is a special punishment reserved for true failure. In this case, the bitch violated her trust through inattention caused by planning to cheat and discredit another. I saw the video of your run yesterday. Keep trying that hard and I can guarantee you will never see this punishment. However, you two will begin training together in the morning. From this point on, you two will do everything together. You are a set of animals; success will be equally shared among you and failure by one will result in your punishment as a set.”

He drew her aside and gently pushed her down to her knees. “Rest here for a few minutes while I put away the dogs.”

Joan sagged down to the ground in exhausted relief. She looked over to the nearby woman's sex holes and cringed at the apparent damage. “Both her holes have swollen together into one mass of irritated flesh. The poor thing must have been raped for thousands of thrusts to do that much injury.” Joan shifted from her kneeling stance to a more comfortable upright sitting position and wondered what the man named Marshall was doing. After locking the last of the dogs in the traveling kennel, Marshall tugged in a propane tank and a brazier atop a steel stand into the corral. He clicked a flint and steel striker set, and the brazier burst into a roaring inferno. The ranch owner next brought in another heavy tank and set it nearby. Joan cowered toward the ground in fear as Marshall approached.

Moments later, Joan's naked front was being scratched by the filthy doormat as she laid sideways atop the line of the dog-raped woman below her. Horrified, she was certain that this latest development did not bode well. She tried to move, and was unable to do more than wriggle her tightly tied wrists and ankles. “Don't let the dogs rape me,” she whined aloud. “Please, … please, … I've been good, …truly,” she added weakly.

Her haunch was struck by a wave of icy cold water as Marshall threw the contents of a bucket of clean water across her ass end. She twisted her head and was able to see him take the bucket to a nearby faucet to refill it. He approached them once again and Joan cringed in expectation of another cold dousing. Instead, the cold water washed across the exposed hip of the woman below her. The man's feet moved out of her sight, toward the corral entry. Metallic sounds clanked across the small ring and Joan struggled in vain to see what the man was doing.

Joan heard the man approach from her ass end where she couldn't see what was happening. Her hip felt a momentary flash of warmth and then the body below her exploded in pain. The woman under her humped her bound form upward and she howled in anguish. Joan smelled the sweet odor of cooking flesh and her shocked mind made the connection. “He's gonna brand me!” she screamed to herself. “You fuck!” she shrieked, “what are you doing? You can't brand us!”

Marshall Thompson glanced down at the red weal on his Head Groom's right upper thigh. “The branding iron set itself perfectly,” he thought with admiration. Despite the reluctance he felt about dealing with Paula Laturno in such a manner, he knew that it would give him some pleasure to mold the headstrong woman back into either a useful employee or a sellable commodity. He leaned down and whispered into the agonized woman's ear, “Paula, either you do well in the next few weeks, or you can stay like this, livestock good only for harvesting as fuckmeat.”

The whimpering woman made no response. Her companion, Joan, kept up a constant barrage of sobbing demands that she be let loose and that he not brand her.

Marshall finished smearing a thick layer of antibiotic wound dressing on the seared flesh of his ex-employee. The raised and charred flesh from the brand was located high on the woman's thigh and slightly back toward her fleshy ass. The man's slippery fingers traced the overlapped capital letters P – G – H – R (Ponygirl Heaven Ranch) of the brand and the small oval traced around it. Paula was unresponsive and Marshall thought she might have fainted from the pain and the humiliation of the act of branding.

The rancher next traced his fingers across the right hip of the other helpless woman and winched as she jumped in fear. Marshall really didn't want to inflict any unnecessary pain or anguish on the animal mounted atop Paula; but, he knew that dealing with livestock meant doing some unpleasant tasks. He turned to the next, already prepared, branding iron and picked it up in his gloved hand. This time, when the brand was placed upon his cow's tender haunch, the skin turned white as the ranch symbol was frozen into the flesh by the fierce cold of the steel. Marshall had just branded the second piece of livestock by using a steel branding iron that had been super-cooled in liquid nitrogen. After a long count of five, he pulled the branding iron back and admired the clean stamp left in her hide. The slanted P – G – H – R and the surrounding oval were crisp and clear.

“You're lucky little one,” he said in a pleased tone of voice as his left hand caressed her unblemished left haunch, “I've just placed our ranch's first high-tech brand on your ass instead of searing your meat with the old-style brand. The resulting mark is supposed to be much more decorative, resembling a pale tattoo more than a branded scar. I'll have to compare the two brands over the next couple of days to see which I prefer.” He felt his cock jerk in his pants at the sight of her naked, dirt-streaked ass pointing right at his crotch. He shook off the thought of porking the doctor's slim mud-covered ass and smeared a thick handful of veterinary antibiotic across her hip. The slippery caressing of her smooth ass made Marshall pause again in thought about using the slippery medicine to facilitate a quick ass reaming. His dick twitched at the thought.

Joan was thankful that the lean rancher had at least made an attempt to clean her off before he stuck the frozen branding iron against her hip. There was no true pain. The rough skin of the rancher's hand spreading the antibiotic cream onto her hip was welcome anyway. As a doctor, she knew that the moisturizing effect of the antibiotic would minimize the scarring at the brand site. The hand shifted to the deep crease of her ass and she froze in fear. “Hhe can't be thinking of raping me. Can he?” she thought in shock. “They've treated me roughly here, but nobody has tried to molest me.” She relaxed, dropping her head down in relief as the hand stopped touching her on her tiny rectal entrance. “Ahh,” she moaned softly in relief.

Behind the naked doctor, Marshall was silently deciding how best to tear off a quick piece of ass. “Too much trouble to take off my boots and pants,” he thought. “Guess I'll just drop trousers and get to work.” With a grimace at the embarrassing picture he was presenting, Marshall quickly unbuttoned his cotton work shirt, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and slipped pants and underwear down around his knees. Marshall grinned in expectation of the good feeling waiting for his dick as he duck-walked up to her ass. Joan's shapely rump was almost too much for the tough rancher. Even at thirty-eight, and lacking any prior exercise regime, the slim woman's tight ass and pussy presented a delectable temptation. “Hmmm,” he murmured as he looked across her back and saw the swell of her recently augmented tit meats hanging out from the sides of her chest. Marshall squeezed his rock-hard cock with one hand and smeared the slippery antibiotic across his latex-covered fat cockhead with the other. He lined up with Joan's sphincter and nudged it with his dick head. Muscles rippled up Joan's legs, across her ass, and up her back as she struggled upward in dismay.

“NNooo!” she squealed in anger. “That's not what I came here for! Stop! Stop! Ughhh, … owwww!” her voice rose several octaves as the cock's pressure on her clenched ass increased.

“Baby, you better open up as if you're taking a big shit. Cause this thing is going up your ass, one way or another,” Marshall warned Joan. “Ahhhh, shit!” he groaned as his plumb-sized cockhead popped passed her tight anal grommet. Dick properly seated at the end of her rectum, Marshall moved his freed hands to rest on her ass cheeks and he pried open her fleshy buns. His fat cock was highlighted around her stretched ass. “Ready or not,” he taunted the woman, “here I come.”

Joan's hyper extended head, flared nostrils, and wide-open mouth were a picture of agony as she shrieked soundlessly while the man sunk inches deep into her virgin ass. No fool, when she felt the agony created by the log-like cock tearing into her ass, she began to bear down as if she were passing gas or taking a shit. The sudden relaxation and slight expansion of her intestines let him fall all the way into her, with no additional pain. Joan felt the man's scratchy pubic hair grate against her butt as he bottomed out. “Eiiii! Please stop! God! You bastard!” At this point, the sheer humiliation of the ass rape outweighed the initial searing pain.

The sight of Joan's faux wedding ring on her finger reminded Marshall of the woman's status. With a feeling of guilt, he started to stop his rape of the woman. However, even as he slowed to stop, the woman's mindless shrieks of resistance broke his inner reserve.

Marshall froze and abruptly yanked his dick out of her hot inner core, waddled over to the box of equipment he left by the roaring propane furnace, and grabbed a riding crop. Turning back to Joan, he began to beat her ass with powerful blows of the short crop. SPLAT, … SPLAT, … “You will,” he shouted; SPLAT “stop screaming,” SPLAT “while I'm” SPLAT “fucking you.” SPLAT … SPLAT … “Furthermore,” SPLAT “you will,” SPLAT “fuck back,” SPLAT “against me,” SPLAT “as if you,” SPLAT “loved it,” SPLAT “so much,” SPLAT “you can't,” SPLAT “live without,” SPLAT “the sex,” SPLAT “that I,” SPLAT “am giving,” SPLAT “you!” SPLAT, … SPLAT, … SPLAT. “You're a filthy whore and you better start fucking like one!” he screamed as he finished the corrective whipping.

Sweating from the exertion of the ass whipping, Marshall waddled back up to her butt and set the crop down on the dirty woman's back. Once again, he used one hand on his throbbing, ten-inch bludgeon to align his knob against her shiny asshole. Marshall easily slid the full ten inches of his slippery fuckstick deep into her hot, lubricated rectum. Joan's only resistance to the renewed rape was a single drawn out grunt as his fat cock straightened out her intestines and his pubic bone struck home against her lower spine. Marshall flexed his back muscles, drawing the vein-covered cock out of her ass and plunged in again, hard. The beginnings of a hard, no-compromising, fucking rhythm established, Marshall began to speed up his shafting of the trapped brunette.

Marshall felt his balls thumping against the woman's pubic mound with each hard inward lunge of his frame. “God, I love fucking your ass,” he crowed. “Start talking dirty about screwing me and hump your ass back against me. Also, … don't forget, push your pelvis back against my thrusts. Let's go, bitch! Let's fuck!” To punctuate his demands, Marshall grabbed the crop again and began to whip her ass once with each of his outward thrusts.

Joan moaned in shame and forced her body to clamp its anal sphincter down hard on his bludgeoning cock. The initial pain had begun to subside into an uncomfortable burning sensation as her sensitive membranes were lubricated, soothed, and then numbed by the rapidly increasing pace of Marshall 's fucking. She tentatively wriggled back as much as her bonds would allow and squeezed her rectal muscles again. His balls thumped hard against her clit following her rectal spasm. Joan's face a picture of grim concentration, she finally picked up the right rhythm and began to squeeze and thrust, squeeze and thrust, squeeze and thrust. Each time she finished a thrust, his heavy balls swung against her blood-gorged clit. “Ahhh,” she moaned in a voice that clearly reflected her rising lust. “Yessss,” she hissed. Her face colored in shame as she realized that the last two vocalizations were due to her bodies increased horniness and actual enjoyment of the rape. “Eiiii, yesss! Fuck me, you heartless bastard. Fuck me! That's it, you bastard, fuck meee!”

Marshall felt Joan's carefully established fuck rhythm break down into uncontrolled spasms of climax. He grinned at the sight and slightly adjusted the pace of his brutal ass rape. On each thumpingly hard in stroke, he held his hips in place for a moment before grinding his hips around in a circular motion, stirring his long dick through her lower intestines. Once his body learned this new, and more complicated motion, he once again slowly picked up the pace, ensuring that he bottomed out hard with each in stroke. Finally, Marshall 's brain and body were too overloaded by the stimulation of the sexual act and he exploded. Joan's now slack muscles began to twitch again in orgasm as she felt his love muscle pumping salty jism deep into her ass. When Marshall pulled himself out of her clasping ass, his goo-filled condom remained in her rectum, only an inch or so sticking out of the spasming woman's shithole. Marshall gave Joan's ass a possessive rub as he staggered back in physical and mental exhaustion, seemingly having spurted everything into the condom left in her asshole.

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 08 – A Grueling Workout (or Treats for a Ponygirl)

Cliff Burns once again blessed his luck in finding the best job on earth. As Chief Trainer, he had only one task on the morning's calendar and he fully intended to enjoy it in privacy. During their daily wrap-up conference the day before, Joseph had agreed with Cliff's recommendation that both sets of the East Coast Slavers Organization Ponygirls were long overdue for progressing to the regulation Ponygirl bits. Their traveling dentist would come on his first available day to install the special bridges he had cast that would lock the Ponygirl bits in place. Cliff was now exceptionally happy with this decision because it meant he could proceed with butt plug fitting.

Even though it was barely eight in the morning, Cliff thought the sight before him warranted an icy cold bottle of beer from the six-pack cooler beside his seat. He flipped off the cap and studied the dripping bottle of Negro Modelo before he took a long, satisfying pull. He looked up and his already throbbing dick twitched hard enough to move his tight denim jeans as if a puppy were crawling loose in his pants. Given that his favorite sexual position was with his dick buried in a hot hole of a helpless Ponygirl thrown over a hitching post, the sight before him evoked a more visceral response that anything seen in his life. Arrayed before him were all four of the East Coast Slaver Organization Ponygirls, naked save for their training collars and the ropes that held then tightly in place. The captive women were spaced out along a twenty-foot section of what looked like three-board oak fencing topped by a wide, padded rail at waist height. Each had her ankles tied wider than shoulder-width to the bottom rail. Their knees and hips were free to rotate forward and back away from the padded rail except that all eight wrists were secured to chains overhead that tugged their upper bodies forward at a forty-five degree angle. The women were ungagged, their training collars in the voice-less ‘On' position.

The real bonus to Cliff was carefully arrayed on a table beside the Ponygirls. The reworked hair originally shorn from them when they first received their permanent Mohawks had been artfully fashioned around a thin fiberglass rod that ended in a lockable screw. A mound of inflatable butt plugs surrounded two blonde and two black manes of hair. “I get the entire morning to fit these cunts with the perfect inflatable plug for their asses. Plus, I conduct my personal test to ensure the plug is tight enough.” He took another deep swig of the refreshing beer and though about yanking each tight pussy up onto his dick using only a grossly expanded butt plug for a handle. “Ahhh, yessss,” he sighed, “this is the best. There is nothing like a pussy squeezed by the bottle-thick inflated plug trapped under their ass grommet.”

He shook himself free of his admiration for the four sets of glistening cunts and assholes and walked up to the table. He swung a stool out from under the table, swiped a thick gob of sex lube onto a randomly selected butt plug, and turned to choose his first victim. “Enee, menee, mineee, mo, …”

Even at a blonde and mouthwatering thirty-seven, Becky Sawyer knew that she was old to be considered a sex object and definitely too old to compete in her forced profession of Ponygirl. However, early on she decided that anything the slavers did to her was infinitely preferable to what she realized was the very real threat of being downgraded for other uses. She whimpered in remembrance of what her first captor told her. “Cunt!” the man had commanded, “Keep in mind that you are a commodity now; not too unlike farm-raised stock. Failure to meet rigid, unbending goals will result in re-classification. I've already decided your fate; to fail leads to a known downward spiral. You might next become a full-time bondage slut on display as furniture; … or a pain slut for rich clients to take out their frustration upon; … or whore in a specialty club where you're chained under a seat as a permanent toilet slave; … or the only white prostitute in a foreign mining town in a remote location, fucking for the equivalent of fifteen cents a load of sperm; … or possibly the onetime featured lead actress in a torture and snuff film; … or maybe roasting meat on a spit over hot coals in your last feast – yes, these are all alternatives in a downward spiral caused by an inability to measure up. You have a small chance to succeed in what I've chosen for you.” Then he'd squeezed her nipple painfully to get her attention. “Succeed!” he'd demanded, “or you will look back on this as a pleasant experience.”

Becky flushed in horrible remembrance of the awful pain that followed. It was so diabolically simple. The man had turned her shock collar on to punish her if she spoke and then jammed something deep into her cunt. The result was immediate, terrible pain, as if live coals were lining her cunt walls. Her internal muscles spasmed for hours and her cunt clenched and unclenched in automatic reaction to the unrelenting pain. She had farted as trapped air rushed out past her wet cunt lips. Unable to control her response, she'd tried to moan about the pain. The collar had instantly shocked her with each attempt to whimper or cry. It had been hours of pain and she'd felt as if she felt she were going mad from the unrelenting waves of fiery heat rippling deep in her guts. “Never again,” she'd promised herself thousands of times since. “If I can do anything to keep that from occurring again, I will.” The extra sobering part was his threat that she'd face far worse upon failure. “Never, again,” she reminded herself as she rested across the padded rail in the ranch barn that morning months later. “Never again!”

She never quivered when the counting selection behind her ended with a light touch on the small of her back. “So, I'm first,” she thought with casual acceptance that whatever was to come, she would not have escaped her turn. The hand on her upper ass remained in place while the other spread something cold across her lower sex holes. One, and then a second finger, slowly worked its slick way into her rectum. She felt her ass tugged around in small circles when the hand pushing the fingers into her began to rotate about, stretching and opening her ass. The fingers pulled out, instantly stopping the cramping sensations that had been building in her intestines. Becky took a deep breath and then it all whooshed out as her hips were pushed forward from the fat cock that had drilled deep into her cunt. She felt her enhanced breasts jiggle from a rapid forward and back fucking motion into her always eager snatch and then a set of hands bruisingly gripped her hips. The cock abruptly pulled out and with barely a pause, bottomed out in her slickly lubricated rear in one long lunge. The hands on her hips held the raping cock fully buried as the man's hips began the same circular motions used by the slippery fingers in a move to loosen up her rectum with the slowly twirling dick.

Just as Becky's asshole was loosened enough to begin to feel stimulation from the slippery assrape, the man abruptly pulled out. Her sensitized ass felt the knobby bumps of a dildo slipping easily up her expanded ass chute. “This dildo isn't too fat,” she noticed in bewilderment. “That was easy; this ‘cock' is pretty flexible and thin. I'd have thought this was about raping something big up my butt.” She reflexively tightened her ass and also realized that whatever the fake ‘cock' was for, it didn't expand her ass grommet. “Weird,” she thought.

Becky's head popped upright as she heard a mechanical noise and a hissing sound. She felt the dildo in her ass thicken and stiffen in response to the mechanical sounds. “A pump,” she wondered, “what is a pump doing to a dildo?” The expansion continued in hissing increments, cramping her intestinal muscles until the sounds abruptly stopped. Becky once again flexed her asshole as well as her abdominal muscles in an attempt to ease the cramping waves running through her. Her butt was suddenly yanked strongly backward, tugging strongly upon her arms and moving her hips back from the padded rail. The yanking stopped and Becky realized that the strong pulling hadn't hurt her asshole at all. “Is this a butt plug?” she wondered. The Ponygirl beside her jerked and wriggled. She spared a quick glance and confirmed only that it was one of the newer arrivals, one of the black-haired cunts, with Cliff sitting behind her, fingering her asshole. Disinterested in her fate, Becky looked over at Anna and from her wide-eyed look decided that her sister had seen exactly what had been done. Becky wriggled her ass about, deciding that the cramping had subsided enough to be bearable. Soon it was her sister's turn and Becky got a glimpse of the knobby butt-plug and the attached air bladder.

Cliff's hands once again rested on her ass, and then her hips. Becky felt his cock's fat head nudging about her pussy and begin to pressure its way inside her. The slowly penetrating dickhead rubbed against the expanded knobby sections of the dildo separated only by a thin layer of vaginal way from her intestines. “Ughhh,” she moaned to herself, “my cunt is so tight I can feel everything vibrating as the head goes by the dildo. Eiiii, … oh fuck!” The hands continued to push her back onto and forward off of the raping cock. The vaginal stimulation felt good, but she couldn't get her clit stimulated in this fucking position. She pushed back strongly and rotated her ass back and up. “Ahhh, that's better,” she sighed to herself. “Yes, … that's the way. Don't do it unless you really wantta fuck.” Soon the pulsating cock was easily felt pumping its creamy jism into her cunt. “Ahhhh,” she sighed, satisfied as well as Cliff. After a moment's respite, she felt more fumbling about her ass and then it felt as if something hung from her asshole. It seemed to move about as if it swayed when her hips moved.

Becky's hands were unchained one at a time and clipped back to her waist belt. Then her feet were untied and she was led away from the rail by a short lead attached to her nose ring. Despite the many surprises of her last months, what she saw dangling from her fellow Ponygirl's asses was shocking. Anna had a bright yellow flag about a foot square dangling from a two-foot long rod that jutted up into the air from where it was attached to her ass. An equally dark bright roman numeral ‘I' adorned the center of the flag. The black-haired sluts had black flags with bright yellow numerals ‘III' and ‘IV'. With an easy certainty, Becky knew that her flag had a black numeral ‘II' on her yellow flag. Four ‘tails' sat on a table beside more butt plugs and Becky was equally certain that one was custom made from her own hair. Sobered by the tails, the four Ponygirls moved out of the horse barn back toward the main arena.

Cliff easily controlled the four Ponygirls as he led them by their noses across the ranch compound toward the large covered arena. As he went, Ponygirls dancing around him on their lead lines, he reviewed the two different size butt plugs he had set within his four girls. “Given that the blonde bitches are taller, I chose the seven-inch inflatable butt plug rather than the shorter five-inch butt plugs I inserted in the smaller, black-haired cunts,” he reviewed. He looked at his girls and their visibly altered gait as they tried to adjust to the fat plugs inflated in their rectums. “Looks as if they've been gangbanged by a bunch of anal freaks,” he thought with a happy grin.

He came under the steel roof of the 100 by 150 meter arena, not only getting instant soothing shade, but also significant relief from the unrelenting sun of the Arizona day. He gave four harsh and simple commands of, “Stay!” as he spaced each girl about five feet apart at one end of the arena, leaving each nose lead to hang down to the sandy arena floor. He pulled a remote control unit from a clip on his belt and held it up for each woman to see. “You each know what this is,” he said, “it's the collar controller programmed uniquely with each of your voice control and training collar settings. Upon receiving the signal from your collar, drop immediately to your knees and wait for my instructions.”

Warned, each girl tensed momentarily and then relaxed to ready themselves to comply with his order. Cliff began with the Roman numeral ‘I' and Anna Sawyer quivered as a short electric shock attacked her nervous system. She plunked down on her knees with a gasp. Becky Sawyer, Lisa Heath, and Lori Heath followed in quick succession as he tapped the ‘II', ‘III', and ‘IV' buttons.

Cliff Burns approached each Ponygirl and removed her nose chain, unclipped her wrist cuffs, and pulled off the two-inch waist belts cinched so tightly below her black bustiers. He stood back, arms full of tack, and spoke. “Stay, … move and you know how extreme the punishment will be. This is a controlled exercise and I want absolute obedience. Your voice controllers are off so you can pant and breath deeply during the exercises; otherwise, I want complete silence.” With that said, he moved aside to place the tack on an empty table already in place behind the kneeling Ponygirls. He walked back to their fronts and spoke again. “You have a four-hour exercise block ahead of you. I will be keeping score on each performance.” He pulled a Granny Smith and a Red Delicious apple out of a thigh pocket and declared, “The winner today gets to eat two apples like these only crisp and cold, straight out of the snack refrigerator behind us. As an extra bonus, the lucky Ponygirl gets to enjoy her snacks and two bottles of water with her hands completely free.”

The startled look that raced across their faces told him it was a tempting reward. He knew full well that none of these women had using their hands for any activity, other than grasping at a surrey drawbar, since their arrival at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. Their strictly controlled diets were all liquid foods with supplements and consumed one tiny spurt at a time from hollow rubbery cocks. He spoke again, “The next two performers will get a single apple, diced up, and placed in a feed bucket for eating in their stalls tonight.” He held up a box of over-the-counter medicine from another trouser pocket and announced that, “The overall loser will also be quickly restrained as normal and have to eat five of these laxative pills, chug a liter and a half of water, and then spend the night tightly bound on the straw in her stall without a sleeping pad.” He took a deep breath and looked for their response.

This time the look of disgust on their faces let him know that his Ponygirls were fully aware of what an overdose of laxative would be like when tied unable to direct the uncontrolled bowel spasms and liquid squirts that would result. “I think you understand the basics,” he said with a grin, enjoying the setup for their long and grueling afternoon. “Lastly,” he said with a raised voice, “each of the non-top performers will receive a whipping, increasing in severity to their lack of performance. If the winner's performance is noticeably superior, I have one extra, hidden reward that I can assign.”

With his rewards and punishments explained, Cliff left the Ponygirls in place so that he could drag over four color-coded steel poles welded onto steel tire rims. Next, he brought over four steel pails full of tennis balls that he hung, one on each pole at about waist height. Lastly, he hung a flag on each pole, the colors and Roman numerals on the flags matched what the Ponygirls had for butt flags. Far across the arena, Cliff had already set four identical poles, flags, and buckets. He faced his four Ponygirls again and declared, “You are here for four hours of sprints and distance running practice. Move forward and stand beside your pole.” He waited with a grin while his girls moved with some alacrity to their designated spots. “Good,” he declared, “Your first set of sprints will be down to your designated pole 150 meters away where you will each grab a tennis ball bearing your Roman numeral from your own bucket and then you will sprint back to me. The first Ponygirl back to set her ball in my outstretched hand is the winner. The last place runner will set her ball back into her own bucket by her pole. I'll announce the winner for each race and assign your next set of sprints or the competition. The number two and three place finishers will place their balls out of play in the large bucket on the table behind us. Understand?”

Becky took several deep cleansing breaths as she nodded her understanding of the rules and the race event. “He's given us a 300-meter sprint,” she thought coolly as she once again flexed her stomach muscles to further relax the long butt plug in her ass. She didn't look to her Trainer, instead she focused on her distant pole and readied herself for the signal to start. An air horn honked loudly behind her and she was off, using every bit of her strength and balance to attain the best sprinting speed she could attain. “Never again!” she panted aloud as she slipped into a slightly longer leg extension. “Never again,” she repeated with even more anger. Becky was a little distracted by what felt to be the football-sized object shoved up her ass, impeding her strides. The added distraction of the fiberglass rod with her flag waving gaily about as she moved her hips was almost sexual as the log up her ass moved about a little with each stride.

She had decided to ignore her competition's pace and focus solely upon giving her best effort. “At least the flooring hasn't been harrowed for a while,” she thought with some happiness, “my feet aren't sinking as bad as they could if the surface were softer.” She was approaching her bucket at a full gallop and carefully reviewed her moves to not lose a single fraction of a second's time at the turnaround. Her scooping of a tennis ball marked with a black ‘II' from her bucket and her return pirouette were flawless and she was quickly racing back, stretching out her legs to her fastest pace. She easily won the first race, placing her ball in Cliff's waiting hand and then immediately settling down into a circling walk to catch her breath and remain as loose as possible. She heard the reassuring announcement she was hoping to hear, “Two wins this event, Three is last – place your ball in your own bucket. One and Four set your balls in the large bucket.”

Becky continued her gasping attempts to regain her breath while Cliff tucked her winning ball into a sack at his waist. She took the time now to examine the other three Ponygirls she had beaten in the first race. She had to control her giggling laughter as she caught her first sight of the wriggling flags waving behind the Ponygirls. She smiled and forced herself to remember that her biggest worries remained the youngest two black-haired bitches. Becky was glad that they were slightly smaller and not as slim as she herself was. She discounted her own younger sister as serious competition. “After all,” she grimaced to herself, “I am much more driven than she and her youth will work against her.” To her slight dismay, none of the girls seemed too affected by the 300-meter sprint.

Cliff loudly announced, “You've probably figured out my scoring system; the more balls remaining in your personal buckets helps to indicate the number of losing events you've done today and helps to calculate the number of punishing slashes I give at the end. The balls in my sack represent only the winning runner of each event and the most balls will belong to the overall winner.”

“Pay attention Ponysluts,” Cliff said with happy energy showing in his voice, “Now that you have stretched out your legs out a little, your next event will be more challenging. This race will be four 150-meter circuits with you picking up a ball as you complete each leg of the race. At the end, you will each be carrying four tennis balls as you approach me at the finish in the center of the arena. Get your hot little pussies set.”

The early morning became mid-morning as the long, grueling workout continued. After four rapid sequences of 300-meter sprints, Becky bent over and dry retched. She had not yet lost a single race and felt she was beginning to pay the price. A quick sideways glance showed both the black-haired cunts and her own sister on their knees, covered in gritty sand from the arena floor. Becky took another deep breath and winched at the very-real pain under her right ribcage. She forced herself to lean way back and walk about in a circle with slow, long strides. “Gotta focus,” she told herself. Ignoring everyone else, she halted at the starting line and stared grimly down the arena to the distant poles set 150 meters away. The beginnings of a plan were just crystallizing in her pain-wracked mind when her training collar exploded with a highly painful burst of electricity.

Cliff looked at the convulsing woman writhing before him and admonished the other Ponygirls to stay in place with a simple wave of his hand. He knelt down and stuck a finger into a ring on her training / control collar. “Four!” he hissed into the ear that he had dragged up to the level of his bent-over mouth. “You've not lost a single race yet. If I think you are sandbagging a few in order to build back up your strength, I'll spend my next twenty-four hours making your life such a painful hell that you've never imagined.” While his anger had been apparent, Cliff was actually somewhat concerned; after all, he had just activated a very close to maximum punishment jolt through her training collar. Satisfied that she'd heard his statement, and that her breathing passages were clear and that she'd not swallowed her tongue, he roughly threw her back onto the ground.

Realizing that this was a good time for the first break of the day, Cliff herded his bedraggled Ponygirls over to the washstand located midway down the outside of the covered arena. Even with their hands still free, the Trainer clipped hanging lead lines to their nose rings. He stepped behind each woman and removed their leather cross-trainer shoes and stinky white socks. Like all tasks that he undertook with his luscious Ponygirls, Cliff managed to cop a feel here and there as he arranged the helpless woman as he pleased in order to remove the shoes. Finished, and now achingly hard from the musky scent he smelled coming from each ripe pussy, he stepped back and swept a stinging spray of cleansing water across the four women's dirty-streaked forms.

Becky, still in shock that the Trainer had known what she was considering for the next race, shivered as the soothing water sluiced off the sweaty grime covering her. She stamped her feet to allow the spray to sweep away any sand that might have dripped to the concrete below her and opened her mouth greedily to slack her thirst and wet her bone-dry mouth. “Guess I have to win the next race no matter what,” she thought with a little despair. “I don't know when my endurance will fail and the younger bitches might begin to win. And, … have they been holding back to win all the final races themselves?” In her exhausted state, Becky realized that her self-doubts might wear her down further, “But, … how do I motivate myself enough now to continue winning?” The sobering challenges ahead of her kept the break from being enjoyable, instead her mind was whirling with ideas for staying limber, building her wind, and above all promising to succeed no matter what the resulting physical pain. “The shock level he used was the highest I've ever felt,” she complained. “I actually thought my head had exploded.” She was so busy considering all these events that she barely noticed when Cliff wrapped a scratchy towel around her and began to briskly pat her dry. The plastic sports bottle shoved in her mouth did trigger long swallows of wonderfully refreshing water. Becky the Ponygirl was so used to men handling her naked body that she never noticed that Cliff had possessively cupped her right ass as he held the sports bottle to her mouth. If she had looked as she'd finished swallowing the last of the water, she'd have seen Cliff's glistening fingers. He had rubbed two fingers shallowly across her inner labia, exposing how copiously lubricated her cunt was and how randy she was for a hard fucking.

Cliff Burns grinned as he ran the aromatic fingers appreciatively under his nose and thought, “I wonder if the little slut even realizes how much she has changed during the last few months?” The other sluts were just as juicy and Cliff once again blessed the events that had moved him to decide to accept the job at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. After rinsing off his Ponygirls, Cliff put clean ankle socks and sports shoes on each one. He stingingly slapped one of the black-haired bitches on the ass and hollered, “Let's go, bitches! Time for more exercise and competition.”

Becky, ‘Two', continued to win each race right up to the point at which Cliff ended the morning-long workout session. Finally exhausted beyond any point at which she could control it, Becky collapsed the instant he announced the end of the workout. She was hardly aware of the activity about her as Cliff secured her three Ponygirl companions for their punishment. The first thing she was aware of was the forced extension of her bone-weary leg. She blearily saw that Cliff was buckling a heavy red plastic cuff above her ankle. A small padlock held each of the three buckles locked in place.

“Do you know what this is?” Cliff demanded of her.

Becky shook her head in the negative; she'd never seen a cuff remotely like this one. “No, Master,” she whispered in a voice long unused to human speech.

Cliff explained, “This is a device rarely used on the ranch. Each senior employee at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch has one. It‘s the same ‘house-arrest' cuff used by law enforcement. This is my personal one, and it can only be used when management agrees with my assessment that one of the cunts here on the ranch deserves a special reward.”

Becky's heart had started racing as her Head Trainer started his explanation. “God!” she prayed, “I hope this is something good and not more punishing humiliation.” She listened attentively as he continued.

Minutes later, Becky staggered alone through the compound. Still exhausted, and barely able to think after Cliff's shocking explanation, she moved as quickly as she could. Becky was fully naked and unbound, except for a loose and untied pair of running shoes, her ever-present collar, and the shiny red ankle cuff. Her very real fear was that a worker would stop her and accuse her of running away. “Or worse,” she thought, “stop and tell me this is a joke.” She glanced furtively around, feeling her hefty breasts sway as she moved, and spied her goal. Becky climbed up the set of steps and hesitated outside the closed rough-hewn cabin door. Clenched tightly in one fist was a key. “Five minutes,” she thought trembling, “he said I only had five minutes to get safely inside.” She sighed in relief when the key fit the door and she could step inside. The filthy Ponygirl ignored the cabin interior and moved swiftly toward her immediate goal, the modern bathroom that was waiting for her. She turned the water on in the shower to full blast and looked about for a towel. Shoes still on, she stepped into the shower stall and stood under the pulsating flow of the water. Becky's hands swept some of the grime away from her skin and she reached for the soap.

The experience of her first real shower in months was both humiliating and deeply sexual in nature. Becky Sawyer had undergone much in the last months and hadn't been given the chance to fully evaluate all the changes in her drastically altered body. Her knees had almost buckled in humiliated reminder of her lost hair when her shampoo-slick hands washed across her denuded scalp and thoroughly soaped up her long blonde Mohawk. The shampoo had a difficult time cutting through the heavy wax used to stiffen her soft hair into a vertically upright and elegant blonde Ponygirl plume. However, the warm and rinsing water had felt wonderful as the suds washed off her face and hair. As her hands washed her torso, Becky couldn't help but circle her outthrust breasts with covetous caresses. They were one modification of which she was almost arrogantly proud. She pulled on her own ring-clad nipples and felt responsive nerves tingle all the way to her pussy in sexual anticipation. Becky shivered and felt her abdomen next with her soapy fingers. The thick, rippling abdominal muscles under her thin skin felt catlike in strength and she realized the lithe grace possessed by her new body. The showering Ponygirl couldn't hold back a panting quiver of lust as she visualized her trim stomach under her fat and luscious swaying breasts.

Becky Sawyer, previously reserved and proper when it came to sex, collapsed onto her knees when her washing hands encountered her pubic mound. “Oh, God!” she moaned aloud. “I've become more of a slut than my sister Anna ever was.” The fact that she hadn't even touched her sex yet made her blush in the knowledge of what might happen when she fingered herself. Becky's head thrust back, catching the full impact of the stinging show spray, when a long middle finger snaked its way across her ring-topped clit and took possession of the top of her cunt box. She opened her mouth widely and screamed silently as a finger on each side of her middle one clamped onto a meaty pussy lip and searched roughly for her labia rings. Unable to wait any longer, she thrust all three middle fingers deep into her hungry twat and used her thumb to pinch and pull on her clit. The instant orgasm made her lose all muscle control and she fell over, panting and convulsing on the shower floor. As intense as her first orgasm was, she almost passed out the instant her deeply questing middle finger found her ‘G' spot.

The act of drying and grooming herself after the shower was almost more humiliating and sexual than the shower. Becky briskly wiped the vanity mirror to get the foggy condensation cleared off enough to see her reflection. An “Ohhh!” of surprise slipped out of her mouth at the first sight of her own face in months. “It's not the hair loss that surprised me,” she thought as she carefully examined herself. “It's that my cheekbones and chin are so prominent and angular now.” Her eyes followed mesmerized as she tilted and turned her skull. “Holy, shit!” she thought with much self-admiration, “I look at least ten years younger now, … and as good as a supermodel.” Then, after a moments thought she added, “No, … I look ageless now. I can't even begin to guess my age.” Then she blushed as she realized that she was indeed the mirror of her slutty twin Anna that she had worked beside these many long weeks at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. At thirty-seven, the thought of having the body of a supermodel and the tits of a porn star was daunting. Sexual heat flushed through her body, bringing a visible flush to her face, neck, and breasts.

The blush brought Becky's attention to her prominent breasts above her washboard tight stomach. A reflexive tightening of her belly brought a set of six-pack abs clearly into view. For the first time Becky realized that her body had lost nearly every ounce of fat. She turned sideways to look at her ass, “Never my best feature,” she thought, and instantly noted that her ass no longer jutted out. The perfection of her ass silhouette now blended smoothly into her lithe runners' legs. Her dripping feet were no longer fettered with running shoes and she flexed her clean feet in appreciation. Unable to resist, she stepped away from the mirror and stretched to get a look at her entire body. Her eyes locked on the wide gap between her thighs and focused on the sight of the bare sex so blatantly exposed there.

Hurrying now, Becky picked up a hairbrush and thought about what to do with her mane of hair. Uncertain of what was expected of her, she parted the foot-long hair down the middle of her Mohawk and swept it back along her skull and above her ears. “No makeup in sight,” she thought with exasperation and then mumbled something about how that response hadn't yet been trained away. Not sure how much time she had yet, she hurried away toward the kitchen, her mouth already watering at her promised treat.

Sitting on a refrigerator shelf, on clear display, were the Red Delicious apple and the Granny Smith apple as promised. Beside them, on the same shelf were two full plastic bottles of water and a single slender bottle of Coronita Beer. A placard declared in tiny letters:

Ponyslut,

The apples are your promised reward. The water is free; however, the beer is yours only if you pay the price. Drink it, and I'll expect to find only the mouth of the empty bottle sticking out of your slutty cunt when I fuck that incredibly tight ass of yours.

Lube yourself up before you fall asleep, ass held up high by a pile of pillows, cause my prick sliding into your rectum will be your wakeup call.

Becky knew that the placard wasn't actually addressed to her as a person. “No,” she thought, “whoever won the match today was probably destined to get this reward.” The seven-ounce bottle of beer beckoned her as she snatched up the apples and the water bottles. She was half-way back to the bedroom when she turned abruptly and with a look of determination, scurried back to get the Coronita Beer.

In the bedroom, she found the long, glistening chain coiled on the floor beside the bed as promised. Quickly, before any stupid thoughts of escape solidified in her brain, she crouched down and wrapped the chain around her free ankle and secured it with the waiting padlock. The act of chaining herself made Becky grunt as if a physical blow struck her. She shook herself free of any feelings about the matter and brought her hard-earned treasures up to the middle of the bed. She bit into the Red Delicious apple first, so eager for the treat that a dripping drool of sweet apple juice ran from the corner of her mouth to her chin. The grin that captured her face bespoke of the wonder of the taste sensations. “My first solid food in weeks and weeks,” she wondered in amazement.

Becky's only moment of confusion came a half hour later when the apples and water were finally gone. She'd just taken her first wonderful sip of the miniature Corona Beer when she realized something that the Trainer had not considered when he wrote her note. “How can I have forgotten,” she thought with confusion. She set down the beer and rolled over on her side. Her questing fingers easily found the empty screw socket in the butt plug that had held her racing flag during her sprinting sessions. She felt the stretched flesh around her asshole and tried to gauge how big the plug up her ass was. “I can't lube my ass with that thing up there, … and how can even my small bottle of beer fit into my cunny with this football still up my ass?” she cried. “Too late,” she thought, “it's too late to change my mind now.”

Cliff Burns trudged wearily back to his cabin. Getting the three Ponygirls put away without any Grooms or ranch labor to help had been a royal pain in the ass. He cursed Paula Laturno his previous Head Groom and Ponygirl Mistress for her stupid jealously. “The stupid bimbo loved her job and enjoyed topping these gorgeous Ponygirls,” he thought sadly. “If only she hadn't wanted my job, she'd be here helping out with the workload. Last I saw her; she was on her way this morning on the twelve-mile workout circuit.” Cliff also shook his head in disagreement with his boss' priorities in that today the entire ranch staff had spent the day clearing fencelines and hauling Mesquite logs and brush to a stockpile by the covered arena. “It's a mystery,” he thought, “a fucking mystery that makes more work for me and makes no frigging sense anyway.”

While Becky was showering, Cliff had taken Anna, ‘One', and Lori, ‘Four', back to their stables. There, he had efficiently showered the two exhausted women, dried them off with big fluffy towels, and led them back to their individual stalls. After Cliff led them into their respective stalls, each knelt expectantly atop their single sleeping pads, wrists locked to their waist belts and stall anchoring chains clipped to their nose rings,. Eager for a nap, but desperate for the promised apple pieces, each bound woman fell eagerly across the shallow grain pan that Cliff set in their stalls. As promised, each Ponygirl got half a Red Delicious apple and half a Granny Smith apple. Cliff had to stop and enjoy the spectacle of the beautiful women rooting like pigs in their pans, eagerly chasing after any tiny morsels, all without the use of hands.

Lisa, ‘Three' had been easier to deal with. Deciding that a shower was a waste of time for her, Cliff led her directly to her stall. He whisked away her sleeping pad and clipped her nose ring into the padlock at the end of her anchor chain. As promised, he pulled the box of over-the-counter medicine his pocket and punched out five laxative pills from their foil-covered pockets. He set them into another shallow feed pan and turned to pick up a handy riding crop from a hanger outside her tiny stall. “Three! You have performed poorly today, rarely coming in second and mostly coming in dead last. This is not acceptable performance and you qualify for a night of pain and discomfort.” He swung the riding crop smoothly through the air, barely missing one of the already crying woman's ears. “Start eating your pills,” he said gruffly, “any delay and I'll beat you.” He'd watched the groveling woman with full appreciation of his position of power, laughing softly when she immediately fell forward and moved her tongue forward to lap up the first of the five laxative pills.

As soon as Lisa was finished dooming herself to a night of pain by eating her laxative pills, Cliff unbuckled her wrists from her waist belt and drew the belt off her grimy frame. Next, he threw down two 750 ml plastic bottles of water. “Start guzzling, slut! You get one swing of the crop each ten seconds until the water is gone.” Without giving her a chance to comprehend what he'd directed, Cliff swung the crop in a blistering arc that terminated alongside one of the bitches excellent breasts. For now, he counted aloud as Lisa frantically picked up a bottle and started to slurp it as quick as possible. Ten seconds later, Cliff swung the crop once again and connected solidly with her cunt. With a shrieking wail, Lisa started to suckle with abandon on the sport bottle's nipple. A liter and a half of water is a lot for a tiny little Ponygirl with a fat butt plug up her ass. Cliff struck her several more times before she set the second bottle down with a belch.

Cliff shortened Lisa's anchor chain so that she could only move in a small circle about her deeply buried anchor pipe in the middle of the stall and then he chained her wrists to a point midway between her nose and the anchor pile. He mounded up the cedar shavings in the stall and with a soft, whistling whoosh, let the air out of the butt plug fitted deeply up her ass. As he stepped away to leave, she was already moaning in anguish from the cramping waves of pain that flowed through her intestines. Unable to stop herself, the first of many quarts of watery shit started to drool out of her widely-stretched ass, covering a tempting ass cheek with a foul coating. The heavy scent of sewer smell followed Cliff Burns out of the Ponygirl's stall as Cliff slammed the stall door. Lisa was in for a rough night. In the morning, the unlucky Filipino groom who drew the task of washing her and replacing her cedar shavings would likely take his anger out on her shit-covered form.

Cliff Burns stopped first at his refrigerator to get himself two beers. His twelve-ounce Corona Beers came from the coldest section of the refrigerator, the meat box at the bottom. He couldn't help grinning a nasty smile of lust at the empty shelf where the Coronita, a small bottle of Corona Beer had been. Ignoring his softly snoring bed partner, he stepped straight into the bathroom to shower off the filth he had accumulated in a long day working on Ponygirl Heaven Ranch.

Interestingly, Becky Sawyer was dreamily reliving one of her Ponygirl sexings at the Arizona ranch. Drifting in and out of sleep for hours while awaiting the return of her Trainer, she had snuggled down into the crisp sheets and begun to relive the feeling of a warm desert boulder on her sensitive belly the day that Cliff Burns walked up behind her and stuck his cock straight into her hot, steamy cunt. Becky still remembered the feel of the rough rocky surface bruising her breasts and belly as the strong ranch hand fucked deep into her pussy. Becky moaned in her dream and relived the mindless orgasm that followed. Even the weeks-old memory of her Trainer's rough hands brushing across her ass after the fuck and his simple, “Good, Ponygirl; Good Slut,” compliment was enough to make her pussy spasm in need. She could almost sense her throbbing cunt seep creamy fuck juices around the glass beer bottle buried deep in her twat. Becky Sawyer, Ponygirl, was once again in heat, desperately needing a rough fucking.

Cliff gently pulled the white bed sheet off the Ponygirl sleeping in his bed. The luscious fuckbunny on his bed moaned and wriggled slightly, obviously dreaming while deep asleep. As commanded, her pussy and ass were raised up, already aligned for a quick fuck; all three of the king-size bed's pillows were tucked under her belly. Cliff contemplated the socket of the butt plug sticking out of her ass and the beer bottle barely sticking out of the clasping cunt below. Between her legs was a small plastic jar of Vaseline. Cliff grinned as he also realized that it would have been impossible for his Ponygirl to have lubed up her ass with the big butt plug still jammed up inside her. He moved up between her legs and fumbled around for a moment while trying to find the tiny release valve on the butt plug. Air finally began to hiss out and the seven-inch plug inside her guts started to shrivel to a limper, one-inch diameter.

Cliff set his left hand against the woman's asshole and stabilized the brown star-shaped ass grommet while he gently tugged on the butt plug. At first it resisted moving, then it slipped out easily, bumping its way out past the bulbous knobs on the business end of the rubbery butt plug. It finally slithered free with a quiet sucking sound. Cliff then set his forefinger inside the glass neck of the Coronita and slowly exerted pressure on it. The widening neck of the bottle began to appear through her cunt lips, and Cliff pulled harder. He had decided to stick his cock into both her holes, visualizing his full nut sacks swinging under his body and slamming into her clit ring. “If a hole is not tight enough,” he thought wryly, “I'll just fill the other hole with a butt plug again and keep slamming away at her.”

He slathered the latex condom already on his throbbing cock with gobs of Vaseline and simply fell forward across the Ponygirl's back, burying himself deeply in her asshole in one fell swoop. Deciding that her nether hole was already straightened out from the seven-inch butt plug, Cliff immediately began to hammer into her asshole as fast and hard as he could, seeking sensations along the vibrating length of his fuckmeat. “Ahhh,” he sighed out and then gasped for breath at the sensations from his wildly swinging nutsacks. “Yes, whatta fuck.” He arched his back and held himself up by using one straight arm holding on the back of her neck so that his hips could keep up their jackhammer thrusts. Far too soon, he felt himself losing control and he reluctantly pulled out of the clasping asshole.

Cliff flung his greasy condom toward the bathroom where it landed with a wet smack. The Ponygirl was still grunting like a pig from his hard use of her stretched asshole. He slapped his bedmate on a lithe ass cheek and rolled her over onto her back. Her wide-eyed look of lust and her strained panting made his cock itch for her. Without a condom this time, he grabbed her slim ankles and folded the blonde whore in half, bringing up her cunt for his use. Cliff wondered at the fantastic sensation brought to his cock by her vaginal sheath as it swallowed him in one lunge. This time, Cliff balanced himself with all his weight concentrated above his cock and he rotated his hips eagerly, stirring her hot cunt with his tingling cockstick.

Although the fabulous sensations lasted for long minutes of hard thrusting and pussy stirring, Cliff felt his ability to hold back his jism once again beginning to slip away. He rolled off Becky with an exasperated groan and grabbed the base of his cock with a hard squeeze in order to cut off his orgasm. He turned toward the sweaty-faced bitch next to him and growled, “Get on top of me! It's time for you to use those muscles and ride me like the fuckhound you are!”

Becky Sawyer felt the power of sex positively glowing through her muscular form. She bounded effortlessly atop the red-faced Trainer and centered her fuck hole above his cock. Her guiding fingers encountered a single fat pearl of pre-cum mounded up atop his piss hole. His fat knob felt so good against her pussy that she sighed in happiness while bringing the drop of pearly jism up to her lips. Her tongue tip flickered out and grabbed the cum at the same time she set all her weight down hard, skewering herself on his needy cock. “Slave or not,” she whispered, “I'm in charge of you now, I've got you by the balls.” She wriggled her hips to fully seat the man's already pulsating cock and added, “I won't tell anyone that you're my pussyslave if you keep fucking me long enough to cum myself. I'm desperate, Master, … please keep it hard, … please fuck meee.”

Cliff took the challenge as if his manhood was truly at stake. With a deep groan, he wiped thoughts of the gorgeous creature and her full titties out of his mind and concentrated on rotating his hips up. Again and again, he fought against her weight to fuck up and around with his hips. His cock burned with need and he clamped hard on his spinchter to overcome the almost triggered cum. Finally, with a deep groan, he lost the ability to hold it in and his cock exploded. The buckbunny riding him sensed the flood coming and increased her fuck pace to a blurring, humping, and gasping speed. Her spasming pussy sucked and pulled at his pulsating snake. Finally overcome from the sex, Cliff pushed the woman off him where they collapsed side-by-side, gasping like fish out of water. Fighting to remain conscious, Cliff reached under the mattress beside him for a set of handcuffs. He cuffed his right wrist to her same wrist and stuck his sticky cock against her rump. His cuffed hand found a plump breast and he possessively grasped it as he drifted asleep.

Satiated, each had the same thought running through their minds, “Yessss, whatta fucking life.”

--- To Be Continued ---

An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 09 – First Time on the Bit (or Anything to Please)

It was the eighth day of remedial training for Joan Miller and Paula Laturno, two women desperate to earn the right to progress from farm animal drudge slave to Ponygirl in training. Joan stretched languidly, comfortable for the first time in weeks. She was tightly wrapped around her companion in misery, Paula Laturno the Ponygirl Heaven Ranch's Head Groom undergoing forced retraining after failing in her responsibilities at the ranch. Joan drew her feet back under the heavenly warmth of the comforter that was protecting them from the pre-dawn frost of the clear Arizona desert sky. One hand sought the warmth and reassurance of her new lover's soft ass cheek; Joan pulled Paula's groin toward hers and slightly wriggled her breasts against Paula's.

“Hmmm,” she whispered, “your clean skin feels so silky and nice after our last week of filth and sweat.” Her lips nuzzled against the still-sleepy woman's throat.

Paula grunted, not quite the morning person that Joan was and murmured back, “Shhhh. We've being given this day off for a purpose. Tomorrow morning I think they'll make us race the twelve miles back to the ranch. If we fail to make our required pace, we might be stuck here as animals forever. Today is our chance to rest up and focus our desires and goals. Prepare yourself for that and decide what you want, a little sex or graduating away from these grueling tasks to Ponygirl training.”

Joan knew what she wanted. “I want to get home,” she thought to herself, not certain that she would ever reach that goal “What a fool I was to ever trust slavers with my body and life.” She twisted the smooth gold wedding ring on her left ring finger. “Can I trust these people to let me go if I succeed in progressing to Ponygirl Mistress? Will Robert Morgan release me to my prior life back in Miami ? Did he set this up just to steal my wealth and sell me off as a slave?” Each thought of her vulnerability and reliance upon others cemented her own relationship with the woman beside her. “At least with Paula,” she thought, “I know what I'm getting.” As if in answer to her thoughts, Paula sleepily slipped a rough hand down Joan's side and she parted her legs slightly to allow the questing fingers to possess her cunt. Joan winched slightly as the dried crusty remains of their night's wild lovemaking broke free from her tender flesh. She still marveled that Paula's entire strong hand had been able to slip so easily into her slippery pussy, bringing her to seemingly endless soul shattering orgasms. The feeling of her hips thrown about by the fist pumping inside her slurping core was the last thought Joan remembered before waking just moments ago, still curled in the comforting arms of Paula.

Her toes curled as she began to stretch and loosen her lower-body muscles. She started at the bottom and slowly worked her way up her legs, marveling at how trim and strong she had gotten in just the few weeks she had been at the ranch. She reviewed the amazing training regime she had survived since beginning the remedial regime that would culminate in the morning with what was probably her last attempt to progress to pre-Ponygirl training. The training had been remarkably simple and overwhelmingly boring. The two always worked as a team, chained side by side, feeling together both the pain of the brutal work as well as the momentary pleasure of simple rewards such as water and their liquid meals. Their tasks were simple, hauling the increasingly heavy sledge to and from the desert pool and unrelenting hours walking, trotting, and running on a mechanical hot-walker modified from training horses to human livestock. Joan wondered how many millions of circular rounds she had made as the hot-walker drew her forward by her nose ring, throat collar, or bracleted wrists. The ranch staff made sure to vary her position on the machine. A simple programmable controller managed the training, varying the pace enough to build both strength and endurance.

Joan clenched her ass cheeks as she continued loosening her body in preparation for getting up. From days of experience, she knew the two would soon have to get up in tandem and move toward the area reserved for their bowel movements and ur inations. She remembered the feel of the soothing waters of the desert pool as the two exhausted women fell into it after removing their bondage save for the length of chain that permanently enjoined the two. A tight loop of chain was secured to each woman's waist with a keyed padlock, holding them within three feet of each other. The other bondage placed on them for the mission of hauling the heavy skid plate was removed with some difficulty as they fumbled with sets of keys hanging from the thick branch of a stunted Mesquite tree.

“Our big surprise last night was that there were keys to remove our gags,” she thought. As if to reassure herself that the hateful, and heretofore always present, ringgags were still gone, Joan moved her tongue around her mouth as she stretched her lower jaw around. “Yesss,” she hissed quietly, “it is wonderful to have them gone.” The only signs that the naked women were not normal lovers were their matching slave collars and the section of chain joining their midsections. Joan looked at the hitching post where their key boxes had been mounted and saw their bondage gear and harnesses strewn about. “We better clean that up later,” she told herself, “before everyone else arrives latter today.”

The two women's nightly meal had still been the same low-fat, low-carbohydrate liquid served a dribble at a time through a rubbery penis each time they deep-throated it and bumped release pads with their teeth. However, the discovery of towels, a fluffy bed comforter, and a foam sleeping pad had been greatly appreciated. Paula had quickly determined that the rewards and the note announcing their training holiday were sure signs that a final test was coming.

Day One: Trip twelve miles to desert pool Overnight at pool

Day Two: Trip twelve miles back to ranch Overnight in barn

Day Three: Hot-walker 4 hours morning, 4 hours afternoon Overnight in barn

Day Four: Trip twelve miles to desert pool Overnight at pool

Day Five: Trip twelve miles back to ranch Overnight in barn

Day Six: Hot-walker 4 hours morning, 4 hours afternoon Overnight in barn

Day Seven: Trip twelve miles to desert pool Overnight at pool

Day Eight: Day resting at desert pool, steaks for 4 Ponygirls Overnight at pool

Day Nine: Run back to ranch, graduation to Po nygirls Overnight in barn

(Totals: Seventy-two miles hauling a sled and sixteen hours on the hot-walker)

Joan nuzzled her nose ring and lips against Paula's nearest breast and gently nipped at her fat nipple. Paula protested to be left in peace. In response, Joan forcefully rolled atop the ex-training mistress and grabbed the stronger woman's wrists to stretch over her head. Joan's legs crossed over the woman's midsection and her lips eagerly sought Paula's. The medical doctor was pleased when Paula's lips opened and allowed her tongue to slip within. The soft clink of their nose rings against each other as they kissed reminded them of their status. Joan left one hand holding Paula's wrists in mock capture while her other hand swept down the woman's side to capture her cunt.

Paula squealed in protest when three fingers nosed their way into her cunt all too rapidly to suit her just stirred lust.

Joan responded by tightly gripping the woman's clit with her thumb and hissing, “Stop complaining, … you're mine for the next round of orgasms.” Joan felt the trapped woman wriggle her hips to ease the entry of the raping fingers.

“Just remember little piggy,” Paula cautioned Joan, “you are far weaker and less experienced in this. Behave or I'll get even.” As if to soften the effect of the words, Paula's hips then rolled up, forcing more of Joan's fingers into her loosening channel. She moaned in Joan's mouth and muttered, “Go ahead, fuck me if you want! Afterwards I'm gonna smother you with my wet cunt and make you eat me till I'm too exhausted to go on.”

As Joan began to fist-fuck her fellow slave in earnest, Marshall Thompson was making final adjustments on the harness for his surrey and the four slavegirls that would be pulling it. The Sawyer sisters were resplendent as the blonde-haired lead set of Po nygirls. Marshall ran his calloused hand down their glistening scalps below the women's upthrust blonde Mohawks to each ponies' newly installed bit. Unlike the ringgags that they had worn to date, each of the Ponygirls now had a permanent ‘U'-shaped bronze bit attached through the outside of their lower molars and terminating in a small ring on either side of the corner of their mouths. A replaceable spoon was set in the middle of the bit, just resting on each Po nygirls' tongue. Even during rest, each of the Po nygirls would always have the basic part of the ‘U'-shaped bit in their mouths. The length of the bit's spoon would be chosen based upon the amount of discipline deemed necessary in controlling the Po nygirls.

Marshall whispered soothing nonsense words as he gently mounted the leather reins to each of the small rings on the Ponygirls' bits. He carefully untwisted each leather rein and traced each lead back to a tie on either side of the surrey seat. Four left-hand reins were gathered on the left side of the seat. Four right-hand reins were tied off on the right side of the seat. That part of their tack taken care of, Marshall continued by checking their waist belts and the snaps locking each girls' wrist close to their waists. Two safety chains were also securely linked from the surrey's drawbars to the waist bands of a Po nygirl. Even if his girls let loose their handholds on the drawbar, the chains would hold the Ponygirls in place, pulling the surrey. His job checking the women's harness complete, Marshall took time to heft each fat breast nested on a shelf protruding from the girls' tight corsets and gently pinch their nipples, each pierced with a small gold ring. Marshall took four golden bells from his pocket and clipped one to each of the four Sawyer girl tits. Completely finished, Marshall forcefully slapped the outer rump of each girl, admiring the sleek asses and tight, powerful runner's legs of his well-trained Ponygirls.

Two other slaps sounded soon after Marshall was finished. “These two are ready also,” Cliff Burns, his Chief Trainer, declared. Lisa Heath and Lori Heath, the black-haired twin sisters brought from their estate in New York , were the second pair of Ponygirls attached to the surrey. Anna and Becky were marked as ‘One' and ‘Two' while Lisa and Lori were now ‘Three' and ‘Four'.

Marshall Thompson swung up onto his seat aboard the racing surrey with practiced ease. A glance behind him confirmed that his locker of equipment and food was in place behind his seat. He sorted through the four left-hand reins and fed the appropriate lead between the proper fingers on his left hand, balancing each lead to provide equal pressure on the left side of the four bits; and lastly, he did the same with the four right-hand leads. Ready, Marshall gently shook both hands and the reins while commanding, “Heiyah! Walk on,” in a quiet but forceful voice. The four Po nygirls started forward, each using their left foot to lead off into a smooth fast walk pace. Marshall smiled at the smooth start and the easy way each Ponygirl took the cue from their new bits. He listened to the gentle tinkle of the eight titty bells and glanced across all four sets of naked ass cheeks that quivered enticingly, in perfect synchronization, as each Ponygirl stepped forward in faultless rhythm with the others.

Marshall settled back in his comfortable seat. He planned to only give the Ponygirls about three minutes of the easy walking pace before he sped things up. Given that four Ponygirls were working his single, lightweight, racing surrey, Marshall planned a grueling workout. In another practiced move, Marshall shifted the right-hand reins to his left hand and reached down for the carriage whip. “Girls,” he shouted gaily, “it's time to put you though your paces. Heiyah!” He quickly snapped the whip twice to the right and twice to the left, marking an outside rump on each of his four Ponygirls with a red welter. “Heiyah!” he shouted again. The tip of the whip, flying faster than the speed of sound, popped quickly four more times, laying four more thin red marks on the taut buttocks.

Anna Sawyer, ‘One', running in the lead position, leapt forward at her fastest pace knowing that the other women harnessed next to her would have to follow her lead. Her feet were comfortable in her black kangaroo running shoes and the tight black corset protected her fat tits from bobbling about as she ran. Anna concentrated on balancing her stride to smoothly reach forward with each gliding step, eliminating any energy-wasting bouncing. She relaxed her hands' grip on the draw bars of the surrey as the quartet of running Ponygirls reached their top speed. As a last step toward maintaining her blistering pace, Anna emptied her mind of anything except a fierce concentration on the few feet of bare earth moving before her, the looseness of her muscles, and the even pace of her breathing. As she had learned in each workout, Anna ‘became' the perfect Ponygirl to best survive the difficult ordeal. The only distraction that nudged against her near-total focus was the slight ache in the cavern located at the junction of her muscular thighs and the thin line of lubrication that drooled uncontrollably during the long, grueling workouts. Anna came into ‘heat' during each run. The thrill of the workout kept Anna's horny cunt on edge, eager for a through fucking she rarely received.

Lisa Heath moved smoothly behind ‘One's' lead-setting position. She concentrated grimly on the area between the gently undulating ass of the Ponygirl in front of her and the tiny patch of ground she could see. To fall during a high-speed run would result in certain injury against the painfully coarse Sonoran Desert floor or possible death from the blurring surrey wheels just a few feet behind her. Despite her now animal-like status in life, Lisa envied the seeming perfection of the lead Ponygirls. “They were here before Lori and I got here,” she thought, “and their skill shows.” Her eyes flickered briefly to concentrate on the white, raised flesh of the P – G – H – R brands burned in ‘One's' lower right ass cheek. “I've got the same thing,” she wondered, still in amazement at how much her life had changed since her capture at the Heath family slave facility that she had striven to revitalize. “They actually branded me with a hot iron just like livestock. And, … I have three other faux brands, black hair formed in the number ‘Three'. We are nothing but fancy sex toys for rich men and women.” Her brain tried to focus her attention back to the running, but she had a final thought to process, “We'll be sold soon or given to an owner since this is only a training facility. Where will we go?”

‘Three' forced her attention back to the difficult task at hand, keeping the machine her body had become smoothly focused on strides, foot placement, and breathing. Lisa felt the dry desert air brush across her moist, hairless mons and she was momentarily conscious of her dangling nipple, pussy, and clit rings, swinging weightily with each long, smooth stride. The tinkling sound of the titty bells was new. She concentrated and realized that the eight bells were tinkling in unison, a sure sign that the quartet were in perfect running rhythm. A thick dribble of pussy lube flicked off one of her dangling cunt lips and splashed against her thigh. “A fuck,” she thought, “I'd give anything for a proper fuck right now.” With an audible sigh, Lisa cut off the distracting thought and set her foot back down for the next of a seemingly endless sequence of strides.

At the trail junction just outside the main buildings of the Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, Marshall gave the cue for a measured right turn onto the trail to the distant watering hole. For the first time that day, all four women now had a good idea of their destination; it was to be a solid twelve mile run. Each grimly focused on their job as Ponygirls, knowing full well that they faced a grueling route at what had already proven to be a blistering pace. Marshall grinned at the rhythmic motions his four Ponygirls were able to hold even at ‘One's' high-speed pace. “Good girls,” he shouted in encouragement, “that's how to do it girls, keep it up.”

On the relatively level desert terrain near Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, Marshall let the four Ponygirls slip back to an easily maintained eight-mile-per-hour tempo. The rubber tires of the wheels and the springs under his seat cushioned the shock of the trail, giving Marshall a comfortable ride at just over seven-minute-miles. The veteran driver glanced down at the only modern accessory on the surrey, a digital odometer and velocity meter. His plan was to keep up a seven-and-a-half-minute-per-mile pace until he found all four Ponygirls faltering at the rate he had set. Only then did he plan on adjusting back to the much easier to maintain running speed of six miles per hour (twelve-minute-miles). Marshall quickly scanned from the distant glimmering horizon, down the long trail ahead, and to the bobbing blonde and black Mohawks of his girls before centering his attention to the hairless gap between each of his Ponygirls' legs. “They're already leaking pussy juice,” he observed aloud with pride. “The sluts probably already realize that complete focus as a working Ponygirl brings them into sexual heat. It has to be humiliating for them. My girls have become well trained mares. They'd fuck anything with a dick after a good workout.”

As the surrey approached the small, secluded desert pool of water, Marshall gently pulled back on the four sets of reins and held the position for a long count before releasing the tension. Dutifully, each of the four Ponygirls came to a simultaneous halt, their breasts heaving from the deep breaths each took to oxygenate their depleted systems. All four Ponygirls were streaked with dirt where swirling dust from the desert trail had coagulated on their sweat-drenched bodies during the long, twelve-mile run. Marshall leapt off the surrey's padded seat and marched the short distance to where his two latest charges were still huddled in their comforter. The sun's position confirmed it was already mid morning. He popped the whip loudly in the air above the two women and shouted for them to awaken and get up.

Doctor Joan Miller heard the tell-tale pop of a whip just inches from her head and practically leapt from the comfort of her bed with Paula to an obedient kneeling position. Her ass stung from several quick slashes as she struggled to get into the proper kneeling position. She saw that it was the lean rancher, Marshall Thompson, who had awakened their rest and that he had arrived in a surrey pulled by the two sets of women Joan had performed surgery upon. Joan grinned inwardly as the slower Paula Laturno received two extra lashes from the whip for being the last to come to position before the scowling rancher.

“Wake up you two useless pigs,” he shouted. “Did you think I left keys here for you two to rest away the day. Fat chance!” Inwardly, he was happy that the lowest of his charges had managed to get to bed clean the night before to enjoy their respite from the brutal training schedule they had completed. Their shiny hair and glowing skin were clean for the first time in over a week. “Time is money, after all,” he thought grimly thinking of the rapid manner in which he was normally forced to turn his charges into knowledgeable and fully obedient Ponygirls. He knew he would rather take a gentler approach, similar to what he used on his horses, rather than the overbearing regime he forced upon his human trainees.

“Take off their socks and shoes. Then, get pails and sponges from the back of the surrey,” he commanded, “I want you to start cooling off my Ponygirls and get them cleaned up.” As the two slaves hopped up, naked tits shimmied and muscles jumped as the lithe bodies responded to the commands. Marshall turned his attention to his lead Ponygirl, ‘One'. He first attached a lead rope to a steel loop on her bondage collar before he began to remove the safety chains on her waist belt. The salt streaked corset was unlaced and stickily removed from One's sweaty torso. Her fat tits sagged noticeably as their support structure was removed. Those simple tasks finished, he turned his attention to removing the leather reins from the eyelets on the leading edge of the Ponygirl's bit assembly. He grabbed one end of the ‘U'-shaped bronze bar between his thumb and forefinger and commanded, “Open up!”

Anna Sawyer, the ex-scheming socialite, obediently opened her mouth wide upon the command, exposing the less obtrusive of the ranch's various bit spoons resting tightly against her tongue.

The sweaty stench rising from the Ponygirls soaking shoes was almost too much to bear. Joan turned up her nose and took off the accompanying sock. “Phew,” she muttered, “this slavegirl has stinky feet.”

Anna was both tired and exhilarated from her arduous run. She was ready for the pampering promised by Marshall during the last miles of their run. The snide remark of the piggy slut at her feet was too much to bear; she extended her hind leg in a powerful arc, striking the complaining nude below her squarely in the chest. She shook her mane with a satisfied snort at the meaty feel of the kick; then grinned with additional revenge when she heard Marshall soundly whipping the disobedient slut as she lay sprawled on the gritty dirt.

Marshall speedily dealt with the bitch's snide behavior, putting her back in her place as lowliest of the slaves. He was satisfied to note that Paula curled up in fear of punishment as the doctor was chastised. To keep their rewards and punishment the same, he whipped Paula with an equal number of blows and a similar verbal harangue. As a last blow to the lowliest of the ranch's slaves, he activated their collars to keep them silent for the remainder of the day.

Marshall returned to Anna's side and rotated the bit's long bar slightly back, simulating a pull on the reins. He watched the bit rotate, depressing the spoon onto the Ponygirl's tongue. Before painful pressure pinched the Ponygirl's tongue, he stopped knowing full well that a knowledgeable hand was needed at the reins as painful pressure occurred with just minimal rotation of the bit. He recalled the ranch's traveling dentist pulling each of the two next-to-last lower molars pulled from his Ponygirls' lower mouths and replacing them with a bridge that spanned the gap from the removed teeth. Permanently placed through the porcelain of the two bridges was the bronze bit. The forward ends of the ‘U'-shaped device came to just forward of the corners of their mouths, making the upright sections of the ‘U' less than three inches long. Overall, the bit was a small device quite effective at relaying commands to the Ponygirls and punishing them if they were inattentive or disobedient. Marshall stuck his other thumb and forefinger into the woman's mouth, grasped the small spoon, rotated it counter-clockwise, and pulled it out.

Finished with his Ponygirl, he leaned forward and snaked his tongue deep into her mouth, kissing his way past the ends of the bronze bit still protruding from her mouth like fangs. One of Marshall 's strong hands slipped down Anna's sweaty side, past the woman's sweat-soaked corset, to find her moist inner core. He jammed four fingers deep into her sloppy cunt and used his ranch-hardened muscles to raise the helpless woman off her feet, impaled solely on his hand. Marshall swung the woman around and pushed her against a nearby post, freeing his other hand to maul her plump breasts. He intentionally pulled hard on her nipple rings and golden titty bells while his now pussy juice covered hand twisted to and fro, fighting to get his full hand inside her throbbing pussy.

Anna moaned and writhed in his arms, feverishly kissing back. She was ready to be used. Her body needed a hard, merciless fucking. “Fuck me,” she moaned, “fuck me Master. I've been so good, please fuck me! Use me!” Her toes wriggled about, uncontrolled by her brain as she exploded in orgasm. “Oh, … fuck, … that's … so … fucking … good!”

Joan and Paula knelt passively a few feet away from Marshall while he finished masturbating ‘One' through two obvious orgasms. That finished, he swung the fucked-out Ponygirl over to the hitching post and its concrete slab. Both Joan and Paula scurried onto the concrete pad at a silent hand signal from the rancher. Joan meekly knelt beside the sweaty Ponygirl and dunked her sponge into a pail of soapy water. Paula waited for Marshall to bring ‘Three' over to her location. Joan's careful sponging made her hips swivel gently, tugging occasionally on the chain connecting the two captive's waists. The soapy water sluiced away the filth beginning from the spent runners' necks down to their toes, covering Ponygirls and lowly slavegirls equally in wet suds.

Joan was careful to sponge everywhere, including armpits, breasts, and the long crease between their legs that protected assholes and pussies. She had gotten good at disassociating herself during her many menial tasks at the ranch. Ignoring the succulent flesh inches from her face was easy. Forgetting the way she had topped these four women while they were at her clinic undergoing cosmetic surgery was harder. Joan's pussy clenched in remembrance of how well Anna and her sister had serviced her during the long nights they were chained in her bed. The sponge washed grime off the black slash of the Roman numeral ‘One' on Anna Sawyer's pubic mound that bespoke her new name. The faux brand was actually one eight of an inch of pubic hair left in place and dyed jet black after the remainder of her body hair below her chin was taken off with a laser designed to remove body hair. Joan stretched up to her full height and carefully sponged off ‘One's' face and the bare scalp below her blonde Mohawk. Two more faux brands identical to that on her pussy mound decorated her head, one above and forward of each ear.

Marshall silently handed Joan a pile of fluffy bath towels taken from the storage chest behind his surrey seat. Obedient now, Joan picked up a towel and lovingly began to dab her two charges dry. Her heart quickened as her hands fondled fat breasts and hard, tight asses through the cotton towels. Strong Ponygirl musk was evident to her sensitive nose as a fold of the towel cleaned around each girl's anus and pussy crease. Finally, her two Ponygirls were washed and dried, naked save for their ever-present waist belts, wrist cuffs, and slave collars.

Minutes later, Joan let the hands that tightly gripped her scalp guide her mouth and lips to the proper spot to service. Joan's tongue was no stranger to servicing pussies and she knew how to vary tongue and lip action, as well as suction, to bring her lovers to a slow high of arousal and a crashing climax. Joan's waist chain had been disconnected from her partner and instead clipped to Anna and Becky Sawyer. The three slaves wriggled on the same comforter used during the night by Joan and Paula. Paula was busy on an adjacent comforter servicing Lisa and Lori Heath as their hands and voices directed. Both Paula and Joan had used the Ponygirls for their own pleasure and now that their roles were reversed, they were forced to reply in kind. Each trio of slaves were anchored to a loop welded atop a two-inch pipe driven deep into the rocky desert floor, leaving Marshall free to focus on starting a roaring charcoal and mesquite fire while the four Ponygirls writhed in sexual ecstasy. All six girls enjoyed the relative freedom Marshall had given them. Even bi-sexual Joan and the lesbian Paula reveled in giving sex to the taut and luscious Ponygirl flesh.

Marshall sorted through his lunch selections. The fire was heating up nicely and he planned on starting five thick New York Strip steaks in about thirty minutes. Five big sliced baking potatoes and five equally large onions were already drenched in butter and covered in aluminum foil, well buried in the midst of the growing pile of coals. The rancher and his four Ponygirls would eat well that afternoon, even sharing two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon wine. The other two women would have to settle for their normal low-fat, low-carb, high protein vanilla-flavored shake, sucked out of penis-shaped feeding tubes.

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

The irresistible smell wafting from the juicy steaks and from the grease that had dripped into the still smoking fire pit was driving Joan crazy. Unhappily, she hadn't yet been fed and had been informed by Marshall Thompson that they would have to wait to get their normal liquid diet upon return to the ranch, sometime near sunset. While the four ecstatic Ponygirls and the ranch owner nosily appreciated the scrumptious meal, Joan and Paula had been trussed up like pigs and abandoned. Each knelt down with their chins on the ground and their hands tightly pulled behind their legs and bound in place. A short rope connecting their bound wrists and ankles completed the modified hogtie. In their positions, bald pussies stuck straight up into the air. The threat of a brutal whipping punishment kept Paula and Joan fighting to keep their precarious balance.

Marshall set his plate down and sauntered over to the comforter where his two lowliest trainees struggled to keep their balance. He took a sip of his robust wine and appreciated the quivering naked treats pointed his way. Behind him, he heard giggles as his four Ponygirls enjoyed their first treat since arriving at the ranch. Each fully naked beauty wore only her permanent training collar and a temporary ankle cuff with a short chain holding them in the eating area. Marshall had given each permission to speak quietly amongst themselves, with the proviso that they not address their Master. Marshall glimpsed his naked cock, fully aroused by the thought of fucking two trapped treats while the others watched. He knelt down between Joan and Paula and set the dripping gob of fat he'd sliced off his steak atop Paula's fleshier butt, right on her nether hole. He left it in place while he dribbled some of the Cabernet Sauvignon from his glass onto Joan's tight ass grommet and swollen pussy lips. Her golden cunt rings glittered through the thick red wine.

Joan gasped as something cool dripped onto her butt and then she shuddered as she wondered what her next torment was to be. Panting through her ringgag-stretched mouth, Joan forced herself to slow her breathing, fearing hyperventilation and a loss of balance. A raspy tongue teased its way around her asshole, eliciting another quivering response from Joan. “It's like all I can think of is sex when I'm bound and awaiting my handlers,” she complained to herself. Several fingers started to caress her pussy while the tongue continued to lick her sensitive ass. “Hmmm, nice,” she purred silently. She risked wriggling her ass in a tiny circle while she clenched her inner muscles, visibly making her pussy and asshole tighten and loosen in a rhythmic and quite visible attempt to draw the tongue inside either of her sex holes. “Heiii,” she mumbled through her ringgag when the fingers at her pussy drew together and speared deep inside. As the fingers sunk in, she felt a calming bliss spread through her form. “Hessss,” she hissed through the steel ring in her mouth, “hat heels hunderul. Hesss.” The tantalizing tongue and probing fingers abruptly left her itching sex hole and before she could mumble her protest, a slapping hand thrust her tumbling away. Confused, Joan landed on her side and was able to contort her head enough to see Marshall stroking her cunt juices along his now glistening fuckstick with one hand while rubbing something across Paula's upthrust rear.

Joan locked eyes with Paula's shocked ones. Somehow, the pending ass rape of her Ponygirl companion triggered something deep in her own soul. A vivid image flickered through her mind where she was the one standing above the naked upright ass and buckling on the former Head Groom's own fourteen-inch ‘Bitch Buster' strap-on dildo. “It was her cock,” she thought, “It'd be so delicious to skewer the slutty fuckbunny with her own fake dick.” Joan desperately squeezed her thighs and her pussy lips in a fruitless attempt to stimulate her own sex. She vividly saw the parody of a man's dick lining up on the bound Ponygirls's ass. It was huge, at least as fat as a soda can, and long, the curved length easily was fourteen inches long.

Paula and Joan simultaneously grunted loudly through their ringgags as Marshall 's slick cock knob popped past her ass grommet. Their eyes remained locked as Paula's cheek was dragged across the saliva-covered comforter as Marshall groaned above her from the effort of sinking deeper into her forbidden core. Tears of frustration poured down Joan's cheek as she was unable to frig herself off to the deeply arousing sight. Paula's identical tears staining her cheeks were of pain and humiliation.

Above the two tearful women, Marshall reveled in the sight of his hands tightly squeezing Paula's still meaty ass flesh and the sight of the glistening brown ass sphincter that hungrily followed his cock on the outthrusts. He loved the way the ass grommet disappeared into her rectum on his downward thrusts, deforming the anal ring from the full weight of his ranch-hardened frame. The gag-distorted howls from his prey invigorated him to further deep drilling of her asshole. Strength surged through him and he was able to forcefully draw her ass up his cock while his weight drove him within her. The motion with his hands reminded him of skull-fucking one of the Ponygirls. “Oh, yes!” he cried as he pivoted his full body weight down onto the fuckpuppet below. The feeling of his tightly squeezed cock spasming as his jism boiled down its length was awesome. “Eiiii,” he yelled to the silent desert around him, “What a fucking life! What a fucking life!”

Long after Marshall returned to finish his lunch, Joan starred at the gaping hole inches from her nose. She continued to grunt and groan in unsatisfied arousal as the rancher's creamy jism slowly seeped out of Paula's raw rectum. Neither girl was able to move as they grunted in pain from their tight bondage.

--L--A--T--E--R—

Hours later two dusty and bedraggled animals heaved and tugged to keep their heavy load moving down the long gritty trail back to Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. Joan snuck a look at Paula beside her. “We sure don't look like dashing Ponygirls,” she thought miserably. She was finally harnessed up as a Ponygirl and had already decided that it was no different from her past weeks of drudgery. “I'm not even certain that we've graduated to Ponygirl status,” she pondered. “The bastard just dragged us over, stuck filthy, sweat-crusted bustiers on us, and then locked us to the drawbars. We didn't even get groomed before we started.” Her nose curled up at the thought of the dried sperm and shit crust that had set on Paula's inner thighs from Marshall's copious load of cum packed up the woman's ass. An overly loud groan of satisfaction from the surrey seat behind her didn't help her temper. She knew that hitched behind them were two easily loping Ponygirls who were enjoying the unusually slow return pace to the ranch. “That blonde bitch Anna Sawyer is still probably sucking his cock,” she complained. The fact that Marshall had loudly announced to all that ‘One' was his favorite cocksucker of the day still rankled. “The lazy fuckers rolled around like sluts in heat, competing for his attention after their meal while we were tied like animals for the slaughter.”

Marshall wondered at his actions that he had taken over the entire day. He idly flickered the carriage whip, catching Paula's bruised ass in a solid strike and adding another stripe to the dozen or so already in place. The thought of using her incredibly hot and tight ass made his rock hard cock twitch up into the soothing mouth of the Ponygirl giving him head as the surrey smoothly moved down the trail. He let his whip hand caress Anna's flawless back with the leather-covered fiberglass shaft of the whip. “Hmmm,” he thought quietly and still somewhat distractedly as the suction increased significantly on his rod. Without aiming, he flicked the whip directly over his own shoulder and heard a satisfying smack and an answering whimper from the tightly bound fourth Ponygirl tucked into the storage well of the surrey. He swung the whip twice more at the same unseen target. ‘Four', previously known as Lori Heath, had performed with something almost immeasurably less than perfection as compared to her other three companions. As a result, she was whipped, tied, and suffered the indignity of being punished during the ride home. “After all,” he thought with his first grin of happiness in long minutes of reflection, “someone has to lose in a contest.”

His grin faded as he tried to decide why he had deviated so drastically from his normal reserved demeanor when following his carefully crafted Ponygirl training regime. “I've never done anything so frivolous as taking the girls out for a barbeque and a day swimming at our hidden watering hole, cavorting with them like an out of control teen. And, … taking advantage of my lesbian former Head Groom, … buttfucking her so viciously, … especially given that I enjoyed it so much. I was weird, … but man, whatta rush!”

Trusting the sweating novice team hauling the surrey to momentarily stay on the trail by themselves, Marshall twisted hard in his seat and looked at the two Ponygirls smoothly following behind him. The blonde, ‘Two', and the black-haired Ponygirl, ‘Three', moved with apparent effortless ease. He grinned at their lush tits held up proudly by their tight waist corsets and bustiers that supported only the bottom of their fat breasts. Their faces were calm and relaxed as they moved with mirror perfect precision. The part Marshall loved the most was the distinctly glistening wetness at the junction of each of their legs. He never failed to appreciate the oddity he had discovered where, without exception, trainees that he graduated to full Ponygirl status came into heat during their workouts. The permanently naked pussy lips of this lot of Ponygirls showed that status off beautifully. Marshall thought he could see pussy juice flickering off the golden labia rings each of the women wore. “Yes,” he repeated to himself, “this is nice, … very nice.”

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story – IV

Chapter 10 – Demonstration in the Arena (or They Meet Again)

Marshall Thompson smoothly rolled his right leg off his saddle and slipped lightly to the ground on the left side of Wind Dancer, his eight-year-old gelding. While some of his other employees liked to use golf carts and Jeeps to get around his extensive ranch, Marshall preferred the old ways best. He had taken the day off and ridden part of the ranch fence line, occasionally stopping to tighten sections of wire or re-staple barbwire to fencepost. He tied Wind Dancer's reins to a steel hitching rail, ran his hand down his flank with words of thanks, and loosened the girth. The sun had just set outside but Marshall stood in the very middle of a brightly lit indoor arena at his Ponygirl Heaven Ranch training facilities.

Marshall turned to observe his guest, Joseph Loftus, dismount equally smoothly from one of the ranches other geldings, a fifteen-hand dunn. The two had ridden the ranch boundaries together for most of the day, getting to know each other. Marshall had been expecting the guest, but had known nothing about him until they got acquainted during the long ride. The CEO of the West Coast Slavers Organization, Steve Austin, had recommended that Joseph visit the ranch and get a demonstration. Until he arrived, Joseph had not known that the ranch he was visiting trained Ponygirls for various owners around the world. The two had laughed when Joseph had said Steve thought he might get some livestock ideas for his ranch in New Mexico when he visited PGHR. “You know Marshall ,” he laughed, “if I had visited just a few months ago I would have brought a girlfriend and maybe her sister. That would have been really embarrassing.” The two had laughed again. Marshall thought it odd that Steve Austin had arranged a visit without warning the client what he might see upon visiting.

While Marshall and Joseph had been relaxing on their long horseback ride and repairing any sections of broken fencing they encountered, Cliff Burns the Chief Trainer had taken charge of the day's work. Cliff's job had become much more difficult given that he now had to manage all the ranch workers, the training assistants, and the grooms since he no longer had Paula Laturno as Head Groom. Paula Laturno had been a key player and her absence was felt. The current ranch workers were all unskilled labor brought in for year-long stints through overseas contacts. The ranch kept six Filipino workers provided under a contract with Niarchos Constantinople, a rich Greek shipping magnate with a weakness for beautiful slaves. The workers were obedient and discrete, especially given that they were restricted to the ranch itself during the entire year of their contract service. Their families were extremely happy with the arrangement that handsomely paid, at least in terms of a second-world nation, a monthly salary provided through Niachos Constantinople. The men's families had no idea that their sons, brothers, and husbands handled beautiful women every day and were occasionally allowed sexual use of the fit and trim livestock. The best of the workers were often offered fulltime laborer positions onboard one of Niachos' tramp freighters.

Marshall and Joseph sat down on a section of aluminum observation bleachers and Marshall noted that Cliff was nearly ready with his racers. Marshall knew that Cliff had spent the day frantically getting the arena, the livestock, and racing equipment ready for the upcoming race and demonstration. They had decided to use the occasion to install some extra competitive spirit among his livestock. “After all,” he thought, “they better learn that their pleasure is at an owner's whim and not from the tongue of some slut they are lying with.” While the two men waited for the event to begin, they opened icy cold bottles of beer handily stashed in a cooler under the bleachers.

Joseph was a little taken aback at the sight of two recently arrived sluts hitched naked in tandem in front of a four-foot-wide section of chain harrow. Filthy and unkempt beyond what a typical American could ever imagine for a fellow human, they were straining to keep the harrow moving in the soft sandy cover of the arena floor. A little cloud of dust followed their progress, hurried along by an ugly squat Filipino flicking a whip handily at their naked rumps as he sauntered beside them. His mostly toothless grin of enjoyment and lust bespoke his attitude toward the women.

The arena floor had long since developed a perfectly manicured, raked look. The two helpless women were simply continuing their grueling, body-building task, deeply tracing in the course of the temporary track; all as part of their rough break in period to the life of an animal without rights.

Marshall explained to Joseph that three nameless cunts had been at the training facility less than a week. The two in the ring belonged to a couple that purchased the sluts raw and untrained. They were paying for a complete training regime that could last for up to six months. They were the type livestock Marshall preferred to train at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, ones with no identities or limits placed upon their handling. The only thing Marshall knew about their prior lives was that one of the young women had still been a virgin upon her arrival.

A third, equally filthy woman currently loading and hauling manure in the horse stables had arrived at the nearly the same time from another owner. Because of a failure to become fully subservient, the house / pussy slut was placed at the ranch on consignment by her angry owner. The owner's only specification for training the slut was to fully break her will while converting her to a Ponygirl. She was being supervised by one of the most cold-hearted Filipino's. He had already thrown her stinking form across a wheelbarrow and surreptitiously ravaged her cunt while nobody was looking his way.

Since Paula's conversion to livestock status, Cliff Burns had developed an incentive plan to better control the foreign workers. Nightly he threw one white and five black marbles into one of the workers' filthy straw hats. The ecstatic worker that drew the black marble spent the night frolicking unsupervised in the stables relegated for exclusive use of the lowest of the livestock, the three currently undergoing the most remedial of training to simply build strength, stamina, and obedience. The newest arrivals had been raped every night by a different Filipino. Not bathed or cleaned since their arrival, they were filthy and smelly beyond belief. The men didn't care, all they wanted was a mouth, a pussy, or an asshole to pleasure their aching dicks. The three women had already learned to fake their enthusiasm and satisfy their tormentors as fast as possible to minimize the ordeal.

At one end of the open-sided arena, a starting line had been constructed and three racing surreys were lined up as preparations neared completion for the coming race event. Marshall 's eyes traced the path the racing surreys would follow. Within fifty feet of the starting area, the runners would enter the arena proper and proceed in a generally clockwise manner around the outer edges of the arena. He paused to better appreciate the series of barricades alone the return side of the oblong track. Constructed of heavy sections of Mesquite trunks and logs, reinforced with a thorny overlay of fresh-cut branches, the three major lines of obstacles would force the racers to weave drastically on that leg of the course. The course ends were long sweeping turns that led into the long initial straight stretch or the weaving return side. All told, the covered portion of the arena was fully one hundred meters by one hundred-fifty meters, covering a course of five hundred and fifty meters, 0.33 miles.

Cliff Burns was nearly ready. He looked to his three teams of Po nygirls. Position number one was held by the matched set of blonde Ponygirls, Anna and Becky Sawyer. Their animal names of ‘One' and ‘Two' were prominent as black dyed faux brands of hair on the permanently shaved sides of their heads and above their juicy pussies. He had decided to handle this team himself. At thirty-seven and thirty-one, these two women had developed into speedy and powerful runners despite being older than any of the unwilling livestock the ranch normally trained. “They are also the most enthusiastic fucks I've ever seen go through this ranch,” he grinned to himself as his dick swelled in appreciative remembrance of the nice guilt-free fucks they had provided. The two well-trained Ponygirls stood silently as Cliff ran a calloused hand across their forms. He ran his fingers down their blonde Mohawks, across their muscular spines, and through each of their long blonde tails, protruding proudly from their rumps as part of inflatable butt plugs. Fully satisfied, he stepped away to examine the second team of Po nygirls.

The second team was comprised of the black-haired sisters Lisa and Lori Heath. Like Anna and Becky, they were part of a consignment sent by the East Coast Slaver Organization. They were now identified as ‘Three' and ‘Four'. Cliff and Marshall knew that both sets of matched Ponygirls were destined to be sold to the same buyer. Cliff wondered who would be lucky enough to get not only the thirty-something blondes, but the twenty-one year old identical twins ‘Three' and ‘Four'. He ran his hands over their perfectly coiffed and glistening black Mohawks and contrasted the look to the blonde Mohawks on the first matched set of sisters. Satisfied that bits, reins, and harness were in order, Cliff snuck a finger into each of the hairless twats of Lisa and Lori to confirm that they were already wet with anticipation. He never understood how, but he knew with certainty that any of the livestock he forced to become willing Po nygirls eventually developed an ability to come into ‘heat' when faced with any grueling Ponygirl task. He stood with a finger deep in each of the twins, swiveling his thumb across their clits. As expected, each stomped her right foot in response, their trained response to beg for sex. The movement elicited no jiggling response from their shapely thighs or breasts; these were lean, Grade AAA Ponygirls, virtually fat-free except for their fleshy breasts supported by a corset that came up to a shelf supporting only the bottoms of the oversize tits. Cliff nodded his acceptance of the team and the surrey to the Filipino driver who stood at the ready to mount up.

Cliff shook his head at the sight of the last mismatched set of Ponygirls. Even though these two had been worked hard running together as Ponygirls for the last several weeks, he didn't have much faith that they would even begin to provide much competition to the other Ponygirl teams. “God Damn!” he cursed, “this is a worthless looking set of Ponygirls. The only saving grace of this team is that at least they are brunettes. Their bodies are too mismatched to ever work together.” Cliff was right. Doctor Joan Miller had been delivered to the ranch slim, trim, and sexy but with virtually no muscle tone from her pampered city life. Her work associate and sometime lover, Aaron Clarke, had augmented the slim woman's tits from a B to a full C cup size. Cliff did grin remembering how he had taken the doctor in all three of her sexual holes. “I particularly like her hot, velvety rectum. What an ass!” he whispered.

At Cliff's words, spoken clearly enough for Joan to hear, she winched remembering the man's exuberant ravaging of her ass on several occasions. “He usually just ties off my reins and jams his cock into me,” she thought with disgust. Even though she actually became enormously aroused during each of her rapes, Cliff seldom lasted long enough to actually bring her to climax. “What a fool I was to ever trust slavers with my body and life,” she told herself for the thousandth time. She thought of the gold wedding ring on her left hand and added, “Can I trust these people to let me go if I succeed in passing Ponygirl testing so that I can progress to Ponygirl Mistress? Will Robert Morgan release me to my prior life back in Miami ? Did he set this up just to steal my wealth and sell me off as a slave?”

While Joan was considering her fate, Cliff grimaced at the last girl on the team, Paula Laturno, his ex-associate and previous Head Groom at the ranch. Given her special status, Cliff had yet to actually fuck the ex-associate. Truth be told, Cliff was in fact still afraid of the woman. Pretty enough, Paula was physically stronger than most men and could never be accused of being slim and beautiful. Her brea sts were too small and hard to meet the visual requirements of a triple A Ponygirl. Cliff grabbed her jaw and looked deep into her eyes, “Paula, you'll never win tonight. You're a decent sprinter but you will nev er be an endurance runner. The race tonight will be thirty grueling laps of .33 miles each for a total of 10.0 miles.”

Cliff Burns stepped back and beckoned the Filipino driver over for a private consultation. After a few whispered sentences, the driver grinned an evil smile and sprinted off to another part of the ranch. While the driver ran off to conduct his errands, Cliff disconnected the guide reins and pulled out the amateurish rubber bit that had been buckled around her head. With an admonishment to remain silent, Cliff turned to Joan and also removed her reins and rubber bit.

The first two sets of Ponygirls had graduated to having permanent bits with bronze shanks that extended through the middle section of dental bridges installed on the lower rear of their mouths. The front bar of the shank came forward outside of their teeth to a point parallel to their canine teeth. The middle of the shank had a cutout that accepted various spoons that pressured the girls' tongue. When the reins were pulled, the forward end of the bit would rotate down, distorting their lower lips and simultaneously the center of the shank with the spoon. The driver's control of the Ponygirls was absolute, depending upon the spoon chosen.

The Filipino driver returned breathless but holding a large leather satchel, two nylon lines, and a long extension cord. Cliff gestured for him to place the items behind the two Ponygirls on the surrey. The man unwound a length of line with a heavy carabineer at the end and tossed the weight up into the air and across a roof truss high overhead. Cliff grabbed the carabineer and moved over to Paula Laturno. “Stand still, bitch!” he hissed and slipped the heavy steel snaplink through her nose ring. Cliff grasped her chin tightly and aligned her head, nose high. At a signal to the driver, the Filipino pulled down on the nylon line and tightened it up, bringing the woman to her tiptoes.

Paula whimpered in fear and pain, trying to keep her balance. From personal experience handling many Ponygirls roughly, she knew the surgically emplaced grommets in her nose could probably hold a woman's entire weight. She was not eager to test that probability out. The taut line was already giving her significant pain.

Cliff and the Filipino driver soon had Joan Miller in similar bondage. Marshall had grown curious about the delay and radioed across the large arena to Cliff. He and Joseph were satisfied with the Chief Trainer's response that he was dissatisfied with the last team and was changing their hair style to better match the other teams. Marshall explained that the blonde team and the black-haired team belonged to East Coast Slavers Organization and were the ones that Robert and Steve wanted Joseph to watch working out. “The last team,” he explained, “are actually temporary Ponygirls. One is being punished for poor performance as my Head Groom and the other actually volunteered for this. Unfortunately for her, unless she does well today, she won't graduate from Ponygirl until some other test in the future.” He clinked his beer with Joseph and added with a grin, “That test might be months away. The only other Ponygirls we have in stock now are the three that just arrived this week. It will be months before they are ready for Ponygirl graduation testing.”

The Chief Trainer and the Filipino had already stuffed a spongy ballgag into each woman's mouth and then unraveled the long ponytails atop their heads. Each of the women whimpered and lightly pranced about in a vain attempt to escape what they expected to occur next. Cliff switched the electric clippers on and neatly made a pass down the side of Joan's head, removing her long hair in big swaths. Moments later, Paula was clipped in a similar manner, each with a brunette Mohawk now atop their head. Cliff took a new disposable razor and a can of shaving foam from the Filipino and went to work cleaning up what the clipper had just started. Joan and Paula soon sported shiny white skin below their Mohawks. With a ruler, Marshall trimmed the Mohawks so that no hair was longer than ten inches.

Cliff beckoned the two other drivers to take their Ponygirls on a slow walk through the course as a warm up. He needed another fifteen minutes to finish his work on the least of his Ponygirls. Cliff was somewhat offended that he had been directed to move the two brunettes up to Ponygirl status.

Marshall and Joseph grinned at the drastic changes that the Chief Trainer had made in the last set of Ponygirls. Their new Mohawks now stood proudly above their heads, coated in a heavy layer of grooming wax. At the starting gate were a blonde set, a black-haired set, and the newly groomed girls with their garish clown-red Mohawks. Marshall grinned over at Joseph and said, “Cliff even dyed their pussy hair the same color. Course, they only have a little patch above their cunts. We keep all livestock with permanently hairless pussy lips.”

Joan seethed at what Cliff had done to her. She was scared shitless that this meant she was going to be permanently converted to livestock. Her nose still hurt from the awful yanking that it had just been subjected to. Her jaws now also ached from the widely extended position that the ringgag had been cranked to. Joan's eyes were still tearing from the painful way Cliff had yanked her nose ring when attaching her reins.

“You two aren't good enough to even use a rubber bit on,” he had gruffly told them, “let alone the bronze bits used by the other girls. So, … your driver will steer you with nose and titty reins. By the way, … he will also be using a heavy whip on you rather than a carriage whip like you are used to.” Cliff had then added, “Paula, you'll never win at this run. But, to give you a little bit better chance, … I've told your driver to be merciless with the whip. He's to whip you as much as he wants, with no repercussions.” With that said, he held each woman by the nose and brutally spanked each butt cheek with resounding slaps. “Driver,” he said, “walk these two through the course once on a familiarization run.”

Fifteen minutes later, the three teams of Ponygirls were stomping their feet at the starting line, trying to keep themselves fully limber before their arduous race. Cliff held a microphone to his lips and spoke clearly in the chilling evening air, “Drivers, I want to remind you of the rules. Passing is only allowed on the straight-away portion of the track. The race is thirty laps or ten miles. The winning driver gets to move into a private bungalow for the next month where he will have full and exclusive use every night of the losing team of Ponygirls. I don't have to remind everyone that all these girls are Prime Pieces of Pussy flesh and will make fabulous bedmates. Ponygirls, you should be smart enough to realize what this means to the losing team. The second place team will be responsible for washing down and pampering the first place team every night for the next month. They will also be pussy chained to the winners every night in the barn. Thus the winning team will be pampered and sexually serviced every night. Also, both the second and third place teams will be whipped soundly tonight after the race.”

Cliff moved to the blonde team of Ponygirls and stepped up onto the surrey and swung himself into his seat. He was fairly confident that he would win the race even though he was not driving the best team. It was probable that the Heath twins, at twenty-one, should be both fastest and have the most stamina during the long race. However, Cliff was certain that his far greater skill at driving would overcome the slight handicap that he faced. Despite his displeasure at having to work with Joan and Paula, he was willing to try and make the race easier.

With a shouted countdown from Three, to Two, to One, Marshall pushed to button on his air horn, signaling the start of the race.

Moments before, Paula and Joan had exchanged a special look between them. After being lovers and running mates for weeks, they each knew the other's thoughts. “I'm gonna win this race,” Joan Miller told herself with determination. “Even if they keep me a Ponygirl, “I'll show them what we can do. Paula will help and I know she wants to beat Cliff and the other Ponygirls.”

All six Po nygirls leapt forward at the loud blowing of the air horn. Before the echoes came back from the desert night, all three teams were racing forward. Cliff immediately set the carriage whip he had into play, well before the other inexperienced Filipinos even regained their balance from the rapidly accelerating Ponygirls. The snapping tip of his whip struck Anna, then Becky in rapid tempo on their outthrust rumps, marking each with the first of thousands of red blotches to come. He struck again and again as he shouted, “Heiyah! Heiyah! Canter girls, … canter!”

Joan leapt forward quickly when she heard the horn. She and Paula desperately wanted to gain the lead before they hit the first turn. It was almost one hundred eighty meters to the turn. Joan saw that the blondes had already moved a full cart length ahead of them and the pace was slowly widening. “Holy Shit!” she shouted to herself, “they are setting a blistering pace.” Joan and Paula stretched their strides and leaned forward to get more leverage with each step. She saw that the blondes were no longer extending their lead. Thundering footsteps were just behind them. With some horror, she saw that the younger twins were now getting into the race and pulling up beside them. Her back exploded in pain as her driver inexpertly swung his heavy whip across their backs. Astonishingly, she found an unused reserve and their surrey pulled up slightly as Cliff's team swung into the first turn.

The Filipino behind them sawed hard on the reins and pulled Joan and Paula into the turn. Joan's nose and right boob instantly ached as the right nose rein and right nipple rein were tugged upon too strongly by the unseasoned driver. Not used to racing so quickly on turns, all three felt the surrey skew wildly to the side, coming close to overturning. The lurching of the surrey as they moved into the turns was a reminder that thirty laps of this type course would be far harder than a simple desert run. “This race will not be won in the first circuit,” Joan told herself grimly. They slowed slightly in the bruising, difficult turns of the return leg. Paula's strength came to bear in holding the surrey to a consistent speed in the turns as she took the brunt of the dragging pull from the surrey and driver's weight. Joan noted that the lead team, while blisteringly fast on the straightaway, were not rugged enough to handle the steep turns and the resulting strain on the Ponygirls. Joan also thought that the black-haired girls had dropped back slightly on the return leg.

Joan managed her rising heartbeat with even breaths and a carefully maintained pace. She knew that she had to hold steady for the next hour or so. Unable to take her eyes from the deceptive course for an instant, she nonetheless felt her muscles loosening up and she gloried in the feelings that coursed through her body. Her boobs felt fine, supported as they were by the stiff shelf under them built into her corset; however her nipple rings ached a little already from the driver's heavy hand. She slightly adjusted her body angle to better apply her strength to hauling the surrey and felt the heat already building in her loins. “Yesss,” she told herself as her brea th whooshed in and out of her ringgag, “I can feel my pussy leaking juices already. If I ever get out of this, I want to take Robert on a picnic and have him fuck me senseless after I go on a long run. Ohhh, yesss.” The mini orgasm hit her just as they started into the second lap.

Joseph and Marshall were standing up in the bleachers and hollering the runners on. Earlier when the girls made their initial walk through of the course, Marshall and Joseph selected teams they thought would win the race and placed a five thousand dollar bet. Marshall had chosen the younger, black-haired twins and Joseph had selected the beautiful blondes. They each agreed that they would share the post race fuck rights and take the winning team right in the winner's circle, while the Po nygirls were still overheated and eager for sexing.

Even though Joseph had never considered the possibility of owning Ponygirls, he admitted to himself that the thought was intriguing. He was especially interested when Marshall told him that there was quite an underground following of Ponygirl races. Amateurs and professionals alike took part in regional races at various ranches throughout the United States . “Some of the Po nygirls are volunteers and really get into the lifestyle. Often, it's impossible to tell them from the slaves that have become Po nystock unwillingly.” Joseph liked the idea of openly using unwilling livestock in private competitions where few would realize that true slaves were present. Marshall told him that these events were attended strictly by invitation only, even though the events were actually quite legal. Most Ponygirls that appeared in public were so well trained and brainwashed that if confronted by police would support their owner's story about them being voluntary Po nygirls. “Otherwise,” Marshall had explained, “smart owners establish paperwork where they can blackmail their Ponygirls into claiming volunteer status.”

By the tenth lap, Joan and Paula were solidly in third place. The first two teams were vying for first place, jockeying back and forth as each straightaway was reached. Joan and Paula had fallen back by six to seven lengths and were able to conserve a little bit more of their strength by sticking to a consistent and even pace while the lead teams fought amongst themselves for first place. Joan's driver must have realized why his girls were fighting against his rein and whip commands. He actually had stopped giving corrections and instead focused on keeping the surrey balanced on the turns and shouting warnings to his team about upcoming obstacles and the location of the other surreys. Thus, while the three surreys stayed about the same distance apart, Joan and Paula were actually maintaining their pace much more easily.

Joseph was the first to figure out what was happening. Earlier, they had both laughed when the Filipino driving the garish redheads had stopped forcing his team faster and accepted that they were stuck in third place. Both ranchers were excited that their teams were already assured of either first or second place. Joseph was looking forward to sticking his already throbbing cock into some blonde pussy. Their classic looks and big meaty boobs on their slim runner's frames made them mouthwatering. He was still sure that his team was going to win. Then, on the twenty-second lap, one of the blonde Po nygirls stumbled momentarily and the black-haired team barely avoided a collision. In the confusion, the redheads eased into first without changing their pace at all. Joseph thumped Marshall on the back and said, “They're sandbagging the race, Marshall ! The crafty redheads are saving strength with an even pace while the others keep wasting energy fighting each other. The redheads are gonna win. They don't even need a driver.”

Marshall Thompson had stared in amazement at the swift change in standings. However, what he saw on the next straightaway convinced him that Joseph was wrong. He saw the black-haired team sweep back into first with a stunning sprint. His vehement disagreement with Joseph's assessment triggered another betting session. Joseph agreed to pay an additional five thousand if he lost. But, Marshall was taunted into agreeing to lend Joseph the redheads for one week at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch if they won. Immediately Marshall was sorry for making the bet. He had permission to make such decisions for Joan, but he didn't want to press his luck with angering Robert Morgan the slaver.

After the twenty-second lap when the Heath twins had blown by her, Joan was of mixed feelings about their plan. The positive side was that she was sure the younger girls were breathing far harder than she and Paula. On the other hand, she wasn't sure that she could keep enough reserve to last her through the final five or so laps. “We have to be strong for the last mile and a half,” she thought. That should give us enough of a sprint to overtake them and to blow their last reserve as we sprint.” The exertion and thrill of the race had brought her cunt to a full boil. Joan felt both cunt juice and sweat roll down her inner thighs. “I need a fuck so bad!” she sang to herself. “I need a fuck so bad!” Joan repeated the mantra as her way of setting her rhythm. She decided that the plan might work after all. On the next straightaway, she risked a glance over at Paula and saw the look reciprocated. “Hesss,” she hissed as loud as she could into the ringgag. She knew Paula understood and that they were keeping with the original plan.

By the twenty-fifth lap, Marshall was sure his team was going to win. The blonde team had remaining in second place, unable to pass on the last three straightaways and the redheads were still in third place. He was surprised that Joseph didn't agree about the black team winning.

“No Marshall ,” Joseph disagreed with some excitement, “the redheads will win and the blondes will get second place. Your team will be third. In this race, youth and superior Ponygirls and drivers will not win over better strategy. Face it, you've already lost.”

Marshall couldn't accept that his first place team would fall back to last during the five laps remaining. Deciding to humble this man with his greater knowledge of Po nygirls, he eagerly said, “OK, then! Put your money where your mouth is, … double or nothing.”

Joseph liked the idea of getting the winning red team for two weeks, but he wanted them for use at his New Mexico ranch. “OK, Marshall ,” he agreed, “but since it's two weeks, I want them at my ranch; and, that makes the bet twenty thousand dollars.”

At the beginning of the twenty-sixth lap, Joan and Paula looked at each other simultaneously and each shouted, “Howwww!” With mutual consent, each noticeably picked up the pace, their driver became excited that he had read his girls right and he started to shout encouragement. In his excitement, he reverted to his native language; but Joan and Paula understood and slightly increased their sprint. They blew past the huffing blondes and made it to within feet of the lead surrey. They eased their pace slightly on the turns and focused on their next sprint for the upcoming straightaway.

Anna, Becky, and Cliff were taken by surprise when the redheads blew past them. They still hadn't responded by the time they hit the turn at the end of the straightaway. All three got adrenaline rushes and Cliff fueled his team on by lashing them dozens of times during the winding turns. They felt success was still at hand, especially since the three surreys were now within mere feet of each other.

Their Filipino driver warned them that the blondes had sprinted up to within inches of his butt. He was savvy enough to note that blonde team's stride was breaking up and that their breathing was labored compared to his girls; he carefully explained what he had observed without allowing the other drivers or Po nygirls to overhear his observation.

The black team's contentment with their lead position evaporated when the redheads sprinted beside them just yards into the twenty-seventh lap. Their dismay become panic when the blondes pulled up on the other side of them. The race proceeded neck and neck down the straightaway. However, neither the blondes nor the blacks could increase their pace any more.

Joan felt fire flowing through her body. It was fiery strength and a feeling of invulnerability rather than fatigue. She shouted, “Howww,” again into her ringgag and felt Paula struggle to increase her speed. Joan heard the heavy whip crack and Paula hopped forward to pick up her share of the load. Joan was relieved that the driver realized that she didn't need the painful correction. His shouted encouragement was almost unnoticed as they whipped past the struggling black team and leapt into the curve. Joan felt the surrey follow them smoothly into the twisting turns. The fire in her veins seemed especially hot in her aching cunt. “Hoo, huck hee,” she shouted aloud in gagspeak.

Paula heard her partner shriek aloud for a fuck and grinned around her ringgag as best she could. Joan's begging brought to mind a mental image of Paula's bitch buster cock driving deep into a submissive Joan's pussy. “I bet I can make her howl for mercy,” she thought with an evil grin as her stride lengthened. The whip crack across her ass had really hurt, but she knew it had given her additional strength and focus for the last laps.

Marshall finally accepted that Joseph's assessment about the redheads was right. He turned to his new friend and offered congratulations while the Ponygirls were still thundering through the last of the twenty-seventh lap.

Marshall still had one more surprise coming. When the surreys hit the straightaway on the twenty-eighth lap, the redheads sprinted again and quickly pulled ahead even more. However, the black-haired twins were unable to sprint and only barely maintained the fast steady pace they used in the curves. As Joseph had predicted, the blondes stepped up their pace and swung past the youngest girls, settling into second place. As the twenty-eight lap came to an end, the redheads and blondes were in first and second with the Heath twins slowly losing ground.

The twenty-ninth lap saw no changes in placement in the order which remained reds, blondes, and blacks. When the lead surreys moved into the next to last lap, Marshall and Joseph remained standing united in their support for the underdog team; yelling and screaming to encourage the redheads to move ahead.

Joan felt more invigorated and alive than ever in her life. As the straightaway approached, she and Paula began to sprint as they left the last return curve. Their driver's whip cracked loudly over their heads as he shouted for them to focus and keep the pace. They drew several lengths ahead of the second-place blondes. The black-haired twins were unable to sprint at all during that entire lap, and they fell furth er behind, solidly into third place. Their driver's shouts of frustration at losing his expected first place win and the pussy rights his dick had already begun to dream about using.

Joan and Paula's Filipino driver's excitement level rose so noticeably high as they moved into the last lap that the newly dyed redheads knew they were going to win. That extra excitement spurred them to an even greater sprint forward. Unbeknownst to them, the blondes did summon some sort of reserve strength from somewhere, maybe because Cliff was brutalizing their backs with his light carriage whip. Even so, second place became further and furth er behind the still sprinting lead team.

As the finish line came into sight, Joan and Paula were still able to maintain their sprinting finish. They blew through the tape that one of the Filipinos hastily stretched across the line, easily twenty lengths ahead of the blondes. The black-haired twins were almost three-quarters of a lap behind the winning team and upon crossing the line, they immediately collapsed, vomiting in exhaustion, mere feet beyond the line. Their driver had barely been able to brake his surrey to keep from running them over.

Cliff kept his team moving for a final slowdown lap. He grudgingly admitted to himself that the team still smoothly moving in front of him had won the race because they were actually skilled Ponygirls rather than by some fluke of luck. He actually envied the ugly Filipino the time of bliss he would have with the Heath twins. “Bet they've never spread their Ivy League legs for a lowly working stiff like him. Hmmm,” he thought with a grin, “I might be tempted to ask Marshall to give the lucky bastard some recreational drugs. He could nail those two relentlessly for hours if someone spiked his drink with a dose of Viagra.” Cliff laughed and brought his attention back to his own beautiful team of Ponygirls. He already knew that the first place Ponygirls were going to get the personal attention of the owner and his guest. Cliff's fat cock throbbed at the thought of slipping his dick into the hot blonde bitches pulling his surrey. “Yes, indeed,” he thought with glee, “there is nothing better than this in life. This is fucking great!”

By the time Joan slowed her sprint to a smooth trot and eventually to a walk, she was already well into the curvy section of the course. She and Paula were able to exchange glances that clearly showed their mutual excitement in winning the race. They were used to the stupid look that their filthy dusty faces had when subjected to the obscene ringgag and the clean streaks left by the drool that flowed out of each corner of their mouths. Joan felt a physical glow over her entire being. She realized for the first time just how well her body had responded to the training. Since all six women had been forced to undergo the same rigid training regime, she attributed the difference to good genes. “Good genes or no,” she thought, “if I don't get fucked soon, I'll start humping the surrey wheels.” Deciding to misbehave a little, she swung her Mohawk topped head back toward the driver and loudly spoke through her ringgag, “Hi heeda huck, Hi heeda huck!”

For the first time in many laps, she felt the driver yank on her reins, her nose painfully aligning her face forward once again and her boobs stretched in retaliation. A line of fire exploded across first one, then the other ass cheek; she heard the driver clearly say, “Behave girls, you're still on display. We'll all get laid soon. Thanks to you, I'll be getting lots of slutty white whore pussy.”

She realized that the driver was right. A veritable orgy was going to take place any minute. Regardless of the race outcome, she had heard Marshall assigning one of the Filipinos the task of setting up the celebratory barbeque and arranging for food from the main ranch building. The other Filipinos had been abuzz about the evening picnic and fuck fest. The three lowly pig girls were already bathed and neck chained naked to mattresses in front of the men's bunkhouse. Cameras and lights were already set up to record the marathon sex event to provide fodder for humiliating the women in the future. The six Filipinos would have unrestricted access to the three lowly cunts for the rest of the night. Barrels of ice and beer along with steaks, potatoes, and salad guaranteed that all would have fun. The pig girls would only eat what the men provided, probably only a diet of unending cum. Since the girls and the workers had been cleared of any sexual disease, management had given one-time permission for bare cocks to be used. The women would have slimy jism dumped everywhere on their now clean bodies. The winning driver would gain access to his personal team of cunts, the Heath twins, beginning the next evening.

Joan's driver directed their surrey to a concrete wash stand just outside the covered arena. The losing team had already been washed down and groomed, black Mohawks restyled in vertical splendor. The Heath girls stood docilely in place, anchored by overhead chains clipped to their nose rings, and their bodies glowing with health. Their wrists were snapped to their waist belts, leaving them virtually naked and unable to resist close inspection. Except for the control collars, waist belt, and wrist cuffs, they were naked. The Filipinos raced over to Cliff's second place team and efficiently unharnessed the two blondes. Dripping soapy sponges flew over the taut flesh and fluffy towels vigo rously rubbed their skin dry. The Sawyer girls' nose rings were soon clipped to hanging chains, displaying their naked charms about fifteen feet away from the black-haired team.

Joan's Filipino driver angrily chased off any assistance. He insisted upon grooming his own team after their amazing run. Joan's feet were relieved when one by one her lower legs were lifted and her sweaty shoes and socks were removed. The man's fingers loosening her corset felt wonderful. She actually sighed in passion when his strong hands took possessive control of her fat boobs and squeezed her flesh. When his hands swept down her trim sides to her prominent pussy mound, Joan's knees actually buckled momentarily. She was actually panting in lust when her nose was yanked up to the hanging chain, hoping beyond hope that he would play with her pussy some more. She twisted about on her tiptoes to watch Paula getting the same efficient de-harnessing.

The soapy sponge felt heavenly as the squat driver sluiced away the accumulated grime and sweat that covered her body. Joan once again sighed in audible lust when the driver's fingers took advantage of her bound position to grope about her pussy and ass. “Yes,” she moaned to herself, “there are rewards for doing well.” She sighed and enjoyed the grooming. All too soon, she was dry and her ruined hair waxed back up in a bright and humiliating red Mohawk.

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 11 – First Taste of Ponyflesh (or Reunited with a Lost Love)

Joseph Loftus was invigorated by the race he had just seen. Even though he had a pretty vanilla sexual history, except for a brief period during a memorable deployment to Cambodia when he frequented whorehouses in Phnom Penh , the retired Marine had never seen anything as blatantly sexual and wildly kinky as the Ponygirls and the Ponygirl race that ended just minutes ago. He grinned at the odd way he had been referred to Marshall Thompson, owner and manager of Ponygirl Heaven Ranch by an old military buddy, Steve Austin. He reminisced that one month into that memorable deployment to Cambodia , Joseph found himself in a whorehouse for the first time in his life. After a fantastic round of sex with two tiny Cambodian whores, one of the well-fucked girls had tightly bound the other in sexy, black leather bondage gear and had Joseph leading her down a dingy corridor with twin nipple leashes when he practically ran into Marine Corporal Steve Austin who was carrying a small multi-pronged whip and just walking out of a room. Joseph clearly saw a sweaty, well-fucked and whip-striped whore in the Corporal's room, still tightly bound, ass up in the bed.

The period after that incident had resulted in a lifelong friendship and during the two months remaining in the deployment, Corporal Austin had led him on a wild binge through every whorehouse they could find in the capital; tying, strapping, whipping, abusing, and fucking whores senseless. Later, Steve Austin left the Marine Corps and become some sort of ‘fixer,' able to provide rapid, permanent solutions to customer problems. When Joseph retired two years before to go to his family ranch in New Mexico , the two had kept in touch.

While attending his just-deceased mother's favorite charity function in Raleigh , North Carolina , he met two fascinating sisters at his table. Unknown to the lonely rancher, Anna and Becky Sawyer had targeted Joseph upon seeing his mother's obituary in the local newspaper and noting that memorial contributions were to be sent to a local charity soon to have their annual event. The two beautiful blondes arranged to be placed at his table and acted as if they were instantly infatuated by the retired Marine. After he fell in love with the youngest sister, Anna, he accidentally picked up a house phone while the sisters were discussing his demise in a conspiratorial tone. That's when he discovered the cold-blooded manner in which he had been targeted. Anna was angry that Joseph's lawyers were pushing her to sign a prenuptial agreement that would cap her potential share of the married couple's assets to two million dollars during the first year of marriage with increasing increments of one million dollars per year of continued marriage. She and Becky now preferred to kill him rather than risk their original plan of blackmailing him into offering an early settlement. The first plan had been to ‘catch' him in an act of infidelity, fucking the oldest sister, Becky.

“A honey trap,” he had muttered angrily. “The bloody bitches set me up for a fucking honey trap.” With the wedding only a month away, he had to do something quick. He remembered his friend, the fixer, Steve Austin; during a two-minute phone call where the two experience operators spoke around the problem, Joseph gave Steve free rein to handle the ‘two ill-mannered bitches he was stuck with' and to take care of the ‘two uncontrollable littermates' that had a proclivity for ‘biting that couldn't be trained out of them.'

The fact that the Po nygirl exhibition and race had made such a remarkable impression on him is what made him realize that he had been floundering about with his personal life in the months since he rid himself of the conniving Sawyer sisters. “Companionship,” he realized, “I've focused solely on my New Mexico ranch since I discovered their plot. I really need to have fun and meet someone to take care of my needs.” With that thought still prominent in his mine, he walked over to the first set of Ponygirls and knelt before the Heath twins on the still damp concrete, running his hands admiringly up their muscular, but slim calves, thighs, and buttocks. “Damn Marshall !” he announced, “This is some perfect Ponygirl flesh. In fact,” he had added, “this is undoubtedly the best pussy I've ever seen. These perfect bodies can't possibly be natural.”

Marshall stood beside the astounded fellow rancher and grinned. “Actually Joseph,” he said, “these two are absolutely the best stock we've ever had here at the ranch. They only lost today because they didn't have an experienced enough driver. They started out as perfectly matched twins with dynamite bodies. Robert Morgan, an associate of Steve Austin personally arranged with his best surgeon to make these two into something better than either started as, and ended up with mirror images of something better than nature could ever deliver. You are the first outsider to see this stock. Robert will have no problem selling them. The only issue is that they are matched sets with the blondes. They are a four-Ponygirl package deal. For some reason, Robert Morgan felt that you should have first right of purchase on these cunts.”

While Marshall was explaining the situation with the black-haired Ponygirls, sisters Lisa and Lori Heath aka ‘Three' and ‘Four', Joseph was examining their carcasses in intimate detail. The docile women stood perfectly still while he kneaded, pulled, squeezed, and caressed teeth, breasts, cunt lips, pussies, and assholes. He stood up and directly addressed the proud women. “ Marshall ,” he declared, “I'd love to own these two. They are fla wless. I think I'd fuck them to death if they were mine and in New Mexico with me.”

Marshall 's hand reached over past Joseph's body and grabbed Lisa's chain, stretching her nose higher into the air. He spoke in a flat voice and said, “Joseph, keep in mind that these are not your girlfriends, mistresses, or wives; they are simply livestock with the added advantage that they are gorgeous and they fuck like bunnies.” Marshall swung a carriage whip with his free hand and struck Anna sharply across her belly and breasts with a thudding, meaty sound. He added, “Yes, an owner has some responsibilities, just like you do with domestic animals in the house; however, they will satisfy any sexual perversion you have and either love it or act like they can't survive without your attention.”

Joseph nodded and replied in an equally serious tone, “Yeah, Marshall ; you're right. I got carried away by their striking beauty. I have to remember that inside, they are owned property. Besides, these two were willing to murder and steal from kin. That rates pretty high in the bad human being category.”

Marshall had loosened the cunts' chains so the slack from their nose rings hung down to their breasts. When Joseph stopped speaking, Marshall silently handed him a heavy-duty wooden paddle. “They each get thirty strokes of the paddle for coming in last place. I expect them to get it all over the body. We really should be punishing the driver as well for his inability to drive a Ponygirl team. His punishment is to lose the pussy he thought he was winning. I'll demonstrate the punishment on ‘Four' here and you can follow with ‘Three'.

Lori's nose chain was grabbed by the Arizona rancher who drew her down into a bent-over shape. He drew his right arm back and delivered a blistering blow across the side of her ass. Lori howled in agony and she shrieked again seconds later when the next blow came. Marshall never slowed his spanking pace, he delivered six blows to each ass cheek on the outsides of her fleshy buns, six to the fat rear cheeks of her ass, six to the soft tender spot where her upper thighs transitioned into the sweet sex holes between her legs, four full-on to each meaty tit, and lastly two stinging blows to her washboard belly. At the end, Marshall had to support her sagging frame to keep Lori from hanging by her nose. Marshall unchained his beautiful captive and he threw her body belly down onto a flatbed wagon with her ass hanging over the edge.

Joseph watched as the woman received her punishment for coming in last place. He rationalized her punishment as necessary because of the way the race was structured. Her astounding physical conditioning convinced him that Marshall was right; these two were undoubtedly the best Ponygirls in the race. “The poor cunts get punished because they drew the worst driver,” he thought.

When Marshall pulled open Lori's fleshy ass to expose her drooling pussy, Joseph was amazed at the visual proof that the young woman was in obvious heat. Marshall pointed his fingers on his right hand into a pointed spear and drove all his fingers deep into the woman's core. The shrieks that immediately erupted from her mouth were clearly of lust being satisfied. The rancher kept ravaging the Ponygirl through loud and continuous orgasms. His fingers finally plunged again and again knuckle deep into her hot, clasping cunt. While not too deep, his ravaging fingers of a cock were easily as wide across as a soda can. When Marshall pulled his gooey hand out of her extended vagina, Lori had been fucked unconscious.

When Marshall pulled his sticky hand out of Lori's unconscious cunt, Joseph grinned over at him to signal his satisfaction with the punishment demonstration. Marshall then showed Joseph how he was to cuff their ankles, clip and lock the feet together, and draw the feet up behind their backs into a fairly comfortable hogtie. “These two get to rest tonight,” he declared. “Starting tomorrow, they will begin working out during the day and spend their nights in a private bungalow with the winning driver for the next month. He will have full and exclusive use of this prime cunt flesh every night. What a lucky fucker he is! What an even luckier bastard their next owner will be. Think what it would be like to have absolute control of stock like this!”

Joseph reflected on what Marshall had just said. “He's right,” he thought seriously, “I could be the lucky man that has control of those two. I have plenty of land and it's easy to convert some of my cattle and horse facilities over to Ponygirls. Wow!” He was still slightly distracted at that thought when he approached the ass end of the pair of blondes also bound in place by their nose rings and helpless with their wrists locked to their waist belts. The first thing he noticed was that these women were slightly taller, but possessed the same fla wless muscle tone. He wedged a hand between each ones' ass crease and knifed the top of his fingers into their loose cunts. “These two are just as wet, Marshall ,” he declared as he admired their twin asses. “What's their story?”

“Well, Joseph,” Marshall started, “these two blonde bitches are just as guilty of heinous crimes as the black-haired cunts you just paddled. They were also caught planning murder and theft from a purported loved one. Robert Morgan also had a personal hand in redesigning this livestock. Tit augmentation and facial surgery also made these two into something better than either one had been to start with.”

Joseph knelt down behind the two blondes and ran his hands up and down their legs. “I gotta admit,” he said, “that despite these two being noticeably older, they are still among the best looking women I've ever seen in my life. I'd be proud to own and fuck either of these two.”

Anna's heart had leapt in her throat when she heard her fiancé's voice approach the Ponygirls on the concrete grooming stand. At first she joyfully thought he had managed to track them down and was working a secret scheme to rescue them. “Yess,” she told herself, “thank God he will get me out of this hellhole.” Overwhelmed with grief at her predicament, she burst into silent tears and cried to herself, “Please! Take me home, Joseph. I swear I'll be your happy and dutiful wife.”

The Sawyer girls' wild hope of rescue by their former target stayed high even while they heard their former lover willingly participate in punishing the losing team. “That's fine,” Anna told herself cattily, “the worthless cunts deserve it for getting caught attempting murder and being such shitty runners. Joseph never knew what we were planning, … so he will rescue us.” As the two men moved toward her location, Anna froze in horror when Marshall so casually mentioned that he knew of their plans to murder a loved one and steal his money. Even as Joseph's hand punched strongly up into her cunt from behind, her brain was shutting down as knowledge of her doom set in. To add to the terror at this development, her body betrayed her and she unwillingly underwent a stupendous orgasm just from the goosing hand of her former lover on her supercharged Ponygirl pussy. “Eiii,” she shouted in full loss of control. Her ass instantly exploded in pain as someone struck her ass, hard. Still horrified beyond belief, she chanced a glance at her older sister. The tears flowing silently down her cheeks and the look of sheer terror meant she also understood that they no longer had any hope of rescue; worse, they might now face brutal punishment from a man who knew they had cold-bloodedly planned to take his life.

She heard Joseph's voice shout, “What the fuck! I don't recognize this Ponygirl, but I'll know that voice to the end of my days. Marshall , please shut her disloyal mouthhole now!” Anna and Becky Sawyer knew that now they'd never have the chance to beg forgiveness to this man. “He knew,” Anna wailed to herself, “He must have found out and arranged our kidnapping, … the surgeries, … the forced lesbian sex with that demented doctor, … this place, …” She couldn't go on, snot poured out of her nose and tears streamed from her eyes in a continuous flow.

Joseph dashed around the lithe and tempting Ponyflesh dangling for his inspection and confronted his ex-lover and almost sister-in-law for the first time since their kidnapping. He was so taken aback by their beauty that his slapping hand hung poised in mid-air, unable to complete the motion.

While Joseph stood stunned in place, Marshall clapped his hand to his forehead in understanding. “That fucker!” he laughed. “That devious fuck! Joseph don't you see? Robert Morgan set this all up. He has given you first right of purchase on what you can consider to be four Prime Pieces of Pussy, four hot defenseless fucktoy whores, Ponygirls to use on your ranch for sheer enjoyment, and to build a new lifestyle to get over the gapping hole left by those unfaithful cunt Sawyer women. This is too perfect to be true! I gotta go get us beers to celebrate this development!” Marshall continued to laugh hysterically while he wandered back to the bleachers and the cooler full of beer.

Joseph Loftus held each girls' chins in a tight, relentless grip. He peered deep into their eyes and saw terror, despair, and animal lust. “No remorse,” he whispered as if to himself, “you two tore my heart out and you have no remorse for what you did. Your feelings are only centered on your selfish predicament; oh, you two are so fucked. My friend must have contracted the job of eliminating you to a slaver. Wow! What a fucking great change this is. Animals! You two are nothing but dumb fucking animals! Yesss, we might as well use you two for what you are, livestock on a ranch; good for nothing human except sex as an owner pleases.” He let go of their faces and saw white finger marks deeply engraved in their cheeks. The sight set him off; he drew back and walloped each one twice, once on each side of their faces. Then he intentionally and slowly spit in each face.

Joseph met Marshall halfway back from the cooler. He needed the cold beer the man held out for him. He had some thinking to do. Marshall said nothing; he merely handed over the beer and slapped him on the back. As Joseph wandered back to the Ponygirls, he heard Marshall say softly, “Ten, Joseph. They each only deserve ten paddles for coming in second place. After that, there's a cat-o-nine tails hanging on a post by the grooming pad. Just be careful not to brea k the skin. No matter how much you hate them, they are still worth at least a hundred and fifty thousand dollars each. Oh, … and watch out for their nose rings; best if you loosen the hanging chains before punishing them. I'll link up with you after you finish with the blondes.”

Joseph strode back to the two Sawyer bitches. He sat down on the flatbed trailer and idly traced his fingers down the Heath twin's trim bodies with one hand while he occasionally sipped some of the icy beer from the other hand. His eyes nev er left the two blondes whose eyes were locked on his angry glare. When the bottle of beer was empty, he set it down on the rough wooden surface and strode toward the blonde sisters. They were each panting in fear; each stood with snotty drool hanging from their nostrils and eyes red and puffy from crying. Joseph roughly unlatched Anna's nose chain and he drew her toward her sister so that the two stood toe to toe. Anna's heavy nose ring joined her sister's and the blondes were trapped nose to nose.

The heavy spanking paddle was still handy from punishing the Heath twins. Joseph picked it up and announced in a flat, emotionless voice, “You cunts got second place. Your penalty for not winning is ten strokes from this wood paddle and a month of providing personal pussy service to the winning pair. I admit that your efforts in the race as Po nygirls was most entertaining. Thus, you will get ten strokes of lesser force than your black-haired Po nymates received. Don't be deceived, you still have to face my wrath as Sawyer sisters after you are dealt with as Po nygirls.” With that said, Joseph wound up and swung at Anna's delectable ass. He winched as his first stroke was way too hard. The nine successive blows covered her ass and upper thighs. He had decided to save their fronts for other punishment.

Despite the lenient paddling punishment Joseph meted out to the two Ponygirls, Anna and Becky's tears continued unabated. Joseph brusquely spun Becky around until the girls were back to back. He clipped rings on the back of their control collars together, holding them with prominent tits aimed outwardly; their bodies now hung from the hanging chain clipped to the backs of their neck collars. Joseph swung the cat-o-nine-tails Marshall had told him about; the flexible whip strands each whistled, momentarily sounding much like an approaching tornado. “Anna,” he spoke addressing one of the women by name for the first time, “the whipping you are about to receive marks your death to me.” He swung the cat through the air in a long whistling arc that ended flat upon the plump breasts she was so proud of. Her unwitting shriek of pain was answered by a powerful shock from her activated collar. She immediately bit back further cries of pain. “My hate for you and your identity as Anna Sawyer ends with the last lash you receive from this whip,” he continued. A second equally strong lash thumped across her bosom, reddening her areoles and most of her full boobs. “I warn you now that I will purchase you from your captor and owner. He set this up so that I could flush your taint from my soul.” Joseph then paused in his explanation and stroked four more lashes in quick succession across her tits, her belly, her pubic mound, and her upper thighs. The stroke across Anna's cunt elicited another unearthly howl of pain, uninterrupted by the powerful punishing jolt from her collar for using her voice. Joseph nodded at Anna's second howl of pain. He once again swung the lash in a flurry of blows retracing his steps up her tempting form; the whip struck her shins, thighs, cuntal mound, belly, breasts, and brea sts.

Joseph contemplated the patterns of welts that he had just laid onto Anna's silently sobbing form. He spoke harshly, “Anna is now dead! You are henceforth ‘One.' Ponygirl, if you ever mention your name, a past relationship to me, or anything about your past as a human, I will torture you to death without a second thought. Do you understand?” At her slight nod, Joseph brought the whip back to his side, took a deep breath, and swung upwardly with all his strength.

Anna's cunt exploded in unimaginable pain. She felt herself rise up off the concrete from the force of the blow on her pussy and she howled an eerie scream that even the punishing jolts from the training collar could not interrupt. Anna slumped down, unconscious.

Becky fought to hold her own weight and that of her unconscious sister up so that they wouldn't choke to death. Her knees were buckling in failure when Joseph helped her by removing Anna and dragging her body over to join the Heath twins on the flatbed trailer.

Joseph returned to the hanging woman and pressed his body fully against Becky's lush front. He locked eye contact with the woman and jammed the neck of his used beer bottle up into the juncture between her legs. The silent mewling moan traced voicelessly by Becky's lips brought Joseph's smile back to his face. “You know,” Joseph said with a grin, “you actually were a decent assfuck. It's sorta funny in a way. Did you realize that I knew your plans that first time I took your ass so forcefully.” Becky's widening eyes gave her answer. “So, you didn't know,” Joseph continued. He rotated the bottle around feeling the woman's copious musk slipping down the slick glass to his fingers. Her hips unconsciously started to fuck back against the bottle. “Yes, my little Po nygirl; that's it. You're already wriggling like a little worm on my hook. What a slut you've become.”

Joseph watched the whorish look of Ponygirl lust deepen even as the bottle began to more forcefully push into her sloppy pussy. Her mouth opened wide with sexual need and her head bent backward as far as possible. The bottle popped past the widening neck and the fat body slid all the way inside her pussy. Joseph changed to a slight fucking motion with the rigid faux cock and he hissed into her ear, “I've come to blame you, the older sister, for taking the lead on your rampage of deception, theft, and planned murder. It's possible that I'll only take you and your former sister in the ass, leaving your filthy, whoring wombs alone. Or, … I might keep you two bred and lactating, plump dairy cows instead of svelte Ponygirls.” He changed his bottle fucking back to a steady push, setting the unforgiving glass deeper into her fuck channel. When only the butt end of the bottle remained an inch or so outside the obscenely spayed open pussy, Joseph's hand shifted up to take possession of her clitoris. He spoke again, in his formerly cold, angry voice, “You know, I've nev er taken your cunt yet. Were you as good a cunt fuck as you were an anal virgin to my fat cock?”

Like a silent puppet, her head jerked forward and back in a feverish imitation of a nod. The training collar wouldn't allow her to use a human voice to answer.

“I like you voiceless, you little Ponymare. Are you ready to cum?” he said with a hint of maliciousness.

Again her head nodded. If anything, her eyes had now taken on an even wilder, animal-like appearance. Sweat was beading across her forehead and her nostrils flared as her brea th came in fast little puffs.

Joseph waited until just seconds before he gauged her ready for orgasm. At just the right moment, he stepped back, switched the cat-o-nine-tails rapidly to his right hand, and swung the whip in a vicious upward arc with every ounce of his body strength behind the motion. As with her sister, his blow struck true-on his target, every strand landing on some part of the outwardly humped pubic mount. The impact drove all the air out of her lungs and her body lifted up onto her tiptoes. Leather strips struck her clitoris, her labia, and even wrapped back to slice against her asshole. The painful overload triggered her unstoppable orgasm and as the wild spasms of relief overwhelmed the woman, she slumped unconscious to hang limply from by her neck. Becky's bladder unloaded and piss flowed down her lithe legs to pool on the concrete below.

Marshall was there to help Joseph ease Becky onto the trailer to join her sister Ponygirls in hogties. Deciding that he didn't want to ruin her cunt in case he wanted to use it when he completed Becky's punishment, he pulled the slimy bottle from her vagina with a pop.

Joseph turned to Marshall and said, “Do you mind if I take my victory Ponygirl back to my cabin? After that disgusting scene, I'd like to wind down a little more privately.” He concentrated for a moment and added, “ Marshall , I'd like to have her bondage removed as well.”

Marshall saw that Joseph was standing possessively next to Doctor Joan Miller. He sighed. Doctor Miller's successful race warranted her graduation from Ponygirl to Ponygirl Training Mistress. “This is gonna cause a problem,” he thought. “I never thought she would ever qualify as a Ponygirl, let alone excel like this. Now I have a mess to clean up and a promise to keep. Shit!” He looked toward the other victor in the race, the avowed lesbian Paula Laturno. Thus far all the men on the ranch had dealt with Paula's reversion to livestock and then Ponygirl in such a manner that none had raped her, keeping some sort of respect for her lesbianism in case she fully returned to duty as his Ponygirl Training Mistress. “The problem is,” he moaned to himself, “I'm so horny after watching these women compete that I'd fuck a fencepost. Oh, well!” He decided that being the owner had some perks. “Fuck her! The deal was that I got my pick of the winners. Paula's gonna get fucked tonight whether she likes it or not. Besides, a man fucking her can't be as humiliating as when my pack of Scottish Deerhounds fucked her overnight.”

The lean rancher strode over to a tack chest located beside the training pad and rummaged through its contents for a moment. He pulled out two padlocks and a twenty-five foot section of lightweight, but strong, stainless steel chain. Marshall walked over to where Joan was standing quietly and freed a wrist cuff from her belt and then removed it from her wrist. He relocked the cuff around Joan's right ankle and padlocked the chain to the steel loop in the leather reinforced steel cuff. The other lock was temporarily clicked onto the other end of the twenty-five foot section of chain. Marshall handed the free end, the lock, and its key to Joseph with the matter of fact comment, “I'll let you have her naked, but she keeps her training collar on and it stays in the voice off mode. Everything else can go; waist belt and wrist cuffs. I just don't want you treating her as anything except a skilled Ponygirl and no-holds-barred sex toy.”

Joseph nodded his acceptance of the provisos and grinned his eagerness to begin. He hefted the chain in his hands with a thoughtful look while Marshall busied himself with removing the waist belt and the one remaining wrist cuff.

Joan was now more naked than she had been since arriving at the ranch. She took a deep breath, enjoying the lack of constriction around her torso from either the heavy waist belt or the reinforced bustier that held up her tits during most workouts. Her freed hands explored her waist and her boobs, really feeling them for the first time. Then she looked startled and her hands leapt to her scalp. Her face fell when her fingers confirmed what she already knew. “It's just that I've nev er had a bare scalp and they've ruined my beautiful hair,” she cried quietly to herself. “Will they ever decide I qualify fully as a Po nygirl. If so, will they let me free?” Her hands dropped and her left hand's fingers explored the smooth gold band on her wedding finger.

Joseph saw the luscious Ponygirl check out her body and glistening scalp above her ears. He noted that she didn't touch her tall Mohawk. Then, he was puzzled at her last move. “A wedding ring?” he questioned to himself. “What the hell is a slave doing with a wedding ring?”

Satisfied, Marshall leaned over to Joseph and whispered in his ear, “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you something. This luscious little ball of horny, ready to fuck pussymeat that you have on the end of your chain is married.” He chuckled at Joseph's shocked look. “Yes,” he whispered again, “and even better than that, she's the wife of the very man that enslaved the other four fabulous Ponygirls, including your ex-fiancé and almost sister-in-law.”

Joseph's look of shock increased and he actually stepped back away from his Ponygirl, loosening the chain as he moved away.

Marshall stepped after Joseph and he spoke so that only the two of them heard, “Make no doubt about it, she is a Ponygirl today and for as long as I decide. You are safe tonight. Robert Morgan agreed to this and he has few provisos to her use. Sex, of any sort is certainly allowed. I only warn you because you do not yet understand this lifestyle and I sense a bond of some sort between you. Remember, she is an animal now, something to be fully enjoyed. Yes, you have to take care of her, but she has no rights here. That's why I won't let the two of you speak. One last item for you to mull over as you use her tonight, she is actually the talented doctor and plastic surgeon that rebuilt the other two sets of blonde and black-haired bitches into such amazing mirror copies of perfection. She was originally recruited as a medical consultant to the slaver's organization. The joke is she willingly underwent this horror.”

With that said, Marshall turned away, leaving Joseph to assimilate what he had heard. Marshall threw a nearby horse saddle pad over a nearby steel hitching bar. Just feet away from the hitching post, Paula stood. He reached over to attach a leash to Paula's collar, disconnected the nose chain, and pulled her roughly over to the hitching post. He yanked her nose chain over the steel rail, forcing her to bend her midsection over the scratchy saddle pad. The rancher drew the chain downward to wrap the free end around a slim ankle, trapping the Po nygirl in place. Marshall walked behind her form and rubbed his hands possessively across her ass, the uncoiling snake in his pants bespeaking of her fate. Like Joseph, Marshall intended to fuck his Ponygirl all night long; he had no intention of letting her realize yet that she had satisfied every requirement for returning to free woman status and resuming her job as Head Groom and Ponygirl Mistress. Marshall intended to cut his first piece of pussy of the night right there at the grooming pad.

Paula looked longingly at the rump of her Ponygirl partner and lover. “Oh!” she wailed silently, “I want to be with you my love, not with a beastly man.” Her training kept her from flinching as Marshall Thompson's hands took possession of her ass. She knew to wriggle back as if she had to have his cock. “It's playacting,” she told herself fiercely as she left her body to respond unconsciously to a man stimulating her tingling flesh. Despite her self-assurances that she wasn't really craving a man, she felt her head arch back fighting the leash that held her trapped and her mouth gapped open wide. Her fingers grasped backwards, trying to get free of her waist constraints so she could hold onto his frame; she wanted to mount herself back onto his cock. She heard a zipper being opened behind her and Paula's cunt spasmed in need. “Fuck!” she thought, “I get so horny on a Po nygirl run that I'd fuck a man. What a creepy development; me wanting a flesh and blood prick up my twat!”

She felt fumbling fingers pull her butt cheeks outward, opening up her cunt and asshole for view. Without any preliminaries, something fat and rigid nestled against her spread-open lips and then the grip on her pussy lips was let loose, freeing her drooling outer labia to wrap themselves around the big cock head. “Ohh,” she moaned in real pleasure as Marshall's cock head rubbed against her vaginal sheath and then her voice box chirped a little, “Eiii,” as the fat length of his cock slid in smoothly, fully burying itself in just one effortless push.

Paula's trembling fingers felt his washboard abdomen and she tried to clench her fingers to find a handhold on his taut belly. She knew her hands were trying again to grip the rancher to hold him in place so she could begin to fuck herself on his thick prick. Moans of passion uncontrollably came from her throat as her frustrated body couldn't get any purchase to fuck with. Her body was folded over the hitching bar, keeping her from becoming an active participant in the sex. “Fuck me!” she cried out. “Get your big dick moving and fuck meeee!” she wailed frenziedly.

The lean rancher loved hearing his lesbian worker begging for hetrosex. He had initially been shocked when her greedy cunt virtually swallowed his full length in one easy gliding swoop. It was obvious that even though her pussy was very tight and hot, her horny condition had virtually filled her pussy to the brim with slippery, musky cunt oil. “I bet I could have pushed a champagne bottle into her slick cunt without her noticing it,” he thought as he pulled his slimy prick out till just the plum-sized knob was still in her entry. He took a deep breath and lunged forward with all his might. The man's hips swiveled about and then he withdrew again and held still for another long deep breath. Another bruisingly hard thrust, swiveling of hips, a withdrawal, and a measure pause followed. He held to this deliberate pattern for long minutes of fucking. After at least five minutes of this pace, Marshall shifted his hands from her stationary hips to her free hanging breasts. He squeezed hard and pulled up on her tit bags. During his next round of hip swiveling, dick stirring action against her dripping snatch, Marshall felt the unmistakable spasming of her pussy around his cock. To milk out her orgasm as much as possible, Marshall held himself locked tight against her ass and he ground his hips against her, stirring his long fuck stick across every inch of her deep pussy.

“Ponymare!” he called, “Keep coming, it feels so good on my throbbing cock. Those Filipinos can probably smell your cunt musk all the way over at the BBQ; you are so fucking hot, just like a mare in season. Bet you can't wait for my cum to scald your Ponypussy.” It actually felt as if his taunts intensified the lesbian's orgasm. He heard her gasping and snorting for breath below him.

When her long orgasm seemed to subside, Marshall began to resume his same controlled pace of screwing. On one outthrust, he glanced down at his thigh and saw that he had pussy drool on his pants from thighs to knees. “Paula,” he taunted again, “you pussy is leaking like a broken faucet. My pants are covered with your stench.”

Except for a barely audible grunt on his next bruising thrust, she remained silent below him, unable to speak from the wrenching orgasm that just wrung her out.

This time, Marshall altered his pattern after five minutes of more hip thrusting fucking. He slowly began to increase the pace. Ten full minutes into this second round of sex, Marshall shifted his hands from a full titty squeeze position to holding on to her fat nipples with just thumb and forefinger.

Paula's second orgasm overtook her just as he pinched her nipples tightly, eliciting a shriek of pain that transitioned quickly into an overwhelming orgasm. Her voice was completely incoherent as his groin kept thumping into her ass with a wet, meaty slapping sound.

When Marshall judged her spasms at their peak, he pulled his cock all the way free from her pussy for the first time in at least twenty minutes of steady fucking. His own cum was roiling around his ball sacks, desperate to get into her hot core. Marshall lined his fuck knob with her slippery asshole and pushed his rock hard dick into her nether hole. After achieving only three inches of depth, Marshall pulled out, wiped his fuck stick across her sloppy pussy, and reset his cock against her anal grommet. This thrust drove him all the way home, as deep into her bowels as his dick could reach. Despite Paula's incoherent shrieks, her just-started orgasm continued unabated well after Marshall 's cock was completely drained in her tight, clasping rectum. Marshall pulled out and looked down at the wet stains on his jeans. “Nice fuck, Po nymare. I've nev er gotten such a sloppy pussy before. I have to start taking more of my privileges with you Po nygirls. Whatta fuck!”

While Marshall was enjoying his first taste of Paula's lower two feminine holes, Joseph got his choice ready to go back to his cabin. Barefoot, the naked Joan was too priceless to make walk the long distance across the coarse and spiny desert floor to the cabin. Joseph knelt down in front of the lithe woman and readied a clean and dry pair of shoes for placing on her foot. Just as the laces were loosened, he felt something wet and slippery on his shoulder. Joan's leg had shifted and her cunt was now gently humping itself across Joseph, leaving a wide trail of drool. Marshall paused and looked up at the mischievously smiling woman. “Is this acceptable behavior for a Ponygirl,” he asked with a grin.

Paula simply smiled and shook her head to the negative.

Marshall felt the dripping snatch move closer to his neck. Still looking up he added quietly, “Guess this means I'll have to punish you with something hard?”

Joan's grin became wider and her head shaking indicated a more vigorous yes.

“You're that horny,” he responded, “that you'd risk punishment?”

Joan nodded her head again and moved her throbbing pussy against his neck.

Joseph thought why the fuck not, he turned his head sharply toward her musky core and dipped his tongue into her spread open lips. Her taste was powerful, but delicious nonetheless. He felt her weight shift down toward his mouth and he suctioned her pussy lips into his mouth.

Unable to moan because of her controlling collar, Joan's breath could only increase as the wonderful feelings spread deep into her pussy. His teeth chewed her lips and pulled them out from the junction between her legs. “Finally,” she moaned to herself as his tongue found her clitoris and started to lick while his mouth took up suctioning the little nubbin.

Joseph kept stimulating the woman's cunt and clitoris until her full weight sagged down on his shoulders. This time the Ponygirl cooperated while he slipped her tenn is shoes on. He took her leg chain in hand and clicked his tongue, “Let's go little Po nygirl. You've had your fun, now it's my turn. I want to show you my cabin.”

By the time Marshall drew a still chained Paula toward an empty bunkhouse, Joan Miller and Joseph Loftus were already fucking away like bunnies. To Joan, long deprived of any creature comforts, the feeling of crisp cool sheets was enough to make her knees weak in ecstasy. Her freedom to move about during sex was almost too wonderful for words. She felt his dick drive deep into her core in the standard missionary position, and she orgasmed the instant her legs locked around him to cross on his tight ass. Somehow, sex had nev er been so intense or so fulfilling. Even though the loss of her voice kept the occasion from being perfect, Doctor Joan Miller knew she would never view sex the same. Within an hour, she was so fucked out that she collapsed unconscious on the sweaty sheets.

The New Mexican rancher stumbled to the rustic bathroom and with bleary eyes examined his sweaty form in the mirror. “Whatta fuck!” he groaned. “That bitch was wild! You'd have thought she hadn't had sex in years and someone dumped a box of Spanish Fly down her throat. Wow!” He opened the window for some fresh air, sniffed the wondrous smell of mesquite smoke that wafted in, and decided on a fast shower before he joined the BBQ outside.

Joseph adjusted his white straw cowboy hat, glanced over at his sex partner's luscious form still lying unconscious on the bed, and quietly shut the door. He shook his head in wonder again at the wildly sexual creature he had just bedded. “With that chain holding her to the bed, she can't go anywhere except the bathroom. I wonder if she's eaten yet?” With those thoughts, he headed off into the dark desert night toward the sound of merrymaking around the distant bonfire.

The first thing that Joseph saw upon reaching the circle of light around the blazing fire was the glowing ass of a Ponygirl chained in place beside a picnic table. Paula was chained in place with a short lead going to her collar and her wrists still cuffed and locked against her waist belt. Her Mohawk was no longer erect and proud; it now drooped limply down across one side of her face. Joseph stopped at the sight of a stainless steel dog bowl sitting on the picnic bench beside Paula's kneeling form. A shiny brass medallion proclaimed that the bowl belonged to “ Po nygirl.”

Paula looked up at his approach. Her face was smeared with BBQ sauce from where she had been rooting around in her bowl for the meat and brea d. She had a profound look of embarrassment on her face at being caught eating like an animal.

Joseph started as a hand thumped down on his back.

“That's the cunt's first regular food in over five weeks,” Marshall said as he handed over a plastic cup filled with beer. The Ponygirl rancher took a deep sip and added, ”Your Ponygirl has only eaten a carefully balanced liquid diet for the last six weeks. Po nygirls in training at this ranch suck their food and drink from rubber cocks. That's why they become so good at oral sex. Any Ponygirl graduate from Ponygirl Heaven Ranch can take any normal man's cock all the way down their gullets in one smooth move.”

The men stood silently for a few minutes while Joseph thirstily drained his beer.

“Well,” Marshall demanded, “how was she? Was she the best fuck you've ever had in your life?”

Joseph grinned back at his new acquaintance and just nodded. A passing Filipino worker grinned at him and handed over two new cups brimming with beer. Joseph took another deep drink before he offered, “ Marshall , she clinched the deal. I absolutely have to buy the matched Po nygirls. Can you contact the owner for details on what he's demanding for terms?”

Marshall laid his arm across the other rancher's shoulder, “I already know what he wants. The problem is that the girls still have a few more weeks to go before their training is fully finished. But, here's the deal from Robert Morgan.” Marshall handed Joseph a card with:

Joseph:

The bill of sale is for $775,000; $175,000 for each of four trained Ponygirls plus a fully customized trailer equipped with all necessary bondage gear and a surrey rig. A modest delivery fee is built into the cost.

- Robert

“So you're authorized to negotiate this deal to a conclusion?” Joseph asked.

“Ayeap,” Marshal responded.

“Good,” said Joseph, “then I want to make this counteroffer. I'll pay his full asking price if I can have his wife, ‘Zero” for three weeks starting tomorrow. That way I'll have a Ponygirl at my ranch in New Mexico to practice on while I'm waiting for delivery of the matched sets.” Joseph stood there expectantly. “Oh,” he started again, “I forgot that I'll need a single Ponygirl surrey thrown in as well. That way I can use ‘Zero' as an actual Ponygirl on my ranch. It's pretty large, so she'll get plenty of exercise.”

Marshall grinned, he had seen this request coming. “OK,” he answered, “all of that is within reason to keep this sale on track. Keep in mind that Steve Austin and Robert Morgan wanted you to get this stock, hence the reasonableness of the offer. The only major adjustment we gotta make is that you can only have the Ponygirl ‘Zero' for two weeks. After that, she has to come back here so she can get her reward as a week of acting as Novice Ponygirl Mistress. Her major challenge will be to finalize the training of your new livestock. Whether or not she delivers the Ponygirls that next week is between her and Robert Morgan. Then, we have some fine points we have to agree upon. First; Robert's wife is a valuable commodity and you will have to pay a fully refundable deposit for her use. Since she's not my property, I want a one million dollar bond as guarantee for her safe return. Second; we have to jointly concur that your loaner Ponygirl is only a beast of burden that you can fuck anyway you wish, not a mistress or lover. You have to keep romance and love out of your mind. Third; just like today, she will have her training collar locked on the no-voice setting. You will not have the override control to change that particular setting. Fourth; a Ponygirl is livestock and she is to be locked up every night by at least an ankle cuff and chain. Any more severe bondage is your option, just nothing less than a chain. Fifth; you can do anything to her as far as punishment goes, just nothing permanent like brandings, piercings, or whipping scars. Last; you have to agree to use a modified bit on her while she is pulling your surrey. The nose ring takes a deft hand and I'd rather see you start off on a rubber bit. Remember when your purchases arrive, they'll have permanent bronze bits in their mouths and the heavy nose ring for lead lines or anchoring in place.”

Joseph Loftus nodded his acceptance of the conditions for the loan of a Ponygirl. He and Marshall both laughed at the thought of a man's wife being loaned not only as a beast of burden, but as a sex object that will see lots of use. They also laughed at the irony of Joseph purchasing his own ex-fiancé back from a slaver. “Now I know why my buddy Steve Austin agreed to take them off my hands for free. Shit, he makes a boatload of profit off each piece of pussy that he trains and sells.”

“Yep,” Marshall responds, “and what you see here is only one training regime a captured cunt can be placed into. The East and West Coast Slavers Organizations are really branching into specialty slaves such as French Maids, Kitchen Sluts, Companion Pussymeat, and more. All of them are worth far more than a run of the mill bondage cunt, pain slut, or general sex slave.”

Marshall and Joseph tapped their cups of beer together and sealed the bargain.

Back at Joseph's cabin, Doctor Joan Miller was stretched out in languorous bliss in a real bed. Hands free of any bondage, she was exploring her aching pussy even as she woke. “Whatta fuck!” she groaned. “That was wild! You'd have thought I hadn't had sex in years and my box was so hot it felt like I'd taken Spanish Fly. Wow!” With a groan, she padded over to the bathroom and sat down to pee. The shower beckoned from where she sat, so she cleaned off in a steaming hot mist of wondrous feeling water. Afterwards, she crawled back into bed, adjusted her ankle chain, and laid back with a sigh of contentment. Her only nagging concern was hunger, exacerbated by the mesquite smoke drifting over from the BBQ. “I get only liquid food,” she moaned in dismay. “I'd love something solid.” Her mouth watered as she waited for her New Mexican rancher owner to return.

Joseph kicked his boot heels against the porch edge, removing some gritty Arizona soil and strode over to his cabin's door. On entering, his eyes widened at the sight before him. His Ponygirl had made the bed and knelt naked upon the rustic comforter. Except for her knees, all of her weight was upon her breasts and shoulders. Her hands were splayed across her ass, holding her pussy and asshole in clear view for her owner. Joseph hurried over to the kitchen table and set down his load. He knelt on the bed beside her and commented, “Nice presentation, slave. You have learned more here than just Ponygirl training.” He shook his head in wonder again at the wildly sexual creature in his bed. She held her position and he moved a thumb on his right hand to her anus. He traced his fat thumb tip around her anal star, centered it on her tight little anal entry, and wormed the end digit into her tight hole. At her responsive moan and hip wriggling, he rotated his hand around his buried thumb to get three fingers down to her drooling pussy.

Joan moaned at the touch on her sex organs. “Like a good little slave,” she thought, “He said I hold position like a good little bedslave. How come that makes my pussy throb? God, how come anything with this man makes my cunt ache for a cock?”

Joseph decided that the items on the kitchen table could wait. He pulled his fingers free with audible plops and began to feverishly strip off his boots and clothing. Joseph was soon naked and kneeling behind his slave for the next few weeks. He still marveled that he was going to own not just one woman, but a number of matched sets of fully trained Po nysluts. “I'm going to get more sex in the next few weeks than I've had in my entire life,” he promised himself. “Whatta fucking life!”

Joan, now known as the Ponygirl Zero, had not moved from position since his entry into the cabin. Voiceless, she couldn't beg for sex; she could only clench her inner muscles, visibly clenching her pussy lips and anus, hoping the clear invitation would lead to a fast, satisfying fuck. Joan felt the man behind her fumbling around her butt before he was fully centered on her pussy. She silently gaspe d and opened her mouth in a quiet scream as the big dick sliced into her pussy. Immediately, she thrust her ass back to increase the pressure against her cunt and brought her hands up so that she could cradle her face above the mattress. ‘Eiii, yes,” she howled silently with glee. “A bed, … a shower, … and a hard cock. Oh, yes! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me!”

She felt the cock pull out of her aching cunt and immediately wis hed for a voice. She knew that if she could speak, she would beg uncontrollably for the sex to resume. In fact, she would have offered her worldly goods, maybe even her freedom, for renewed sex. “My body is ruling me,” she realized. “I'd do anything for sex now. What a slut I've become! I'm addicted!”

When the slimy cockhead nestled against her rectum, she'd have howled in satisfaction if the threat of shock from the training collar wasn't so real. Her enthusiasm for being anally skewered was equal to that of her straight forward pussy reaming of just moments before. Another inwardly focused grunt heralded her satisfaction as half the length of the man's fat dick worked its way into her hot, rectal core. No gentle and romantic fuck, her enthusiastic hip thrusts against the big hard-on triggered an equally rough fucking response. She loved it. Doctor Joan Miller, a professional woman with a lucrative career loved being treated like a piece of sexmeat. Her sexual nerves were so on edge, she climaxed twice before the man behind her had managed to even out his spastic thrusts to a smooth, even, deep-fucking pace. She came again when she felt his jism splash deep into her intestines. “Eiii,” she cried to herself, “he's given me his cum. Oh, yes!” Unable to control her response, she collapsed facedown onto the bed, unwittingly dragging Joseph Loftus' body down with her, to lie across her mindlessly shuddering form.

Ball drained and satisfied beyond belief, Joseph raised himself up off the sweaty supine form below him. He paused to admire the white pearls of his creamy cum that dribbled from his livestock's swollen nether lips. “I'm not gonna use a condom with this one,” he told himself with a smile. “ Marshall told me she's clean and the exercise has ended her menstrual cycles. She can't get pregnant right now.” He paused with his hand possessively covering her smooth ass cheek. “Hmmm,” he thought, “that gives me an idea.” The wild idea kept him grinning the whole time he was walking into the bathroom to clean off his sex juice-covered dick.

“Hey, Po nygirl,” he shouted over his shoulder, “I understand you've only had liquid food for weeks now. If you've got enough energy to get my pecker hard enough to pop off into your mouth, there's a complete Texas-style BBQ dinner on the kitchen table waiting for you.” Before he could turn on the shower and add that a successful Ponyslut could even use her hands while eating the meal, the eager slave had leapt from the bed, zoomed into the bathroom with clattering leg chain following, and sucked his stinky pecker deep into her pulsating throat. Joseph almost collapsed onto the cold tile at the incredible suction created by weeks of deep throating and sucking rubber dildos for sustenance and water. Her hands grasped desperately at his ass, yanking his groin onto her steamy maw.

After he recovered his balance, he decided to taunt the frantic cocksucker to even greater enthusiasm. “Three pounds of sliced beef brisket with thick gobs of BBQ sauce,” he chanted. “A baked potato bigger than a baby and stuffed with butter, sour cream, and chives,” he added. “An ice-filled bucket swimming with a six-pack of longneck beers,” he finished with a groan as his cock miraculously throbbed full of blood, ready to fuck again. After his hands gripped the slick sides of the shaven woman's head and he started to viciously face fuck his slave, he gasped out more incentives. “Silverware, … ughhh, oohhh, … thick slabs of Texas toast,” he moaned. “Ahhhhh, yes, … you delicious cocksucking slut. Eiii, … I nnever thought you could do it, … but, … take that you wonderful whore!” His spasming dick felt like the blood and life energy of his being was being forced through the tightly swollen tube of his prick.

Joan shrieked in ecstatic happiness as her lover's cock spurted another, albeit much thinner, load of milky sperm into her sucking orifice. She bounded to her feet, kissed her owner full on the lips with her jism covered lips, and ran toward the kitchen. Her dripping form left puddles of water and the clatter of chain again followed behind her as she ran toward her promised meal. It was everything Joseph had described. He had brought plates full of steaming food from the BBQ. Ignoring the stainless steel set of flatware, she opened a bottle of beer with an opener and sucked hungrily at the cold glass. While she satiated her thirst, her right hand snagged a six-ounce slice of sauce-covered brisket. She sat down the bottle and thrust the steaming meat into her mouth. “Ahhhhh,” she moaned silently. “This is fantastic!” She became a focused eating machine, slobbering BBQ sauce over both hands, her face, and her outthrust breasts as she ate every bit of the wondrous meat that was on the first plate. That became her signal to pause, belch contentedly, and reach for a second beer. She eyed the piles of remaining food and reluctantly turned away. “I'll eat more later,” she thought with a grin. She popped the top of a third beer, picked up her own bottle, and padded slowly back to the bathroom. Slave Joan was a contented bitch as she headed into the shower to join her Master, bringing him an icy beer. “I'll wash off this sauce and thank him properly,” she thought. Then, she paused while her bloated stomach gurgled. “I feel like a pig,” she whispered silently, “and I've happily become a horny slut!” She sank to her knees and brought her face toward the half-hard cock awaiting her. “Hmmm,” she mumbled contentedly as the barbeque-flavored cock lurched in her mouth.

Much later when the Arizona night deepened, Joseph Loftus (new Slavemaster and Ponygirl owner), Doctor Joan Miller (Ponygirl and soon-to-be Ponygirl Mistress), Marshall Thompson (Slave Trainer), and even Paula Laturno (Ponygirl and possibly soon-to-be Head Groom again) all had reason to bless the gods above for granting them such a complete and wondrous day. If they could have heard Joseph Loftus' shouts of amazed bliss as he ejaculated for the last time of the night in the hot and velvety cunt of ‘Zero', they would have agreed that life was certainly wonderful.

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 12 – Devious Planning (or It's the Vitamins, Stupid)

Joseph Loftus woke up feeling rejuvenated with life. He slipped smoothly out from under the covers and set his bare feet down on the cabin's cedar plank flooring. Joseph's eye was caught by the glittering stainless steel chain that ran from the heavy bedpost up under the covers to his bedmate of the night before. “A doctor,” he thought with amazement, “she's a gorgeous doctor and she obviously has some serious kinks. But, … whata fuck! She loved everything I did to her and she musta cum a dozen times.” He dismissed her bright red Mohawk as a temporary humiliation and instead admired her pretty face. “She's not young,” he criticized, “but then, … neither am I anymore.” His cock had by now fully awakened and was clearly yearning for more of what he got the night before.

Joseph had just coaxed his treacherous cock to soften enough to pee when a thought darkened his smiling face into deep concentration. He hurriedly pulled on his jeans, boots, and a long sleeve shirt and strode out into the early desert morning. The air was crisp and clear with just enough light to easily move about. He observed that the sun would not clear the distant range of mountains for at least thirty minutes. Somewhat to his surprise, there was a significant amount of early morning activity going on.

Marshall Thompson appeared to be waiting for him, holding a carafe of coffee and two empty mugs. The two men sat down of the rustic cabin's front porch steps and grinned wordlessly at each other as they held their coffee. Marshall spoke first, “Joseph, except for my military service, I've been a rancher my whole life, the same as my father and grandfather before me. We've barely scraped by for generations. Several years back I linked up with old military contacts that convinced me to try training Ponygirls for slavers. My plan was always to build this up into a viable operation and then sell it off for a better life in final retirement. The money end is fully on track; but I hafta admit that until yesterday and last night, I never fully appreciated what I have here.” The Arizona rancher took a deep sip from his steaming mug and continued after a moment's reflection, “Last night I was so wound up from watching the race we set up for you that I took a Ponygirl home to my bed for the first time.” He looked over at Joseph, “Man, it was great! My Ponygirl was an ex-employee here on the ranch and a confirmed lesbian. After undergoing our training regime, even she didn't have any choice; she popped off on my dick over and over like a string of firecrackers.” He looked guiltily down at the desert grit and added, “I'm considering keeping her even though we have kind of an agreement to set her free after her penance is complete.” He looked defiantly at his guest and added, “She was the best fuck of my life, bar none.”

Joseph sat grinning ear-to-ear during the entire guilty monologue. “Friend,” he said, “you took the very words I was ready to confess right out of my mouth. I came out here to ask if there was a way for me to keep my Ponyslut from last night as well.” He took a deep drink and added, “I think I have a plan that might work out for both of us.”

Much later that morning, Joseph met the Arizona rancher at the riding arena as planned. The Filipino grooms were just finishing securing two naked Ponygirls over a hitching rail. Marshall was running his coarse hand across the lean flank of what had once been Becky Sawyer. Now known only as ‘Two', the pretty blonde was thirty-seven compared to her sister Anna at thirty-one. As captive Ponygirls, Doctor Joan Miller had sculpted them to identical twins. Joseph grinned appreciatively at the glistening dew on the twat of his ex-fiancé's sister. The two girls were bound side-by-side in a similar manner. Each was bent over the hitching rail with hands drawn down and tied to ankles. A series of wrappings around their knees and elbows finished off the bondage. Neither girl could stop what the men were going to do with them. Joseph moved over to the younger sister, known forevermore as ‘One' and possessively cupped one of her stretched butt cheeks. “Hard to believe that I own these two sluts,” he commented idly.

Marshall shook his head, wondering again how he could have missed for so long the full appreciation of the enjoyment of owning a Ponygirl. “Last night was key to both of us,” he added with a chuckle. Then he pointed to a plastic tack box on the ground immediately between the joined ankles of the two helpless women, “After our talk this morning, I made some calls and got our regular vet to drop these off. He inspected these two sluts and agreed that your plan would work. Course, I had to let him use one of the twins as normal part of his payment for making house calls. To be honest, I can't remember which of the black-haired sluts he took. All I know is that he bellowed like a bull when he pumped his condom full in the privacy of her stall. I really think he was considering your plan as he popped his load. You are a devious son-of-a-bitch!”

Joseph couldn't believe his luck, “So, it'll work?”

Without replying, Marshall bent over and picked up a pint-sized jar holding a thick white liquid. He unscrewed the protective cap and exposed the thin rubber diaphragm for filling a syringe. “As of today, we stop their oral contraceptive. Get a large syringe, a needle, gauze, and alcohol and I'll show you how to do this.”

Seconds later, Joseph was dabbing an alcohol-laden gauze across the full meat of a fat tit on ‘Two'.

“Be sure to get a full 120 cc into the syringe,” Marshall directed. “Then remember, you put ten cc each into four sites around each breast and ten cc into two sites each on her ass.” Marshall reached under the bound Ponygirl and brutally yanked a fat tit out so that Joseph could inject it next. “Use only the top part of the tit meat, her implants are down low on her chest. There, … that's right. Now do the other tit.”

While the men worked about her body like a slab of meat and discussed her fate with the certainty that she had no voice in the outcome, Becky was trembling in fear from uncertainty about their plans. Her right boob already burned from the four injection sites and she felt her other breast brutally yanked out from where it was partially protected by her thighs. She winched as the first injection was forced into that boob and wondered what it all meant. “He bought us,” she told herself with silent sobs, “but what is he going to do? First I prayed for his rescue, and now I know that it's only worse because he somehow knew of our plans to steal his riches and then murder him.” The men were now spreading the icy cold antiseptic on her ass. From what she had overheard, she knew that four more injections would follow. The first needle speared into her fleshy meat and the burning fluid was forced out of the syringe. Becky could not protest. Not only was she bound tightly in place, but her modified dog-training collar ensured her silence. Other than her collar and white leather cross-trainer shoes, she was naked and exposed to the crisp Arizona air. She was brought out of her self-misery when she felt her feet being yanked forward, swinging her body up and around the hitching post. She realized that a rope around her ankles now held her body upside down with her feet pointed to an overhead beam of the riding arena. Becky could now see upwards and realized that a man was on each side of her. A rubbery dildo was slapped gently across her cheeks. Obediently, Becky opened wide and gagged briefly as the dildo slipped deep into her gullet. Panicked, Becky drew a ragged breath in through her nose and realized that the dildo was hollow, comprising some sort of feeding tube. One of the men held a funnel over the tube's end and the other poured another white milky fluid into the funnel. Becky felt the thin walls of the dildo pulsate as the thick liquid ran directly into her stomach. Soon it was over and the dildo withdrawn. She gasped for breath in her uncomfortable position and offered silent thanks that the ordeal had been relatively painless. “What are they planning she thought?” She remained bound while her sister was subjected to an identical treatment. Finally, it was over and her feet were swung down so that she once again lay draped over the hitching rail. A rock-hard cock speared her juicy pussy but she could only see a pair of upside down cowboy boots and dust-streaked jeans from her limited view. “Hmmph,” she grunted quietly. Then she realized with some dismay that her rapist had bottomed himself out in only two thrusts. “A whore,” she moaned to herself, “my pussy is making me a whore. Ahhhhh.” The man raping her had a wide, fat cock that was effortlessly spearing her already prepared cunt. She felt her belly ripple in appreciation and her inner cunt walls grasped hard to hold the fuckstick inside her vaginal sheath. “Eiiiii,” she screamed wordlessly, “ohhh, fuck!” In vain, she tried to hump back against the meaty rod rubbing her cunt lips and clit so deliciously. Within seconds, she exploded in her first orgasm. Too physically and mentally exhausted from the last few days' worth of ordeals, she laid limply in place as her lover finished his business-like fuck and pumped white creamy cum deep into her cunt; clearly not caring about her burning need for yet another climax.

Millions of viable sperm from Joseph's cock would swim fruitlessly toward Becky's womb, hoping for a fertile egg. However, in the days to come, the female hormones and fertility drugs just injected in her body would start to work their changes, flushing out her womb with blood and dropping an egg or two into her Fallopian tubes. Unwittingly, Becky the Ponygirl and her sister Anna were slated to become pregnant Ponygirls. Joseph Loftus had visions of gorgeous Ponygirls prancing about his ranch with slowly swelling bellies. His plan was to keep two Ponygirls pregnant at any given time; impregnating a set of Ponygirls each six months. After three months of nursing, he planned to remove the babies and give them to families desperately searching for children that they were unable to provide due to infertility or a physical inability to bring a fetus to full term. He and Marshall had spoken eagerly of how sexual it was to fuck a woman whose cunt and uterus were swollen with blood and hormones from pregnancy. “It's like they gotta get laid,” Marshall had laughed. “The hormones keep them constantly dripping wet with need and the blood flow keeps their nerves ready to explode from any stimulation. It's almost like a miracle, a natural version of Spanish Fly.”

Both Joseph and Marshall walked away from the hormone-loaded Ponygirls, shivering and still tethered at the hitching rail, each of the men simultaneously thinking of the wonder of fucking an unwillingly sexually responsive Ponygirl whose lactating breasts leaked milk at every tight squeeze of her titmeat. The men walked away, surreptitiously adjusting their rock-hard dicks in their jeans. Each was eager to nail the women still chained in their beds from the night before.

A wordless Marshall dragged Paula Laturno out of the bathtub where she was enjoying her first luxurious bath in weeks when he strode determinedly into the bathroom. The owner of Ponygirl Heaven Ranch soon had her wet form shackled spread-eagle on his bed. The wild scheme presented by Joseph Loftus had triggered something in Marshall Thompson's mind. After leaving his new friend pumping furiously away at Becky's slobbering cunt, Marshall had grabbed one box of pharmaceuticals and raced back to his cabin. Within minutes, Paula was ringgagged and voiceless on his bed. Paula nonetheless struggled mightily when she saw the dripping needle and the huge syringe in Marshall 's hand. The pain in her breast was nearly instantaneous as Marshall started her injections. Afterwards, Paula almost convinced herself that it had been a bad dream. The throbbing aching in her swollen boobs kept her honest with herself and unable to hide from the truth. “He's gonna make me pregnant!” she cried to herself later that day while still spread-eagled on the bed. “Eiiiii, … shit!” she added angrily.

Marshall 's terms to Paula were truly wicked. The good news was that she was to be released back to relative freedom and her previous occupation within seven days. The bad news is that he would restrict her movement and force her to remain at the ranch until a final test had been completed. “You see,” he explained, “I've fallen in lust with your body and your hot pussy. We need time as a couple to decide where we go from here.” Paula shamefully remembered how his words had resounded through her tightly bound body. “That bastard!” she told herself, “he knows I'm a lesbian and I prefer women; it's my traitor of a body that doesn't care how it gets laid.” As if to prove her words, her pussy clenched tightly as if to say how hungry it was for a hard cock. She wept long after he left her, still chained on the bed and awaiting their first sexual contest.

Tears still flowed down her cheeks as she remembered his harsh words. He told her how it was obvious that she had come to crave his cock, erupting in wild orgasm with every encounter between the two. Then he explained in cruelly descriptive terms what the drugs were doing to her system; how they prepared her body for motherhood. Lastly, he told her of the ‘deal' he had to offer. “You'll come to my cabin every Monday night,” he'd told her. “Monday night will be the night you decide how you want to roll the pregnancy dice for the following week. Quite simply, we'll have sex. The challenge to me is to get you to orgasm twice before I do. If you pop off twice, I get to paint your insides with my sperm. Further, that means I can repeat the contest every night for the rest of the week. Resist my charms, and my hard cock, and you are safe for the remainder of the week, six days free without sex. Oh, … and the only restriction on my part is that I have to get you to orgasm the second time with my dick. Anything goes for the first orgasm, it's just a warm-up freebie.”

“I don't want to get married,” she cried for the hundredth time that long afternoon. “And, … and, he wants me to sign myself over to him as if, … I were his chattel,” she whimpered in fear and confusion. To her horror, he had explained as he was walking out of the room that pregnancy meant she wanted to be owned, meaning she would have numerous duties on the ranch; his part-time lover, his part-time sex slave, the ranch's Ponygirl Mistress, and occasionally, a Ponygirl herself.

“Three months,” he concluded, “Three months resisting my sexual advances without getting pregnant and the contest is ended. That's twelve Monday nights where you decide whether to take my sperm. You will be able to stay or leave. In either event, I'll double your earned share of our profit sharing plan. If you get pregnant and decide you want to continue the arrangement, then we'll be married and make the deal permanent. Otherwise, the baby is mine upon birth and you leave with your retirement package and no parental rights.” Without another word, he had walked stiffly out of the room, leaving the sobbing Paula behind. Tearfully she waited and dreaded his return. “It's Monday afternoon,” she wailed silently. “He'll be back soon to fuck me and I won't even be able to talk, … to plead, … to beg him to reconsider.” The last thought was the most sobering, “he said its always going to be either a ringgag or my collar stays on during sex,” she told herself, “all he cares about is getting pleasure and popping off inside me; he doesn't want any chitchat, only hard-core graphic sex – that's what he told me, the cold-hearted bastard!”

While Paula awaited her unwanted lover's return, Joseph had returned to his cabin and much more romantically proceeded with his plan for Joan. He had silently prepared his bedpartner hot aromatic coffee and a tasty breakfast shake enriched with ‘vitamins, minerals, and protein.' Joan was too used to mistreatment and her bland liquid diet as a Ponygirl in training to complain at a chance to drink hot coffee and a tasty breakfast shake. “Hmmm,” she told herself, “sex, … a hot bath, … a clean bed with sheets, and breakfast in bed. “Hmmmm, yes; I could come to like this.” She had appreciatively caressed the now naked lean form of the rancher beside her as she worked on the frothy shake. If the collar would have allowed it, she would have giggled like a schoolgirl as his cock hardened under her light touch.

For once Joseph was thankful that Marshall had refused to give him control of Joan's training collar settings. He had no intention of letting her know that his plans exactly mirrored those of Marshall with Paula. Joseph intended to take every opportunity to load his potent sperm into Joan's vagina as the drugs brought it to be more receptive for pregnancy. Before he sent her on her way back to Ponygirl Heaven Ranch to begin her final week as Ponygirl Mistress, he expected her to have a fetus growing in her uterus. Unlike Marshall , Joseph was certain that he wanted to both possess and marry the strange and alluring woman he'd met in Ponygirl ‘Zero'. Marshall had capitulated and agreed to let him proceed with the plan, even without hearing back from Doctor Joan Miller's current husband of record and temporary owner, Robert Morgan. He'd been swayed when Joseph reminded him that, “Keep in mind, … in a worst case scenario, Robert Morgan will consider that a willful cunt got a bad bargain out of a deal with him. The only added extra that he never factored in is that she will end up pregnant; he'd already accepted your early assessment that she might never qualify as Ponygirl or Ponygirl Mistress. At the least it would help teach her to never attempt a bargain with a slaver. I call a ‘bun in the oven' a little bit of poetic justice to the bitch if she refuses to marry me after a few weeks imprisoned on my ranch. After all, I'm offering her the best of all worlds; time in Miami running her medical clinic, time in New Mexico as my ranch Ponygirl Mistress and lover, and some time herself as a Ponygirl. And, Marshall ,” he added as an aside, “don't forget that I won our wager on the Ponygirl race and technically she's mine to do with as I please now and for two more weeks in New Mexico .”

The afternoon dragged on and Paula continued to wait, an involuntary participant in Marshall Thompson and Joseph Loftus' kinky lust for a pregnant, lactating fuck. She squeezed her keegles and thought she heard a slight squelching sound as her cunt muscles contracted around her drooling vaginal sheath, knowing full well that her pussy was fully engorged with blood and was as slimy with sex lube as it could get. To her utter shame, she knew with absolute certainty that her fully denuded pussy lips were glistening with that same slime, telling anyone who looked that her sex was ready for mounting, … for enjoying a good rutting, … and for accepting her stud's sperm. “I don't want any cock, … I don't want any cock,” she thought over and over as a sort of protective mantra. She caught her breath as she once again quivered in arousal merely from the added stimuli of a single tickling draft of cooler air in the drafty cabin wafting across her hot and unquestionably aroused sex. Paula slumped down in sweat-drenched exhaustion. “I'm already so fucked,” drifted unwontedly across her consciousness as she tried to regain her mental composure.

Marshall had hurried though all his duties to get back to his cabin. The Filipinos were finished with cleaning up from the wild festivities after the race and the ranch was already back in smooth operating order. Marshall paused on his cabin porch and decided to quietly remove his boots outside in order to sneak in on his waiting fuckmeat. “Right now that's all she is,” he reminded himself. “No use getting moon-eyed over this heifer unless she takes to me. After all, there's plenty of loose cunt wandering around that I can cut out of the general population and try on for size.” He slipped noiselessly into his oversize cabin and stood in his greatroom while he hurriedly stripped down naked. A quiet grunt of satisfaction slipped from his lips as his right hand lightly teased his fully ready cock and he determined that today's contest might be the hardest of the coming weeks. “I'm so ready to plow that bitch and make her mine!” he chortled to himself as he stepped through his bedroom doorway.

The sight that greeted him froze him in place. Paula's full-bodied looks would never qualify her as a lean and trim fashion model, or Ponygirl for that matter. “No,” he decided lustily, “she perfect as she is. This is no frail thing. She's meaty and muscular in all the right places.” His appreciative eyes slowly drank in her form from her fleshy thighs and ass, to her slightly thick waist, and her full meaty tits before they widened in real lust at the look on her face. Then he looked more closely and saw the flush covering her breasts and the rock-hard nipples. “She hasn't seen me yet,” he thought. “But, … even with the cool air in here today, she's covered in sweat. And her cunt, … wow it's as shiny and red as a springtime flower, ripe and ready for the plucking. Fuck me, she's been thinking only of getting sexed! This might be the easiest pregnancy test ever undertaken.”

Marshall crouched down quickly before she saw him standing there and he crept up to the base of the bed. He forced himself to calmly slither up the end of the bed and center his reaching tongue on her hot core. Her gasp as his cool tongue locked on her throbbing clit was all the encouragement he needed. Paula's cunt was arched up hard into his face before either of his hands could reach up to grab a tit or stimulate her raised cunt mound. The ringgag made her gasps and grunts fully animalistic, evoking an instant response in his aching cock throb trapped against the bed's cool sheets. He made one licking circuit around her slobbering cunt lips before latching once again on her clit. She exploded in orgasm, less than thirty seconds after his tongue first touched her already aroused nerve bundles.

Paula was still spasming out of control with her first orgasm as Marshall feverishly spun in place on the sweaty bedsheets to loosen her ankle restraints. Gasping with his own need, he forced her legs up into the air and set them, ankles to her ears, exposing her swollen red gash. “Oh, you delicious bitch!” he whispered as he fumbled around her opening with the knob on his bare fuckstick. “Take that in your baby making box!” he literally howled as he fell balls-deep in a single lunge. “Today's a freebie cause you can't get pregnant. So, … let yourself go, … fuck me like the slut you are!”

Incoherent from the avalanche of a climax that had just torn through her unprepared defenses, Paula could barely hear her tormentor. She did grunt with the forceful way she was bent back, her feet lodged near her ears. His distantly understood words of bitch, … baby-making, … slut, … fuck, and … pregnant each hit primordial nerve endings and as he slid deep inside her with a single breath-whoosing plunge, she exploded again in uncontrollable orgasm. Less than two minutes into that afternoon sex session, she had loosed the two strongest orgasms of her life, felt his jism flow unstopped into her soon-to-be-receptive womb, and passed out from the overload. Marshall himself was so satiated from the overwhelming fuck session and her electrified cunt muscles that he passed out atop his new acquisition. Long minutes later, neither was conscious to note that his sperm-covered fuckstick relaxed enough to plop out of a slimy cunt box that was overflowing with his potent seed. Paula had just set herself up to a weeks worth of ‘cunt testing' and Marshall had discovered how easily his Ponygirl could be defeated by her own lust.

Just a few scant hours later, the Filipino driver that had won the race the evening before lovingly led Joan the Ponygirl to the hotwalker. Rigged once again in her familiar waist belt and wrist cuffs, she obediently followed the worker's lead and let him clip her nose ring to the lead line hanging on her end of the mechanical walker. He gently caressed her side and whispered his thanks for winning him the race. “The two black-haired beetches not so stuck up today,” he whispered happily to his winning Ponygirl. He possessively cupped her ass and added, “Them never fuck the likes of me before. Hay Chiquita! Them hot fucks once use wheep a little bit, you betcha. I ride ‘em hard. We no sleep all night.”

Joan couldn't help but grin at the plight of the former high society girls who had aspired to be slavers themselves. “Blueblood Lisa and Lori Heath fucking a half-breed Filipino, … how far the once mighty have fallen,” she thought happily. “And a full month servicing his fat and stunted cock.” Then she paused in her reflection and added, “Yesss, … I should be back in two weeks to begin my Ponygirl Mistress training. I'll get to see them nailed like the bitches in heat they really are.” Joan turned her attention to Paula already connected to the hot-walker in the position directly across the arena. “She looks positively glowing,” she observed. Then she realized that her comment about bitches in heat probably applied to herself and Paula as well. The tell-tale glistening streak down Paula's thighs bespoke volumes about what she had been doing during the afternoon. “At least, Joseph and I had a nice shower together,” she grinned cattily. She couldn't help but notice that they were going to be walked without ballgags. “Guess they're happy with our performance in the arena and in the bedroom,” she thought somewhat dreamily. With a creaking groan and an abrupt yank on her lead line, the walker started up and interrupted her inner musings. As if to second her thought about being pleased with their service, the pace set by the mechanical device was slow and measured, making for an easy workout for the two Ponygirls and their happy handler. It almost seemed as if his touches with the lunging whip were teasing rather than controlling.

That night Anna and Becky Sawyer crawled gratefully onto their small sleeping pads atop the aromatic cedar shavings in their stalls. Their breasts still throbbed from the hormones injected directly into their breast meat. Despite knowing that they couldn't possibly be pregnant, each couldn't help but imagine how the crusty sperm around their bare sexes heralded the millions more that had swum blindly around her innards, seeking an egg inside her womb. The Sawyer women wondered if the itching, tingling sensation in their sexes meant they were simply sluts eager for more sexing or if it meant a fetus had already taken hold inside them.

As Anna and Becky drifted off into restless sleep, Paula's pussy was clamping around her new lover once again in an animalistic orgasm. Not far away, Joan Miller was eagerly taking Joseph Loftus's baby-making sperm as she wrapped her legs and arms around his sweat-drenched form. The four satisfied lovers collapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep.

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you my Ponygirl?” Joan nodded again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 15 – The Next Challenge (or A Most Historic Race)

Joan awoke alone, this time covered in a thick comforter atop a king-size inflatable mattress. She stretched in enjoyment under the covers and peered about the gloomy interior of her tent. “It's not yet dawn,” she thought. “Where is Joseph?” Naked under the covers, Joan slowly reached down to touch her tender sex.

“God!” she whispered. “We were two horny, rutting beasts last night.” Indeed, Joan had leapt atop Joseph within seconds of gaining her freedom after the long tattooing session. Thankfully, he was already naked and she only had to straddle his hips and set her weight upon his upward pointing dick. She had sighed a long groan of appreciation as her sensitive interior was once again in full contact with his marvelous sex organ. After already milking a full load of jism out of him, Joan was certain that Joseph would let her have a long, lingering fuck before he lost control and spurted. She was right. Joan had rocked slowly atop him, carefully stirring his wondrous cock head across her ‘G' spot as well as nearly every other inner surface of her cunt. Her fingernails grabbed tightly enough at his sculpted pectorals to leave long red wheals. Joan triggered several of her own, wondrously satisfying orgasms before she began to rock faster and faster, building up to a massive, final orgasm. Her thoughts in the milliseconds before he grunted out his undeniable explosion, were about the odds of his sperm finding a newly dropped egg inside her body. The thought of her husband's secret plan to impregnate her and make her lactate like a cow triggered a mind-bending orgasm. Nearly unable to breathe in the passion of the moment, Joan collapsed across her lover, thrilling in their sweaty contact. Before she passed out, Joan managed to strip off her clothes and toss them up onto the nearby table. She took a much-needed nap until her husband woke her for more sex about midnight .

Finished reliving her night of rewarding sexual activity, Joan scratched her fingertip across her slippery clit. “Hmmm, nice,” she moaned. Her other hand slipped the covers up over her head and she curled into a fetus position. The hand locked to her pussy ran gently pinching fingers all the way around the edge of her outer labia. A second time around, her fingers pinched slightly harder and also tugged gently. Joan wriggled her hips and moaned louder. Oddly, running through her mind were thoughts about how she would deal with the loss of his so satisfying cock while she was in Miami . She grinned at an image of her sitting in her private restroom at her clinic, white lab coat and dress bunched up around her hips, and panties tightly stretched around her ankles while her feet spread as widely as possible to allow a burrowing finger deep access to her innermost vaginal walls. “Eiii,” she whispered, “I'll have to print out his emails and read them while I frig myself off.” Her other hand had taken possession of both her nipples at the same time, pinching the hard nubbins and stretching them toward each other. The ache echoed all the way down to her cunt. Pinching and questing fingers began to squeeze and dig harder and deeper; Joan thrilled to the images of the humiliating poses, styles of dress, eating as an animal, being sexed like unthinking livestock, and other acts viewed as repellent by society, all things that she had been forced to do. Joan wondered how much of her free time was going to be spent frigging off in her bed, her office, and restrooms all around town. “After all,” she added philosophically, “that's why women spend so much time in bathrooms.”

She giggled, remembering an encounter with an acquaintance and subordinate in the restroom at her clinic. One day when she was conducting office visits and no surgery, she had wandered into her office's private restroom and headed quickly into a stall to pee. Her soft-soled shoes made her entry silent, and somehow she closed her stall door and was in the process of pulling her panties down when she heard a noise in the adjacent stall. Joan had frozen in place so that she could listen intently, stuck in a squatted-down position, inches above the commode lid with her panties around her knees, and thumbs still hooked in the waistband. “It sounds like a whimpering animal,” she had thought, never guessing at first what was going on. Finally, she discerned the sound of panting, a faint muffled squealing, and a wet squishy sound. Joan had colored in embarrassment at the realization that a woman was fingering herself quite noisily in the stall next to hers. “I wanted to peek under the divider,” she remembered, “but the privacy screens went from floor to ceiling in my bathroom.” Still needing to pee, she carefully tugged up her panties, smoothed her skirt and lab coat, and slipped out of the stall.

Long minutes later, Joan was sitting demurely on the granite vanity top when Beth, her office assistant backed out of the stall. Beth almost peed her pants when she turned and saw Joan sitting there with a huge grin on her face. The unmistakable smell of aroused pussy wafted past Beth and Joan sniffed the pungent smell in deeply, visibly enjoying catching her friend in the act.

Beth's face was noticeably ashen as she stood, trapped against the stall door where she had enjoyed a series of wondrous climaxes.

Joan had smirked and whispered, “And men think we're always fixing our makeup. Well, … it's true, but in your case, Beth, I think you must be repairing the damage from a sweaty face and streaked makeup after you've popped off a few orgasms in silence. Well, … it was sort of silent. After all, you did sound like a whimpering little slut in heat.” She slipped confidently off the vanity and strode over to the humiliated woman. “And what got you so hot?” she purred as she stood face to face with the woman, barely controlling her hands from taking possession of the still panting woman's slowly heaving breasts. “I never took advantage of Beth,” she remembered wistfully. “If I had it to do over again, I'd have somehow recorded it in my cell phone or something and used the incident to take control of her tight panties. Hmmm, … she did smell so divine.” Even several years later, Joan's fingers twitched at the thought of what she would have done had the incident been more recent, “I'd have driven at least three fingers into her already juicy box and pinned her to the stall wall.” Joan's face took on a look of wistful loss as she reviewed how she could have massaged her ‘G' spot with her long forefinger and controlled the silly woman's clit with her thumbnail. “I could have made her beg for release. Each time she got too close, I'd have pinched her clit, making her have to start over again with building up to an orgasm. Hmmm, delicious.”

Joan's long-term loss from playing with Beth meant she never found out if she had a talented tongue or not. “I should've forced Beth down to her office, bound her naked under my desk in a kneeling hogtie, and conducted office visits with the horny woman servicing me. And, …” Joan whispered, “I'd have found out what she was frigging off to and made her live it in real life if she was having a fantasy. Yes, Beth would have paid for that transgression with lots of humiliation for her and pleasure for me.” Joan's pussy twitched at the thought.

Satisfied after her own orgasm, and the remembered short-term humiliation of her subordinate Beth, she worked her way to the edge of the mattress and awkwardly slipped out into the crisp desert morning air. She gingerly hopped over to a folding table, staggered a bit from her weak post-orgasmic state, and grabbed her same blouse and vest she had worn the day before; which she quickly shrugged into. Remaining bottomless, she poured some icy water into a small bucket, dipped a washcloth in, and squatted down so she could rinse off her well-used privates.

After Joan cleaned her underarms and completed her ‘whores' shower,' she realized that they had missed any chance for dinner the night before. Her stomach growled as she stepped out of the tent, still buttoning her vest in place. “Joseph must be with the Ponygirls,” she thought as she began the short walk over to their tent. “Empty?” she thought with some panic. “There is no sign that anyone slept here.” She hurried over to the open-air tent and found her fiancé.

Four naked Ponygirls sat on their massage cots from the night before, loosely anchored in place by nose chains that hung from the tent's ridgepole. Joseph turned toward Joan and sheepishly whispered, “We forgot to put our Ponygirls away last night. I did manage to cover them up after the tattooing, but never did move them to their single bed in the other tent.”

Joan took a deep breath of relief at his explanation. “Good thing I was tied up last night,” she said aloud. “Else, … I think I might be getting a paddling this morning.” Then she added with a little gentle sarcasm, “Guess you're exempt as a Master though.”

Joseph stopped his sorting of outfits for the Ponygirls and walked over to Joan. He gently grabbed her upper arm and said, “Let's go to the mess tent and get some coffee and breakfast. We can also arrange for feeding our livestock.”

“Coffee? Mess tent?” Joan questioned. “Let's go,” she said while locking her other arm over his.

As promised the night before, workers from Ponygirl Heaven Ranch had shown up two hours before dawn and stoked up a cookstove in another open-sided tent. Steaming coffee was available in carafe thermoses and the delicious aroma of bacon and biscuits hung heavily in the tent. Joseph steered Joan to a seat at a table and after getting them each a cup of hot black coffee, sat down beside her. “Nice, huh?” he said, looking about at the work the ranch had done to give them a comfortable night and a hot breakfast. Before Joan could answer he interjected, “Course, the workers have already passed the word that we couldn't stop fucking long enough yesterday to eat our grilled steak dinner last night.”

Joan was stricken at the thought that she had lost the chance to eat a steak dinner. “After months of liquid food, Joseph, I never thought I'd miss a real meal again. Guess we did have a lot of distraction last night.”

Joseph laughed in relief at her seemingly easy acceptance of her forced tattoo. “Thank you,” he whispered sincerely. “The tattoo means so much to me but I couldn't ruin it by asking your permission. The way I thought it out, if you hated the tattoo and hated the way I forced it upon you, then I was certain we were wrong as a couple. It was sort of the final test for me. I am now positive that marriage is the right choice. You are my perfect bride.”

She sat a moment, mulling her answer. “I feel a deep connection with you that is certainly love; marriage is definitely worth a try. But, … it is possible that we may both change our minds as we juggle our different careers, me commuting between Arizona and Miami , and we begin to deal with the complexities of our relationship. Our games are going to play serious havoc with our mental well being as I switch through the different roles that I seem to crave.”

Joseph clasped one of her hands in a strong grip and they stared at each other silently as they individually mulled over the recent developments in their relationship. Finally, still holding hands, each took a sip of coffee. The ranch hands served hot eggs, sausage, biscuits, and jelly. Joan grew more certain of her love for the strong rancher as they continued to eat in comfortable silence. Neither made any attempt to release hands during breakfast.

The only distraction was the brief moment when Joseph whispered something to the youngest Filipino Joan had seen at the ranch. Later, she would discover that the sixteen-year old had just arrived and was still in shock over the nudity and sexual availability of the western women captive at the ranch. An uncle working at the ranch when worried family members contacted him had arranged the boy's hasty departure from the Philippines . The boy had unintentionally interrupted a key drug transaction between a dissident element on the islands and a local corrupt official. The family was sure that between the government and the leftists, the boy was targeted for a revenge killing. He was whisked away to the capital and hidden until the uncle could beg for assistance from his sponsor, the Greek shipping magnate Niarchos Constantinople. Niarchos decided the boy was too young to work on one of his freighters and send him to work with his uncle at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch in Arizona . After the whispered conversation with Joseph, the boy hurried out of the tent with an armload of plastic water bottles and what Joan thought were sports bottles filled with Ponygirl liquid meals.

Content, the two lovers headed back to the grooming tent. Joan stood and let the activity inside sink in, not really shocked, but nonetheless surprised. All four women remained on their cots, a bottle of water and a bottle of liquid meal in each hand. Three of the women were single-mindedly concentrating on their drinks, happy to be using hands and a bottle rather than the hollow cock drink dispenser. It appeared that the boy thought he had time for a fast fuck and had singled Becky Sawyer out for sexing. He had dropped trousers, sat back on the cot, and pulled her naked ass upon his lap, wedging his teenage cock into the blonde Ponygirl's pussy from underneath. Evidently, he had long since spurted his cum into a limp condom and Becky was mindlessly humping against his limpness, still trying to trigger her elusive orgasm.

Joseph took charge. “Joan, get the three Ponygirls into their new clothes. I'll get the boy to clean up his mess and dry her off before we get the slut dressed.

Minutes later while the boy protested about cleaning her gooey twat, Becky was still contentedly drifting in her dreamy state of Ponygirl thinking. She hadn't even blushed when she faintly heard her sister's ex-fiancé chiding her for being a cock-hungry whore. “After all, I am a slut,” she thought. Even knowing that she had actually initiated the sex by coming on to the sixteen-year-old virgin and using him to get herself off, hadn't made her feel any humiliation. The boy's complaints about how gross and slimy her twat was didn't bother her either. She just placidly stood in place as directed while he washed and dried her sex. The last forced tattooing might have removed any remaining vestiges of resistance.

Becky had seen the young boy come into the tent carrying their water and food. While the other three women had been eager to use their hands and start drinking, Becky had used one of her free hands to curl around his belt and draw his hips toward her. The other hand had expertly unzipped his jeans and fished out his cock. The boyish cock quickly swelled to its full five-inch length. Undaunted by the immaturity of the cock, Becky had jacked her hand along its length and cooed in very real excitement. She had swirled her tongue ring around his cock head to get him fully aroused, slipped a condom from his pocket, and covered his dick in a protective sheath of latex. In a matter of seconds, she used her larger mass to maneuver the boy's naked ass to the edge of the cot and then backed her ass up onto his lap, spearing his cock into her wet and slimy cunt. The boy had reached around her chest, anchored his hands on her fat breasts, and held on for dear life while she began to fuck herself like a bouncing demon on his cock. Far too quickly, she felt him spasm under her, finished for the moment.

While grooming or hearing herself discussed as a horny animal didn't get Becky's attention, the new clothes did. The sheer man-made material that hugged her skin from ankles to neck breathed well and easily supported her heavy boobs. Childishly, like a little girl, she preened a little after her skimpy translucent pants and top were added. She thought she looked cute in her matching hues of pastel lime-green clothing. Traditional socks, shoes, and gloves were next. Her big surprise was that her Mohawk was not waxed upright and the awful butt plug was nowhere in sight. She barely kept from shying back when a hat flickered up past her face on the way to cover her scalp. Joseph's calming touch was helpful as he whispered for her not to be so skittish. As Becky moved easily to be harnessed up, she felt lighter and stronger than when tacked up naked.

While Joseph was readying the last Ponygirl, Joan had discovered the odd-looking cart beside the tent. The cart's three narrow drawbars gave away its use as a Ponygirl cart. The body was made of a glistening black, man-made material and the wheels were huge, easily five-feet high. She bent to pick up the front end of a drawbar and was astounded at the lightness of the cart frame. “The size of the wheel and the wide tires let it roll like a dream,” she whispered, “I wish this was the cart used in my race.” She ran her hand appreciatively along the glass-slick surfaces.

Joseph came up behind her and wrapped an arm possessively around Joan. “The cart is unique; none like it has ever been built. The entire assembly is constructed of high-tech man-made materials. Even though it is nearly indestructible, the weak link remains the wheel, that's why we have a spare. The extra-large diameter wheels let it roll easily over most obstacles and the leaf springs keep the ride smooth. The three drawbars unpin from their sleeves, slide forward, and pivot down to make the ridges of a low profile tent. Storage wells hold side poles, canvas, and a spare axel. In the desert, it'll only take two to three minutes to set up the tent, providing shelter from the sun and rest during the hottest part of the day. There is lots of storage; under the seat, in the storage bed behind the seat, and the honeycomb matrix of the body holds fifteen gallons of water. A built-in reverse osmosis filter well cleans any water that can be poured into the honeycomb. The wheel rubber is incredibly strong, solid, and without air pressure so it can't become flat.

“OK, Joseph,” Joan asked, exasperated at his slow manner of letting her know what the plan was, “tell me now.”

Joseph gently spun Joan Miller around so that they were face-to-face. His big hands took possession of her trim ass and he whispered in her ear, “Have you heard of the ‘ Ocean of Fire '?”

The name meant nothing to Joan. She shook her head in the negative.

“What about Frank T. Hopkins?” Joseph asked.

Joan stiffened. She looked up at his face and scowled, “Are you outta your freaking mind? A 3,000 mile survival race across the Arabian desert ; … is that what you are talking about?”

Joseph laughed at Joan's response and said, “Well, you've figured out part of it. The ‘ Ocean of Fire ' was supposedly an annual race, restricted to the finest Arabian horses ever bred, that crossed 3,000 miles of burning desert sand and rock. The recent movie highlighted the adventures of the American, Frank T. Hopkins, who claimed that in 1890 he and his mustang, Hidalgo , ran and won the event.” Joseph slid hands up to grasp her chin and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her mouth with a deep lingering kiss. Satisfied that he had her attention, he whispered, “This year, Saudi Peninsula sheiks and sultans have put together a huge purse for an approximately thirty-five day race that will cover about eleven hundred miles of Yemen , Saudi Arabia , and the United Arab Emirates . The purse is huge and includes extra cash bonuses and slaves lost from certain losing teams that have to pay forfeits if they drop out early.”

The thought was enough to make Joan tremble in fear. She had seen the movie and gotten a little bit of appreciation for the harsh conditions such a race would entail. “What about desert nomads, bandits, and slave traders?” she queried back. “What about our girls? We could easily have a serious injury or fatality. What will you do if you have to forfeit one of your teams? Or, … both teams for that matter?”

“The sponsoring sheik is providing four million dollars to the purse and will cover all the expenses. Each of the twenty teams puts one hundred thousand into the pot, making the total payout a guaranteed minimum of six million dollars. Half the pot goes to the winner, half of what remains goes to second place, half of the remainder goes to third place, etc. Any quitters in the first five days of the race lose both Ponygirl teams, the freedom of their Ponygirl Mistress, and an additional one hundred thousand dollars. Teams that drop out in the next five days will lose a Ponygirl team and one hundred thousand dollars.”

First Place	3,000,000
Second Place	1,500,000
Third Place	800,000
Fourth Place	400,000
Fifth Place	200,000
Sixth Place	100,000
Total Purse	6,000,000

“Ponygirls abandoned while on the course belong to whoever gets them under lock and key first. So, … the winning team will get three million dollars, plus first choice of confiscated slaves, their share of forfeit fees, and bragging rights for the best Ponygirls in the world. We could have all that. The idea of the extra slaves is delicious.” Joseph leaned down and kissed her soft lips and added, “Besides, … it would be a lot of fun to make money, have great sex, and to turn a few lives around. Hopefully we will grind down some arrogant blueblood egos into quivering, helpless slaves and supply East Coast Slavers Organization with some nice stock.”

Joan smiled faintly and whispered, “Well, Master, … it looks like you have made up your mind. But, what if we have an early forfeit and you lose me?”

Joseph looked startled and locked eyes with his fiancé. “You must know that I'm talking about getting a different Ponygirl Mistress. I couldn't possibly risk losing you,” he said with passion and concern in his voice.

“Better rethink your plans, my high Lord and Master,” she said with some sarcasm dripping in her voice. “I am your Ponygirl Mistress, period, … end of conversation.”

Joseph pinched an ass cheek hard enough to bruise and hissed, “OK, … if that's how you want it. But, be warned, … you will be punished for this attitude.”

Joan cuddled up against his lean form and said, “Promises, … promises. Big boy, do you think you can really do it?” She shivered at the thought of how he would make her pay. It was an eager shiver; Joan was already primed for another sexing. “If I upset him enough, I'll have a guaranteed role in the race and he'll probably fuck me to death after teasing me mercilessly. Yes, what a great life this is. If this keeps up, I'll spend the rest of my life whacking off in restrooms every free moment I get.”

Joseph Loftus and Joan Miller soon sat side by side for the first time on a Ponygirl carriage. Joan wriggled her butt on the thinly padded seat. “It's not bad,” she thought, “the springs are nice.” She surveyed their twin sets of Ponygirls already harnessed to the three drawbars and pulling smoothly as they accelerated away from the basecamp. The lime-green outfits were stunning. Joan couldn't help but look at the trim little asses swaying in front of her. “Weird not having the Mohawks to look at,” she thought. Her hand drifted over to Joseph's crotch. “Joseph!” she mock scolded, “you're as full of lust as one of the Ponysluts. Are you in heat?'

The carriage whip cracked strongly over the team's heads. Joseph spared a sideways look at his fiancé and he answered with a challenging grin, “Hmmm, I bet if I slide my hand up under your skirt that it'll be as sloppy as if you've been in an all night gangbang.”

Joan groaned and replied, “OK, OK, … you're right. These bitches moving in front of us are like sex personified. Let's plan on a quick rest stop fuck later on. We can tease these cunts while you drill my pussy.” With that said, she reached over and gently took control of the four sets of reins from Joseph. She measured them equally and spoke louder over the rushing wind and rattling gravel, “I need the practice. As you said earlier, we'll gauge how well the Ponygirls move today on their twenty-five mile course. Then, we decide about participating in this ‘ Ocean of Fire ' race.”

Joan decided that the two teams were moving easier and stronger with their new outfits on. She looked at the map board and judged that just over an hour into the day's course the terrain would become considerably rougher. Joseph had already highlighted in green the one-hour segments where the Ponygirls would run. Yellow highlighted the areas where the team would walk. On that day's run, much of the walking was on steep uphill gradients. “Looks like two big rises over the twenty-five miles. The first long climb is two hundred meters and the second is almost three hundred meters. That's a lot of up and down hill work,” she thought.

The map display board was the same used on the sulkies from the previous day's ride. The four digital readouts were modified wireless bicycle computers receiving data from a magnetic pickup unit / transmitter on the side of the sulky. Each digital pulse ‘counted' each rotation of a wheel by sensing the passage of a magnet mounted on a wheel spoke. The GPS readout showed a blinking dot over halfway to the first hillclimb. Joan realized how helpful the technology would be in maintaining a competitive edge by maximizing her teams' performance against the specific terrain of the race course. A naïve outdoorsman and definite city woman, Joan had no idea how critical the GPS plotters would be in charting cross-country point-to-point courses when no roads or trails were available.

Joseph admired the easy movement of his fiancé sitting smoothly while the carriage undulated below them. “With both hands busy on the reins,” he thought, “you have to have great balance.” He turned to Joan and asked, “Have any curiosity about how much this rig cost?” he asked.

Joan answered without sparing him a glance, “I guess expensive. This is certainly a custom rig.”

“Custom, yes, and unique also,” Joseph answered wryly. “The design was by a team of out of work Russian weapons design engineers. We traded engineering drawings for weeks over the internet, fine-tuning the extra features. That part was surprisingly cheap. A team of aerospace engineers that worked on stealth fighters laid down the composite materials and baked them. The final cost was over ninety thousand dollars. Then I had to order and pay for all the equipment we'll carry.”

The number even took Joan by surprise.

“I've done a lot of research on this desert race,” Joseph added, “the breakdown rate will be extensive, meaning lots of forfeitures and enslavements. The reason for investing so much in the cart and equipment was to insure my team's survival. Also,” and here he paused a little guiltily, “even though I don't need money, the chance to win more than three million dollars, acquire extra slaves, the amazing sex, and maybe even humiliate some arrogant Masters and Mistresses; well, it was so tempting I had to go for it.”

Joan glanced down at the discrete array of digital readouts and gently drew back on the reins. “Slow, girls. Slowww. That's it, … walk on. Walk on,” she commanded as she guided her team to the one-hour walk phase. “Eight miles!” she told Joseph, “we've already come eight easy miles at a consistent seven-minute mile pace.”

Joseph looked at the happy woman beside him and answered, “Well, just remember, this is the easy part. Plus, … if we race, we have to do this day after day, for about thirty days. And, … you saw from last night that we have hours of cleanup and treatments in grooming these cunts before we put them to bed. Their wellbeing will have to come first. It will be grueling for all six of us.”

--L--A--T--E--R—

Joan grunted in a combination of pain, frustration, humiliation, and lust. The second day's ride had begun as everything she wanted and more. The Ponygirls performed strongly for the first eight-mile run and the following two-mile walk. The terrain had risen into such a steep and rough uphill climb that their walking pace was slow. Both Joseph and Joan were impressed with their progress, ten miles in just two hours.

The day took a downturn for Joan as Joseph tried to inspect the Ponygirls at a thirty-minute stop atop the first ridgeline, two hundred meters above the valley floor. The view was spectacular, but Joseph had eyes only for the team of Ponygirls. His hands swept down each panting form, covering every muscle group under the double layer of clothing in a practiced inspection. Gentile murmuring and a focused watching of their responses from his touches ensured a calm Ponygirl and a means of gauging their condition from his touches. Joan had become petulant as he focused on all the Ponyflesh, mentioning more than once how she thought he was going to ‘pork her' in front of the team. He started to lose his temper a little when he saw a definite smirk of superiority on Becky's face. It didn't help that he was in the process of checking her inner heat (a hand snaked deep into her stretchy pants with fingers burrowing inside her squishy quim) when Joan's hand crept around his waist and locked on his throbbing cock.

Joan should have known she was in trouble when Joseph wordlessly pulled away from her, yanked his wet fingers out of Becky's sloppy pussy, opened up the storage bin under the driver's seat, and pulled a handful of gear out. Joseph buckled leather blinders around the forehead of his lead team, keeping them from looking to the rear while harnessed. Still ignoring Joan, he wrapped a black silk blindfold around each of the Ponygirls on his rear team, ‘Three' (Lisa) and ‘Four' (Lori). When he turned to Joan, she practically leapt atop him in her eagerness to get his cock inside her needy cunt. Her enthusiasm ended in a gurgle of pain when she started to collapse to her knees and began to vomit over the desert floor.

“This is never going to work, Joan,” Joseph complained as he steadied her fall after rabbit punching her in the gut, “unless you learn that the condition of our team is first in everything. It's time to remind you of our first responsibilities. Otherwise, we'll die in some Saudi desert hellhole because we've failed to keep our teams sound as they fight to get safely through every horrid obstacle that we'll face. I guarantee I will never let you forget this lesson again.”

Joan was unable to answer, her throat burned from the vomit that had spilled over her clothing. Breathless, she couldn't even nod her understanding. Later she would wonder that her need for sex could have ever have overwhelmed her common sense.

In a matter of minutes, Joseph had thrown the cargo net off the back end of the wagon, unclipped the release on the spare wheel, and pulled the wheel off to tie it at an angle against one of the carriage wheels. Joan was still gasping for breath when Joseph threw her belly-first against the slanted wagon wheel. He took each wrist and tied her tightly with arms spread widely apart at ten o'clock and two o'clock positions on the wheel. Her ankles were similarly tied at seven o'clock and five o'clock positions. He drew the glittering blade of a sheath knife from his belt and quickly skinned off her vest and white cowgirl shirt. Her skirt and panties that she had so admired the morning before were next to flutter free of her body. The razor-sharp knife converted the leather skirt into long strips. Joseph rolled her panties into a leather strip and crammed the fat wad into her mouth. Another ragged strip of leather jammed the gag in deeper and he tied if off behind her head.

Joan was sure she had really fucked up when she felt him fumbling around her neck. “The collar,” she screamed silently, “he's put a collar back on me.” Just seconds later, she heard the eerie whistling of the carriage whip. The pain that erupted in her ass was horrible and unexpected. The whip whistled again, and once more, a line of fire traced its way across a nakedly exposed upper thigh. The painful strokes continued. Joan fainted into merciful unconsciousness.

Joan awoke to strong pushing against her back, the thrusts throwing her naked tits and face painfully into the hard material of the wheel. Dimly, she became aware of panting against her ear and a hoarse whispering. “Cunt,” she heard, “you are a slutty bitch. What a whore.” Joan tried to wake her foggy brain and work past the painful burning across her back, ass, and upper legs. “Oh, God,” she moaned to herself, “it's one of the Ponygirls. Joseph must be fucking her against me. Oh, shit!” It was obvious from the staccato pattern of the thrusts that Joseph was getting more and more excited as he drilled into the Ponygirls pussy from behind. Joan could feel the woman's fat, clothing-clad breasts rubbing against her naked back. The Ponygirl's teeth nipped at her neck, more painfully than if it was just a lust-inspired bite.

“Horny cunt,” the female voice accused again in a quiet whisper, “you're still a Ponygirl inside. You don't deserve to be free. Ahhh, I'm such a better fuck than you are. Eiii! He's gonna make me cum even before he paints my pussy with his jism.”

Joan tensed up as the exultant voice became noticeably aroused as her claimed orgasm approached. “Bitch!” Joan accused silently, “I wish Joseph had left their collars on. I didn't need them to humiliate me.” She mulled over whether to ask Joseph to punish the girl for her impertinence against her Mistress. Then she realized, “When I'm being whipped, I'm property not a Ponygirl Mistress.”

--L--A--T--E--R—

Her lungs felt like they were going to burst and her skin was afire from the direct rays of the sun. The long bumpy hill seemed to stretch forever ahead of her eyes. Joan's ass hurt excruciatingly from the massive plug inflated there. “He's given me my tail,” she thought dismally. The humiliation of having the ridged plug shoved deep into her rectum had not been as sexually exciting as her dreams had indicated. Pumped up it was worse. It felt like a baby was struggling to fight its way out with every waddling step she took. The yellow flag wiggled and moved behind her head, yanking painfully on her intestines and stretching her anal ring. “Plus,” she thought, “my poor boobies hurt like hell.” She risked a quick look down to see her swollen nipples squeezed through the narrow opening of the heavy, silver star-shaped disk that had been ripped of the spurs adorning her boots. After Joseph ripped the silver star off the spurs, he had driven a temporary pin through Joan's nipple ring holes that had been in use as recently as the day before. Before she looked back to her path ahead, she saw her tits sway as the heavy silver spurs helped drag her meaty boobs to the side. “Ahhh,” she moaned, “that's gonna hurt tomorrow. Tomorrow, … I wonder what's in store for tomorrow?”

Joan had another reason for humiliation. Joseph had harnessed her naked in the second row of Ponygirls in position number four. That meant that instead of her getting orgasms during the break, Lori Heath, ‘Four' had not only gotten sexed, but she had gotten a load of his sperm. In addition, Joseph had obviously put blinders on the front team to spare her further humiliation during her stint as a Ponygirl. However, ‘Three', Lisa Heath, had a clear view of her naked form as she ran along beside her. Occasionally, Joan heard a hissed derogatory adjective directed at her from ‘Three's' mouth, increasing her humiliation.

The whip whistled overhead once and then a second time, popping loudly each time. Joseph's voice shouted out over the crunching gravel as the cart moved smoothly up the hill, “Steady, bitches! Easy on, … keep in step!” The whip whistled one more time and a line of fire traced up Joan's leg even before she heard the supersonic crack of the tip. Joan leaned forward into her harness, pulling a little bit more of the load. She heard her lover's shouted, “Better you slutty whoremonger bitches! Better!” Joan gasped a deep breath, held it to quiet the pain in her ribs, and let it out in a long whoosh. In addition to the other distractions, Joan's swollen feet throbbed. She was still wearing her paddock boots that comfortable, were never meant for running, especially with the two-inch heels.

Suddenly, Joan realized they were now atop the ridgeline. “Thank God!” she moaned, “it's time to rest. Why didn't he slow to a walk earlier as planned, we've run constantly since the break when he whipped me?” Then she had an idea, “maybe he's really pissed at me. Holy fuck! Am I in big trouble, or what?” Joseph kept the Ponygirls' pace the same all the way along the long ridgeline. Joan struggled to remember how far they had run and how far they had to go.

Joseph was proud of his team's progress. They had moved well on the first ten-mile stretch before the break and maintained an even better pace as he pushed them another ten full miles without a walking break. As they approached the end of the ridge, he glanced down the steep switchbacks and realized that walking was their only option.

Lori Heath rested contentedly between the widespread legs of her owner and Master. She was seated on the floorboards facing forward and enjoying the ride with no ropes, chains, or restraints holding her in place. Her head and one hand rested possessively on Joseph's thigh. One reason for her contentment was the long hard fuck that he had thrown into her during the only rest stop of the day. His long, fat cock battering into her pussy from behind had felt so good. “Plus,” she thought, “tormenting my Mistress was lovely. She was so pissed that I got his cock.” The exciting thoughts made Lori want to reach down between her legs to scratch her still needy pussy. She held back, only because her Master had forbidden her to pleasure herself while she was sitting beside him. Lori had learned much since her enjoyable fuck earlier in the day. “I discovered that Master really values us,” she told herself smugly, “he even beat his Ponygirl Mistress for not paying proper attention to us.” She ran one hand lovingly across his thigh beside her cheek and continued, “We can trust him to care for us.” The revelation was astounding to her because of the way she was treated as simple meat by the workers at Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. “I'll tell the others,” she vowed knowing how amazingly lucky they were to be purchased by a loving Master. “It makes our life so much better,” she thought happily while visualizing the image of her puffy hairless cunt drooling a fresh load of thick sperm after he fucked her so well against the whipped back of the Ponygirl Mistress.

Joseph ran his gloved hands over the black Mohawk resting against his thigh and felt the patterned ridges from the tightly braided rows. “The little imp,” he thought with a grin, “she knows that she is making me hard.” His grin faltered as he looked at the only naked woman running ahead of him. He signaled for a walk and all four women slipped smoothly into the slower pace. Joan's naked ass drew his eyes again and he whispered, “Yes, … that's why we keep them naked during exhibitions.”

Dreaming about her destroyed clothing, Joan hoped for her freedom and the arms of her lover. “Complicated relationship,” she observed silently, as the slowed paced allowed her to finally get her breathing settled down toward normal. She remembered his secret plan to force her to lactate and become pregnant without her knowledge. Even with her painful welts, Joan's cunt spasmed as she thought of being milked like a Ponycow. Then, her shiver of arousal became fear as she remembered how the knobby sections of the inflatable cock in her ass had popped into her guts with audible plops and sent electric shocks through her nerves as her sphincter kept snapping down onto the thinner sections of the cock. “Eiii!” she moaned, “Oh, Joan, … your horny nature has gotten you in trouble again. You stupid slut, don't you ever learn!”

--- To Be Continued ---

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 16 – A Decision is Made (or Off To The Races)

Joseph made his decision about Joan's punishment, her long-term fate, and the Arabian Peninsula Ponygirl race. The teams, and Joan, had performed admirably the first two days of the long ride. “We can do this race,” Joseph thought with satisfaction. “And,” he continued, “Joan will run tomorrow to finish off the three-day event. Then she can return to Ponygirl Mistress, wife-to-be, and slave. I don't think she'll ever again lose sight of her responsibilities.”

In the grooming tent, ‘Four' helped him by unharnessing the Ponygirls while Joseph took charge of Joan. She followed passively as he led her directly to the Ponygirl tent, bypassing the grooming tent. Joan was perfunctorily led to a blue plastic tarp on the tent floor where Joseph pushed her down to a prone position on the tarp. He laid a thirty-inch spreader bar behind each knee and secured it in place with leather straps. To keep her in a bent over position, he ran a length of typing rope through a loop on her collar to the middle of the spreader bar. Joan was now forced into a kneeling position with her knees widely spread and her ass high in the air. To complete the hogtie, he pulled her wrists back to their respective ankles and tied them off. Joseph left Joan helpless, her face, breasts, and shoulders planted onto the plastic-impregnated tarp. Before he left, he rolled his fingers through her puffy cunt lips and gently pinched her clitoris. He grinned as her hips tried to wriggle about in order to capture his questing fingers. He knew that the training collar kept her from speaking, begging, or even whimpering, whether in need or protest.

‘Four', Lori Heath, was enjoying the chance to help her Master unharness, strip, and wash down her fellow Ponygirls. “Fun,” she thought, “it is kinda fun working on the Ponygirls. They all have such amazing bodies.” She blushed as she realized that she was also describing herself. Her fingers were busy sponging soapy water down the fat and jiggling breasts of a tall, blonde Ponygirl. Lori's free hand captured a soft breast in a caressing hold while she sent the soapy sponge down between the statuesque blonde's legs. The slight wriggling about of her subject's hips told Lori of the successful effect she was having. “Horny sluts,” she thought, “we've all become such constantly horny, almost out of control, sluts. I think that now we'd do anything for a fuck when we get horny.” After she finished rinsing off the blonde, Lori latched a leash on her collar, unclipped the nose ring chain hanging from the ceiling of the tent, and led her still wet form to a nearby massage table. Under Joseph's watchful eye, she mimicked his massaging actions on the other blonde Ponygirl. Lori realized that each of the blondes were showing unmistakable signs of sexual arousal as they worked high up on the muscular thighs. Lori's Ponygirl wriggled her hips over in an attempt to get the massaging fingers closer to her cunt. Lori snuck several chances to play with the woman's blood-gorged labia, her fully expanded clitoris, and the first couple of inches of the slippery vaginal sheath. “Yes,” Lori reminded herself as the blonde Ponygirl's breathing became somewhat jagged, “this is a lotta fun.

Lori especially enjoyed teasing her own sister as she sluiced the sweaty grit off her trim form. Her bare wet fingers traced up the strongly defined muscles of her sister's thighs and continued up past her six-pack abs to her amazingly firm breasts. “I look just like this,” she muttered. “Wow, … Master sure knows how to make us look hot.” She admired the glittering golden rings on Lisa's nipples and couldn't resist exploring her ringed labia as well. A quick stinging spank on her ass remaindered her of what she was supposed to be doing. The long massage she gave Lisa made Lori even hornier than ever. At one point she realized that Master had taken the two blonde Ponygirls away, leaving her untethered and alone for the first time in long months. Instead of visualizing a chance for freedom, the thought made Lori soberly imagine herself with lank hair and pale skin rotting in a dingy jail cell instead of a chance for freedom. “I failed miserably as a slaver,” she whispered, “I end up enslaved and sold as chattel, my family disowned me, I've been convicted to a long jail term in absensia, and I have no money.” Her fingers absently slipping between her sister's drooling cunt lips brought her back to reality as her brain felt the moist inner heat of Lisa's aroused vagina. She didn't even need to complete the thought that she was better off where she was; Lori simply focused on getting her horny slut of a Ponygirl sister to explosively cum on the massage table.

Joan felt she was dying of thirst and was thoroughly miserable in her semi-hogtied position. Unable to loosen up after her grueling workout, and ignored during the pampering Ponygirl wash and massage session, her cramping muscles screamed out in pain. Drool from her ring-gagged mouth had puddle so deeply on the tarp that one eye was slimy with the saliva. Blurrily, she looked to the three naked Ponygirls in the tent with her. Each was unbound except for the ever-present training collar and a single ankle cuff. A common chain held the Ponygirls captive in the tent; otherwise, they were free to move about as much as the chain would allow. They stood clustered about an ice chest filled with plastic drinking bottles and cans of their liquid meals. The bottles and cans were anchored near the ice chest with short lengths of thin rope taped around each one. Joan realized that Joseph had done this in order to keep the Ponygirls from sharing with her, another part of her punishment for failing to take care of the Ponygirls. Joan envied the muscular and glistening flesh of the clean Ponygirls and the refreshing drinks they held. “I bet Joseph purposefully let them drink and feed themselves just to torment me,” she thought with a touch of bitterness.”

One of the blonde bimbos looked her way and Joan cringed at her miserable humiliation in front of her Ponygirl slaves. The blonde, it was ‘One', came over and knelt beside Joan. Thirty-one-year-old Anna Sawyer reached down and grabbed Joan's shoulders, pulling strongly up and back, setting Joan back onto her lower legs and bringing her face up. Joan's arms ached from their full back position that brought her wrists to her ankles. Anna's hands teased their way across her outthrust breasts, gently yanking on her rock hard nipples. The beautiful Ponygirl gently kissed her face and briefly sunk her tongue into Joan's mouth. Stuck in position, Joan was surprised when Anna abruptly left, only to be replaced by her sister Becky. Becky wasted no time in locking lips with Joan who greedily sucked back when she realized that the girls she had just accused of being Ponybimbos were ferrying water from the ice chest to her via mouth to mouth. Another mouth locked on and Joan gratefully took a still-cold mouthful from Lisa Heath. The three Ponygirls continued until Joan had finished an entire bottle of water. Anna came over with another mouthful that she dribbled across Joan's eyes, forehead, and face. Becky finished rinsing off Joan's face with another mouthful of water. Lisa emptied half a mouthful over each of Joan's perky nipples. Anna ran a line of water dribbles across her shoulder. Becky crouched down low between Joan's legs and squirted a stream of water across Joan's gummy twat. She rolled away only to be replaced by Lisa who repeated the move. When it came to be Anna's turn, she crawled face up under Joan and sprayed soothing water straight up against the cunt lips for the third time. A slavegirl knelt on either side of Joan and their hands took possession of her body, deeply kneading the muscles that should have been given relief on the massage table. Joan settled her pussy down on Anna's face, getting a tongue and lip massage on her most sensitive flesh. Joan moaned loudly in contentment as many of her aches and pains were massaged away to be replaced with tingles of pleasure. She wriggled her hips down against Anna's pussy slurping mouth and arched her back to push her titties into the rubbing hands of the two Ponygirls pleasuring her torso and head with fingers, lips, and teeth. Joan kept her grunts and moans very quiet to stay below the threshold of sound allowed by her collar's setting. Anna, Becky, and Lisa proved their love for their Master as well as their former comrade turned partially successful Ponygirl Mistress. They freely gave a full hour of precious time without restraint to make Joan more comfortable and to pleasure her. Finally, wrung out from a number of orgasms and her body limp with relaxation, Joan slumped down semi-conscious while the three Ponygirls took turns bringing Joan mouthfuls of their meager liquid meal ration. Exhausted and content, Joan's head drooped and she dosed fitfully, still kneeling in her hogtie.

In Joan's bed, twenty-one-year-old Lori Heath was getting the fuck of a lifetime. No stranger to sex as a spoiled rich brat or during her career as captive sexmeat, she had nonetheless never felt anything like the connection she now felt to this strong rancher from New Mexico . Nothing had ever made her need to give pleasure like this and the sexual frenzy made her desperate to receive his seed. The long and enjoyable day pretending to be a Ponygirl Mistress after witnessing her Master punish Mistress Joan made her blood boil at the chance to fuck him like no girl ever had. Lori was lying naked under Joseph with her legs wrapped tightly around his lower torso, her heels drumming against his ass as if she had spurs on her heels to prod him on to deeper plunges into her cunt with his wondrous cock. Lori's hips were a blur under him as she fought to fuck herself up and down his thrusting cock. The jackhammer blows were slowly kindling a heat that built from deep inside her womb and spread across her cunt lips to her clit. She became a grunting, moaning, wailing, tearful fuck whose cries echoed throughout the silent valley. Lori orgasmed and shrieked her pleasure over and over through the long night.

Each time Joan momentarily awoke from her fitful sleep, she heard the lustful sounds of wild sex coming from her own tent and bed. No longer angry at her punishment, she wearily waited out the long night in the hope that she was getting closer to redeeming herself in Joseph Loftus's eyes. Despite some recent setbacks, she was in many ways content at how well her life was working out. “The setbacks each teach me something,” she thought philosophically, “and each step brings me closer to my goal.” The cactus within the circle of her only remaining pubic hair heralded Joan a Ponyslut; she knew it was true. Joan's deepest wish was to become exactly what Joseph had offered; a chance to be his wife, personal French maid, his houseslave, his slut, his fuckmeat, his whore, the Mistress of his Ponygirls, and sometimes a Ponygirl. “Plus,” she told herself, “the part I want most is to feel my belly swell with his child and my boobs bulge with milk from the hormones he's feeding me.” Every sexual nerve in her body twitched despite her aching bondage as a daydream image rocked her soul, a detailed picture of a milk pumping station where three naked Ponycows were trapped in a bent-over stance. Six sets of milk-gorged udders hung from Joan and the two Sawyer Ponycows beside her. Each had their glistening hairless skull trapped in a head stall, hands cuffed behind their backs, and feet held in stocks at shoulder width. All three lactating Ponycows were completely naked and pregnant, grossly distended teats hung lower than their round, fetus-filled bellies. Three transparent feeding tubes ran from a computer-controlled pump that force-fed measured dosages of hormone-rich slurried cow chow into the huge, hollow penis gag inflated within their mouths. No longer sleek and muscled, all three Ponycows were fleshy and voluptuous, especially their jutting asses. Before each milking cycle a harsh spray of warm soapy water directed at the rectums of the three Ponycows cleared the smelly smears of watery shit accumulated since the last milking. Next, a motor-driven monster of a cock, almost four inches wide and nearly eighteen inches long began to pump relentlessly in and out of each Ponycow to encourage an orgasm and to help the milk let down. Finally, a vacuum suckling tube permanently hanging below each enormous breast began to suction away at each milk-filled teat, stretched almost three inches long due to the length and number of daily milkings. The pussy juices of the constantly aroused Ponycows painted the slowly thrusting cocks with a white frothy coat, evidence of their arousal. Just as Joan finished reviewing the details of what was clearly a dark and hidden sexual fantasy, Joan heard another distantly shouted orgasm from one of the Heath Ponygirls; the combination was too much Joan who exploded in climax without any physical stimulation. The waves of pleasure rolled through her being and the long, drawn out climax sucked her into unconsciousness.

Even though Doctor Joan Miller's fantasy featured her forced milking beside both pregnant and lactating Sawyer sisters, Joan had been successful in implanting all four of their Ponygirls with long-term contraceptives. She had ensured that the Loftus ranch in New Mexico wouldn't be overrun with crying packs of children while making sure that she was the only Ponymare to get the benefit of Joseph's full time attention when it came to satisfying any special lusts he felt toward big-bellied, pregnant mares, cows, or pigs. Joan groaned at the various ways her sexy husband could fuck her while she played those humiliating roles. Joan was content that things would work out as she wished.

The long day ended in satisfaction for Joseph Loftus whose calm and predictable bachelor existence had been exchanged for a riotous life surrounded by five loving, and clearly nymphomaniac sluts. His trip to Ponygirl Heaven Ranch had turned out in a way he could never have imagined in his wildest dreams.

The high tech Ponycart, the two talented teams of Ponygirls, the sex-hungry doctor from Miami , and the New Mexican rancher faced the challenge and adventure of a lifetime in the race across the fiery desert sands of the Arabian Peninsula . Perhaps Joan will also let slip to her fiancé about her deepest fantasy and find herself trapped in another difficult role. Maybe Joan will spend some of her pampered pregnancy gaining much needed body fat while locked tightly in a Ponycow milking station.

Hmmm, so many ideas, … so little time!

The End

Unfortunately, every tale must draw to a conclusion. At least in the case of ‘An Interest in Ponygirls', there is a sequel planned for those who enjoyed the story. ECSO 11 - A Race to Beat All Races will carry on where this story leaves off. Till then, please have patience and read the other ECSO stories.

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

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An Interest in Ponygirls

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