by Mark Andrews
“Oh I think he’ll come around,” I said airily.
And so it was arranged, but I still wasn’t ready to give up my own life as a pony. Yes, I was already planning my future after that phase was over but I wasn’t ready yet to give up the thrill I still got from being shown off to all and sundry as a naked pony, ‘forced’ to race naked except for the collar around my neck and with every part of my body on full and open show to the hundreds of club members and their servants who came to watch us ponies race.
Now that Muscles and I were Stage Two ponies, we found the race meetings we attended included all three stages. The early meetings, when I had been a novice Stage One pony were held with just Stage One ponies to ensure we tyros were suitable. Now that we were full-fledged ponies, we were enabled to see all three classes of race and so the meetings were much longer with half a dozen races in the morning and perhaps four or five in the afternoon. They all began with the Stage One races, perhaps one each for fillies and colts, and then moved to the Stage Two races.
These were more popular because with them, the ponies were totally naked whereas in the Stage One races, they had had a belt around their waists that had included a small triangle to cover the genitals - at least they had included that extra bit at my first couple of meetings. Now they didn’t, but still the waist belt took away from the total nakedness of our bodies whereas the neck collar did not - or at least not as much. I was to discover when I watched the Stage Three races towards the end of the day that in them, with the ponies utterly and completely naked, with not even the neck collar to mar the sleek lines of our bodies, the members were even more enamoured of their so athletic human ponies.
And with the much larger meetings, more of us were entered in the races. That meant the larger dog-caravan had to be used. The smaller one had only two compartments that faced forwards with the doors at the back. It was a very small trailer while the larger one was arranged with the tiny compartments set sideways and there were six of them built onto the trailer. Of course, having the appearance of a dog-caravan, it was still a very small unit and excited no comments for it really did resemble the items used by dog-catchers around the country to round up strays.
One of the last races I competed in had Muscles and Black Beauty and Brown Nose as fellow competitors, the two latter both competing in Stage Three races of course while Muscles and me were still Stage Two ponies.
We were unloaded at the duke’s estate where, as with the tracks on the properties of other club members, it was located amongst a copse of trees where any satellite spy cameras would be unable to see clearly what was going on amongst the trees and shrubs.
As we were not competing until later in the day, we were led (by chains to our clit or genital rings) down to the paddock and there permitted to congregate (but not to talk of course) and to watch the races as they unfolded.
We were encouraged to behave as much like real ponies as we could and so we often nuzzled each other and neighed or whinnied, stamped our feet or rushed off to do a circuit of the paddock, just as equine ponies might. These antics were watched with real pleasure by our masters and mistresses who crowded around the paddock’s fence as we performed.
Muscles and I, being a pair, rubbed our noses together and sniffed each other’s bodies (and especially each other’s sexual organs - or at least Muscles sniffed mine while I nuzzled at his empty groin). So did Black Beauty and Brown Nose and the black stallion’s cock was more than half hard, another thing they encouraged us in. No pretence was ever made that this wasn’t a sexual thing, even though our bodies were not used in that manner (except as I’ve already noted, anyway) and so the more we pawed each other, nuzzled and sniffed at each other’s sexual organs, the more they clapped and cheered (quietly, as behoved aristocrats, anyway).
There were two Stage One races and we ponies all stood at the rail where our paddock met it and watched as the six female ponies raced around the track. As this was not a tyros’ meeting, their sexual organs were unfettered by the extra harness part and their bodies looked superb as they raced around the track, arms swinging in time with their legs while the belts around their middles drew the ultra-light gigs behind them.
I breathed in deeply as I watched them race. Oh God, how wonderful it was that I had met Sebastian and he had introduced me to this so wonderful word of human ponies. I had enjoyed the normal athletics meetings and the training I had pushed my body into without even realising I craved this other, so much more demanding variety of athletic endeavour. Of course real athletics has no element of shame and humiliation in it; no nakedness, no compulsion, even if that compulsion is largely feigned. And yet, while we, (those of us who chose a permanent human pony life and not just at weekends like this one) remained as ponies, housed in stalls in a real human pony stable, we were obliged to play the role and we were punished when we erred.
I suppose in one sense this is rather like the actors in a pornographic movie devoted to the bondage and discipline scene. Obviously they are not real slaves and yet they willingly submit to being tied up and whipped or caned. I have seen a couple of those movies (where will become apparent later on) and I knew they were real for the welts that appeared on the bodies of the female as well as the male subjects were very real indeed and their struggles as they hung, in some cases upside down, and were then tortured in some way, could not have been feigned, they were just too realistic.
It was the same with us. While we chose to be human ponies we had to be human ponies, hence the rule against talking except for the hour on Saturday nights. To be expected to whinny or neigh at other times was both degrading and difficult, but we did it willingly for it was a real part of our joy in the humiliation of the scene.
I don’t think it could have been nearly as good for those other ponies, such as the black personal trainer ‘owned’ by Madeline who only took part in the scene on a very part time basis. I suppose I would have enjoyed that if it had been all that was on offer, and then gone back to me weekday life as a trainee lawyer, but what I, and the other permanent members of the viscount’s human stable had, was so much better. I really felt like a human pony and I knew that if I erred, I would indeed be facing punishment.
Some of us were so masochistic that they actually committed errors on purpose. They wanted to be flogged or caned ...
These punishments were carried out in a very ritualistic way. Never immediately. It was recognised that in most cases the pony had committed the ‘crime’ because he or she wanted the punishment and so he was to be given time to savour it.
Sentence was pronounced by Arthur as soon as he was apprised of the crime however. “Brown Nose, you have been caught speaking to another pony. On Saturday you will be caned. Twelve strokes ...”
We all heard the sentence and we cringed. But we girls also felt a certain wetness down at our so naked groins and some of the boys showed signs of an erection. Brown Nose had been quite open in speaking to Black Beauty and so we knew she had wanted this punishment but now that it was upon her, she showed a degree of fear for we all knew a dozen strokes of the cane to her naked rear would be no picnic.
The sentence was carried out at noon. She had committed the offence on Tuesday so she had had four days to savour the coming pain. We could see Black Beauty was cross with her for he wasn’t into pain to the same extent she was and couldn’t understand why she had so openly brought this on herself. You may remember when he had been selected to ‘rape’ me in the new theatre, he had whispered some words to me but he had been very, very careful to do so right into my ear as if he was nibbling its lobe for he certainly didn’t like the idea of being whipped or caned.
On the day, we all came back up to the stables and Lord de Veere (accompanied by Sebastian, who was down as well) was waiting for us. He always attended these punishments although I don’t think he was a sadist in the sense that he liked to administer pain to us. Nevertheless, pain was
a part of our lives and he went along with it.
We were lined up on either side of the open area between the two rows of our stalls while Brown Nose was gruffly ordered down onto her face on the brick floor. Two of the grooms then drew down the ropes that dangled from two well spaced pulleys set up in the roof and carefully knotted them around her ankles after which they stood up, went to where the other ends of the ropes dangled and began to pull on them, drawing her feet and then her legs and thighs up off the floor and at the same time, spreading them wide open.
They kept pulling on them until her whole body was off the floor although her hands could still touch it and then, at a nod from Arthur, their boss, tied off the ropes, leaving her dangling upside down from the rafters. Her legs were really pulled wide open now and she looked utterly stupendous. Upside down, her chocolate-brown body scintillated in the lights of the room. Her skin was so smooth and gleamed with a dull gloss, as if it was a dark wood polished with beeswax.
There is something about a human body, naked, suspended upside down that evokes a high lust in many people - and I’m one of them. Even though I am not sadistic in any other sense (except that I had been looking forward to having our own stable of naked human ponies and training them hard - which must be a form of sadism, I suppose), the sight of Brown Nose hanging there stirred a deep lust in me. No, not that sort of lust. I am not, nor will I ever be sexually turned on by another woman, no matter how beautiful or athletic she might be. Yes, I can admire another woman’s body but the idea of having sex with her (in whatever way lesbians perform together) is not at all attractive to me.
I can’t really explain what that lust represented. I had no wish to actually wield the cane that was about to be used on her so beautiful body and yet I felt a certain perverse delight in wanting to see her caned. Was it a sort of referred masochism? I doubt it for I never once went looking for punishment. I got it sometimes. But never because I had actively sought it. Nevertheless I felt that lust and even though I can’t explain it, every time I saw a girl or boy punished, it came back. More I think, when the boys were punished but that was less than with the girls. Perhaps we females want to be dominated and punished more than the boys’.
Anyway, precisely at noon, Arthur handed the cane to my groom, Peter, who was the most muscular of our grooms and trainers. He smiled and nodded, put down the cane briefly while he removed his shirt to reveal a body as good as those of us ponies and then took up the cane once more, positioning himself behind and to the side of the dangling Brown Nose.
He waled into her bottom very hard. If we wanted the cane, we were going to get it - as hard as they could deliver it and as I watched the fine muscles of his right arm bunch up, I knew this was going to hurt her a great deal. It did. She screamed from the very beginning.
“Aaagheeeaaaghooowwwghaaagh!” she cried and her body began to dance about, its superb muscles writhing like molten chocolate, her hands coming up and reaching for her buttocks which were now clenching and unclenching, her body arching backwards so her hands could reach their target and attempt to ease the fiery pain that must have been quite awful.
Peter waited. We all did. This was a ritual and everyone there knew Brown Nose had as good as asked to be caned. It would be carried out with due ceremony and would certainly not be rushed.
Eventually, she calmed down. It was a good five minutes though and all of us who could see her rear stared at the now prominent weal across them. It stood out clearly, a stark reminder of how vicious that stroke had been. I glanced at Sebastian and Lord de Veere. Neither was excited by what was happening here, alone amongst all of us. I was pleased. I didn’t want my man to be a sadist and I knew his cousin was very thoughtful towards us, while recognising our need to be dominated and our joy in being human ponies.
Up went the cane once more and I think I might have creamed as I watched Peter’s beautiful muscles bunching in readiness for the next violent stroke. You are surprised that after being incarcerated with perhaps the best male and female bodies in England, all stark naked for more than four months, I could be turned on by the half naked state of one of our trainers?
I suspect it was what he was doing that made me gush. As I said, I didn’t - don’t - consider myself to be sadistic but I am certainly masochistic (in one sense, even if I don’t enjoy the infliction of pain on my own body) and I think it must have been that which so excited me as I watched the so beautiful Brown Nose being punished so viciously.
Again she screamed and writhed around, her body describing weird contortions that showed it off splendidly - perhaps it was that which excited me although as I said I am not at all homosexual in inclination so again, I just don’t know.
Every other of the remaining strokes were delivered with the full force of Peter’s strong right arm - and then they left her dangling there, upside down, legs still pulled wide open, her cheeks now a bruised (and bleeding in parts) mess. Black Beauty was permitted to bathe her bottom with salt water and then apply a salve but then he too had to return to his stall and be chained to the ring at the back.
We all came forward at times to peer around the walls at the so forlorn and yet so beautiful girl hanging there but then I was summoned up to castle to join Sebastian for some fun and games.
“You don’t enjoy seeing us punished, Sebastian?” I asked him softly as I sat on his lap (and he toyed with my so firm breasts).
“No I don’t,” he said shortly. “I can understand a girl, or a boy for that matter, enjoying the humiliation of human pony service, but pure masochism is a mystery to me. As for sadism, the very idea of hurting your body in a physical way appals me.”
“Well, we are all different, my love. What pleases one is hateful to another ...”
“Of course. I realise it is true. It’s just that when I see a beautiful girl like Brown Nose being so viciously punished - and know that she almost asked for it - has me astonished.” He stared at my hard for a moment or two and then frowned. “You aren’t getting that way, are you?”
I laughed. “Certainly not - although, and I can’t explain this, I was turned on as I watched Peter lash into her bottom with that cane. I didn’t want it for myself and I certainly didn’t want to do it to her with my own hand, but there was that certain excitement as I watched Peter.”
“Perhaps it was his muscles?” Sebastian looked at me with a wicked grin on his face.
I pouted at him. “He certainly has a pleasing body but no, I don’t think it was that either. I really can’t identify what it is that excited me and I feel awful that I could get even the slightest pleasure out of watching so lovely a girl as Brown Nose punished, even if she did bring it on herself.”
I do know one thing, though - and I also know Sebastian was aware of it ... our love-making that afternoon was the best it had ever been so perhaps there is some degree of sadism in me after all.
The time came, a month or so later, when both Muscles and me were deemed ready to be advanced to the next and last stage of our training - to Stage Three. I was both excited and terrified. The idea of having a large dildo forcibly thrust up my rectum was horrible - and wonderful. This was the ultimate. This was what we had been leading to for all of the months of my incarceration as a human pony.
I had said to Sebastian that once I had been advanced to this stage and had won at least one race as a Stage Three pony, I thought I would be ready to relinquish my life as a human pony and we could set about our marriage - if he still wanted me, that was.
He pulled me into his chest and kissed me long and hard. “Does that answer you question, foolish girl?” he said, grinning wickedly down at me.
“I think so,” I replied, with just as wicked a grin on my own face, “but I’m not sure, perhaps you should do it again, just to make certain.”
We fell back into the bed and he made love to me for another hour before it was time for me to return to
the stables.
The first training session with the rectal and vaginal probes was not at all pleasant. If you have never had a large dildo thrust rudely up your backside, you won’t know how bad it is. However the anus is a most resilient organ and very quickly accommodates itself to quite large intruders - as I found out.
The pair of us stood side by side while our respective grooms brought the two gig up behind us. “Bend forward and spread your cheeks,” Peter ordered, “while I grease the dildo.”
I shivered in fear and I sensed Muscles, beside me, was just as nervous. Then it touched. I screamed a little and Peter chuckled but then gave my left cheek an encouraging slap. “Just relax it, Tingle Tits, and it won’t hurt too much.”
Easier said than done, though. Every time he touched it, my anus puckered up and eventually he lost patience and just shoved it in. Possibly he should have done that from the beginning; it might have saved a lot of time. Anyway, he forced it in and then waited while my antics abated. As I said, I screamed as he pushed it in and every muscle in my body went rigid, but then it was fully inserted and now, while still keeping the pole up close to my groin, Peter moved around me to squat down in front of me.
I stared down at the other dildo while he undid the little knurled screw that held it in place on the pole and, while carefully lowering the pole a little, introduced the tip of the dildo into my vagina. Then, while sliding its collar up the pole towards me, he gently raised the pole at the same time, thus sliding the dildo right on up and into my vaginal passage until the pole nestle once more right under my perineum. It only remained for him to retighten the screw and then it was done.
He stood up. “Still sore, Tingle Tits?” he asked, not unkindly.
I was surprised to find myself reporting that the pain in my anus was now bearable and the whole arrangement, while weird, was comfortable enough, I supposed.