by Mark Andrews
Dressage was another activity as were other aspects of Pony Shows (human pony shows, of course) where we were actually put on display and awarded points for deportment, beauty, muscular athleticism and even sexual skills for, whereas in England, sexual activity was only displayed rarely and then only before a few select aficionados known personally to the host, there, it was a quite public matter, the skill of both filly (or mare) and stallion being critically judged by experts.
But all this was still in the future. We were first to be initiated and to receive our welcome.
After staring up at us for long minutes as we hung so painfully from the three chains, Ridha, the prince’s head trainer gestured to three of his men, boys really, to climb up and let us down. They produced a box and had Black Beauty climb onto it then the first boy climbed up also and unlocked the thumb cuffs, allowing the handsome black to drop his hands for the first time in a couple of hours. Then it was Muscles’ turn and then mine. I have never been more grateful to someone than the young lad who released me from that dreadful suspension but now the three grooms snapped chains to Black Beauty’s scrotal collar, my clit ring and to a collar they locked around Muscles’ neck, and led us off, up to the large building nearby.
It really was huge and had stalls for us ponies, rooms for the grooms and trainers, kitchens, bathrooms for the employees and an ablution area for us, various tackle rooms and the huge gymnasium I have already mentioned. There were also some other rooms whose purpose I wasn’t sure about right then. They had doors (unlike the other areas in the complex) and we weren’t shown what lay behind them - not then.
We were hungry of course since we had been thoroughly cleaned out of all food in our system before being bundled into the crates but they still didn’t feed us. Instead, we were shown through the main areas of the building and then led into the gymnasium and now, for the first time, we saw some of our new companions.
They were working out in the gym at various activities including gymnastics, weight training, tumbling and some at isometric exercising. There were some forty or fifty of them in there, all stark naked and all easily as handsome or beautiful as us three and all possessed of superbly athletic bodies. Not surprising, I thought as I stared around at the equipment on which they were exercising and at the modern techniques used by their trainers to bring their bodies up to the peak of strength and endurance.
I also caught a glimpse of the track out at the back of the building, previously hidden from our view by and there I saw another four dozen or so of them at actual racing practice.
Some were pulling gigs although I couldn’t see the detail of how they were harnessed to them, while others were actually carrying riders on their backs! This was something I hadn’t seen in England and I was horrified to see some of the ‘steeds’ were female. Admittedly, the riders were only very slight boys, but still...!
It was just a glimpse though for we were brought into the gymnasium and suspended once more. Not this time by our thumbs but in a way that was even more shameful, if not quite as painful. Yes, they strung us up by our heels! They made us sit down on the floor and then attached long iron bars with manacles welded to the ends onto our ankles. The bars were very long - well over three feet and maybe four - and they stretched our legs wide open. They had a lug in the middle and they lowered (by means of electric winches set up high in the roof) hooks on the ends of wire ropes and attached them to the bars.
They reversed the winches and drew each of us up so that we dangled upside down, swaying slightly with our hands free of the floor - and there they left us to wait until their master, Prince Azeem was ready to watch us initiated into the ranks of his huge human pony farm.
It was huge by our standards. Even the viscount, who was a very wealthy man, only had eight ponies in his stables and two of them ‘belonged’ to Sebastian’s father while I, of course was Sebastian’s. Here though, there were nearly a hundred ponies - all real slaves, not make-believe ones such as I had been back in the UK. The building therefore had to be big enough to cater for us all and it certainly was.
Once more we were subject to the prince’s cruelty. He knew exactly where we were and how horribly we were suspended but he took his time, changing, bathing and lunching before he deigned to come down to the stables to watch the first stage of our initiation as slave-ponies.
We hung there, conscious of the slaves who were being exercised around us but worse, of the stares and grins of the men of all ages who came in daily to watch as the prince’s human ponies were trained. As newcomers, we were about to provide them with even more entertainment for we were about to be initiated. We didn’t know what that meant of course but by now, we were well aware of how sadistic Prince Azeem really was and that our futures looked very bleak indeed.
I don’t know how many hours we hung there, upside down, stark naked, waiting for our master to arrive. It was probably three-plus but I do know the afternoon was wearing on when he finally did arrive to stroll nonchalantly up to us, returning the sycophantic greetings of his poorer visitors quite graciously. Of course we couldn’t understand what was being said since it was all in Arabic but the sentiments were obvious.
He came up to us at last and stood there in his fine clothes, staring up at us with that cruel smile on his handsome face. He was just thirty-two at that time and he really was a handsome devil, if you could discount the cruelty.
He spoke at last, after standing staring up at us for a few minutes. “You three are about to be initiated into my stable of human ponies. It is a painful process, I am afraid but that is necessary in order to underline to you all the futility of disobedience or even of failing to perform at your very best.
“You will first be paddled. Your fine buttocks will each receive two dozen strokes of the leather paddle. A piddling punishment, really, but remember if you really do earn a dose of this instrument of correction, fifty strokes will be the minimum.
“After that, perhaps tomorrow, you will be ringed and your mouths prepared for your bits. I am aware that two of you already possess clitoral and scrotal rings but there will be others: the septums of your noses, your tongues, nipples and ears will also be ringed for the purpose of adornment also the attachment of bells for noise and to secure you in various ways. You will also be hoofed and tailed. You are now ponies and ponies have proper hoofs and of course, tails ...
“Finally, you will be branded ...”
I had listened to the horrors he had already outlined with growing fear but when he said that last, I screamed. “Nooo!” I cried. “You can’t be going to brand us?”
He moved over to me while at the same time gesturing to his trainer, Ridha, who signalled in turn to one of the grooms who ran over to the exercise area and brought back a beautiful black girl to stand before us.
We all stared at her magnificent body, taking in at a glance its superb muscles and athleticism, the rings poking out of the septum of her nose and through her nipples and tongue, the animal like hooves on her feet and the weird tail out of her bottom - but also the golden mark at her belly.
It was situated exactly half way between the top of her vaginal slit and her navel and it really was golden. If any of you have seen the TV series ‘Stargate SG1’, you will remember the mark worn by T’uk on his forehead. That is golden and so was this one. It looked like metal but it moved with her skin as her belly muscles rippled.
She was sent back to her exercises and the prince continued: “You will all soon be wearing the same mark on your own very pleasing bellies. It is like your English coat of arms and represents my ownership of you. All pony slaves are branded by their first owners, a second owner will place his mark on your left buttock, the third, your right, the fourth your upper left thigh and so on ... But I as your first real owner will have the pleasure of watching your bellies branded with my mark, for I am aware you were not really the property of the viscount or Mr de V
eere back in England. Here though, you most certainly are and I am going to enjoy watching you initiated.”
He turned to his head trainer, and still in English so we could understand, gave him his orders: “The big black first, then the Thai ... Leave the girl till last ...”
I slumped. I was going to have to wait to experience the pain of a paddling. I had read somewhere this method of punishment was extensively used on the slave plantations in the South of America prior to the abolition of slavery there and I thought it must be rather horrible. But not as bad as the cane - I thought. How wrong I was!
Ridha now gestured to one of his assistant trainers, a huge man who now stripped off his shirt to reveal a body on which he had obviously spent a lot of time in developing. He was much bigger than us ponies, whose bodies were developed for athleticism rather than huge muscles.
He took up the paddle and I stared at it in fear. It was a large instrument, the handle, of solid oak or some such strong timber being thick and at the business end, the heavy, stiff leather was six inches wide and twelve long. He wielded it through the air a few times, rather like a tennis racquet and as he did I moaned in fear as I watched his massive bicep muscles bunch up into a solid mass of hard, raw power.
And when he delivered the first blow, and Black Beauty’s body swayed away, bowing sharply from the force of the blow to his boyish buttocks, I cried out. So did he. He is no weakling and was usually stoical about our trials but this was clearly very painful. So were the remaining twenty-three strokes, each delivered with as much power as the first.
I am sure he was nearly unconscious at the end - and so was Muscles when it came his turn to suffer the dreadful beating. With every stroke, I knew my own turn was fast approaching and while I sympathised greatly with Black Beauty’s and Muscles’ so unearned punishment - merely as a warning as to what we might expect if we erred in the future - I was really dreading my own coming pain.
And it was as bad as I had known it was going to be.
That first stroke was horrible. It slammed into the soft flesh of my cheeks and flattened them, at the same time, the power of the blow sent my body into a tight arc, just as it had done to those of my two friends. But each successive blow, added right on top of the bruise from the first, got progressively worse. I screamed from the very first stroke and I continued to scream with each subsequent one - at least until my voice box gave out and I was struck dumb.
We’ve all been beaten in some shape or form at one time or another. It hurts ... but those twenty-four strokes were worse than anything I could have imagined. How anyone could ever take fifty of them, I was mystified to understand. The beating did what it was supposed to as far as I was concerned though. I quickly resolved never to be disobedient or to fail to try my hardest. I couldn’t even think of taking another session like this, let alone a double one.
When it was over, they departed. We weren’t to be ringed and branded until the next successive days. Hell, the three of us were near, if not at a state of unconsciousness and any more pain could send us into shock. They wanted to cow us but not to kill us.
Accordingly, we were left hanging there, our buttocks throbbing horribly, the blood feeling like the a ton weight in our heads but otherwise still and quiet while our bodies began the slow process of healing the wounds, the terrible bruises I could see on my companions’ bottoms and the pain that was certainly the worst I had ever felt in my life.
Chapter 2
We were left hanging there all night. We still hadn’t been fed but they at least held bowls of water to our upside-down faces and allowed us to slurp up a few mouthfuls of water. It was horrible but I did manage to sleep a bit. You wonder how? It’s easy. I was exhausted and in pain. My body was at the end of its tether, it needed sleep and it took it.
The place was quiet at night. The huge gymnasium empty now and so the three of us dozed fitfully. We didn’t speak. They had warned us. “We will be listening. We have the latest in long-range surveillance equipment and if we hear one peep out of one of you, all three will receive another two dozen strokes of the paddle”. As I said, we didn’t utter a peep.
They let us down the next morning but still we weren’t fed. Just a few drops of water and that was it. My stomach was gnawing at me by now but no, we had more ordeals to face and until we were over them, no food at all.
That day we were ringed.
I already had the ring through my clit but it was replaced by a much bigger one more solid and made of plain iron. It stretched the existing tiny hole through my organ and now looked obscene as it hung down against my thighs. Black Beauty’s scrotal ring was also replaced by a much heavier model and one that had a small lug underneath it.
But now the three of us were to be pierced for more of the rings. As the prince had intimated, our noses, tongues and nipples were also to be ringed and for this operation, we were taken to one of the small rooms with closed doors leading into them - this one was the vet’s clinic.
The vet was waiting for us, already dressed in his overalls and with his equipment laid out on the table beside him. There was a large punch (like a leather-worker’s model) and two smaller ones. We were backed up to rings set in one empty wall and were cuffed, again using their favourite thumb-cuffs, with our backs to them. They also hobbled us so we couldn’t kick during the painful operations to come.
Prince Azeem arrived and sat in a chair facing us while the vet, having armed himself with the biggest of the punches, moved up to Black Beauty, who was again to be the first to suffer. I stood there, staring in hate at the man who had had us kidnapped and transported as airfreight to his country and was now turning us into permanent human ponies.
Two of the assistant trainers how held Black Beauty’s head still while the vet positioned the punch - and then simply scrunched the handles together while the handsome black boy screamed in pain. The vet then moved to Muscles and did his nose after which he came along to me, pushed the bloody jaws of the punch up into my nostrils and again squeezed the handles, grinning triumphantly at me as he gave me more terrible pain that was now added to the still very tender soreness in my bruised and battered bottom.
I screamed of course, as had Muscles and Black Beauty before me, for the pain was really awful especially when added to the still throbbing bruising at my backside.
He went back to his table, placing the punch into the autoclave and picked up a plastic envelope containing the three rings for our noses. These were large, thick and were going to make breathing difficult until we all learned to breathe through our mouths as well as our noses.
My nose was smarting horribly of course and blood was oozing down over my upper lip as it was for the two boys as well but he didn’t worry about a small matter like that. The rings were hinged but once they were snapped shut, there was no means of opening them. As far as they were concerned, they were now permanent additions to our bodies.
I screamed again as he carelessly pushed the open end of the ring into the little hole he had made and then snapped shut and I know I twisted and turned as soon as the two men let my head go, continuing to scream. The prince leaned forward in his chair, drinking in the sight of our pain as each one in turn was pierced and ringed.
And it was the same with our nipples, which were next. Much smaller holes (since the little buds of flesh were so much smaller) but the rings were just as large. They had this smaller part that went through the holes in our teats but then the thicker part was proud against either side, giving the appearance that they went right though at that thickness.
To make us poke our tongues out to have them pierced, they forced a metal spreader into our mouths and screwed the handle that forced the two parts open. It was then simply a matter of grabbing at our tongues with the pliers and again punching the hole in the tip. The rings they inserted here were also large and made speech almost impossible - but just to make sure, they then
clipped little chains from our nipples rings to the one in our tongues, keeping them poking out of our mouths. Speech now was definitely impossible!
I was now in a terrible state. My bottom was burning and throbbing from the paddling we had received yesterday and now my nose, nipples and tongue were also on fire. But the vet hadn’t finished with us yet.
With our tongues now poking obscenely out of our mouths we couldn’t close them but he hadn’t removed the spreaders yet either and now he moved up to Black Beauty with another instrument in his hand. I stared at it in horror for I knew what it was. I had recently had a wisdom tooth removed and the thing in the vet’s hand was identical to the one my dentist had used on me.
Again the men held Black Beauty’s head while the vet (without anaesthetic of course) pulled his four back teeth, two on either side, upper and lower. Then Muscles and me were similarly treated. More agony, but the reason became clear a few minutes later.
They didn’t leave us to rest, though. Oh no. We were released from the wall rings but not to go and sleep off the pain. They removed the hobble so we could walk back to the gym to watch as they trained our new compatriots in misery.
We were locked to three of a number of metal poles set in the middle of the floor of the gym so we could watch all of the activity going on there. We had been there before - when we were paddled, but that had been in a distant corner and we hadn’t really seen the other slaves at close quarters.
What hit me first was the way most of them were accoutred. They were naked, yes, but they also had bridles on their heads and now I understood why they had pulled our teeth for the bits on those bridles were steel and they were pulled right to the backs of their mouths making them leer horribly and also to dribble all the time. The removal of our teeth allowed our jaws to close over the bits once they were pulled right to the backs of our mouths.