by Mark Andrews
Of course they had fastened his upper arms together just above the elbows as ours had been and then also bound his wrists back up to them so he had almost no movement in his arms but in his present state he wasn’t even aware of it. He would sleep for a long time as his now totally nude (depilated below the head and the head itself shaved as ours were) body healed itself and I hoped the prince would allow him at least a day to recover that much.
He did. He wanted to gloat over Sebastian’s downfall from being a rich, aristocratic solicitor to a mere naked pony boy and too much too soon could destroy the beauty of his handsome face and athletic body.
Of course I knew that body would soon be even better. We three had had superb bodies and while perhaps Black Beauty’s had only been marginally improved for it had already been superlative, both Muscles’ and mine had certainly improved at the prince’s hands, or at least at those of his trainers.
The next morning, when we were released from our chains and brought out to be fed, cleaned and our wastes evacuated in that same horrible manner they used every morning, we were re-tailed and put back to our usual practice. Gym work in the morning and track work after the two hour break at noon. When we were put back in our stalls, Sebastian was still sleeping and I stared across at his slender lithe body mourning that the miracle I had hoped for all these months had failed so abysmally.
I was sure the four of us were now pony slaves for life, or at least for as long as our bodies were useful in this pursuit for I had seen no old ponies although I had no idea what happened to us when we were past our prime.
Sebastian slept through most of that day but when we returned after our evening meal they had him on his feet and chained in the upright sleeping position with his nipple rings clipped to the dangling chains and his thumbs now locked by the little cuffs to the ring on the wall at the back.
He stood there looking so forlorn, so lost and I tried to smile at him. It was impossible of course. With the bridle around my near naked head and the bit pulled right to the back of my mouth, it was more a grimace than a smile but I think he knew what I was doing and tried to return the gesture - with similar results.
The next morning, since he had now had a whole day and two nights to ‘recover’ from his ordeal of the first day, they completed his initiation. He was hooved first and then tailed and again my heart went out to him as each of these humiliations were heaped upon him but by now he had more of a grip on himself and took each one with an aloofness only the English aristocracy is able to adopt at such difficult times. It was almost as if they were being done to someone else and that he was a disinterested observer - a fact that enraged the prince - at which Sebastian’s distant smile only got deeper - slightly deeper, that is.
“Let him be branded immediately,” the prince grated and I exalted that Sebastian had clearly got to him as we had not been able to - although at the same time I was horror-struck that my fiancé had brought on himself the worst pain I had ever felt in my life.
I wondered if he would be able to withstand it as we three had, but then I kicked myself (figuratively, for doing it physically was very painful with the hooves on). Of course he would not scream! That would be crass.
He didn’t, either. He had moaned a little as they forced a much too big dildo cone into his backside but then swished his new tail most delightfully - or at least the prince thought so for his grin was now triumphant once more.
For his branding, they secured him down onto the dreadful steel table in the branding room and went through exactly the same ritual as they had with us. We were of course present, as we had been with each of Sebastian’s tortures and now I watched in more horror as the vet lowered the glowing iron down onto my fiancé’s flat and muscly lower belly - and then pressed it home.
As I had thought, he was above the humiliation of screaming. Just as we had all done, he set his jaw and clamped his teeth together (as much as the pain in the back of his jaw allowed, anyway) and uttered not a peep as the red-hot iron burned down through his skin into the muscle itself and then later, as the crystals trickled into the tiny furrows of the brand’s design, his eyes widened and he turned to stare up at us, now lined up against the wall, watching him with love in our eyes.
You wonder that I haven’t described the brand? It’s because I can’t. It is there to this day and while I know it represents the prince’s name or perhaps his house, it is just a series of wavy lines and squiggles to me.
Now that he was initiated ... that he had been depilated, ringed, bridled, tailed hooved and branded and his skull shaved except for the topknot (which on us three was growing into the ponytail it was supposed to be), Sebastian joined us at training.
The worst part of it all was that I couldn’t talk to him. That had been bad enough with Black Beauty and Muscles whom I now counted as my very good friends (and part time lovers), but Sebastian was the love of my life and I knew that while I had made love with the other two, it was not the same as with him; nor would it, or could it ever be. Things were to happen soon that was going to place a great strain on that love but I didn’t know that then.
Perhaps it is as well we can’t see into the future but we can’t and so while one part of me mourned the fact that Sebastian had tried and failed to rescue us (the details of which were unclear as he couldn’t tell us), another part of me gloried in the fact that he was now here, with us and that while I couldn’t touch him, I could look and if that was all that was on offer, it would have to suffice.
He quickly proved to be a champion show pony. He was no racer. His forte had not been athletics but he had a natural grace about him that made him an instant success in prancing and trotting for show...
Perhaps I should now speak of those events for after our success at the races, the prince thought it opportune to exhibit us as show ponies. It was perhaps the most humiliating thing I had ever experienced for while it was bad enough racing in front of all those people, at least they had been distant.
As show ponies we were shown off as prize animals - just like prize cows and bulls at your local county fair ...
Chapter 5
We were naturally transported on the small float just as we had been before but this time it was to the showground. This was much as any large city showground with the usual rides for the children, sideshows and animal exhibits. We were one of these. The prince had decided that the three of us would be exhibited, Black Beauty because of his stature and muscular perfection as well as his handsome, noble-looking face; Muscles because as a human gelding he was something of a rarity (as well as being ultra-handsome and exquisitely athletic); and me, (in retrospect) probably because I was Sebastian’s fiancée.
This time, in contrast to the first when I had been too ashamed of my nakedness as I hung from the chain to look around me much, I did look round and now took notice that many of what appeared to be the local gentry were being transported in quite ornate carriages - by teams of naked human ponies. The smaller ones by four; the larger models, that carried four people, by eight naked human beings - all hoofed and tailed as we were. They certainly carried the human pony thing to its ultimate.
But there were others - and now I understood what happened to us when we were past our prime... The older slaves were employed as labourers in various capacities. There were street sweepers and road maintenance gangs, porters carrying huge bundles on their heads or backs, and there were also secretaries following behind their masters holding his papers in a case. How did I know they were slaves? Because each and every one of them was naked, as naked as we were! Each was depilated and had the flowing topknot on his head, although not the bridle any more. Instead, the topknot was held up as a ponytail from his scalp by means of a metal clip some three inches long and out of the top of it, his or her hair flowed back and down his back.
They didn’t have hooves or tails any more either but if anything, their absence underli
ned their nakedness as human beings even more. With us, the hooves and tails seemed to mark us as human ponies - as animals, more or less; but they were quite clearly human - fully human, and yet were utterly naked, their genital organs on full and open display. I blushed as I realised the implications. That could be me in a few years and I suddenly realised also that whilst I hated being a pony with the hooves and tails, those men and women were even worse off!
How did this small country get away with it? I can’t answer that except to say that I think it must be the oil they pumped out to the West. Our politicians weren’t about to jeopardise that - at least as long as the slavery thing was kept under wraps and I think I realised then, too, that the media must be under some sort of constraint not to blow the lid, as it were. I can’t be sure about any of this but that’s what I think ...
Anyway, after travelling through the streets, we arrived at the showgrounds and were driven right up to the Show Pony pavilion. We were taken in and for the morning, made to stand up on small round wooden blocks some two feet high and there to display our bodies while people moved along in front of us, all staring up at us - the lechery quite openly on their faces. I suppose some of them were legitimately assessing us as to our worth as human ponies (although one has to wonder at the very idea of their public human ponies in the first place - as compared to our English one which was, after all, merely the indulgence of a fetish by a few aficionados) but by far the majority of them were clearly sexually excited by us.
Our little stand had the two boys, Black Beauty and Muscles with me as the single female pony but other owners had more females - fillies as they insisted on calling us - than colts. I suppose that is logical if you accept the sexual nature of our display.
It was a display. We weren’t allowed to just stand there. We had to undulate our bodies so that our muscles rippled, and constantly flex such muscles as our biceps, abdominals, thighs and buttocks so as to make our display more provocative.
The judges moved amongst us at all odd times. It wasn’t just a single judging. Some of them I didn’t even know were judges but they moved from one to the other of us, some openly marking their sheets as they stared up at our naked display, others doing it less obviously.
Of course we had been trained how to present our bodies - and not only their muscles. We also had to show how virile we were (if male) and how sexy we girls were. To this end, the boys had to constantly erect and then slacken their big cocks while continuing to undulate their hips and to flex and relax the muscles in their arms, legs and backsides; while we girls had to make our vaginas gape and then purse closed and to move our hips in as libidinous a manner as we could engineer.
The hooves and tails poking out of our bottoms continued the illusion that we were part animal - human ponies no less and as we moved our feet on top of the wooden block, the clip-clop of the metal shoes on their surface as well as the tail constantly swishing back and forth, perfectly visible behind our thighs, added immeasurably to this illusion.
We were displayed in two rows down the length of the huge building behind ropes that kept the audience some three feet away from us, although of course the judges could move inside the ropes, prowling around us and openly feel our flesh as they assessed our bodies. Behind us were the drapes beyond which Ridha and his men kept their belongings and where was the straw in which we would sleep over the three days of the show but out in front there was just the two long rows of wooden blocks on which a couple of hundred or more of us show ponies stood, each displaying his or her body to the best advantage.
I know as I think of this now, how bizarre it sounds. Humans being exhibited as animals no less. I have been to numerous agricultural shows and have wandered through the sheep and cattle pavilions where the animals were displayed in a very similar way and every time I thought of it back then, I cringed and blushed as I realised that that was exactly what I now was.
I was stark naked, not a stitch to cover my nakedness. My body had been carefully depilated and my head shaved to provide the topknot of a pony tail and then adapted by the addition of a bridle, hooves and a tail to the human pony state after which they had honed and prepared and polished it to perfection. My mind had been conditioned, principally by pain, to accept my new status as a pony and then I had been raced - as naked as I now was in a very public race meeting.
Now, I was just as naked but on show as an animal!
But I accepted it. I had to, as did Black Beauty and Muscles. Dreadful pain followed very quickly if we baulked at their demands. And so I showed off my body as the prince wished and as Ridha and his men had trained all three of us. I flexed my biceps muscles and my thighs. I clenched my cheeks and flicked my tail from side to side. I stamped my feet to make the hooves ring out and undulated my hips while making my vaginal lips open and close.
It was degrading and humiliating and utterly shameful. You may remember I had gloried in shame and humiliation when Sebastian had subjected me to it back in England? Well I certainly didn’t glory in it now. You may also remember that at the time we three were kidnapped, I had been ready to give it up and return to a more normal life as Sebastian’s wife? In other words, my delight in my days as a voluntary human pony had run its course. Now, I had no choice in it at all. I had been kidnapped and enslaved and forced to a much more rigorous regime than back in England - and that had been pretty severe!
Every day in this tiny state in the Middle East was a nightmare, albeit one I had learned to accept. But this ... so public showing of our bodies and its muscles was the worst - or at least the worst up to that time.
All morning we stood there, working our muscles while the crowds moved up and down the wide centre aisle of the pavilion, stopping to stare at a show pony who caught his fancy and then moving on to look at another. The show opened at nine and we thus had three hours of it. Three dreadful hours in which I think I was permanently blushing as I so blatantly showed off my sexual organs to these horrible men...
At noon, they were shooed out by the show stewards and the pavilion locked. We were allowed to jump down off the blocks then and rest for an hour but then it was time for the afternoon events.
I was really dreading these. During the morning, all right we had had to show off our bodies, but at least it was inside, in the shelter of a building and only a dozen or so men could crowd around my spot and stare in at me. This afternoon, we were going to be demonstrating our skills as trotters and prancers and, for those who had been trained for it, as saddle ponies.
We would be parading - not racing this time, around the main arena while judges gave us points for beauty, athleticism and skill as a pony. Now, speed was not the essence but a proper deportment, the body held perfectly erect, and knees properly brought up to the perfect horizontal for the trot and higher still for the prance, were the essential things.
Ridha had trained us well. It’s amazing how pain, the cane applied to the underside of a thigh not raised high enough or across a juddering buttock cheek, soon teaches one to be more attentive to our duties, but I think it was also pride. Although I hated every second I had in that place, I was there - and I couldn’t allow myself to do less than my best. But, as I told myself, it was for me, not Prince Azeem.
Of course that may be a stretching the truth a bit, too. The prince certainly believed in pain as the best teacher around, but he also thought that the carrot didn’t go astray either, especially when awarded sparingly. You will remember how Black Beauty, Muscles and me had been rewarded after our first race wins with a night together? Well he repeated that at times when we gave him reason to - and not only just after a race meeting, either. If, for example, we had shown consistently good times during practice, he might give us another night together. It wasn’t all that often, but enough to make us hope for another such night and as a result, it probably did help to make us work that little bit harder.
The pavilion was closed in t
he afternoon and the central aisle was now used to harness us to the gigs. These were different from the racing models and were much more ornate - and therefore a little heavier. But we had been trained on much heavier, more utilitarian models still, and these were weighted with heavy concrete blocks to train our bodies to perform at best with the racing and show gigs.
Every part of them was polished to a bright gleam and the drivers who would sit on them were also decked out in the prince’s finest silks.
But Black Beauty was different. As one of the biggest of the prince’s colts, he was deemed suitable as a saddle pony as well as a galloper with the gig races and for the show that was what he was being presented as.
I will try to describe the saddle. It sat up high on his back, over his shoulders really and was belted around his neck and upper waist, just under his smooth broad chest. Its stirrups dangled down from the front so as to apply a more even weight against the pressure of the jockey’s weight on his back but even so, most of the pressure was on his upper back and he had to practise for many hours a day to develop the muscles that would keep him erect as well as able to run at full tilt around the track. As we did with the weighted gigs he practised with double the normal weight of the jockey on his back ...
What did he do with his hands? It was diabolical! He had now to reach even further back so that his hands grasped at the back of the saddle - but it showed off his body beautifully - magnificently, even!
Our riders now mounted Muscles’ and my gigs and Black Beauty’s jockey swung himself up into his saddle and the three of us were led off towards the main arena, all of us clip-clopping along the paved streets of the showground amongst the crowd, some of whom reached out to feel and fondle our flesh as we passed.