by Mark Andrews
I won’t say either Sebastian or Muscles went quite that far for the expression on their faces showed anything but relish as the one took the other’s cock in his mouth and sucked it to a full erection - and then further, until its seed gushed into his mouth, while all the time, Black Beauty, with more than one eye on the action taking place beside my head no doubt, ploughed his beautiful big cock into my vagina.
What did I feel? Everything! I was appalled of course that I was being forced to have intercourse with Black Beauty while my fiancée watched. I was also horrified at what Muscles was being forced to do to him. And yet at the same time, my body was being so wonderfully ravished by one of the most handsome and physically beautiful men in the world. What a conundrum!
I felt guilt at my feelings, of course and while it was difficult to turn my head enough to see up to Sebastian’s face, I tried to do so, to at least seek his tacit consent to what was happening.
He gave it. As my eyes met his at last, I saw the warmth and compassion in them. As they moved to what was happening behind me; to his cousin’s (at least nominal) slave raping me from behind, that expression didn’t change - he knew Black Beauty was not doing this of his own volition. And neither did it change as he stared down at the exquisitely beautiful Thai boy so reluctantly sucking him off. Indeed, as Muscles lips drew Sebastian’s libido to higher planes of pleasure, I even saw a sort of rapture encompass his face as he eventually succumbed to the excitement being visited upon his cock and ejaculated - into Muscles’ mouth.
But Black Beauty had been enjoined to rape me three times - at least - and to draw out each one as long as he could. He did and Muscles had been ordered to keep sucking Sebastian’s cock right through the ‘joining’ between Black Beauty and me. This meant that after Sebastian had erupted - and of course his cock softened, Muscles had to keep sucking it, to rouse it once more - and over and over again until Black Beauty had successfully completed the three ‘servicing’ of my body
No doubt you will understand the dreadful state my mind was in. I loved Black Beauty in a sort-of way. And I loved Muscles in the same way. Hell I had made love to and with them on a number of occasions before Sebastian had arrived and I had delighted in those encounters ... Nor had I felt the slightest guilt at betraying my fiancé, for he himself had engineered a similar encounter to this one with Black Beauty back in England and had watched it with considerable pleasure. It was all part of our English human pony thing.
But now seemed immeasurably different. I think the major difference was the prince’s so obvious hatred of us English in general, and Sebastian’s family in particular. He was so obviously relishing my being put in foal to a black - to a person he thought we despised because he was black. Nothing could have been farther from the truth but Prince Azeem hadn’t realised that.
And yet I, as Sebastian’s fiancée, still felt utter horror that I was enjoying Black Beauty’s sexual favours with hundreds of the prince’s friends and associates watching so avidly. All the humiliations he had heaped on us up to this time seemed to pale into insignificance next to this ritual mating of Black Beauty and me.
It went on for what seemed like hours. Black Beauty is a most virile young man and the prince knew it. If he had pulled the action or pleaded that he was spent, we would, all four of us, have been scheduled for a ritual paddling - a hundred strokes was mentioned ...
And during the whole time, Muscles had to kneel in front of my man, slurping and sucking at his cock while Sebastian stood there, his thumbs locked behind his back to the pole behind him, unable to do anything but accept what to him was a disgusting act while watching me serviced by Black Beauty.
I felt him come three, or perhaps it was even four times and I knew, somehow, that his seed had taken. Don’t ask me how I knew. A woman sometimes just knows these things and now, from that moment on, I had another worry to cope with. I was now carrying Black Beauty’s child. They could call it a foal if they wished but to me, it was very definitely a baby - a human baby.
But what had that act done to my relationship with Sebastian - and even to the one I had enjoyed with Black Beauty? It had been a strange - no, weird relationship, really, but it had worked. Now that I was pregnant (as was proved a little later by the prince’s vet) to Black Beauty, would Sebastian still want me?
How shallow I was - and how wonderful I felt when I saw the love continue in his eyes - even as, over the next few months, my belly swelled up and began to protrude in front of me.
As to Black Beauty, well I think our relationship blossomed even more as he watched my belly grow. Muscles? Well that bright and bubbly young man never wavered in his delight in us all. He seemed to have an innate ability to adapt, almost instantly, to the worst abuses to his mind and body and to rise up over them, like a cork on the most violent of seas.
I had thought Sebastian might have become jealous of Black Beauty as the father of my first child but if anything, he seemed to grow towards the handsome black boy, almost as a brother. My heart warmed to him even more. A lesser man would understandably have been outraged that another man would, even under the constraints we were under, have violated his girl as I had been. Not Sebastian. I could understand how he would be raging inside - but not at Black Beauty. No, his rage would be directed at the prince - but even there, he managed to hide it. He has an enormous strength of mind, has my Sebastian.
Our training continued. Still we were kept in the bridles and hooves permanently and the tails were only removed once a day for the horrible evacuation of our wastes by means of the repeated giant enemas forced up into our rectums until the effluxions were crystal clear, but then re-inserted.
The vet removed our hooves now and then, but only to inspect our feet and we were never allowed to stand on them without the hooves in place. The bridles with the horrible bits were never removed.
Our heads were shaved weekly and over the weeks and months, our topknots grew longer and longer, eventually turning into real ponytails that began to flow down over our shoulders and, in my case, whose hair had been longer to start with, over my upper back.
The fact of my pregnancy didn’t change my training schedule one iota. The Arabs, as a race, have had a history of medicine that goes way back before Western doctors began to understand its rudiments. Their ideas as to physical development are also quite novel. They believe a pregnant woman can work (or be worked) right up to the time of the birth and we were. For the last month, not at prancing or trotting but in their place I now found myself straining at full effort against one of the bars of an enormous capstan set up in the gym. This half isometric and half isotonic form of exercise, at which I was made to toil for hours every day, kept me strong and fit during the last days of my pregnancy.
I was also shown more often. No, not at the agricultural type shows but at more specialised events staged by slave owners who bred from their slavegirls. At these I had to stand on a similar block as at the earlier shows, my belly now protruding nicely.
You are appalled? So would most westerners. To an Arab however - actually I think to a Moslem generally, a pregnant woman is a thing of beauty and the more swollen she is, the more beautiful.
I was of course a pregnant ponygirl - slightly different from a pregnant slavegirl. But I was shown with them. Among the dozens of us displayed at the monthly shows, about a third perhaps were ponies, the rest more normal human beings.
All of us were naked - totally so, except that of course I and the other ponygirls on show had our hooves, tails and bridles to mark us as different.
Once more we had to stand as exhibits while the men who had paid to come in and see us in all our naked enceinte state looked us over. Yet again I wondered at that country (whose name I still didn’t know or even its exact geographical location) that permitted such a blatant and so obscene variety of slavery - me, who hadn’t even realised that real slavery, as opposed to the make-believe
variety we had practised back in England, still existed. Later, I discovered it still exists in many parts of the world, mostly hidden but not always, and in many different guises. Some of the world’s dictatorships, for example, virtually enslave their young athletes and subject them to a training regime nearly as rigorous as ours, exhorting them to win under almost any conditions - and even resort to the administration, forced or otherwise, of muscle-enhancing drugs and those that bend the mind and allow it to be manipulated to even harder effort than is wise for the human body.
At least the prince didn’t go that far. Understandably really when you consider his motives for enslaving us four was very different from the rest of his stable. Muscles, Black Beauty and me had been bait to catch Sebastian. I think he would have liked to have caught Milford, Seventh Viscount de Veere himself, but Sebastian was a good second best. He was much more likely to come after me himself than Milford would for Muscles and Black Beauty, although he would certainly have supported and paid for such an attempt for Milford is a very caring man, and one I like a great deal ...
Anyway, I had to stand there and show off my body once more. This time it was different in another way. At the agricultural shows, we were racing ponies and our muscles were what they wanted to see. Not, I stress, a body builder’s muscles. They didn’t go in for huge muscles at all. What they wanted was strength, endurance - and above all beauty.
If we were female, we had to be beautiful or striking of face, while our bodies had to be the epitome of lithe, supple, feminine athleticism. With us they didn’t want the soft curves of a voluptuous woman - highly toned muscles were definitely the go with us. With the boys, it wasn’t that much different. They had to be ultra-handsome and their physiques as lithe and athletic as ours. Of course the boys were bigger than us, both in stature and in physical size but we had both, in proportion, to be perfect physical specimens.
Now though, as a pregnant mare, it was my sexuality as well as my now well protruding belly that was on show. Accordingly, I had to point my hooves outward and bend my knees a little so that my vagina was now opened and exposed more easily to the prurient stares of the thousands who passed my position on the two days of the show.
I still had to keep my hands clasped up behind my head and my elbows well back but this was now second nature to me and had ceased to be the difficult pose it had been at the beginning. Try it. I’ll bet you find your shoulder and arms are aching after a few minutes. We had to keep our arms up in that position for hours at a time and remember to keep flexing and relaxing our biceps muscles all the time ... it was no wonder they developed into objects of real beauty!
I ceased to be entered in races about half way through my pregnancy. I was sorry in many ways for the trips to the race track had been a welcome diversion, no matter how shameful our means of transportation, and I had done very well at them, if I do say so myself. Of course I had many advantages.
I was naturally built well for athletics and had pursued that sport all through school and my law studies and Sebastian had enjoyed accompanying me to meets and so my body was already well suited to ponygirl racing. And with the training started by Arthur Scott, Milford’s head trainer and more latterly by Ridha, the prince’s equivalent, my body had become even better: faster, stronger and capable of extended races. I was now, in athletic terms, a middle distance runner - but one capable of speeds more akin to a sprinter, notwithstanding the hooves into which my feet and lower legs were, more or less permanently, ensconced.
As I said before, I ceased to be exercised in the same way at various stages through my pregnancy but this didn’t stop them ensuring my body stayed slim, strong, supple, and its muscles capable of performing for long hours at a time.
Some of this was achieved on the capstan, as I’ve said. Oh, how I hated that machine. It was so boring! At least on the track, I could run, my ponytail streaming out behind me and my nether tail wagging from side to side while my breasts jiggled up and down (I came to enjoy this feeling, which will surprise many women for running without a bra is very painful for most) quite alarmingly - and provocatively to the watching crowds on the rails.
But the capstan was just a slog. Round and round and round, for hours at a time while one of the grooms followed behind me, touching up my tail (bottom, I mean) when I flagged.
I liked the rowing machine a bit better. It was build like the sliding seat on a rowing shell with oar handles that went into a box containing machinery that could be made light and easy - or very hard. The machine required that I lean right forward, yes, even when pregnant for they believed the movement of my little baby as I leaned down between my legs, was good for it, and then pull strongly backwards until I was lying almost supine, for the machine wouldn’t let the handles travel forward again until they had tripped the release - and that was when they were up high over my head.
As you can imagine, this machine exercised my muscles - most of them in fact, very well indeed and coupled with the awful slog of the capstan, kept me fit - or perhaps even improved my strength and stamina.
The boys - by that I mean Sebastian, Black Beauty and Muscles, continued on with their normal training of course. And they also continued to race and to be exhibited in the agricultural shows. I call them that for that is the nearest equivalent to what I am familiar with in England - our county shows.
They continued to do very well in both sorts of showing. Sebastian wasn’t raced, of course. He was too old for a start at thirty-two to be a viable competitor but his body, especially after Ridha had had him for a few months, was certainly beautiful enough to be shown.
He was naturally tall and slim and his skin was that of a young teenager. Ridha built on that and turned his body into a real Adonis, equally as beautiful (to me anyway) as those of Black Beauty or Muscles and they were twenty and nineteen years respectively. Perhaps it was his healthy lifestyle that had kept him so youthful looking - he had never smoked and drank alcohol only sparingly and then only at dinner or social parties and he had always kept himself superbly fit.
I wasn’t surprised that he did as well as he did at the shows. I think it might have been his natural grace, polished by his upbringing (have you noticed the calm grace of the English aristocracy) but whenever he moved, it was with the fluid grace that bespoke his natural assurance and control.
Muscles and Black Beauty also did well, both of them very different in stature and general size, but both superb athletes and as my pregnancy advanced I began to wonder how long we would all be retained by the prince and what would happen to us then. I was sure he, hating us as he did, would make sure we were separated and that I would never see the two boys or my Sebastian ever again. I had to work hard to snap out of such morbid thoughts but I knew athletes had a definite use-by date and with Prince Azeem’s hatred of us, that might be sooner rather than later.
My time approached and I wondered how the birth would be. I knew we, as ponygirls, would not be moved to a hospital. No, it would take place right there in the stables and I would have it in the eastern manner, squatting over a straw-filled basket into which my ‘foal’ would drop, attended only by the prince’s slave veterinary.
Of course I knew he was really a doctor, a physician and surgeon, I mean - and a very good one, but they had to keep up the illusion of the pony stables and so to everyone there, he was simply the vet.
He had in his clinic all the latest equipment, including an ultrasound machine and he watched the progress of my little boy - yes, he told me it was a boy as soon as its gender became clear - very carefully. But I grew increasingly worried for I was well aware that while the mothers of the other little foals born there were permitted to keep and to suckle the infants for a few months, after that, they were taken from them to go to God knows where, apparently permanently and for Heaven knows what eventual purpose.
The prince could see my growing distress and he made it worse by speculating, i
n front of the four of us, how long he might permit me to keep my baby before dragging him from my arms and I could see Black Beauty and Sebastian, not to mention Muscles were hard put not to rush him and strangle the bastard where he stood.
The birth was wonderful, however. It was quite painless for me - just a few pushes as I squatted down over the basket, with the little boy’s father as well as Sebastian and Muscles also present, locked to the usual ring on the wall by the thumb cuffs behind their backs while the prince stood by, his black eyes glittering as he watched them stare down at me squatting down there over the straw filled basket.
Out it came, the tiny head followed by the perfect little body and the vet smiled in relief as he beheld its perfection for the prince didn’t like misfits and blamed his staff for anything that went wrong. He really was a prime bastard and I thought he wouldn’t be any loss to the world if some beneficent soul were to bump him off. It was all wild fantasy of course. He was in his own country, a close relative of the ruler and owner of a substantial portion of it. He was as secure as anyone could be - I was sure.
The vet did what he had to with the tube, cleaned the tiny baby and handed him to me. He was a beautiful little boy - all right, I know every mother says that about her offspring but this boy really was beautiful. He was coffee coloured - half way between my fair skin and Black Beauty’s dark chocolate and as soon as I was sure he was whole and sound and had placed his mouth against my tit (from the pair of which they had now removed the rings), I glanced up, first to Sebastian to see his reaction to my little boy - it was one of misty-eyed pleasure - and then to Black Beauty, whose face now registered real joy. It seemed the two men most prominent in my life had accepted the tiny brown thing in my arms.
I also looked at Muscles of course but I knew he would be ecstatic. He always was and his warm brown eyes gleamed with as much joy as that on his face as it grinned down at me.