Named and Shamed: Pony girl training begins... (Pony Tales Book 4)

by C. P. Mandara

  Moving close to the whimpering sex-slave he let his fingers linger on the black plastic zip that strained over her cleavage. He slowly drew the zipper down to her navel, exposing the delicious twin curves of her breasts. Running a finger down a bead of sweat that had formed beneath the rubber material, he then grabbed a breast and twisted it. A softer mewl of pain this time, which was nowhere near as exciting as the bullwhip shriek.

  'Shall I improve my aim on these delicate beauties?' Kyle tweaked the tip of a nipple painfully between his forefinger and thumb. There would be no response, even though his captive was not gagged. Plunging his hand into the depths of her suit he struggled to find her sex. The rubber was so tight that only the long length of his fingers allowed him to achieve his goal. He just managed to sink the tip of his middle digit into her greedy little hole. Even though the girl was clearly terrified she was wet, needy and desperate to be fucked. He had that effect on women. He smeared her clit with a combination of her own juices and sweat and manipulated it softly. Another mewl, this time of pleasure.

  'Baby, you want some more of that?' He cocked his head to one side and watched her lithe body wriggle under his hand. 'Yes,' he cooed, 'I bet you do. Too bad, I've got plans for you.' The latex of her catsuit made a snapping sound as he removed his hand. Dragging the zipper down further he exposed her smooth, naked sex to the cool dungeon air. Her body twitched. Thrusting two fingers inside her, as deep as they would go, he raised her body with the aid of his fist beneath. His pony girl feebly struggled with her wrist restraints, but employed no real enthusiasm to break free. She already knew the effort would be futile. Wiggling his fingers inside her, he was pleased to find her body so wet she was leaking down his hand and that was exactly how he liked them.

  Removing his fingers with a pop he pulled a clear plastic, oval-shaped cup from his pocket. He squirted a generous amount of lubricant along its outer edges before placing it over her pussy. Attaching a small plastic tube to the air inlet on the front of the cup, he then fixed this to a hand-held pump. Slowly he began to suck out all of the air from inside the cup, watching her labia swell and open as he did so. Some more struggling ensued, but this time of the pleasurable kind. He pumped her up a little bit more, wanting her fully, almost painfully engorged before he removed the device. Her blood would be pumping furiously to her nether regions about now. Sealing the air inlet off, he decided to leave her like that for a few minutes. He wanted her sex huge, pink and as sensitive as possible for what he had in mind next.

  Meandering over to the storage cupboard in order to pull out a very special piece of equipment, he couldn't resist admiring its simple lines. It was called 'wooden pony torture', and was basically a long, waist-height triangle of sharply angled wood, which was placed under a restrained subject's genitals. Initially they would use legs and feet to prevent all their weight bearing down upon their tender folds of flesh, but inevitably they would tire and that was when the torture would begin. His slave would eventually be forcing all of her body weight down upon her crotch, which would, of course, be sitting upon a sharp angled point of wood. It was going to hurt. Judging by the way she had already swelled beneath the cup, her extra sensitive clitoris and labia were going to be burning in pain relatively quickly. That was when the fun would begin.

  Wheeling the four foot long triangle along on its castors, he allowed her to get a good look at the contraption. He wondered if her little brain would figure out his ingenious game of torture. As he wasn't going to let her speak he would never know, but he didn't credit many of the slaves with much intelligence. Squatting down in front of her, he eyed up her genitals. They were now filling nearly half of the cup and the slippery folds of her labia looked enormous. Satisfied that his pump had done its work, he removed the cup and taking hold of his wooden pony once more, slotted it neatly underneath the girl's crotch. He ratcheted the height of the device up by means of a floor pedal, until her pussy was barely nestling on the wooden frame.

  He gave her a minute or so to think about that one. Finally understanding dawned in her eyes. Using the lever to raise it another couple of centimetres, so the point rested uncomfortably in the centre of her private parts, he stood back to admire her sleek form. His little pony immediately strained in her boots, trying to raise her body in order to avoid the sharp point. He would let her struggle for a few minutes or so, knowing she would quickly tire herself out and that was when he would raise the device a little higher. No matter which way the rubberised girl twisted and turned, there would be little relief available to her and no escape from the torment which would only get worse the longer she was forced to remain there.

  Kyle pulled up a brown leather lounger and sat in the middle of the room enjoying the view. He had forgone candles today and settled for the long strips of bright, halogen lighting which filled the dungeon's stone ceiling. He didn't like the muted light that the candles produced. When he was in a scene, he wanted to see every last little nuance of pain that crossed his slave's face. At the moment there wasn't much to see. She was a little uncomfortable, but there was no real suffering taking place. That would change shortly. Her face would contort in dread, her body would shake with terror and she would consider opening her mouth to try and beg for mercy. If she had any sense, she'd keep it closed. The only time he wanted an open mouth anywhere near him, was when he wanted to stuff it full with his cock. The last time a pony had spoken in his presence he had almost flayed the skin from her back.

  Not wanting to hurry the proceedings along at this point, he let his mind wander. His thoughts immediately turned to Isabelle. He could probably sheath his sadistic streak and even go vanilla for a couple of rounds with that package, although he'd still probably have to tie her up. A leopard didn't want to lose all of his spots, lest he become a pussycat. Being gentle with Isabelle wasn't as unpleasant a thought as it usually was, though. Beautiful ladies deserved a little respect. He would love listening to every single word she uttered, just for the pure musicality of her voice. There would be no need to gag her. If she switched to her native French and began whispering in his ear there was always the chance that he might have one hell of a party in his pants before the proceedings began.

  Smiling to himself, he wondered where he should suggest that the first date take place. That they were going to have sex was a foregone conclusion, but the where and the how were as yet still a mystery. All he knew was that it had better not be at his place. He hadn't cleaned up in weeks, and at the moment he had to forge a path through a jungle of discarded clothes, magazines and used coffee cups in order to make it to his bed. Personally, he preferred to take a flying leap. It saved the hassle of near death experiences when faced with the prospect of crushing china beneath his toes.

  Noticing that his pony had become considerably more agitated upon the horse, he decided it was time to stop daydreaming and get some additional bullwhip strokes in. It was clear he needed the practise. Moving his chair back to allow himself plenty of room to cast the whip, he began to concentrate on where he would like the tip to strike. He raised his arm straight up and gave the whip handle a light wrist snap. A crack shot through the air and echoed around the cavernous confines of the dungeon, but Kyle hadn't actually managed to hit anything. At least it had the desired effect on his pony girl, who began struggling madly in her chains.

  Aiming anew he took another flick with his wrist, but this time he managed to get the whip caught behind him and the tip swung back around his body and sliced between his shoulder blades and into the nape of his neck. When a bullwhip moving at seven hundred mph severed your shirt in two, you knew all about it. Dropping the whip and swearing like he was frightened the word 'fuck' might be going out of fashion, he snapped a hand over the injury. It was throbbing and wet. Drawing his fingers back in front of his eyes, so he could witness his own stupidity, he found them covered in blood. Great. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It stung like a bastard. He could only imagine what his little horsie was thinking, and damned if he didn't hear a snor
t of amusement. Little shit. It was all right for her; she was a masochist. He, on the other hand, was not.

  Feeling a dribble of blood slide down his neck, he narrowed his eyes in annoyance. There was another snort, this time louder. She really was laughing at him. How dare she? The snorts were getting louder and closer together and... she was... laughing hysterically. The cheek of the slut was unbelievable! His mouth formed a thin line as he held the bullwhip up high and felt his body tighten with anger. She was asking for it and hell if he didn't want to give it to her. Letting the whip fly in the height of his anger he hit his target; the top of her thigh, first time. Her shocked gasp and scream as the latex tore once more wasn't nearly enough to appease his anger, however. The whip continued to sail through the air, and it was fair to say that as long as it shredded some rubber he didn't really care where it landed.

  Isabelle's heels were wobbling precariously down the steep stone steps which led to the dungeon. It was a delicate procedure. Catch one in a hole and not only did you snap your heel in two, you were lucky if you didn't snap a few bones in the process. It didn't help matters that she was also encumbered by a very tight, knee length, black pencil skirt. At least there were no spectators down here to witness her ridiculous sideways waddle as she carefully negotiated each step. Why they couldn't have thought to put a simple hand rail in was beyond her. Was the entrance to the dungeon supposed to be as tortuous as the paraphernalia inside it? She had to wonder.

  Having made it down the stone steps in one piece, she rapped the brass knocker within the cast iron door and waited. There was no response. It was a thick door, so she tried again. Nothing. Pressing the side of her face up close and feeling like a guilty schoolgirl who might get caught eavesdropping, she strained her ears for the smallest sound. When a sudden crack lit up the air she nearly broke both of her spike heels simultaneously. It was followed by another and then another... and they didn't appear to be stopping. Realising that her feeble knocking wasn't going to gain her entrance any time soon, she cautiously opened the door and waved a single hand in the air to get his notice. There was no way she was going to risk any more body parts when there was a bullwhip on the loose.

  The whip continued to crack as if nothing had happened and no one was any the wiser as to her frantically waving hand. Isabelle withdrew it and peered cautiously through the slit in the door, one hand on the knocker ready to form an immediate retreat if need be.

  Her eyes blinked madly at first, adjusting to the harsh lighting, but then a shocked gasp left her lips. There could be little doubt about it; she was looking at a madman. His shirt was on the floor in tatters; his muscled back was dripping with sweat, as were the tips of his shaggy blonde hair that framed the back of his neck, and there he was bringing the whip down with a ferocity that was unholy.

  Isabelle felt her head spin. She breathed deeply, and leaning on the door to steady herself she fell forward and winced as the thing creaked loudly on its hinges.

  'Who's there?' There was nothing wrong with Kyle's reflexes and his body spun around while his loud voice echoed off the stone walls.

  Isabelle struggled her way up to a standing position and gingerly poked her head around the door. 'Just me,' she squeaked in a very unladylike voice. She smiled weakly and waved some documents in the air. It could almost have been the white flag of truce. 'I just need to check if you're an interested party in any of our new ponies? I have you down for Petal. Is that correct?'

  Kyle nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. He was soaking up the delightful Isabelle's sleek silhouette upon the dungeon floor and letting her voice soothe his frayed temper. The woman was an angel.

  'Good, good. You do know that there is a secondary auction regarding Petal, don't you?'

  'Come in, Ma'am, please. It's a little difficult to hold a conversation behind a mostly closed door.' Kyle could hear her perfectly well, but he wanted to feast his eyes upon her body; the same body that would be his in just a few days' time.

  Isabelle sucked in another breath, pushed the door forward and tried to ignore the horrible screeching sound that began to murder her eardrums. Putting on her brightest smile, which took considerable effort, she continued where she had left off.

  'There's to be a secondary auction for Petal. She happens to be an anal virgin.' She nearly let a sigh of relief out, after having managed to complete that sentence without a single 'ah', 'um' or 'er'.

  'I see.' Kyle had no interest in that particular auction. He didn't have enough money in the bidding wars to be any competition for the high rollers that would almost certainly flock to the event, and as she would soon be his trainee, paying for something he would shortly be able to have on tap seemed slightly ludicrous. 'No, I have no interest in that particular auction, but thanks for the invite.' He gave her a soft smile.

  It was wasted upon Isabelle. Her eyes, getting wider by the second, had just taken in his captive, snagged against the X-frame and horse. They began bulging when they devoured the state of her catsuit, which was now shredded beyond repair.

  Isabelle stood up straight and quickly turned her eyes away from the girl. She found herself shaking as she asked her next question. 'Where would you like to meet for our little soiree, Kyle?' Her voice had taken on a stiff and strangulated quality.

  'Why don't we meet down here in the dungeon on Friday night? I'll be here until about half-past six because Mistress Katrina is on leave this week, but then we can go anywhere that takes your fancy.' He stopped speaking abruptly when he noticed that Isabelle appeared to be clinging onto the wall for support and that even so, she appeared to be sinking rapidly towards the floor. 'Are you OK, Isabelle?' He began to move forward to assist her up, but that didn't appear to help matters as she shrank even further away from him.

  'I'm fine, I'm fine,' said Isabelle in her firmest, most businesslike tone. With a great degree of effort she managed to pull herself up the stone wall, although she refused to let go of it. She had not heard any of Kyle's conversation past the word dungeon. What kind of man wanted a first date in a dungeon? Isabelle couldn't decide if she was shocked or outraged. It was probably a mixture of both. Oh dear Lord, the dungeon? There must be some mistake.

  'I suppose you want me to wear a catsuit, too?' This was added somewhat sarcastically.

  It was time for Kyle's eyes to widen in surprise. 'Oh, wow, Isabelle. Yes please. That's a very sweet and generous offer. You'd look amazingly awesome in latex.' He'd just begun to think that all his Christmases had come at once. He had no idea what had come over Isabelle, but he wasn't going to question this turn of events.

  'Of course you would.' Isabelle nodded curtly and provided Kyle with a weak smile that did not touch her eyes. 'Now if you might excuse me, I have a busy day ahead with the auction preparations.' She turned on her heels, which were incredibly both still intact, and marched out of the dungeon with the speed of a drill sergeant. The door slammed loudly in her wake. As soon as she was clear of the dungeon steps she removed both shoes and ran like she had never run before.

  Kyle didn't even notice the excruciating sound of un-oiled hinges being miserably abused. His week was getting better and better. Putting the bullwhip back on its wall support he began unbuttoning his jeans. Isabelle had created a raging fire inside his body and his little sex-slave was going to have a hard job on her hands putting it out. Releasing her from the horse and the cross he watched as she dropped to the floor, on all fours. She wasn't going to be given much time to get her breath back. Drawing the horizontal zip slowly across her mouth, he had only two words for his pony.

  'Open wide.'

  Nettle Soup

  Mark felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. Racing away from the noise and dust of the helicopter blades, he could not escape their chilling breeze and it cut straight through him. Flipping up the lapels of his suit, he wondered if this was a sign that the English summer was already over, not that it had really begun. The weather didn't really concern him over much. His mind was a
lready focused on a stubborn little brunette that would be wandering the paddocks of Albrecht, causing mischief and mayhem in her shiny black hoof-boots. He began to imagine what she would look like trussed up in her leather tack, with her hands bound tightly behind her and all of her holes neatly filled. What he wouldn't give to be filling one of them himself right now...

  Escaping the reach of the slowing rotor blades, Mark made a beeline for Isabelle's office. He was smiling. That in itself was a damn miracle. Having meant to drive himself to Albrecht, he realised that if he wanted to release a little sexual tension before his visit, he had minutes rather than hours with which to play. As he was a firm believer that sex in all of its glorious forms should not be rushed, he'd decided to take the helicopter and that had given him a couple of extra hours in which to play... with two lovely blondes... in tandem. Their enthusiasm had been overwhelming and somewhat... touching. He suspected his office was in a state of uproar since he'd chained Marianna over his table last night. His usual crew were sharpening their claws and looking to stake their claim. If he'd known what an invigorating effect it would have upon them, he would have had brunette sex years ago.

  Reaching Isabelle's door, he knocked twice and cleared his thoughts.

  'Come in.'

  He did not need to be asked twice. When Isabelle spotted him she looked surprised, but quickly schooled her reaction to one of polite formality. That in itself was unusual. Isabelle was very good at maintaining her poker face, no matter what the situation might entail. He also spotted that her fingernails were drumming the William Tell Overture on the underside of her desk, she had chewed all of her signature pink lipstick from her lips and she was sporting a large, dusty smudge on her form-fitting black skirt. Something was eating at her. This was a first and he was intrigued.