Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition

by Jurgen von Stuka

  As if reading Dori’s confused mind, Mistress Wright slowly inserted the middle finger of her left hand into Dori’s already crowded vagina, continuing to massage the girl’s clitoris with thumb and forefinger while slowly thrusting with the extended middle finger, stretching the passage even further than the sturdy ridged prong. No boy or girl had ever done this to Dori before and she was unsure what such overt and continuous stimulation would do to her. Past any real resistance, Dori gave in to it all. She panted like a steam engine at idle. Her muscles twitched and spasmed. She sweated and drooled profusely. Her eyes were shut and she saw flashes of light while hearing a constant buzzing in her head. She let the feelings take over and as the waves began to wash over her, just as she was sure the first major eruption was about to take place in her bubbling internal volcano, it all stopped.

  Mistress Wright stopped what she was doing and spoke in tutorial tones to the writhing, sweating young woman who literally foamed at the bitted mouth like a horse that had cantered or galloped for several miles.

  “Samson is going to give you a real ride,” said the Head Mistress. “I can’t stay for this one, but maybe the next time. Have a wonderful time, Dori.” Removing her hands from the twitching, struggling body, the Head wiped her fingers on a small towel tied to Samson’s quarter, then turned and left the cold cellar room with a puff of acrid cigar smoke hanging in the cold cellar air as she exited. After setting Samson’s controls to give the girl the ride of her life, the instructors too left. They filed out of the room, locked the door and went upstairs where they’d watch the show on video from the six cameras mounted throughout the basement room.

  Dori had no idea what she was going to do now. The room was brightly lit, but there was no sound and nothing for her to see as she stared at the overhead beams in the old barn. She tried to move but found that any movement sent waves of pain and other feelings from the impaling shafts that filled her lower body. She couldn’t lean back because of the steel strut and there was no way to lean forward because of the straps holding her to the strut. The single sleeve pulled her hands back toward Samson’s tail, and up until now, she had not even considered the possibility that the horse could move. Furthermore, she could not have anticipated the extent of movement that such as device could and would produce once activated.

  Dori focused on her multiple discomforts one at a time. Over the last few days, she had adjusted slowly to the constant strain on her arms as they were held behind, her forearms together and elbows touching most of the time. The bridle was an annoyance, and not being able to see beyond the binders and always looking upwards was unpleasant and painful as time went on. The grooms and instructors released her head and arm bondage periodically and allowed for some exercise, but the positions were a terrible trial. Her legs went numb during the long periods inside the breeches’ single leggings and the bridle, bit and gag plug were little more than annoying inhibitors. Until she mounted the horse, she had stoically endured the torments of the strange apparel and bondage, but this “riding lesson,” like dinner the first night and her odd sleeping arrangements, was yet another twist. The personal attention of the head mistress was an unnerving assault and she was confounded when the training crew exited the downstairs room and left her mounted on the horse and riding two throbbing dildos.

  Considering this, Dori thought she felt a brief shudder through the heavy leather saddle and the probes. For a second, the entire horse seemed to vibrate and another mild ripple seemed to shake the mechanical breast. Samson was starting the ride.

  Chapter Seven

  Reducing the Double D

  Unknown to Dori, her new pal Winnie was riding too. In the smaller of the two indoor riding rings on the property, Winnie sat in a standard English saddle, her polished black boots in shiny chrome stirrups and a pair of leather reins resting lightly in her hands. Her small mount shuddered every few moments and waited impatiently for a movement or command that would direct it to yet another exercise in the dusty ring. Winnie tensed her upper legs just a bit, compressing the flanks of her mount between her knees and the pony moved slowly forward towards a low rail, preparing to jump. Winnie, her black safety cap pulled tightly down almost to the point where the brim met her perfect nose, squinted in the harsh artificial overhead lighting, trying to judge the distance to the jump. The pony began to drift to the right and Winnie corrected with a bit of leg and rein, tugging slightly on the double snaffle and pulling the pony’s tossing head back towards center and the jump. The pony over compensated and drifted left. Again Winnie corrected, this time using her crop smartly on the rounded muscular rump behind her. The pony jogged slowly towards the inevitable jump and then, at the last second, as if someone had slammed on the brakes, stopped in its tracks, ducked its head and straightened its hind legs. Winnie flew out of the saddle and landed a few inches short of the jump rail, dust filling her open mouth and the ring’s pungent mixture of sawdust, dirt and manure covering the front of her shirt. She had hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Dirt and dust filled the inside of her shirt, the front of her tight white breeches and inside of her bra.

  The pony looked at her with grim satisfaction, turned, and trotted back to the entry gate at the far end of the ring. Several grooms came running over to Winnie, helping her stand. Another hustled over to the standing pony, seized the dropped reins and led the reluctant creature back towards the center of the ring.

  “Do you want to remount?” a worried groom said to Winnie, helping her get her clothes back in order and checking for any cuts or bruises.

  “No!” was Winnie’s emphatic answer as she shook her shirt front and pulled the tails out of her breeches. Clumps of dirt and dust emptied out of her shirt and rained down on her breeches and boots. “But that pony is going to get it.”

  Winnie limped over to the pony, took the reins from the groom and, holding the side of the pony’s leather halter tightly in her left hand, began to flog the beast with her long, thin riding crop. The pony reared back, steel front hooves flailing. Winnie ducked the flying booted feet and swung her crop at the pony’s now fully exposed belly and chest.

  “I’ll teach you to throw me!” Winnie hissed through clenched teeth. She swung the crop harder and flailed the pony’s leather-clad breasts and bare belly. The pony fell, rolling over onto its back and all four feet beat the air. Winnie’s crop sought and found the exposed center crotch, raining blow after blow down onto the pony’s hairless cunt. The pony whined and screamed through its massive gag bit, rolling about on the dirt floor and sending up clouds of dust as it tried to escape the blows.

  A ring of curious and frightened grooms assembled around the pair and watched as rider and mount engaged in a one-sided beating. The pony, whose real name had been Tina Martin, was a large, muscular girl with wide hips and a tight belly. She was strong and hearty enough to carry more weight than Winnie. But in the 14 months she had been at the school, she had not adapted well to jumping in the ring. Her breasts had been a problem and the Head, after studying the girl’s training progress, her physical reports and general health, ordered that she be fully jumper-trained and have her size 40 DD breasts reduced to a more manageable dimension. Because initially the school had not known exactly what Tina would be good at, she underwent a variety of training before the jumper designation was selected for her. One consideration was always that her tits were prohibitively large. To function as an effective jumper, a pony couldn’t have these eight pounds of fat flopping about below while trying to clear a jump. So, eventually, the decision was made, surgery was scheduled and, among other things, several pounds of mammary tissue were removed, the nipples repositioned and the overall body appearance rebalanced to give Tina a more appealing look as a career jumper. Now she was being flogged dearly by this bitch who rode, (as far as she was concerned), abominably and used too much rein and not enough leg. Tina’s exposed crotch took most of the crop blows and she rolled completely over onto her belly and lay there as Winnie switc
hed to beating her stout ass. Finally, the ring Mistress intervened, sent Winnie to the showers and the pony to the wash stall. Notes were made in both records and appropriate measures would follow concerning this gross violation of school decorum.

  Chapter Eight

  Boswick’s Satisfaction

  To say that she was experiencing multiple orgasms would have been, to use the cliché, a gross understatement. Dori’s riding clothes were soaked. Sweat ran from every pore, dripping down her body, pooling in the leather riding boots and spattering onto the concrete cellar floor. Samson shook, rattled, jumped, bucked and rolled endlessly. His pace was varied. At times he was like a wild, unbroken steed, fleeing from the possibility of confinement in a corral. At other times he was simply and methodically trying to shake the mounted and impaled girl off his mechanical back. His bucks were slow enough to cause Dori to slide up the impaling phalluses, hang there in momentary suspension and plunge back down their roughened slippery surface to slam her bisected ass and naked crotch into the sweat-soaked leather saddle. This in and out action in itself was enough to awaken and boil the girl’s sexual feelings, but the constant side-swings, jerks and starts from the beast multiplied by ten the stimuli. Her breasts swung heavily with the horse’s movement, following in slow motion the movements of the rest of her body. Some of the motions were violent enough to bring the massive globes up into contact with Dori’s chin and neck. It was somewhat ridiculous, she thought somewhere along the line, to have her own tits thrashing her neck and lower face as she careened about on a mechanical horse.

  Dori had no choice but to ride it out, sweat it out and come over and over again. She was constantly panting and shuddering, trying catch her breath before the next inevitable wave of stimulation took over. Nostrils dilated, eyes wide and blinking back the continuous tears and sweat, she fought to follow somehow the irregular movements of the beast. With nothing to hold on to, she would not have stayed in the saddle more than a few seconds had she not been bound there by the various restraints, but her young body, bound and impaled as it was, took every possible escape avenue without any success. She remained in the saddle, sliding up and down and rotating on the dual joysticks, her cunt and asshole wider and more open than ever before, her juices running beyond any normal capacity.

  She came in her head, in her cunt, in her ass, in her wildly gyrating breasts and in her toes and fingertips. Every part of her responded over and over again to the incredible action of the electronically controlled monster she rode. It seemed like hours. It seemed like it would never, ever end. In one part of her head, she begged for it to stop. In another part of her head and body, she wanted it to go on and on. Through the bit and gag, she shouted over and over again: “stop, please stop, oh, please stop it, I can’t stand it anymore. Please stop…please, please…oh, oh…ohhhhh…”

  Eventually, it stopped. Without preamble, without warning, it stopped. Dori sweated, shivered, shuddered and finally, unable to do more than relax in the saddle, she slept. Sitting quietly in the leather arm chair next to the now silent, motionless bucking horse, Head Master Boswick fumbled with his pants, put his limp penis back inside his shorts, closed the zipper and stood up, never taking his eyes off the exhausted, dozing girl in the saddle.

  “Very nice,” he said. “Very nice. I think we’re going to see a lot more of each other, Dori. Since it is apparent that you like this kind of ride so much, I am going to arrange for you to have a special belt.”

  Dori blinked away the salt mixture from her eyes and tried to look at Boswick as much as her restraints allowed.

  Mistress Ella will see to it first thing tomorrow,” Boswick added as he headed for the stairs and the exit door. Dori remained pinioned in the soaking saddle and wondered what he had in mind.

  Chapter Nine

  Whipped into Shape

  “Learning to ride properly requires that you understand fully what the horse is thinking and why,” lectured the instructor. “That is why you are each now being outfitted in your pony attire. Your coach will help you today and in the early stages, but you must learn to fare for yourselves. Now, we’ll review the equipment and have you each check to make sure you are properly attired for the lesson. Norma, please take the stand and walk us all through the day’s lesson.”

  Norma, one of the instructors on staff, stepped quickly to the lectern, thanked the preceding speaker and got right down to the crux of the matter.

  “You students are now ponies. Not riders, not equestrians, but ponies. That is why you have been put into the training costume you each are wearing. We have gone to the expense of having these outfits made just for you. Ingrid, please come forward and demonstrate your pony for us all.”

  Ingrid, another instructor, instantly brought her crop down on the rear of her pony-student. The crack of the leather making contact with the pony’s hide was resonant. The pony jumped forward, tripped on its hobbled legs and fell over on its side, legs thrashing in the air and gurgles and whines coming from its bitted mouth. Inside the soft, cowhide and carbon fiber head and body suit, the young woman tried gallantly to stand back up on her four feet. This was not possible. Her legs were encased in the soft leather hind legs of the pony, heels against her ass, calves doubled up against her thighs. Her little feet were molded to the contours of her rump and on her kneecaps were small rubber boots with steel horseshoes. Her arms were similarly enclosed in a leather sheath with the forefeet and hooves mounted in a cushioned boot of sorts on the elbow. Her helpless hands were strapped to her shoulders and useless to her. She wore a complete body suit of leather and it fit precisely over her entire well-developed body. The horsehair tail, its base embedded in her ass, and the horse head itself were quite realistic. The ears were shaped well and the mane was of fine blond hair to match her palomino coloring. Only the body shape gave away the fact that this was not a real pony, because this creature had swelling breasts that pushed the leather hide of the costume outward and down between the forelegs. It also had a fine, narrow waist, (tightly corseted as it was), and a well-proportioned, firm and rounded rear end supporting the hind legs. The tail jutted up and out from between the perfectly shaped buttocks that were plainly cleaved in two by the leather suit. The hanging breasts were confined by the suit, but the nipples had been pulled through holes in the leather garment and clipped with small spring steel rings. The rings were not piercing the nipples, but had split springs that held them firmly and painfully in the stitched leather holes. The instructor reached down and yanked emphatically on the nipple rings and the pony flailed with all four hobbled legs. The instructors laughed. The other ponies watched helplessly, knowing their individual times would soon come.

  With help, the pony was righted and the class went on. Dori was the third in the first row and she stood with her hobbled feet about a foot apart, trying to watch the instructor but also distracted by the suit, corset, the hobbles, her new belt that held its plugs in her ass and cunt and the weight of the pony head helmet she wore. She looked out through the eyeholes and realized that none of the ponies could be identified, although they were different colors and sizes. She saw her own outfit before it had been put on, and she knew that she was a small chestnut pony with white socks on each leg. She had a dark brown tail and mane. The leather suit fit like a glove. Getting into it was a trial much more difficult that getting into the first day’s riding apparel and the pony suit slowly molded to her figure as it was zipped up and sealed. Once inside, the girl ceased to be girl and was simply a captive animal. She had been fitted for this new attire several times and each time a different, tighter corset had been wrapped around her waist. This time, since Mistress Ella introduced her to the new belt with larger plugs than she had worn before, she struggled to ease the new discomfort between her legs. In the past, the double dildo treatment meant a thin chain around her waist and a second similar one that connected front and back and passed tightly between her legs, securing the twin impalers. The belt she now wore was a thin and uncomfortable
band of stainless steel. At the back, where it crossed her spine, the band had another thinner band hinged to it and this band went down the cleft between her buttocks, secured a monster butt plug in her ass and then went neatly through her vaginal lips, driving a second, even longer and fatter dildo deep into her cunt, finally to be secured with a small cylinder lock at the front center of the belt, a few inches below her navel. This new addition to her wardrobe, apparently instigated by Boswick, meant that she now needed to request and receive permission to visit the toilet. It also meant that a groom or instructor had to accompany her there and provide the key to the belt lock, supervise the removal of the rubber dongs, (rubber had been selected as the best and safest material for these pony girl penetrators because it posed less of an injury threat while the wearer was engaged in various school activities), replace them and relock the device. Most staff members were not enthusiastic about this duty and Dori soon learned to control her eating and drinking during the day to avoid as many of these visits to the bathroom as possible. Still, the fat, well lubed probes were now jammed deeply into her body openings and held there by the new belt. Each time the suit and belt combination was put on, it seemed to fit more snugly than before and become a more intimate part of the girl’s body.

  This was, in fact, quite true, because the tailors and fitters of the school had clear instructions to make the suit fit like a second skin. At each fitting, Dori found that some new place in the suit was snugger and more a part of her than before. In the thighs, in the shoulders, above and below her breasts, the suit had to be smoothed out and pulled, then smoothed again by the fitters in order to get it correctly onto and around Dori’s trim torso. Her diet at the school, plus the rigors of extreme exercise like the Samson sessions had removed every bit of baby fat. She was as lean and trim as ever and the pony suit assured that her body would be properly displayed, even though it was totally encased in the thin hide.