Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “Aieeeghhhh. Aieghhh. Arrghguurrr.r.r..r…” she screamed. Over and over.

  Her cunt was a liquid cave, an ocean of fluid dripping onto her legs and down to the stall floor. Her round, firm ass rotated clockwise and then the other way, then jerked up and down, humping an imaginary fucker that didn’t exist. When she humped, her ass cheeks jiggled in unison, shaking up and down and from side to side as though someone was shaking a huge bag of Jell-O.

  Dori’s eyes were squeezed shut, her face lasciviously distorted under the bridles.

  “Elth ne. elth nee. Thumb un elth neeee,” she pleaded into the dark stall.

  “Can I be of assistance?” a voice said.

  Rodney, an attractive young groom of 22 who had handled Dori a few times in the past, unlocked the sliding door and stuck his head into the warm stall that reeked of sweat and sex. He smiled, seeing Dori in the throes of such combined pain, ecstasy and frustration. Slowly, savoring the moment, he slid the door open and moved into the stall, behind the straining girl.

  “Perhaps, Miss Dori,” muttered the groom, who had played half back in college football and had the stature to prove it, “we can give you something to hump. Would you like that?”

  “Yeth, yethh. Bleeezzze,” Dori shouted through the bit and tongue bolt. “Bleeze, nannyting. Bleezeth.”

  “Okay,” said Rodney “Try this…” He unfastened his belt, dropped his trousers around his booted feet and, without any warning, rammed his swollen, erect rod completely into Dori’s straining cunt. Startled, the girl froze for a moment, then, moaning and shuttering, she met his thrusts and pounded away until Rodney uttered a single grunt, shivered for several seconds and then withdrew his weapon as quickly as he had inserted it.

  “Mister Boswick sends his regrets, Dori,” Rodney said with a smirk. “This was supposed to be his gig, but he got delayed by an extended head job over in the dairy barn,” he laughed.

  “OOOrrr, ooorrr,” Dori cried, now clearly desperate and totally unfulfilled. Rod pulled up his pants and moved to a metal cabinet at the back of the stall. He unlocked it with a key from the key chain on his belt and opened the door. Reaching inside, the groom pulled out what appeared to be a three or four foot long hydraulic arm with a threaded fitting on the end. He locked the arm horizontally in place to a nozzle-like supporting fixture on the rear wall and then adjusted the height to match that of the standing pony. It was a three foot distance from the nozzle to where Dori stood shaking and shivering, desperately in need. Rodney fitted a phallus-like rubber sleeve over the threaded end, turning it several times until it was locked into the correct position. Satisfied with the preparation, he mated a long black hose with the device. Previously hung coiled on the rear wall of the stall, the hose was now directly behind Dori and beyond her vision.

  The inside of Dori’s left thigh touched what felt like a hot poker and she attempted to pull the leg away. Still she felt the heat. There was something hot between her legs, moving slowly, horizontally towards her crotch. She could feel the heat, but it felt more like steam.

  Again it touched her leg, this time at the top of the thigh, very close now to her own streaming cunt.

  “AH, AH, OH, ohhhhh. Utt ith it?” she screamed through her gag.

  “Another hot little pecker for a hot little hole,” Rodney the groom said, adjusting something behind Dori.

  The hot tip hit her cunt lips. It didn’t burn, but she was jolted by the warm touch. Was it heat or electricity or both? She couldn’t tell. She wanted it up her cunt. She wiggled her ass and moved her apex closer and they met suddenly in a rush. The probe extending from the device on the rear wall was now slowly surging hydraulically into Dori’s steaming hole, completely filling her with its warm and electric presence. It was far enough in so that she could barely pull away from it, but it continued to move forward and further into her. Rodney made a few adjustments at a control panel in the steel box on the wall, then leaned against the stall’s back wall to observe. Dori’s hips and lower torso, unbound from neck to ankles, rotated and shook and she worked to further engage the digging, dredging hot probe. Rodney was okay, she thought, but compared to this, he was merely a warm up. This was what she knew she needed and wanted. Her upper thighs ran with fluid, streaming out from her spasm-squirming hole. She forgot for a moment about the ear rings and the nose hooks and jerked her head around to the side. The instant pain in all four places brought her head back to an immovable center pose. Dori gurgled, screamed and shouted to the groom, demanding more and then screaming for it to stop. She was fucking the probe and she had no idea what it was. Her body demanded more and more and more and she jerked and humped for what seemed like hours. Riding Samson brought a multitude of physical effects. The probe now reaming her from behind was a single, hot battering ram, insistently vibrating and rattling her entire insides.

  The probe, manipulated by a computer-controlled series of sensors, rummaged her cunt with an unstoppable and absolute vengeance. Now it was Dori that threw herself about in reckless abandon, not the mechanical horse. It was Dori that followed no set plan or pattern, not Samson. The stall was filled with squeals and panting, the sounds of pressurized air and hydraulic pumps. The groom, who had seen this kind of performance before, stood at one side in the rear of the stall and alternately flicked a short crop at Dori’s jiggling ass and rubbed his crotch to the same erotic rhythm as the machine that was fucking Dori. The crop had a small, thin leather loop at one end and this emitted a loud “whap” each time it bit into the soft, gyrating cheeks that were busily jerking and swinging with the massive fuck that the girl was undergoing. The groom increased the power behind each blow until he was marking the cheeks deeply every time.

  “Ugh, ugh, uh, uh, uh, uh,” groaned Dori with each thrust and each slap of the crop. By now the girl’s movements were completely off the scale. The jerking, humping, thumping motion had been out of control for too long and eventually even Dori had to stop. She slowed her body’s gyrations, shivered and shook, her ass cheeks clenched and then she stopped. The probe, sensing the change in pace, slowed, then stopped, but remained inside its new home, steam and fluid still leaking from the flesh surrounding its metal and rubber structure; motionless. The groom adjusted some controls, patted Dori on her red and swollen rump and left the stall. As he passed the front of the stall, he stopped again and kissed Dori on the tip of her stretched nose. “Too bad Boswick has his sights set on you; Hon. We could make a nice horsey couple. I’ll leave this rig in for the night. You may get another urge later. It will not come out, so enjoy it, Honey. I gave Lucy one last week and there’s nothing, nothing in the world, quite like it, is there?” Dori was too exhausted to respond.

  Chapter Twelve

  Where the Milk Comes From

  Ellen Levine stood before Mistress Wright. She shivered not so much from the cold, but more from fear of what was to come next. Released from her most recent punishment following nearly the day of impalement on the post and brought to the Head’s office in chains, the girl with the model figure stood and shook. The post discipline had marked the culmination of having spent a week chained to a steel bed frame with heavy steel cuffs on her wrists, above her elbows and knees, a heavy collar around her neck, a thick steel belt around her waist and short chains holding all of these restraints closely the bed frame so that she lay, spread out like a four legged animal, ready for disemboweling. Only they hadn’t filleted her. They beat her. The staff had flogged her daily whenever they felt like it and fed and watered her minimally. A feeding gag remained strapped in her mouth throughout the days of torment and her eyes had been taped so that she was unable to see what was coming.

  Almost happily, the girl submitted to being bound a bit differently when she was released from the bed, hosed down and scrubbed before being taken to see The Head. Her manacled wrists were pulled up to her shoulder blades behind her and her small, high-heel shod feet were but a few inches apart because of the short steel hobbles. She was collared and gagged and
stared straight ahead, waiting for the decree that she knew would come. Her nipple rings shook with her knees, vibrating in synch to the shivering of her whole body.

  “Levine,” the Head Mistress rumbled, then paused as she stared out the window behind her walnut desk. She didn’t look at the girl. She was studying the ice that hung from the trees outside. In the early morning sunlight the crystals sparkled and shone, sending sparks of light into the darkened office. “Levine,” she repeated, “I don’t know what to do with you, but I think a trip to the dairy is in order.”

  Ellen Levine shook even more than she had before. The dairy was Hell with the capital H. The Dairy. Oh God, no, Ellen thought. She whimpered into the leather gag. Her knees shook, rattling the chains that led from her collar to her feet.

  “Three months of dairy duty may give you a new and more positive perspective on things,” Mistress Wright intoned, still studying the light show outside. “I think you are sturdy enough to be of use to us down there and besides, we can always use another producing cow.” Speaking the last word, Wright brought down her leather crop against the gleaming side of highly polished right boot, producing a loud, threatening, audible slap. This was the signal to the grooms, who had been standing in the shadows at the doorway, waiting for the sentence. They advanced and took Levine’s leash, leading her out of the office and to a waiting van parked outside. The girl shuffled and stumbled through the hall, out the doorway and into the frigid Vermont winter morning. A few shuffling chained steps from the brick porch, she was hoisted bodily into the van, which quickly drove away, headed for the distant dairy barn.

  The ride took only a few minutes. Soon, they were on the south side of the estate, stopped outside a large concrete building with two steel silos and several metal vent stacks spaced along the high angled roof. Both grooms guided Levine through the white, metal doors and into the warm interior of the barn. The girl stopped in her tracks, struggling against her bonds and trying desperately to flee. The sight that greeted her eyes was enough to panic even the most hardened of students at the farm and suddenly, all that she had heard and wondered about concerning the dreaded dairy was there, right in front of her, in blue-green florescent-lit detail. Before her were lines of bent over, naked bodies, held in place by rusting metal dairy stocks. The backs of the captives were horizontal and their heads poised over a moving metal conveyor. Each imprisoned girl wore a padded rubber collar that protected her throat from the steel stock pipes that surrounded her neck. In each mouth was a permanent gag with a small hose through the center. The hoses led to the conveyor, dragging across the slop that periodically moved along the belt. It was through these hoses that they sucked up the semi-liquid meals from the slow-moving conveyor. Hands chained behind their backs, feet spread and locked to vertical posts behind them, this was the dairy herd that Ellen had heard so cautiously whispered about in classes and during breaks. It was said that few ever left the dairy barn, once they arrived there. There were tales of girls having their breasts so engorged with milk that the nipples dragged on the barn floor. Ellen had been told by a senior that the average milking cow, after a few weeks on the hormone-rich diet, grew breasts that weighed as much as forty pounds each!

  The horror that she heard about was real. It was right here, in front of her and she was about to join to ranks of kneeling young women with huge breasts, eyes staring passively at nothing, empty faces looking lost and hopeless. She heard the occasional moans and groans and farts and jingles of the chains and harness. She heard the slurping of the feed as it was sucked up through the holes in the gags.

  The barn stank of excrement and silage, the former from the nude dairy herd that was forced to perform their body functions in the stalls where they knelt; the latter a rotting concoction of grains, drugs, appetite stimulators and hormones that was mixed in monster blenders and sent down the conveyor lines every three hours.

  The cowgirls wore padded metal straps around their upper torso to support the heavy milking gear that was attached to their breasts. Red rubber cups surrounded each massive, swollen tit and from each cup a white tube reached down and connected to brass fittings in the base of each stall stock. Every four hours, the barn’s milking machines turned on and sucked the pendulous tits dry, squeezing and sucking the perforated nipples of each captive girl until no further liquid flowed.

  They were treated as cattle, fed as cattle and milked as a herd. Those who failed to produce enough milk to justify their remaining on dairy duty were removed from the stocks and sent elsewhere on the farm.

  Ellen was led, feet dragging and head shaking in rejection of the scene she was witnessing, to an open stall. The grooms pushed her to her knees and removed her metal collar, replacing it with the heavy steel and rubber one. Her neck was shoved between the steel pipe uprights of the stocks and the locking mechanism engaged. Slowly, the circle of rusted metal surrounded her neck and collar with heavy tubular steel. Some adjustments were made to get her in the right position so that her back was horizontal and her knees in the rubber padded indentations in the concrete floor. Her chained wrists were pulled up behind her and locked to an overhead bar in the stall. Her ankle cuffs were locked three feet apart to the rear uprights.

  A groom brought a set of milking apparatus to the stall and the outfitting began. First, the wide metal strap was locked around her chest with a simple padlock in the middle of her back. Someone had already made sure that the unit matched Ellen’s measurements and the strap, which had no adjustments, locked securely around the girl’s shaking torso. Her heavy ringed breasts hung below, waiting in horrified anticipation for the enclosure in the massive red suction cups. These sturdy rubber cups were kept aside while the grooms seized each hanging breast and applied a pliers-like device to the extended center of her nipples, just ahead of the stainless steel rings. With a squeeze of the pliers, the fear-stiffened nipples were punctured twice, a dual hollow needle in the jaws of the pliers doing the piercing quickly and painfully. One groom held the girl’s breast tightly while the other applied the pliers. Ellen shook and screamed as the first nipple was bitten by the terrible pliers. She tried to bang her head on the metal stocks, shaking her bound body and twisting her torso in an unsuccessful effort to get free before the pliers found their second target.

  “Stop that,” spat the groom who was struggling to hold the quivering tit in one hand and had her other arm around Ellen’s tiny waist. “I’ll have her use this on your nose and then on your tongue if you don’t stop fighting us right now.”

  Ellen, still screaming into the gag, lessened her struggles and the second groom pierced the remaining nipple.

  The funnel-like cups were placed over each breast and the bleeding nipples pulled through the holes in the center of the cup. The rings too were yanked through the stretched holes in the cups. Once they were through, the rings held the nipples outside the cups and pulled the breasts into the cups. Rubber and metal fasteners on the harness secured the cups in place and attached them to the chest straps that ran above and below Ellen’s breasts. The straps were rubber-covered metal and tended to squeeze the vast, soft milk mounds together. On the outside of each cup was a bayonet type locking fitting that surrounded the nipples. Over this, a metal tube, about three inches long, was normally placed and twisted into the cup’s lock fitting. But because of Ellen’s large, heavy rings, the tubes could not be locked into place. Both grooms contemplated this situation and finally settled on an acceptable, but uncomfortable, (for Ellen), solution. A much smaller set of tubes was produced and the bloody nipples inserted into them with the rings sliding into small slots cut into the open end of the tubes. They then used nylon cable ties to connect the tubes to the small metal staples on the outside of the cups, pulling the ties up tight until the tube-ends were flush with the rubber cup exterior. Ellen’s rings now were trapped between the metal tube and the rubber cup, fitting neatly into the tube grooves.

  From the tubes, hoses descended and then joined together with a Y fitting be
fore connecting to the suction pump fitting on the side of the stall. This connection had several valves and gauges used to adjust the milking pressure and flow for each individual cow. Ellen still shook and her shaking made the cups jiggle and the hoses wiggle about, the rings jingling curiously against the metal tubes.

  Both grooms checked their work, making sure all connections were secure and that Ellen was prepared for the next milking session that was to take place within the hour. The torso strap was locked in place, the suction cups were snugly sealed over the girl’s breasts. An epoxy-based, syrupy, white sealer had been smeared over the inside of each cup before it was placed on Ellen’s breasts. Now this sealer was beginning to set and the girl could feel her soft breast tissue being fused to the inside of the red rubber cups. Once they were in place, the sealer set quickly, assuring that the cups would not easily be removed. The cups were locked to Ellen’s chest strap and the tubes were connected to the cups. Ellen was ready to be milked, but before they left, a final item of equipment was to be fitted to the tormented girl. From a box they carried, the grooms produced a heavy leather belt like that worn by the rest of the cowgirls. It had a center strap that held three different devices, two of which were common probes and one that looked like a small rubber donut. The belt was tightly cinched around Ellen’s waist and the crotch strap with its special attachments was passed between her spread legs. The grooms then carefully adjusted the strap so that the two probes were inserted into the girl’s lower apertures and the little donut was perfectly positioned over and around the girl’s clit. The first groom pulled up tightly on the end of the strap, forcing the twin plugs deeper into place in the appropriate lower orifices. The strap held the donut snugly in place as well. A final tug on the splitting strap brought a long low groan from the impaled girl and the grooms looked at each other in agreement that the plugs and clit holder were indeed in place correctly. On the outside of the crotch strap were two brass hose connections and a smaller brass fitting over the donut. Ellen couldn’t see them, but it would soon become evident as to what these and the accompanying devices were for.