Nissa had walked me to the bathroom in the slave quarters before I’d gone to sleep, so I knew where to go, but wasn’t sure what to do with myself when I finished. However, she was waiting by my bed with shoes when I returned, and she motioned for me to sit.
“Ye slept a little over seven hours. I’d have awakened ye in another forty minutes, but this gives us some extra time to get ye prepared.”
She gave me a protein shake to drink and walked me to another room, where I sat in a chair and she kohled my eyes and pulled my hair into a ponytail.
“Someone bandaged me while I slept.”
“And coated ye in sunscreen first, so ye won’t burn when ye run. It’s good for six weeks, but ye’ll be recoated once a month. The doctor told ye to tell someone if ye’re hurting more than ye should be, yes? Does anything hurt enough I need to know about it?”
“Every muscle and joint in my body hurts, but it’s okay — normal after a night of suspension bondage.” I ached all over, and I felt the bruises and welts when I moved, but I was used to the aftereffects of a whip and sore muscles.
I groaned inwardly when Nissa lifted the jar of irritating cream, but pushed my chest out to make my nipples available. She was following instructions, and I’d never make her job harder than it had to be.
The cream had a red dye in it, so it had the added benefit of rouging my nipples.
“Yer chart doesn’t mention training yer asshole to hold weight in it while ye ran, so we’ll start with a light butt plug today.” She showed me a rather large plug, and I stood, turned, spread my legs, and bent to accept it.
I didn’t expect the cinnamon lube, and my eyes watered at the burn, but I kept my bottom-hole relaxed so the tiny little maid could insert the plug. She noted my eyes when I stood, and said, “Yer eyeliner isn’t waterproof. I was told to copy the way the stylist did it yesterday, so it’s probably important Her Majesty sees it before ye cry it down yer face.”
I nodded, and rapidly blinked my eyes to try to clear the extra moisture away.
“The head groom in the pony stables doesn’t suffer fools, so do as ye’re told the instant an order’s given. Also, put yer all into whatever ye’re ordered to do, whether it’s walking, running, or providing sexual pleasures — be as enthusiastic and graceful as ye can manage.” She rubbed some product into my ponytail, and smoothed the hair around my face. “It can get tricky, because ye’re responsible for refusing an order if ye think it’ll injure ye, but ye can’t refuse just because ye’re tired.”
I remembered the guard who could pull the truth out of me, and I figured Her Majesty had people stationed around the castle who could sense a lie, too. My original owner had someone on staff, but if you were taken to him it was a huge deal. My most recent owner had not had access to someone who could sense a lie, and I’d carefully bent the truth when it suited me — and I was certain I wouldn’t get caught. I had a feeling I should be honest to a fault while property of The Dark Queen.
“Ye’ll be given fifteen minutes to warm up on yer own,” Nissa continued. “I suggest ye use the time to stretch and get yer blood flowing. Ye need to understand a few rules — the most important is that ponies don’t talk. Ye’ll be able to tell who’s a pony and who’s just there to exercise with them, and it’s important ye don’t get the ponies in trouble. Treat them like an animal, not a person.”
“How do I do that?”
“By staying away from them when possible. If ye must speak to one, think of them as a horse. ‘Back, boy,’ or ‘Down, girl.’ If ye’re caught treating them as a human, ye’ll be punished.” She met my gaze and held it. “Don’t annoy the head groom.”
I had no idea what to expect when Nissa walked me outside, around some courtyards, and across a grassy area to the stables. She unlocked one of the little corrals, motioned me in, and locked it behind me. Once inside, it looked larger — nearly half the size of a soccer field. A dozen other slaves were stretching or jogging, so I did the same. We were all nude with running shoes, but I was the only one with make-up.
My muscles and joints were stiff and they hurt, but I knew from experience, moving around would help work the soreness out.
Eventually, a man in jeans, cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and no shirt opened our gate. I followed the other slaves out of the corral, around three barns, and into a large, dirt arena with only a few spectators in the stands.
“Slaves, line up in front of the pony-boys. You’ll be given a thirty-second head start. Twelve ponies and twelve slaves, five laps make a mile. First twelve across the finish line get to have their way with the last twelve. Any bumping or shoving will be punished. Don’t do it.”
The ponies were dressed in elaborate headgear and harnesses, and sported actual tails. They were all men, and large everywhere. I lined up in front of them with the other slaves, and focused on the countdown to get the best start possible. The first laps were hard, but I found my rhythm sometime during the third trip around the oval dirt track. The ponies easily outran all but three of the male pleasure slaves, but I didn’t back off on speed even when I realized I was going to be in the losing twelve no matter how hard I ran. I increased my speed halfway through the final lap and ran as fast as I could. I wasn’t in the top twelve, but at least a half-dozen slaves finished behind me, and I was the first girl across the line. I hoped I’d gain favor for having done my best.
However, I was ushered to a metal contraption, bent over it, strapped in, and my plug removed. From what I could tell, the slowest twelve were all bent over, side-by-side in a line. It didn’t take me long to realize I was perfectly situated to be mounted by a pony-boy, and I was grateful for the groom who went down the row behind us to lube our asses and cunnies before the fastest runners were released one at a time in the winning order.
The winner apparently wanted to try out the new slave, and he came to me right away. His arms were bound behind his back, so it took him a few stabs to get lined up and in, but by the time he finally sank into me, my cunny was more than eager for his larger-than-normal cock.
“Please tell me we’re allowed to come,” I said to the slave bound a few feet away.
“Usually, if you’re not allowed they’ll tell you ahead of time. If no one mentioned it, it’s probably okay, but you’re new so there’s always a risk in taking liberties.” She groaned as a pony pressed into her. “Lucky for me, I’m allowed them unless I’m being punished, and I haven’t been in trouble in months.”
No one had told me I couldn’t, and I was in desperate need of release. The barn, the men-treated-as-animals, the way I was bound so I could be easily mounted — it was all too much, and without specific orders to keep from orgasming, I closed my eyes and let bliss overtake me. I had four orgasms before the pony came, and then yelped when he pulled out and another cock poked at my bottom-hole.
I was exhausted when we were finally released — apparently the winners got thirty minutes with the losers, and four of the pony-boys had their way with me in that time. I lost track of how many orgasms I had, so it wasn’t exactly a hardship.
Three of the slaves had been faster than the ponies, and they had the use of their hands, making it easier to fuck our bottom-holes — so they did.
When it was over, the grooms put apple pieces into our cunnies and bottoms, with pieces sticking out so the pony-boys could pull them out with their lips and teeth.
I hadn’t expected to have to run another race when they finished with us — I’d have curtailed the orgasms, if I’d known.
We were taken to the center of the arena to the sprint tracks and lined up six at a time. No one explained what the winners and losers would get, they just set us up, started the race, and then put us back in line to race again. I ran it six times, and I finished between second and fourth every time, but we were all slaves — no ponies.
I saw some of the girl ponies in another section while I waited to run again, and couldn’t get over how beautiful they were. What would it be like, to be objectified
so? To be treated as an animal?
Finally, I was taken to another paddock and ushered in, and this time I was met by a man in jeans, cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and super-tight t-shirt. “I’ll be evaluating your athletic skills and will submit a report on my observations and recommendations to the head groom, but I understand the Queen has asked to see it as well.”
He asked me about my previous workout requirements, he had me demonstrate how limber I am, and then he brought a pony-girl into the ring so she could demonstrate how to properly walk, trot, high-step, and canter. When it was time for me to copy her, the groom used a whip to point out the parts of my body he thought could use improvement, and he was quite good with making his point.
I was well past exhausted when he said, “Since it seems the Queen has taken an interest in you, we should work more on your high-steps. We’ll slow it down and work on the walk again, so you can learn to do it gracefully, but Her Majesty is a big fan of the high-step run — I suggest you work hard to get it right.”
I hated the way this man wielded the whip, and yet, I appreciated the time he took to help me learn. Some people know how to hurt you in a way you’ll never be able to sexualize, and I didn’t enjoy the whip a single time — and I’m sure I felt more than one hundred lashes. My calves, the front of my thighs, the inside of my forearm. These spots throbbed with fire for every rapid heartbeat. He even struck the tops of my feet with the tip of the whip a few times, when I wasn’t pointing my feet in the direction he wanted them.
It wasn’t just the spots he concentrated on with the whip that hurt. My muscles burned and spasmed from the positions and stresses of the unfamiliar gaits.
By the time he let me have my fill of water, my abs, thighs, calves, and feet burned like the fires of hell. I was exhausted, and I was bruised and welted all over from the kiss of his horse-whip.
“You have a thirty minute orientation next door, and then about fifteen minutes to rest before today’s big event, and based on the number of guards I saw coming through, I’d guess Her Majesty has decided to attend today’s final run.”
Orientation made me feel a little better. Most of the rules were standard, and I’d already learned many. The doctor had instructed me about taking care of The Dark Queen’s property — me — and this was stressed in orientation as well. Her Majesty brings many slaves in, and those who can’t handle the job they’re given are sent to do something simpler. Those who do well in their job can eventually be promoted to a better job. The presentation made it quite clear — cause too many problems and you’ll work in the fields. Keep causing problems and you’ll go to the sewers or the mines.
I had no intentions of doing anything to displease Her Majesty.
The ‘big event’ was a three-mile race around a half-mile track, with at least two dozen women racing. The first lap would be a run, the second a trot, the third a canter, the fourth a high-step walk, the fifth a high-step run, and the final lap an all-out run. Seconds would be subtracted for those who weren’t graceful, so the winner wouldn’t necessarily be the first person across the finish line.
Pleasure slaves are required to stay in excellent physical condition, not only so we’ll be visually pleasing, but also so we can endure whatever our owners wish to put us through. I’ve been trained extensively in how to look pleasing, which meant a lot of grace-training. The steps may have been new to me, but it hadn’t taken me long to master them. Or, to at least feel graceful while I maneuvered through them. The trainer hadn’t seemed impressed, and had been quick to use his whip, but I felt as if I could handle the postures and gaits with grace.
I focused on speed for the first lap, but then on elegance and beauty for the middle laps. We were all pleasure slaves in this race, and I stayed in front of at least half the pack.
Something clicked during the high-step run, and I found myself passing the other slaves while my knees pumped up and down, and my pointed toes hit the ground to propel me forward. I found both grace and speed, and I transitioned into an all-out run as I crossed the line for the final lap. I was exhausted, but Her Majesty was watching so I dug deep into my energy reserves and gave it all I had.
Somehow, I managed to finish in fourth place, and I stood and gasped for air as grooms came to get the other slaves, but no one came to walk me off the track. I only bent over a few seconds, then instinctively stood with my arms at the small of my back, my shoulders back, and my feet spread while I felt more and more eyes on me.
“It’s been a long time since a slave has made it through this event without having any seconds knocked off his or her time,” someone said over a loudspeaker. “Little One is one of Her Majesty’s newest acquisitions, perhaps we should let our Queen decide the slave's reward?”
I looked to the dirt at the other end of the arena, worried I might meet the gaze of a freeperson if I looked around the stadium, but Her Majesty didn’t seem to like it when I looked straight down. There were only perhaps a few hundred people in attendance, when the stadium would easily hold thousands, but I sensed movement to my right and turned towards it, careful to keep my gaze lowered and my face level.
“I’m pleased, Little One.” My heart soared at praise from my beloved Queen, and I dropped to my knees in the dirt.
“I’m happy to have pleased you, my Queen.”
She pushed a booted foot towards me, within my reach, and I stretched forward and down to kiss it. I waited until she pulled it back before I returned to my graceful kneel.
“If I were to give you your choice of a pony-boy for you to play with for thirty minutes, a male slave who’ll be required to do your bidding for an hour, or twenty minutes under my whip in front of an audience — which reward would you choose?”
“Twenty minutes with you will always be my choice, Your Majesty. No matter how it pleases you to use this slave’s body.”
Being whipped in the privacy of a bedroom is an entirely different experience to being whipped in broad daylight in the middle of an arena with spectators. I have no idea whether Her Majesty had the intention of putting on a show, but several minutes into the whipping I was dancing, screaming, and crying, and I’m certain the audience thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle.
Before the Queen started, however, a groom was assigned to put a bit-gag into my mouth, oil my body down, buckle my wrists into leather cuffs, and connect the cuffs high over my head on the whipping post.
The bit gag had two extra pieces designed to hold my entire tongue down, making speech impossible. This meant I could scream at full volume, but couldn’t enunciate actual words.
No matter how much pleasure I may get from pain, there’s sometimes a point where it’s just too much and I’d do almost anything to make it stop. I’m glad I wasn’t able to beg for the Dark Queen to stop during this whipping, because I’m certain I would’ve done so if my tongue hadn’t been pressed so firmly to the base of my mouth.
Oiling a slave prior to a whipping usually keeps the skin from being broken, yet I felt warm blood dripping down my back, and I could see a few bloody welts on the front of my thigh. As before, I was able to twist and turn at will, and I pranced and moved in a frantic, desperate, frenzied dance under Her Majesty’s whip.
When she finally finished, she walked to me, draped the whip over my shoulder, cradled my cheek in her hand until our gazes met, and muttered, “Come for me, Little One.”
My body instantly obeyed, and I felt the Queen’s healing magic caress my aura, my skin, my essence, and every cell in my body. Rapture tore through my nerve endings, and I flew apart under Her Majesty’s gaze. Sometimes, healing energy can hurt worse than the original injury, and today it was especially excruciating, but it was the most beautiful pain ever because it was from Her Majesty the Dark Queen, and it was my reward for pleasing her.
She must’ve used her magic to release my hands, but she lifted me into her arms before I could drop to the ground, and she handed me to a groom. “You’ll see to it she’s fed nuts and chocolates while she’s
bathed, and whatever kind of juice she requests. I want my best masseuse to work on her before she’s fed dinner. I’ll send orders to the head cook, so the slave can dine in the kitchens with her again.”
Chapter Six
Mab
Saying I’m bisexual seems an oversimplification of my tastes, because the possibilities are endless when you add my sadistic desires in. More often than not, I prefer to have a man and woman in my bed. Sometimes, it’s two dominant personalities and one submissive or slave, and it’s fun to make the little bottom have to handle torture from two people. Other times, both are either submissive or slave, and I have fun torturing both.
I brought a strapping pony-boy into my suite on this night — the winner who’d chosen my little one to fuck first. I whipped him and my little one side-by-side until their screams filled my bedroom. I made the pony-boy fuck my little one while I fucked his ass with a strap on, and I didn’t let him have an orgasm all night, though I let my little one orgasm over and over while he fucked her.
When I finished with them, my bondage master bound them together, facing each other and mounted on a double-penis statue, their asses filled, and the pony-boy’s cock and balls resting on my little one’s cunt.
The next night, I invited the head groomsman of the pony stables to join us, and watched while he strapped her, fucked her, and finally tortured her breasts and nipples until my new little slave was frantic from the pain. He bound her for me before he left, and I had the special treat of seeing her outfitted in full pony gear when I awakened the next morning. I’d almost told him to leave the posture collar off, but her head piece weighed nearly twenty pounds, so I’d decided to let her have it, since she’d have to hold it up all night. She was bound with one leg bent, so she had to stand on one leg, and a rope tight under her cunt kept her from letting the bondage support all her weight. I could clearly see her exhaustion the next morning.
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