Title Page
PONYGIRLS OF IRONTOWN
By
Adriana Arden
Publisher Information
Ponygirls of Irontown
published in 2012 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Copyright © Adriana Arden
The right of Adriana Arden to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
CHAPTER ONE
‘Go on then, Sam, open it!’ her father said.
The crowd of birthday party guests gathered in the tent pavilion loudly and cheerfully echoed his exhortation. Even the slave-chained serving maids paused in their rounds with glasses and finger food to look on with interest. Sam’s Grandfather, seated in his wheelchair at the front of the throng, called out: ‘Looks like there’s a something lively in there that needs unwrapping, girl!’
Samantha Fillister did not need any further encouragement. The mummy-like parcel of silver paper that stood as tall as she did and which was wrapped about by pink ribbons with a huge bow at its waist was irresistible. She suspected it contained the gift that every Irontown child dreamed of. The card tied to it read:
Dear Sam, Happy 20th Birthday, with love and kisses from Mum and Dad
Sam ripped open the seals, exposing slices of soft brown flesh. In seconds a beautiful naked black slave girl stood revealed before her amid a litter of torn wrappings. A bold label was tied to her collar: One Ponygirl/ pleasure slave: Personal Property of Samantha Fillister. Attached to it was a deed of ownership.
‘Ohhh... my very own ponygirl and pleasure slave!’ Sam exclaimed breathlessly.
‘She’s been tested and passed to serve as both,’ her father confirmed.
‘Oh, thank you... she’s so beautiful!’
With her mouth hanging open Sam walking round the naked bound girl, stroking her soft curves, feeling her shiver slightly at her touch... her owner’s touch... she amended joyfully. Sam noted with delight the striking and stylish contrast between her own pale skin and auburn hair and the deep brown and glossy black locks of the slave girl... her slave girl.
She was mounted on a wooden block display stand from which rose a vertical rod that ran up between her strong legs and to which her ankles and knees were bound. The head of the rod passed into the valley of her firm, lushly rounded buttocks and was skewered up her rear passage, ensuring she stood stiffly upright, pushing forward the domes of her high full breasts tipped with plump, glossy dark chocolate nipples that stood up in stiff cones. Each nipple was pierced by a silver keeper bar. Her arms were pulled behind her back and encased from wrists to elbows in a sleeve binder, which was secured by a belt strap that pinched in her toned waist. Cast black rubber hooves enclosed her feet, combining integral arch supports that lifted her up onto her toes. Her head was enclosed by a rubber bridle, from the back of which hung her dark hair which had been bound into a single thick plait tied with a silver ribbon.
A bit was thrust between her jaws, parting her full sensuous lips and exposing her white teeth. Cheek straps supported the flaps of blinkers, between which her dark clear eyes shone out. For a moment Sam met her gaze and felt a thrill of excitement course through her at their sparkle. Then the girl lowered her eyes submissively.
About the slave girl’s neck was locked a silver slave collar stamped with the part name of “Rivet 23”. It was a good name for an Irontown slave girl. It declared that she was a useful component in the great machine of the city.
The same word and numeral could be seen under her pony fringe neatly stamped in indelible silver ink across her high smooth forehead. It was repeated across her bare smooth pubic mound just above the divide of her sooty, deep cleft, where her pubic hair would have been. It complemented the large silver rings that were pierced through the thick outer lips of her vulva. Finally the name was also stamped across her haunches where her hips began to swell out above the cleavage of her proud, strong buttocks.
Sam turned back to her parents and hugged and kissed them while the guests applauded.
‘Oh gosh... thank you Father... Mummy. She’s wonderful!’
‘Now you take good care of her,’ her mother said. ‘She has a nice temperament, she moves well, she’s strong and she’s had basic pony training. If you work hard with her you might even get a place on the stable team for the Lister Cup.’
Shackleswell, also known as “Irontown” after its engineering and manufacturing heritage, had three ponygirl riding stables and there was intense rivalry between them. Once a year they competed for the Lister Challenge Cup at an event held in the arena in Rowland Park, in the centre of the city.
‘I’ll try my best, Mum,’ Sam assured her. She looked Rivet 23 over again, her head full of wonderful possibilities. ‘But if we’re going to compete then I’m going to give her a proper pony name. I’m going to call her... “Beauty”.’
It was a good choice and the guests applauded once again.
Her father said: ‘Well now you’ve got your own pony you’ll need some new tack for her.’ He gave a signal and Mr Cleaver, the Fillister’s gynaton keeper, assisted by a gardener, wheeled into the pavilion a pair of devices tied with more pink ribbon. ‘So I thought we’d throw in a new pony box and hobby horse for good measure.’
The pony box was a two-wheeled horse box in miniature, standing waist high, which was just large enough to hold a slave girl in a kneeling posture. It had a coupling to fit a standard tow bar and had a red and silver shell. Sam knew it was not chance that the colour scheme exactly matched that of her own Mini Cooper Roadster, or that it was small enough for her to tow behind it.
The hobby horse was a uniquely Irontown version of that ancient children’s toy adapted for the use of a slave and her rider. Sam pulled off its ribbons and practically drooled over it. She could see it was the latest model.
It was a lightweight but very strong, folding, carbon fibre frame built round a slim crescent leather saddle with a scalloped leading edge set at waist height. From its sides a pair of adjustable curved struts supported a pair of stirrups. Behind them a second pair of heavier struts bowed outwards from under the saddle to support canted 26 inch shock absorbing mountain bike wheels, positioned rather like an oversized set of stabilizers. A shaft ran forward from beneath the saddle, through a sleeve joint, and then curved upward to neck height. Where the shaft emerged from under the saddle, just beyond the sleeve joint, was a pair of sliding ring fittings carrying two slim vertical rubber dildos and a set of adjustable clips. The upper curve of the shaft was fitted with three sets of broad straps along its length, together with a slender adjustable “T” bar close to the top. On its ends were large silver rings crossed by pins like belt buckle tongues. Hanging by rubber cords from the top of the shaft was a truncated cone formed out of carbon fibre mesh with two smaller furls of mesh rising from its thicker end. It was fitted with clips and hooks and a pair of handles with trigger grips on the ends of short adjustable rods. From these handles control cables looped across to the “T” bar rings.
Sam hugged her father again. ‘Thank you, Father. It’s all wonderful.’
‘Go on, give the pretty cocoa girl a ride!’ her grandfather called merrily, and the other g
uests repeated his suggestion.
Sam freed Beauty from her stand, unstrapping her ankles and knees and pulling the sliding posture rod out of her bottom. Then she led her over to the hobby horse which Cleaver was holding ready for her.
Sam dipped the curving front shaft of the horse and Beauty obediently straddled it, with her back to the saddle. Sam lifted the shaft up, guiding the twin phalluses mounted on the inner edge of its lowest curve into Beauty’s vagina and anus. The ponygirl gave a slight shudder as the rubber prongs slid up into her, but her vagina and anus nevertheless swallowed them easily and clamped tight about them. A girl did not receive an Irontown part name unless she had been trained to accept as perfectly natural the insertion of a variety of objects into her orifices, from pleasure phalluses to mechanical couplings, and, of course, living cockshafts. It was what they were for.
Sam used the clips on the front on the shaft to secure Beauty’s pussy rings to it. She was pleased to see there was a line of moisture visible on the crinkled tongue of her inner labia which was pouting noticeably from between her outer sex lips. Sam sniffed and caught the exciting scent of her arousal. Later she would see what sort of pleasure toy she was, but this was a sure sign of a responsive and passionate nature.
The bow of the shaft closely followed the supple curve of Beauty’s belly and torso. The other straps on the shaft went about her waist and chest, crossing between her breasts. The final strap at the top of the shaft was very deep and went over her collar.
Sam unfolded and adjusted the slender “T” bar that was mounted on the outside of the shaft level with the crossed straps that were now buckled about Beauty’s chest. She took out the keepers in Beauty’s nipples, feeling her hard cones of flesh pulse in her hands, and fed them through the rings on the ends of the bar, securing them in place with the sprung pins that slid through the fistulas in her teats so that they could not slip out. The bar and rings were designed not only to dampen the heave and bounce of fuller breasts during sharp turns taken at speed, and so improve the pony’s balance, but also to control her speed.
With the main shaft secured the inner scalloped edge of the saddle now hugged the back curve of Beauty’s waist while its rigid stirrup struts were angled outward so that they did not touch her thighs. The stirrups themselves hung at knee height. The saddle wheels were spaced further apart than the stirrups so the rider’s feet would not foul them.
Now Beauty supported the hobby horse frame and Sam could fit the muzzle onto her. It was neither strictly practical nor essential but it was entirely appropriate both aesthetically and psychologically.
The light truncated mesh cone went over Beauty’s face like a mask, covering her nose and mouth. It had fastenings that clipped to her bridle and its short handles fastened to the rings on the sides of her bit that protruded through slots in the sides of the muzzle. The front of the muzzle was simply sculpted to resemble the mouth and nostrils of a horse, while the mesh furls rising from its rim on either side of Beauty’s head resembled horses’ ears. It weighed so little it did not inconvenience Beauty to any degree, but it further disguised her human features, making it easier to believe she was some exotic chimerical creature.
There was an appreciative murmur from the watching guests, thrilling Sam as she saw what they saw. Beauty simply looked right in harness, as though she had always belonged there. The dark mesh of the muzzle merged easily with Beauty’s dusky flesh, as did the carbon fibre struts of the frame. The supple curves of her body fitted the bow of the main shaft while the lift that her rubber-hoofed feet gave her heels emphasised the muscle tone of her legs. Female flesh and machine were intimately merged into one functional form, exemplifying the Irontown ideal.
‘Go on, girl, mount her!’ Mr Fillister senior said.
Sam realized she was wearing her light party dress which was not the best costume to go riding in. However she did not want to waste any time changing into jodhpurs. Blushing slightly she tucked her dress up and straddled the saddle of the hobby horse. Sam’s weight was borne almost entirely by the wheels, which canted outwards a little more as their springy struts bowed slightly. All Beauty had to do was provide forward motive force.
As Sam slipped her feet into the stirrups the insides of her bare thighs brushed Beauty’s naked hips. It was nearly as intimate as riding a horse. Sam’s crotch was almost touching Beauty’s back while Beauty’s sleeve bound arms brushed across Sam’s stomach. Sam reached round and cupped and squeezed Beauty’s soft warm breasts, delighting in their silky smooth sheen, establishing her possession of them and the nipples through which she would be giving her commands.
‘Now you’re going to be a good pony for me, aren’t you?’ she asked.
Beauty tossed her head and gave a meek whinny of assent.
Sam took hold of the control handles and felt her connection with Beauty deepening. She could twist and turn the slave girl’s head as she wished through her control of her tender mouth. Beauty was now hers to command and a thrill of power coursed through her.
Sam pointed Beauty’s head at the open door of the tent and squeezed the control triggers. Small wire nooses in the T-bar rings tightened about Beauty’s nipples, instructing her to move.
In response to her command Beauty trotted obediently forward.
They emerged onto the big lawn at the back of their house with the guests pouring out after them.
Sam squeezed the control triggers harder and Beauty reacted by picking up her pace. Beauty’s legs were free to move unimpeded, kicking back through the space under her saddle between the splayed wheels.
They cantered round the perimeter of the garden, with Sam thrilling at the lightness of the hobby horse frame and the power she could feel in Beauty’s body. At the corners of the lawn they leaned together into turns: Sam in her saddle while the shaft that was tightly bound to Beauty’s body rotated around the sleeve joint at its base, allowing her to angle herself appropriately.
Sam squeezed the triggers to their maximum, pinching Beauty’s nipples and spurring her into a brief gallop down the longest side of the lawn. As she did so Sam leaned back, contrary to a normal equine rider’s instinct to hunch forward over her mount, thereby keeping her weight over the wheels and not adding to Beauty’s burden as she tipped the shaft forward and lengthened her stride. Her brown silk skin rippled and flowed over the bunched muscles of her calves and thighs, driven by the twin power hubs of her magnificent swelling, rolling buttocks.
After a couple of laps Sam brought Beauty to a halt again by the pavilion and declared to the guests with a huge grin: ‘She handles wonderfully!’
‘Let me look at her, girl.’
Grandfather, working the joystick on his wheelchair arm that was linked to the controller plugged into the pussy of the naked slave girl cuffed to the handles of the chair, rolled to the front of the crowd and squinted at Beauty through rheumy but vastly experienced eyes. He had been judging the strengths and weaknesses of slave girl bodies according to Irontown standards for over eighty years. Politely everyone held back, waiting on his verdict.
There was hardly any sweat on Beauty’s brow and she was breathing only slightly harder than she had been at rest, suggesting she had good stamina, but there was one sign that she had responded to her ride. Where the main shaft curved through her plugged pussy cleft her smooth ringed brown lips were lathered with her juices.
But then this was perfectly natural and even encouraged. The vibration from every bump, the yaw from every turn and the pitch from every change of speed was transmitted to the dildos sunk inside Beauty’s hot, tight passages. It was an intimate and instant reward for her efforts and the spur that drove some ponygirls on to orgasm after orgasm on the trot. For a ponygirl a hobby horse was both a burden and a pleasure machine.
Old Mr Fillister reached out and dabbed a finger in this sweetly scented froth, sniffed and then chuckled. ‘She’ll do
you proud, girl!’
The rest of the guests now clustered round and agreed with this estimation with such a show of unanimity that Sam felt dizzy with elation. Wait until Tessa Harrow saw Beauty, Sam thought. She’d be green with envy.
* * *
Later that afternoon, after the last of the guests had left, Sam’s father took her and Beauty round to see her new quarters in the old stable block where the slaves were housed and Mr Cleaver had his domain.
As befitted one of the founding families of Irontown, the Fillister’s owned over two dozen slaves to serve their estate and house and they employed their own full time keeper. The walls were hung with restraints, lashes, chains and slave harnesses, while various gynaton powered devices were stored in corners. On a work bench a harness was being repaired with rivets and heavy waxed thread. Although she naturally approved of its purpose, in recent times Sam had become uncomfortable entering the building. Although she knew he did his job well Sam had personal reasons for feeling uncomfortable around Cleaver, and she avoided speaking to him or even catching his eye unless it was absolutely necessary.
Beauty’s rubber hooves with their hard inlays clip clopped across the brick floor of the stable as Sam led her after her on a leash. Beside the slave cages a small cosy wooden pony stall had been erected, with a half height gate, a straw floor, an automatic toilet pan in the corner and tethers hung on its posts. By the stall were hooks for her harness and bays to keep her hobby horse and tow box. There were cloths and tins of leather and metal polish and a sponge, bucket, towels and a set of grooming aids.
‘This is perfect!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘It’s just right for her.’
Her father said seriously: ‘Beauty is your responsibility now, Sam. I mean totally yours. Cleaver will give you advice on her care and training if you ask for it, but neither he nor any of the staff will do the work for you. You’ll ensure she is properly exercised, washed and fed, secured and her stall is kept clean. That goes for all her kit as well, both out here and inside the house. She belongs to you and you must take full responsibility for her. Do you understand?’
Ponygirls of Irontown Page 1