Ponygirls of Irontown

by Arden, Adriana

  Carley did not argue.

  * * *

  Thresher was as good as his word. A large unmarked grey prison-style van was waiting for her in the station yard that morning with Thresher standing beside it. Carley supposed it was for collecting the other girls like herself he had mentioned. Behind him were two large men in dark overalls, gloves and riot helmets with neck guards. They had what looked like sheathed battens hanging from their belts. Though she kept her face blank Carley clutched her meagre bag of possessions a little closer to her for comfort, wondering if the Shackelswell people were quite as naïve as she had assumed. Still there was no going back now.

  One of her police escorts held out a clipboard to Thresher who signed it with a flourish. ‘We’ll take her from here,’ he said briskly.

  ‘You’re welcome to her,’ one of the policemen replied with feeling, scowling at Carley. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. This one always comes back.’

  Thresher smiled. ‘Don’t worry, she won’t be bothering you again. This way, Carley....’

  He ushered Carley up the back steps of the van followed by the guards. The rear was the crew compartment containing a locker and three chairs folded up against the van walls. Light filtered in through small high tinted side windows and a rooflight. The compartment was floored with dark rubber matting and lined with quilted padding. A security door in the middle of the forward partition gave access to the rest of the vehicle.

  As soon as the rear door closed the engine started up and the van began to move off. Carley looked at the three men doubtfully.

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Now you take your clothes off and we put you into a restraint harness,’ Thresher said briskly. ‘We don’t allow our girls any clothes in Shackleswell and the harness makes you easier to control.’

  ‘What!’ Carley cried in horror.

  ‘Don’t waste your breath crying for help,’ Thresher said. ‘The van is well soundproofed so nobody will hear you. Now either you strip voluntarily or else... as you wish.’

  Carley had swung her bag into the face of one guard as she made a leap for the van door, but they were far too strong and experienced for her. They caught her arms and twisted them up behind her back. As she whimpered in pain Thresher stepped forward holding a small device with electrodes studding one end. Blue-white sparks crackled between them in stark warning.

  ‘Cooperate or else,’ he warned her.

  ‘You fucking - ahhh!’

  He had jabbed the device into her stomach and a brief agonising jolt of electric fire hit her like a hammer blow. She convulsed and then sagged dazed and trembling in the guards’ arms.

  ‘Nor will I tolerate your foul language anymore,’ Thresher continued. ‘From now you will follow our rules. Be silent and do not resist or else there will be more pain, it is as simple as that. Do you understand?’

  Carley nodded wretchedly, for the moment too confused to speak, her eyes misty with tears.

  The guards handled her like a rag doll between them as they stripped the clothes from her quickly and surely. Her old stained anorak, boots, jeans, sweatshirt and underwear were briskly pulled off and tossed aside.

  When she stood naked and shivering before them Thresher looked her up and down with approval and said: ‘Yes, I think you’ll do very well. Secure her...’

  The guards took a gag and restraint harness from the locker and strapped them onto her, forcing her jaws wide to plug her mouth. When it was in place the strap between collar and cuffs formed a convenient handle. Thresher took hold of it and led her through the door into the forward part of the van.

  Carley gurgled in horror at the rows of cages and the six that were already occupied by naked girls.

  ‘As you can see I’ve already had a busy morning,’ Thresher said as he guided her into an empty cage. ‘There’s still a couple more to collect before we start back to Shackleswell. We like to gather new girls in multiples of three for reasons you will soon discover. It makes training easier.’ He hooked and cuffed her into place, then extended the tormenting prong-headed rod from the floor and let it spring up into her groin. As she gasped in horror he said: ‘This, like everything that will happen to you from now on, has a purpose. When you’re all here together I’ll explain a little more.’ He closed and bolted the door of the cage, then tapped a compact black electronic control box bolted to the front of the cage. It was plugged into cables running down to the floor. ‘While you wait I suggest you contemplate this wise saying made by our founder.’ Fastened to the back of the box through the mesh so that it faced inwards was a small brass plaque inscribed with the words:

  “I have determined that the ideal method of correction for a wayward young woman is a life of discipline, sexual release and utility based upon sound mechanical principles.”

  W.S.Rowland.

  * * *

  Shortly afterward Melanie had been caged the van made a stop. Ten minutes later Thresher came into the compartment leading a naked dark-haired white girl harnessed the same way Carley had been. He put her in one of the empty cages, spoke a few words and left. She looked about her in mute horror at her fellow captives and then closed her eyes. Carley heard her stifled sobs and saw her shoulders shaking.

  There was another stop fifteen minutes later. This time Carley heard sounds of a scuffle through the wall. When Thresher came through he was leading a red-headed girl who tottered as she walked. Had she fought back? How many times had he had to zap her? When she was secured in turn and the van had started off again, Thresher paced up and down the aisle between the cages addressing them all.

  ‘First let me reassure you that you have not been kidnapped to be trafficked and sold into some crude form of prostitution. Though your utility value as sexual creatures will be made full use of, indeed it will be actively encouraged, you are as I promised being taken to the town of Shackleswell to take part in a re-education and rehabilitation programme. It is simply not run in a conventional manner. And if you thought it was a soft alternative to prison run by naïve do-gooders, then you were very much mistaken.’

  The girls groaned and Carley shivered coldly. He’d known exactly what she was planning all along.

  ‘Of course what we have already done to you is illegal, by English law. What’s more there is worse to come, though how much worse depends to a large extent on your own attitude. Cynically one might say it doesn’t matter how we treat you because everybody else has given up on you, be it the police, social services or you families. Your respective local authorities are glad to save themselves time, money and aggravation in housing, detoxifying or imprisoning you and hand the responsibility over to us. Even you have given up on yourselves.’

  ‘So then why should we care? When you learn the history of Shackelswell, also known to us as Irontown, you will understand. But for now let us say it is because we see you as a valuable resource going to waste. We have the means to mould you into better, more useful, civilized, beings, both mentally and physically. You will live healthy lives and put them to better use than you ever have before. You will learn to serve and not to destroy, to make and not take. As we say in Irontown, you will become the well-oiled cogs of society and not the grit in its bearings. Finally you will learn to take pride in yourselves and what you can accomplish.’

  ‘We shall be arriving in about an hour so there is ample time for your introductory lesson, which is that now we control whatever pain or pleasure you experience. It need not be an unpleasant lesson if you do not fight the inevitable.’

  He went round the cages setting the control boxes on each one. With sobs and whimpers the caged girls began to jerk their hips forward and back as the electric jolts smacked into their bottoms.

  Then he left them.

  * * *

  Carley was working her hips back and forth in a frenzy of lust. The primitive need had overwhelm
ed her and now she was racing to come before the timer cut. By now the compartment reeked of female discharge. At least she would be one of the last to give in. She had tried to resist but it had been too...

  An intense explosion of raw pleasure ripped through her body that left her panting and swaying from the roof spring, dripping sweat and expelled juices that tricked down her thighs. For a timeless interval she knew perfect bliss free of all cares or concern.

  Eventually, feebly, she tried to marshal her confused thoughts. It had been the most amazingly intense orgasm she had ever experienced. But how could it have happened to her here and now when she had been stripped and bound and imprisoned and humiliated and... and...

  Unless that was precisely why it had happened?

  No, that was not possible! She wasn’t weird like that... was she?

  Still feeling detached and light-headed the insidious desire to do it again crept over her. No! But then why not? Why shouldn’t she do it again if she had enjoyed it? Probably safer than getting high on drugs or drink. But that meant living in a state of what Thrasher had made sound like sex slavery. How could any woman, especially one with her skin colour, possibly accept that? She wanted to be free again!

  Why, her inner voice asked?

  What? How could she possibly not want to be free?

  Well where had years of being free and pretending to be hard and living a crap life got her? Why not accept and enjoy what had felt so good? Why not just give in? Maybe she was not very good at running her life or taking care of he own body. Perhaps she should let others do it for her.

  Carley had no answer. She could feel the shell of her old life crumbling away second by second. Had it always been that fragile? She looked at the moaning, whimpering naked girls in their cages about her, at their inflamed sexes and hard nipples and the tell tale wetness of their thighs and felt the dark allure of total surrender calling to her. Then she looked at the words on the plaque. Did this Rowland bloke know something she didn’t? Was this the time for a change? At least she would have company. And it seemed that somebody still cared enough about her life to try to turn it into something with purpose, even if it was by the most drastic means. Perhaps this was her last, her very last chance.

  Notwithstanding everything that was to follow, it was then, to all intents and purposes, that Carley died.

  * * *

  The van delivered Carley and her companions, stained with their own pussy juices, to Gryndstone, which was Shackelswell’s slave school, where raw, frightened, aimless girls were turned into confident, productive slaves. There the empty shell of a girl that had been Carley was given her part name of Rivet 23. And there she learned the history of Irontown: an improbable slave city in the heart of England, outwardly clean and respectable but with a secret heart driven by the labours of thousands of naked chained young women. It was a patriarchal society following the eccentric principles of a long dead Victorian engineer who had believed naked women and machines could be intimately combined. The very notion of it should have been disgusting, and yet somehow it worked. It made sense.

  Above all there was no discrimination. They were all slaves together. And although they had lost their normal freedoms they had gained something else: the companionship of slavery and the sense of belonging to something greater than they were in which they could serve a useful purpose. It was a last chance for losers and the lost to make something of themselves. Strange as it seemed, Rivet found it was possible to be a proud slave. When she performed well she was praised, and she had received precious little of that before in her life.

  Of course there was some lingering resentment to begin with but it was demolished by the simple question: if their previous lives had been so wonderful, how had they ended up here? Happy, well adjusted and successful girls did not come to Irontown. Therefore what had they got to lose?

  There were lessons that shaped her mind and body, teaching her sexual techniques and helping her meld with mechanical devices. Rivet found, once she had lost her sense of shame, that she enjoyed sex in all its permutations, both with men and women and especially when stimulated by pain and restraints. There was a strange comfort and reassurance to be found in the strength and solidity of straps and chains. They held her in place because it was important to somebody that she should be there to serve a purpose.

  In her spare time Rivet began to read. She had never been much of a reader in her previous life but now she had the opportunity to learn more and expand her vocabulary. It was actively encouraged. Irontown was a complicated machine and slaves were vital cogs within it, so nobody wanted stupid slaves that might fail in their function through ignorance.

  On graduation, when girls were assigned their tasks in the city, Headmaster Bradawl had recommended that Rivet go to Colter’s Stables, a small training school where they would train her both as a pleasure slave and a ponygirl. He told her he thought it would be her chance to shine.

  At Colter’s she built up her strength and stamina, thrilling at the possibilities her body held and enjoying the challenge of running faster and harder, while waiting for the one person who would make her life complete. She had learned that every slave, either openly or secretly, wished for the perfect master or mistress. Rivet began to believe that hers was out there somewhere.

  And then one day George Fillister came to Colter’s looking for a sturdy, passionate ponygirl slave as a birthday present for his daughter...

  * * *

  After she had recovered from her orgasm, Sam slithered under Beauty as she hung face down across the bed and made her lick her clean. Then she took Beauty off the frame, bound her wrist cuffs to garter straps buckled high on her hips and put her in her bed. She ran a chain from a ring set in the bedhead to Beauty’s collar.

  Their second coupling was gentler than the first. Sam straddled Beauty’s face while she rested her cheek on Beauty’s thigh and toyed with her labia rings letting Beauty tongue her to a second orgasm.

  Satiated at last, Sam reversed her position and cuddled Beauty to her so that Beauty’s sore brown breasts pressed against her paler orbs.

  ‘Good girl,’ she told Beauty sleepily. ‘Wait till my friends see you.’

  Beauty lay bedside her sleeping mistress. Even if the simmering in her breasts, bottom and pubes had not been making sleep impossible until they subsided, her racing mind full of both hope and fear would have kept her awake.

  It was not fear of another beating. She would happily suffer for her new mistress if she knew her pain gave pleasure. It was the fear of daring to hope only to have those hopes dashed. Sam was very pretty and a member of a fine family, by Irontown terms. She had already shown she had a strong will and she had been masterful with her from the beginning, even giving her a new name. Also she clearly valued Beauty’s prowess both as a ponygirl and a pleasure slave. And in her turn, even after just a few hours, Beauty felt the stirrings of an affinity for Sam. People tended not to hide their true natures when alone with slaves because they had no need to impress them, so a slave often saw what lay beneath the surface. Beauty could not yet put into words, but she felt there was something in Sam that seemed familiar.

  Of course her feelings could never be reciprocated in kind. She could never be Sam’s equal or even her friend, in the sense most thought of it.

  But what tormented Beauty’s thoughts was the possibility that Sam might possibly be that fantasy of all slaves: her perfect mistress. If she surrendered to total slavish love and offered herself body and soul to Sam, would her love be accepted... or rejected?

  CHAPTER THREE

  The day after her birthday, Sam, now dressed in riding jacket, jodhpurs and boots, excitedly hitched her new pony box to the back of her car and loaded her new gifts into it. The folded hobby horse went into a narrow compartment set in one side of the box while Beauty, on her hands and knees, went in beside it. A small ramp
extended from the underside of the box while a support rail extended out from the underside of its roof. Sam secured Beauty, already bridled, to the rail by a snaphook to her collar ring and a broad elastic strap about her waist. Her wrist and ankle cuffs were already linked by hobble chains. Beauty then shuffled up the ramp onto the rubber matt padding of the box floor. The support rail telescoped back inside with her. Sam put a pack containing Beauty’s sleeve binder and rubber hooves in with her and closed and bolted the rear doors of the box.

  The sides of the box had grilles for ventilation while there were narrow slots in its bowed leading edge through which Beauty could peer out but not be seen. There were few outsiders in Shackleswell at any one time and the overwhelming likelihood was that Sam could have driven the few miles to the Foundry Stables with Beauty sitting naked and bound in the front seat beside her and not passed anybody on the way who would have batted an eye at the sight. But it was indoctrinated into all Irontowners from their youth that slaves were never displayed in public, unless it was in a secure location closed to outsiders.

  The two other ponygirl club stables in Irontown in competition for the Lister Cup were Wainwright’s Pony Club and Mason’s Riding Academy. There was fierce rivalry within each club to be chosen for the team. So far Sam had never been picked for the Foundry team, but as she drove through the leafy lanes with her shiny red and silver pony box bouncing along merrily behind her, she felt a sudden surge of renewed hope. With Beauty as her mount and her new lightweight hobby horse, perhaps this year she would be appearing in the arena.

  * * *

  The Foundry stables lay on the edge of town. Extending out from the main buildings were several adjoining fields and a small stretch of woodland, screened from public view by fences, tree breaks and high hedges. With its secure access it was one of the spaces open to the air in Shackeswell where slaves could be freely exercised.