Ponygirls of Irontown

by Arden, Adriana

  ‘While I’m riding Beauty I think I count as a full club member.’

  Tess looked baffled and affronted. With a jerk she twisted Silver’s head about and set her off round the field at a gallop.

  Danny stroked Beauty reassuringly. ‘Ignore her. You remember everything we do each day when we’re riding and how it feels to you and we’ll talk about it later. That’s going to be our big advantage. Silver is a strong pony and Tess is a good rider but they don’t communicate, especially after she had her muted. Not like we can.’

  * * *

  That evening at dinner in his house Beauty knelt beside Danny’s chair in the small dining room, which was far less grand that the Fillister’s. She ate out of her bowl and from Danny’s hand while he related to his parents for the fifth time how well she had performed at the stables.

  ‘Don’t get too carried away, Danny,’ his father warned him gently. ‘I can see how much you like Beauty but don’t expect too much. You know you won’t be able to practice as much as the others.’

  ‘Just to compete in the club team will be good enough.’ He patted Beauty on the head. ‘Won’t it, girl?’

  ‘And don’t let yourself get too attached to her. Remember she isn’t yours. Samantha Fillister might come back at any time and then you’ll have to give her back.’

  Danny smiled ruefully. ‘I know, Dad,’ he said. ‘But that only means I should enjoy every minute I can with her.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sam woke painfully and slowly.

  At first her thoughts were so confused that she imagined she was in her own bed at home, which for some reason had become strangely hard and cold. And where was the warmth of Beauty’s body beside her? Her bottom was sore and so was her throat. And there was something strange about the feel of her nipples and pussy.

  She forced her gummy eyes open. They focussed on a pattern of stripes that resolved itself into a row of iron bars. It took her a moment to make sense of it. Then she realised she was looking out through the bars of a cage. Beyond it was a linoleum floor and brick walls lit from somewhere above by an electric light.

  And then memory of her late night drive, the breakdown truck and the masked man with the dart gun returned with a rush. With an incoherent sob of horror Sam threw back the thin blanket that had been covering her and sat bolt upright. Her head throbbed and she felt a sudden terrible wave of nausea surge through her. She sagged back against the cold bars, hugging herself in a desperate attempt not to throw up. Slowly, still numbed with shock, she began to take stock of her surroundings.

  The cage was rectangular in plan, a little higher than her head when she was sitting upright and was just long enough for her to lie flat. It was mounted on some kind of low plinth raising it above the level of the floor outside. The cage floor was lined with rubber matting on which was laid out a single thin narrow mattress and pillow. It had a single vertical sliding door set in one side that was just large enough to crawl through. A water bottle hung on the inside of the bars beside it. On the side opposite the door was a low gap midway up the bars just wide enough for her hips. The gap was enclosed on the outside by a smaller basket of bars that framed the top of a waste bucket set on the floor below. On the bars beside it hung a roll of toilet paper and a pack of wet wipes.

  The small room containing the cage had bare brick walls and a barred grating over a single high narrow window. Its only door was of riveted grey steel with a peephole set in it. Mounted up in one corner of the room was a small closed circuit camera pointed down at the cage. There was only one other object on the floor beside the cage and that was a flatscreen monitor on a stand, reproducing the image from the camera. In it Sam could see herself in close-up detail. And yet for a moment she did not recognize who it was.

  She was naked. Her hair had been dyed a darker blonde and had been cut to shoulder length and restyled so that she now had a fringe. She had steel and rubber slave cuffs on her wrists and ankles and a heavy collar about her neck. There were cold, hard, silver slave rings threaded through her now pierced nipples and outer labia. On her forehead, on her now smooth-shaven pubic mound and across her haunches was stencilled the slave part name: SCREW 159.

  She had been turned into a slave!

  It was too much to take in. For a moment Sam went wild, moaning and clawing at her collar and cuffs and body rings, trying to tear them from her flesh. And then her stomach flipped and she was just able to shove her head through the gap over the waste bucket before she retched.

  When her stomach was finally empty; miserable, cold and shivering Sam cleaned herself up. She took a drink from the water bottle and then sank back into a huddle in the corner, wrapping the blanket tight about herself. Desperately she tried to marshal her confused thoughts, all the time fighting back tears. She was trying to appear self-controlled once more. It was unlikely that television image was for her benefit alone. The men who had kidnapped her were no doubt also watching and she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her break down a second time.

  But who were they? If she had been specially targeted was it a kidnapping for ransom? After all, her family was very wealthy. But then why had they turned her into a slave? That suggested they did not know or care who she was. Then what did they want her for? Her part naming implied they were Irontowners, in which case they must know there were easier and perfectly legal ways to obtain slaves. To pick her up as they had they must have been listening in on calls to the breakdown service and got to her ahead of the official vehicle. Were they looking for any single women or had they been stalking her for weeks, waiting for the right moment? But if so they must know her name and would realise who she was. They would also know that a huge search would be made for her. It looked like there was daylight outside the high grated window. Perhaps it was already underway.

  How long had she been unconscious? Long enough to transform her into a slave, in which case this might be the day after she had left home. They would certainly be looking for her by now, then. Or would they?

  Her parents might not have realised she was gone until the morning. And she had laid a false trail to Scotland. The tow truck would undoubtedly have taken her car away to hide their tracks. Where would her family begin looking? Could her mobile call to the breakdown service be traced?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the rattle of doorbolts being thrown back.

  Sam shrank back as the door swung open and two large men entered the cell. Presumably they were the same ones who had driven the breakdown truck. They both wore identical dark blue coveralls and heavy black workboots and their faces were covered in the same sinister flesh coloured masks. About their waists they wore broad belts, from which hung, like sidearms, canes and electric cattle prods, together with coiled leashes, assorted straps, gags and rubber plugs. They were utility belts for slavemasters.

  They came over to the cage and looked down at her. She now saw they had large nametapes sewn to the breast pockets of their overalls. One read “HATCHET” and the other “SHEARS”. They had to be false, unless they were unbelievably stupid, but then why wear them? So she could tell them apart? That suggested she was going to be interacting with them in some way.

  Sam gritted her teeth. Whatever they wanted from her she would not be cowed. If they did not know who she was she might still be able to influence them.

  Taking a deep breath Sam grasped the bars, looked them full in the face and said: ‘I am Samantha Fillister. My father is rich and powerful and you will get into serious trouble if you do not let me go right now!’

  At least that was what she intended to say. What actually came out of her lips was a series of barely audible drones, wheezes and whines. Sam clasped her throat in horror. Why could she not speak properly?

  The man labelled Hatchet held up a device she recognized only too well. It was a muting implant controller. While she had been unconsciou
s they had fitted her with a muter implant, just like Beauty. They’d stolen her voice away!

  ‘We like our women to learn to hold their tongues right from the start,’ Hatchet said gruffly, speaking from behind the motionless lips of his mask. ‘You don’t speak until we decide you’ve got something we want to hear. If you’re good then later maybe we’ll let you speak a little dog. Then perhaps pony. But not like a person, unless we want to hear you say something special, because we know a slavegirl isn’t a real person. That’s why you’ve got a part name stamped on you. You’re not a person anymore, you’re SCREW 159.’

  Sam shook her head. ‘No, I’m free! I am a person!’ she cried. But of course all that came out of her mouth were feeble, meaningless squeaks. With a snivel of despair and frustration she clamped her lips together.

  ‘That’s right,’ Shear added. ‘You’re getting the idea. You’re just a dumb animal who needs to be trained to behave herself properly and learn to please her masters.’

  ‘You see, Screw,’ Hatchet continued, ‘we know somebody who wants a girl unofficially, one who won’t be missed, for a little experiment he has in mind. And you fit the bill very nicely. For a finder’s fee we’re going to pass you onto him. After we’ve softened you up a bit and taught you some manners, of course. Because that’s what we do.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Shear said. ‘It’s our business.’

  Sam went cold. Now she knew what they were. They were “Breakers”.

  There had always been rumours about such people circulating about Irontown. They were shadowy traders in specially trained slaves and unruly girls who were impossible to master by normal means. It was said they could break any girl, however stubborn. And any badly behaved slavegirl whose behaviour suddenly changed for the better was said to have had a midnight visit from the Breakers. It was also said that they traded in slaves across the country beyond Irontown and its strict codes of ethics. They could obtain any girl you wanted... for a price.

  But not her. She was free! They could not treat her this way! Then she recalled another saying about them. They believed that all women, even free ones, were at heart natural slaves...

  ‘Now, if you’ve recovered we’ll start your training,’ Hatchet said. ‘We’ve got a week before we hand you over and we’ve got to get you fit and tenderise you a little more. From the look of your bum somebody has already had a go. Been a naughty girl, have you? Well we’ll do a proper job. Don’t worry, Screw, we won’t break you so you’ve no sprit left, though we could do that. But we’ll just make you pliant enough so you won’t need a cropping every two minutes.’ He unlocked the door of her cage and slid it up. ‘Now get on your hands and knees and crawl out of there!’

  But Sam could not face whatever plans they had in store for her. Her thin veneer of bravado melted away. This could not be happening to her. Snivelling she shrank away from them into a corner of the cage, pulling the blanket up about her. But there was no escape. Unhitching their cattle prods they jabbed them between the bars into her flesh.

  She shrieked and jerked as they crackled and sparked, her body twisting and convulsing as they stabbed into her thighs and belly and back. Shockwaves of pain tore through her. They only stopped when she had been reduced to a pitiful trembling heap in the bottom of the cage, sobbing helplessly. Hatchet reached inside, took hold of a handful of her hair and hauled her out onto the cold floor of the cell.

  ‘On your knees, Screw!’ he commanded.

  Unsteadily Sam obeyed, swaying and blinking away her tears, her breasts dangling under her, her nipples feeling stretched by the weight of their rings. Her whole body was tingling and pricking and her muscles were twitching uncontrollably.

  ‘That’s what happens if you don’t do as you’re told,’ Shears said. ‘Do you want another demo?’ He trailed the electrode tips of his prod along her back, through the cleft of her buttocks and into the soft mouth of her newly-ringed vulva.

  Sam shuddered and whimpered and shook her head desperately.

  ‘Now in a moment I’m going to restore your voice just long enough for you to tell us what a good girl you’re going to be for us,’ Hatchet said. ‘Then you’re going to kiss our boots, each one of them, and tell us you’re our slave and we’re your masters. Understood?’

  Sam nodded. She was too dazed to think of being stubborn or caring about her pride.

  ‘On command you will sit back on your heels, clasp your hands behind your back and lift your chin. Now!’

  Sam sat back. Hatchet held the controller against her throat. She felt something like a faint tickling sensation. The men stood in front of her with their heavy boots gleaming.

  ‘Now say your piece, Screw!’

  ‘I... I’m going to be a very good girl for you,’ Sam said wretchedly. Then she bent forward and kissed the toes of each of their boots in turn. And as she did so she said huskily: ‘I’m your slave and you’re my masters.’

  ‘And what’s your name?’

  ‘I... I’m Screw 159, Master.’

  ‘That’s better,’ Hatchet said. ‘Back on your heels...’

  She straightened up and Hatchet held the controller against her throat again. ‘Now you’re set to dog,’ he told her. He unhooked a leash from his belt and clipped the end to her collar. ‘When we’re leading you about you stay on your hands and knees like a good bitch. Understand?’

  Instinctively she tried to say “yes” but it came out as a throaty: ruff! Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. They were already turning her into an animal!

  They strode out of the cell with Sam shuffling along at their heels. Beyond was a long windowless utilitarian corridor lit by florescent tubes with half a dozen other steel doors opening off it. How many were cells like hers? Did they have any other captives in them or was she the only one? They led her through a door at the end.

  Within was a surprisingly spacious high-ceilinged room. What might have been a pair of windows were closed off by steel shutters. Monitor cameras were mounted on the walls while unidentifiable devices lurked under dust sheets about its sides. The middle of the room was open except for a stout post that ran from floor to ceiling. Hung from it at neck height on a rotating mount and braced by heavy springs was a six foot long tubular steel horizontal arm. On its end were a large snaphook and a pair of coiled electrical cables. In a circle about the post a ring of hardboard sheets had been laid out, forming a kind of track, with an inner ring of hardboard slats nailed to them in radial fashion. On this board track rested a small four-wheeled trolley loaded with a sandbag. It had a long handle attached to its two front steerable wheels which had a pair of close-set dildos set on a hinged mount on its end.

  ‘Now, our client wants you toughened up a bit, so every day, in addition to your obedience training, you’re going to work out for a few hours,’ Shears explained. ‘We’ll start you off on this. On your feet...’

  They stood her on the board track and clipped her wrist cuffs together behind her back. Then they secured the ring on the back of Sam’s collar to the hook on the end of the rotating arm. They uncoiled the electrical cables and used the spring clips on their ends to fasten them to her nipple rings. Then they pulled the little trolley over and positioned it behind her. Its long handle went between her legs. Sam snivelled as the twin dildos slid up into her vagina and anus. It had clips on its end that fastened to the rings set in her labia, ensuring it could not be pulled out of her.

  She felt unnaturally stuffed full inside by the double dildos. It was only the second time she had ever had both her passages filled simultaneously and the dildo was harder than the toy one in the park had been. It was horribly like a hobby horse impailer mount, she thought dizzily. But only slaves rode those...

  There was a small control panel on the rotating mount of the arm and Hatchet set some dials on it. ‘Testing,’ he said.

  Sam yelped, jerking at the arm
and making her collar link rattle, as a sharp jolt of electricity stabbed out of her wired-up rings and through her nipples.

  ‘That’s what you get every three seconds if you stop or don’t turn the arm fast enough,’ Hatchet explained. ‘I’ve set it for a complete turn every ten seconds. That’s your target to prevent your nipples getting fried. You can do it easily walking free. But can you keep it up for an hour pulling the trolley? We’ll see how good your stamina is.’

  Shears stroked her plugged and clipped pussy, making Sam squirm in revulsion. ‘Do your laps like a good bitch, Screw, and you’ll get a reward,’ he promised her.

  ‘Get ready,’ Hatchet warned her, pressing a green button. ‘Go...’

  With a sob Sam leaned forward, gripping the slats with her bare toes, and began to haul the trolley with the plugs in her anus and pussy. The arm to which her collar was fastened turned with little resistance but the laden trolley took a heave to get moving, especially as it rode over the first few slats which made it judder. She had never felt such a strange sensation as its weight tugged at her insides. It made her feel sick but she had no choice unless she wanted her nipples to suffer.

  Once she got up to speed the trolley rolled along relatively smoothly at her heels, clunking softly as it ran over the slats. All she had to do was keep it moving like that. As she bent her head she saw the boards under her feet were worn with tracks from its wheels and, running between them, was a continuous loop formed by numerous dark stains merged and blurred into one rings. How many other girls had strained to pull the trolley round the track before her? She fought down a fresh wave of nausea as she suddenly wondered how many strange vaginas and rectums had the dildos now inside her been up before?

  Hatchet and Shears watched her for a minute. Then Hatchet said: ‘We’ll be back in an hour.’

  They walked out, closing and bolting the door behind them and leaving Sam to struggle on with her enforced task observed only by the ever-vigilant eye of the monitor camera. Gritting her teeth she marched on, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to let her mind dwell on the nightmare into which she had fallen for fear she would break down again. She must be brave and stay alert for any chance she could escape. And above all she must not give up hope that her parents would find her.