Ponygirls of Irontown

by Arden, Adriana

  He then proceeded to flush her out, wash her down, towel and comb her. It was all done with great care and in total silence. That was unnatural. Grooms always talked to their ponies as they tended them. No doubt it was on Toby’s instructions. He wanted her to hear no other voice of authority but his own. But it was also stupid. He wanted her total unquestioning devotion and obedience to make her his personal ponyslave, and yet he could not be bothered to groom her himself. Maybe he didn’t want to get his soft hands dirty.

  When she was clean Luke plugged Sam into the devices fitted to the walls of her stall.

  The upper hose went into her mouth through the hole in her mask, clipping onto her cheek rings. The hopper that fed the tube was filled with slave rations, the compressed balls of which were small enough roll down the tube to her mouth. A thinner tube was wound about this which fed her water from a bottle next to the hopper when she sucked on it. Together they formed the modern equivalent of a horse’s nose bag.

  The lower set of tubes was fitted to her groin. The nozzle of the larger rear tube went into her anus while the other tube ended on a transparent cupped funnel that enclosed her vulva.

  It was an ingenious system. Now while upright she could eat, drink, pee and excrete, all without making a mess or using her hands.

  Again without speaking Luke left the stall, shutting the lower half of the door and leaving Sam swaying in her harness utterly helpless looking out over it across the stable yard. The pale faces of other bridled and harness-hung ponygirls stared mutely back at her.

  Although it was totally degrading, physically she was not uncomfortable. The web of straps that supported her distributed her weight evenly amongst them. The stall was heated and all her bodily needs were taken care of. It took an effort of will to do so with people moving about just outside her door, but she made herself pee into the cup over her pubes and then force her solid wastes into her anal relief tube. Some kind of sensor system in the tube heads activated a pump to suck the wastes away and spray her orifices with a cleansing flush of clean water. She would probably even be able to sleep like this. Her underlying exhaustion would ensure that. But she would do so upright like a pony, which was exactly as her new master desired.

  It grew dark and lights came on around the yard. Luke came round shutting the top halves of the stable doors. Before he did Sam’s he pulled the flaps of her blinkers across her eyes and blindfolded her. Then she heard the door slam shut and the bolts slide across.

  Alone in the darkness Sam whimpered and then began to cry.

  She did not know how long she sobbed, but like all things it ran its course leaving her feeling drained but a little better. At least nobody had seen her break down.

  Now she could feel the desperate need for sleep creeping over her. She was not fighting it; indeed she welcomed its embrace. But it was held at bay by her tumbling thoughts.

  This was to be the pattern of her life from now until the cup competition. At least there was that cutting-off point: something to hope for. Once Toby had concluded his insane experiment his Father wanted to get rid of her. Incredibly, by comparison with Toby, the thought of returning to Hatchet and Shears did not seem so terrible. But until then she would have to survive one day at a time.

  Of course she prayed for escape or release, but it might no longer be safe for her to be recognized for who she really was, not after the terrible things Toby Wainwright had done to her. Not only would it be incredibly embarrassing and impossible to rectify, there were the possibly criminal consequences if any of it ever became public knowledge. Perhaps, in such circumstances, they would not dare let her go for fear of the trouble she could cause them.

  Toby Wainwright was abusing her as part of a deliberate, calculated experiment. As Cleaver and her father would both say, he had broken that unspoken pact between slave and slave master. It was far worse than her neglect of Beauty, although exactly how illegal it was, by Irontown standards, Sam was not sure. She suspected Wainwright senior understood the possible consequences but Toby was too brash and self-assured to care. Perhaps his father was letting him have his way to teach him a lesson while he still had some influence and control over him and so avoid him doing something far worse in the future. That might perhaps be excusable... except she would still be the one who suffered.

  At some point there would be a reckoning, she promised herself that.

  Meanwhile she must push Sam Fillister away into a corner of her mind where she could hide. Her name was Topaz and she was a ponygirl and her purpose was to endure whatever misery was inflicted upon her. She would try her hardest to be a good pony and please Toby because she was too terrified not to. But she knew she was dammed either way. If she failed to win a place in the club team Toby would punish her further. Yet if she did win a place it would mean competing in the arena in Rowland Park before her clubmates as a naked ponygirl. And should they recognise her then it would be the worst day of her life.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Paring stood before the assembled Foundry club members and their ponies, who were gathered in an eager press in the stable yard.

  ‘I’ve selected the following pony and rider teams to represent the Club in the Lister Cup Competition,’ he announced. ‘Mike Bar and Aspen. Tessa Harrow and Silver. Guy Wiresmith and Nutmeg... and Danny Stamp and Beauty.’

  Beauty felt both a huge swell of pride and nervous apprehension while Danny grinned and patted her. ‘We made it!’ he said.

  The round of applause following the announcement was marred by some angry mutters and shaking of heads, mainly from those clustered about Tess Harrow. Their glances at Danny and Beauty clearly showed where the cause of their disgruntlement lay.

  ‘These are the four teams who have consistently shown the best results in the practice sessions,’ Paring went on, glaring at the detractors. ‘I hope you will all do your best to support them now they begin full-time training for the Cup.’

  ‘You heard that?’ Danny said to Beauty. ‘Now we’ve got to get serious.’

  * * *

  At the beginning Sam had no idea who else was in the Wainwright team. Knowing how long they had until the event and when the decision had to be made, she presumed Wainwright senior had made his choice and she and Toby were on it, since he would have made it abundantly clear if it was otherwise. Of course he did not tell her and her master did not deem it necessary that she should know or fraternise with the other ponies and riders, beyond practising for the only group event in the competition, which was a relay and required close cooperation between all team members. It was only then, from what she overheard, that she found out the ponies were called Fawn, Cherry and Sirocco.

  On occasions during those joint sessions, when Toby was driving her hard with plenty of whip, she caught them giving her looks of commiseration. She even got a few sympathetic looks from Luke, although he still never spoke a word to her. Still it was more sympathy or good will than her master got. Being the boss’s son in any organisation was always an awkward position, but Toby did not help himself with his abrasive manner. He seemed to have formed passing friendships with a few of the other club riders, but he was short and strict with the staff which won him no respect from them at all. She gradually realised he was as isolated and alone as he had made her.

  The simple truth was that Toby now dominated all her waking moments and what he required of her was that she mindlessly obeyed him. And out of fear and a terror that was, she supposed, similar to a desperate kind of warped love, she tried her best.

  She was getting used to being harnessed to a rig as she had once harnessed Beauty, doubly impaled on those rubber moulds of Toby’s erect shaft while following his directions transmitted through her mouth and nipples. Toby rode her round the practice courses and over the jumps and she obeyed his every whim, straining her utmost to pull him fast and true.

  To her shame she found sh
e was soon dribbling and frothing about her groin just as profusely as Beauty had ever done. Her double impalement, the vibrations transmitted through the rig frame and the dark thrill of being exposed harnessed and naked could not be denied. After a few days she did not try to fight it. She had thought only slavegirls responded so blatantly because it was their nature, but it seemed the well-bred daughters of respectable families could do so as well.

  Toby took it as a sign of her helpless delight at his mastery of her. He did not understand that it actually meant she got more pleasure by having two rubber versions of his cock churning and shivering inside her than she did the real thing, which he mechanically rammed into her on a daily basis to “maintain and strengthen your slavish sense of respect for my mastery of you”, as he put it.

  After a few days he was exalting in his control over her which he had established so swiftly, proving as he thought that his strict methods were working. He put her through her paces before his father in one of the paddocks.

  ‘Yes, she moves well for a novice pony, Son,’ he agreed. ‘But that doesn’t mean she’ll be a winner.’

  In fact Sam knew she was using her own skill at ponygirl riding to aid her performance as a pony. It was probably a unique situation for a free Irontown woman to have experienced both being in the saddle and ridden. Although he was controlling her she was anticipating his commands by a fraction of a second. It was enough to give her an edge and the only way she would ever come close to performing as well as her master desired. By now she had decided that any reasonably fit woman could be turned into an adequate pony given enough strength and deportment training, but true champions were born. And she knew she was not one of them. Her master’s expectations were impossible to achieve in the time they had. But he would never admit it.

  * * *

  Beauty turned so sharply within the semi-circle of poles so that the rig went over onto one wheel and Danny had to lean over almost horizontally to keep them from toppling over. As Beauty completed the turn he straightened up and the rig dropped back onto two wheels. She felt her nipples pinched tight in the command for maximum speed and she galloped out of the ring again.

  The jumps course was the ultimate test for pony and rider and they practiced that each day, but the other events had their own special requirements and techniques which they both had to master. And so they also wove their way between rows of wide-spaced poles with Danny waving a paddle from side to side swiping each in turn. They hauled a bamboo “A” frame loaded with sandbags up and down the field. And Danny used a broom handle modified into a short lance to skewer the halves of coconut shells filled with clay which rested on their sides supported by small rubber rings. These were set upon a staggered row of half a dozen trays laid out about the field at wide intervals, which Beauty had to gallop past in a specific order.

  They both ended each day tired, although Beauty’s exhaustion was obviously physically far greater. But she didn’t mind because what followed was almost better than riding together.

  She was secured in a stall with her arms outstretched and slack chains linking her cuffs to wall rings. Another slack chain from the ceiling was clipped to her collar. While she was thus lightly restrained, Danny personally washed her over and rubbed her down, then shampooed and combed her hair and put cream on any places her harness had chaffed.

  Beauty felt at perfect ease with him, but knowing how busy he was her conscience prompted her to speak up. Checking they could not be overheard, she said: ‘I could do this myself if you wish, Master, to save you time. Or we could wait until we get home. Nobody else needs to know.’

  ‘I don’t want to take a sweaty girl with me on the underground,’ Danny said with a grin. ‘Anyway, I like taking care of you.’ He cupped and squeezed and rolled her glossy breasts together. ‘And it gives me another excuse to play with these.’

  Beauty felt her heart swell in delight. ‘And I like you taking care of me as well, Master,’ she admitted.

  When he was done she bent over as far as her collar chain and tethered arms permitted and spread her legs, offering her pouting brown cleft to him, still excited by its hours spent plugged by a racing dildo. He grinned and took hold of her hips and accepted her gift. Ponygirl and rider merged into one and all was as it should be.

  * * *

  ‘You have to let her exercise her arms each day or she’ll lose the use of them,’ Wainwright senior told Toby bluntly.

  They were talking about her over her head again, as though she did not exist as a person merely a dumb animal, which was more or less true from their viewpoint. She had become used to it. Vaguely, in another life, she felt a faint pang of concern that she might have done the same thing. But it was getting hard to think of herself ever having been anything but what she was now.

  ‘But having her arms bound makes her behave more like a pony,’ Toby protested.

  ‘She still needs strength in her shoulders to pull a rig properly and you’re going to lose that if she can’t exercise them,’ his father countered. ‘Remember she’ll have to go when this is over. They won’t take her back if she’s crippled. And that’s what she’ll be soon if you don’t let her exercise her arms!’

  In truth after the aches in her shoulders and elbows of the first few days had faded, Sam had almost forgotten she had arms. They played no part in anything she did.

  Luke took off her hooves to wash her feet once a day but it seemed he had been told to leave her arms bound.

  Reluctantly Toby released the air valve and pulled off the binder, freeing her arms. Sam could hardly straighten them out to bring them back round in front of her and whimpered as she forced her muscles and joints to stretch and bend. She was horrified to see how pale and dead her arms looked. Clenching her fists was sweet agony.

  The shock briefly rekindled that buried part of her that loathed her master. It would not last long, slinking away again in fear and hopelessness, but she savoured it while it was there.

  Wainwright examined her arms. ‘Half an hour morning and night on the walker,’ he declared. ‘No arguing, Toby.’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ Toby said grumpily.

  And so for an hour a day Sam got to use her arms.

  The walker was another device kept in the exercise shed. It resembled a standard power-walker exercise machine but it had cuffs and chains on its footrests and handlebars to keep a girl in place on it. An angled bar had also been added extending forward from the rear of the machine between her legs. It had twin dildos on its end that plugged into her groin, clipping onto to her labial rings. They were wired to the speed monitor and shocked her if she did not maintain her pace. A powered stocks bar had been clamped about her breasts and hooked to her harness, with hobby horse style wire nooses connected to the T-bar rings in her nipples.

  The machine had been set to demand changes of pace from her when she had to stride frantically or else she would be shocked. She was being indoctrinated to associate the pinching of her nipples with making maximum effort. Soon she was dripping with sweat and dreading the next demand for a gallop, even as her pussy told her the next time she would orgasm

  But at least while she was on it she could use her arms and shoulders properly.

  She worked them as hard as she could in her time on the machine, clenching and unclenching her hands as she pumped away to keep her fingers supple. The frightening thing was that she had not realised how serious it could have been. With all her needs taken care of and the weight of her other concerns, she had not missed using them that much. Now she understood how precious the simple ability to touch and pick something up was.

  As she pumped away she consoled herself with the thought that, in that distant time when she had been a slave mistress, at least she had never bound Beauty’s arms so tightly for so long. Although would she have complained if she had? After she had muted her how often did she have the chance? But
surely she would have known if Beauty had been in any discomfort. Wouldn’t she?

  * * *

  ‘If you want I could come with you to the stables and train some more, Master,’ Beauty said. ‘I don’t mind giving up my day off.’

  It was morning and she was kneeling on the rug in his bedroom while he dressed.

  ‘No, you enjoy your day off as usual,’ Danny said. ‘You’ve been working so hard you deserve it. Anyway you mustn’t get stale. You need the rest. And you do want to see your chain sisters again, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course, Master. Thank you.’

  ‘You could walk with me to the station, if you want.’

  Beauty almost felt shocked by the suggestion. ‘You mean not on a leash? Dressed... like I was a free woman?’

  ‘Today you are free. That’s the law.’

  Of course he was right and there was nothing wrong in them both walking out together. It simply felt daring and delightfully naughty.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I’d love to, Master.

  Half an hour later Beauty was walking by Danny’s side, she now modestly dressed in ankle boots and coat, as they made their way to the station. It was a strange sensation being out without a leash and wearing clothes, although of course she wore nothing under her coat and her cuffs and collar were only concealed, so their presence still comforted and reassured her.

  Blushing, she sat next to Danny in the carriage, as off duty slaves were permitted, instead of impaled in the slave truck. They parted company when he changed trains for the Furnace Green line and she went on happily to her rendezvous with her chain sisters, where she would tell them about her progress in training and her kind and considerate master.

  * * *

  ‘You’ve got to give her a break, Son,’ Wainwright senior suggested. ‘You’ve been training her so hard she needs a rest. Even for a few hours.’