They were in the shed watching Sam working on the weight machine.
A frame supporting adjustable iron weight plates and a pulley system from a training gym were bolted to the wall. In front of it a slatted track had been laid across the floor. Sam’s harness had been hooked to wire cables running back to the pulley array. Leaning forwards with her thighs and buttocks bunching she strained to walk the length of the track to the far wall, and then step back down again.
She had to keep pulling the weights because her nipple rings were linked via thinner wires to a smaller powered pulley system mounted on the wall at the other end of the track. As it reeled her in, stretching her nipples, she was getting used to mindlessly hauling on her weighted tethers to save herself the pain.
Toby laughed mirthlessly. ‘You mean give her a day off like a regular slavegirl? Let her go wandering about the town indulging herself with all the rest?’
‘Of course not,’ his father said irritably. ‘But she needs something.’
Just then Sam collapsed onto her knees swaying and sobbing as her nipples were slowly drawn out into fleshy brown cones. She could not go another step. For once Toby accepted she had done enough and freed her from the machine. As he fed her water he patted her lank hair clumsily. ‘You don’t want to be away from me, do you, Topaz? You don’t need days off when all you want to do is be my perfect pony.’
She shook her head. How could she not want to please her master twenty-four hours a day? Or was that what she did not want? She was getting confused.
‘At least take her for a walk away from the shed and stables for an hour without her hooves and mask on. It will still be exercise. You can throw a ball for her to fetch or something. That will still count as obedience conditioning.’
Toby sighed. ‘Very well, Father.’
And so he took her for a walk in the lower field barefoot and maskless, although she was of course still harnessed, bridled and muted. The field had been left to meadow grass and wild flowers. He threw a stick and had her run after it like a dog and bring it back to him in her mouth. She was clumsy picking it up at first. Her mouth had not been exercised this way for a long time either.
This is my day out, Sam thought in despair. And the terrible thing is I’m almost enjoying it.
Toby saw tears in her eyes as she presented the stick to him for the tenth time and misunderstood. ‘There, you see, I was right. You do just want obey me, don’t you, Topaz?’
Dumbly she nodded her head, pleased that she did not have to give voice to the lie.
Then she felt a sudden conditioned pang of guilt at the thought. She would never lie to her master, which meant that it was the truth. Wasn’t it? He had so dominated her every waking moment for the past few weeks that it was getting hard to recall her former life. Perhaps that was the fantasy and she really was a ponygirl called Topaz enjoying herself serving her absolute master.
CHAPTER TEN
Beauty woke in Danny’s arms feeling wet and excited. Today was Lister Cup day!
Danny opened his eyes and smiled at her sleepily. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Master. I’ll try my very best for you, Master.’
‘I know you will, but you must also enjoy yourself,’ he said. ‘After all you’ll be doing all the hard work.’
She twisted round under him, opening her legs wide.
‘Give me a morning ride first, Master...’ she pleaded.
He mounted and rode her, grinning with delight as she gave herself to him.
This was going to be a wonderful day, Beauty thought. She just wished Sam could have been there to share it with her.
* * *
Sam awoke to the sound of her stall door being thrown back, letting in the light which filtered about the edges of her blinker blindfold. But today it was not Luke but Toby who was rousing her personally. But then today was a special day: the day she had been dreading.
‘Wake up, Topaz,’ he said, striding into the box and walking round her trussed and suspended body. He undid her blinkers so she could squint blearily into his face and then flicked his crop across her still sleepy nipples, making them spring up into painful erectness and sending a warning jolt of pain through her.
‘This afternoon I’ll ride you in the Lister Cup. You’ll obey my every command as you have been taught and we will win. Do you understand?’
Yes, Sam nodded desperately. She would run her heart out for him. He was her master and she was his ponyslave. She would do anything for him. At the same time a tiny, unbowed bit of her knew that she hated and despised him.
* * *
Vehicle access and parking spaces for pony boxes had been set aside for the competitors next to the Rowland Park arena, so when they arrived early that afternoon they were able to drive right up to the side entrance. Beauty trembled with excitement as Danny led her out of the box, past bustling officials and through the big doors leading to the competitor’s area under the stands.
This was a long room under the curving rake of the seats above. A short tunnel led from it through to a screened waiting area that opened onto the floor of the arena. The Foundry ponies and the team from Mason’s were housed to the left of the tunnel entrance while Wainwright’s were housed to the right.
Within the space assigned to them each pony had her own stall for harnessing and last minute grooming, supported by a team of lads from their stables, overseen by Mr Paring. Beauty and the three other ponies were preened and fussed over while their riders conferred, although it was noticeable that Tess Harrow was minimally civil to Danny.
Beauty glanced at Silver who was in the stall next to her. She looked so strong and beautiful, but what did she think of Tess as her owner and rider? She always seemed so inscrutable and with her being muted Beauty had never heard her speak. Was she happy? Perhaps Tess was kinder to her in private than she was in public. Beauty hoped so. It would be terrible to be owned by somebody you did not love.
* * *
Clad now in standard competition race harness and arm binder, Sam flexed her unconfined fingers in delight.
She almost welcomed the pony muzzle as it went over her nose and mouth and was clipped to her standard racing bridle. The terrible confining full-face mask had also been removed leaving her able to move her cheeks and brows. Now her face was only superficially half covered with the flaps of her blinkers shielding her features even further. Even members of the Foundry team who knew her well would not recognise her now, or so she hoped. There was a chance that her family would be in the audience, but they would be even further away. She tried not to imagine the agony and heartache she would feel if she saw them, even though perversely it was what she longed for.
Beneath the shell of fear and blind obedience Toby had moulded about her Sam ached every moment to be free, but not in the middle of the most public event in Irontown. The shame and embarrassment would be too much to bear. She would just get through this and then hope Wainwright senior would keep his word and return her to Hatchet and Shears. At some point she must find an opportunity to speak or write to tell them who she was. She knew her father would pay any ransom for her. All she wanted to do was go home and be safe again.
Then her indoctrination resurged and she found that thought shocked her. How could she ever want to be free of her total master? Her mind spun as she tried to reconcile the two desires. She must keep that free part of her subdued. This was a time for blind obedience. Her duty was to go out there and win as she had been trained to do. She had no other function or purpose in life.
Oh God. If she did win would they take her muzzle off for the cup presentation?
Before she could torment herself further an official called them out for the opening parade of the competing teams.
She saw Wainwright senior shake the hands of the team and wish them luck. His eyes flickered unce
rtainly at her as he shook his own son’s hand last.
‘Don’t be too disappointed if this does not work as you planned, Toby,’ he said.
‘Nonsense, Father,’ Toby replied blithely, ‘she’s been perfectly prepared and she’s absolutely obedient. She can’t fail.’
The team mounted up and rode their ponies into the tunnel leading to the arena. They were at the tail of the queue of ponies and rigs. With her limited field of vision Sam could just make out the colours of the Foundry team at the front. She wondered who was in it.
They could hear a voice booming out of the arena public address system ahead of them. ‘Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen, to this the eighty-fourth Lister Cup Competition. My name is Roderick Spinner. I am the President of the Ponygirl Equestrian Association of Shackleswell and I will be your commentator for today’s events. But first I have great pleasure in introducing our guest of honour today, who will also be presenting the cup. Please welcome Mayor Goldsmith...’
There was a burst of applause.
‘The Lister Cup will be awarded to the club with the highest points total. There will also be an individual award of a set of silver slave rings to the best individual pony. And now without further delay, let’s meet the teams!’
The line began to shuffle forward.
‘Please welcome the team from the Foundry Stables...’
The cheers of the crowd echoed down the tunnel and they shuffled forward again.
‘And next the team from Mason’s Riding Academy...’
More cheering and they edged into the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s stomach knotted. She was about to be seen naked and bound like a ponygirl in front of thousands of people. How did ponies manage this? She wanted to be sick but she was too afraid of her Master’s wrath. She told herself that she had no choice. She had to do this...
‘And finally the team representing Wainwright’s Pony Club...’
They trotted out into the sunlight, through the screened waiting area and onto the arena. She glimpsed a sea of faces all around as enthusiastic applause enveloped her. She thought back to that time in the park when she had ridden Beauty past the arena and she asked if she wanted to appear here. How long ago was that: weeks, months... a subjective lifetime? How could she have come to this perverted state of affairs? Suddenly she was aware of the many pairs of eyes on her, ogling her tits and bare bum and plugged pussy. No, they were looking at a ponygirl called Topaz. She did not exist. She must let her pony alter-ego do this.
The other club teams were doing a slow circuit of the arena. There was Mayor Goldsmith and his wife in the VIP seats. She glimpsed Spinner up in his little commentary box talking into his microphone and heard his words boom out of the speakers. He was naming the ponies and their riders.
‘... and next is Silver, owned and ridden by Tessa Harrow...’
Hell! Tess made the team! She must never ever know she was here like this.
‘... and last is Beauty, owned by Samantha Fillister and ridden by Danny Stamp...’
Sam stumbled and Toby had to jerk her head round to keep her straight.
Danny was riding Beauty! How? Why? Oh God. What if they recognised her?
But there was no escape from the competition. She was Toby’s pony and she must serve him. That was her only purpose. Perhaps it was all part of her penance. Penance? Was that really why she shied from thoughts of escape? Deep down did she believe she deserved this ordeal?
When all the teams had been introduced they lined up behind the starting line. Toby leaned forward and said in Sam’s ear: ‘You will win or you will suffer.’
Yes, she believed she would.
* * *
At the other end of the line Danny stroked Beauty and said: ‘Relax. Don’t worry about the scores or who’s ahead. Don’t listen and I won’t tell you. Just you concentrate on each event as it comes and do your best. That’s all that matters.’
Beauty felt her nerves settling a little, although it did not diminish the pulse in her rock hard nipples or the slipperiness of her pussy. It was desperately exciting to be the focus of so many eyes. She hoped she would not let Danny down.
‘The first event is the team drag relay,’ the PA announced. ‘It’s after the hunt and the prey has been bagged, but who can get it back to their hunting box first? Each rider must go round the pole at the far end of the arena, bring the frame back and had it over to the next in line. The first team to complete all four runs wins.’
At the far end of the arena three posts had been set up in a line, one in front of each team. Meanwhile three light bamboo “A” frames with naked slave girls bound to them with their legs spread to the sides and wrists tied together above their heads had been brought out by competition staff and set down by each team. The girls all wore weight belts to bring them up to the same weight.
The teams got ready in running order. Mike Bar on Aspen was first with Tess on Silver second. Beauty was third and Guy Wiresmith was last. Guy and Danny dismounted and lifted the head of the frame up behind Aspen’s rig and hooked the ring on its top end over the hook bolted to the back of the saddle. The frames now extended behind the rigs like trailers, resting on the projecting tips of their long splayed sides.
Guy and Danny stood back ready for the first changeover. This was what they had all been practising for during the past weeks. Like motor sport pit stops, speed was essential, but instead of a pit crew, a ponygirl team were expected to do it for themselves. The first riders in each team took their places behind the starting line, dragging the burdens of their captive frames behind them. The buzz of excited conversation on the arena faded into a tense silence.
The starter took up position on the line and raised his pistol. ‘Ready... set... go!’
With sprays of sand from their hoofs they set off up the arena, the frames and their slave prizes bouncing along behind the rigs, setting the bound girls’ breasts jiggling and heaving. Round the end poles they went, cutting the turns as close as they could without tangling the trailing frames in them, and then they raced back. As soon as Mike and Aspen crossed the start line Guy and Danny unhitched the frame, dragged it round and hooked it up to Tess’s saddle. She and Silver then set off up the course. Meanwhile Mike dismounted and stood ready with Guy while Danny mounted Beauty and took his place at the line.
Silver raced back ahead of the Mason’s pony but a little behind the Wainwright’s team. As she crossed the line the captive girl was unhitched from her and hooked up to Beauty’s rig. With a flick from Danny’s whip Beauty set off, straining to build up speed against the drag of the frame. The next Wainwright mount had started off ahead of them. Under the top layer of sand the arena was hard packed earth and she tried to dig her hooves into that for maximum traction. Around the pole they went and headed back. As they went Beauty drew level with the Wainwright pony and then edged slightly ahead.
They made a good last change and Guy and Nutmeg set off in the lead. Panting, Beauty watched them round the pole just ahead of the field and then race frantically back going hell for leather for the line.
To the roar of a cheering crowd the Foundry team won by a breast from Wainwright’s.
Danny patted Beauty’s cheek and gave her breasts a reassuring squeeze. ‘That was a good run, girl. I think you won it for us.’
Behind her she heard Tess snort derisively.
‘The remaining events will be run on an individual basis,’ Spinner announced over the PA, ‘with points counting towards both the team and individual prizes.’
The teams retired to the long room while their first riders remained in the waiting area to be called.
Take each race as it comes, Beauty thought. Let Danny guide her. Don’t worry about anything else...
* * *
Sam galloped across the start line and the timing bell rang. Ahead the arena had been marked
out with a dozen blindfolded slave girls strapped rigidly to posts which were balanced on very small bases. They were arranged in the shape of a keyhole with the open base end, a hundred feet from the start line, facing her. With Toby whipping her on Sam plunged into the tapering mouth of the keyhole, which tapered then expanded into the bulb of the key which was twenty feet across. In this they swung round in the sharpest turn they could manage, spraying sand over the curving wall of flesh around them but not touching the precariously balanced bodies. Then they tore back out again and galloped for the finish line.
Sam was panting, her chest heaving. Had that been a good time? She had run her best and she had not knocked any of the girl posts over. If only her master would give her a pat on the breasts and say well done. That would be something. But no pat came. Instead she clenched her vaginal sheath about her impaling dildo, drawing comfort from its impersonal stimulation.
* * *
Beauty tore up the left side of the arena, which had been laid out for the slave pole beating race.
Along the centre of the arena a line of six naked slave girls were impaled on poles sunk rigidly into pre-prepared slots in the ground and spaced twenty-one feet apart. All the girls faced in the same direction down the arena looking towards the start and finish line. Their arms were bound up high behind their backs, leaving their buttocks exposed. Their legs were strapped about the poles whose heads were sunk deep into their rectums, ensuring they stood rigidly upright with their breasts outthrust. High collars forced them to keep their chins lifted up high.
As Beauty raced up past them Danny held at the ready a spanking paddle with a sponge coated head that had been soaked with blue paint. As they rounded the last girl in the line they pulled in close and he leaned out to the right and swiped the paddle across her buttocks, leaving a broad stripe of blue paint across them. As Beauty wove between her and the next girl Danny switched the paddle over to his left hand, deftly swapping his hold on her reins as he did so, leaned out the other way and swiped it across her bottom in turn.
Ponygirls of Irontown Page 18