And so they went on down the line, weaving between naked girl poles slapping blue paint across their bottoms. They made a loop about the last girl in the line after Danny had painted her bottom. Still with the paddle in his left hand Danny raised his arm and now swiped blue paint across her breasts. They wove their way back up the line, this time smacking the girls’ breasts, which bounced as they were paddled. As the last pair of breasts was smeared blue, Danny swung Beauty round to the right and they tore back down that side of the arena to the finish.
As they crossed the line Beauty felt the shudder of a mini orgasm ripple through her. She thought she had never felt so happy or excited before.
* * *
Half a dozen slavegirls hung from tall gibbet-like stands which had been formed into a circle in the middle of the arena.
They were suspended from their wrists which were confined by padded cuffs above their heads. The cuffs were hung from the centre of six foot long horizontal metal rods. Chains hung from the ends of the rods that were clipped to the girls’ ankle cuffs, pulling their legs up and also stretching them wide, so that they appeared to be performing the splits in mid air. Motors in the gibbet arms slowly rotated the rods and the slavegirls with them. Hanging at a little over head height from the ground by a cord which was attached to a rubber plug buried in their vaginas were flat plastic rings.
The challenge for the ponygirl riders was to simply snatch all six rings from the suspended slaves’ pussies as they rotated, hooking the rings one after another about their arm as they went, and then return them to the finish line.
As Sam galloped round the circle while Toby yanked the rings from their wet fleshy mounts with little pops she glimpsed the girls’ excited faces. And why shouldn’t they be excited? They were serving both a useful and decorative purpose at the centre of attention of a few thousand people, and right now they had the best view of the action in the whole arena, except for her.
So why was she not able to feel the same?
* * *
Half a dozen girls were also laid out on the floor of the arena for the lemon-sticking event. Three of them faced up the arena and the others down and their positions were offset from each other. They lay on their backs strapped to square baseboards about the neck and waist with their arms chained to the top corners of the board. Their legs were bent and pulled up and spread wide, with their ankles cuffed to the board sides. This posture exposed the mounds of their sexes which were stuffed with the targets the ponygirl riders sought.
In the past it was said that real halved lemons had been used as targets, which had no doubt stung many a pussy with their sharp juices. But today the “lemons” were artificial hemispheres the size of grapefruits with yellow plastic rinds and dense foam rubber piths. These sat in their tight pink-rimmed sockets with their flat faces outward awaiting the lances of the riders. These lances had a blunt metal prong tip which would not cut skin but which would lodge in lemon cores.
Beauty and Danny raced up the arena between the rows of girls, heading for the first one facing towards them. Danny leaned to one side and spiked a “lemon” with his lance, bringing forth a gasp from the girl as it was briefly driven deeper into her yielding pussy mouth and then snatched out of it. Danny held his prize aloft as they headed on for the other end of the arena where he flicked it off the lance over the end line. Then they swung round for another run to steal from another stuffed pussy.
* * *
‘Before we come to the final event of the day,’ said the PA, ‘there will be a short interval while the show jumping course is prepared.’
Teams of naked harnessed slavegirls dragged sections of fencing, poles and trays of evergreen branches out of their stores and into the arena. As they worked a slavegirl marching band, all shiny brasswork, bare flesh and chains, paraded round the perimeter of the arena to entertain the crowd. Meanwhile the ponygirl teams rested their mounts in the long room before their final supreme effort.
Sam gazed fearfully into Toby’s face as he fed her water. He did not look happy.
She had no idea how well she or the team were doing. She had heard snatches of different times and points being announced but she did not know how they compared with the other teams. And of course she could not speak to ask. Not that she would have dared in any case. All she knew was that she was almost at the end of her strength. But she would try her best because she had no choice.
All about the room riders were massaged their mounts’ stiff and aching legs and gently walking them up and down to keep them warm and limber. Toby was doing this with Sam when they literally bumped into Danny who was walking Beauty.
‘Mind where you’re going, you fool!’ Toby snapped.
‘Sorry,’ Danny said.
‘So you should be.’
‘No need to get angry...’
As these words were being exchanged Beauty suddenly inhaled as though aware of some new scent. Her eyes flicked curiously across Sam’s face, still half hidden by her pony muzzle. And then recognition dawned. Beauty’s eyes widened as she looked at her in disbelief and horror. Sam shook her head, urgently, trying to say without words: Don’t tell!
Wonderingly, still dazed, Beauty nodded.
Then Toby jerked on Sam’s leash and pulled her away.
* * *
Beauty tried to put Sam’s inexplicable and shocking appearance out of her mind. What was she doing as a Wainwright pony? Why did she not want to be identified? Beauty had no idea. But whatever her situation Sam was still her mistress and her wishes must be respected. Impossible as it was she had to try to put all thoughts of her to one side. She now faced the final and most challenging event for any ponygirl: the show jump course.
One by one the girls were called out to perform and returned a few minutes later covered in sweat and with heaving chests, barely able to walk. She saw Sam go out ahead of her and return sagging in her harness and dragging her hooves in utter exhaustion. Even as she watched her master cuffed her across the ear, which sent a stab of pain into Beauty’s heart.
And then it was her turn.
She trotted out into the arena which had been transformed into a maze of colourful fences, walls, poles and ramps, all decorated with the bodies of bound slavegirls. They had been built into some jumps, forming delicately balanced fleshy pillars to be avoided on the run up, or else lain down between a pair of opposing ramps to be jumped over. Pairs of kneeling slaves facing outward just beyond jump ramps had lightweight poles slotted into shallow sockets in their rears, creating a hurdle to be cleared or downed. Different kneeling pairs faced inward with lightweight poles supported on rods slung between their clamped nipples. Others appeared to be buried upside down in jumps with only their wide-splayed legs showing. Thin fans and sprays of evergreen had been planted in their rectums and vaginas, transforming them into living hedges.
Danny circled round to line up with the starting gate. She knew she must surrender herself to his absolute control. The pressure of his hands transmitted through the control handles and triggers to her mouth and nipples would tell her all she needed to know. He would think for her body and she would run her heart out for him.
The timer bell sounded as they flashed though the starting gate. A first ramp and fence easily cleared but then came a sharp turn into a spread, then a wall... a hogback of a real girl’s back... then double and triple combinations... the impossible ramp of a hollow hill that she somehow managed to climb... a water jump that she just cleared... her strength was failing her. Posts and girl flesh were merging together. She was responding like a machine... she could not run another step...
And then the timing bell sounded and Danny was bringing her to a gentle halt. The fences were all behind her. It was over. And she had jumped a clear round.
There was cheering as her time was announced but she could not take it in. It was done and she was e
xhausted. She barely had the strength to walk. Danny sprang from the saddle and led her back to their long room. He towelled her off, put a blanket over her shoulders, gave her water, patted and stroked her and said: ‘Well done!’ again and again. Paring joined him. In the distant background she could hear the crowd urging another pony on. Dimly she was aware that Nutmeg had a clear round but Silver, much to Tess’s evident chagrin, had a fence down.
And then the last rider completed their round and it was all over.
After a few minutes the ponies and riders, together with the stable owners, were called back out into the arena. Beauty saw Sam looking pale and trembling as they lined up in front of Spinner and the Mayor, wearing his chain of office, who were now both standing in the arena on a red carpet by a stand bearing the Cup and a presentation box. Spinner was using a radio microphone linked with the PA system.
‘And now I can announce the total scores after that final round,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Wainwright’s Pony club have scored four hundred and two points. Mason’s academy has scored three hundred and ninety eight points... and the Foundry stables have scored... four hundred and seventeen points. I therefore declare the Foundry the winners of this year’s Lister Cup!’
Amid the cheers Paring stepped forward to receive the trophy from Mayor Goldsmith.
When the applause had died down, Spinner continued. ‘And the award of a set of solid silver slave rings for the highest individual scoring pony goes to... Beauty: ridden by Danny Stamp!’
In a daze Beauty let Danny lead her forward. The Mayor handed over the presentation ring case to Danny, patted Beauty on the head, tweaked her nipples and slipped the winner’s rosette into her left nipple ring.
Then she turned about and received the full appreciation of the crowd. It was the best day of her life. And then she looked at Sam and her heart fell. What could she do about her?
* * *
An hour later, strapped to a frame bolted to the side of the horse transporter on the way back to the stables, Sam could hear Wainwright senior talking to Toby from where they sat just behind the driver.
Beauty’s triumph had thrilled her. The joy she felt had been so at odds with the misery of her current existence that she almost did not know what to do with such an emotion. But now fears for her own fate were closing about her.
She’d knocked a fence down. Just one but that was all that mattered. And she had not won every event. She was not a perfect pony. She’d failed him...
‘We came second, Son,’ Wainwright was saying. ‘The other teams were too strong this time. That’s still a good result.’
‘If Topaz had run faster, if she hadn’t had that fault, we would have been first!’ Toby said bitterly.
‘Perhaps you didn’t ride her quite as well as you might,’ Wainwright suggested gently.
‘I was a perfect rider. It was all her fault!’
To Sam he sounded like a petulant child unable to admit a mistake. Where has she heard that before? No! She must not think of her master like that.
Wainwright sighed. ‘You can’t expect miracles, Toby. She did better than I imagined, but you can’t turn just any girl into a champion pony, however hard you drive her. It becomes cruel. You’ve tested your theory of training but it didn’t work out. Accept that and let it go.’
‘No!’ Toby said angrily. ‘It isn’t over yet. I told her what would happen if she let me down and I will not go back on my word. She’s going to be punished for her failure!’
When they reached the stables Toby unstrapped Sam and led her across to the exercise shed. Inside he made for a small compartment Sam had not entered before. It contained a rather plain low wooden block with chains, straps and rings bolted to its sides and a selection of lashes hung about the walls.
He pushed her head and shoulders and sheathed arms down onto the block, so that her head overhung one end and pulled a strap across the front of her collar. Then he bent her legs upward and over, doubling up her body and twisting her hip joints until her knees were pressed against the top of the block next to her shoulders. He drew more straps across the backs of them and clipped chains to her ankles, which were jutting out past her head, to hold them down. Now she was painfully balanced on her sheathed arms, shoulders and the back of her neck, looking up at her folded stomach and inverted sex through the spread of her thighs. She champed on the rubber bit of her bridle, trembling in fear.
Toby took down a lash and swished it through the air above her.
‘You let me down you miserable, ungrateful little slut!’ he said.
Sam snivelled and whined. She was genuinely and pitifully sorry for her failure, yet at the same time knowing deep within herself, but hardly daring to admit it, that it had not been her fault and that he was a conceited prick.
‘Now you’re going to suffer as I promised, because that’s the reward for failure!’
And he began to lash her taut inverted buttocks and the soft cleft swell of her naked pussy. The crack of leather on flesh rang back from the walls. Scarlet stripes burned into being across her defenceless posterior and pouting sex. Sam shrieked and squirmed in a futile attempt to escape the terrible thongs as they hissed though the air over her face. Compressed by her extreme posture and loosened by pain, her bladder sphincter gave way and she peed over her chest and face, hot urine soaking into her hair.
Toby laughed at her disgrace and struck harder. The lash sliced though her shameful spray, soaking it up and splattered against her skin with a new stinging force that burned her raw flesh. Sam shrieked and blubbered and gave muffled pony whinnies of pain and pleading.
He did not stop until her bottom and pubes were an even rosy red and she was reduced to a shivering, wretched shadow of herself. But her ordeal was not over yet.
He strode to the doorway and bawled out: ‘Get in here all of you!’
In minute bemused stable lads began to arrive, peering in at Sam and perhaps wondering how a prize pony could have fallen so far so rapidly. Or perhaps they knew Toby well enough not to be surprised.
Toby pointed a trembling finger at Sam’s wretched, trembling body. ‘Screw her! Use every hole she has! She’s nothing to me now and I want her to feel dirty and used. The dregs of the stables!’
They hesitated, unwilling even now to touch what had been forbidden pony flesh.
‘Well get on with it!’ Toby hollered.
Emboldened they began to tug at their flies. The first lad straddled her doubled up body, facing her upturned bottom, and thrust his penis onto her sore inverted cleft, making her whimper as he ground against her red lips. The second squatted over her face, pulled out her bit and rammed his shaft into her mouth.
She almost gagged on it before letting it down her throat. She could not fight them. They could do what they wanted with her. Maybe she deserved this...
The lad in her pussy came, filling her with his seed. His impatient companion pulled him away and rammed his own shaft into the tighter pucker of her anus. She sobbed as he filled her. This was her final degradation. There was nothing left. The shame of the plunging cocks coursed through her, impossible to deny.
So she let her body respond as it had been taught so brutally by Hatchet and Shears. She had nowhere else to go. She was a failure and her master despised her. What else mattered?
And yet even as they pounded away inside her, something inside was also struggling to be free. She was getting aroused. Hot lust was filling her loins.
It was a disgusting turn-on to be used like this, but it was her turn on, not Toby’s.
As her master was driving his hate into her he was unwittingly driving her fearful respect for him out of her as every cock that was not his own entered her. She no longer had just one master. Other men wanted her. He was despoiling her to prove that she was flawed and that the reason for their failure to win the cup was in her a
nd not his training or warped ideals, but that was all lies! She felt her indoctrinated reverence for him crumbling and melting away as she got hotter. He had never satisfied her anyway. Now she wanted more! Yes, it was possible to feel things he had not permitted her to feel! Unintentionally he was reminding her that there were other men in the world apart from him. Better men. He was not the possessor of the only cock or the only opinion that counted. And she did not have to listen to any of them!
By a perverse inversion she was suddenly feeling elated. And why not? She had done amazingly well! Now she wanted her reward! Not a shiny cup but a bloody fantastic orgasm and damn him to hell! At last she was going to get off properly at Wainwright’s!
It came and it was incredible. It was massive. It was the big one... the ultimate release. She was spraying her juices past the cock of the lad inside her and over her own face. And as she came in triumph she thought of her lovely, faithful Beauty! This one’s for you, she thought...
Through the pink cotton candy haze that enveloped her, as though from far off, she heard Wainwright senior’s angry and resolute voice. ‘Stop this at once, Toby! It’s cruel. She did her best and she doesn’t deserve this. It’s over. We’ve got to get rid of her...send her back...’
And then she knew nothing more.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sam woke feeling stiff and sore and with an odd chemical taste in her mouth. And yet somehow she was also cocooned in wonderful warmth and comfort. How strange. She’d been lying down, not sleeping upright. Was she dreaming? She forced her eyes open. Bright morning light was showing about her curtains. The display on her bedside clock radio showed 7:23. The calendar said it was two days since the Cup.
Her bedside radio... two days since the Cup?
She was in her own bed in her own bedroom wearing her regular nightgown. Her watch and phone were on the bedside table, her day clothes folded on a chair and the bag she had taken with her the night she had run away sat beside it. She was not chained or strapped down. There was no tail plug up her rear or pony mask on her face.
Ponygirls of Irontown Page 19