harnessgirls

Life in the Harness

- by Trey McJustice.
Rewritten and edited for SirJeff's website.

Chapter One, Part One

The nameless girl awoke with a start, and sat bolt upright in the straw. She was in a stall, probably the same one to which she had been taken after her forehead was branded the evening before. It was roughly six cubits on a side; the wooden walls rose eight cubits or more to the rafters above. A small feeding trough stood in the far corner, next to a dented tin of water.

Two other girls were in the stall with her. One lay on her side snoring softly; the other one sat in the straw beside the feeding trough, staring at her.

She was a big, small-breasted fem, an ideal carriage-puller. The brand on her forehead indicated she was twenty-one. From the crown of her head sprouted a lengthy topknot of blonde hair, tied in a simple braid which hung to the middle of her back. She watched the nameless girl intently, almost without emotion, and said, "StrongLegs." She thumped her breastbone sharply. "StrongLegs is Top Girl."

The nameless girl nodded.

The other girl stirred, groaning. She rolled over and opened a bleary eye.

"That HardRun," said StrongLegs, nodding at the other.

HardRun did not smile or nod, just opened her other eye and continued staring. She was eighteen years old, her topknot of light brown hair only some six inches long. After a few seconds, HardRun looked away with a sigh.

All three girls turned then as the gate of the stall was unlatched; Master Golm entered, grinning broadly.

"Greetings, sluts," he said cheerfully. StrongLegs and HardRun immediately scurried to kneel before him, nuzzled his thighs affectionately. He took the two girls by their topknots, pulled them whimpering to their feet.

He turned to the nameless girl. "You there -- ThickThighs! Follow us."

He turned and left, followed by StrongLegs and HardRun.

ThickThighs knelt alone in the stall for only a moment before hurrying after.

Master Golm led them to the rear of the stable, where the carriages were parked. The laborer named WideMouth stood waiting for them with two other fems.

"Now," said Golm, turning to ThickThighs. "You get a morning warm-up to start the day."

StrongLegs and HardRun lay on their backs, and ThickThighs tentatively followed their lead. WideMouth approached and dropped to one knee.

"Lift your leg straight up," she said softly, and ThickThighs obeyed. WideMouth took her leg and braced it against her body, then gently leaned forward, stretching the hamstring.

ThickThighs groaned with almost orgasmic gratitude as her entire body submitted to a thorough stretching.

When it was over, and all too soon, the three carriage-pullers were put in harness. Master Golm, harnessing ThickThighs, named every strap and buckle as he tightened them onto her body. A pair of straps encircled her hips and upper chest, another pair went over her shoulders, passing beneath the first pair in front and back. Her arms were bound firmly behind her back, wrists lashed together and tied to a ring in the back of her collar. She squirmed fruitlessly, shook her head in frustration.

"Is that tight?" asked Master Golm.

ThickThighs nodded emphatically. "Masteryesmaster!"

"Very good," said Golm, swatting her buttocks. He gestured to WideMouth, who approached with a pair of iron bells. They were fist-sized, dented and scratched -- not at all like the lovely breast bells pleasure slaves wore. ThickThighs winced at their weight as WideMouth clipped them to her breast rings. Behind her she felt Master Golm applying lubricant to her anus, and a moment later she was filled with a foxtail. She had not been allowed an ass-stick in months, and was aroused by the welcome intruder.

"Come," said Master Golm, and ThickThighs followed him at a trot to Bregu's little black runabout. StrongLegs and HardRun were already harnessed to the rig, waiting and watching without expression. Golm guided ThickThighs to StrongLegs's right, attached the ends of her shoulder straps to the runabout's traces, and clipped the reins onto her breast rings.

WideMouth rushed up with a pair of girlskin booties and quickly laced them onto ThickThighs's feet, then hurried aside. Golm, standing next to ThickThighs, reached beneath her and began to massage her clitoris with his finger, still slick with lubricant. ThickThighs, surprised by the unexpected stimulus, licked her lips and mewed with pleasure, her body suffused with warmth.

Master Golm lavished more than half a minute of attention on the girl's pleasure before moving on to StrongLegs, who was eagerly anticipating his caress. She moaned at his initial touch, was trembling within several seconds, and shuddered in mild but unmistakable orgasm within her half-minute allotment.

HardRun's response was much the same, and as ThickThighs listened enviously to the girl's sharp gasps of pleasure, she longed to beg Master Golm for just another few seconds. But she dared not.

Golm seated himself in the runabout's cab and shook his reins; the harnessgirls' breast bells rang softly. "ThickThighs!" he called. "Lean forward against the shoulder straps. Farther . . . farther! You're not going to fall.

"Now, keep your eyes straight. NEVER turn your head to the side. And if you ever look back at your driver, I swear by all the gods I'll have your head on a pike!"

At that, Master Golm brought his riding crop down sharply against ThickThighs's ass. She cried out, then lunged forward against the harness. The runabout advanced sluggishly.

"Left! Left!" snapped Golm, and ThickThighs became aware of the insistent tug of the rein at her left breast. The other two harnessgirls were already leaning to the left, and ThickThighs quickly joined their efforts.

"It'll get easier with a little momentum," Golm announced, encouraging her with another swat of the crop.

When Golm released the pressure on the left rein, the girls straightened, trotted to the open doors at the front of the stable. Outside, the late morning sun was hot, the sky strikingly blue. Master Golm tugged the left rein, and as his girls turned he clucked and smacked his crop against StrongLegs's ass. The big lead girl immediately picked up the pace.

They cantered past Master Ralf's smithy and continued down the road a hundred yards or more, then Golm clucked again and struck each of the girls once with his crop. Grunting, they accelerated.

ThickThighs, already winded, strained to keep pace. Master Golm urged her on with two more blows from his crop.

"Bend forward, girl," he scolded. "You need more leverage. Now keep your knees in, STRAIGHT, or you'll weaken them."

"Masteryesmaster!" she gasped.

"Shut up. You're not a pleasure slave anymore. When I give a command, you obey. That's acknowledgement enough."

They were jogging now, down the road which led eventually into town. ThickThighs wondered if Master Golm would drive them all the way there, and groaned inwardly at the thought. She could feel a cramp starting in her side, and already she was having difficulty breathing; every inhalation caused a sharp pain near her collarbone.

As they proceeded, Master Golm called out to her words of encouragement and advice. "Don't strain yourself, girl -- save strength for the trip home. Keep your head up, eyes on the horizon. One stride at a time."

He hit her twice with the crop, almost playfully, then pulled hard on the reins. The girls, gasping with pain, quickly slowed to a halt. Golm released the right rein, applied steady pressure on the left. His crop fell lightly against StrongLegs, then ThickThighs.

The girls turned about in the road, back toward the stable. On the horizon ThickThighs could see smoke rising from Master Ralf's smithy, a mile or so away.

She heard Master Golm's crop strike StrongLegs's buttocks with a loud retort, and as the lead girl lunged forward in the traces ThickThighs felt an unexpectedly sharp blow against her own ass. Whimpering, she lurched forward.

"Keep your mouth shut," Master Golm called out to her. "If a bug flies down your throat, you'll be choking for miles!"

Even as Golm spoke, ThickThighs was struck square in the nose by a large hard-shelled beetle. Startled, she clapped her jaws shut.

"Hup, hup!" yelled Golm. "Faster, cunts!"

The crop fell ceaselessly against the harnessgirls' backsides until he had them at a full gallop. Then he concentrated his blows on little ThickThighs, who needed the encouragement of the crop to maintain the pace. She ran moaning, her lungs burning. Master was now yelling, probably at her, but she could not make out his words. She sensed only the pain in her side, the burning in her throat and lungs, the sting of the crop she was trying desperately to outrun. Her vision dimmed, blood roared in her ears. But she ran.

She gradually became conscious of a sharp pain in both breasts, and of Master Golm's voice bellowing her name from a great distance. Then she realized they were nearing the stables and he was pulling hard on the reins to slow her.

Suddenly dizzy, she lost her footing and fell, her face driven into the dirt road. StrongLegs lost her stride and staggered to her knees; the runabout rolled almost overtop the three harnessgirls.

Master Golm shook the reins impatiently, swatted ThickThighs and StrongLegs with his crop. "Come on, come on! Get up, let's go."

ThickThighs managed to get her knees under her, then struggled to her feet. Her legs trembled violently, threatening to collapse. Her entire face was numb except her nose, which had struck the ground squarely. As she stood waiting for Master Golm's instruction, a small stream of blood dribbled from her nose into the dirt at her feet.

He clucked, his crop struck StrongLegs once. The girls started toward the stable at a walk.

"Maybe we should call you FumbleFoot," muttered Master Golm, stinging ThickThighs's ass with his crop. She sobbed, and Golm chuckled. "Or maybe just plain DumbAss."

He directed the girls to the rear of the stable, where WideMouth and another laborer were harnessing half a dozen girls to a large wagon under the supervision of a femdick.

"WideMouth!" called Master Golm, reining his carriage-pullers. "Here, girl!"

WideMouth rushed to her master as he climbed down from the runabout and knelt at his feet, head down.

"Get these girls out of the harness, wash them and feed them," said Master Golm.

"Masteryesmaster."

Golm patted ThickThighs's dusty, sweat-streaked flank. "You did well," he assured her, smiling. "You will make a fine harnessgirl."

ThickThighs, though grateful for Master's kind words, was too exhausted to respond with anything more than a nod. Golm clucked cheerfully at her and strode away to inspect one of the carriages.

WideMouth unharnessed the girls, removed their tails and bells, and thoroughly wiped them down. Then she led them back to their stall, where ThickThighs collapsed gratefully into the straw. As she lay there, almost unconcious, HardRun approached her and squatted in the corner of the stall, near ThickThighs's head.

HardRun grunted sharply, defecating into the straw. ThickThighs, moaning with disgust, scampered away. StrongLegs laughed delightedly.

"That corner for shitting," she said. "And pissing too."

HardRun, finished, sat on the floor of the stall and methodically rubbed herself clean in the dirt and straw.

WideMouth returned soon after, bearing a large tin bucket laden with slop. She wrinkled her nose as she entered, and seeing HardRun's fresh pile of dung by the door, kicked dirt and straw over it. Then she proceeded to the trough and emptied her bucket into it. Here was enough food to feed seven pleasure slaves!

When the labor girl was gone, StrongLegs knelt at the trough and looked back at ThickThighs. "StrongLegs first," she said. "Then HardRun."

ThickThighs nodded. She was too nauseated by the still-pungent odor of HardRun's shit to have a thought for eating.

StrongLegs, however, seemed entirely unaffected by the smell. She cupped her hands together and dipped them into the trough, then lapped hungrily at the slop. She fed for several minutes, scarcely pausing to breathe, then sat back in the straw and languidly licked her hands clean.

HardRun ate with as much enthusiasm as StrongLegs; when she backed away, panting and sated, her face and chest were splattered with slop.

ThickThighs eyed the trough with distaste, but her stomach, growling to be fed, urged her forward. Very little feed remained in the trough. She gathered a handful of slop, raised it to her mouth. It was thick, grayish and grainy. She sniffed it, but smelled nothing. She licked it, and to her surprise did not find it revolting. She quickly slurped up the whole handful, then cupped her hands and excavated more.

She ate with as much eagerness as StrongLegs and HardRun, suddenly desperate to satisfy a ravening hunger. The taste was bland, with an oaty flavor; but it seemed that in every handful she was treated to a small lump of chewy meat. In her whole life she had never eaten so much meat!

When there was no longer enough feed left to scoop up with her hands, she leaned far into the trough and licked the sides and bottom, much to StrongLegs's amusement.

Finally, quite full, she laid back in the straw and dozed. She did not stir when WideMouth returned a few minutes later and rebandaged her forehead.

* * *

ThickThighs was awakened next morning by the sound of a heavy wagon departing the stable, drawn by a team of a dozen harnessgirls. The stall was entirely dark, and even through the cracks in the wall of the stable she could make out only the barest glimmer of dawn.

StrongLegs stirred; HardRun grunted and broke wind, murmuring something sleepily.

Outside the stall ThickThighs saw the light of a lamp, heard the soft tread of a fem's feet approaching. The bolt on the gate slid back and WideMouth entered, carrying an oil lamp and a small pitchfork with wooden prongs.

All three harnessgirls sat up, blinking at the light.

"StrongLegs, HardRun -- Master wants you," said WideMouth, nodding toward the rear of the stable. "ThickThighs stay here."

Without a word the two harnessgirls followed WideMouth out of the stall, and ThickThighs was left alone. But less than a minute later WideMouth returned; propping the pitchfork against the wall, she beckoned ThickThighs to stand.

"WideMouth cleans stalls today," the labor girl said. "ThickThighs will help." She gestured for ThickThighs to follow her, and led the young harnessgirl to the rear of the stable.

Master Golm and two labor girls were there, rigorously stretching StrongLegs, HardRun, and a third carriage-puller. The third girl was young and lanky, and though larger than ThickThighs, she was shorter and leaner than StrongLegs and HardRun.

She was lying on her back alongside StrongLegs and HardRun, groaning deeply as Master Golm lifted her long legs and pushed her feet toward her head.

WideMouth put ThickThighs through a few quick stretches, mostly for legs and back, then led her to a small two-wheeled wooden cart beside Master Bregu's carriage. The cart was waist-high to a fem, with a bed about three cubits feet square. Its two handles, two cubits long, both terminated in iron hooks.

WideMouth retrieved a leather belt from the cartbed and buckled it tightly round ThickThighs' hips. On each side of the belt was attached a large iron ring, and ThickThighs at first thought her wrists would be bound to these. But instead her arms were bound behind her back, wrists tied together and lashed to her collar as they had been the day before. The belt's rings proved to be for the hooks at the ends of the cart's handles.

ThickThighs was then fitted with iron breast bells and a foxtail ass-stick, just like the ones she had worn before. WideMouth clapped her hands once, gestured for ThickThighs to follow her to the front of the stable.

The cart was not heavy, of course, but ThickThighs found herself struggling with it nevertheless. The wheels were warped, causing the cart to wobble, and the axel was rusted and badly in need of greasing. It squeaked loudly with every step ThickThighs took.

WideMouth retrieved the wood-pronged pitchfork she had left in ThickThighs's stall and thrust it into the mound of offal-fouled straw nearest the gate. The first pitchfork-full she carried to the cart was crowned with HardRun's turd from the night before; it thudded weightily against the bed of the cart.

WideMouth shoveled out three more forkfulls of straw and refuse from the corner of the stall, then moved on. She called out for ThickThighs to follow her, and the draftgirl obeyed, struggling with the recalcitrant cart.

As WideMouth began to clean the second stall, the two labor girls who had been helping Master Golm earlier hurried towards the front of the stable. They pushed open the doors and Golm trotted his girls leisurely out of the stable, then reined left and cracked his whip forcefully over their bodies. With a chorus of grunts and a cacophony of bells the harnessgirls carried their master away.

The laborers immediately closed the doors of the stable, and ThickThighs's world was once more dank and dim. As WideMouth tossed another forkload of straw and dung into the cart, ThickThighs found herself longing to be harnessed to Master Golm's carriage, sweating and straining under his whip, instead of pulling a dung cart under the orders of a labor girl.

There were ten stalls on each side of the stable, and the harnessgirls seemed to produce an inordinate amount of shit; the waste from the right side of the stable alone nearly filled the cart.

When WideMouth finished with that side of the stable, she called out for the two other laborers, GoodWork and ThinLips. Both fems emerged from the last stall on the left, where they quartered with WideMouth. ThinLips was a tall and lean blond, twenty-one years old; GoodWork was shorter, an eighteen-year-old brunette, and except for the brand on her forehead she was almost pretty enough to have been a pleasure-slave. Both girls wore old iron breast bells like a harnessgirl's.

WideMouth thrust the pitchfork at GoodWork. "GoodWork goes to the dungheap," she said. "ThinLips stays here with me."

"Yes, mistress," said the girls.

GoodWork held the pitchfork across one shoulder and started toward the stable entrance; she clucked at ThickThighs, who followed laboriously after her. How could a small cartload of dung weigh so much?

GoodWork pushed open one of the stable doors just enough for ThickThighs to pass, then closed it after. The sun was bright and hot, but a slight breeze felt especially refreshing after the stale and sultry heat of the stables.

ThickThighs followed GoodWork past the laborers' barracks, then down a wide and rutted path on the left. The path ran alongside one of Master Bregu's fields, where dozens of fems were hard at work reaping crops which grew taller than their heads. On the far side of the field ThickThighs could make out the large wagon which she had heard leaving the stable at dawn. Fems were loading it with crops which had been harvested earlier.

GoodWork was also staring into the fields, but her mind was evidently on other things. "WideMouth said ThickThighs used to be a pleasure-pony," she said.

"Yes, mistress."

"ThickThighs not a pleasure-pony any more?"

"No, mistress."

"Why not?"

ThickThighs was too ashamed to admit that she had been disobedient. "Master needed another harnessgirl, mistress," she murmured.

"But why didn't Master just BUY a girl?" asked GoodWork. ThickThighs did not respond.

"Did Master ever fuck ThickThighs?" asked GoodWork, so softly that ThickThighs almost did not hear her over the squeaking of the cart wheels and the clatter of their iron bells.

"No, mistress," she replied.

"Oh," said GoodWork, disappointed. Then, "Did ThickThighs ever suck Master?"

ThickThighs recalled sucking Master Bregu during the long journey from the breeding farm; it seemed a lifetime ago, but she could still remember Master's strong glorious scent, the feel of his cock in her little hands and mouth, the taste of him. Her body grew aroused at the memory.

"Yes, mistress," she said. "ThickThighs sucked Master. Once."

This news excited GoodWork. "Did Master cum?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes, mistress."

"In ThickThighs's mouth?"

ThickThighs licked her lips, strained to recall how that bit of thick fluid felt on her tongue, and sliding down her throat. But she could taste only the dust of the path they were treading.

"Yes, mistress," she said.

"GoodWork never talked to any fem who tasted sperm before. What does it taste like?"

ThickThighs sighed with frustration. The breast bells were very heavy and her tits were growing sore from their weight, making her irritable. She knew the bells would not be removed before the stable was fully cleaned, another hour's work at least.

Before she could even think of responding to GoodWork's question she felt her eyes begin to water, and she bit her lip to stop herself from weeping. GoodWork, seeing a tear on the draftgirl's cheek, fell mercifully silent.

The dung heap lay less than half a mile down the path, near one corner of the field; ThickThighs had already caught wind of its stench from several hundred yards away. When they reached it, the reek was almost unbearable.

The dung heap was as high as a girl's head, and as long as three girls together, and enormous flies swarmed along its entire length.

GoodWork strained to empty the cart as quickly as possible, pausing occasionally only to brush flies away from ThickThighs's body. She was soon redfaced and breathless, drenched with sweat.

Finally she swatted ThickThighs on the ass, set off hastily back down the path. "Come on," she gasped. "We go."

ThickThighs, almost fainting from the smell, struggled to turn about and stagger after GoodWork. She felt dangerously nauseated until they had returned to the stable.

GoodWork led her immediately to the last stall on the left and set about her task, unmindful of WideMouth and ThinLips writhing in the middle of the stall with their heads to one another's crotch. ThickThighs watched the happily entangled labor girls through the open gate and sighed.

GoodWork dumped a single forkload into the cart and moved on. She was not nearly as thorough as WideMouth had been, and was able to finish her half of the stable in only two-thirds the time. Then they were off to the dung heap once more, ThickThighs pleased to have a noticeably lighter cartload.

GoodWork hummed to herself as they walked, massaging her clitoris absently. Her mind had never strayed far from her earlier conversation with ThickThighs, or from her question which had remained unanswered.

ThickThighs, grown weary of the conversation, laughed bitterly.

The laborer let her head fall, sighing. "GoodWork is foolish and stupid," she admitted.

"ThickThighs is sorry, mistress. GoodWork is not stupid; she could have been a pleasure-pony. GoodWork is very pretty."

GoodWork was surprised at the tender compliment. She put one hand on ThickThighs's sweaty ass and squeezed affectionately. In silence they continued to the dung heap and completed their chore.

* * * Continued in Part Two * * *