The Notnilk Prophecy

The following material is the exclusive property of RND, and may not be reproduced or republished in any form: electronic, print, or otherwise, without written consent from RND.

RND authorizes Sir Jeff's Ponygirls to feature

The Notnilk Prophecy part 2 Pony Irene

The following is from a larger work that clearly establishes the story as total fantasy, and general theme as consenting adult behavior. Any valid review for censorship purposes must peruse the whole work! Although random excerpts may appear to show non-consenting themes, within the context of the larger work-of-fiction, such situations are presented only as dreams by consenting adult characters. The complete work is entirely make-believe, however, and should not be viewed as bearing malice toward any person, gender, race, or institution. Resemblance to any real persons or institutions is coincidental. All characters in this work-of-fiction are "Adults".

If you are under 21 years of age, or if such material is illegal in your community:

DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!

If you are offended by "adult" themes, non-consenting themes, B&D, S&M, or make-believe situations that would be inappropriate in real-life:

DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!

If you cannot separate fantasy from reality, or can't control your conduct:

DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!

GO GET SOME HELP!

and,...

DON'T READ ANY MAIN-STREAM FICTION;

DON'T WATCH TELEVISION,...

and especially,...

NO ROAD-RUNNER CARTOONS!

For those into this genre of fiction,...

ENJOY!

( p.s. special thanks to Sir Jeff for demonstrating how fab the web can be )

-3-

"Sob! Whinny! Sob! Pant! Whinny! Pant! Snort!"

Irene stood flushed and flustered. And it wasn't just because she was getting groped ( remember the limbo-position? )!

"Wow, aren't these the greatest?"

Tristin's voice was thick with lust.

"Yeah! T-They're s-s-swell! R-e-a-l-l-y s-swell!", stammered Donald.

He was thick too. And not just in the voice department!

The duo were feeling Irene up --- each commandeering a girl-bag --- squeezing and kneading --- dragging the nipple-rings --- taffy-pulling --- mashing 'em flat --- whatever humiliation came to mind.

"Look here, lover. This is why we call a pony like this a hand-hider!"

Tristin pawed under a tit; discharging a wash of sweat. The pendulous boob-belly completely shrouded her palm!

"See! Isn't that fantastic? Tee! Hee! Hee!"

"Moan! Pant! M-m-mnnnghgnthghtngyffft! Sob! Sob! Wheeze! Snort!"

"Wow! Look at her legs wobble", Donald exclaimed. "And those bare heels look mighty troubled! I think she's a-about h-h-had it!"

"Gimmie that tit, Donald", Tristin snapped.

The Notnilk scion got nose-to-nose with Irene, now furiously wringing both mams .

"You let those heels slap, horsy, and there'll be GORE to pay! Mr. Niles'll make that big bottom of yours regret it for sure!"

Donald moved rearward, eyes widening; boner threatening to ventilate his trousers!

Irene's backside loomed breathtaking --- hindquarters lewdly dimpled by a taut harness --- alabaster cheeks crisscrossed with whip-weals --- haunches gorgeously flinching --- calves too!

"Gasp! Errr,... honey,... what exactly w-would Mr. Niles d-do to this b-b-bottom?"

"Why, whip it of course! And in a no holds barred fashion; with a variety of fluidian crops; till she couldn't see straight!"

"But it looks like h-he's already d-done that?"

"You didn't let me finish, dear!"

Tristin smiled mischievously, wrenching Irene's bags hugely apart --- admiring the Notnilk crest betwixt. She winked at the pony; then continued opining.

"After lashing her silly, it'd be time to fire-up a couple of irons; give her a permanent reminder of the transgression!

"Huh? You've got to be j-joking? Ha! Ha! You d-don't mean she'd actually be bran...."

"Gaagahsgahsgpfpprfppfptpfptttttttttttzzzz! Pant! Blow! Whinny! Sob! Snort!"

Collapse!

Thud!

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

Wobble! Bounce! Pitch! Roll!

Irene keeled-over. A heap of sweaty girl-flesh. All gnashing teeth, cowering muscle; rolled-back eyes.

Donald's query got halted in mid-sentence. At least for the time being.

Irene's DPH thwarted a total belly-flop, however. Securing her undercarriage, and tethered to the mill-oar by a frontside hitch, the gizmo kept her pelvis suspended, while all else kissed cinder.

And as she swooned, decorum went bye-bye faster then fairness at a recount. Her thighs pitched vulgarly wide --- bald-pussy gaping; sleigh-bells amok --- a heck of a ring-side view!

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

"Is t-that what I t-t-think it is?", Donald queried, pointing toward Irene's puss.

"What?"

"That!"

"Oh! That! Yeah, that's a dildo! A # 4 from the looks of it, but I can't be entirely sure."

"You're kidding?"

"No. It's plunged so deeply, I can only see where the crotch-cable attaches. It's a 4 or 5, but that's as certain as I can be."

"No, Tris! Kidding about there actually being a dildo stuffed up there! That's what I meant!"

"I don't think you take me seriously enough, darling? You'd thought I was kidding about the irons too!"

"You were joking, weren't you?"

"You'll see!", Tristin teased. "And by the way, there's a dildo stuffed up her asshole too!"

"Huh?"

"It's called a double-pronged-hitch! DPH for short. It's a staple in the ponygirl business. Daddy invented it!"

"T-This is g-getting too b-bizarre to fathom!"

"Well seeing is believing!", a brusque voice boomed out. "Wouldn't any scientist agree with that, Professor?"

It was the Colonel. He and Niles had just returned from a private walk.

"I guess we'll just have to show the Lad. Har! Har! Har! Won't we Mr. Niles?"

"We certainly focking will, Sir! Two birds with one stone! Proof for a doubting-Donald; retribution fer a naughty pony!"

"Shit yes!", bellowed the Colonel, cigarette holder swiveling port to starboard. "What say we get her trussed-up and oiled, Mr. Niles, and get this show on the road?"

"Right away, Sir!"

-4-

Wow! Talk about a crash course in pony methodology! Donald was getting the demolition version.

Niles had un-hitched Irene from the mill-oar; herded her to her knees. With arms still tethered behind, and legs too spastic to work right, she loomed as bumbling as possible, trembling like a scolded puppy; gawky as all get out.

Both of her dildos were extracted; upgraded a half-size; coated with itching-goo; summarily stuffed back in. Niles and the Colonel leaned their full weight into the re-cinching process, each bracing a boot on Irene's weaving hindquarters for leverage. The crotch-cable got wrenched so tight, it virtually disappeared up her butt-crack. A couple of pee-squirts along Irene's inner thighs underscored the gentlemens' effort.

Then they got her up --- wrenching her hair --- prodding with crops. Picture a newborn mare trying to stand for the first time. That was Irene. Except, instead of spindly legs and fur, you had jitterbugging girl-flesh.

Niles then re-hitched her. Only now the oar had been raised, so she had to stand on tippy-toes; with gams pressed together; bare heels seductively aloft. Tethered so by dongs up asshole and puss. Absolutely equestrian! The essence of ponygirldom!

The Colonel poked with a fluidian-crop; fiddling here; jabbing there --- compelling Irene to arch and jut and pose to Notnilk specifications. And fatigue be damned, she capitulated! Shoulders, torso, big tits, cheeky bottom, quivering thighs --- everything!

Lastly, they gooped her.

"It's a combination of antibiotic, emollient, and fluidian-activator", Niles lectured, as he'd slathered Irene's big bare bottom.

"It'll magnify the fluidian effect", added the Colonel, massaging the gunk onto a jiggly boob.

"Yeah! You won't believe what we'll be able to do with those crops now!", gushed Tristin, busying herself with the opposite tit.

Donald could only stare open-mouthed. And not just at the debauched pony! His fiance really seemed to be getting off on this!

And for some unexplainable reason, so was he!

Go figure?