Somnium, Day 32:

Dear Diary,

“Oh Jenny, what are we going to do now?”

“Hmm,” I thought deeply about this question, “I have a feeling we’ll do exactly what we’re told to do. Job description, you see? Didn’t they make that clear to you when you applied?”

“You cheeky bitch!” Kim growled, but I could hear the amusement in her voice at my attempt at sarcasm. “Wait till I get you alone!”

“We’re alone now,” I said reasonably, “watcha gonna do, hey?” We were sitting side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, on a hay bale in a stables, surrounded by dumb animals – well, maybe not as dumb as us, as they hadn't volunteered to be beasts of burden, as we had. We had been left for the night, chained to the wall, arms locked behind and blindfold. I thought I was pretty safe.

Suddenly I felt Kim lean across me and plant her lips on mine, her tongue aggressively forcing its way in my mouth. She pushed her body against mine, our breasts squashing together as I was bent back until I felt the hay stubble prickling my back and arms. I was totally taken by surprise by this ‘assault’ – Kim and I had kissed, and more, before, but that had always been under orders. Did she have feelings for me?

I didn’t know, but what I couldn’t ignore was the way my body was responding. I returned her kiss strongly, sucking on her tongue stud, and arching my back to press my body against hers.

This nascent passion was doomed to end in frustration, of course, with our arms locked behind and the belts preventing any access to our eager pussies. After a few minutes of struggle, we both slid down onto the cold, concrete floor, and ended up spooning to keep warm, my hands massaging her thighs while her lips nuzzled my neck. That was how we fell sleep.

I was woken the next morning by the harsh sound of a metal bowl being clattered down on the floor by my head. Great, with my blindfold removed, I could see that breakfast was to be a generous helping of dry, tasteless, but undoubtedly nutritious pellets! I was sure that, as well as all the vitamins and protein a slave could need, these things contained an oral contraceptive as well. Using slaves for breeding is illegal in this place, and ‘accidents’ are seriously investigated by the police, but I had never been offered a pill, nor had anyone ever used protection when they had been fucking me. I’d asked Kim about HIV, but she’d just looked at me blankly. She’d also never heard of syphilis, gonorrhoea, chlamydia, or any other STI. I suppose consequence-free sex was a prerequisite for a society which was based on legalised sex slavery.

“Ah, my bright young fillies, let’s get you all blinged up for your performance!”

This hearty greeting came from the young man striding towards us in bright purple velour trousers, knee boots and a cerise silk blouson top. I’d suspected what was going to happen to us ever since we’d arrived here, but his use of the term ‘fillies’ just confirmed it.

“Our leitmotif this year is gold, more gold, and ponytails, so let’s get busy!” His genuine 1,000 watt enthusiasm was instantly tiring. In his wake, a young girl, obviously a slave, trailed, carrying a huge suitcase, from which all the subsequent paraphernalia was produced.

Our ‘dresser’ (“artistic designer, darling,” as he would have said, I’m sure) called me to him, and stripped me of my collar, cuffs, steel nipple rings and chastity belt, before inserted solid gold nipple rings and attaching an ornate golden replacement belt. The girl did the same to Kim.

“Hey, crossover, lucky you,” he said to me archly, as he replaced my nose ring with a gold one, “you don’t have to wear a clip-on.” At that moment, I heard Kim let out a pained squeal as the slavegirl applied the clip-on ring which, clearly, was not exactly ‘comfy’. I was fitted with a heavy golden yolk locked around my neck, as was Kim.

Next were a pair of boots, which I pulled on while sitting on the hay bale. They were the weirdest boots I’d ever worn, because the rigid sole was shaped exactly like a high heel, except that the heel was entirely missing. I clambered unsteadily to my feet and struggled to stop myself falling right back down again, feeling like a stilt walker on very small stilts. I could see that Kim was having the same problem, and we must have looked comical as we staggered back and forth, trying to maintain our balance. In the end, we clung to each other for mutual support.

When I could focus on the ‘designer’ again, he was holding up a head harness, which he slipped into place while my hands were occupied holding on to Kim. The harness was all leather and gold rings, with a rubber bit to go between the teeth. From the top of the harness came a ponytail made of black synthetic hair, which I thought looked rather incongruous. However, the man took out some kind of scanner which shone a laser on my hair, then plugged it into the top of my harness. When he did the same to Kim, who was by now wearing an identical harness, I watched in amazement as her black pony tail turned the exact shade of grey as her natural hair. When I grabbed my own ponytail, I saw that it was now just my shade. Amazing!

“Last but not least.” I turned and saw that he was holding up a huge butt plug with a long tail hanging from it. “Bend over, dear.”

I did as I was told, and then screamed as the plug was thrust into place without the benefit of lubrication, the answering scream from Kim telling me that she had suffered the same ignominy. Jesus, you would have thought the budget could run to a tube of KY!

"Et viola! My pretty little ponies!" he said with a self-congratulatory clap of his hands, looking very pleased with himself. Kim and I looked at each other, knowing that we each looked as ridiculous as the other. Mind you, I was also thinking that Kim looked damn hot, therefore so must I - I've always had a bit of a ponygirl thing myself.

"And now, ladies, your carriage awaits!" We were led out of the stables and into the courtyard, where we saw a two wheeled buggy which it was now clear we were going to be pulling. The slavegirl lifted up the bar at the front of the cart and we ducked under it. Moments later, we were shackled to it with golden chains. Kim and I exchanged looks, the fear etched on her face as I'm sure it was on mine

"I'll leave you in the very capable and delicious hands of Clint, your handler," the design guru said, indicating the man walking towards us. He was tall and fit, with a shaved head and designer stubble. At that moment, I think all three of us would have been happy to take him to bed (and I'm not including the slavegirl in that either)!

Without a smile, Clint attached a gold chain to my nose ring, and then one to Kim's, before standing in front of us, looking very severe.

"Ponies don't talk, so you don't talk either, understand?" he said threateningly, "if you need to attract my attention, either neigh, whinny or scrape your foot on the ground. If you need to go to the bathroom, you do it in the street, like a real pony." With that, he marched off down the alley, pulling us along by the chains. Kim and I took up the weight of the buggy and stumbled after him, feeling the painful tug on the nose ring.

Just around the corner, we came to a sign on the sidewalk, which I read with growing astonishment and alarm:

Ponygirl rides.

Let our ponygirls, Dancer and Prancer, take you on a magical tour of the city's highlights.

30 Minutes for $30.

Families: midday-17.00, Adults only: 19.00-midnight"

10 hours of work, with a two-hour break in the middle?! Shit, this was going to be gruelling! The question of which one of us was Dancer and which was Prancer seemed rather moot. I looked up at the town hall clock and saw that it was just coming up to midday - show time!

Our first paying customers were the family from hell - fat husband, fat wife, fat kid.

"Is that $30 for the full city tour?" the fat man asked, eliciting a nod but no smile from the taciturn Clint. "Okay, I guess I can pony up for that. Hey darling! Did you hear that? I said I’d ‘pony up’ the money!”

“Yes, dear,” his wife responded wearily, "quit horsing around and get on the cart."

The cart creaked under the combined weight of the Lard family, and Kim and I both looked round in disbelief as they managed to cram their fat arses onto the seat. Surely not?! Our attention was firmly brought back front and centre by a yank on the gold chains, and we both strained to get the buggy moving.

"Come on, you pathetic bitches!" the man cried out behind us as we failed to move," I want my money’s worth! Here, maybe this will get you started!" Suddenly, I heard the crack of a whip and felt a line of pain erupt across my back, making me cry out. The whip cracked again, and this time Kim screamed. With every ounce of strength, I pushed on the bar in front of me, and finally the cart started to roll forward. Once we had it moving, it wasn't too difficult to keep it going, but that didn't stop our passengers from taking potshots at us with the horsewhip, just to amuse themselves.

If you were walking or driving around the city, you would say it was flat. However, when you're pulling three great mounds of blubber, even the slightest incline feels like a trek up Mount Everest, and going down was even more frightening, as we fought to keep our feet and not get run down by the cart.

We definitely earned our $30 for that half hour and, by the time we got back, we were sweating and exhausted. As we stood by the sign, fighting for breath and feeling the muscle aches in back, thighs and calves, Clint came over with squeezy bottles of water, firing the spray into our mouths and over our faces. But there was already a line of customers waiting, and we were soon back at work, pulling the tourists around the city.

By the time we reached five o'clock, Kim and I were both literally on our knees, and when Clint unshackled us from the cart, we both collapsed, flat out on the road, while our handler doused us with buckets of water. He released the bit gag from my mouth, and dinner arrived in the form of, yes you guessed it, a bowl of pellets.

As the clock struck seven, we were dragged to our feet, harnessed to the buggy again, and our bit gags clipped back into place. We were back on the rank, and soon back on the street.

I had been wondering what the difference was going to be between afternoon and evening sessions, and the first was that there were no kids allowed in the evening. There were also a lot more drink-fuelled passengers around, having a laugh with their mates and ready to take advantage of us ponies. It was becoming quite common to be groped as the customers decided whether they wanted a ride, and the whip got a lot more use throughout the evening.

One other change was that Clint did not lead us around our route, he said that we should know the way by now, so he just stayed with the cash box and left us on our own. This led to one frightening situation, where a group of drunken lads hired us and then, as soon as we were out of sight of our handler, whipped us hard to force us to race against their friends who were running alongside. It was scary enough just trying to go along at a slow jog, but now we were running, and between the cobbled streets and our bizarre footwear, we were in constant fear of injury, either from crashing the cart, overturning it, or falling under it.

Somehow, we managed to survive until we got back to our start position. Unluckily for the lads, Clint had been paying attention, had seen what they had done, and there was a police wagon on hand to take them away for a cooling-off period in the cells. Word obviously got around, and the rest of the night was relatively peaceful.

Midnight finally arrived, and Clint had us pull the cart into the stables. We were released, and just about managed to crawl into our allotted stall before we flaked out on the hard floor. Just before I fell into an exhausted sleep, I started to wonder if Kim and I could survive seven days of this kind of punishment…