Jen did notice Abby trotting near the rest area. Abby gave her a long look, but then had to turn her head forward as she passed by. Abby looked sad, but communicated no other sign or emotion. But, Jen’s condition must have conveyed to Abby, as it now did to Jen, that there was no escape. Jen had made it less than a half mile. Then she had become trapped by the surrounding jungle. And what had they said. They found her by GPS. Somewhere on her body they had placed a GPS device. She was on an island, the people all seemed to support the local system that meant she was nothing more than property, she had no arms or hands to aid herself in any way, and even if she managed to get away they had a tracking device connected to her someplace so that all they needed to do was follow its signal. She was too upset to even cry. All of her tears had been expended back in the jungle. All she could do now is to hang her head and take whatever it was they were going to ‘dish out’.

Jen was led into the stable. She had noticed the frames in the first two stalls. She now saw a figure with her back to them strapped over one of the frames. The figure was bent over a bar at the waist with her arms connected together by her wrist cuffs and then suspended behind her back forcing her head down below the bar. Her legs were spread and each ankle was held by chains from the ankle cuff to the side bars of the frame. A light line ran from the front of her collar back to between her legs. Jen could not see the connect point from her line of sight, but the knot in her stomach told her it was connected to the ring in the clitoris. As Jen was brought around to the side her supposition was confirmed. She could then also see that a large ring gag filled the victim’s mouth.

It was Jen’s new groom. Her face was streaked with tears and she was trying to beg and probably protest her innocence, but the words were indistinguishable. For some reason Jen believed that she had been held this way for a long time. Probably from the time Jen was discovered to be missing. It was pretty clear that the groom was being blamed for leaving Jen’s stall door open. Jen started to say: “It’s not her fault.” But before she could even finish a riding crop slashed painfully onto her right buttocks replacing a large glob of now dried mud with a red welt. Jen would have shut up anyway, but a wedge gag similar to the one used on her the night before was pressed into her mouth and secured behind her head. There was not room for two of them on this frame, but there was another frame in the stall across the way. Jen assumed after being shown what was happening here she would be taken and secured there, but she was not. Instead the line from the front of her collar was connected to the end of the frame so that she was forced to look at the poor groom secured before her. Securing the lines from her elbows to either wall made sure she would not turn away. Jen’s ankles were then hobbled, except the hobble line was run through a ring set in the floor. This not only kept her ankles within eight inches of each other but kept them positioned with very little movement.

After Jen was secured the three individuals who had brought her from the jungle left; closing and latching the stall gate behind them. Jen looked at the groom and tried to say: “I know you didn’t do anything wrong.” Jen could tell that the groom would have been unable to comprehend what she was saying, but she said it more from her own guilt than anything else. The groom gave her a sidewise glance as Jen tried to speak, but even that motion caused her head to bob up just a little and pulled on the line between her legs. She gave a squeal and forced her head back down. The position looked very uncomfortable and Jen could see that the groom’s legs were trembling. Whether from the enforced strict posture or fear Jen could not determine.

Jen heard the gate latch sliding and then the gate opening. It was the woman, followed by her slave. The slave held in front of her a leather case that looked like the kind used to hold pool cues. She opened the latch, lifted the lid and held it out for her mistress. Jen could see that instead of pool cues it contained at least four canes, or switches, they were all about three feet long, but in varying circumference. The woman withdrew a cane with a shaft about the size of Jen’s index finger (when she had had one). The woman whipped it through the air two or three times. There was a whistling sound with each movement. Just the sound of the cane cutting through the air was terrifying. The quivering of the groom’s legs increased and moved up to her buttocks in a combination of fear and anticipation.

Then the woman looked over to Jen. She smiled and stepped toward her. She tapped the cane across to top of Jen’s breasts knocking away large flecks of dried mud. Even under the coat of mud and several still feeding leaches Jen’s breasts could be seen to be a dark purple hue from being so tightly constricted. “It seems the breast enhancing bands were not loosened last night either. In fact, they look to have been tightened. They must be VERY tender.” She tapped the cane up and down, only arching about four or five inches, but Jen’s breasts were swollen and tender enough to make even this light treatment painful. Jen tried to pull back but she could not move her legs and the elbow lines gave her only a couple of inches of maneuvering room, not enough to withdraw the dual targets.

The groom turned her head toward Jen. If there had been any doubt in the groom’s mind as to whether she was responsible for leaving the gate open it was gone now. The groom knew she had not forgotten to loosen the pony’s breast constrictions, and it was obvious that they had been tightened beyond the normal setting; she certainly would never have tightened them.

The woman stepped away from Jen and swished the cane several more times. Then she wiped the length of it with her hand. The slave girl had not moved. She stood rigid holding the open case with both hands from below. The woman must not have been satisfied with this cane. She put it back in the case and withdrew another. This cane had a slightly smaller girth. Again the whistling sound as it was cut back and forth through empty air. Then the woman moved around placing herself at the side of the groom. She laid the cane against the naked buttocks measuring its position. The groom whimpered and tried to draw her buttocks forward, but pulled over the center bar with her legs tightly restrained to the bottom of the frame she could move no more than a fraction of an inch. The cane was withdrawn and held in a cocked position behind the woman. Jen closed her eyes and dropped her head in anticipation of the first blow. The grooms whimper became a sob even though she had not yet been struck. A second went by, then another, nothing had happened. The silence in the room added to the sense of anticipation and dread. Jen opened her eyes to see what was happening just as the cane whistled forward and connected very near to where it had been spotted. In spite of the gag a loud screech erupted from the groom. Her muscles tightened and her buttocks wiggled from side to side. Her head pulled up in spite of the discouragement of the line from her collar. This evoked another screech.

Jen saw the cane re-cocked to the ready position and again held as the full impact of the first blow rippled through the groom’s body. Jen once again closed her eyes. Again the seconds ticked by. She could not bring herself to open them. This time she heard the sound of the cane cutting the air followed once again by the horrid shriek from the recipient of its kiss. Everyone in the room knew that the groom was not guilty of the offense for which she was being punished. This was not really punishment. This was just torture. Jen had thought maybe that the woman was administering the punishment to cover for the fact that it was she who had left the stall open, but if that had been the purpose of this exercise would she have taken such obvious delight in what she was doing? She certainly would have not been so severe. As Jen realized that she looked up and found that she was looking into the eyes of the woman as she held the cane once again cocked and ready. Jen could not look away. She held her stare for what seemed a very long time. The groom, who was now twisting her head from side to side had also caught Jen’s look. If the groom had not known before, she knew now, that it was the person who was delivering her torment that was in fact the one who had been responsible for the act for which she was being punished. The woman looked back into Jen’s eyes and smiled with a sense of pleasure, power and satisfaction.

Jen looked the groom in the eyes and then one again dropped her head. It was hopeless. Jen had been beaten. There was no escape. She did not look up as the next two strokes were delivered; she just hung her head in despair. Would she be next? She almost hoped so. At least there was something to punish her for. She was the one who had taken advantage of the error. She was the one who had tried to escape, poorly executed, and with no real chance for success, but she had tried. That certainly was a breach of the rules and something for which she could, maybe should be punished. She would accept it. She wished that this would stop and she could take the place of the sobbing and blubbering groom.

With each new strike, each delivered after what was an intolerable wait, Jen’s sense of guilt increased. But there was nothing Jen could do. She was helplessly restrained as a witness to the torment being delivered before her. And no matter how complicit she may have been in the events that led to this action the woman knew well that she was inflicting terror and pain on an innocent person. She hated this woman.

As despair changed to hatred, as the needless cruelty continued Willow felt stronger. She could not change what was happening. There was nothing she could do to stop the torment, she knew that if not for this made up crime the woman would, and probably did, find reasons to torture other ponies, slaves and servants. Would Willow be next? Maybe, but she now knew that it would not be enough to break her spirit. The despair was lifting and Willow was feeling renewed strength. Somehow she would find a way to prevail over this sadist. Her head was no longer dropped against her chest. Her body was no longer slumped. In spite of the pain that wracked her she pulled her carriage up. She straightened her posture, held up her head and looked into the face of the tormentor. The buttocks and thighs of the groom were swollen and striped with red and purple welts. Willow’s flesh would probably be next, but even if the woman cut her to the bone she knew that she would not succumb. There was even a slight smile on her face.

The woman missed it all, she was not paying attention to Willow. All of her attention was on her cane and the buttocks and thighs of the poor little groom restrained before her. Willow was not sure how many strokes there had been. Nobody had counted. No number of strokes had been announced. It just seemed the woman continued until she was satisfied, until the moans and groans that were now issuing from the tortured with each stroke combined with heavy breathing finally demonstrated that she was satisfied. Only then did the stroke of the cane against the helpless tender flesh stop.

The woman finally became aware that Willow was looking into her face. Her expression changed to almost one of embarrassment as if she were being caught in some private moment. She turned her back on Willow, wiped down the cane with a soft rag of some kind and placed the cane and the rag back in the case that had been held at ready the entire time by her slave. Only then did the slave close the case, fasten the latch and lower it.

Without another look at either Willow or the groom, and with no effort to free them from their restraints the woman left, this time closing the gate behind her and fastening the latch. Willow watched her leave with a mixed feeling of relief and disappointment. She had steeled herself to the challenge of wills that she expected to come. She had prepared herself to show her mettle. But her already tortured flesh was not unhappy at being denied further torment. Besides, she had a race to prepare for and to win. She did not know the full extent of her injuries from today’s misadventure, but she knew she did not need to add to them.

Willow and the groom were left restrained as they were, the little groom stretched tightly over the bar, the welts on her buttocks and thighs growing darker as time progressed. Several had cut the skin and were oozing bright bubbles and lines of blood. Most of the time her body was limp and she hung in her restraints softly crying. Willow stood at the end of the frame, trying to look as dignified as she could with her hair tangled and matted and her body covered in mud. By now the mud was almost completely dry and she was able to dislodge a great deal of it just with the occasional shake and shiver. She had not learned that movement through conscious effort to remove the mud. It had been developed in response to another need. Without hands to swat or brush away the flying insects of the tropics she had, maybe by imitation of what she saw other ponies do, or maybe even by instinct, learned to make her muscles quiver causing them to fly away.

It was clearly late afternoon, the temperature had become hot, the air was abnormally still, and the stall holding its two helpless occupants was, in spite of the open grill that surrounded the top very stuffy. From some place flies had found the two helpless occupants. Most of them were just the type of housefly Willow was familiar with from her previous life in another world, irritating with their buzzing sound and creepy little legs as they walked on your flesh, but there was another kind. They were black and large; at least three times the size of the normal fly. But most importantly, they bit. And, without looking it was almost impossible to tell the difference between the feel of one or the other walking across your skin until the pain of the bite clearly identified the unwanted creature. The coating of mud, at first provided some protection to Willow, but there was enough exposed flesh for flying antagonists to find a place to land and walk. Willow’s developed reaction was to shake them off. This worked, but it also knocked off more mud and exposed more skin which collected more flies.

Willow wondered why she had not been so heavily accosted by these odious creatures before. She could not be sure, but she thought maybe that was part of the purpose behind the oil that was worked across her body every morning by her groom. It probably contained something to discourage the insects. Right now her helpless little groom probably wished she had some of that ointment. The flies seemed particularly attracted to the injured flesh. Willow watched as a particularly large fly probed with its proboscis for bits of blood that oozed from one of the wounds inflicted on this poor girl.

They were both gagged so they could not talk. They could go nowhere, so they did the only thing they could do – wait. It was not until after all the ponies had been returned from training that someone finally came for them. The groom was released from the frame by a trainer. The trainer then turned her attention to Willow. She examined scrapes and bruises and carefully inspected the quills in her shoulder, most broken off to show only black dots on the surface of the skin, but some still protruding a small distance from the surface of the skin. The trainer made no effort to release Willow.

“This mess will take some cleaning.” She looked at the groom as she spoke. “Her feet have been soaked most of the day. I don’t want to take a chance on jungle rot so pay special attention to cleaning and drying them.”

Willow could see that the groom wanted nothing more than to massage and touch her wounded flesh, but she seemed to know that her attention needed to be directed to the requirements of her charge and not to herself. She would sneak a feel now and then, but mostly she just stood, listened, and noted the areas the trainer pointed out as requiring attention. “Yes Mistress, thank you Mistress.” Was all the groom could say.

Then the trainer left.

As soon as she was gone the groom went to work. She quickly disconnected Willow from the frame and led her to her own stall. Willow felt a sense of relief just to be back in her stall. Then the groom went to work. She had to leave and retrieve her implements. It also took a number of buckets of water to get the mud removed. Each time the groom left she carefully closed and bolted the stall gate. Willow wanted to tell her that she did not have to worry, she had had enough adventure in the outdoors for today, for the foreseeable future, in fact, forever, but Willow sensed that the only way the groom was holding it together was by focusing on her tasks and anything Willow might say to her could disrupt that focus. She held her tongue.

As directed, Willow was carefully cleaned, her hair was washed, combed and brushed, her boots were removed and her legs and feet were cleaned, dried, oiled, and wrapped in light cloth. The last few persistent leaches that had not voluntarily left their host after feeding until gorged were removed with a needle and a lighter. The groom used a pair of tweezers to remove as many palm quills as she could without having to dig into Willow’s flesh. She applied a salve to the abrasions and scratches. Willow knew that infections could be a huge problem in this climate. Special attention was paid to the sores left by the leaches. The groom also carefully inspected every part of Willow’s body, even looking into intimate places to insure every wound had been found and treated. Willow for some reason did not find this at all invasive. The soft hands of her groom were somehow soothing.

When the groom was finally finished and left, again carefully bolting Willow’s gate, it was quite late. All hint of sunlight was gone and the inside of the stable was quiet save the breathing sounds that were commonly heard as the ponies fell into sleep. Willow wanted to talk to Misty, but she had no energy left. That would have to wait. Right now she needed to sleep.

Her groom was there at first light. Over the night bruises had appeared all over Willow’s exposed body. Scratches had become red and visible and insect bite marks rose in red lumps. With only what Willow could see she thought she looks frightful. In addition to the normal morning routine her groom paid special attention to the bruises and scratches to make them less noticeable.

“Can’t have you looking like an Appaloosa.” She said as she applied more ointment to the sores and cover make-up to the large splotchy bruise marks. She ran her fingers softly and caringly over Willow's wounds, the touch was again welcome and soothing. Willow could not help but look down at the buttocks and thighs of her groom so severely marked with deep welts that had turned a purple color. They made Willow’s own wounds seem slight. Willow was certain as she examined the young girl’s flesh that at least several of these welts would scar. But all the groom seemed to care about was Willow.

Willow had been worried that her groom would resent, even hate, her for the beating. She was sure that is what the woman had wanted. But if anything, the opposite seemed to be true. Willow had not given this groom much thought in the past. She expected her in the morning and she was happy to see her at the end of the day having come to enjoy her massages. But suddenly there seemed to be a more significant connection between the two. The groom had taken a severe beating. She had taken it because of Willow. Willow depended on her groom. Her groom did everything for her. Willow could not brush her teeth, she could not brush her hair, she could not wash her body, she could not adjust or polish her harness – she needed her groom for all of these things, and much more. Willow could not even touch her own body, but her groom could, and did. The soothing feel of a human hand gently stroking her flesh came from her groom. Willow trusted her groom. She turned her head toward the groom and smiled. Her groom smiled back.

When Willow’s reins were finally handed to her trainer Willow could see that the trainer was not happy. In spite of the hard work of the groom bruises, cuts, scratches and bites could be seen all over her body. In addition, she had missed an entire day of training. And she was sore and stiff. She knew she could work through most of that, she certainly had on other days, but it would still slow down the training, basically losing much of another day.

After Willow had been hitched to a single pony sulky and emerged from the barn she saw that Gullfaxi and Sleipnir had been joined as a team to a two pony sulky. No wonder her trainer was unhappy, Willow had put them behind schedule. And Willow had seen the trouble that Misty was having. They really needed to get to team training if they had any chance of winning the yearling race. And now Willow felt it was even more important to win. She didn’t know why, but somehow winning the race was her way to beat the woman.

Her trainer recognized the need to loosen her up so they did walks and trots and even a short one mile run. Then they went to work on starts. Willow knew that precious time can be made or lost at the start of a race. The starting system utilized a furlong lead up to the starting line. The ponies or teams would move to a trot and maintain an even line until they crossed the line. Then they could shift to a run (unless it was a trot only race). It would then be important to obtain a position. The further you were kept from the rail the longer the passage through the turn would be.

Over and over again they trotted to the line then broke to a run. They started at the pole and far from the pole. They practiced using a burst of speed to be able to move up and into a better position. There were no other sulkies on the track, but Willow was getting the feel of the start. By the time the day finished and she was returned to her stall she felt satisfied with what she had done. Her trainer seemed to have gotten over being upset with her and once again seemed pleased. That made Willow happy. He had not been there today, or if he had, she had not seen him. For once, she was happy about that; she did not want him to see her days behind all the other ponies. She certainly did not want him to see her body blotched with bruises and sores.

Trainers don’t talk with ponies. They may talk to ponies, but they don’t talk with them. On the other hand, they don’t seem to pay any attention to them when they are standing nearby. Willow had overhead quite a few conversations among the trainers and these conversations answered a great deal of her questions about what was happening. She and Misty would sometimes share what they had heard.

The big race was still about four weeks away. The most important part of this race would be the yearling race. Here a yearling meant a pony in its first year of training. After your arrival year you could not run in that race ever again. They had had individual pony yearling races at one time, but now the only yearling race was the team sulky race. It would be two miles. There would be other races that same day, races with more experienced ponies. She had seen some of them training on the track. Because all races were sulky type the shortest was a mile – one lap of the big main track. The older ponies still had team competition, but on this race day they would all be running individual races. There was a one mile, two mile, and even a four mile run. And true to traditional harness racing there was a two mile trot. Willow had learned that later in the year there would be a twenty mile race that started off in the farm area (wherever that was) encircled the entire town then returned and ended at the stadium. She wondered if she would ever be able to run that race. She enjoyed the thought of her streaking through the countryside with her sulky flashing in the sun behind.

But for now the big race was the yearlings. It only happened once a year and only one team from each stable could run in the yearling race. Willow had seen other ponies training from her stable, but she did not know if any of them were yearlings. She would have to look carefully today. Since the only two pony races would be yearlings she would pay attention to the two pony teams. She did not know how many stables there were but she had only seen ponies and trainers from three of them in this training area. She knew that there were other training areas but did not know where these areas were. She knew that her owner was not one of the wealthiest on the island. She pictured huge plantations with large fields and their own private stables and training areas. That didn’t matter. She didn’t care that he was not the wealthiest of the stable owners. He was her owner and she was going to make him proud.

She had almost screwed things up by taking off. Willow tried to recapture what she was thinking when she ran but found she was unable to manifest the feeling. “Why did she do that?” It made no sense to her at all. She shouldn’t be afraid. She could win this. The greatest competition she had seen so far were Sleipnir and Gullfaxi from the Sun stables. Those pompous twits probably thought they couldn’t lose. Well, they could, and Willow was going to show them how. Maybe it was a good thing there were gates on the stalls, although she could not picture herself leaving her stall again without her groom or trainer.

For several days Willow worked individually with her trainer. She felt back to where she was before her ill fated escapade. She was sure that she and Misty would be back together the next day. Now their training for the big race could really begin. As she was led back to her stall that night she felt very good.

Willow and Misty had not talked since Willow’s return. Willow had been just too tired and Misty had not tried to initiate any conversation, but this night when the evening ritual was finished Willow snuggled up next to the wall that separated her stall from Misty’s and called out softly.

“Are you awake?”

“Yes. Are you ok?”

“I am fine. It was a good day. I think we can win this.”

“What? I don’t care about some damn race. I saw them bring you back covered from head to toe with mud. I saw you covered in bruises and scrapes. What on earth did they do to you? Do you have any ideas on how we are going to get out of here?”

“I was stupid to leave. The jungle is no place for a pony alone. Here we are protected, fed, groomed and cared for. I am very good at this, I am sure you are as well. We will be a great team and win many races together.” Willow began to drift into visions of them standing proudly in the winner’s circle draped in garlands of flowers. She did not even notice that the conversation had stopped and there was just a slight sniffling sound coming from the other side of the wall.

The next day as she expected Willow found herself being hitched to the two pony sulky as a team with Misty. Willow gave Misty a confident smile. The look she got in return could only be described as confused, even incredulous.

It had been a long time since they had operated in tandem. And the earlier team training had only been over a couple of days at the very beginning of their training. But Willow was sure she remembered the rhythm and they would quickly find it again.

They started in a walk. Willow did not think Misty was lifting very well. It could be a lot cleaner, but right now she wasn’t worried about parade showing. They were racing ponies and what really mattered was their ability to work together as a team and perform on the track. When they moved to a trot Willow found that their timing was terrible. With the accentuated movements of the trot it was vital that each step be in perfect sequence. They were not. Willow’s form and step was better, Misty should follow her lead, but she did not. Willow tried to adjust her pace to Misty’s even though it was a slower pace. She thought if she could get them matched then she could ease them up to a better pace, but Misty was not maintaining a steady pace. Willow remembered the first day with the sulky pitching and yawing – this was actually worse. Willow was afraid they were going to tip it over.

Finally Willow gave up trying to match Misty. She found a pace near the fastest pace Misty had maintained and she held it. Misty kept dragging her back, but at least at this pace there were no forward lurches were Misty was pushing faster. The trainer seemed to recognize Willows action. She kept them at a trot and used her whip to snap Misty whenever she slowed below the pace; it was the sound of leather on skin, not popping the air. The extra encouragement helped and the movement became smoother. The trainer seemed satisfied. The snaps of the whip came less frequently. The trainer held them in a trot for two complete laps of the large track. Willow felt like she could keep this pace all day but Misty was beginning to drag again. Willow looked over and saw that she was breathing deeply through her mouth, her shoulders were forward and her head was down. “She was tiring, from this she was tiring? That was ridiculous.”

Willow could see that Misty was almost begging to walk, but their trainer had a different idea. She signaled a shift to the run. Willow was afraid that Misty might collapse and drag her down with her. She moved into a run, but held the pace back well below what she knew she could have done on her own. Misty dragged a little, but she did find the pace. Misty was breathing hard, but she was keeping the pace. It was not a pace that would win any races, but at least she was keeping the pace. After they had run about a quarter of the track Misty tried to ease off even this slow pace. Willow would have none of it and she actually picked the pace up just a bit. This caused the sulky to yaw as Willow’s action dragged her partner forward. The trainer encouraged Misty and she found the pace. She was breathing very hard now. After another quarter of the track Misty once again tried to slow the pace. Willow again answered with an increase in speed. There was now a lot more encouragement from the trainer before Misty decided that Willow was not going to slow for her and that she had to somehow get to the new pace. Now Misty seemed to know that she could not slow down. She was caught between Willow forcing her forward and the trainer applying the buggy whip if she did not do as Willow required. She tried glaring at her former best friend but Willow just smiled at her. Willow could tell she was furious with her right now, but she would thank her later. Winning required hard work.

As they came to the end of the mile run Willow wanted to open up the speed, but this time the trainer held her back with pressure on the reins. Maybe they were going to run a second mile. That sounded good to Willow but Misty’s eyes were almost pleading as she looked back and forth. There was not a second mile. At least not then. They were brought to a trot and quickly to a walk for a lap. Then they were rested while the trainers talked. Misty was still breathing heavily. When they were watered she had trouble keeping her breath under enough control to take the water.

Willow did not understand. Misty had always been athletic. They had been training at the same pace. Misty had even had an additional day due to Willows silly adventure. She should be in better condition than this. But, on the other hand, Misty had not fallen, she had not actually stopped, she had been able to make pace when the trainer provided encouragement. It was not a matter of training. It was not a matter of conditioning. It was simply a matter of motivation.

The trainers were standing only about eight feet away. Close enough for them to hear part of the conversation, not close enough to hear fully and clearly. Willow listed to what she could:

“I don’t know, they have better potential, but the other team is still faster.” So there was another team from their stable.

“Only one team will be kept, the non-qualifying team will be transferred to the domestic stable or sold. It would be a shame to see this team hitched to a delivery cart.” Willow gasped. She could never imagine herself hitched to a delivery cart. She was not exactly sure what it meant, but she knew she did not like it. She had seen the cart that delivered the bags filled with their food. It looked like something from a Renaissance Fair with large wheels and wooden staked sides. It would be just right for transporting chained prisoners to their doom in the town square. The brute hitched to the cart was large with good muscle definition. His arms, like the work horse at the dock, were not contained in a casing like hers, they did not exist. He wore no bit in his mouth, but she had also assumed from the sounds that he made and the scar on this throat that his voice box had been removed or cut in such a way to remove any speech capability.

Her thoughts had taken her away from the conversation. She refocused. “We still have a week before we have to designate a team.”

“But we need to put all our resources behind the team we are submitting.”

“Let’s give them four days of training and then run a race. The winner goes on.” This plan seemed to get agreement from all of the trainers.

Willow hoped Misty had heard. She hoped that Misty would now show the proper motivation. They had four more days and they still had the afternoon workout. Afternoons were always more difficult. At first it would be very hot, the hottest time of the day. Then in mid-afternoon it would normally cloud up, the temperature would cool and for about an hour it would be quite comfortable, but then the rain would come. And when it rained here it really rained. Sometimes the trainers would put them under the shelter until the rain stopped. Sometimes the trainers would go under the shelter and leave the ponies standing in the rain. Still other times they would be worked through the storm. The rain never lasted long, usually ten minutes to half an hour. If it lasted longer than half an hour the ground became so puddled and muddy that it was very difficult to move through. The sulky was so well balanced that in normal conditions it could be easily pulled, but when the track was muddy it became a real struggle – walking was hard, trotting was nearly impossible because a proper pace could not be maintained, and running felt like slow motion. On most days the ground and the ponies dried in about half an hour. That usually left some good training time before the end of the day. It was the end of the day when their grooms would clean and care for the ponies after the day’s work.

But, if Misty had heard what the trainers were saying it had obviously not registered. Her afternoon performance was no better than the morning. Willow continued to push her by setting a faster pace; Misty continued to lag until she received the encouragement of the trainer. Misty’s thighs and buttocks were red and marked with the evidence of frequent encouragement. Willow would try to give Misty an encouraging look, but all she saw in Misty’s face was anger, maybe even rage. “Why is she mad at me?” Willow thought. “I am trying to help her.”

To make matters worse the rain this afternoon was longer than normal and they were made to train through it. Their trainer encouraged both of them to keep pace even though the mud made lifting their feet more difficult and dragged at the wheels of the sulky. Willow had forgotten how the buggy whip could bite. It didn’t sound or look that bad when applied to Misty’s buttocks, but it hurt a lot on her own.

As the day drew to a close Willow fought to resist becoming depressed. She needed to maintain her positive attitude and she needed to find a way to get Misty ‘with the program’. She didn’t know how she was going to do that, obviously right now Misty saw her not as her friend, but as one of her tormentors. If Willow had held to a slower pace Misty would have received a lot less punishment. Maybe after grooming she could explain to her why she had done what she did. Maybe she could make Misty see. She could only hope.

Willow worried through evening grooming. Usually this was the highlight of her day. Liniment would be rubbed into her body. Her muscles would be massaged, and she would be fed. She had come to enjoy the touch of her groom, and her groom seemed to enjoy the task as well. They did not talk, Willow knew better, but Willow would nuzzle her from time to time and this act was always rewarded with a smile and stroking to her head.

But tonight the massage did not seem to work out the knots and kinks. Her groom even said “I don’t understand why you are so tight tonight.” Willow knew. She was going over in her mind what she could say to Misty. She had to make her understand that their future was at stake. There was going to be a race in just a few days and they desperately needed to win. The losers would be sold. They were prime ponies right now, but that could all change. They might even be broken up. Willow did not want to be without Misty. She needed them to remain a team.

It seemed like the grooming took so much longer than normal. And Misty’s groom had finished first because Willow could hear Misty at her food and water troughs. She prayed that Misty did not fall asleep before they could talk. Then, finally the grooms were gone. Willow heard the last steps echo up the corridor and then the quiet of the night time stable.

But before Willow could start any of her rehearsed (in her mind) speeches there was a voice from the other side of the wall.

“I thought you were my friend Jen.”

“I am!”

“I don’t know what has happened to you. Weren’t you the one who said ‘we will never give in’? Weren’t you the one that said ‘we will never lose hope and we will find a way to escape’? What happened to that Jennifer?”

Jennifer heard that. But Jennifer had learned something. Jennifer now knew that there was no hope. She now knew that there was no escape. They would stay prisoners on this island for the rest of their lives, which would be very short if they got into the jungle. Jennifer was done. All that was left was to give in. She felt the bile in her throat. “I was naïve and stupid to think we could get away. When was the last time you even felt your arms or hands? How long before they atrophy into nothing. They clip reins to our bridle and lead us wherever they wish. If they just wrap the reins around something we are stuck there until they return. You can stand and look over the gate to your stall, but you can’t open the door, not without hands you can’t. And do you want to know what is out there if your do get out? Almost certain death, I was stuck in the jungle being eaten by bugs, my blood sucked by leaches, and I couldn’t go anywhere, I was sure I was going to die, except for the fact that someplace in our outfits they have GPS trackers so they can always find us. We are what we are. We are not college girls anymore. We are ponies. It does not matter that we did not willingly choose it. But from some of what I have seen we could be a lot worse off, and if we don’t succeed in the next few days we will be. The choice is simple – there is NO FUCKING CHOICE!”

Jen turned and slumped against the wall dividing the stalls. She was immediately sorry for what she had said. But she didn’t know how to make it better. Back in college they had only fought a couple of times. In the end they had hugged each other. In fact, when one of them was feeling really down the other would often take her in her arms and hold her. There had been several difficult nights when they clung to each other through the entire night. It had never become sexual, but it was as close as it could get without taking the last step. Jen found herself drifting into wonderment as to why it had not gone further. They clearly loved each other deeply. She was pretty sure she would have responded positively to such overtures. Maybe Abby was waiting for her to take the lead. She wished she had done something. At least she should have tested the chemistry. Now she would never know. She could not comfort her friend. She could not hold her friend. She could not even see her; only hear her quietly sobbing, only inches away. Jen cried back and then she slept.

It was morning. Willow tried to embrace the beauty of the morning, but there was something dark holding on deep within her. She knew what and who it was. Willow had lost control last night and Jen had tried to ruin everything. Her plan, no, the necessity of their situation, required that she encourage Misty not beat her down. She needed to instill some life in her. Acceptance might help, but she was not sure last night’s diatribe was right for that either. It was too full of self doubt and defeatism. What if Misty just gave up? There was a huge difference between acceptance and just resignation. And even acceptance was not enough. Somehow Misty had to embrace her new life and the opportunities that it presented.

But first, Willow needed to get rid of her own demons. She took a deep drink of water from her trough; she lifted her head high and shook her mane; she actually jumped around the inside of her stall feeling the blood start to flow through her body; anticipating the crisp morning air on the track. Her groom smiled and stroked her head. She smiled back and nuzzled. She was so lucky to have such a wonderful groom who cared so much for her. She could feel the energy building in her and with it, she could feel the darkness retreating. It may not be completely gone, but she knew what it was, she knew where it lived, and she was determined to keep in locked away in dark recesses of her being.

Finally they were out on the track. Misty did not look good at all. Willow smiled at her. She tried to nuzzle her, but Misty turned away. Willow followed her around keeping her cheek against Misty’s, or at least as best she could with their bits bumping. Misty stopped turning. She turned slightly back toward Willow as their bodies made contact. Their breasts touched and there was a spark of electricity – not actual, but Willow felt it through her entire body. And so did Misty. Misty turned her face to Willow. They stood nose to nose. Finally Misty returned the smile and leaned into Willow feeling the soft warmth of her body. The trainers seemed to know that something important was happening and did not interfere. They let the two ponies finish the handless caresses before finally, but gently, moving them to the two pony sulky.

To Willow's delight they were also belled today. She had not worn the bells in a long time. She loved the bells and it should be very helpful for their workout. It was. After only a brief rough start their timing started to pull together. The bells also helped concentration. Willow was not dragging Misty forward by the yoke. She did not have to; Misty was feeling the pace, matching the bells and, she was having no trouble keeping up. Willow was not even sure who was setting the pace. They trotted with precision and beauty. Then it was time to run. They ran three miles pulling in close to the rail, even making the turns without the bells chiming out of synch.

Willow was elated as they came around the back turn on the third lap, but then she almost missed a step. He was there. He was watching from just behind the training area. “It doesn’t get any better than this.” She thought as she held her head high, glancing approvingly at Misty. She didn’t think anything could darken the moment, but then she saw the woman walk up and take a position next to him. The woman reached out and put her hand on his arm. Willow had to look away to keep from letting the woman’s presence upset her. Everything had been so perfect, and then there she was. She knew the woman wanted her to be afraid of her, but she was not. She hated her, but she was not afraid. Willow wished she could bite and kick her. Willow didn’t know it was possible to feel such deep hatred.

As the trainer brought Willow and Misty in for the noon break Willow could see the woman still talking to him. She also got a good look at the woman’s surrey and the two ponies attached to it. It had a single bench that would comfortably hold two people. Behind the back of the seat there was a small cargo area maybe two feet deep. A V shaped strut from each side held a cover to shade the seat from the hot tropical sun. The ponies were a near matching pair of pretty sorrels. They could not have been more than a few years older than Willow. They stood with their heads lowered, but they were occasionally twitching. Willow took a better look at them as she and Misty came up the straightaway within only a few feet of where these ponies stood hobbled.

First Willow noticed that the rein arrangement was quite different than for the racing ponies. A short chain ran from the edge of the bit on each side of the pony’s head down to her nipple ring on that side. If the pony raised her head it would pull up on her nipple. There was a ring in the center of this short chain and it was to this ring that each rein was attached. That meant that a pull on the rein would not just pull the bit to one side or the other but would pull both the bit and the breast. Willow could not help but turn her head to get a better view of the ponies as they passed. This is a move the bit arrangement on these ponies would not have allowed.

There was something else. Willow could see something protruding slightly from the vaginal channel of both ponies. She could not tell exactly what it was but it was clearly clipped onto the rings in the labia. The clitoris ring rested on the top of the object base and Willow could see it bouncing up and down. “Oh my God.” Thought Willow. “They are being vibrated.” Neither pony looked like they were enjoying it at all. Their heads were down and they were squirming. It appeared to have been set on a very low vibration, just enough to be very frustrating, not enough to provide any real pleasure or relief.

When they moved in and stopped at the training area Willow could no longer see the sorrels and the surrey, but she could not get the image out of her head. She did not want to be those ponies. Why did the PPA let this woman get away with the things that she did?

To make matters worse although he was there the entire time they were on break he never came over to Willow. He did look at her a couple of times and she did her best to smile. She even tossed her mane and pawed at the ground. But he seemed very busy.

The woman was not as busy and she did come over. “Miss me?” She said as her hands, not unexpectedly went to Willow’s breasts. Willow noticed that the woman was careful to stand to the side and slightly behind so that Willow could not aim a kick at her even if she wanted to. Well, she really did want to, but she also knew better.

“What a fine pair of bays.” Misty was now looking at her with horror in her eyes. “I can’t wait for you two to be brought down from your lofty perch and become a part of a real working stable . . . like mine. You will really learn what it means to serve. From what I hear it should not be long now.” She tweaked Willow’s nipple then leaned over and gave her a kiss on the side of her cheek. If Willow had hands she would be wiping her face right now. Instead she could only pull her head back and away from the wet assault. The woman laughed and walked back to him. Willow was thrilled when their trainer finally returned and they were able to get back to work.

The rest of the training day went well. Willow tried to put the woman out of her mind, but she would creep back in and when she appeared she could feel the door to the dark place being pried open. She was not going to let that happen. Any day now would be the qualifier and if they ran like they did today they would win for sure. She would not let the woman ruin that. The woman was trying to get into her head. She wanted to see Willow fail. Willow’s stomach lurched with the thought of not just losing her position in the racing stable but belonging to the woman. It was clear that the woman had no respect for fine animals. Willow would show her.