The New Black Mare

by Dandara

- do not use without the author's permission.
- with art by Blades123

A note from the author: This story is inspired by Jane Cobb’s “Freshman Mare”. Italics show Missy’s thoughts and comments as the situation develops.

After my first week working as a waitress at a joint in that small town, I was feeling bored as hell. I had come there because after weeks searching for a job it was the only one I was offered. It was poorly paid, hours were long, and I didn’t like the way my boss seemed to disrobe me with his eyes when I was clearing the tables. The only reason I didn’t quit was - I needed the money.

I happen to be tall, with long legs and a glistening shade of black to my skin, so I attracted some attention in my first days at the joint. But it soon became clear that patrons just wanted some sex with a rather exotic girl, and that didn’t appeal to me. Perhaps if someone were interested in a more stable relationship, it would have been different… I spent my leisure time in the gym, where I thought I could find interesting people. I sat there watching the girls playing volleyball, but teams were complete and I had no occasion to make friends. After some elongations and push-ups, I would return to my tiny apartment and watch dull TV shows until I fell asleep.

The first Sunday came. I didn’t want to attend church and went to the local museum instead, hoping to meet someone I could talk with. No one was at the desk, though, and as entrance was free I just walked into the first room.

One of the exhibits made me stop at once. It was an old cart like the ones once used in farms, made in wood and with large wheels. The thing really caught my eye and I stood there, fascinated. For several years I had played with the idea of becoming a human mare. The idea came to me from a TV series set in some Latin American country in the epoch of slavery.

I don’t know if it was merely fiction or if it was based on true facts, but often there were scenes showing strong African males, with their backs bare, attached to carts to plow the fields. The heroine of the series was a black princess who had been captured and sold into slavery, and her job was to pull her mistress in a sort of sulky. This girl would often meet friends who were also pulled by pretty ebony girls. The issue was never discussed in the dialogues: it seemed quite natural for those people to use their slaves as human equines.

The thing caught my imagination. What would it be like to pull someone like that? The fact that the heroine of the series was a black girl like me, only older, reinforced my sensation that if I had been born in that time I could very well find myself doing the same thing. As an adult I had come across sites that dealt with ponygirl situations, but never dared to offer myself as a mare in the Internet. It stayed as a cherished fantasy, one that gave me many moments of pleasure before getting asleep.

I was alone in the room, staring at the wagon and wondering if a girl like me could pull it. An image kept popping up in my mind: myself between the shafts waiting for my owner, like so many pictures I had seen in those sites.

I looked around: there was nobody watching. I went between the shafts and lifted them. Closing my eyes, I saw myself pulling that cart. The girl on the seat drove me to the local theater, where she was to attend a play. Other dark-skinned mares were already hitched to poles in front of the building; my mistress stopped me and climbed down. A handsome guy came to greet her; she tied my reins to a pole and walked into the theater with him. The reins were fastened so close to the pole that I could not turn my head to see what was taking place around me.

Look at what we have there! The finest black girl I have ever seen – what a pair of legs she has! And she is holding the shafts of that wagon! Perhaps she can replace the one who asked to leave. I should have listened to Mom when she said that the girl was not born to be a mare… Okay, it was a mistake. But this one seems to be asking for a harness…Let’s wait and see what happens.

Suddenly someone spoke. I felt my face getting hot and mumbled some excuse as I got down from the platform the wagon was on. It was a girl in her early twenties, wearing tight jeans and an embroidered blouse. Her blonde hair was done in pigtails, and her deep blue eyes glittered at me.

“You seem strong enough to pull that wagon”, she said calmly.

“Yes, I think so”, I replied, not knowing what else to say.

“Then try it. I want to see how you do it.”

I walked between the shafts and gripped them, but the wagon didn’t move. “The brake is on. Seems that you have forgotten what your ancestors did so well.”

I stared at her, intrigued: what did she mean, my ancestors? Could she be referring to slaves? I turned my head to the other side, embarrassed by an idea that had just popped into my mind – in old times, I could have belonged to her!

I released the bracket and this time the time the wagon rolled down the platform. I pulled it around the room, taking care not to damage the wooden floor.

One thing is clear – this girl is capable of carrying out a command. She will need some serious training, of course, but then all of them do. I should have tested the other one before I took her to the farm… Let’s see how she reacts to step 2.

“Satisfied?” I asked as I climbed the platform and put the wagon back where it was.

“It is satisfied, Missy”, she said, with that composed tone of hers. “And don’t forget to put the bracket on again.”

I could hardly believe that this girl was telling me to call her that. Was she a racist or something? I wanted to reply tartly but something stopped me. So I just took my bag and moved towards the next room.

“Wait”, the girl called.

Of course I didn’t stop. Who did she think she was, ordering me around like that? I crossed into the next room, but there the displays concerned local history, which was of no interest to me. I looked at my watch: perhaps it was better to go back to my place and start reading the pulp novel I had bought for the weekend.

To go out of the museum I had to pass through the first room. The girl was still there, watching something in a glass window. I walked swiftly past her, but heard her voice again – and this time I stopped.

“I watched you as you were there with your eyes closed”, she said softly. “You were in a kind of trance, weren’t you?”

I felt my cheeks burning from shame. So many times I had imagined myself pulling a cart, and a few minutes ago had had that weird vision!

“I… have often thought of doing something like that”, I muttered. “It seems that in foreign countries it was not to rare in old times.”

There. I don’t know how she knows about it, but she does. And she doesn’t seem disturbed by the idea. I cannot let her go…can hardly wait to see her harnessed! At first she will think it is merely for fun, but…

“It is still done”, the girl said with a tone that suggested she knew what she was talking about.

“Really?” I asked, and she nodded. “Where?”

“On our farm,” she said. “You seem strong and healthy. You could easily pull a wagon, either as a draft or as a leisure mare. Your ancestors could, so would you fail?”

There she was, speaking again of “my ancestors”. It was obvious that she was referring to their having brought from Africa as slaves, as in fact they had – but there were disturbing implications in reminding me of that. The main one was that she was considering me – me! - as a possible slave. Absolutely preposterous!

“Are you telling me that you make people pull wagons on you farm?”

She nodded.

“But why? And why do they accept that?”

“You have asked two questions. We use girls like you as mares because they are cheaper to keep than oxen or tractors. And they do it because it is their job.”

“Their job? Do you pay them for that?”

“Of course not. They are owned - livestock.”

I brushed my eyes. How could that be possible, in our days? People being held as slaves, being talked about as if they were nothing but property?

“Okay. I have heard enough. Have a nice day with your mares”, I said and walked out of the museum.

Proud, we are, eh? I bet that in no time you will return and ask for details. You are a natural mare, only haven’t realized it yet – and when you discover that you are, it will be easy to train you into obedience.

But I as I arrived outside I stopped. That girl seemed so uncanny! Mares… human mares! Precisely what had fueled so many of my fantasies, what had given me so many wonderful orgasms while I pictured that scene in my mind. And she was telling me that I could become one! I had to check that out.

I slowly turned on my heels and entered the museum again. She was sitting on a bench in the hall, as if she had been waiting for me to come back.

“Listen. Is this really true, or you are just kidding?”

“It is true. And don’t forget to call me properly next time.”

“But why me?”

She said nothing. Was she expecting me to call her by that ridiculous name? I stared at her and heard the word escaping my lips:

“Why me… Missy?”

“Because I have no leisure mare at the moment.”

Reason enough to look for one, don’t you think so? And it seems that I have found what I need. With this perfect body of yours, you will look fine in harness. I am sure Mom will agree with me. And you have understood that mares have to show respect for their owners. Kudos for you!

I swallowed, speechless. That white brat intended to have me as her leisure mare and to make me to pull her around while she went shopping, or whatever? And what about my dignity? She could not possibly be talking in earnest – but she did sound quite earnest. And she kept looking at my legs as if she was evaluating them.

“But… how does one do that… Missy?” This second time, the word seemed less absurd.

“A mare goes around naked and harnessed. And she pulls her load. Very simple.”

“And what if I don’t like to pull a load?”

“My mother will make you sign a contract. You will be allowed to try it for two weeks, and then you make up your mind. If you like the job, you stay. If you don’t, you just go away. No wages.”

I breathed deeply. The blonde girl was hitting home – and I was playing by her rules. That was the bad news.

The good news was that I was being offered a reasonable period to try her offer. Anyway, working at the joint was not bringing me much, and I was planning to leave that dull place as soon as I could get a job in another town. But prospects were that it would be as boring as the one I had now, while working on a farm as a human mare was something new and exciting – and much in line with my secret fantasies.

I lifted my head. It was take it or leave it.

“Do you have other mares there, Missy?”

“Three, all black. But I need one more.”

Here. How will she take it? But she has to know what she is going into. Mom says it is not a question of being racist or something like that, but that they are simply the best mares one can get – so why not? And, coincidence or not, the fact is that after we shifted to ebonies, the farm has been bringing much more.

I could hardly believe my ears. She didn’t seem disturbed by telling a perfect stranger that she and her mother owned three black slave girls! Anyway, if she was speaking the truth – and now I was persuaded that she was – other girls had found it okay to work for her as human mares. Perhaps the thing was not so weird as I had always thought.

“Okay, Missy. I will try it for two weeks.”

Somehow I suspected that I would not ask to leave after that time. My whole life was on the brink of changing dramatically, I could feel.

“Very well. Come then.”

Her truck was parked at the corner. She opened the back and made a sign for me to enter. I shook my head – what was that, going into the hold of a truck? The girl looked at me with her sharp blue eyes and made a silent sign with her head. There was something quite imposing in that gesture, as if she was used to command – and I found myself climbing into the back of the truck. She bolted the doors and started the engine.

I have got her inside the truck, and without forcing her in any way. But then the other one also agreed to step into the back of the truck, and afterwards it was a complete fiasco. Better not to be too enthusiastic about her – but something is telling me that this time I got a real mare. Like the others in the stable.

Soon we were out of town. The asphalt was replaced by gravel, and the landscape I could see between the wooden bars was a rural one, with telegraph poles and fences on both sides of the road. Finally she turned into a narrow path and stepped out to open a wooden gate. I heard the door of the cabin banging and the truck moved on; after two minutes she stopped and opened the door for me to get out.

It was a common farmhouse, built in wood. On the right side there was a barn with some wagons and ploughs in front of it; to the left, a stable with Dutch doors. The lower ones had very visible locks and bolts, and the upper windows were open.

“Hello, dear!”

I turned my head and saw a woman in her early fifties standing on the porch. She wore an apron over her checkered shirt and jeans, and looked like she was Missy’s mother.

“Hi, mom! I brought a new mare. She was trying to pull the wagon at the museum, so I thought she could replace the one who left last week.”

The woman looked approvingly at me and made a sign with her hand.

“Okay, dear, take her to the stable, I will be with you in ten minutes.”

The girl gripped my arm and pulled me along towards the stable. As I walked along the stalls, I saw that three of them were occupied by ebony girls. A long chain going out from a collar on their necks was tied to the back wall. So it was true – and the most dismaying thing was that none of them seemed to mind being there, wearing just some straps of leather and held by a chain like she was a goat. Missy led me to an empty stall:

“It Sunday, so the mares are in their pens. This will be your home while you stay with us”, she said. “Remove your clothes – you won’t need them for a while.”

Of course I was used to strip before other girls. I took off my blouse and the rest of my clothes, while Missy watched carefully, as if evaluating my body. I folded my garments neatly and she put them in a plastic bag that was lying there.

Oh my, she is even prettier naked than with clothes on! Look at her breasts, at her slim waist – she will attract a lot of attention when I take her to town. And her legs! So perfectly designed for running! I am really lucky to have found her there, almost asking to be captured… No, it is not a capture. More like the unveiling of her inner self...

“You may want to keep your identity for yourself, so you will be named Kulani while you are here. The other mares have been given fancy names as well. Now let me harness you.”

I still had the choice to leave: the plastic bag with my clothes was at her feet. But I decided to stay: I was burning to see how I would feel once harnessed.

The outfit consisted of a red leather waist belt, which she fastened around my body in no time. A strap was buckled to it and came down over my sex; she adjusted it so that it was placed exactly between my labia, and cinched it on my back. As she did so, her fingers ran on my buttocks and cupped one of my nether cheeks, but before I could react she put her hand under her chin and smiled. The feel of the leather against my pussy made me shiver. Was it all that I would wear, I wanted to ask, but remained silent.

As if she was reading my mind, Missy took a collar from a shelf and said:

“Kneel down, Kulani.”

I wanted to tell her that my name was Tricia, but all I could say was:

“What is that… Missy?”

“Your collar. It goes around your neck and is locked while you are here.”

It was covered in black leather, about one inch wide, with a ring in front, one at the back and two at the sides. She produced a lock from the shelf and waited for me to kneel down.

I did so and felt the cold touch of steel around my neck. The whole situation was completely unbelievable, but it was arousing me as I had seldom felt aroused before. In my fantasies I imagined wearing a collar. Sometimes I pictured it being hammered on my neck as it was the custom when captured villagers were chained onto a caravan back in Africa, sometimes it was just a dog collar that someone fancied I should wear while pleasing him or her. But I never thought I could really have one around my neck.

She accepts well the collar, and that is good. And she knelt down when I told her to. Quite docile, I have to say. Her skin is silkier than the other one’s, and she has not reacted as I caressed her rump. Incredible how a true mare knows these things… perhaps obedience is genetically implanted in their minds. I will have to ask Mom about that.

“Okay, give me the end of that chain.”

Keen as I was on what she was doing, I hadn’t noticed that a long chain was attached to a loop welded onto the back wall of the pen. I stared at it, feeling scared this time. Was she going to attach me to that thing, and leave me there?

There was only one way to discover. I grabbed the chain and offered it to her. She snapped it to my collar and told me to stand up and walk. I did so, dragging the chain behind me. It was about twelve feet long and allowed free movement inside the pen, but I could not to reach the farthest angles or the door that faced the yard.

“Here, Kulani”, the girl said, and as I approached her I felt her soft hand running down my back and testing the firmness of the straps. I shuttered distinctly but she couldn’t care less, and crouched down to pinch my calves. The final item of my gear was a pair of half-platform sandals that reached only to the arches of my feet, leaving my heels exposed. She buckled them tightly in place and stood up.

“Now for your bridle and bit.”

The bridle was a simple contraption with straps that went around and over my head, and the bit was in metal but wrapped in rubber.

“Don’t worry, it is a brand new one. It will be good for you to have something to bite on as you go”, she said as she opened my mouth and forced the thing into it. Snapping the ends to the rings of my bridle, she knotted a lunging rein on the bit and tugged to make me move on. I walked towards the barn and saw her mother coming towards us.

Missy pulled on the reins to make me stop. The woman handed me a sheet of paper and a pen and told me to read and sign. As I scribbled my name on the appropriate line, Missy produced a thin strap of leather from her pocket and tied it to my right upper right arm.

“This shows that you are a mare in probation. Now put your hands behind your back.”

“A real good one you have got, dear! She seems quite fit”, the woman said while Missy placed on to my wrists two metal cuffs and linked them to each other. In that position I felt awkward and powerless, and I was right: the lady ran her hands down my ribcage and cupped my breasts, and there was nothing I could do about it.

“She will make a fine addition to our stock”, she said bluntly, and lowered her voice, but I have good ears and could understand what she was whispering: “She seems strong and easy to control. Just don’t work her out too much – it is her first time.”

I breathed deeply. Then it was true! I was going to pull that blonde girl, and was being referred to as a kind of prized animal. I didn’t feel humiliated, though: strange as it may seem, the relaxed way they spoke about their “stock” made that absurdity sound natural. And I was going to be a part of it.

Missy led me to a small and elegant cart and snapped the little chains on its body to the rings on the sides of my waist belt. I felt a thrill going down my spine – the show was about to start! I heard a sound like of wood creaking and understood that she had lifted the seat. From some box under it she took a pair of chains and snapped their ends to my bit. I could feel their light weight going down my back, and wondered why she was not using normal leather reins – but never discovered: she didn’t bother to tell me.

She left me waiting there for what seemed a long time, and returned in an outfit more adapted for riding a cart – a checkered blouse, jeans and a pair of worn boots. On her had she had a black cap that made her blonde hair shine even more.

I felt her soft hand caressing my cheek:

“Let’s go, Kulani. Lift that black rump of yours and wait for my sign to start off.”

A distinct shiver went through my body as she said the word “rump”. It was such a delicious way to tell me that for the next two weeks I would not be Tricia, but Kulani, a piece of property as the other girls - would I also work as a draft mare at their side?

What a fine ass she has! A little smack of my crop won’t do any harm to it, though. And the way she raises her head! One would say that she is proud to be here, doing what she was born to do. Oh, Jessie will die of envy when I show her my new mare…

I raised my ass and felt a sting on it: she had dared to whip me! I tried to turn my head and protest, but a tug on my bit prevented me from doing so. Another sting – that must be the sign to walk, I thought, and moved on. She led me to the gravel road that lined the outer side of the fence and I kept walking, getting used to the weight of the cart. Then there was another smack of the crop, not really hurting but clearly meant to show who was in command.

“Run, Kulani!”

I started to trot. The cart was not heavy and I was an athlete; I kept a moderate pace, though, not knowing for how long Missy wanted me to pull her. The sun was already high and a cloudless sky stretched over my head; the sound of the wheels mingled with the songs of the birds and with the clapping of my sandals against the gravel. I soon discovered that they forced me to bend my body a little to keep balance, thus offering Missy the best possible view of my naked back and buttocks.

A tug on my mouth made me stop.

“You are doing fine, Kulani! I was sure you would. It will be easy to train you, I am sure!”

Her voice was gentler now. I felt a wave of pride going up my chest.

“Kulani”, I thought. “I am going to belong to this girl, and don’t even know her name. And she does not know mine… For her I am just a kind of animal – and this is arousing me! Am I mad, or what?”

She waved the crop again and I moved on. The rubbing of the strap against my crotch was making me really horny. I tried to accelerate, hoping that a gush of those substances – dop something, I didn’t remember the name - inside my body would alleviate my plight, but felt a strong tug in my mouth and slowed down again.

“I will tell you when to go faster, do you understand?”

Sure I did. She was the one in charge, not me. And I was quite willing to trust her.

Soon we arrived to a creek and she stopped the cart.

“You can rest a bit, Kulani.”

I took a deep breath. So that what pulling a girl was like! I waited patiently as she took a long glance at the landscape. Then she turned to me.

“You know what, Kulani? I really like you. You are tall and pretty, and quite obedient as far as I can see. And your skin has a nice sheen to it when you begin to sweat as you are doing now. Tomorrow you will begin pulling loads around as you are expected to, and this will keep you in good shape. But I will be using you quite often to take me to town.”

Take her to town? What would people say seeing me naked like that and attached to a cart? It would be shameful! But then I surely was not her first mare. Locals must be familiar with that madness – and anyhow, who cared? She had picked me to be her leisure mare, and it was she who had to give explanations to local people, not me.

As we came back to the stable, her mother was waiting inside it. She had brought some fresh straw and was arranging it on the ground.

Mom, she is just perfect! You will love to be pulled by her. She learns quickly, and her rump sways so nicely when she runs!

Yes, dear, I can imagine that. Where did you say you found her?

At the museum. Was holding the shafts of that cart Grandpa gave them. And her eyes were closed, as if she was having some kind of dream. I could not be mistaken – she wanted to be owned, it was just a question of who would discover that first.

A natural, then. Very rare to find. Treat her well, and you will enjoy her for a long time. Have you belted her already?

No, Mom. Am saving this for tomorrow, when the strap will have made her hornier.

At that moment I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but I was soon to learn.

Next morning I started working with the other mares. I had no chance of talking to them, as when the lady took them out of their stalls they had already their bits in their mouths. I was harnessed together with a big-breasted girl who had obviously been there for some time. She pulled hard and I had to keep pace with her, dragging load after load of sacks of what I supposed must be corn to the truck I had been brought in. There was a male worker to pile them inside, and at first I felt a bit ashamed as he stared at my naked body. The other mares were ploughing a field at some distance. Nobody seemed to find that weird, so why would I?

As I was brought back to my stall, the sun was going down. Missy was there, with several buckets of bucket of warm water and a sponge. I was unhitched and tied by my collar to the railing in front of the stable, together with the other mares. Our hands were still attached to our backs, and as the railing was about four feet from ground, our bodies formed a kind of right angle, giving her easy access to our private parts.

While Missy cleaned my body, I couldn’t help feeling aroused by her soft touch, and besides that the crotch strap had been rubbing my pussy for the whole day. I could hardly wait to be alone and play with my pussy, but this was not in Missy’s plans.

Wet and juicy, as I had imagined… she must be yearning for relief. Well, she will not have it. The sponge will stimulate her even more, but she has to learn whom this hairy pussy belongs to…

When she finished drying us up, she went into the farthest stall and came back holding in her hands a cluster of pieces that I had never seen. The big-breasted mare parted her legs - and to my dismay I saw Missy placing the contraption between them and locking the two metal parts together. It was a chastity belt!

I was really scared now. I tried to move away from the railing, but the little chain from my collar would not allow much freedom of movement. I thumped my feet and attempted to free my wrists – I was not going to be locked into that thing!

Missy didn’t utter a word as she put the belts on the other two mares. They seemed quite used to wear those awful metal thongs – what could that mean? When my turn came, I was panting profusely, and my gaze must have looked awful, for she patted my buttocks and spoke very softly.

“Kulani, in our farm we have rules and you are expected to obey them. We don’t want you squandering your energy, do we? You will need all of it for your work.”

I felt tears rolling down my face. I wanted to say, “Let me go! NOW!” But having pulled that cart for the whole day had shown me that I really liked the thing. I could not possibly let the opportunity to live out my fantasies escape through my fingers. I had to accept it – I had loved the sensation, even the lousy smell of sweat from the big girl I had worked with! I stopped protesting and slowly parted my legs for her to fit the belt. I felt the cold metal on my hips and shivered when the other piece landed on my pussy. There was a clicking sound as the lock was snapped – and it was over.

“Good girl, Kulani”, she said as she unhitched our collars from the railing. “Now, into your stalls! Dinner is coming soon.”

I could not believe that this was happening to me. I spent the best part of the night shaking the lock, as if it would open by some kind of magic, or trying to slide a finger under the metal triangle that blocked access to my engorged cunt – but to no avail.

Missy came to fetch me next morning and tied my hands on my back before replacing the belt with my red harness.

“Today you will take me to the town. A two hour ride, and you sure are full of energy for that.”

As I trotted on the road, it was as if I was lighter than I really am. I had done tens of miles of jogging before, but had never felt such a strong energy fuelling my legs – and I suppose that this was precisely what Missy had expected. Feeling so powerless and so horny was a completely new experience for me – and I have to confess that I loved it. When the first houses came into sight, she slowed me down, and as we arrived to the central area she pulled on the reins to make me stop.

She hitched them to a pole and patted my “rump”. People stared at me and went on walking – it was obvious that they were familiar with that kind of thing. I lowered my head and stared at the metal triangle between my legs. It had not been a part of my fantasy, but somehow it fitted into it. Missy had seen right through my mind – and I knew that I would not ask to be released after the trial period.

This happened a year ago. After the two first weeks, I was asked to sign a permanent contract, which amounts to acknowledge that Missy owns me. Since then, I have been working on the farm and pulling her around whenever she needs. The other girls are kind and sometimes the lady allows us to play with each other – she says that it is good to take the excess of steam out of us.

I wait eagerly for the moment when Missy cleans us after work, because then she caresses my pussy with the sponge – but never enough for me to have an orgasm. Then the locks the belt, and it remains locked during the night, to be removed only as we go for work. But then my hands are linked behind my back, and there is no way to get relief from the lust that devours me. And I have to say that when she opens that damned thing, I feel things that I had never imagined I could.

I have learned to plough a field and other useful things. How long will I stay here? I don’t know. But if someone asked me if I want to leave, I would say – no. Missy can be severe when one of us drags her feet, but by and large it is a good life: no worries of any kind. And my fantasy came true! What else could I wish for?