East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 04 – Arizona's Ponygirl Heaven (or A Ponygirl at Last?)

Doctor Joan Miller was at the center of a wriggling, moaning roll of blankets, locked in a bedroom at Doctor Rachael Patricia Quaid's clinic on Martinique. Resisting the increasingly itching sensations coming from her crotch and pussy, Joan was reliving how she came to be in her present situation. Joan was naked; her now permanently hairless cunt was adorned with a single gold clit ring and a jet-black numeral Zero of close-cropped hair. Bandages and a bodysuit covered her now surgically enhanced full C cup tits. Joan's beautiful and fine-boned face was now marred with a heavy ring dangling from between her nostrils. The ring hung heavily down to the bottom edge of her top lip. Another, smaller ring of gold passed through the tip of her tongue. Doctor Miller had only been spared the small indignity of nipple rings and the huge indignity of a shaved head.

In a nearby bedroom, Doctor Quaid was rocking her hips atop Robert Morgan's fat cock while watching a live video feed of Doctor Miller's writhing form. She had just watched Joan flee back to the safety of her comforter after wildly fucking a fat black dildo mounted on top of a low wooden stool. The fake cock was still coated in a white frothy foam residue left by her pussy cream. Joan had been victimized by her own creation, a special mixture of poison ivy extract and bee venom that left tiny, aching, itching blisters deep within her vaginal walls. The only possible relief from the maddening blisters was to 'scratch the itch' by getting fucked, hence the dildo on the stool.

Rachael had just yelled out, "Robert, fuck me, … harder." She had heard Joan's howls of climax atop the fake cock and then her humiliated retreat from the dick and the noticeably mounted video camera. Robert Morgan, Aaron Clarke's pseudo-name while conducting his illegal acts within the United States and sole owner and chief executive officer of the East Coast Slavers Organization (ECSO), thrust his hips, and his throbbing dick, up into Rachael's greedy pussy. Her quivering tits and animalistic grunts heralded another orgasm. "The slut likes to watch Joan get humiliated; that's for sure."

Joan Miller was a talented Miami Beach surgeon that kept two aspects of her life hidden from her family, friends, and clients. She was an avid fan of bondage and frequented a Miami B&D club where she eventually began to work nights as the club's physician. After meeting Aaron Clarke, in his Robert Morgan identity, she began to do custom surgery on ECSO's unwilling slaves. Then, during what should have been a night of romance with Robert Morgan, a series of missteps by Joan ruined the evening. Forced to confess her reasons for the romantic evening, Joan admitted that she wished that Robert would top her sexually and if satisfied by the experience, she would have asked Robert to get her an invitation to be a guest Mistress at the Ponygirl Ranch where four of her unwilling patients had been sent. Her biggest mistake was her additional request to serve a day as a Ponygirl, pulling surreys around the countryside. Given Joan's mistakes during the evening, mostly driven by arrogance, Robert agreed to the requests after admitting that he only did so based upon her egregious behavior.

Hours later, an emotionally and physically beaten Joan crawled across the bedroom's carpeted floor to get a drink of water from the bathroom. On the way, she noticed that the fake cock she had used so many times over the last days was gone. In its place was a cardboard box with a hand-written placard on top. Too thirsty to stop, Joan moved across the cool tile floor of the bathroom and barely managed to pull herself up to the vanity. She drank greedily from the tap and then walked on wobbly legs over to the box. Weak from two days without food, she collapsed on the carpet next to the box. Joan cringed upon reading the note; after all, her last call to finagle a night of joy with Robert Morgan had resulted in a formal invitation from him for dinner and a night at the Ritz Carlton in Miami. Resigned to more ironic twists in her life, she picked up the card and read:

Joan:

As you have no doubt determined, your requested Ponygirl adventure has begun. Please remember, I tried to warn you of the dangers of asking for a day of service as a Ponygirl. Ponygirl Heaven Ranch has agreed to let you début as a Ponygirl and work your way up to Training Mistress. Unfortunately, failure to progress through the stages prior to becoming a Mistress could result in your permanently becoming livestock at the Ranch. Beware of what you wish for.

You have choices in how you move to the next step. One choice is to package yourself as a girlcow, ready for shipment. The other is to let Ingrid and I do the job. As an incentive, I'll give you a good luck fuck if you follow the rest of the directions inside the box and then notify me via the pager.

Good luck in your adventure and I hope to greet you upon your return at the Miami airport. I'd hate to find you still at the Ranch when I pick up the other two sets of girls after their training is completed.

Love Robert

Joan sat cross-legged on the floor, her grossly swollen pussy puffed out between her legs. "Fucking thing still itches," she groaned, barely able to keep her fingers off herself. "And the heartless bastards took away the fucking stool!" She stared at the cardboard box, uncertain what to do. Finally she decided, after all, Robert would make her a slave forever if she resisted. It was too late to do other than jump in wholeheartedly.

Then she realized that during the distraction of getting ready to package herself for a trip to what might be a lifetime of slavery, she hadn't finished her recollection of how she came to be on Robert's boat and this clinic. She remembered that a good week passed before she and Robert were able to agree on a start date for her fun adventure; Joan had to clear her clinic schedule so that Robert's guest doctor could take her place. The last thing in her memory before awakening bound in a small cubbyhole on the pitching vessel was locking her clinic door about a week after her 'date' with Robert Morgan. "He must have grabbed me after I left the parking lot and used that concoction invented by my predecessor, Doctor Patricia Kay. It's a solution not unlike a 'roofie', only with added tranquilizers and muscle relaxers that produces an period of amnesia."

That mystery somewhat solved, she turned her attention to the cardboard box. It took a while to figure out what all the bondage items were for, and even longer to decide how to put them on in the correct order. Before she started binding herself, she opened a thick legal binder and read another note from Robert.

Dear Joan,

After I prepared the rest of the package, Ingrid and I realized that during your 'vacation' you will be vulnerable in a way none of us expected. As a temporary captive undergoing preliminary Ponygirl training, someone on the Ranch staff might find out who you are and be tempted to keep you forever as a means of getting to your rather substantial wealth. While I trust the staff, I have a sincere offer that will provide extra protection for yourself and your hard earned assets.

Attached are documents that complete our marriage application, our actual wedding license, letters of joint tenantship, etc. A friendly judge has already signed his portion of the legal documents and fondly remembers our private wedding service. Your signatures will give me authority to lock all your assets in place, requiring both our signatures for any disposition. Further, your signature on the prenuptial agreement protects both of us from the other stealing assets upon dissolution of the marriage.

A wedding ring is enclosed. If you wish to take my offer, sign everything as marked and put on the ring. You will be able to keep it during your training. Looking forward to making my goodbye / good luck fuck the consummation of our marriage of convenience.

This is not at trick. Helpless as you are, I could sell you off after torturing you for details on how to rob your holdings. No, Joan, this is a little insurance to protect you during training. Now if you fail, then it will be your own fault, not due to the greed of someone else.

Wishing you happiness in however this risky endeavor turns out,

Love Robert

Stunned at the revelation of yet another bizarre twist in her seemingly simple request to visit the Ponygirl Ranch, Joan tried to examine Robert's offer from all angles. "Fuck! How could I have been such a simpleton," she moaned. "He's right. I'm worth several million dollars in cash plus my business and personal property assets."

After a few more minutes of pondering she told herself, "I'm a thirty-eight year old woman. Surely they won't want me as a permanent sex slave, let alone a ranch worker; but regardless of that, I'll sign Robert's paperwork, wear the ring, and excel at the training so I can have my week as a Ponygirl Mistress." Happy to have a decision and direction to proceed, Joan quickly signed all the various legal documents and slid on the wedding ring. She admired the gleam from the rather large diamond. With a deep sigh of regret for how things were working out, she turned back to the box of bondage items.

Having figured out the necessary sequence of outfitting herself, she began by applying locking cuffs on her ankles, knees, elbows, and wrists. She then stuck a fat red ballgag in her mouth, held in place by a wide, leather head harness. Her jaws started to ache immediately. Next, she took a slender, three-foot section of rein and carefully snapped the tiny clip at one end through her tender nose ring, throwing the other end over her shoulder. A second rein followed the first, to be thrown over her opposite shoulder. Also inside the box were four two-foot spreader bars, two of which were connected by six inches of chain. Joan had figured out that those spreader bars would keep her knees and elbows wide-stretched, and the chains would hold her body in a doggie position. She groaned in dismay and started with the ankle spreader, then the knee, and finally, for now the elbow spreader bar. Having a little more difficult time maneuvering around now, she set a garage door opener mechanism below her face and picked up the glass syringe containing a clear liquid. The note around the syringe said it was a strong tranquilizer that would take about thirty minutes to put her out. The note added, "… plenty of time for a good luck fuck – your first as livestock and a newlywed." As directed in the note, Joan pinched a handful of her breastmeat with one hand and carefully injected her titty with the tranquilizer. Panting with sexual need and not wanting to loose any time, she quickly tied a blindfold over her eyes and blindly locked one wrist onto the last spreader, and finally used her nose to click the last lock in place. Blind and helpless now, she leaned her face to the carpet and keyed the garage door opener with her nose.

Robert walked into the room within a minute of Joan paging him with the remote control. She was quite a sight, her denuded cunt exposed from her forced doggie-style position. The trapped girlcow was unable to move anything except her head. Robert glanced first at her left hand to see if the wedding band was in place; it was. With a grin, Robert turned his attention to the four spreader bars, two with binding chains, that kept her tightly in place. Robert was also naked, and throbbingly erect. "This is just so fucking priceless," he chuckled to himself. He knelt beside the former doctor and gently tugged on her nose reins. A muffled grunt of pain came from the gagged livestock. "Not yet the Ponygirl I see," Robert asked Joan while running a strong hand down her almost horizontal spine. "But Little Zero," he added, "you've put your reins on wrongly." He took the free end of each rein and fed it through a small D-ring on each side of her head harness and then laid the reins across her back.

Robert knelt carefully between her spread legs, not wanting to hit a hard spreader bar with his sensitive knees, and lined up his fat cock with her swollen pussy lips. He decided to leave the reins alone for now and rubbed his plumb-sized cockhead across her pussy to get the condom more lubricated. With a grunt of effort, the head finally pushed through her swollen lips. Joan's mew of distress revealed that her abused pussy wasn't accepting his dick easily. Robert took mercy on the woman and pulled his dick out with a wet plop. He sat cross-legged behind Joan and yanked her hurting pussy back onto his face. With an enjoyable wet lick across the musky cunt, Robert delved deeply into the pussy.

Joan had heard the door open and close behind her. She blindly turned her head as if she could see the person entering. She knew it was Robert when he spoke. The hand on her sore nose reins was a surprise. Tears, caused both by pain and her body' automatic response to form teardrops when a nasal passage is disturbed, ran down her cheeks. The soothing touch down her back helped her re-center her thinking on the coming sex. "Please, please, fuck me," she chanted to herself. Then her body protested in pain as the fat cock slipped just past her abused pussy lips. "Ughhh, hut hoo hoch, hop hit, hease!" she protested in gagspeak. Her sweaty brow leaned down on the carpet as the painful pressure went away. "Hank, hoo," she mumbled in grateful response.

Abruptly, her ass was yanked back and up, onto a warm and wet mouth that began to ease her raw pussy flesh. She was pleased when his tongue moved on to flick her clit and tug on her new clit ornament. "Ummm," she moaned through her gag. One hand slid over to her tight tummy and massaged deep inside, as if he were massaging her uterus from without. That stimulation, plus the electric shocks from her clit sent her over the edge with a pussy-clenching orgasm.

Robert kept munching away at the clit while he thought, "Geez, just like I want my sluts to act; an orgasm less than two minutes into eating her out." Robert bit down and yanked the sensitive nubbin again and exclaimed aloud, "Christ, what a firecracker!" when she started to shake in a second orgasm. Deciding that the poor oversexed woman had been building up all afternoon for more orgasms, Robert took mercy and decided to speed things up. His hand not rubbing her tummy caught a goodly amount of her flowing honey and lathered up his now-dry condom. A second swipe across her wet thighs garnered more of the slimy juices. The residue from a third swipe was pushed deep within her rectum, without warning, by two fingers.

Her back arched immediately and she tried to shout, "Ho!, … Ho!, …Ho!" through her gag to stop his planned action. Robert heard her muffled attempt to halt his intended cornholing of her rectum, but her third, pussy-clenching orgasm betrayed what her body wanted. Robert set Joan back down on all four spreader bars, grabbed a slime-covered cock in one hand, momentarily speared her ass grommet with three fingers on his free hand, and buried his cock head in a synchronized rapid shift, replacing fingers with throbbing dick.

Robert arched his back as the tight, hot walls of her lower intestine yanked hard against his dick. "Eiii," he moaned, "I'm half way in. Rachel, … with this push I thee wed." He leaned forward with all his strength, tearing deep into her rectum. On his outward pull, each hand grasped a rein and quickly adjusted the tension of the leather on her nose ring. His next inward lunge was assisted by the strong tug he made on the set of reins, effectively pulling her onto his forward-thrusting dick. "Buried," he moaned aloud. "Joan, you are a gloriously tight fuck. Even after all that self abuse on the dildo stool. Yes, … the tightest thirty-eight year old whore holes I have ever imaged! That's it Little Ponygirl, fuck me back, …. harder, … harder. Yesss."

Despite his obvious pleasure, from the furious fuck, Robert survived Joan's wrenching orgasm induced by the brutal anal rape atop her humiliated state. While Joan wheezed and tried desperately to catch her breath, Robert pulled out, switched condoms, and fell into her steamy pussy. "Fuck!" he screamed, "it's like a furnace in there. Joan, you cock whore, you're still cumming. You slut, … you love this, don't you."

Joan could no longer hear his voice; drained from the massive orgasms and her inability to catch her breath, she was drifting into unconsciousness minutes before the drugs could hit her system. Robert kept pounding away at her pussy, battering into her from behind. He was unaware she was unconscious; her body remained erect only because of her stringent bondage. Afterwards, Robert had to laugh with Rachael about how he had filled his condom while fucking an inert, and totally fucked out sexbunny. "What a whore she is at heart!" Robert exclaimed to Rachael while they showered each other off.

Afterwards, over coffee, Robert told Doctor Rachael Quaid that he really thought Joan would hate the pre-Ponygirl training because of the rigorous workouts and the total lack of sex. "She's in for a rude awakening. It's all about physical strength and conditioning. Her body is a wonderful big city sextoy, but she hasn't ever hit the gym in her adult life. Her lack of endurance alone is enough to fail her initial testing. Poor slutbunny."

Joan came awake slowly. Her fuzzy brain and sluggish bodily responses told her that she had been drugged. She didn't know how she knew, just accepted it as a fact. The memories came slowly and only after she realized that her body was bound, tightly but without pain or loss of circulation. From the swaying and gentle vibration, Joan's own memories of packaging helpless young women told her she was probably in a wooden crate, locked in the back of a moving vehicle, probably a truck. Each move was answered by her own gentle swaying. Joan felt her down-hanging breasts jiggle and sway with the truck's movement. "I'm still chained in my spreader bars, … and Robert must have changed the ballgag for a whiffle ball one. Thank God! At least I can breathe." Her harnessed head turned about trying to see anything in the darkness. She wondered that her pussy and ass weren't plugged with vibrating dildos. "It's what I did to the sluts packed away to the Ponygirl Ranch. Eiii, I bet I'm wet down there. Hmmm, no way to scratch or stimulate myself. Robert, where is your cock when I need it?" Unfulfilled, Joan whimpered and moaned, trying to pass the time. Eventually, her urge to pee overcame her reluctance to make a mess and she began to empty her bladder. First a dribble, and then a deluge, hissed from between her legs. The ammonia stench of pee filled the box. Joan wrinkled her nose in disgust and tried to think of something else. Somehow, the roads' vibrations lulled her to sleep.

The next time Joan awoke, her crate wasn't vibrating. "Ohhh," she moaned. "What's next?" More hours of boredom followed. Joan was thirsty, starving, aching from her forced position, and cramping from her full bowels. "Ohhh, they never get into this part in movies. How does the heroine ever go to the bathroom? Owww!" Sweat beaded on her brow from the effort to hold her shit within her intestines. "I need a butt plug so bad," she told herself. "Eeewww," she cried as a pocket of gas noisily blew through her fluttering anal sphincter. The smell worsened in the crate. It got lots worse inside the crate as Joan's bowels emptied themselves long before Joan heard boots outside her prison.

As Joan knew from packaging sluts herself, the wooden crate was cleverly designed so that the sides simply fell away after the top was removed. She heard a ratchet wrench clicking at each corner and then bright daylight flooded in along with surprising heat. With loud bangs, the four sides fell outward, rotating down from hinges on the base plate of the crate. Sounds of disgust came from around her. Joan knew her lower legs were covered in her own dried shit and urine had soaked a heavy vinyl tray under her body. Her eyes still burned from the brilliant sunlight, leaving her blind except for moving shadows around her.

A strong masculine voice commanded, "Paula, get the hose, detergent, and a scrub brush. Clean this filthy pig off so we can grade her potential. It doesn't look good from here. Notice that the grimy cunt is packaged like a cow, it's not even set on a Ponygirl Mount."

"Boss, you're right," another male voice responded. "This one will probably grade out at way below Prime, maybe even as low as Commercial Grade. Not much use for them. That's Mexico whorehouse stock, not Ponygirl material at all."

"Well Cliff," Joan heard the 'Boss' answer, "let's read her shipping invoice and then decide after all the manure by her feet is cleared away."

Doctor Joan Miller, the formerly successful thirty-eight-year-old Miami Beach doctor cringed at their statements. "I'm gorgeous. I know it!" she told herself fiercely. "They'll see once I'm cleaned up."

A jet of seemingly ice cold water drilled into her side. After a moment, the spray was adjusted to more gently sluice off the filth. Joan sputtered as the water soaked through the openings in her whiffle ball gag. She groaned as a set of strong, calloused hands ran sponges full of a soapy mixture and cleaned her body. Her still-sore boobs ached as the sponges cleaned her belly and moved down to her crusty sex and anus. A female voice spoke up from inches away from her shoulder, "Cliff, this cow isn't even housebroke yet. I've never seen one show up so filthy."

"OK, Paula," the Head Trainer responded, "according to the shipping invoice, this little cow had quite a sendoff. Get this, … in the comment section her 'Husband' says he gave her a real nice going away party after their 'wedding' when he had her modified for Light Ponygirl activity. She packaged herself, even administering the animal tranquilizer herself. What a brainless twit. She's still wearing her brand new wedding ring."

Paula ran a final drying swipe across her body with a coarse towel and grabbed a hanging tit. "Christ, Cliff," she exclaimed in disgust, "this is an old whore. I'll bet she's almost forty. What rich moron marries a used up bitch like this and then pays for Ponygirl training. We could have processed any choice he wanted into a combination Trophy Wife and Ponygirl. Your most stringent obedience classes are world renowned, Cliff. What a mistake this is!"

Joan arched her back in pain as a hand started to burrow into her cunt. Another hand clipped a chain to her nose ring and yanked her head back hard, raising her dazed eyes to look at the noon desert sun. She grunted through her gag in pain. Hands squeezed, pulled, pinched, and slapped at different parts of her body. Finally, it was over. Her three tormentors stepped away to discuss Joan like she was truly livestock.

"Well what do you think?" Marshall Thompson asked his Chief Trainer and Head Groom.

Cliff responded, "She'll never pass the Ponygirl physical entry exam. I vote she goes right now into an enforced training cycle."

Paula put in opinion, "Her muscles are slack. She's never run in her life. It'll be months before she's ready to pull a surrey. My vote, … tell her owner to cut his losses, … sell her to a bordello south of the border."

Joan grunted in protest and squirmed in her bonds. The three trainers of Ponygirls looked down with disgust at her.

Marshall decided, "Paula, put the bimbo in a straw stall. In the morning, explain her situation and give her the physical tests. She'll probably fail; if so, then we'll talk about how to deal with her. At least the brainless bitch will decide her own fate. Can you imagine being so stupid that you'd volunteer to come here as livestock. Christ!"

Hours later, Joan shivered in the cool desert evening. She was very uncomfortable, unable to burrow deeper into the scratchy straw animal bedding in her stall. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and the black whiffle ball gag was still in place. The heavy steel chain anchored to the wall ended at a clip attached to her tongue ring. Joan was uncertain what was causing her the most discomfort, the chain pulling heavily upon her tongue or the evening's deepening chill.

Paula Laturno took her steaming mug of coffee out to her small cabin's veranda and standing at the railing, admired the pre-dawn stars of the Arizona sky. "Hmmm," she said contentedly. "What a great place this is. The sky is clear year round." She sat down and thought about her coming morning. As Head Groom, one of her responsibilities was administering any required physical testing on the Ponygirls and Candidate Ponygirls. She was already certain that the newest 'cow' would have to go through remedial training. "First thing is the distance run. We'll start six miles from the Ranch and the 'cow' will be herded back to the corral which marks the end of a six-mile gallop." Paula smiled thinking about how she would be whipping the poorly trained 'cow' to keep her moving. "Even knowing its fate for failure, the 'cow' will never make it back at the required eight minute per mile pace," she thought. "Shit, and that means so much extra work for me. Remedial training comes before even manure cart duty. At least the last four sluts we got were in good physical condition." Then Paula took another sip of coffee and realized, "Whoa! If she utterly fails her running test in the morning, then we can sell her off to a Mexican counterpart. That's a much better use for her and won't waste our time. Yes!"

A groan of pain from within her cabin distracted Paula from thoughts of her upcoming day. With a grin, Paula forgot about how much work the coming day would bring and turned to look at her toy for the night. As she normally did when her charges became better trained in their role as Ponygirls, she had taken Ponygirl Number One as a play toy for the night. Given her crime of attempted murder, Paula was freer in her bondage play with her than with other livestock at Ponygirl Heaven. She looked down and admired the animal's fine figure. A blonde, the slim woman now had nearly no body fat left. Paula had pulled the woman backward across a leather cushion designed to support only the back of a victim. One's hands were bound tightly behind her head and her feet were bent under her ass with each knee tied off, far apart, at the cushion's edge. Her muscles were stretched taut from her bondage and her strength was revealed by the ropy nature of her muscles. Paula ran a calloused hand across the tight belly and watched the muscles twitch in response to the caress. "Yes, you are a receptive little slut now, aren't you?"

Anna Sawyer was unable to respond in any way. In addition to her other bondage, the inflatable penis gag in her mouth kept her silent and the silk blindfold kept her eyes unable to communicate. Anna's lower legs had been numb for hours due to their 'folded under' position. She only hoped that her leg muscles loosened enough for her morning run. Cliff, her Chief Trainer had already told her that she would be pulling the surrey that would take the new meat out into the desert for her running test. Anna knew from experience that she would have to run out the six miles pulling Paula the Head Groom as well as the new slave and then return at a pace that equaled the new slave's running pace. She hoped the new meat couldn't run well. Anna also hoped that her sister was there to help pull the heavy load. "Two," she thought with a choking sob as her sister's new name rang through her head, "they've named us for numbers. Oh, God help us."

While Anna was lamenting the predicament of the Sawyer girls, Paula was yanking the last strap into place of her favorite 'Bitch Buster' strap-on dildo. The fat cock waving from her pubic mound was a parody of a man's dick. It was huge, at least as fat as a soda can, and long, the curved length easily was fourteen inches long. Paula leaned down, set the fat knob at the end of the beastly giant against Anna's slick pussy, let the air out of the inflatable ballgag, and yanked it out just as she sunk the baseball bat-sized cock into Anna's tight pussy. Howls of pain echoed eerily through the dark Arizona Ranch. Paula grinned, the shrieks of pain only spurred her rapidly fucking hips to a faster pace. "Oh, yes!" she cried as her fake cock bottomed out against the Ponygirl's cervix and Paula's clit was stimulated by her end of the dildo, "what a fucking life! What a fucking life!"

The sun was still just below the mountains far away. Joan Miller looked about her and saw only unending desert wilderness about her. A woman stood nearby, critically examining her after readying her gear for the upcoming physical challenge. Joan shivered in the cool pre-dawn and stamped her feet. "At least they gave me good footwear," she consoled herself. "That and a jogging bra," she added. Otherwise, Joan was mostly naked. She was already learning not to be so self conscious of her nudity. She stood easily, knowing her pussy lips and her clit ring were open for viewing between the cleft of her legs. Joan flexed her fingers and wondered how she would run with her wrists loosely chained across her tummy and her elbows tightly held against her leather waist belt. Joan had just finished her own stretching exercises and was as ready as she could be. A streak of fire lanced across her buttocks and Joan quickly swiveled her head to give attention to her Groom.

"Final reminder, cunt!" Paula Laturno hissed at her charge. "The path is easy to follow and it leads straight back to Ponygirl Heaven. Try to run away, and you become permanently classified as livestock! The run is exactly six miles and there are monuments along the way that count down the miles. The test ends when you enter the first corral you encounter by the Ranch House. I will follow you to provide encouragement; trust me, you will need it. It's only six, eight-minute miles. If you fail, you get punished and then you begin forced remedial training. That's a long way from qualification as a Ponygirl. A last warning; too slow a pace may result in your evaluation as completely unacceptable as potential stock. If that occurs, you will be disposed of in the most profitable manner. We hold quarterly reject stock auctions for just that reason."

Becky Sawyer, Ponygirl Number Two, listened dispassionately to the exchange between her Groom and the new bitch. Becky was only focused on preparing herself for the run home. She was thankful for the respite during the bitch's loosening up exercises so she could catch her breath. "Today is the first time I've run with two sets of Ponygirls in harness. Fuck, that Paula made us run so fast. With four of us, the load was easy, but it was the pace that was hard."

Anna and Becky Sawyer, the blonde Ponygirls were harnessed in the lead positions. Their long Mohawk-style manes waved colorfully about above their heads. Still without traditional bits and bridles, each had a thin set of reins attached to their nose rings. Anna tossed her head to clear away an annoying fly and stamped her feet to keep her muscles loose for the return run.

Behind ponies One and Two, Lisa and Lori Heath were harnessed in an identical manner. However, the brunettes were still breathing hard. Unlike the older two Ponygirls, One and Two, Lisa and Lori had undergone only half the training and strength building exercises of the lead Ponygirls. Three and Four's asses and flanks were streaked with numerous whip marks that reflected Paula's displeasure at their inability to maintain the pace and failure to keep their footwork in precision time with the lead Ponygirls. Like One and Two, the brunette manes were still perfectly coiffured, even after the strenuous six-mile desert run.

Joan took her final moment of quiet time to twist her neck down to get to the water nipple of the hydrator strapped to her back. She wasn't yet used to the metallic taste of the electrolyte-laden water but thought, "At least they gave me plenty of water for the run. Concentrate, Joan. You can do it."

With a loud crack, the carriage whip flashed near Joan's shoulder and Paula yelled, "Hiiyah! Run, bitch, run!" Joan immediately began to run; slowly at first to gain her balance and establish her momentum, and then faster as she sought a pace that felt comfortable.

Paula looked on with an approving glance at the cowgirl's starting effort, it showed a lot of spirit. Despite the strong start and the rapidly increasing distance between them, she knew from the jiggle of the slim woman's enticing ass and upper thighs that there wasn't enough muscle tone there for her to make it back to Ponygirl Heaven at any decent pace. "She'll crap out in about three miles." Paula hated the thought of the extra work necessitated by the cowgirl's coming failure. She loved working with the Ponygirls themselves, especially the amusing bonuses she got from playing with the livestock, but felt running the remedial training and manure cart cattle was demeaning to her status. With a shrug, she stepped up into her surrey, balancing herself with long practice as the springs threw the box seat over to the side from her weight before she set herself in the middle of the bench seat. It took only a single snap of her long carriage whip to get her two matched sets of Ponygirls started forward. "My Ponies will get a little rest on the way back," she thought, "after all, it's a slow, eight-minute mile pace. They came out here at six-minute miles." Paula took their smooth performance as a direct reflection of her own skillful training. She knew that she, herself, could never manage the grueling training and endurance required of her mounts. "It doesn't make a tinker's damn," she thought with a slightly arrogant shrug, "since I'm a Mistress, not a slave."

Joan ran valiantly, knowing full-well that failure meant horrible conditions for her. She saw a squat concrete marker ahead with the Roman Numeral V on it. "One mile finished!" she thought with satisfaction. The burning stitch in her ribs told her that her breathing was wrong. "Being a doctor might help me out even if I'm not a runner," she spoke aloud in halting, gasping breaths. "Gotta get my breathing right." Her newly enhanced full C cups bounced distractingly inside her tight sports bra. She thought of the Ponygirls' half bustiers that lifted up their breasts while exposing the entire upper half of their breast meat and their golden nipple rings. "Stop thinking of sex," she gasped aloud, "focus or you stay a cow." Joan deliberately began to hold in her breath for measured paces and then let it out. The cramps in her side slowly subsided and she soon felt good enough to pick up the pace.

The four Ponygirls' hopes of an easy lope back to Ponygirl Heaven were quickly dashed when Paula decided to use the event for sprint practice. After a few hundred yards, the snapping carriage whip above their heads spurred them to speed up their pace. Soon, the four were pulling the thundering surrey along the hard desert trail at a five-minute mile pace. Lisa heard her own breath rasp even louder than her three companions as the cool, dry air sucked the moisture from her heaving lungs. She momentarily fought her reins to snatch a quick drink from her hydration nipple before looking forward at a smoothly moving set of haunches and ass in front of her. Lisa and Lori were harnessed too close to see the blurring white running shoes of the Ponies in front. They had learned to focus on the moving shoulders and elbows ahead of them to determine the pace. To fall could mean death under the spinning tires behind her. To wreck the surrey and survive was an unthinkable thing. Lisa shuddered at the thought of the potential punishments for crashing the surrey and then brought her full attention to maintaining perfect precision. A shouted, "Good! Keep pace, bitches! Good job!" brought a reluctant smile of satisfaction. All four Ponygirls had been trained to think only of training, speed, precision, rest, and most important of all, pleasing the Grooms and Trainers.

Only Anna and Becky saw that they were quickly overtaking their seemingly slow moving quarry. Anna grimly realized how strong she had become as each long stride closed the gap. When they pulled even, only Becky in the right hand, number two position saw the blur of the whip as it flew beside her to strike the running woman's glistening thigh. All heard the gleefully shouted, "Hiiyah, cunt! Nice running. Keep the pace and survive!" Having caught up, Paula brought the racing Ponygirls down to a steadily slower pace until the new bitch once again pulled far ahead.

Joan felt exhilaration as the Groom shouted that she was doing well, making the painful whip burn across her upper thigh almost worth it had the tip not curled around to nearly kiss her hairless mound. Both acts encouraged Joan to maintain her punishing pace. Through blurry eyes, she saw another marker ahead, it was the III mile mark. "Three miles," she gasped aloud, "I've actually run three miles. That's the farthest distance I've gone in my entire life." Then a bit of uncertainty struck her, "What the hell is a thirty-eight year old doctor doing running half naked across the desert. You stupid bitch!"

Steeling herself, Joan deliberately managed her breathing, her pace, and also maintained careful consideration of her heartbeat. She remembered that Robert had told her that she could only pass these tests if she mentally accepted that defeat was impossible. "Non-athletes quit demanding events well before they are half worn down. It's a simple matter of 'knowing' you can do something." Joan knew with steely certainty that she could do this, having defeated adversity her entire life. The four mile mark was just coming into sight.

Anna and Becky were chaffing at their current slow pace and Paula was especially pleased with their brilliant responsiveness and energy level. She could feel their impatience in her reins. On the other hand, the two youngest cunts she was driving, III and IV, were barely maintaining pace. Carefully aiming with her whip, she slashed each of the brunettes twice across their tight asses, leaving a perfect 'X' across the twin cheeks of each. The intersection of the 'X' was invisible, as it was flawlessly centered over the crease in their bouncing asses. Paula grinned at the increased energy her second set of Ponies instantly exhibited. She rose to a crouch that negated the surrey's bouncing and quickly struck a series of whip cracks over her girls' heads. "Hiiyah! Hiiyah!" The Ponygirls increased pace so quickly, Paula was thrown back to her seat. The surrey once again thundered down the trail, closing quickly on the doctor, a wildly grinning Head Groom handling the four sets of reins.

Joan maintained what she considered a blistering pace, rapidly overtaking the 'II' mile marker. Her satisfaction at her continued pace was offset by the increasing pain from her ribcage and thighs. "My muscles are burning with pain. Is it too much Lactic Acid?" Her doctor's brain tried to figure a way to continue. Sadly, she realized that despite her determination, she might not have enough endurance to end the race on time. Feeling a little slower in her pace, Joan grimly picked up the pace again. "I must still be on time because Paula hasn't said anything about failing yet. You can do it, Joan!"

This time Paula kept up her Ponies' maximum pace as she blew by the would-be-Ponygirl. As she roared by, she let fly a punishing blow across the small of Joan's back and again screamed words of encouragement. Paula then snapped her whip above the bobbing crescents of the Mohawk haircuts, maintaining the blistering pace well beyond Joan. She intended to keep the sprint for another half-mile then turn to zip back toward her runner. The surrey's wheels skidded in a tight circle at mile marker 'I', only one mile from Ponygirl Heaven. At least a half-mile back, Paula could see the steadily plodding cunt still running, having passed four and a half miles of her race. "My judgment must be slipping," she thought, "She's almost to the five mile mark. The bitch is made of sterner stuff than I thought." A quick glance at her own livestock verified that they were covered in rivulets of dust-coated sweat and their considerable bosoms heaved with the effort to catch their breathes. Deciding to continue pushing her charges, she once again brought the surrey to it's fastest pace. In the now near distance, Paula saw her candidate collapse forward while still running at her speedy pace. "She's down, poor cow," Paula lamented.

Paula Laturno leapt off her surrey without setting the brake and ran over to check on her livestock lying in the middle of the dusty trail. Her cow was lying atop a huge puddle of her own vomit and her quivering muscles made Paula fear shock or sunstroke. She quickly clipped a lead line onto the dry-heaving cow's nose ring and dragged her back to the surrey with hands under her armpits. Paula heaved her stinking charge behind the surrey seat and tied off her head by the lead line connected to her septum. A quick wrapping of a handy rawhide strap from her pocket around Joan's ankles ended any chance of her struggling free. With a last grimace at the disgusting mess, Paula once again hopped onto her surrey and signaled a more reasonable return pace to Ponygirl Heaven.

Once back at the Ranch, Paula unceremoniously dumped Joan onto the hard-packed desert soil beside the central corral and ignored her completely after ensuring that she was still breathing. Instead, Paula took care of her steeds and began the ritual of unbuckling the harnesses of each Ponygirl and moving them under a heavy timber beam running high overhead a concrete grooming pad. Each Ponygirl's septum ring was snapped to a chain hanging down, every six feet or so, forming an alluring line of fully naked, huge-titted Ponygirls. Each girl's only bondage was the ever-present waist belt with attaching cuffs holding their elbows tightly against their sides.

As the lead girls performed best, that's where Paula started. She filled a bucket with cool water from a yard hydrant and began sponging the totally naked Anna down, beginning with her face and neck. Paula lingered with the sponge under Anna's full tits, enjoying the size and heft of the large meaty mounds. She dipped the sponge back into the bucket and used the water to sluice off dirt all the way down to her pussy. Paula used her fingers to test the heat of her charge. Having long since progressed beyond needing a gag or control collar, Anna knew not to speak back to her betters. She did grunt her approval at the motion of the questing fingers.

Paula looked up at Anna from her kneeling position and looked at the face framed above her between the big, jutting titties. "Well, my Ponygirl, did you enjoy my attentions last night?"

Anna looked down with big expressive eyes and meekly nodded. Internally, she was miserable at her new position in life, remembering how far she had fallen since she had been on the verge of attaining wealth by bilking millions of dollars from her fiancé, Joseph Loftus. At thirty-one, she was strong and shapely. "Oh, my cunt still hurts so bad," she lamented. "She fucked me for hours. God, it was awful, her sweaty tits rubbing across mine while her hips pushed that gigantic cock in me. And, … my back was nearly ruined by that awful position over the leather cushion."

Paula grinned at the Ponygirl's conflicting emotions. She slid a strong hand up the rock-hard haunches of her Ponygirl and slipped the tips of three fingers into the pussy at her eye level. The clit ring danced around as the labia below were manipulated by her exploring fingers. Freezing her fingers in place, Paula looked up slyly to Anna and asked, "Hmmm, looks lovely, 'One'. Who should I pick to play with tonight, you or your sister?"

"Mme, Mistress," Anna answered the direct question with some reluctance. "Pplease play with me, Mistress."

Paula smiled and shoved her hand up hard, burying all three fingers to the hilt in the moist pussy.

Anna arched her head back at the sudden intrusion and winced at the pinching pain of the penetration. Her inadvertent grunt of displeasure excited Paula. At Ponygirl Heaven, the staff knew little of the past lives of their charges unless it was something deemed important. However, everyone knew that 'One' and 'Two' were converted to livestock because of a plot to murder a fiancé and that 'Three' and 'Four' had committed their own grandfather to a tortured death at an insane asylum. Those facts made all four of the Ponygirls a target for some careful abuse. As a professional, Paula loved being able to take advantage of the sluts but knew to temper her abuse to not interfere with training or progress. If staff unwittingly injured a Ponygirl, they were held accountable at a formal inquiry.

Paula left 'One' panting from a combination of fear as well as horror at the lust she was unwillingly susceptible to. She turned her attention to the older sister. A lifelong lesbian, Paula, was able to appreciate the thirty-seven-year-old's luscious body. Her soapy hands lovingly cleaned Becky's face and neck.

'Two' closed her eyes to protect herself from the stinging foam and stood meekly in place. Slightly disoriented from closing her eyes, she danced on tiptoes around her upright nose to keep her balance. She winced slightly when the questing soapy sponge and hands caressed her enhanced breasts. Her face and scalp still soapy, she kept her eyes tightly closed while the Groom's fingers pinched and pulled at her labia and clit ring. "She works me hard all day and then takes me at least once a week to play with," she thought as her lust level rose," she thought lustily. "I'd like a comfortable night in bed with a lover," she added, "rather than being bound all night."

Paula roughly toweled off her muscular lead Ponies and led them away from the remaining grime-covered set of Ponygirls. She whistled as she walked toward her cabin. "These two are deserving of a rest in my bedroom," she thought with a grin. Moments later, she admired the first of the two women bound atop her bed. 'One' lay on her back with her lower legs hanging over the bottom edge of her bed. Her thighs were stretched wide apart by cuffs and chains leading from her knees to the stout bedposts and 'One's arms were similarly attached to the headboard's timber posts. Paula left 'Two' kneeling on the floor and climbed onto the bed. She grabbed one full breast and squeezed it hard while her hand brought a tit clip and chain to that tit's nipple ring. She threw the long chain to the side, and picked up a very short clip. She placed it onto the passive woman's clit ring. Anna prepared, she turned her attention to her twin.

'Two' stood up placidly while a similar clip and chain were attached to one of the full breasts so identical to those of her sister. The simple clip was then attached to her clit ring. Paula tugged Becky onto the bed and directed her to place her tongue against her sister's clit. Clits and tongues were quickly attached. The chain from Anna's breast was easy to route over her sister's back and then tightly adjusted to Anna's other nipple ring. Paula had to struggle to get the chain from Becky's breast under Anna's body due to the weight of both girls. Soon enough, both girls were helplessly attached together, tongues to clits.

Paula stood up and stretched kinks out of her back. To make sure her victims couldn't escape from their reward session, she went to the corner of the room and pulled two long chains toward the bed. Two padlocks and each woman had an end of the chain looped around their necks and locked securely in place. Paula put a hand on Becky's head and the other on her ass. She pushed both down toward Anna underneath and commanded, "I've got two video cameras running, you better each eat nonstop until I return. Enjoy the nice clean pussy of your sister. Be thankful you aren't the two slacker bitches. Just before she left the room, Paula threw a light blanket over the twins to protect them from the air conditioner's chilly air.

Becky hadn't been this close to her sister since arriving at the camp. She knew not to attempt to communicate; the known cameras' presence wasn't the deterrent, it was the training. She hunched forward to get her mouth over Anna's entire pussy. She sucked hard, winching at the momentary sound of broken vacuum slurping, and tasted her sister's sweet nectar. At the same time, she arched her own hips down, smothering Anna with her musky scent. The pull on her own clit sent electric rushes through her pussy and up her spine. She moaned and sucked harder on Anna's pussy. "She's sure getting wet fast," Becky observed with joy as her hips ground down on her sister's tongue and lips. The joyful thought was due to her success at getting a target to cum. Her new role as trained Ponygirl included following orders in any sexual situation. In this case, her sister was no different than any other sexual organ she was ordered to satisfy. No shame was generated at her realized conversion to fulltime slut and sextoy. "Course, Anna was always the whore, an easy fuck by any guy that wanted a piece."

Anna was surprised that her sister attacked her pussy with such abandon. "She's nearly the slut that I was before this started," she wondered. "How could they make her so easy and compliant?" she wondered as she applied her own sexual skills to Becky's already drooling cunt above her face. Becky's jerking motion almost pulled her tongue out as Anna counted the first of her sister's orgasms. "What a slut!" she thought before she added, "guess she's the same as me now." Finished reflecting things, she focused entirely upon drawing more orgasms from the meaty pussy covered in secretions of lust.

Paula returned to the grooming pad and stood silently, surveying her other team of Ponygirls. It was time to figure out how to punish them and reinforce the need for more than one hundred percent effort.

Cliff Burns walked up beside her and looked at the hanging set of Ponyflesh. "Well, Paula, how did everything go today?" he asked pleasantly.

Paula turned to her boss and rival and archly responded, "How do you expect? I trained them, they did superbly."

Cliff's voice changed from pleasant to harsh as he answered with a growl, "Look Groom, you are a fantastic groom and trainer. You have a real knack for working the livestock. Don't blow it by letting your dislike of me ruin things for you. I've told you I'm sorry for hitting on you. I respect your sexual tendencies, hell; we have to in this business. It's the one lesson you haven't yet learned."

Paula watched Cliff walk away and thought how he really didn't get it. "I'm better than you and will get your job. It's only a matter of time," she muttered.

Unknown to either employee, Marshall Thompson, owner of Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, watched the brief exchange between Cliff and Paula on one of twenty video monitors on the wall facing his desk. He had zoomed in on that camera feed by copying it to a fifty-five-inch monitor nested in the middle of the wall. The crystal clear audio feed and the video made it as if he was beside the two ranch workers. Up until that particular exchange, he hadn't been able to determine which employee was at fault. He trusted both, but realized that one might have been lacking in some trait needed for continued employment. Paula's muttered comment told him she was harboring unprofitable visions of advancement. Marshall leaned forward and rested his head on his steepled fingers. He had to figure out what to do about the unseemly rivalry before something occurred that damaged a Pony or risked his trusted status as a dependable trainer of unwilling and willing Pony flesh.

Paula walked up to stand between 'Three' and 'Four'. "I'm disappointed in you two," she thundered in apparent anger. "You each slacked off when you had plenty of energy to do your share." She tapped her right cowboy boot against the ground in frustration, "Tonight, you two get a taste of what happens to unqualified weak pussies." Then she added, "After an appropriate whipping of course!"

Paula drew her arm back and struck forcefully against the nearest grime-coated woman. She smiled at the instant reaction and turned to strike the sister. A rush of adrenaline from her powerful role with these subservient women made her feel momentarily weak at the knees. As her charges spun slowly on their tiptoes trying to keep their balance, Paula thought, "Yep, this is the life. Soon I'll get Cliff's job and it'll be even better. Yes, life is fucking great!"

--- To Be Continued ---