East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 09 – First Time on the Bit (or Anything to Please)

It was the eighth day of remedial training for Joan Miller and Paula Laturno, two women desperate to earn the right to progress from farm animal drudge slave to Ponygirl in training. Joan stretched languidly, comfortable for the first time in weeks. She was tightly wrapped around her companion in misery, Paula Laturno the Ponygirl Heaven Ranch's Head Groom undergoing forced retraining after failing in her responsibilities at the ranch. Joan drew her feet back under the heavenly warmth of the comforter that was protecting them from the pre-dawn frost of the clear Arizona desert sky. One hand sought the warmth and reassurance of her new lover's soft ass cheek; Joan pulled Paula's groin toward hers and slightly wriggled her breasts against Paula's.

“Hmmm,” she whispered, “your clean skin feels so silky and nice after our last week of filth and sweat.” Her lips nuzzled against the still-sleepy woman's throat.

Paula grunted, not quite the morning person that Joan was and murmured back, “Shhhh. We've being given this day off for a purpose. Tomorrow morning I think they'll make us race the twelve miles back to the ranch. If we fail to make our required pace, we might be stuck here as animals forever. Today is our chance to rest up and focus our desires and goals. Prepare yourself for that and decide what you want, a little sex or graduating away from these grueling tasks to Ponygirl training.”

Joan knew what she wanted. “I want to get home,” she thought to herself, not certain that she would ever reach that goal “What a fool I was to ever trust slavers with my body and life.” She twisted the smooth gold wedding ring on her left ring finger. “Can I trust these people to let me go if I succeed in progressing to Ponygirl Mistress? Will Robert Morgan release me to my prior life back in Miami ? Did he set this up just to steal my wealth and sell me off as a slave?” Each thought of her vulnerability and reliance upon others cemented her own relationship with the woman beside her. “At least with Paula,” she thought, “I know what I'm getting.” As if in answer to her thoughts, Paula sleepily slipped a rough hand down Joan's side and she parted her legs slightly to allow the questing fingers to possess her cunt. Joan winched slightly as the dried crusty remains of their night's wild lovemaking broke free from her tender flesh. She still marveled that Paula's entire strong hand had been able to slip so easily into her slippery pussy, bringing her to seemingly endless soul shattering orgasms. The feeling of her hips thrown about by the fist pumping inside her slurping core was the last thought Joan remembered before waking just moments ago, still curled in the comforting arms of Paula.

Her toes curled as she began to stretch and loosen her lower-body muscles. She started at the bottom and slowly worked her way up her legs, marveling at how trim and strong she had gotten in just the few weeks she had been at the ranch. She reviewed the amazing training regime she had survived since beginning the remedial regime that would culminate in the morning with what was probably her last attempt to progress to pre-Ponygirl training. The training had been remarkably simple and overwhelmingly boring. The two always worked as a team, chained side by side, feeling together both the pain of the brutal work as well as the momentary pleasure of simple rewards such as water and their liquid meals. Their tasks were simple, hauling the increasingly heavy sledge to and from the desert pool and unrelenting hours walking, trotting, and running on a mechanical hot-walker modified from training horses to human livestock. Joan wondered how many millions of circular rounds she had made as the hot-walker drew her forward by her nose ring, throat collar, or bracleted wrists. The ranch staff made sure to vary her position on the machine. A simple programmable controller managed the training, varying the pace enough to build both strength and endurance.

Joan clenched her ass cheeks as she continued loosening her body in preparation for getting up. From days of experience, she knew the two would soon have to get up in tandem and move toward the area reserved for their bowel movements and ur inations. She remembered the feel of the soothing waters of the desert pool as the two exhausted women fell into it after removing their bondage save for the length of chain that permanently enjoined the two. A tight loop of chain was secured to each woman's waist with a keyed padlock, holding them within three feet of each other. The other bondage placed on them for the mission of hauling the heavy skid plate was removed with some difficulty as they fumbled with sets of keys hanging from the thick branch of a stunted Mesquite tree.

“Our big surprise last night was that there were keys to remove our gags,” she thought. As if to reassure herself that the hateful, and heretofore always present, ringgags were still gone, Joan moved her tongue around her mouth as she stretched her lower jaw around. “Yesss,” she hissed quietly, “it is wonderful to have them gone.” The only signs that the naked women were not normal lovers were their matching slave collars and the section of chain joining their midsections. Joan looked at the hitching post where their key boxes had been mounted and saw their bondage gear and harnesses strewn about. “We better clean that up later,” she told herself, “before everyone else arrives latter today.”

The two women's nightly meal had still been the same low-fat, low-carbohydrate liquid served a dribble at a time through a rubbery penis each time they deep-throated it and bumped release pads with their teeth. However, the discovery of towels, a fluffy bed comforter, and a foam sleeping pad had been greatly appreciated. Paula had quickly determined that the rewards and the note announcing their training holiday were sure signs that a final test was coming.

Day One: Trip twelve miles to desert pool Overnight at pool

Day Two: Trip twelve miles back to ranch Overnight in barn

Day Three: Hot-walker 4 hours morning, 4 hours afternoon Overnight in barn

Day Four: Trip twelve miles to desert pool Overnight at pool

Day Five: Trip twelve miles back to ranch Overnight in barn

Day Six: Hot-walker 4 hours morning, 4 hours afternoon Overnight in barn

Day Seven: Trip twelve miles to desert pool Overnight at pool

Day Eight: Day resting at desert pool, steaks for 4 Ponygirls Overnight at pool

Day Nine: Run back to ranch, graduation to Po nygirls Overnight in barn

(Totals: Seventy-two miles hauling a sled and sixteen hours on the hot-walker)

Joan nuzzled her nose ring and lips against Paula's nearest breast and gently nipped at her fat nipple. Paula protested to be left in peace. In response, Joan forcefully rolled atop the ex-training mistress and grabbed the stronger woman's wrists to stretch over her head. Joan's legs crossed over the woman's midsection and her lips eagerly sought Paula's. The medical doctor was pleased when Paula's lips opened and allowed her tongue to slip within. The soft clink of their nose rings against each other as they kissed reminded them of their status. Joan left one hand holding Paula's wrists in mock capture while her other hand swept down the woman's side to capture her cunt.

Paula squealed in protest when three fingers nosed their way into her cunt all too rapidly to suit her just stirred lust.

Joan responded by tightly gripping the woman's clit with her thumb and hissing, “Stop complaining, … you're mine for the next round of orgasms.” Joan felt the trapped woman wriggle her hips to ease the entry of the raping fingers.

“Just remember little piggy,” Paula cautioned Joan, “you are far weaker and less experienced in this. Behave or I'll get even.” As if to soften the effect of the words, Paula's hips then rolled up, forcing more of Joan's fingers into her loosening channel. She moaned in Joan's mouth and muttered, “Go ahead, fuck me if you want! Afterwards I'm gonna smother you with my wet cunt and make you eat me till I'm too exhausted to go on.”

As Joan began to fist-fuck her fellow slave in earnest, Marshall Thompson was making final adjustments on the harness for his surrey and the four slavegirls that would be pulling it. The Sawyer sisters were resplendent as the blonde-haired lead set of Ponygirls. Marshall ran his calloused hand down their glistening scalps below the women's upthrust blonde Mohawks to each ponies' newly installed bit. Unlike the ringgags that they had worn to date, each of the Ponygirls now had a permanent ‘U'-shaped bronze bit attached through the outside of their lower molars and terminating in a small ring on either side of the corner of their mouths. A replaceable spoon was set in the middle of the bit, just resting on each Ponygirls' tongue. Even during rest, each of the Ponygirls would always have the basic part of the ‘U'-shaped bit in their mouths. The length of the bit's spoon would be chosen based upon the amount of discipline deemed necessary in controlling the Ponygirls.

Marshall whispered soothing nonsense words as he gently mounted the leather reins to each of the small rings on the Ponygirls' bits. He carefully untwisted each leather rein and traced each lead back to a tie on either side of the surrey seat. Four left-hand reins were gathered on the left side of the seat. Four right-hand reins were tied off on the right side of the seat. That part of their tack taken care of, Marshall continued by checking their waist belts and the snaps locking each girls' wrist close to their waists. Two safety chains were also securely linked from the surrey's drawbars to the waist bands of a Po nygirl. Even if his girls let loose their handholds on the drawbar, the chains would hold the Ponygirls in place, pulling the surrey. His job checking the women's harness complete, Marshall took time to heft each fat breast nested on a shelf protruding from the girls' tight corsets and gently pinch their nipples, each pierced with a small gold ring. Marshall took four golden bells from his pocket and clipped one to each of the four Sawyer girl tits. Completely finished, Marshall forcefully slapped the outer rump of each girl, admiring the sleek asses and tight, powerful runner's legs of his well-trained Ponygirls.

Two other slaps sounded soon after Marshall was finished. “These two are ready also,” Cliff Burns, his Chief Trainer, declared. Lisa Heath and Lori Heath, the black-haired twin sisters brought from their estate in New York , were the second pair of Ponygirls attached to the surrey. Anna and Becky were marked as ‘One' and ‘Two' while Lisa and Lori were now ‘Three' and ‘Four'.

Marshall Thompson swung up onto his seat aboard the racing surrey with practiced ease. A glance behind him confirmed that his locker of equipment and food was in place behind his seat. He sorted through the four left-hand reins and fed the appropriate lead between the proper fingers on his left hand, balancing each lead to provide equal pressure on the left side of the four bits; and lastly, he did the same with the four right-hand leads. Ready, Marshall gently shook both hands and the reins while commanding, “Heiyah! Walk on,” in a quiet but forceful voice. The four Ponygirls started forward, each using their left foot to lead off into a smooth fast walk pace. Marshall smiled at the smooth start and the easy way each Ponygirl took the cue from their new bits. He listened to the gentle tinkle of the eight titty bells and glanced across all four sets of naked ass cheeks that quivered enticingly, in perfect synchronization, as each Ponygirl stepped forward in faultless rhythm with the others.

Marshall settled back in his comfortable seat. He planned to only give the Ponygirls about three minutes of the easy walking pace before he sped things up. Given that four Ponygirls were working his single, lightweight, racing surrey, Marshall planned a grueling workout. In another practiced move, Marshall shifted the right-hand reins to his left hand and reached down for the carriage whip. “Girls,” he shouted gaily, “it's time to put you though your paces. Heiyah!” He quickly snapped the whip twice to the right and twice to the left, marking an outside rump on each of his four Ponygirls with a red welter. “Heiyah!” he shouted again. The tip of the whip, flying faster than the speed of sound, popped quickly four more times, laying four more thin red marks on the taut buttocks.

Anna Sawyer, ‘One', running in the lead position, leapt forward at her fastest pace knowing that the other women harnessed next to her would have to follow her lead. Her feet were comfortable in her black kangaroo running shoes and the tight black corset protected her fat tits from bobbling about as she ran. Anna concentrated on balancing her stride to smoothly reach forward with each gliding step, eliminating any energy-wasting bouncing. She relaxed her hands' grip on the draw bars of the surrey as the quartet of running Ponygirls reached their top speed. As a last step toward maintaining her blistering pace, Anna emptied her mind of anything except a fierce concentration on the few feet of bare earth moving before her, the looseness of her muscles, and the even pace of her breathing. As she had learned in each workout, Anna ‘became' the perfect Ponygirl to best survive the difficult ordeal. The only distraction that nudged against her near-total focus was the slight ache in the cavern located at the junction of her muscular thighs and the thin line of lubrication that drooled uncontrollably during the long, grueling workouts. Anna came into ‘heat' during each run. The thrill of the workout kept Anna's horny cunt on edge, eager for a through fucking she rarely received.

Lisa Heath moved smoothly behind ‘One's' lead-setting position. She concentrated grimly on the area between the gently undulating ass of the Ponygirl in front of her and the tiny patch of ground she could see. To fall during a high-speed run would result in certain injury against the painfully coarse Sonoran Desert floor or possible death from the blurring surrey wheels just a few feet behind her. Despite her now animal-like status in life, Lisa envied the seeming perfection of the lead Ponygirls. “They were here before Lori and I got here,” she thought, “and their skill shows.” Her eyes flickered briefly to concentrate on the white, raised flesh of the P – G – H – R brands burned in ‘One's' lower right ass cheek. “I've got the same thing,” she wondered, still in amazement at how much her life had changed since her capture at the Heath family slave facility that she had striven to revitalize. “They actually branded me with a hot iron just like livestock. And, … I have three other faux brands, black hair formed in the number ‘Three'. We are nothing but fancy sex toys for rich men and women.” Her brain tried to focus her attention back to the running, but she had a final thought to process, “We'll be sold soon or given to an owner since this is only a training facility. Where will we go?”

‘Three' forced her attention back to the difficult task at hand, keeping the machine her body had become smoothly focused on strides, foot placement, and breathing. Lisa felt the dry desert air brush across her moist, hairless mons and she was momentarily conscious of her dangling nipple, pussy, and clit rings, swinging weightily with each long, smooth stride. The tinkling sound of the titty bells was new. She concentrated and realized that the eight bells were tinkling in unison, a sure sign that the quartet were in perfect running rhythm. A thick dribble of pussy lube flicked off one of her dangling cunt lips and splashed against her thigh. “A fuck,” she thought, “I'd give anything for a proper fuck right now.” With an audible sigh, Lisa cut off the distracting thought and set her foot back down for the next of a seemingly endless sequence of strides.

At the trail junction just outside the main buildings of the Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, Marshall gave the cue for a measured right turn onto the trail to the distant watering hole. For the first time that day, all four women now had a good idea of their destination; it was to be a solid twelve mile run. Each grimly focused on their job as Ponygirls, knowing full well that they faced a grueling route at what had already proven to be a blistering pace. Marshall grinned at the rhythmic motions his four Ponygirls were able to hold even at ‘One's' high-speed pace. “Good girls,” he shouted in encouragement, “that's how to do it girls, keep it up.”

On the relatively level desert terrain near Ponygirl Heaven Ranch, Marshall let the four Ponygirls slip back to an easily maintained eight-mile-per-hour tempo. The rubber tires of the wheels and the springs under his seat cushioned the shock of the trail, giving Marshall a comfortable ride at just over seven-minute-miles. The veteran driver glanced down at the only modern accessory on the surrey, a digital odometer and velocity meter. His plan was to keep up a seven-and-a-half-minute-per-mile pace until he found all four Ponygirls faltering at the rate he had set. Only then did he plan on adjusting back to the much easier to maintain running speed of six miles per hour (twelve-minute-miles). Marshall quickly scanned from the distant glimmering horizon, down the long trail ahead, and to the bobbing blonde and black Mohawks of his girls before centering his attention to the hairless gap between each of his Ponygirls' legs. “They're already leaking pussy juice,” he observed aloud with pride. “The sluts probably already realize that complete focus as a working Ponygirl brings them into sexual heat. It has to be humiliating for them. My girls have become well trained mares. They'd fuck anything with a dick after a good workout.”

As the surrey approached the small, secluded desert pool of water, Marshall gently pulled back on the four sets of reins and held the position for a long count before releasing the tension. Dutifully, each of the four Ponygirls came to a simultaneous halt, their breasts heaving from the deep breaths each took to oxygenate their depleted systems. All four Ponygirls were streaked with dirt where swirling dust from the desert trail had coagulated on their sweat-drenched bodies during the long, twelve-mile run. Marshall leapt off the surrey's padded seat and marched the short distance to where his two latest charges were still huddled in their comforter. The sun's position confirmed it was already mid morning. He popped the whip loudly in the air above the two women and shouted for them to awaken and get up.

Doctor Joan Miller heard the tell-tale pop of a whip just inches from her head and practically leapt from the comfort of her bed with Paula to an obedient kneeling position. Her ass stung from several quick slashes as she struggled to get into the proper kneeling position. She saw that it was the lean rancher, Marshall Thompson, who had awakened their rest and that he had arrived in a surrey pulled by the two sets of women Joan had performed surgery upon. Joan grinned inwardly as the slower Paula Laturno received two extra lashes from the whip for being the last to come to position before the scowling rancher.

“Wake up you two useless pigs,” he shouted. “Did you think I left keys here for you two to rest away the day. Fat chance!” Inwardly, he was happy that the lowest of his charges had managed to get to bed clean the night before to enjoy their respite from the brutal training schedule they had completed. Their shiny hair and glowing skin were clean for the first time in over a week. “Time is money, after all,” he thought grimly thinking of the rapid manner in which he was normally forced to turn his charges into knowledgeable and fully obedient Ponygirls. He knew he would rather take a gentler approach, similar to what he used on his horses, rather than the overbearing regime he forced upon his human trainees.

“Take off their socks and shoes. Then, get pails and sponges from the back of the surrey,” he commanded, “I want you to start cooling off my Ponygirls and get them cleaned up.” As the two slaves hopped up, naked tits shimmied and muscles jumped as the lithe bodies responded to the commands. Marshall turned his attention to his lead Ponygirl, ‘One'. He first attached a lead rope to a steel loop on her bondage collar before he began to remove the safety chains on her waist belt. The salt streaked corset was unlaced and stickily removed from One's sweaty torso. Her fat tits sagged noticeably as their support structure was removed. Those simple tasks finished, he turned his attention to removing the leather reins from the eyelets on the leading edge of the Ponygirl's bit assembly. He grabbed one end of the ‘U'-shaped bronze bar between his thumb and forefinger and commanded, “Open up!”

Anna Sawyer, the ex-scheming socialite, obediently opened her mouth wide upon the command, exposing the less obtrusive of the ranch's various bit spoons resting tightly against her tongue.

The sweaty stench rising from the Ponygirls soaking shoes was almost too much to bear. Joan turned up her nose and took off the accompanying sock. “Phew,” she muttered, “this slavegirl has stinky feet.”

Anna was both tired and exhilarated from her arduous run. She was ready for the pampering promised by Marshall during the last miles of their run. The snide remark of the piggy slut at her feet was too much to bear; she extended her hind leg in a powerful arc, striking the complaining nude below her squarely in the chest. She shook her mane with a satisfied snort at the meaty feel of the kick; then grinned with additional revenge when she heard Marshall soundly whipping the disobedient slut as she lay sprawled on the gritty dirt.

Marshall speedily dealt with the bitch's snide behavior, putting her back in her place as lowliest of the slaves. He was satisfied to note that Paula curled up in fear of punishment as the doctor was chastised. To keep their rewards and punishment the same, he whipped Paula with an equal number of blows and a similar verbal harangue. As a last blow to the lowliest of the ranch's slaves, he activated their collars to keep them silent for the remainder of the day.

Marshall returned to Anna's side and rotated the bit's long bar slightly back, simulating a pull on the reins. He watched the bit rotate, depressing the spoon onto the Ponygirl's tongue. Before painful pressure pinched the Ponygirl's tongue, he stopped knowing full well that a knowledgeable hand was needed at the reins as painful pressure occurred with just minimal rotation of the bit. He recalled the ranch's traveling dentist pulling each of the two next-to-last lower molars pulled from his Ponygirls' lower mouths and replacing them with a bridge that spanned the gap from the removed teeth. Permanently placed through the porcelain of the two bridges was the bronze bit. The forward ends of the ‘U'-shaped device came to just forward of the corners of their mouths, making the upright sections of the ‘U' less than three inches long. Overall, the bit was a small device quite effective at relaying commands to the Ponygirls and punishing them if they were inattentive or disobedient. Marshall stuck his other thumb and forefinger into the woman's mouth, grasped the small spoon, rotated it counter-clockwise, and pulled it out.

Finished with his Ponygirl, he leaned forward and snaked his tongue deep into her mouth, kissing his way past the ends of the bronze bit still protruding from her mouth like fangs. One of Marshall 's strong hands slipped down Anna's sweaty side, past the woman's sweat-soaked corset, to find her moist inner core. He jammed four fingers deep into her sloppy cunt and used his ranch-hardened muscles to raise the helpless woman off her feet, impaled solely on his hand. Marshall swung the woman around and pushed her against a nearby post, freeing his other hand to maul her plump breasts. He intentionally pulled hard on her nipple rings and golden titty bells while his now pussy juice covered hand twisted to and fro, fighting to get his full hand inside her throbbing pussy.

Anna moaned and writhed in his arms, feverishly kissing back. She was ready to be used. Her body needed a hard, merciless fucking. “Fuck me,” she moaned, “fuck me Master. I've been so good, please fuck me! Use me!” Her toes wriggled about, uncontrolled by her brain as she exploded in orgasm. “Oh, … fuck, … that's … so … fucking … good!”

Joan and Paula knelt passively a few feet away from Marshall while he finished masturbating ‘One' through two obvious orgasms. That finished, he swung the fucked-out Ponygirl over to the hitching post and its concrete slab. Both Joan and Paula scurried onto the concrete pad at a silent hand signal from the rancher. Joan meekly knelt beside the sweaty Ponygirl and dunked her sponge into a pail of soapy water. Paula waited for Marshall to bring ‘Three' over to her location. Joan's careful sponging made her hips swivel gently, tugging occasionally on the chain connecting the two captive's waists. The soapy water sluiced away the filth beginning from the spent runners' necks down to their toes, covering Ponygirls and lowly slavegirls equally in wet suds.

Joan was careful to sponge everywhere, including armpits, breasts, and the long crease between their legs that protected assholes and pussies. She had gotten good at disassociating herself during her many menial tasks at the ranch. Ignoring the succulent flesh inches from her face was easy. Forgetting the way she had topped these four women while they were at her clinic undergoing cosmetic surgery was harder. Joan's pussy clenched in remembrance of how well Anna and her sister had serviced her during the long nights they were chained in her bed. The sponge washed grime off the black slash of the Roman numeral ‘One' on Anna Sawyer's pubic mound that bespoke her new name. The faux brand was actually one eight of an inch of pubic hair left in place and dyed jet black after the remainder of her body hair below her chin was taken off with a laser designed to remove body hair. Joan stretched up to her full height and carefully sponged off ‘One's' face and the bare scalp below her blonde Mohawk. Two more faux brands identical to that on her pussy mound decorated her head, one above and forward of each ear.

Marshall silently handed Joan a pile of fluffy bath towels taken from the storage chest behind his surrey seat. Obedient now, Joan picked up a towel and lovingly began to dab her two charges dry. Her heart quickened as her hands fondled fat breasts and hard, tight asses through the cotton towels. Strong Ponygirl musk was evident to her sensitive nose as a fold of the towel cleaned around each girl's anus and pussy crease. Finally, her two Ponygirls were washed and dried, naked save for their ever-present waist belts, wrist cuffs, and slave collars.

Minutes later, Joan let the hands that tightly gripped her scalp guide her mouth and lips to the proper spot to service. Joan's tongue was no stranger to servicing pussies and she knew how to vary tongue and lip action, as well as suction, to bring her lovers to a slow high of arousal and a crashing climax. Joan's waist chain had been disconnected from her partner and instead clipped to Anna and Becky Sawyer. The three slaves wriggled on the same comforter used during the night by Joan and Paula. Paula was busy on an adjacent comforter servicing Lisa and Lori Heath as their hands and voices directed. Both Paula and Joan had used the Ponygirls for their own pleasure and now that their roles were reversed, they were forced to reply in kind. Each trio of slaves were anchored to a loop welded atop a two-inch pipe driven deep into the rocky desert floor, leaving Marshall free to focus on starting a roaring charcoal and mesquite fire while the four Ponygirls writhed in sexual ecstasy. All six girls enjoyed the relative freedom Marshall had given them. Even bi-sexual Joan and the lesbian Paula reveled in giving sex to the taut and luscious Ponygirl flesh.

Marshall sorted through his lunch selections. The fire was heating up nicely and he planned on starting five thick New York Strip steaks in about thirty minutes. Five big sliced baking potatoes and five equally large onions were already drenched in butter and covered in aluminum foil, well buried in the midst of the growing pile of coals. The rancher and his four Ponygirls would eat well that afternoon, even sharing two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon wine. The other two women would have to settle for their normal low-fat, low-carb, high protein vanilla-flavored shake, sucked out of penis-shaped feeding tubes.

--L--A--T--E--R--

The irresistible smell wafting from the juicy steaks and from the grease that had dripped into the still smoking fire pit was driving Joan crazy. Unhappily, she hadn't yet been fed and had been informed by Marshall Thompson that they would have to wait to get their normal liquid diet upon return to the ranch, sometime near sunset. While the four ecstatic Ponygirls and the ranch owner nosily appreciated the scrumptious meal, Joan and Paula had been trussed up like pigs and abandoned. Each knelt down with their chins on the ground and their hands tightly pulled behind their legs and bound in place. A short rope connecting their bound wrists and ankles completed the modified hogtie. In their positions, bald pussies stuck straight up into the air. The threat of a brutal whipping punishment kept Paula and Joan fighting to keep their precarious balance.

Marshall set his plate down and sauntered over to the comforter where his two lowliest trainees struggled to keep their balance. He took a sip of his robust wine and appreciated the quivering naked treats pointed his way. Behind him, he heard giggles as his four Ponygirls enjoyed their first treat since arriving at the ranch. Each fully naked beauty wore only her permanent training collar and a temporary ankle cuff with a short chain holding them in the eating area. Marshall had given each permission to speak quietly amongst themselves, with the proviso that they not address their Master. Marshall glimpsed his naked cock, fully aroused by the thought of fucking two trapped treats while the others watched. He knelt down between Joan and Paula and set the dripping gob of fat he'd sliced off his steak atop Paula's fleshier butt, right on her nether hole. He left it in place while he dribbled some of the Cabernet Sauvignon from his glass onto Joan's tight ass grommet and swollen pussy lips. Her golden cunt rings glittered through the thick red wine.

Joan gasped as something cool dripped onto her butt and then she shuddered as she wondered what her next torment was to be. Panting through her ringgag-stretched mouth, Joan forced herself to slow her breathing, fearing hyperventilation and a loss of balance. A raspy tongue teased its way around her asshole, eliciting another quivering response from Joan. “It's like all I can think of is sex when I'm bound and awaiting my handlers,” she complained to herself. Several fingers started to caress her pussy while the tongue continued to lick her sensitive ass. “Hmmm, nice,” she purred silently. She risked wriggling her ass in a tiny circle while she clenched her inner muscles, visibly making her pussy and asshole tighten and loosen in a rhythmic and quite visible attempt to draw the tongue inside either of her sex holes. “Heiii,” she mumbled through her ringgag when the fingers at her pussy drew together and speared deep inside. As the fingers sunk in, she felt a calming bliss spread through her form. “Hessss,” she hissed through the steel ring in her mouth, “hat heels hunderul. Hesss.” The tantalizing tongue and probing fingers abruptly left her itching sex hole and before she could mumble her protest, a slapping hand thrust her tumbling away. Confused, Joan landed on her side and was able to contort her head enough to see Marshall stroking her cunt juices along his now glistening fuckstick with one hand while rubbing something across Paula's upthrust rear.

Joan locked eyes with Paula's shocked ones. Somehow, the pending ass rape of her Ponygirl companion triggered something deep in her own soul. A vivid image flickered through her mind where she was the one standing above the naked upright ass and buckling on the former Head Groom's own fourteen-inch ‘Bitch Buster' strap-on dildo. “It was her cock,” she thought, “It'd be so delicious to skewer the slutty fuckbunny with her own fake dick.” Joan desperately squeezed her thighs and her pussy lips in a fruitless attempt to stimulate her own sex. She vividly saw the parody of a man's dick lining up on the bound Ponygirls's ass. It was huge, at least as fat as a soda can, and long, the curved length easily was fourteen inches long.

Paula and Joan simultaneously grunted loudly through their ringgags as Marshall 's slick cock knob popped past her ass grommet. Their eyes remained locked as Paula's cheek was dragged across the saliva-covered comforter as Marshall groaned above her from the effort of sinking deeper into her forbidden core. Tears of frustration poured down Joan's cheek as she was unable to frig herself off to the deeply arousing sight. Paula's identical tears staining her cheeks were of pain and humiliation.

Above the two tearful women, Marshall reveled in the sight of his hands tightly squeezing Paula's still meaty ass flesh and the sight of the glistening brown ass sphincter that hungrily followed his cock on the outthrusts. He loved the way the ass grommet disappeared into her rectum on his downward thrusts, deforming the anal ring from the full weight of his ranch-hardened frame. The gag-distorted howls from his prey invigorated him to further deep drilling of her asshole. Strength surged through him and he was able to forcefully draw her ass up his cock while his weight drove him within her. The motion with his hands reminded him of skull-fucking one of the Ponygirls. “Oh, yes!” he cried as he pivoted his full body weight down onto the fuckpuppet below. The feeling of his tightly squeezed cock spasming as his jism boiled down its length was awesome. “Eiiii,” he yelled to the silent desert around him, “What a fucking life! What a fucking life!”

Long after Marshall returned to finish his lunch, Joan starred at the gaping hole inches from her nose. She continued to grunt and groan in unsatisfied arousal as the rancher's creamy jism slowly seeped out of Paula's raw rectum. Neither girl was able to move as they grunted in pain from their tight bondage.

--L--A--T--E--R—

Hours later two dusty and bedraggled animals heaved and tugged to keep their heavy load moving down the long gritty trail back to Ponygirl Heaven Ranch. Joan snuck a look at Paula beside her. “We sure don't look like dashing Ponygirls,” she thought miserably. She was finally harnessed up as a Ponygirl and had already decided that it was no different from her past weeks of drudgery. “I'm not even certain that we've graduated to Ponygirl status,” she pondered. “The bastard just dragged us over, stuck filthy, sweat-crusted bustiers on us, and then locked us to the drawbars. We didn't even get groomed before we started.” Her nose curled up at the thought of the dried sperm and shit crust that had set on Paula's inner thighs from Marshall's copious load of cum packed up the woman's ass. An overly loud groan of satisfaction from the surrey seat behind her didn't help her temper. She knew that hitched behind them were two easily loping Ponygirls who were enjoying the unusually slow return pace to the ranch. “That blonde bitch Anna Sawyer is still probably sucking his cock,” she complained. The fact that Marshall had loudly announced to all that ‘One' was his favorite cocksucker of the day still rankled. “The lazy fuckers rolled around like sluts in heat, competing for his attention after their meal while we were tied like animals for the slaughter.”

Marshall wondered at his actions that he had taken over the entire day. He idly flickered the carriage whip, catching Paula's bruised ass in a solid strike and adding another stripe to the dozen or so already in place. The thought of using her incredibly hot and tight ass made his rock hard cock twitch up into the soothing mouth of the Ponygirl giving him head as the surrey smoothly moved down the trail. He let his whip hand caress Anna's flawless back with the leather-covered fiberglass shaft of the whip. “Hmmm,” he thought quietly and still somewhat distractedly as the suction increased significantly on his rod. Without aiming, he flicked the whip directly over his own shoulder and heard a satisfying smack and an answering whimper from the tightly bound fourth Ponygirl tucked into the storage well of the surrey. He swung the whip twice more at the same unseen target. ‘Four', previously known as Lori Heath, had performed with something almost immeasurably less than perfection as compared to her other three companions. As a result, she was whipped, tied, and suffered the indignity of being punished during the ride home. “After all,” he thought with his first grin of happiness in long minutes of reflection, “someone has to lose in a contest.”

His grin faded as he tried to decide why he had deviated so drastically from his normal reserved demeanor when following his carefully crafted Ponygirl training regime. “I've never done anything so frivolous as taking the girls out for a barbeque and a day swimming at our hidden watering hole, cavorting with them like an out of control teen. And, … taking advantage of my lesbian former Head Groom, … buttfucking her so viciously, … especially given that I enjoyed it so much. I was weird, … but man, whatta rush!”

Trusting the sweating novice team hauling the surrey to momentarily stay on the trail by themselves, Marshall twisted hard in his seat and looked at the two Ponygirls smoothly following behind him. The blonde, ‘Two', and the black-haired Ponygirl, ‘Three', moved with apparent effortless ease. He grinned at their lush tits held up proudly by their tight waist corsets and bustiers that supported only the bottom of their fat breasts. Their faces were calm and relaxed as they moved with mirror perfect precision. The part Marshall loved the most was the distinctly glistening wetness at the junction of each of their legs. He never failed to appreciate the oddity he had discovered where, without exception, trainees that he graduated to full Ponygirl status came into heat during their workouts. The permanently naked pussy lips of this lot of Ponygirls showed that status off beautifully. Marshall thought he could see pussy juice flickering off the golden labia rings each of the women wore. “Yes,” he repeated to himself, “this is nice, … very nice.”

--- To Be Continued ---